#i think despite everything and the whole power imbalance

[disobey-disappoint-deviate]

Ok, but I think we are all sleeping on Carl & Markus.

[juletheghoul]

Solus

a/n: I am genuinely obsessed with Marcus Acacius and the thought of him being a gladiator and wanting nothing but you? Imagine? Ughhhh I just want him so bad 😩, please feel free to send in thots, requests, even just musings about him 💕 not beta’d and barely proofread!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, special contraceptive tea, girlie and her bestie gossiping about Marcus and his skills, body / breast worship, Marcus and girlie are really fucking into one another, very possessive of one another in the best way (reader is a slave so there is a power imbalance but so is Marcus), gladiatorial violence, nothing graphic- let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 3.3k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

She is short with you when you greet her back in the main house. There is a look in her eye, a nervous flitting about your form and it falls into place when she beckons you closer; it is worry.

“Did he hurt you? Was he rough in his taking of you?” She gestures to one of the other girls that attended her, calling for something while looking over the parts of you not covered by fabric. 

“No Domina, he was very gentle, mostly.” Head bowed in deference, you turn and show her that you are in fact whole, albeit pleasantly sore.

“Gentle? Truly?” She frowns, shocked but shrugs it off, “that is good, I was worried his brutality would land upon you. Did he spill inside you? I have had the tea made to prevent any issue from your union.” 

Memories flash through your mind as a cup of the aforementioned tea is placed in your hands of all the different ways he had filled you. Heat blooms in your cheeks at the feel of it drying on your inner thighs.

“Yes Domina, many times.” 

“Drink, I imagine you must be exhausted.” She sighs, watching as you gulp down the bitter mixture. “Take a rest and come back to me once you have slept a while and cleansed yourself of his lust.”

“Yes Domina.” You bow again, and head for your chamber.

-

He felt invigorated, despite the fact that he had gotten barely any rest. Her arousal was still smeared all over his cock, all over his fingers and the thought of him carrying her with him into the ludus where he lived and trained kept the smile plastered on his face. 

The other men were already up and training, honing their skills in hopes of advancing. He took his time making his way to his own training, taking a moment to himself to think about all the things he’d done to her, all of the sighs and whimpers he’d gotten out of her, the sweet moans that had burned themselves into his ears. Let himself imagine for a moment, the next time he’d win and ask for her, what other delights he could bestow upon her. 

Most of his brothers ignored him when he finally went out to train, the ones closest to him gave him a nod and he nodded back. With sword in hand, and the sun on his back, he put the softness of her skin and her pink, honeyed tongue away and focused. 

-

Cassia, your closest friend found you in the kitchens after having rested. 

“You must tell me everything!” her nails dug into your arm, her excitement a visceral, violent thing and you laughed at the way her eyes were as big as an owls. 

“Everything? What is there to tell? He took my virtue.” You smile to yourself, filing the tray with things for your Domina to eat while Cassia shook with excitement beside you. 

“Oh, is that all? The fiercest Gladiator asked for you as his prize and this is the answer you give me? And I called you friend!” She pouts, indignant at your lack of candor. Your mouth betrays you and you smile before shaking your head. 

“Very well, I will give you all of the details you desire. Ask me, and I will share.” With your full tray in your hands, you gesture for her to follow you and she does with a mischievous grin on her face. 

“What was it like? Was it terribly painful?” She held onto your arm, careful not to jostle your tray. 

“It stung, burned a little at first, but only at first. He made it quite enjoyable so by the end of the night it felt wonderful.” You sighed, remembering his face as you rode him just how he liked. 

“Was it big? His cock?” She blushed prettily, her pale skin going pink as a flower. 

“Yes, it was big, thick as well. I confess I did not think it would fit.” You laughed, and she giggled, going even more red. “He surprised me, for as much as we thought him a brute, he was very soft, sweet and affectionate. I enjoyed my time with him very much and I hope…” She raises her eyebrows, shocked at what you might say. 

“I hope that he calls for me again.” You press forward, defiant, and honest. 

“You wanton thing!” She laughs, delighted. “I pray to the Gods that my virtue may be taken by one as worthy, and as skilled since you are already begging for a repeat performance.” She laughs and you bump her shoulder with hers playfully, balancing the tray as she separates from you. She casts a wink your way before returning to her duties, and letting you tend to the Domina. 

She says nothing when you bring her the tray, and you fall back into your usual rhythm of servitude easily. 

Weeks pass, and the training in the ludus below intensifies as another game is lined up by your Dominus. There’s a craving within you now though, a new one that follows you around no matter where you go. That ache that he had built up in that stiff bed below with his fingers and with his tongue resurfaced every so often with an intensity you couldn’t understand. 

Whenever you saw him below, whenever you caught his eye, visions of him above you, below you—inside you filled your mind like wine filling a cup. Heat flooded your body, arousal collected at the mouth of your cunt and it was hard to focus on anything beyond the ghost of his filling stretch.

-

When the games finally came, you found yourself paying much more attention to them than you ever had before. Silently cheering for him and praying to all of the Gods that he would come out victorious, while secretly praying that he’d ask for you once more. 

There was yet another feeling now however, as you watched him make quick work of his opponents. A fear that settled low in your belly, deep in your heart as he took a minor blow that he would fall, that you would have to stand there and serve your Domina while watching him die. A shiver ran down your spine to imagine it. 

“Victorious again!” Your Dominus laughed, collecting coin from those who had bet against Marcus. It angered you, that they would bet against him. There was a curious sense of ownership battling for dominance amongst all your newfound feelings. He felt yours, and you felt his. So strange, considering it has only been one night, and there was no guarantee he’d been speaking the truth.

You tried to put it out of your mind as you made your way back home, focused on the tasks at hand and suppressed the hope swelling within when the Dominus called him forth once more. He did not keep you in suspense, his eyes found yours instantly, staring with open desire and your Dominus was quick to catch on.

“Shall I send her down with you once more? Would you not care for another girl? One yet untouched?” The master of the house gestured to others that served alongside you, and you didn’t fail to note the gleam of hope in some of them, in Cassia.

“No Dominus. I desire only her.” He smiled, eyes focused on your form and his heat engulfed you. 

“Very well.” He gestured to you and you obeyed, marginally happier than the first time. 

There was no preamble this time, as soon as you crossed the threshold of that room he was on you. His mouth claiming yours hungrily, his hands landing heavy on your backside. You smiled into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. He smelled of blood, sweat and victory. 

“Gods above, how I have ached for you my sweet.” His hands grabbed at you, pawing at every bit of you he could reach while he mouthed at your neck, building the fires of arousal within you.

“I must confess, I have ached for you as well.” He groaned, biting at your ear. You pushed him away for a moment, guiding him to the basin to wipe the gore away from his skin. 

“Tell me.” His eyes were frantic, roving over you as though you might disappear if he did not watch you while he made quick work of divesting himself of his soiled armour. With a shy smile, you wring the cloth and set to cleaning the grime from his beautiful face.

“I have ached for you to fill me once more, to take me and give me the same pleasure as you did the first time.” You watched your hands as you worked, blood pounding in your chest and in your cunt to confess your secret thoughts. His fingers pinched your chin softly, guiding your eyes to meet his.

“Did you touch yourself, thinking of my hands?” 

His gaze was so intense, filled with such fire that you could barely move, could barely breathe under the weight of it. Memories of your self exploration in the nights leading up to the games filled your mind. 

“Yes, so many times.” 

Silently he took the cloth from you, making quick work of cleansing himself before discarding it and now he looked so much like he did in the arena, stalking, hunting you down like prey but it did not scare you. If anything, it only inflamed your passion, made your cunt drool its arousal onto your inner thighs. 

“Do you know that you have not left my thoughts since that night? Since before that, I cannot think of anything else. Just your face, your body, your smile—“ he pressed close enough that you had to tilt your face up to keep his gaze, swallowing thickly at his open desire.

With his eyes holding you still, he removes your tunic and his. His manhood is just as thick, just as heavy and stiff for you. It smears his own pearly want against the goose flesh spreading across your belly.

“How do you want me?” Tentatively, you caress his ribs, sliding up to feel the firm golden skin of his chest. 

“I want you in every way there is to want a woman.” He cuts the whimper from your mouth off with a kiss, his words, his touch; it bolsters you and you guide him to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Then I shall ride you, just as you like.” There’s a pretty flush on his cheeks, spreading down his neck and despite your limited experience, you feel like nothing short of a goddess lining him up and sinking slowly onto his cock.

His unabashed moan of pleasure helps with the stretch of his manhood.

“It feels so much better this time.” Your voice sounds different, wanton, confident. It does feel better, the thick pillar of his sex stretching you enough to make you whimper into his mouth.

He groans from deep in his chest, a rumble that makes your body heat from the inside out. Ever since that night you’d been dreaming of this, of having him want you again, fill you again and it’s so much better than your late night fantasies. With trembling thighs you roll your hips, grinding yourself against him, holding onto his strong golden shoulders for purchase. 

His hands grab onto your hips, squeezing at the flesh and guiding your movements. His breath comes out in small pants and there’s so much about him to admire it’s difficult to settle on just one aspect. His strength is obvious. Muscles honed with sword and shield ripple and cord under your fingers. The long line of his neck begs for your lips, beckons you to taste the salt that collects there and you do, drawing a surprised yet filthy sound from him. It spurs you on, your tongue traveling up to his ear to bite at the lobe. 

“Your tight little cunt is going to milk me dry.” You cannot help but smile, a victory of your own shining brightly within at the knowledge of how much pleasure he gains from your body. 

“I am ready, fill me again, I want to feel it deep inside me.” Your lips press against his, your arms wrap tighter around his neck to press yourself closer as you ride him quicker. His arms wrap around your ribs, holding you just as tightly, your nipples hard as pebbles against his chest as he all but bounces you on his cock. 

Sweat beads at his hairline, the effort of using you to fuck himself evident in the gorgeous flush in his cheeks. Your tongue slides across the plump of his bottom lip and he almost growls before offering his own. It’s vulgar, the way your tongues meet without actually kissing, the wet sounds of your joining, it all adds to the heat blooming in your spine. The tingling in your breasts, in your core and when he spreads his legs a little wider something shifts and he’s deeper. You cry out, begging, babbling at him to keep going, just there, please and he obeys. 

The pleasure is a hot dagger through your being, making you seize and squeeze him all the tighter, it is the catalyst for his own release and the spurt of him only adds to your experience. 

You catch your breath, panting while your body feels like a raw nerve, pulsing, clenching, pounding in sync with with your heart. His lips press against your neck, from the sensitive spot just below your ear down to the curve of your shoulder. His calloused hands rub at your back while your muscles loosen. 

You pulled his face up to kiss him once more, enamoured with the taste of his tongue and felt him smile into it. 

He needs time to recover, and so you lay in the bed next to him. Both of you naked as the day you were born. Your fingers trace mindless shapes onto his chest while his hands travel from the slope of your shoulder, down to the swell of your ass. 

“Why did you choose me?” His head turns at your question. “From amongst all the slaves, all of the women who serve in this house… why me?”

“Why? Because I desire you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, you frown.

“You desire me? That is all? Do you not desire any other?”

“No, I do not. I have been in this house for years and while my body desires this-“ he grabbed at your ass, “it is not something I indulge in very often. I have watched you grow from a girl into a woman and you have wormed your way into my brain. I do not know why, but I desire you above all others.” He pulls your face up, pressing a kiss to your mouth. 

“And then once you had me? What did you feel then?”

“I felt joy, that you are sweet as well as beautiful. I felt gratitude that you feel desire for me as well, that you make me laugh, that you feel so good here in my arms… shall I go on?” He grins at the way you cannot hide your happiness, that the shy smile grows on your lips as he confesses and when you nod he pushes you onto your back and slips to slot himself between your legs. 

“I feel confident that I please you, I feel pride when your cunt gets wet for me. I love that you are adventurous and brave and willing to try all of the filthy things I want to do to you.” Your fingers twirl the strands of his hair as he dips his head to lick at your nipples. 

“I feel possessive of you, to know that no one touches you like me, no one else gets to taste your breasts, no one else gets to fill you the way I do.” His cock glides through the combined mess of your joining.

You hum as he worships you, smiling and preening under his words.

“I confess, I enjoy it, being the object of your desire. I was scared you would pick someone else.” Your legs hitch high on his hips, wrapping around to press against his lower back.

“Hmmm, did you now? Did it make you jealous? the thought of me giving this—“ he knotches himself at your entrance, pushing inside with a slow thrust, “—to someone else?”

“Yes—especially with how excited the other girls were for you to choose. One of them asked me what it was like, what you were like.” It’s slow, decadent the way he fucks you. He presses deep enough to kiss your womb before pulling almost all the way out, then presses deeply again. He does not speed up, he does not vary the pressure. 

“And what did you tell her?” His arms bracket your skull, anchoring himself so he can keep up his stamina.

“I told her the truth, that you made it feel so good, that your cock is so big, so thick, that I hoped you called for me again.” You moan the words into his mouth, meeting his thrusts with your own slow roll. 

“Not too big for you, nothing you cannot handle hmm? Nothing this perfect cunt cannot handle, my cunt—“ his words affect even him, his hips speed up, a wet, vulgar sound with every plunge ringing through the room.

“Is it mine?” He asks with a grin but all you can do is focus on how good it feels, how he hits that sacred spot within with every press. 

“Answer me, whose cunt is this?” He slides one knee up for purchase pulling inhuman moans from you.

“Yours, it’s yours, Gods above, don’t stop—“ your hand slides down to glide your fingers against your achy clit, slipping down first to feel yourself spread wide around him. 

It only takes a few delicious swirls before you’re clenching around him, fluttering with your orgasm while his hips move faster, groaning around the tightness of your climax while he chases his own end.

“Going to fucking fill you to the brim, going to be leaking out of you for fucking days—“ he crashes into his own pleasure, barely getting his words out before grinding himself deep enough to hurt, moaning unabashedly, loudly enough that half the house must have heard him.

He collapses onto you, his face pressed into the damp crook of your neck—his sweat soaked skin slipping against yours while you both catch your breath. Your legs wrap tighter around him, holding him inside. The sunkissed, freckly skin of his shoulders is warm under the press of your lips. His voice in your ear is soothing, the low hum of appreciation for the affection you freely give him, something you’re sure he hasn’t received in years. 

It takes him a few minutes to move but you don’t mind. The weight of him is welcome, he isn’t the only one starved for touch and he gives it just as freely as you do. He does not let you separate from him. Even as he falls asleep, you are wrapped up in his embrace. 

You admire him as he rests. The dark fan of his lashes, the silver strands of his hair, so fine between your fingers, the almost boyish purse of his lips. He does not wake when you press your mouth to his, he only tightens his grip, pulls you closer to him. You smile despite the conflict within, you want him to rest. His efforts in the arena are no small thing and with the way the night has gone he must be exhausted. 

Another desire burns within you as well though; that he’ll wake because of you, that before morning comes you will be just as full and pleasantly sore as the first time.

-

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[miley1442111]

birthday fights & other lies- a.hotchner

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summary: aaron forgot your birthday which spirals into something much deeper.

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem baureader

warnings: cheating, panic attack, fighting, no happy ending :(

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

12:08. Your birthday was over. 

And Aaron hadn’t said a thing. 

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

1pm that day

“Happy birthday Y/n!” Spencer smiled, handing you a small cupcake with a lit birthday candle on it. The icing was pink, strawberry, your favourite. The cupcake was vanilla, with little sprinkles in it that made it all the more colourful. 

“Thank you,” you chuckled as he pulled you into a hug, his long arms and tall stature dwarfing you in his hold. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Well, I wanted to,” he shrugged. “I have tickets to a play this weekend, it’s in the Ford’s Theatre so it’ll be a bit of a drive but-”

“I’d love to go. Thank you Spencer,”  you smiled. “When is it?”

“Tomorrow night at 7pm, we can get dinner as well, my treat.”

“Thank you Spencer,” you smiled and hugged him again. 

When you’d woken up that morning, you’d been alone in your bed, despite it being full of two people the night prior. Aaron had come over, as he usually did on Thursday nights. He’d get off work late and something in him made him drive to your small townhouse, and fuck you in your bed. He’d spend the whole night convincing you he loved you, only to pretend it never happened the next day. It was like clockwork. 

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

3pm that day

“Happy birthday sweetheart,” Derek smiled, placing a card and a gift box on your desk. 

“Thanks Derek,” you smiled and hugged him close. Earlier Penelope, Jj, and Emily had dropped off gifts at your apartment this morning, and you all had plans to go out to dinner tonight.

David had mailed you a gift, and an invitation to his home for Sunday with the rest of the team. Everyone had accepted, apart from Aaron. 

When you thought about it, you didn’t know much about the unit chief you served under, in more ways than one. You knew he was kind and tender, but only behind closed doors. You knew he was intelligent and pragmatic, good at his job, and logical.

But what was he really to you? Fuck buddies? Friends with benefits? Was this a power imbalance? Were you doomed to never know?

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

Your phone dinged and you turned it on, tired from the night with the girls. 

Are you awake? Aaron asked.

Not for you.

What do you mean?

I don’t know if you noticed but it’s kind of an important day. 

What do you mean?

I’m 24 now. You missed my birthday.

He didn’t respond for a few minutes. 

I’m sorry. 

I don’t care. Don’t call or text me again. I’m not just your fuck doll, I’m a real person. 

I know that.

Then act like it Aaron. For fuck’s sake. 

I love you.

No you don’t. 

I’m coming over.

The door’s locked.

We have to talk Y/n.

Read 12:14am

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

Knock, knock, knock.

“Fuck off,” you called from your kitchen, ignoring the banging on the door. 

“We have to talk,” he demanded. 

“No we don’t. We’re not anything anymore.” 

“Please Y/n,” his voice sounded a lot more… emotional than you were used to. Raw and unusually soft. Aaron did everything he way he led the team, with confidence and strength, that included your sex life and relationship. Not once had he been vulnerable the way you’d been. You’d spent nights thinking about your future together and the way you’d tell the team. He’d been asleep beside you, or in his own bed. 

You unlocked the door and he came barging in, engulfing you in an all-consuming kiss. For a moment, you allowed yourself to be swept up in the moment, imagining this is what he’d wanted to do all day but he couldn’t, the team didn’t know you two were together. You pulled back and crossed your arms. 

“Hi,” you sighed, trailing back into the kitchen with him hot on your heels. 

“Hi my darling,” he smiled softly. “I’m so sorry I forgot about today, I just… it slipped my mind, it’ll never happen again, I swear.” 

“Aaron, it really hurts that you just… forgot about today. I’m not asking for a gift, I just wanted… acknowledgement. Is that too much to ask?” Your eyes trailed down to his hands where his fingers played with a… wedding ring? 

What the fuck? Aaron had never spoken about being married. He’d never told you he was married. You would never, ever be the one to break up a marriage. Ever. 

“Are you married?!” You shouted. Anger bubbling in your stomach like bile. “You fucking asshole!”

8 months of your life, wasted. Someone else’s entire marriage ruined. All because of his selfish actions. 

“What? No,” he shrugged, then realised his fuck-up. His hands solidified themselves in his trouser pockets and he started. “I thought-”

“Are you separated? Who is she? Did I really just become a homewrecker?!” 

“Baby please-”

“NO! Do not ‘baby’ me! Tell me everything about this woman right now! Do you two have kids?!” 

“Yes,” he answered and you genuinely stopped breathing. 

“W-what? So- so this entire fucking time y-you’ve been mar-married,” you panted, a hand over your chest to try and make yourself breathe, but you were. You were having a panic attack. Aaron could see the signs. He walked closer but then noticed the way you were shielding yourself from him, making your body smaller, leaning down, and ultimately ending up on the floor as you shut your eyes and tried to focus on breathing.

“Yes.” 

“Why didn’t y-you tell me?” you rasped. 

“We’re getting a divorce.”

“What!? I ruined a marriage? Y-you’re getting a divorce? Is it becau… because of me?”

“Yes and no,” he answered, just observing you, his voice calm and assertive, like it always is. 

“What the fuck does that mean!?” you shouted. Thank god your walls were thick and the neighbours next door wouldn’t hear a thing. This would’ve been awkward to explain at the next neighbourhood meeting. 

“I didn’t tell her… about you. She asked for a divorce on her own terms, but we were already separated the first time me and you had sex.”

“So then how is this about me?” you were calming down, Aaron could see it. It fucking hurt that you were anxious of him like that. That he’d set off a fucking panic attack and you wouldn’t even let him within meters of you. 

“I signed her papers the day she sent them over. Because I’m in love with you.”

“Aaron, what the fuck? Me and you aren’t in a relationship, you’ve made that very clear. The only thing we do is fuck in my house! We don’t go on dates, we don’t celebrate each other’s birthdays, as you’ve so kindly demonstrated, and we aren’t ‘together’. You aren’t there when I wake up every morning, and you don’t come home with me from work in the evenings. You keep telling me that you love me but where is it? Where is this supposed love? I don't see it, do you?”

“I love you. I love that you call me out on all of my bullshit,” a step closer. “I love how smart and driven you are,” another step closer. “I love the little notes you leave on everyone's desks,” his hands wrap around your waist. “I love how good you are at your job,” a small kiss over the fabric of your jumper. “I love how you care about other people,” a kiss to your neck. “I love the little things you do to make me laugh throughout the day,” a kiss to the cheek. “I love everything about you,” a kiss to the lips. “And I’m so sorry that I ever made you feel like I wasn't completely and utterly devoted to you.”

“I don’t trust you at all,” you admitted, a sad smile on your face. “I’ll never trust you again.”

Aaron’s heart broke, but he understood. He’d been lying to you for months, what did he expect? He didn’t tell you he was a father, a husband. For god’s sake he’d take his ring off in the car every morning. It’s not like him and Haley weren’t rocky. Had this divorce been a long time coming. Had he only been served the papers two weeks ago? Yes. Had he and Haley just separated? Yes. Did he still live with her and Jack? Yes. What was one more lie if it meant he got to keep you? Lying to you was killing him, but it was also saving him, because it meant you were his. His girlfriend, hsi love, his everything.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you,” he promised. 

“I don’t want to see you again,” you sniffled, small tears running down your cheeks. 

“Please-”

“Just leave. Like you always do.”

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

And Aaron did. When you showed up to work the next week, it was Spencer who was clinging to you like a lost puppy. 

Something must’ve happened at the play.

Now Aaron had truly lost you.

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criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

[starlight-bread-blog]

Why Stolas is a Terrible Person/Character

Oh this will be long. In this post I will cover why Stolas is a character that fundamentally fails at everything it tries to accomplish. I probably have to say that you can love Stolas. That's just why I hate him.

Trigger warnings for: Racism, casteism, power dynamics, sexual assault, sa apologism, abuse, and neglectful parenting. A lot, I know, but that's Stolas.

His Actions in S1

Despite the title, there will be two examples from season 2.

Racism/Casteist

Stolas is from the upper caste, a royal. He seem to often fetishize imps, or the fact that he's sleeping with someone who's less than him. I even saw fans pointing this out. He has empathized Blitzø being an imp in a sexual context.

(Notice the use of words: "little", "plaything", to me this is blatant racism and fetishism).

He also showed a certain lack of empathy for his imp butler.

Stolas isn't particularly violent, he doesn't choke people left and right. He's just angry, at Stella, so he decides to.. choke the imp.

Stolas has been dehumanizimg imps. Fetishizing an imp for being an imp, calling him an "impish little plaything", and he has been willing to choke an imp just because he was angry at something unrelated. He's racist and casteist.

Treatment of Blitzø

"Treatment" is putting it lightly. In the first episode, Stolas does something inexcusable that will taint their dynamic for all of season 1. First, he sees Blitzø in a vulnerable position, where he cannot think or negotiate. Thus, stripping him of what little choice he has on what he's about to offer.

What Stolas is saying is, "Fuck me or I'll shut down your business". This deal he makes is just a threat with extra steps. Which is a real life abuse tactic called Quid Pro Quo:

"Quid pro quo harassment occurs when someone in a position of authority over another directly or indirectly demands sexual favors in exchange for some benefit, or to avoid some detriment in the workplace".

One element I haven't brought up yet, is the political power imbalance. Stolas is royalty, one with a lot of power, influence, credibility, etc. Blitzø has non of that. Other characters have commented on that the fact that Blitzø even has a business is a miracle.

There are so many layers of imbalance and how Blitzø has no choice or agency. A royal is """offering""" the powerless a Quid Pro Quo while he's in a life threatening situation.

And their dynamic looks exactly like you'd imagine. Stolas consistently sexualizes him against his consent. (As it's been established, Stolas's racism feeds into this). And refuses to do the surface level courtesy, not even calling him his real name (x).

Stolas treats Blitzø as a lesser being, violates his boundries, forces himself on him, and strips him of all autonomy.

Faliure as a Father

Stolas's role as a father is directly tackled in Loo Loo Land and Seeing Stars. At the beginning, both episodes show Stolas being a good father to Octavia, but does this still hold true in the currect day? Well, no.

In Loo Loo Land, Stolas wants to take Octavia to a theme park. Octavia is 17, and Stolas ignores her when she says she doesn't want to go. (In retrospect, Stolas could be oblivious because he's projecting his experience meeting Blitzø onto Via).

But that's just the start. Stolas then invites Blitzø to the trip and harasses with him all throughout. Essentially, Stolas is forcing his daughter to watch as he harasses "the homewrecker", all the while he's supposed to be with her, on a trip she didn't even want to go to.

After a whole day of this, as expected, Octavia runs away. Stolas chases her. (And of course, he's still thinking of Blitzø on his way to find Via). There's an apology scene that looks deep, but when you dissect it, it's rather empty.

Stolas never actually provided an explanation as to why he just did what he did, nor of the "drama" with Stella. There is nothing here. Octavia only makes up with him because he said he isn't gonna leave her. Which is bare minimum.

After he realizes that his affair hurts his daughter to the point where she feared he's gonna leave her, what does he do? What practical actions does he take to improve? Divorce Stella? Cut off his deal with Blitzø? Explaine the situation?

Nothing. And now we see he's willing to stand up on a stage and let people know.

In Seeing Stars, Stolas bashes Via's mother to her. Which, does she know about their situation? Does she not? She isn't shown to hate or.. anything Stella. Is he hiding the situation (which I'll cover), while also trashing her mother? That's impulsive and negligent.

But that's nothing. She later runs away, Stolas is stressed as he should be, but the second they arravie on earth he's all calm and everything's normal.

When his daughter is missing. When he is shown to be stressed, it's for the sake of plot. But he's willing to just chill, watching Blitzø's show.

Stolas is, dare I say it, neglectful. He might care about his daughter, but he's proven that she's not enough of a priority to focus on her when it matters.

Cheating

Yes, I know what ended up being revealed, I'll cover that. In season 1, the relationship is presented to not be perfect before Stolas cheated.

But there were instances that showed that what Stolas did changed their relationship for the worse. (Some additional rebuttals).

It could have been a loveless marrige, they could have fallen out of love, they could have been arranged. But their relationship was manageable. Love or no love, it's a committed relationship. and Stella didn't deserve to get cheated on.

Who was Stolas?

Stolas's behavior is common among royals. Stella has no problem throwing said butler at Stolas (S1 E2), and the Goetias are shown to be casteist. They're untouchable privileged assholes.

Stolas was born that wealth, never having to suffer the consequences of his actions. Always putting himself first, hurting others. He doesn't mean to, he wants for everyone to be happy, he does care.

However, when it actually matters, he acts on his worst tendecises with no self control. He never had to learn self control. That is, until Ozzie's.

Before Ozzie, Blitzø and Stolas are at obligation. Stolas's actions had tainted them. There was one redeemable moment: He saved Blitzø's life. Stolas did something for him. But this one act of goodness doesn't magically fix everything.

Stolas's family life have been escalating. Stella hated Stolas for cheating and his daughter just had to take it. In Loo Loo Land, he learns the full weight of the damage he caused. And in the next episode we see him, he proceeds to take no steps to improve the situation. In the end of that same episode, we learn that Stella hired an assasin after him. Because he did nothing.

The season 1 finale, Ozzie's, is aware of all of this and absolutely delivers.

The episode starts with seeing Stolas alone, in his big house, miserable. It appears that Stella finally left the house. (Also he later says "Octavia is with her mother this weekend"). He's eating a bowl of cereal, pitying himself, wallowing in his despair. You feel bad for him, he looks so torn down.

And then Blitzø calls. The one he loves, asks him on a serious date. It's hope, it's honest, and it's exactly what he wanted. It's almost as if the universe handed him is fairytale scenario.

Almost. Reality smacks him right in the face on that date. Asmodeus calls him out on losing everything he had. He had a family, a happy daughter, but gave it all up for an affair.

Blitzø calls him out on treating him like a pet, not earning any of that emotional connection he wants or even communicating it, just violating him, they have nothing.

The show held him accountable and called him out. While it's not perfect, Stolas is a morally grey character. Now, a character arc was set up where he learns to treat people better. Stolas is exactly the character I want to see from a show like Helluva Boss. He's a horrible person, but nuanced, who does care.

Season 2

Yeah... all of that is thrown out the window. Because apparently, Stolas is just imperfect. He simply made a lot of mistakes. He misread a lot of situations, really it's all just an accident. He's an oblivious victim. So, let's get into the woobification of Stolas.

Surrounded by Evil

In The Circus we're given Stolas's ✨️backstory✨️. And we find out he had such a terrible life.

Stella is, and always was, an abusive evil bitch. From the day she was born. Pure evil.

So you see, Stolas did nothing wrong. Let me be clear, you are not obligated to stay loyal to your abuser. We can erase "cheater" off the list. But that's the only reason why it's done. So we can erase that off the list, and that we could feel oh-so-sad for him.

Because Stella isn't written to be an abuser. She's a cartoonishly evil. We see a picture of her as a kid where she's the same person. Spongebob villians have more depth than her, you know, the abuser in the adult show.

Helluva Boss reversed an established dynamic where Stella is the victim and Stolas is at fault, except without any of the depth or nuance.

But that's not all. Stolas's dad (Paimon) is also neglectful. By "neglectful" I mean, of course, a Saturday-morning cartoon villain.

He doesn't remember his name. This is such bullshit. I can buy Stolas having a horrible father. It's also not bad to show Stolas's trauma. What is bad is that the subject matter is handled with less seriousness as the fish fight in Spring Broken. And Helluva Boss did write Crimson as a serious abuser, while the episode still had comedy, but not Paimon.

The reason why all of this is happening, is so we could feel bad for Stolas. They do zero of the work to earn a good story about abuse, but still go "Do you see how sad he is? Look at how they're treating this poor baby!!"

"Recontextualization"

In said ✨️backstory✨️, we also learn that Stolas and Blitzø are childhood friends. But also not really, they just hung out for one day. Where did this come from? How does this enrich the characters? I would tell you, but I don't know. However, what I'm sure of, is that it's done to make Stolas look less problematic.

DO YOU SEE HOW CUT THIS IS? He isn't just horny for that imp, he is special, it's absoultly pure! Don't worry, totally safe.

Later in the flashback, we see how Blitzø and Stolas reconnected after over 20 years. Apparently... Blitzø was the one who sexually manipulated Stolas, selling him that he wants him.

All Stolas did was just buying into Blitzø's narrative he was imposed on. It's a role he leaned into, because he thought Blitzø liked it. I.. WHAT???

If this horseshit is true, why did he make this weird r*pe deal with Blitzø? If Blitzø was the one who acted like he's interested at first, and he was sexually exploiting him, why did he lash out at Stolas in Ozzie's? Did it just hold no weight for Stolas? It went from "Don't pretend to have something when you've been harassing me this whole time" to "You misunderstood".

The Stolitz backstory makes no sense, it's cheap, and fixes nothing. No matter what the story is trying to sell, in season 1 Stolas knew what's happening enough to try to force it. And maybe Stolas wanted Blitzø because of a connection, but he still harassed, dehumanized and violated him.

Note: Stolas realizing "he imagined the relationship" is completely ignored one episode later in Seeing Stars. This is a huge deal, didn't he learn? Just further evidence that he's willing to violate the guy. (x)

Before this backstory, we had a story of a selfish man hurting the person he loves while explointing the broken system and the power that he has over him for his own selfish desires that he's forcing on him. Now, we have the same thing, but with fanfic tropes – and the story refuses to confront that.

Casteism is Brushed Off

Helluva Boss pretends that Stolas isn't racist, because he didn't want Blitzø for being an imp, but for being his fanfic trope childhood friend. Which fails to address the disgusting fetishism of Blitzø for being an imp, and he also continued to dehumanize his imp butler in Seeing Stars. He's still racist.

Imperfect Father

In The Circus, Stolas devivers this line: "The only reason I have endured your constant insults and cruelty, was for that girl to have a normal life".

Sounds impressive, he stayed all these years just for his daughter. But that's the thing – it sounds impressive. Every time their relationship is the focus, Stolas is being the scum of the earth. What I see here, is a person. A person who despite being willing to stay passive, acts on his his selfish wants, forgetting to look around him. Mind you, this fact is also being revealed one episode after Ozzie's.

But no, one episode later, in Seeing Stars – that was covered as a prime example of everything I just descriped – Loona says this:

Yeah. He's just a good father "trying" his "best" and makes some... "mistakes". The Circus did present Stolas as this, but Seeing Stars really solidified how his parenting will be handled moving forward. And I think it's comlete and utter dogshit.

Damsel in Distress

The title is a bit misleading. This section is mainly about Stolas's power being toned down. Both magical and in presentation.

In season 1, he was energetic and enthusiastic, while being able to set his foot down and intimidate when needed. He's still all of those things, but in some instances his characterization made my raise an eyebrow.

In Seeing Stars, he's being weirdly gentle with people kidnapping Blitzø and are later beatting him.

In Oops, he's excited to start negotiating with literal kidnappers. I have no idea why he's so nice.

(He did harass Blitzø again in Seeing Stars and bashed Striker, all of which isn't soft, but it's also the two moments where he should have shut up).

Further more, both of these conflict rely on Stolas not using his powers for some reason or another. Why didn't he just do whatever he did in Truth Seekers to track Fizz/Via?

About Via, I'm gonna have to call bullshit on the "My powers are limited on earth" nonsense because, for starters, kid Stolas is shown to remember the contents of his books and now he's been studying them for years. And two,

There is no excuse for Stolas to not use his powers and whenever the show says otherwise it's bullshitting its way out of it.

Even in Western Energy, before Stolas gets captured he was just aimlessly going in and out of his demon form. Why didn't he turn him into stone like he did in Loo Loo Land?

Stolas has been presented as weaker than he is. He's made to look more vulnerable, less "above it all". He was untouchable, and when he wasn't, it had a harder impact and made sense. Now, I almost forgot he's a powerful demon.

And his characterization is at the core of this issue. At times he's just so kind and gentle with people who should get smacked in their heads.

What about Ozzie's

The big clash, the one that called Stolas out on everything, the one that set him on a genuine path to grow, what about it? How is it addressed while the show tries to pretend he's a good person?

No, not the message Stolas is looking at, the ones in the background he just scrolled through.

I'm not breaking this down. I refuse. The only reason I put it here is to show how fast it goes. I'm not touching that.

Who is Stolas

Stolas is a moral scapegoat – "a character that is bad, but the book/movie/show portrays them as good". It's characterized by the story twisting itself to make one character look good.

Stolas didn't start out as one, but became one over one season premire and it just kept escalating from there.

Helluva Boss takes place in Hell. A horrible place filled with horrible people, the root of all evil. Stolas fits right in there. He was already problematic, awful, and fed into Helll's broken system. Why trying to cover up his faults? It's Hell, and it was great. But now, we're supposed to pretend he's just flawed.

With the show actively ignoring everything he did, what's left for him? What does he have to learn? How will he grow as a person? How will he improve? What's his character arc? It's nothing. Because everything that happens to him isn't his fault, and at times could just be solved with one conversation.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 12

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: I'm tryna rotate as much as possible.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Her name is Margot. She’s talkative but kind. She guides you through everything with patience. Tells you when to close your eyes and look up, how to hold your head, when to pucker your lips. She even explains exactly what she’s doing and why she’s doing it. Despite her demeanour, you still feel utterly stupid. Rather, you feel inadequate. 

Another woman shows up shortly after, as a brush traces the line of your cheek. She introduces herself as Darla, she has a whole rack of dresses lined up for you. Another inward cringe threatens to compress your lungs. 

As Darla presents you with options, you find it hard to breathe. It’s all so overwhelming, especially as a third woman, Erica, appears to do your hair, and a fourth, Nia, to tend to your nails. You could faint as you’re pushed, pulled, and prodded from all sides. 

“I like the red,” Margot suggests as you hem and haw.  

The dresses are all nice but you don’t even know what you’re picking it for. Honestly, none of them suit you. Too much skin for your liking. Not that that stays much; your comfort is jeans and baggy tees.  

Erika hums, “what about the teal, lovey? I do think you’d look marvelous with those cutouts.” 

“Yes, it is a pretty colour. You have the complexion for it,” Darla remarks. 

They’re all so nice but there’s something pitying in their voices. You feel like a child. You don’t belong here. You especially don’t belong with Bucky, apparently, he knows that too. Why else would he have these women plucking and picking at you? 

Margot finishes and brings you a mirror. As you see yourself, you blanch. It’s not bad. In fact, she’s done better than you could ever manage but you don’t look like yourself. You don’t feel like yourself. If he wants you to be someone else, you don’t think you can do that. 

You feel yourself shrinking. Your shoulders slump and you wilt, stuttering but unable to say a word. Margot touches your shoulder. 

“What is it? Hon, have I done something wrong?” 

“No, no,” you croak and bring your hands to your throat, “it’s nice. Really nice but... I need some air.” 

“Of course, Darl, Nia,” she shoos away the stylist pinning your hair, “let her up.” 

The women back off and the fourth watches you from the rack, still holding a sparkly black get-up. You search the room and swiftly head for the door. You let yourself into the hall, fanning yourself with your half-done acrylics. You’re happy at least they aren’t long. 

You pace back and forth, watching your feet pass over the pattern of the hotel carpet. You can run. You could just leave right now. The thought only makes your stomach hurt. No, you can’t. Not after he’s gone to all this trouble. You’d hate to seem ungrateful. 

You continue your incessant laps back and forth outside the door. You hear footfalls from around the corner and pause. You should go back in before someone sees you. You grab the handle. Shoot, it’s locked. You wiggle it as a shadow appears at the end of the hall. You gulp and peer down. 

It’s him. You lean on the door and face Bucky. He wears a dark blue jacket over a black shirt and black pants. There’s patterning sewn into his jacket, subtle spirals all around. His dark hair his combed back to the ends flip out behind his ears and his dark beard glints with silver strands, a patch more obvious on his chin. He’s strikingly handsome. So much so, you can’t understand why you’re there. 

His brows form a vee as he nears and he tilts his head, a tick in his cheek, “what’s going on, doll?” 

“Um, just... locked out,” you turn the handle again to emphasize your point. 

“No, what’s....” he looks at you and gestures up and down with his hand, “no, this won’t do.” 

You blink and pout. After all that and you’re not good enough. He raps on the door with his knuckles and there’s some scuffing from inside before Margot opens it. She steps back to let you in and greets Bucky by name. 

“This isn’t what I wanted,” he urges you ahead of him, his hand firmly around your arm, “it’s too much. She doesn’t need all this. I told you, just a little enhancement. I don’t want her looking like a Barbie.” 

“Sorry, sir, it’s... standard.” 

“Doll,” he stops you with him as he plants himself near the racks of dresses. The women watch him anxiously. “What do you think? The make up; you like it?” 

You peer around and stare at Margot. She worked so hard and it isn’t that it’s bad work. She made you look gorgeous but you just don’t like all the layers. You slant your mouth one way then the other. 

“Be honest,” he insists. 

“I... It’s pretty but a bit... heavy?” You eke out. 

“I agree,” he lets you go, “I appreciate the hard work, Marg, but I want to see her natural beauty shining. And these dresses...” he turns, “these aren’t right. I said light. I said... Mm, no. Doll, what’s your favourite colour?” 

He faces you as you stand in shock. You feel horrible that he’s reproaching them like this. They’ve done all this for you and he’s just going down a list of everything wrong. 

“Erm, purple, I guess but--” 

“Darla, get her something purple. Lavender? Lilac?” He looks at you for confirmation and you just nod. You won’t correct him. “Erica, finish her hair, something a bit less... stuffy. Margot, clean her face up. Nia, the nails are looking good.” He turns to you and takes you by the shoulders, “and you, all you gotta do is be your cute little self, alright?” 

You gulp and nod. You don’t know what to say. He saves you from a response as he brings his hand up under your chin. He leans in to kiss you and your cheeks flame at the awareness of your audience. He pulls back and caresses your cheek before parts completely. 

He checks his watch, “don’t got all night.” 

He marches off, leaving you dumbfounded. He’s like a hurricane, coming in and blowing everything out of sorts. You look around guiltily. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Margot assures with a smile, “come, let’s get you fixed up, dahling.” 

She beckons you over and sits you back down. You give your hand back to Nia to finish the manicure as Erica once more goes to work on your hair. You stare at the wall and let out a nervous sigh. 

“That’s cute,” Margot says, “the way he looks at you.” 

“Hm, yeah,” Erica agrees, “he definitely has the eyes for ya.” 

You close your eyes as Margot gently wipes away the make up with a cool cloth from a package. You shrug, trying not to move too much, “he’s nice. He... did all this. Just for me. I... I didn’t ask for it. I’m sorry he didn’t like it.” 

“No, baby,” Nia says, “this isn’t about us. It’s about you. What do you like?” 

You open your eyes again and frown. That’s a good question. You lower your gaze to your lap and exhale heavily. 

“I’m figuring it out,” you murmur, “I don’t... I don’t get out much.” 

“Oh, this must be so exciting for you,” Erica trills, “oh, how fun.” 

“I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time,” Nia adds, “don’t be nervous. Just enjoy yourself.” 

“Can’t be that hard,” Margot clucks, “on a handsome man’s arm, pretty as a bow,” she cleans her brushes as she talks, “it’ll be a great night. I’m thinking...” she peruses her chest of makeup, “natural tones. A dewy look. Natural, subtle.” 

“Okay, uh, yeah,” you agree, “that sounds nice.” 

“Hmmph,” Erica hums, “she’s a sweetie, isn’t she, ladies?” 

“Nicer than the last one,” Nia cackles. 

You stiffen and shift in the chair. You look at the nail tech then Margot as she compares a tube to your face and shakes her head. You push your lip against your teeth and let it flick out. 

“Last one?” You whisper. 

The women share a look and smile, “well, Mr. Barnes is notorious. Surely, you know.” 

“Oh,” you think of the headlines you scrolled through online, “well, yes, I know. I guess... I didn’t catch what you meant.” 

“Enjoy it. I’m sure you’ll get a few pretty baubles out of it,” Nia says, “and some memories to long for when you’re old like us.” 

“Old,” Margot scoffs, “speak for yourself.” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I know. I’m just... another girl.” 

“Oh, dahling,” Margot intones, “but he seems really fond of you, doesn’t he? Maybe he’ll keep ya around a bit longer, eh?” 

You just sit there. You knew better than to believe it was anything but the obvious but it’s still a hard pill to swallow. You stare blindly ahead as Margot remoisturizes your skin. 

“Didn’t mean to upset you,” Margot says. 

“I’m not, I just...” you swallow, “I’m nervous.” 

“Mm, nervous? Well, I think that’s what the bar is for. Erica, fetch some of that rose. She needs a glass, Stat.” 

Your mouth opens to protest but you think better of it. You’ve already caused them enough trouble. You thank them instead and try not to let your shame burn through. They know why you’re there and they’ve left no doubt in you of the same. 

“Make sure to pour me some too,” Margot chirps. 

🃏

You stop after one glass. It makes your inside bubbly and eases the tension just enough that you’re not jittering. You feel better but still not certain. 

The women confirm your fears. This isn’t going to last. It’s not like you didn’t expect as much but hearing it is all the more real. You’re going to have to come up with yet another lie to tell. This one will hurt the most because it will be at least halfway true; you’re still a loser. 

You’ll try to take their advice. You’ll enjoy this night; this once in a lifetime experience. You don’t think you’ll ever be in a casino again in your life. They’re not for you. All of this is just above you. It’s better suited to someone like your sister. You can’t help but wonder why it isn’t Roxie here. 

The clock ticks. Well, not truly. The digital numbers count down the minutes as you linger in the suite alone. The gaggle of women left only a few minutes ago but not without a promise that you’re happy. You are, at least with all they did for you. 

You approach the mirror, almost shying away from your own reflection. You look nice. You might even call yourself pretty. Your eyes look more brilliant with the subtle lining and the precisely coated lashes; not too heavy. And your lips, shiny but natural, your cheeks dewy with a hint of colour to them.  

And the dress. Lavender satin with crystals embedded in the fabric, lines of smaller ones interconnecting the larger stones. You turn and check your figure. You look grown up. It’s ridiculous to think but you do. The heels help, not too high but enough to define your legs. 

You turn and tear your gaze away from the mirror. You don’t want to be vain. Besides, you probably don’t look that good. You just look better than usual. The comparison is enough to skew your perception. 

As you teeter on the heels, waiting, for what, you don’t exactly know. You can surmise what it will all lead to. What he intends. You can’t deny it any longer. A man doesn’t do all this for altruistic mean and even you aren’t that pitiful. Well, you hope not. 

A knock at the door trips you up. Your heart lurches. You’re not ready. But it’s getting late and you know it’s inevitable. You can’t move or speak. You just stare towards the door. 

You hear it open. You blink a Bucky’s shadow appears on the carpet and he strides into your sight. Your eyes meet his and his blue irises sparkle as he sees you. He stops and put his hand to his chest. His forehead lines and he bites his lip. 

“Wow, doll,” he rasps breathily and slowly steps forward, “you look...” 

You press your hands to your sides and give a toothy expression, not quite a smile, not quite a grimace. Sweat speckles along your neck as his gaze bores into you. You’re even more self-conscious as he closes in. 

“I don’t know,” you murmur. 

“What don’t you know?” He asks as he reaches for you and takes your hand. He draws you near, “huh? Look at you, doll.” He purrs, “you look spectacular.” His other hand grazes down your side and he squeezes your hip as he holds you at arm’s length and ogles you, “mm, damn. You wanna know what I know?” 

You peer up at him from beneath your lashes, “what?” 

“That you are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. I’m a lucky man to have you walking the floor with me tonight,” he drops your hand and frames your other hip, drawing you to him, “I have half a mind to keep you up in this room.” 

You choke. Your lower lip trembles and you shake your head, “that’s nice but...” you look away. 

“But? You don’t believe me, doll? You think I’d lie?” He challenges. 

“N-no, I didn’t say—but--- before---” you sputter and put your hands on his forearms, “there were others and they were prettier.” 

“Doll, don’t worry about before. This is now. You aren’t them and I’m telling you, you are beautiful,” he trails his hand up and nudges your chin. You look at him again, your cheeks shaking as you try to smile. “Here.” 

He takes your hand, his eyes clinging to yours as he watches you. You can’t look away. Not this time. He leads your hand up his jacket and slips it beneath. He presses it to his chest. You feel the taut muscle beneath and something else. 

“You got my heart racing, doll,” he growls. “That ain’t a lie.” 

[enihk-writes]

[someone older]

pairing: older!multi-fandom men x gn!they/them!reader

reader is written to be in their early twenties, under twenty-five and fresh out of uni with their first degree and no corporate work experience.

summary: shorts about old men and a younger beau to-be

content warning: big age-gap relationships // superior-subordinate power imbalance // possible infantilization // some form of saviour-complex // (some unintentional) manipulation

characters: zhongli (genshin impact) // neuvilette (genshin impact) // jing yuan (honkai star rail) // tang gunak (return of the blossoming blade) // dokgo (return of the mad demon) // chongyue (arknights) // shamane (RE:1999) // hiromi higuruma (jujutsu kaisen) // ryū (gokurakugai)

author's note: my lovely oomfs i need yall to look away and pretend im doing okay,,, the demons and the little voices in my head have won and taken over..... i have to make that middle-aged man pregnant so so so so bad it's terminal... (head in hands)... OUGHHHHKKKGSHHH (coughs blood and straight up dies)..... looking at the list here i really have a type huh....

[PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION! I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY TRIGGERS CAUSED BEYOND THIS LINE]

ZHONGLI who had lived for long enough to have seen and experienced almost everything one could see, was still taken aback when he felt a familiar throb in his heart as he conversed with the new face of the artisan's alley. a fledgling who had just left their nest and was beginning to make their way into the world — your naivety much unlike your more seasoned neighbours who knew how to set the prices of their goods to gain the maximum profit. you were often tricked and scammed out of selling your wares at their proper price, too scared to stand your ground and disrespect your older customers. the former archon couldn't bear to see a budding talent, such as yourself, sell themselves short out of expected social courtesy. he often found himself buying your highest-priced works even if he had to empty his entire wallet. you were beyond grateful for his patronage, even offering a commission, free of charge. that's just how bad business was before he stepped in. oh you poor thing, now that he knows how easy it was to get you dancing in his palm, how could he let you meet better opportunities? he was your lifeline, the only way you were going to make it in this career you chose. and you better not forget that.

NEUVILETTE knew that he shouldn't be so enamoured with the new hire. really. a being who had been alive for as long as he falling in love with someone thousands of years their junior? he wanted to rip his hair out. the chief justice approached this predicament as he would with almost anything he deemed annoying — avoidance. sending you out on errands that kept you out of the office for the whole day, giving days off to everyone if there was nothing on the agenda, having you go sort out documents in the filing room, and a whole host of other things that made sure you and him wouldn't cross paths. once he had a clearer mind to sit down and think, he is immediately riddled with guilt. weren't his actions akin to that of a black company employer? you on the other hand, could not be happier to hit the jackpot. good pay, regular days off, responsibilities that didn't require you to rack your brain too much. this was everything an energy-saving adult like you could ever want. it must be nice to frolic around and stay blissfully unaware while your boss was in the middle of a mental breakdown alone in his office.

JING YUAN was a calculating man, despite the commonly held belief that he never really took things too seriously. he kept a rather consistent air of nonchalance so impenetrable that it annoyed you whenever you couldn't discern what was on his mind at that moment. your after-hours hobby these days was to drop by the community starchess club and play a few rounds with the people there. and who else was waiting there at your seat every day? your damned boss. the elders who were there swooned over the handsome general, remarking about how you and him made a great pair — much to your chagrin. the man would always send a blinding smile in your way as you got closer, even going so far as to help you settle down. the routine was always the same each night. you would play against him for at least five rounds consecutively, lose against him in almost every single match, play against the other club members, gather your things and go home for the day. the general would also coincidentally be done with his activities. he offered to walk you to your front door, you've learnt from the one time you refused that the general was unusually talented in pulling an extremely sad, pathetic, wet and kicked puppy face. unfortunately, you were too nice to reject him further. ah, but now that he knew of that weakness of yours, you'd better expect that he would be pulling the same trick again soon.

TANG GUNAK felt that he was far too geriatric to be feeling this way. especially when he had adult children of his own. the youngest of whom was only a few years older than you were. a talented person, emerging at the top of your class in the academy meant that the world was your oyster. so why had you decided to come down to sichuan and work as an aide in this family? the patriarch had no clue, and he certainly didn't know how to even bring up the question. at first, he had hoped that perhaps you and one of his children would be wed but as time passed, it became increasingly obvious you were not interested in them at all, rather you had set your sights on the patriarch himself. him? the widower? the poor man who had only felt the touch of his dead wife? he was very scandalised that the young aide of his house was so open about their attraction to him. however, it seemed nobody in the household was on his side. not even his own flesh and blood. though for all that forwardness, he never expected that you would be so hesitant and shy when you were alone with him. it was endearing how you became more diligent whenever that happened, how you would engross yourself in your work just to pretend he wasn't there with you. the next time he looked up from what he was doing, you were passed out on your desk. he moved over to carry you back to your quarters — it was deep into the night right now anyways, so nobody would see him with you in his arms. he tucked you into bed, leaving as quickly as he came. the glimpse of his own flushed face in the reflection of the window never left his mind the rest of that week.

DOKGO had agreed to follow his disciple to town only because said disciple was going to throw a tantrum in his courtyard and the older man was not in the mood to deal with the adult child. the master pretended to not be acquainted with his own disciple when the man began to flirt with the women passing by. he walked on and sat down at a vacant bench in front of a teahouse. his troublesome disciple eventually shook off the girls clinging onto him and joined his master at the table, a string of apologies falling out his mouth when he caught sight of the older man's disapproving glare. only when the younger man offered to pay did the old master's hardened expression fall softer — fine, he said with a grunt. the second headache of the day came in the shape of you, a wandering merchant, or so you said. you slipped in to sit next to the master after the disciple had graciously allowed you to. not like the older man could oppose when there weren't any empty seats in the vicinity. while the conversation was lively as you talked with the disciple about your travels, he could only focus solely on the callouses of your palms, something a merchant who says they are not a martial artist shouldn't have. you had noticed his scrutinising gaze, throwing him a quick grin as you continued the chat with his disciple. oh? he could only wonder what that was about. shame that his dull, blockheaded disciple had let that slip past him. the master wonders if he should up the training regime when they get back.

CHONGYUE was up and early, as he usually does, leading the daily morning exercise with the other operators. the doctor not being there was somewhat expected, but you going missing? that was a first. when the morning exercise was over, he headed up to your room to check on you, finding the door slightly ajar. cautiously, he walked into the dark room, you had a bag of junk near the entry, from the looks of it you were living off cup noodles and soda, again. no wonder you were now curled up in bed all sick. he might have to give you an earful later, but for now, he puts aside your laundry and took out the trash. he goes down to the canteen, ordering some warm chicken porridge and even stopping by the nurse's office to pick up whatever he thinks you might need. this time, you were now somewhat awake. grumbling and muttering complaints under your breath from the disturbance, he helped you sit up. you insisted on feeding yourself, but he would have none of it. you could only comply and open your mouth wide every time he brought the spoon to your lips. you finished the food and even took the medicine obediently, earning praise from the man himself. before he left, he rubbed some medicinal balm on your stomach, layering warm blankets and patted you back to sleep, reciting an abbot's chants as he did so. the nostalgic feeling was comforting. you should thank him when you got better — maybe he might be interested in a popular classic novel from your home country, or should you try your luck with the lacquer pots instead?

SHAMANE spotted a figure hunched over the running stream near his hut as he was out collecting the fresh water he would need for the day. when they didn't answer his calls, he walked over, not too worried about whether the figure was a dangerous critter or not. the snap of a twig had them spin their head in his direction — that's when he met your eyes. you both stared at the other, sizing each other up. when he decided that you were not a threat, he introduced himself with his signature smile. you did the same, albeit quieter, still a little peeved from seeing a large bearded man in the middle of nowhere. friendly as ever, he kept the conversation going. he talked about himself, he asked about you, and so on and so forth until you finally admitted to him that you had gotten lost in the mountains, also you had twisted your ankles. he pointed to his hut and asked if you wanted to rest in there until you got better, how could you say no? the month when you lived under the same roof as him passed by quickly, and soon enough it was time for you to go back down the mountain. when you both parted ways at the entrance of the village, there was an air of reluctance in saying goodbye. you promised to write to him, maybe even visit him. he only laughed you off, not expecting much to come out of that. though when he received his sister's letter not long after, he thought about taking you with him to his hometown. but ah, isn't visiting each other hometowns a thing expectant newlyweds do? well, he could always pretend he didn't know about these things, couldn't he?

HIGURUMA was pretty friendly with the tenants renting out the office space next door. all of whom were fresh design school graduates trying to start a business together. you were the one he's grown the most familiar with, the unofficial boss of the company and the one who was single-handedly juggling your own practice along with other administrative duties. he helped you where he could, the doors to his own law office always open to you — even in the wee hours of the night. you would sit cross-legged on the big swivel chair as both of you engrossed yourselves in your respective work with the boxes of takeout splayed all over his table. when it was late enough that you missed the last train, he drove you back to your apartment. and everytime you sat in the passenger seat, he would reach over to pull the seatbelt on for you. you could have done it yourself but how were you supposed to pass up the chance to have him come this close? enough to even catch a whiff of his cologne? the lawyer himself knew that you were capable enough to do something this simple, but he couldn't help but enjoy the way you tried not to look at him as he did this each time. the ride back was quiet and serene, your tired body sank into the plush of his car seats and soon you were knocked out cold. even when you were both already parked outside your residence, you still wouldn't rouse. he clicks the seatbelt off you, even going so far as to push the seat back so you were lying more comfortably. you've done this enough times where he has a blanket to cover you with as he waited for you to wake up. which you would, and feel so ashamed. he thinks about how cute you were babbling out your apologies and thanks, all while scrambling to pull yourself together and out his car. only to repeat this whole song and dance the very next night.

RYŪ was a bit of a recluse. never really leaving his room unless it was for a really good reason. which was rare, and by rare it was almost never. but a human had to eat, shit and get clean — which was where you came in. as the designated errand runner for the organisation, you were the one that ended up having to take care of that guy's day-to-day needs. you might have hated him at first, with how picky he was with his food, even the brand of his necessities had to be the exact right one. doesn't matter if the stock ran out, you had to go out there and haunt for a place that still has it or else he wouldn't even entertain your presence. the one good thing you had going about you was that you were adaptable, learned things quick and was light on your feet. if things went south, you always had a backup, and a backup for the backup, you get the idea. the man, mayhaps out of the other's insistence, but you liked to think that he had warmed up to you, started to initiate conversations. at some point whenever you brought him his meals, he would make you sit and watch him eat. at first, you didn't know what to talk about, but then you also started bringing your own lunchboxes to eat alongside him, and you talked his ear off about what you made that day. over time, you both fell into a routine and on days when he's kept you a little too long with him, you'd stay over and crash on his couch. and after more time had passed, he's already got some of your clothes together with his in the wardrobe. hell, he even bought a bigger sofa just so you could sleep better whenever you stayed over. give it more time and who knows, you might end up moving in completely, not that this old hack would mind too much.

[cuntdestroyer3000]

You can be the Boss

pairing: Negan Smith x afab!fem!reader

summary: You and your little brother find an uneasy home at the savior compound. Things aren’t too bad, besides the fact that their ruthless leader has his sights set on you. After showing him some attitude, he decides to show you who’s boss. 

word count: ~5.4K

warnings: mdni or I will tell ur mom. Swearing (mostly from Negan and my narration) Rough sex/smut, unprotected p in v wear condoms you whores, orgasm denial, degradation, pet names, consensual forced submission. Mild dubcon (power imbalance). Age gap, reader is in her late 20s, Negan is in his 40s?? Tbh imagine it however you want but he’s older than her. No use of Y/N 

CULTS ARE BAD 

~

You were over Negan’s bullshit, to put it simply. You had been all on your own with just your little brother when the saviors had found you and let you become a part of their community. You remembered thinking, foolishly, that you were safe, things were going to get better. Only for things to get even more complicated and dangerous. Maybe if you were with a different group, being led by a different man.

You remembered the day you met him too. You had been brought to the compound, clutching your brother’s arm and refusing to let go. You had been led to a room with a bed and everything, instructed to take showers and asked if you wanted anything to eat. You remembered the water falling through your hair, the fresh smell of the soap. Something you had taken for granted before now considered a luxury in this post-apocalyptic world. In your naivety you’d allowed yourself to let your guard down. Until you met him.

You knew immediately not to trust him. The way he looked at you made you uneasy. You were used to men looking at you that way, being a young woman in a lawless world you had grown accustomed to predatory behavior from the men you encountered. You’d learned to harden yourself, keep your guard up always. You weren’t scared to hurt a man if he got too close to you.

This was different though, Negan was the leader of the saviors. You couldn’t just kick him in the balls and move on with it. 

You were quickly put to work in the compound. It definitely wasn’t paradise, but at least you and your brother’s safety was ensured. Getting to sleep in an actual bed didn’t hurt either. The only problem was the man who ran everything. 

At best he was an arrogant piece of shit, at worst he was a fucking monster. You made sure, and lectured the hell out of your brother, to stay out of his way. 

He walked around the compound like it was his kingdom, swinging that damn bat around everywhere he went. You couldn’t help how alluring he was, despite his brutality. You couldn’t help being drawn in by his sauntering walk and deep voice, especially when he talked to you. It made you sick that there was a part of you that wanted him so bad, even after you’d witnessed the evil things he did. 

You tried to stay out of his way, but he made it difficult, always going out of his way to talk to you. Not only were you scared of him, you were scared of how he made you feel. So you pushed those feelings way down and kept your head down, doing your job and taking care of your brother. It had worked for the most part, but eventually you couldn’t avoid him anymore. 

-

One fateful day, Laura had been sick and she had asked you to fill in for her. You knew she worked a lot closer with Negan than you did, but you really liked Laura and didn’t want to let her down. You figured it’d be fine, just do the job and get out, right?

The whole time, you could feel his eyes boring into the back of your head when you worked. You had never worked this closely with him before. The air around him felt electrically charged and you tried to ignore how he was making you feel.

The whole time he made little comments towards you, trying to be endearing in his own twisted way. You tried to walk the line that you always did between humoring him and still acting uninterested. However, it was getting harder and harder the more he drew you in. 

When the job was finally done, he dismissed everyone. As you were walking away though, he called you back to him. You had turned around, trying to keep your expression neutral.

“C’mere” He beckoned you over with his leather gloved hand. You cautiously walked up to him, doing your best to ignore how your heartbeat quickened. 

“Who are you?” He asked, that familiar wolfish smile on his lips. Suddenly, irritation flooded through you. You were sick of his smugness, he was already in control of everything, controlled everything all of you did. He even made you guys kneel for him. It wasn’t fair that in exchange for basic safety you had to kiss his ass and stroke his ego. Your identity was all you had left, and he wanted to take that away from you now too. You knew it was stupid but there was this stubborn part of you that just refused to bend.

“Well?” He asked, starting to get impatient, “I asked you a fucking question.”

You sighed and tried your hardest not to roll your eyes.

“Oh I’m sorry, is there a problem?” He asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He was calm now, but the smallest things could set him off.

“No!” You said quickly, “Its just- come on Negan, you already know I’m loyal to you.”

His expression darkened and he stepped closer to you.

“So who are you?” He asked evenly, his tone warning you.

Your heart started to beat even faster as he got closer to you. There was some sort of tension between you two, you knew that for sure. Even though you didn’t work closely with him in the saviors community, he made sure to know who you were. He made excuses to be around you, to touch you. You weren’t stupid, you could see the way he looked at you.

To make things worse, that fucked up part of you really wanted him too. You hated yourself for it. He terrified you, and you liked it.

Suddenly you felt all the air knocked out of you as he grabbed you by the arms and shoved you into the wall. Lucille was still clutched in his right hand, inches away from your face. You’d taken much longer than he had liked to respond.

“You know, I am getting sick and tired of your fucking attitude.”

You opened your mouth to speak but couldn’t think straight with the feeling of his large hands clamped around your arms. All you could focus on was how close he was to you, how strong he was, keeping you pinned against the wall.

“Just cause I like you doesn’t mean you get a free pass to be a little brat.” He spat at you.

“I-I’m sorry.” You stuttered. His eyes burned into you and for a second you had no fucking idea what he was about to do. 

Then, he sighed and let go of you. You leaned against the wall and tried to catch your breath. He rubbed his hand over the stubble on his face as he paced around a little bit. 

“I just don’t know what it’s gonna take for you to take me seriously.”

“I do take you seriously.” You said, a little shocked. You had seen him brutally murder people in cold blood. You knew entirely what he was capable of.

“Mmmm no.” He shook his head, smiling coldly at you, “Cause yeah, you do what you're told and you do a good job of it.” He stepped closer to you again, crowding you up against the wall, “But I'm not sure you really know who's on top here. You see, I don't like the way you look at me sweetheart."

You looked up at him, trying to mask your feelings of fear and reluctant arousal.

“What’s it gonna take to get you to submit to me? Hmm?” He asked tauntingly and cupped your face in his hand, running his thumb over your cheekbone.

You couldn’t help the waves of arousal that spread through you, leaving you throbbing in your jeans. You subconsciously bit your lip as you looked at his lips. He had never gotten this close to you before, only leaving you light touches on your arm or lower back whenever he had the chance.

He examined your face before his eyes flitted down to where you were clenching your thighs, desperate for friction. He smirked,

“Ohh…you want me to fuck you don’t you?”

You gasped at his forwardness and stumbled to find the right words,

“Negan I-“

“No you want me to fuck you.” He repeated licking his lips, “You’re practically fucking begging for me.”

“Negan, no you don’t-“

He interrupted you again by grabbing your hair and pulling it back, you couldn’t help the loud moan that tore from your throat.

“There she is.” He murmured and slowly leaned in to kiss you. Hypnotized by his proximity and his touch, that twisted part of you that was drawn to Negan lit up and took over and you leaned in and crashed your lips into his.

He tightened his grip in your hair and you opened your mouth, allowing him to slip his tongue inside. You leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he put his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, still holding Lucille.

He groaned as he pulled away, still holding you.

“Goddamn you are incredible.” You whined and leaned into his hand that cupped your cheek, “But…I still gotta punish you”

“How?” You asked and you couldn’t help how small your voice was.

He stared down at you for a moment, a sly smile spreading across his face.

“I think you already know how.”

***

I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be doing this. What the fuck am I doing?

That was your thought process as you let Negan devour you, licking into your mouth and running his large hands all over your body, claiming you. You knew it was wrong but he felt so fucking good. You’d been traveling for so long, alone with your brother, so focused on taking care of him that you had never been able to enjoy something like this. A man who wanted you, wanted to take you apart, make you his. In this moment you realized how much you had been craving physical intimacy. You didn’t care who he was or what he did anymore, all you cared about was how alive he made you feel.

Suddenly he pulled away and stepped back a little. He licked his lips and smiled slowly.

“Strip for me.”

“W-what?”

“You fucking heard me. Strip.” He commanded.

The pulsing between your thighs grew stronger as you slowly pulled your shirt over your head. His dark eyes stayed trained on you as you unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them down. You stood in front of him in your underwear, feeling vulnerable already.

“Look at you, bein such a good girl for me already.” He smiled and walked closer to you again. He pulled you close to him and ran his hands down your back, squeezing your ass roughly as he inhaled, his face buried in your neck. You held on to his broad shoulders, your cheek pressed against the leather of his jacket.

You yelped as he landed a harsh slap to your ass.

“Mmm I like the sound of that.” He smirked and pulled away from you, grabbing your hair tightly again.

“Now what the fuck do I do with you?” He mused.

Anything you want. Your mind screamed as you bit your lip, fisting the fabric of his white t shirt. Your head was spinning with what he was gonna do to you. The endless possibilities. He could even hurt you if he wanted.

He reached behind you and unclasped your bra, letting it slide down your arms revealing your breasts to him.

“Holy shit.” he breathed as he looked down at you, “You’ve got some nice fuckin tits.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his compliment, blushing as you looked down at the floor.

“I mean it.” He sighed as he ran his hands up your torso. You looked at him through your eyelashes as he cupped them, running his fingers over your hardening nipples. You loved the way he looked at you, like he was hypnotized by you. You couldn’t help the soft moan that fell from your lips as you arched your back, letting your breasts fill his hands.

He leaned down, licking at your chest, running his tongue over one of your nipples and sucking it into his mouth. You moaned louder and pulled on his hair as his hands went down to your ass, lifting you up against him.

You ground your hips onto him and he laughed lowly against your chest. 

“You want it fuckin bad don’t you?” He moved to your other breast, biting your nipple gently, his hands firmly under your ass, supporting your weight. Everything about him was intoxicating, his mouth, his tongue, the way his beard felt on your bare chest, the leather under your fingertips, the way his belt dug into your clothed clit just right.

Moving his mouth off of your nipple he threw you down onto the bed.

“Hands and knees. Now.” He said to you, his deep voice sending shivers through you.

“What are you gonna do to me?” You asked, looking up at him.

He smiled slowly, coldly,

“I’m gonna take my time with you.” He shrugged off his jacket, revealing his tattooed biceps, “I’m gonna hurt you baby, but you’re gonna like it.” Your breath hitched at that as he pulled his shirt off and leaned over you.

“I’m gonna have you crying and begging for me to let you come. And then I’m gonna make it so that my name is the only fucking thing you remember.”

With that he kissed you roughly, sliding his tongue into your mouth unabashedly. You moaned against him, running your hands up and down his arms, trying to savor this moment as much as you could.

You couldn’t help but whimper as he pulled away and he laughed at you again, flipping you over onto your stomach and pulling your hips so that your ass was up in the air. Any caution you had previously was thrown to the wind, you were drunk on him.

He slowly pulled your panties down to your knees, leaving you bare for him.

“Fuck that’s a pretty fuckin pussy.” He murmured as he ran a finger through your glistening folds, “Damn, you’re so wet for me already, I haven’t even fucking touched you.”

Your body jolted and you moaned, hips searching for more release. He chuckled,

“Yeah…you’re gonna be cryin for me real soon.”

Without warning he landed a hard smack against your ass and you moaned and buried your face in the bed.

“You like that?” He taunted and spanked you again, harder this time. You whimpered and grabbed onto the sheets. You couldn’t believe you were letting him treat you like this. You’d only had sex a handful of times and none of them had been like the earth shattering experience you’d heard about.

This however was amazing. The pain on your ass was tingling, spreading across your thighs and your pussy, desperately squeezing around nothing.

He spanked you again, this time hard on your cunt and you moaned embarrassingly loud.

“Fuck you really like that don’t you?” He hit you again and again until you were screaming into bed. He grabbed your hair and yanked you up so you could see him, his eyes were wild with lust and power.

“Answer me.”

You nodded quickly, his grip on your hair burning your scalp.

“Yes.” You gasped, “Yes Negan I love it”

He hit you a few more times, marveling at the way your ass reddened for him. You whimpered and tried to squirm away from the overstimulation.

“You gonna cry?” He mocked.

“Negan please.” You whined, his cruelty only making you wetter, “It’s too much I can’t-“

“Well if it was all fun and nice it wouldn’t be a punishment now would it?”

He spanked you more and more until your ass and thighs burned. You’d lost count of how many times he’d hit you at this point. The satisfaction from before was starting to melt into severe pain and you started to get scared that he’d keep going and going and not listen to you.

He landed a final hard spank on your cunt and you wailed, burying your face in the mattress as he let go of your hair, tears springing from your eyes.

“Negan I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please!” You hiccuped. He sighed above you and ran his hand down your back.

“Alright baby.” He said, “Turn over for me.”

You didn’t dare wait to listen to him as you rolled over on your back, wincing when your sensitive skin hit the bedding. 

“Aw” He cooed at you mockingly, “You sore?” 

You blinked back tears and tried to pull yourself together but the dripping heat between your legs betrayed you. His brow furrowed as he looked down at you,

“There’s that look again.” He tsked and bent down over you, kissing and sucking on your neck. You moaned in pleasure and ran your hands up his back, pushing your breasts up against his bare chest. He slowly made his way down your chest, manhandling your breasts as he did. You opened your legs for him automatically, allowing him to fit between them as he kissed lower and lower, pulling your panties down the rest of the way.

He kissed over your lower stomach and hips and you giggled a little at the sensation.

He pretended to ignore it but he couldn’t help but smile into your skin. He was so enamored by your youth and beauty, your softness, the pretty little noises you made for him. He’d almost forgotten he was supposed punishing you. Almost.

The sight of him between your legs was heavenly, looking up at you with those dark hazel eyes, his salt and pepper beard scratching against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as he kissed them, getting closer and closer to your aching core. 

“Negan wait!” You stopped him right before he reached where he wanted, grabbing at his hair.

He slowly raised up from where his mouth was inches away from your pussy, his breath hitting you in the most delicious way.

“Yeah?” He asked, almost exasperatedly.

“I’ve um...” You started, feeling your face grow hot from embarrassment, “I’ve never had anyone...do that to me before.” 

“What? This?” He asked and ran his tongue between your lips, flicking your clit up and down. You gasped and your head fell back, hitting the bed. He continued making lazy circles on your clit with his tongue. It felt insane, unlike anything else you’d ever had. You whined as you felt yourself coming close to the edge already.

Negan continued his assault on your pussy until your legs were shaking over his shoulders, you were so close to coming when he pulled away. You whined at the loss and sat up, grabbing at him without even thinking.

“You’re not getting it that easily sweetheart.” He said as he rubbed your thighs, his beard glistening with your arousal. You gasped, the throbbing between your legs almost painful. You tried to close your legs but he held them open forcefully.

“Do it again.” You whimpered, “It feels so good Negan please.” His eyes darkened at the way you begged for him. His cock was impossibly hard in his jeans. He wanted to give it to you so bad but he couldn’t have you thinking you could mouth off the way you did and just get away with it.

“Well since you asked so nicely.” He leaned back down and spit harshly on your cunt. You fell back against the bed with a moan.

“Fuck yeah.” You moaned, gripping his hair and rolling your hips against his face. He laughed, the vibrations running through you, only making you feel better.

“Godamn,” he gasped, still so close to you, “Can’t believe I’m the first guy to taste this sweet pussy.”

He dipped his tongue into your hole, curling it, fucking up into you. You let out the most beautiful moan when he did that, full of desperation. It only fueled him further, he rubbed your clit quickly with his fingers as he licked and sucked on your walls. 

You gasped and cried, riding his tongue as he guided your hips with a vice grip. The pleasure was so intense, tears started to spring to your eyes. You could feel the pressure of your release building within you and you gripped Negan harder as you felt yourself approaching the edge. 

Suddenly, he pulled his tongue out of you, leaving you a moaning crying mess.

“Negan” You whined and fisted the sheets, tears beginning to spill down your face.

“Fuck.” He laughed, kissing up your cunt until he reached your clit before pulling away entirely, “She tastes so fucking good.”

His words had you in a tailspin. You forgot about everything: the terrible things you’ve had to do for your survival, all that you’ve lost, the horrific things you’ve seen Negan do. None of it mattered, all that mattered was how fucking good his tongue felt in your pussy. 

“Negan.” You gasped, sitting up and grabbing his shoulders, desperately, “Why aren’t you letting me come?”

He chuckled cruelly at your wrecked expression, tears streaming down your face from the two orgasms he’d already denied you.

“You know why sweetheart,” He murmured as he ran his thumb along your cheekbone, collecting some of the tears on your face with it, “I can’t let you come ‘till I’m sure you learned your lesson.” 

“Please.” You whined, “Give it to me please, I want it so bad.” You gasped and let one of your hands run down his body, cupping his hard length through his pants. Your eyes widened as you felt how big he was, meeting his smug expression as he watched your reaction. 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish baby.” 

You shook your head almost violently and, before you could stop yourself, you reached for his belt, pulling him closer to you and making him grunt.

“I want it.” You said, your lips brushing against his. You shocked yourself, you were usually strong and hid your true feelings but this man brought out something primal in you. You were still chasing those orgasms he’d ripped away from you. Your pussy throbbed painfully and you were willing to do anything to get that release.

“You got to taste me.” You slowly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. You slipped your hand under his waistband and found his cock, running your hand up and down his shaft.

 “You wanna suck my cock, sweetheart?” He murmured, looking down at you through hooded eyes.

You bit your lip and nodded, your eyes desperate as you looked at him through wet eyelashes.

“I’m gonna need you on your knees then.” He said lowly. 

You shakily got to the ground, your knees resting on the cold floor. He stood, looking down at you, satisfied with your obedience.

“Fuck you look real pretty like this.” He sighed, “Right where you fucking belong.”

You freed his cock from his pants and ran your hand up and down his shaft, feeling how painfully hard he was. He was thick and long with precum already leaking from his tip.

You couldn’t help but think how it was fitting that Negan’s dick would be just as sexy and intimidating as he was.

“You gonna suck my dick or what?” His voice was laced with amusement at you gawking at him.

“Sorry.” You mumbled and covered the plush tip of his cock with your lips, sucking softly as you eased yourself down his length.

“It’s ok baby.” He sighed, “I’ve got a nice dick, can’t blame you for staring.”

You rolled your eyes as you took more of him into your mouth. He was as egotistical as always but you couldn’t even blame him at this point. He had equipment worth bragging about.

You focused on him as you bobbed your head up and down rhythmically, stroking the length that couldn’t fit inside your mouth with your hand.

He threw his head back and rested his hands on the back of your head as you slipped his dick in and out of your mouth

“Fuck” he moaned lowly, “You love suckin cock don’t you.”

You hummed around his length as you enthusiastically bobbed your head up and down, hollowing out your cheeks to make the feeling more intense.

His hips jutted up and his cock slid further down your throat, gagging you.

“Yeah? You like that?” He began to move his hips more, fucking into your mouth, “You like choking on my fucking cock?”

You couldn’t even respond, you just made obscene noises as you gagged around him, letting him use you.

You reached an almost meditative state while your tongue ran along the veins of his cock. Choking every time the huge head of it hit the back of your throat. You just let go, let him have control. You didn’t think about anything else, all your senses were filled by him. It felt so good to just forget about everything, nothing mattered at this point except pleasing Negan.

-

Even though you were more than willing to swallow his cum, he insisted on stopping and pulling you up to the bed again. After pulling his pants all the way off, he had you straddling his lap, his dick running along the wet lips of your pussy.

“Come on,” he said huskily in your ear, his breath hitting your neck, “Tell me how badly you want it.”

“Want it so bad please.” You whined immediately, your pathetic desperation making him chuckle lowly.

“I’ll be good for you.” You looked up at him, your lips still puffy from when you’d sucked him off, your eyes red and hair messy.

Negan decided he really liked how you looked when you were drunk off his cock.

“Fuck me, please.” You bit your lip and batted your eyelashes just for good measure.

“Of course, sweetheart.” He murmured, cupping your face in his hand, “Just gotta ask you one question.”

You watched as his expression darkened and he moved the hand that was so lovingly holding your cheek down under your jaw. He started squeezing your neck, the sensation made your head spin.

“Who are you?”

You gasped as his long fingers dug into the soft skin of your neck. You relaxed back onto his bed, the feeling of him surrounding you.

Watching him through hooded, tear stained eyes, the lighting in the room softened. A glow of light surrounded him, making him look like some sort of god.

“I’m Negan.” You sighed, rocking your hips against his dick, loving the way he felt up against you.

“Good girl.” He whispered in your ear and filled you up in one thrust, making you gasp and dig your fingernails into his back.

“Oh my God.” It came out in a broken whine as he stretched you, impaling you on his cock.

He groaned lowly in your ear as he started to thrust in and out of you. “You’re fucking tight baby.”

You could only respond with moans as he started to fuck you faster, hitting deep inside of you. You held onto him for dear life as he fucked your brains out, holding onto your hips so hard you were sure there’d be bruises tomorrow.

You didn’t care, you loved how rough he was. You loved the urgency and power of his thrusts as he fucked deeper into you than you thought possible. You loved how his fingers felt digging into your ass, you needed more.

“Negan,” You managed in between moans, “H-hurt me. Please”

His eyes lit up and he put his hand around your throat again, making you clench around his cock.

“You like gettin’ hurt don’t you darlin’” he said softly against your temple, you could tell he was smiling.

He pulled out of you and flipped you over, slipping back into you easily.

“You really want it to hurt?” He started pounding into you impossibly hard, hitting your g spot over and over again.

“Oh my god-oh my god.” You moaned over and over again, reaching behind you to grab onto some part of him.

He pulled you up against his chest and wrapped a rough hand around your neck for the third time, fucking up into you at a punishing pace. He felt unbelievably good inside of you, you felt yourself hurtling to the edge quickly. Your legs started shaking as you got close.

“Negan.” You whined as he let you back down on the bed, “I’m-oh fuck.”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence because you were already coming.

“Good fucking girl.” He moaned as he pulled you back on his dick roughly, “Come on my fucking cock, just like that.”

You whimpered at his praise, you were so glad that he was satisfied with you. You’d taken your punishment so well. And now you were being so good for him, letting him fuck you as hard as he wanted.

His thrusts started to get sloppier and you could tell he was chasing his own orgasm. Your heart pounded with anticipation.

“You close baby?” You heard it tumble past your own lips. You surprised yourself, you’d always felt stupid when you tried to talk dirty but it felt natural with Negan.

“Fuck yeah.” He moaned, grabbing your ass.

“I want your cum so bad.” You moaned, feeling your pussy throb around him as you felt another orgasm building up in your stomach.

Your words only spurred him further, fucking you viciously as he sent you over the edge again. This time he let go with you, moaning loudly into your hair as he came deep inside of you. Your body shuddered as you felt the way his warm seed coated your walls, you’d never felt that before and it was amazing.

You sat there for a moment, him still inside of you. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your spine before slowly pulling out of you. You let yourself go limp against the mattress.

You laid there trying to catch your breath, unable to move, unable to talk, filled with his cum.

You looked up at him and he smiled at you, his tatted chest heaving. He leaned forward, over your body.

“Now that.” He whispered pointing at you, “Is the look I wanted see.”

-

He flopped down next to you on his bed, not bothering to clean his spend off of you. He sighed as he reached into the table next to him, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

He let out a little moan of satisfaction as he took a drag and blew the smoke out. The smell surrounded you and you were suddenly transported back to high school, back to when everything was normal.

Memories of you and your friends sneaking out of class to smoke cigarettes under the bleachers flooded your mind. It smelled like before, like safety. You quickly reached over to take the cigarette from him without even thinking.

He slapped your hand as your fingers brushed his wrist,

“Ah-use your fuckin manners.” He scolded you, but the corner of his mouth pulled up a little.

“Please?” You rested your head on his chest, batting your eyelashes up at him again. He smiled and brought the cigarette to your lips, letting you inhale some smoke.

Hesitantly, you snuggled further into his chest, tentatively wrapping an arm around his waist. He didn’t stop you, just put an arm around your shoulders and took another drag from his cigarette.

You sighed as you lay against him. Maybe it was the aftermath of your orgasms but for the first time in years you were feeling content and safe. You focused on the way his chest moved under you, the way his rough fingertips caressed your lips as he let you take another drag from his cigarette. Everything just stood still, and you felt okay.

You tried not to think about the gravity of the situation. You had done what you promised yourself you wouldn't, and it had been better than you ever could've imagined.

You knew it and he knew it: you were his now.

~

I knew it was wrong

I’m beyond it

I tried to be strong

But I lost it

A/N: hehehehe hope y’all liked this. sorry it ended up being so long I just kind of went with a length and flow that felt right. Negan’s just so hot I just needed to include everything sex-wise teehee. Also he needed to eat some pussy like…he’s a piece of shit so he has a lot to make up for. Ik there isn’t really aftercare besides him j letting her chill with him but who knowssss maybe I’ll write more Negan fluff in the future. I’m j obsessed w him and I wanna be his little whore HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA OK BYE

[whyawonderwhatudo]

Okay but THIS WHOLE SCENE BROKE US ALL.

I said this in my last post (that i posted like an hour ago but sue me i have brain rot) but Stolas was very clear and communicative in what he wanted and what he meant.

But Blitzø was right, he had this confessions sprung on him, he needed a moment (or like 20) to process what Stolas had just told him cause I'll say it again, what Stolas was saying wildly contradicted what Blitzø thought of himself and their relationship, of course he'd need time to properly take it in and process that.

But I've seen some people say that Stolas was expecting some kind of fairy tale romance, that if Blitzø did like him back, he'd tell Stolas after stolas said he wanted Blitzø to stay with him, so due to the very much in character miscommunication because of who they are, Stolas saw Blitzø's reaction as a rejection. He just walked away, and understandably this upsets Blitzø

He's just had his worldview flipped upside down from the guy that not too long ago, would openly call him his 'impish little plaything,' and when Stolas confesses his feelings, he barely gives Blitø a minute to just sit and think before saying goodbye.

And as someone else has pointed out in their own analysis, the power imbalance, despite all of Stolas' best efforts and footsteps in the right direction, is still there. Blitzø, although mad and upset and confused, wanted to talk to Stolas, near the end he was challenging stolas to talk to him, to answer his questions, angry albeit, but arms open. He *wanted* to talk.

But blitzø being blitzø and stolas being stolas, ofc stolas was hurt by everything blitzø had just said and literally whisked him out of his house! They could and should have kept talking, but we all felt stolas' Heart break as he said 'I think so highly of you Blitø. I didn't realise you thought so lowly of me'.

We can understand why stolas sent him away, both were so hurt in this conversation, but it shouldn't have ended like that.

Not to mention Blitzø was literally apologising before he was outside stolas' house in front of those steps.

This was so beautifully, gut-wrenchingly in character and if this episode broke my heart, I'm praying Apology Tour helps heal it

[sydnikov]

Fleeting || A. Svechnikov

Author: Sydney / @sydnikov

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov / fem!Reader

Word Count: 17.5k

Summary: Every moment with Andrei is fleeting.

Warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f and m receiving), cheating(?), toxic relationship, alcoholic consumption, angst, cursing, no happy ending, Andrei-is-a-dick™

A/N: For those of you who have already been following me, you might remember this post—that’s what this is based on :) This is also the longest fic I’ve ever written so that’s insane, but sorry not sorry. Get ready, this one’s gonna hurt 🤭

*Minors, you are responsible for your own media consumption. That being said, I will not block you for interacting with this fic or my blog, but always be aware of the content you choose to consume and the consequences it can have.

Andrei doesn’t love you.

It becomes clear for you months after you start fucking him on the side. His likeness for you is merely an obsession, something to have all to himself.

You’re his, or were his, and that’s how he saw you. Nothing more than that, or at least that’s the conclusion you’ve come to after months apart lets you reflect on your relationship with him.

Spending a lot of time in your head, you think. About him, his actions, why he couldn’t love you the way you love him.

He always held you close to him, one muscular arm curled around your waist while the other likely held a drink in his hand. He paraded you around like a prize, happy to show off the hot piece of meat he likely thought of you as at his side.

It was hard to reach him, literally and metaphorically. You had to stand up on your toes to reach his ear, and the power imbalance just by your height difference alone only made the whole thing hotter, merely one aspect of your relationship you never really could get over.

Every time you spoke it had him grinning in a way that made you think he knew something you didn’t. You’re already so shy, too, and it’s what made up your whole demeanor, what drew him to you in the first place.

He likes sweetness. Innocence, quiet—that way you couldn’t rebel. And he loved it when you doted on him. You did your best to be everything he wanted in a girl, too. Bold makeup, skimpy clothing, speaking only to him and him alone. Best of all, you didn’t question him. His actions, his decisions, why he’d sometimes go days without speaking to you but once he called you again, you would come running without hesitation.

It took you too long to realize that he only liked you because you were someone he could fall back on when the freedom of his escapades got too boring and he needed stability. The thing is that Andrei loved you being his, but he didn’t want to ever be yours.

And you know this now, you do. The moment you went no contact and left his apartment in tears, you were calling your best friend for support and to reinforce the fact that he is the asshole, not you.

Sometimes, though, you dream. Of his hands on you, his mouth on your neck, his thick cock pounding into you from behind. The toxicity of it all that, despite everything, felt so good because your emotions were always on overdrive when with him.

Mostly, you liked feeling desired. Nobody had ever pursued you the way he did, even if your body is all he really wanted from you to begin with.

It’s been months since you confessed your feelings for him and he told you to leave; months of you wallowing, going to work, meeting with friends for drinks as a shell of yourself because without Andrei, life suddenly seemed colorless.

You miss him. The excitement, the tension, the way he made you feel. And you pride yourself on being confident, but all self respect flies out the window the moment his name is brought up. It’s wrong, too, you swear you know this, and you imagine countless times telling him off, if you ever run into him again.

For treating you like a body to warm his dick, a soulless individual with no feeling… You’re reminded of the last conversation you had with him yet again, the one that ended everything. You’d been seeing each other for months when it occurred. Months full of Andrei and the rollercoaster of emotions he had you on.

To get to the end, though, you have to go back to the beginning.

It’s January of twenty twenty-three, and you’re freshly twenty-one and experiencing the world in a way you never could before. Riding the high of getting your first serious job in college, it took no convincing at all for you to let your best friend, Maria, convince you to go out on a Friday night to celebrate your blossoming lives.

“Who are we meeting there, again?” You ask, painting your lips a bright red in front of Maria’s full-body mirror. You’ve already started pregaming, and your head is starting to buzz in just the way you like it.

Your blonde friend is quickly curling her hair, despite the fact that she’s had hours to get ready and still procrastinated until you arrived at her apartment. “Some friends from work. You probably won’t know them,” She says offhandedly, finishing her hair in record timing before snatching up the two dresses she had previously laid out on her bed. “Should I wear this in black or red?”

Raising a brow, you question her wording. “Considering I don’t work with you, I doubt I would.” Laughing, you turn your head away from the mirror to examine the two dresses she’s holding up to her body. “Do the red one, it makes your eyes pop.”

Anything would look good on Maria, though. She has this timeless sort of beauty, a blonde, blue-eyed bombshell that has eyes turning her way wherever she goes. You’d be jealous if you didn’t mind her taking all the attention off of you, considering you’re nowhere near as bold as her.

It will especially come in handy tonight, too, since these co-workers of hers are ones you’ve never met before and you don’t exactly plan on getting too close to them.

“This is why I get ready with you,” Maria sighs happily, unceremoniously throwing the black dress back onto her bed. “Oh! I almost forgot, I have heels for you!” She’s then running back into her closet, ruffling through a box before emerging with a pair of bright red stilettos.

“What’s with the red theme tonight?” You giggle as she tosses the heels to you. They look expensive, a brand you don’t recognize written in cursive on the inside of the leather soles. Maria insisted you incorporate red into your outfit tonight, whether it be subtle or bold.

She eyes you from her position on the bed, somehow managing to zip up her dress one-handed. “You don’t watch sports by any chance, do you?”

Throwing back the last of a vodka shot, you wince before responding. “My dad made me watch baseball with him sometimes?”

Maria’s face lights up like she suddenly knows something you don’t. All she does is hum in response, biting her lip like she’s holding back from telling you something.

Or, you’re just drunk. You’ve always been a lightweight. “What?” You ask anyway, finally standing up as you adjust yourself.

The blonde walks over to you, fixes the creases in your little black dress and affixes you with an approving stare. “Don’t worry about it,” Suddenly, she’s whirling around to go back for her phone, which is laid faced down on the nightstand. “Ooh, I knew those heels were a good choice. You look so good!”

As she saunters back over, wraps an arm around your waist, pulls you into her side and poses for a picture, you forget all about the abrupt topic change and the fact that her red theme with questions of sports does mean something, after all.

Truthfully, you still can’t remember exactly how you got from her apartment and into a high-end bar you’ve only ever seen advertised online. Bits and pieces of an Uber ride along with downing more shots come to mind, but it’s all hazy.

You don’t really care to remember though, either, as Maria leads you through the crowded bar, arm linked through yours, with a purpose. The music is loud, so loud you think you can see the walls moving, but that’s also probably just your swimming vision.

“Here they are!” Maria is shouting over the noise, and you follow her gaze to a group of tall, imposing men surrounding two booths right by the bar.

“Those are you coworkers?” You ask, a little incredulous. Scratch that—very incredulous.

She sends you a mischievous grin. “I said friends, girl. Meet my friends!” That’s what gathers their attention, and you’re suddenly reminded that she’s just as tipsy as you right now, if not more.

Ah, fuck, you think as one of the men come over and pull Maria into a hug. He looks at you questioningly after they pull apart, and you send him a small, nervous smile.

Damn it, Maria.

“You must be the friend she mentioned,” He says, again looking to the blonde beside you for confirmation. “From college, yeah?”

That seems to snap Maria out of whatever stunned stupor she’d been in, and she tunes back into your conversation by, again, pulling you into her. “My best friend,” She swoons, and yeah. She’s definitely drunk now.

“Nice to meet you,” He’s chuckling, and seems to be familiar with her antics. “I’m Martin.”

You introduce yourself and shake his offered hand. “Any leftover shots, by any chance?” While taking the lead in conversation with people you’ve never met before might seem odd, you don’t think you can rely on Maria to socialize for you considering she’s already falling into your side.

“I can check, if you want to follow me—ah, shit,” Martin curses, suddenly, then quickly apologizes to the two of you before rushing over to a man with a mustache attempting to climb on top of a table.

“Interesting friends, Maria,” You say into her ear as you reluctantly follow him, keeping her close. “Who’s the one with the mustache?”

She seems to gain a little bit of her wits back to give you a description of all the guys within your eyesight. “The mustache is Seth, super friendly but also, uh… Super drunk. He’s Canadian.”

You’re not sure why you need to know his nationality, but she continues before you can ask.

“And you just met Martin, right? Yeah, he’s really nice. His girlfriend, Nykki, is gorgeous, they’re both from Czechia. Then there’s the really tall one, behind Seth? No, other side. Yeah, that’s Jesperi. A bit of a flirt even though we’re all pretty sure he has a girlfriend, but he still won’t admit it. He’s Finnish.”

Maria continues to describe a few of the others, but truthfully, you tune out after Jesperi because a man about the same height as the Finn is suddenly approaching the group, and looks to be the only one Seth listens to because that’s who gets him to crawl down from the table.

You don’t know why he catches your attention so suddenly, but something about him… He turns, and you’re able to catch a glimpse of his side profile.

Immediately, you come to find there’s no accurate word to describe him. His beauty simply transcends any compliment you could give; instead, you interrupt your friend from her spiel.

“Hey Mare, Mare—who’s that?” Slapping her arm, you point towards the now-laughing stranger. He’s looking around as he does so, which is when he makes contact with your starstruck eyes. He looks amused, then seems to recognize the blonde beside you, and then he’s cutting through the crowd to meet you.

Maria gives you a look before also spotting the approaching stranger, and a large smile lights up her face. It’s a smile you’re very familiar with, one that enraptures every man who catches a glimpse of her pearly whites.

You quickly come to the conclusion that this is why she was so eager to go out. She’s likely had her eye on him for a while, and you struggle to keep the disappointment from your face as she purrs his name.

“Hey, Andrei,” She says, a little giggly. “Great game today, you all played awesome.”

Andrei… You test the name silently, liking the way it feels on your tongue. He’s even taller up close, and you can see the muscle definition straining through the fabric of his shirt. He’s huge, and you feel incredibly small standing next to him.

“Thank you,” He replies, his voice deep. A little husky, definitely accented, but you’re not sure from where. “Who’s your friend?” He changes topic quickly, and those dark eyes are back on you once again.

Maria, as ditzy as she can be, does notice the subtle change in him. Andrei has never been overly flirty with her like she has with him, and she’d be an idiot not to notice the way his eyes were drawn to you the moment he spotted you.

She’s used to having all sorts of attention from the opposite sex, and the Russian hockey player is all sorts her type. It’s amusing though, watching how you melt under his gaze, thinks ‘me too’, and then decides to help you out.

“This is my friend from college,” She introduces you, says your name and watches as he takes it in like it’s very important information. Grabbing your hand from where it rests at your side, she holds it out to Andrei for you, snickers as you send her a glare. “And this is Andrei. He plays for the Carolina Hurricanes.”

This is why she asked you if you watch sports, you suddenly connect the dots. And why she was telling you where all these people are from. Her friends from work are actually sports players, and you understand why she didn’t say it outright.

These guys, they’re famous, right? Your stomach twists, and you suck in a breath as Andrei takes your hand. His palm envelops yours, and he brings it to his lips to press a heated kiss to your skin.

The greeting is outdated, but for whatever reason it suits him. You think the kiss is a promise, too, as his thumb swipes over the back of your hand.

“That’s hockey, right?” You intend to ask Maria, but you’re unable to take your eyes off of Andrei as he slowly lets go of you, like the contact is riveting for him, too. “In the NHL?”

“Yes,” He answers. “You don’t watch?” You’re not a fan like he’d expect. Strangely enough, he likes that you don’t follow them. It makes you all the more interesting, someone new to pick apart for his pleasure.

You flush, turning red under his unrelenting gaze. Suddenly, you feel out of place with your lackluster hockey knowledge. “Not a huge sports girl, unfortunately.” You say slowly, but he catches your quiet words anyway.

He’s already tuned into you—has made you into a new game to win, in his mind.

“I can fix that.” Andrei grins, and it’s almost predatory as he smoothly slides his left arm around your waist. “Do you mind if I steal her?” He directs his question to Maria, but doesn’t really give her a chance to answer before pulling you  away.

Turning your head, you find her sending you a grin as she mouths something encouraging, holding up two thumbs-ups. She’s already decided that if she can’t have this sexy Russian, she wants you to instead.

“I like your heels,” His deep voice is in your ear, suddenly, and you take your eyes off of Maria to look up at Andrei, instead. “They’re the color of our jerseys.”

“Thank you,” You breathe, letting the warmth from his compliment wash over you. “Maria made me wear them.”

He clicks his tongue, like this information doesn’t surprise him. “She has good taste. Red is definitely your color.”

You flush again, finding that his eyes are already on you when you tilt your head up. Nobody has ever told you that before… Maria is always the one getting praise, not you.

The fast beating of your heart, shaky limbs and nervous breath, and you already know you’re falling for it. His charm, his looks, his confidence; it’s addicting, and you can’t force yourself to stop as you ever so slightly lean into him, letting his body envelop you.

Before you know it, you’ve arrived at the bar, and Andrei orders a drink over the loud bass that reverberates in your ears. It appears moments later - not fair - and then he’s sliding it towards you. You meet his eyes again as he smiles, raising a brow at your silence before he gestures to take it.

“For you,” He says. “Vodka cranberry. I have a feeling you like the fruity drinks, no?”

He’s right, as much as you hate to admit it. You’re not one for sipping hard, bitter liquor, even if it gets the job done. You’re not sure how you feel about him being able to read you so well, but you do like not having to carry the conversation.

“Am I that transparent?” You grin, though it’s laced with insecurity as you take a sip. It’s good, and helps calm your nerves.

“You wear your heart on your sleeve, malyshka. It’s not a bad thing.”

You wouldn’t know it then, but he already began patronizing you the moment you met him. The Russian language is full of double-meanings, and malyshka, little one, is rather mocking. For him to know you so well already was a good thing for him, but for you? Not so much.

Andrei sees right through you, and he has from the very beginning.

“You’re not American, are you?” You change topic, suddenly, using the unfamiliar term he used as an excuse. “Your accent, it’s foreign.”

“Net—no, I’m not. Most of my teammates are out of country.” He replies. “I’m from Russia. Just here to play hockey.”

“Do you like it? Here in Raleigh?” You ask, a pitiful form of small talk to keep this sudden tension at bay.

“I do.” He replies. “I like it a whole lot more now that I’ve met you, though.” And then he’s smiling again, a grin rather feral as he looks at you like you’re his prey waiting to be devoured. He’s incredibly smooth as he puts his hands back on you, one sliding around the circumference of your waist while the other brings your hand holding the drink to his lips, taking a sip from the glass.

Your eyes go half-lidded at the motion, and Andrei knows he has you—hook, line, and sinker. He loves this game, but he thinks he likes you a little bit more than that, too.

Not that he’ll ever admit it.

“You just met me,” You blurt, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze.

Andrei, to his credit, takes your nervousness in stride. He finds it cute that he has that effect on you. “And I like you,” He counters, flashing a dazzling smile. “You’re cute. Small, like kisa.”

“Kisa?” You try out the unfamiliar word, your attempt at a Russian accent definitely not as sexy as his.

“Kitten,” He translates. “Will you purr for me?” It’s so disgustingly cheesy you can’t help but grimace, and Andrei laughs at the look on your face.

He steps closer, even more than he was before, and the way he looks down on you only makes the difference in height that much more noticeable. He’s so big… Normally you’d feel caged, but with him it feels safe, and that’s probably a red flag you won’t discover until much later.

You struggle finding something to say, but he beats you to it. “I’d like your number, if you’re willing to give it.” And he’s so smooth, so conniving with the way he asks it because he’s not demanding at all, letting you think you have all the power.

“Okay,” You breathe, eyes widening in awe as you don’t even have the chance to pull out your phone before he’s sliding his own into your hands. “You can add your contact.” He instructs, watching you type in your information.

It looks informal, your first and last name in his phone like you’re merely a coworker. You’ll blame it on you being tipsy later, but you add a smiley face at the end of your name, hoping it makes you stand out. You don’t know how many girls he has in his contacts but you’re not naive enough to think you’re the only one.

You lick your lips almost subconsciously as you hand Andrei his phone back, and he zeroes in on the motion. Suddenly, he has the urge to kiss you, and so he does just that. It catches you by surprise, but soon enough you’re melting into him as one large hand cradles your jaw, keeping you tilted up to him.

Andrei tastes like sin, like temptation and all things bad you were told to never get involved in as a kid. A forbidden fruit, perhaps, and there’s even hints of cranberry left on his tongue to cement that fact.

“Andrei…” You hum in surprise as he deepens the kiss, his lips soft and heavenly. It takes everything in you to pull back, to separate yourself from the addicting taste of him. “Wait, I don’t, um—”

You pause. Andrei looks confused, perhaps a little alarmed as his eyes flit over your face. “You don’t… Kiss anyone?”

“No! No,” You lower your voice, not wanting to attract any attention. “Of course I do. I just, I don’t hook up. For fun. Ever.”

He frowns, like he can’t fathom the idea that you don’t enjoy sex with no strings attached.

“Really,” he says, not quite a question. “You’re beautiful, though.” The charm comes back full force as his hand comes to brush away some of your hair that had fallen into your face. “Surely you have suitors, no?”

Your throat tightens, and suddenly your eyes are glassy as he looks at you with so much reassurance and affection. “Maria usually gets the ‘suitors’, not me.”

“I don’t believe that.” He responds immediately, and he looks so sure of himself as his head lowers, his eyes looking back and forth from yours to your lips, and you’re helpless to stop him as the hand moving your hair comes to rest on your cheek.

It’s all very convincing, the sudden care and adoration… You’ve never had a man treat you so delicate, like a prized possession, and you fall for it all too quickly.

“Let me take you out?” He soon asks, and there’s nothing you can really respond with other than yes.

Everything happens so quickly from here. Andrei becomes a centerpiece in your life, and you’re helpless to stop it as you fall for everything about him. You don’t truly become his ‘girlfriend’, but you are something more. Secret dates and midnight drives where no one can see you confirm that.

That’s why you think he’s finally turning serious about you when he shows up to your apartment at the beginning of March a few weeks before his playoffs start. He holds a large bouquet of roses, except your favorite flowers are gardenias because they remind you of your mom so your smile wobbles a little bit, but you let it slide for the romanticism of it all.

Andrei grins, the whites of his teeth blinding and he pulls you in and kisses the top of your head. He asks you if you’ll come to his playoff games, wear a WAG jacket and act as if what you are is official. You think you truly mean something to him after this, even though he never actually confirms it.

Suddenly you’re Andrei’s girl (but not really) and it becomes your entire identity. You essentially live with him as the playoffs come around, taking care of his apartment while he’s on the road. He talks of getting a dog over the summer, and you’re enthusiastic in your encouragement because you’ll have a friend to keep you company while he’s on the road.

His injury happens, though, and he’s out for good, at least for the rest of the season. You don’t know how to comfort him because your ‘relationship’ is so new, and it’s hard for you to understand why the anger at himself cuts so deep.

Ultimately, you fix the rough patch with sex. Lots and lots of sex. He works through his frustrations by taking you long, hard, and deep, mostly with him on top holding your throat while you take it like the good girl he tells you you are.

“‘Drei, your leg,” You remember saying to him one time as he slams you onto his bed, rolling directly on top of you. He doesn’t seem to hear you at first, too busy laying kisses to your neck.

“I don’t care.” He eventually responds, looking at you so darkly it leaves you shivering. He eats you out afterwards, and, well—you don’t have any more protests after that.

They win the first series against the New York Islanders in six games, and the moment the final goal is scored in overtime you’re jumping out of your seat along with the other WAG’s at one of their houses.

It’s exhilarating, rooting for something with every ounce of your being. You do it for Andrei - who still isn’t playing, but he was there watching - but mostly for yourself because you love the feeling of belonging to a community so close.

The second series ends sooner than the first, a five game victory over the New Jersey Devils, and this time you are at that final game. You sit with Andrei in a private booth at the top of PNC Arena, gripping his arm that also holds onto your thigh with the same amount of intensity.

The moment the final goal is scored - also in overtime - you’re hunching over your seat releasing a long breath. Andrei attempts to rise, then likely remembers his leg which forces him to grip the arms of his chair in strained acceptance.

“They did it,” You hear him whisper, like he can’t believe they actually came out of this series alive. “They did it.” He repeats himself, louder and more confident. You’re still folded over yourself, letting the anxiety drain out of you when he grabs your hand and tangles your fingers together.

“My kisa,” He says, waiting for you to turn your head so he can smile brilliantly at you. “We did it.”

“Not we,” And you grin back, because there’s nothing else for you to do but match his ecstasy. “You did it.”

“I didn’t even play,” Andrei is laughing, soaking in your praise like a sponge. “But I was here, wasn’t I?”

“You mean more to them than you’ll ever know.” More to me than you’ll ever know, you want to say, but hold back on that particular vulnerability.

After he finishes the team meeting in the locker room, you take him back to his house. He still hasn’t been given the all clear to drive, so you’ve taken up caretaker duties along with his mother.

You don’t think she likes you very much, either, but Andrei just says it takes a while for her to warm up to new people. Thankfully, she’s never around when you are though, because as you close the front door to his house he gives you a look equating to a meal he wants to devour.

Andrei seems to forget all about his knee, again, when he moves into you, pushing you back against the front door. “You drive me crazy.” He mumbles into your lips, and you don’t think you’re meant to respond as he moves to your neck.

You wore his jersey tonight, hoping it would bring the team good luck. You also happen to like how possessive he gets when he sees you in his clothes, especially wearing his name. It’s a little ridiculous, but you can’t lie and say you don’t love the attention.

Biting into your jugular, he tastes your rapidly beating heart before moving on, addicted to the sound of the moan that chokes its way out of your throat.

“I’m going to fuck you,” He breathes, massaging his hands into your waist as he pulls you away from the door. “And you’re going to love it, aren’t you? Because you’re such a good girl. My good girl.” His raspy voice leaves you holding back a whimper, and it’s hard to speak as he begins to sneak his hands under your jersey.

When you don’t respond because you’re too distracted by his hands, his damn hands, trailing up your ribs, he digs his fingers harshly into your skin. Your eyes snap open to find him almost glaring.

“Yes,” You think he wants to hear you say. “I’m yours.” You babble as his fingers let up, moving to cup your breasts over your bra as he pinches your nipples into hard points.

“That’s right,” He hums almost mockingly, hands now back to your waist as he pulls you after him to the path of his room. “No one else can make you feel like I do, yeah?”

This time he doesn’t expect a response as he pushes his door open, turning you around as you fall into his bed. Your head spins as the jersey you’re wearing rides up and Andrei quickly does the rest, slipping it off you with ease.

“Fuck,” You think he says, but you could care less as his bare hands are back on you, kneading the soft skin of your stomach and trailing back up the length of your torso. “No shirt underneath?”

“It was too hot outside,” You reply, breathless as you attempt to tug his suit and tie off, but that quickly proves to be more difficult. He tsks, thankfully deciding to aid you as he rids himself of his jacket. “You’re lucky that jersey is so thick.” He says, moreso to himself as he begins unbuttoning his slacks.

All that’s left is his undershirt and boxers, meanwhile you’re still left in your bra, jeans, and panties. Andrei must realize this too as he kicks his slacks off somewhere behind him. “Strip,” He commands, but you don’t need the reminder as you’re already one step ahead of him.

Your jeans and panties come off quickly, but it’s harder to remove your bra lying down. You eye the delicious specimen of a man above you, reaching out your hand for his own. “Help me?” You ask, biting your bottom lip before rolling onto your stomach.

Andrei mutters something behind you, but it’s clearly appraisal as the first thing his hands land on is your bare ass. He spends a few moments appreciating the view before his fingers trail up your back, unclipping your bra much quicker than you ever could have.

“You, kisa, are dangerous,” He teases, lowering himself to where his solid chest is pressing down on your back. He loves taking you from behind, tangling his hands in your hair while you’re left to his mercy.

He noses his way past your hair to reach your neck, lightly nipping the skin as you sigh, your head melting to the side so he can continue his ministrations.

“Andrei, please,” You hiss, the wetness between your thighs now too prominent to ignore. You wiggle your hips tantalizingly, hoping to catch his attention.

He grins into your neck, doesn’t respond as he presses a final kiss to your pulse point before pulling back, his right hand sweeping the rest of your hair to the side.

“You need me to touch you?” He asks, smoothing his left hand over your hip before slipping it to the inside of your thighs. His fingers find your clit, rubbing it ever so lightly to feel you flinch with sensitivity underneath him.

You tremble underneath him as he continues stroking you, and your hips jerk upward when two of his fingers slip past your walls and curl. He’s laughing as your ears ring, and already you’re so close to coming when his thumb rubs circles on your clit in time with the thrust of his hand.

Just like everything else about you, though, he knows; he knows and he pulls back before you even have the chance to swear because then the last layer of clothing between you is gone. His boxers are thrown somewhere behind him along with his undershirt, and now he wastes no time pulling your hips up, leaving your chest pressed into the bed.

So used to this familiar position, you look behind you in anticipation to find him stroking his cock, staring at your glistening pussy with barely contained arousal. You’re not sure what he’s waiting for, but then he’s sliding his free hand through your soaked lips to gather the wetness there, using it as lubricant.

“Shit,” He says, swearing more to himself before climbing atop you. It’s routine the way he grabs your hair, tangles it in his fingers while the other guides his swollen cock to your entrance. The bulbous head pushes into you with ease, finding no resistance as he sinks into you.

Andrei hisses, mutters something in Russian, then is lowering his head to press his lips to your ear. “Fuck, you’re tight. You just feel so good all the time, you know that, kisa?”

The only sound capable of coming out your mouth is a whimper as you bury your face into the sheets as his hips begin thrusting, hitting your sweet spot with bullseye accuracy each time.

The girth of him stretches you out deliciously, and it leaves your walls clenching and unclenching rhythmically in time with his movements. You mold to him like your body was made for him, like there’s no other way to exist without him taking you in such primal fashion.

Andrei’s head rests in the crook of your neck, murmuring indiscernible phrases while his hands trail up and down your body. His hips rut against your clit each time he thrusts forward, and if anything you get wetter at the thought of him fucking you so callously.

You feel like his most precious belonging sometimes, like an object. It can be disorienting when he talks to you like you’re a child, but when he fucks you it’s like that preciousness he views you with is amplified.

You flinch upward when his cock curves into you just right, and the way he coos into your ear to bring you back down only verifies that thought. He wants to take care of you, always—even if it demeans you.

Andrei suddenly rolls over onto his back, bringing you with him to where you’re the one on top with your back laying against his chest. He sits up, and now you’re in his lap, thighs spread to the side as he once again begins fucking into you.

Your mouth opens into a silent scream as your head rolls back onto his shoulder, the new angle forcing his cock into deeper lengths inside you, and it hurts but it hurts so good and why were you ever questioning how he treats you, again?

How has only one man ever been able to make you feel this good?

Euphoria floods your veins as his hands find purchase on your body, one taking your left tit and rolling your nipple between his fingers while the other sneaks down to the junction of your bodies and finds your clit, rubbing over it mercilessly.

When your stomach starts clenching and your lower spine tingles, Andrei is right back at your ear whispering encouragement. “That’s it, angel,” He praises. “That’s it. You want to come, yeah? Do it. I’ve got you.”

His name leaves your mouth as a breathless whine, and you struggle not to flinch away from his touch when it becomes too much but also not enough, and somehow he knows this and just holds you tighter.

When his cock hits you so deliciously good while his thumb swipes over your clit, you fall. You fall hard, the walls of your cunt seizing around him as ecstasy takes over your body. Sparks fly across your skin, stars filling the empty blackness behind your closed eyes and you think you’re sobbing Andrei’s name but you can’t be sure. The only thing you can be sure of is him; his cock inside you, his hands on your body, his voice in your ear, his teeth on your neck as he approaches his high.

Yours lasts for longer than normal because he doesn’t stop moving—if anything, he goes faster, because the sight and feeling of sending you into a spiral only triggers his own release.

By now you’re motionless, unable to even lift your head as it remains lying against his shoulder. Andrei’s thrusts are frenzied, more sloppy and less precise, until he’s throwing his own back with a long, pleasure-filled groan.

Eventually, he stills. His chest is rising and falling behind you rapidly, attempting to collect himself now that his mind is back in the present. You sigh, quietly yet happy, as his cock softens inside you but doesn’t move, his release slowly trickling down your conjoined bodies.

You suddenly remember that he didn’t lose a condom, but then you remind yourself that you’d stopped using condoms weeks before. You were already on birth control, and he assured you this was exclusive.

You were a fool to believe him.

Andrei soon moves, his hands taking to your hips as he gently lifts you off of him. “I know,” He says when you hiss with sensitivity. “I’ve got you, good girl…” He lays you on your back, and you don’t move from your position even as he leaves the room.

Your eyes soon flutter shut, and you curl to the side as the minutes go by with no sign of return. It’s not regret that fills your mind, no, but another emotion, something stronger than just satisfaction at getting such a pleasurable release.

You don’t dare to think of the world ‘love’, but maybe something similar to that is what you’re feeling?

It doesn’t help that just as you’re on the verge of falling asleep, Andrei comes back to your naked form while he’s now adorned in sweatpants. You merely hum as he sits on the edge of his bed next to you, one of his hands reaching out to trail up your arm. When he reaches your face he brushes away the hair stuck to your cheeks and forehead from cooling sweat, letting your skin breathe.

He says something, so quiet it’s impossible to hear over the sound of your thundering heart, and you don’t have the energy to ask as you finally succumb to exhaustion.

Andrei cleans you up after, dries the inside of your legs and slides one of his t-shirts over you. He tucks you under his sheets and pulls you into his arms, letting your hair tickle his cheeks.

The Eastern Conference Final arrives far quicker than any of you are prepared for, and games one and two against the Florida Panthers are full of anxious nail-biting and frustrated cursing when the puck hits the goal post.

Both games end in overtime losses, and the team has to play games three and four in enemy territory, down by two.

Andrei, understandably, isn’t taking it well. It's hard for the players on the ice, of course, but even harder when he has to sit at the sidelines, hidden in a booth at the top of the arena with you doing your best to comfort him.

“Why can’t they just fucking score?” You remember him hissing before the end of regulation in game two, not angry at his teammates but at the situation instead.

And himself, too, because he is the injured one. He is the one who tore his ACL making it so that he couldn’t play. It isn’t his fault, but it is at the same time and that’s what’s truly getting to him.

As the timer hit zero, he’d leaned back in his chair and grabbed your hand without thought, squeezing your fingers to the point of strangulation.

You let him, though, because at that point you’d let him do anything.

“I’m sorry.” You said, your eyes on him the entire time. It pained you to see him so miserable, and there was nothing you could do to make it better. “This isn’t your fault. It’s… Blame Bobrovsky, okay? He’s just too—”

You interrupted yourself, not wanting to say ‘good’ even if that’s true because you didn’t want to upset him with the implication that his teammates couldn’t be better.

Andrei, to give him credit, didn’t take offense. His eyes were on you the moment you started your ramble, and as you finally paused to gauge the look on his face you found amusement and unbridled affection in his gaze.

“Too good?” He finished your sentence, waiting for your meek nod of confirmation. Merely sighing, he only brought your intertwined fingers to his lips, pressing a kiss to the top of your hand. “You’re right, kisa. He is too good.”

You stay back in Raleigh while the team, including Andrei, takes flight to Sunrise, Florida. Most of the WAG’s stay back too, the majority already anticipating the result of this series.

Hours after the team’s flight, Maria calls you late on the eve of game three.

“Hey, Mare!” You answer, lowering the volume of whatever show is on the television to better hear her. “What’s up?”

“Hey, girl!” She chirps, and you can hear voices in the background so you assume she’s somewhere busy. “Just landed in Florida!”

“You flew to Florida?” You ask, choking slightly. “Since when?”

“Don’t you remember? I told you! The team needed extra people since we’re staying here for longer than a night.”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Is all you say because you don’t, in fact, remember, and suddenly feel really guilty about it. You haven’t actually spoken to Maria face-to-face in weeks, having been caught up in everything Andrei-related.

You haven’t talked to lots of people you were close to before Andrei came into the picture, now that you think about it. It’s a problem you’re sure to reflect on when you’re done talking to your friend.

“...bunch of us are going out tonight since the game isn’t until later tomorrow night, including a lot of the team.”

Maria’s voice tunes back in, and you shake yourself out of your thoughts to catch-up. “Really?” You inquire, now suddenly interested. “Is Andrei going with them?”

You could ask him yourself, sure, but you don’t really talk about that stuff, what he does or what you do in your free time. It always felt invasive to ask because you weren’t quite sure if you even had the right to, considering the nature of your relationship.

You doubt he thinks about what you do when you’re not with him, anyway, so you always just assume you can live in the moment with him and have that be good enough.

“Dunno,” She replies. “Can’t you ask him yourself? You’re seeing the man, after all.” You can hear the smirk in her voice at the last sentence.

“Um,” You stall, because no, you can’t just ask. “He just got off the plane, I don’t want to bother him.”

“Mhm,” Maria hums, and you can’t tell if she’s suspicious or not by her tone alone. “True. I’ll just text you if anything interesting happens, okay? Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” You can’t help but laugh at her sudden hastiness, and soon enough she’s hanging up the phone with the claim that the team bus is there to take her to the hotel.

As your call with Maria is in the early afternoon, you have a while to wait before all night life in Florida begins, so any updates will take time to roll in. You know this, and yet you can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.

Distracting yourself by shopping helps, as does meeting up with a few of the WAG’s for a late lunch. You’re able to put your anxiety in the back of your mind for the rest of the day, and as the sun sets you pull back up to Andrei’s house and let yourself in with the spare key given to you, mind at peace as you float around his living space in preparation for bed.

You almost considered his place your home now, rather than your actual apartment. You’ve been spending so much time here, with him and also alone as everything with him seems to be going so good… When you settle into his bed, wearing one of Andrei’s large t-shirts and boxers, you check your phone one last time for any updates.

There’s a few Instagram notifications, one or two emails from your university, only one message in the groupchat with the WAG’s, and a text from Andrei which is what you zero in on first.

Settled in the hotel now. Leg is hurting, so I’m going to bed early tonight. Text you tomorrow, okay?

There’s no silly emojis, no indication of any emotion in his text, and yet you read the message with a smile, insecurities officially gone. His teammates are going out tonight, not him, and you don’t have to worry about Maria texting you later because there would be nothing to update you on.

How could you have ever doubted him?

You fall asleep peacefully, unbeknownst to the fact that long after midnight, your phone begins blowing up with silent notifications from Maria. She does, in fact, send you updates of her night out, but not updates you’ll smile at when you wake up the next day.

Sunlight filtered through closed eyes is what has you slowly awakening to the world of consciousness, and you stretch your arms with a yawn before reaching for your phone first thing. It’s hot to the touch, and at first you attribute that to it being stuck under your pillow the entire night, but upon unlocking the screen you discover that that is not the case.

WTF did you and Andrei break up?????

He’s here with the rest of the guys and he’s highkey flirting with some randos???

I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were done w/ him!

You’re prettier than them btw. I snuck a few pics

Several more messages from Maria have taken over your inbox, those are just the first you see. It takes your brain a minute to catch-up, but when it finally does you’re sitting up with bated breath as you tap on one of the images she sent.

It’s definitely Andrei—you’d know his face anywhere. He is, in fact, surrounded by girls in the picture, his arm wrapped around the waist of a gorgeous blonde with a drink in his other hand, and it’s so reminiscent of the way he holds you at clubs that you know, you know immediately that this is what you meant to him all along.

The affectionate name-calling, gentle hand-holding and constant touching… You thought he looked back at you like you hung the moon, but now you’re realizing that maybe you were just projecting the reflection of your own starstruck eyes instead.

You sit up in bed, hand pressed to your forehead as a sudden headache rips through your brain. What the fuck are you supposed to do now? Remembering that you’re actually in this man’s house, in his clothes, too, has you jumping up like you’ve been burned, and you quickly exit the bedroom to collapse on the couch instead.

“Oh my god,” You whisper to yourself, in disbelief as you click through more of the images sent to you from last night. There’s no denying to yourself that he was with these women, all while supposedly having a significant other waiting for him at home.

There’s no one to witness the slow breakdown of your sanity, and you can’t even cry because you’re so in shock about what you’re seeing

Is this real? Are you real? Is this really happening?

It’s almost like a switch in your brain goes off, and very quickly you drop your phone. You take a deep breath, you bury your raging emotions, and you stand up from the couch to start your day.

You refuse to allow yourself to break down now. Not when you still haven’t spoken to him. At the very least you’ll wait until you have an explanation…

To confront him on your very strong feelings you’ve been doing your best to ignore until now, because they’re too real in the wake of this discovery to just vanish away like you’ve done before.

You need to know where you stand with him. Truly, because these pictures you can’t stop thinking about? It’s too much. You can’t pretend it doesn’t feel like thousands of little knives stabbing your heart repeatedly even if it all means nothing to him.

Everything goes back to normal. Everything is fine. You never saw those pictures, ignored Maria's continuing calls and acted as if your world wasn’t suddenly tilted on its axis.

Andrei doesn’t text you at all throughout the day, which can probably be attributed to preparation of game three, but all you can think about are the girls he might be texting.

Because he certainly isn’t texting you.

Game three results in a loss, a bad one, and it would pain you to see the reactions on their faces filtered through the television if you weren’t so numb.

He still doesn’t text you. Doesn’t call, either, and Maria eventually gives up on trying to reach you as game four approaches.

The impending doom of Andrei bares down on you like a vice, slowly strangling you in the screaming silence of his house you still remain in. Maybe this is something you should have seen coming because it isn’t the first time he’s gone radio silent, you just assumed he was busy—because that’s what he told you.

You’re starting to think that maybe you shouldn’t have listened.

You love him though, right? That’s why you believed him? That’s what you’re feeling right now, why it’s like you can barely breathe when you think of his smile or the way he’s betrayed you so?

The Panthers sweep the Hurricanes, a complete four-game victory that sends Andrei and the rest of the team licking their wounds all the way back to North Carolina. You don’t watch the fourth game with anyone but yourself and a bottle of wine while catching up on homework for one of your classes.

Becoming so close to Andrei meant you became close to the rest of his teammates too, to the point where you’d consider some of them your good friends, so seeing their faces broadcasted live after the final goal is devastating to see.

Not as devastating as the text you receive, though, in the midst of trying to figure out what to say to him the moment he steps foot inside his house.

I won’t be home tonight, heading straight out with some of the younger guys. I will see you tomorrow

Well. You can’t say you’re surprised. You’re willing to bet money he’s out sleeping with some random girl whose name he won’t remember the next day. Instead of letting the anxiety take over, anger takes its place instead.

And boy do you run with it because anger is so much better than feeling powerless. It simmers in your blood, a wildfire settling low in your stomach until you’re practically shaking while waiting for Andrei to walk through the front door the next day.

When he finally does, you’re so mad you’re numb. Your anger has turned you into a ghost, an attempt at protecting your fragile heart from more heartbreak likely to fall upon you the moment he tries to charm you back into his good graces.

Once he spots you sitting on the couch, he smiles in greeting. It’s soft, and you’d like to say affectionate, but you no longer can tell how deep his feelings run for you.

Clearly, not deep enough.

“Kisa,” He says. “How are you? I’m sorry I was out late.”

“It’s fine,” You respond tightly. Andrei doesn’t seem to notice, merely nods before walking past you to the kitchen. You follow him silently, trying to figure out how to phrase your next words.

You end up settling on a subtle approach. “I’m sorry about the games… I know it must’ve sucked having to watch.”

He scoffs immediately, mutters something you don’t catch but still doesn’t turn around to face you as he rummages through his fridge. “It definitely was not fun to sit there, no.” He replies.

“Is that why you didn’t come back last night? You were coping with the loss?” You’re hoping your strong reference to his late-night escapades will spark something in him, but alas you still seem to be wrong and all he does is cast you a furtive glance before going back to his business.

God, you were just going to have to wring this out of him, weren’t you?

“Andrei,” You start, taking a deep breath. He still doesn’t stir. “Andrei, I know.”

Finally, he stops. Pauses mid-motion of whatever he’s doing, and his shoulders seem to tense in preparation of your foreboding words.

“There’s other girls, right? It’s not just me?” Your voice is already wobbling, and you’re glad he’s still refusing to face you because your eyes are slowly filling with tears, the agony of these last few days catching up to you.

This is when Andrei finally turns around. He meets your eyes last after scanning up and down your body; the clothes you’re wearing that aren’t his, your nails digging into your hands, and finally the bright flush of your face as you struggle not to explode.

“What do you mean?” Is what he says, looking at you calculatingly.

“Don’t play dumb with me, ‘Drei,” You whisper, invisible wires constricting around your throat as you force yourself to continue speaking. “Maria told me. She saw you. And you lied to me.”

Andrei doesn’t speak. He just stares, fingers clenching and unclenching like he can’t decide if he should approach you or not. After what seems like hours of silent battle, he replies, starting out by saying your name like a warning. “She… Maria had no right to tell you that.”

“Because I’m not actually your girlfriend, right?” Your response is immediate, and it hurts him if the flinch on his face is anything to go by. “You don’t owe me anything. Not a title, responsibility. You never promised me any of that so sleeping with other girls is perfectly okay.”

Everything you’re saying is true but it’s all wrong the way you’re looking at each other. Tears are now openly streaming down your cheeks and Andrei hasn’t moved since the moment you opened your mouth.

“Nothing to say?” It’s defeated, your entire demeanor as your shoulders sag and you fight the urge to collapse. “Yeah. I—I wouldn’t know what to say either.”

“I’m sorry,” Andrei whispers, and he doesn’t fight you which makes it all the more devastating. Everything you’re saying is true and it’s still all so wrong but he isn’t fighting you and wow, you’re really about to lose him, aren’t you?

“I think the worst part of this for me is that I actually let myself fall in love with you.” It’s your last-ditch effort of getting something out of him, anything that proves this isn’t completely one-sided on your end.

Andrei looks gutted at that. But he steels his resolve, his eyes go cold and he clenches his jaw as you try, one last time, to reach him.

“Do you love me?”

He’s staring at the wall behind you. No words fall from the lips you’ve kissed a thousand times until they finally do, and this is when you come to the realization that you’re ruined. You won’t ever look at another man the same because Andrei will forever haunt you in everything that you are and what you do.

“No. I don’t.”

You don’t put up much of a fight after that. You wave your white flag and slip past him to grab the small bag you’d packed earlier in preparation.

Andrei doesn’t move from his spot in the kitchen once. His face is tight, eyes dark and anguished as you drop his spare key on the counter. You look at him one last time, will him to say something, anything, but he doesn’t.

He never does—so you leave and you don’t look back.

It hurts worse because there really wasn’t a fight. There was no screaming, breaking glass, hurling insults at each other; it was a quiet acceptance of the end of a relationship that had no chance of lasting.

That’s what gets you. Not just because it’s over, but because he doesn’t love you like you love him.

You can’t believe you let yourself fall for it.

When you finally make it back to your apartment it feels like walking into an alternate reality, especially after an agonizing drive back full of nothing but silence and your thoughts.

You’ve practically lived with Andrei the last few months so much that you’ve forgotten you had a life before him. Maria comes to your mind immediately at that thought, and you can’t think of anything else you need more right now than your best friend.

Her phone only rings twice before she picks up. She says your name warily, likely because she hasn’t heard a word from you in two days.

“Hey,” You whimper, and you hate that you can tell how broken you sound. “Um, you were right. About Andrei. I… Talked to him about it. We’re done.”

There’s silence on the other end for several moments. Then:

“Oh, babe, I’m so sorry. I’m coming over, and I’m bringing the fattest bottle of wine known to man, okay?”

You can’t help but laugh through your tears.

“Don’t respond, you can’t say no. I’ll see you in a few!”

And, well, you do nothing but let her hang up as you stare at your blank lock screen for a minute. Something possesses you to try and freshen up even though it’s just Maria, so you make your way to your bathroom.

Opening the door, your eyes land on your reflection in the mirror, your tear-stained eyes the same color red as the lipstick you wore the first time you met him. The same red of your heart, too, as you feel the shattering of it now more than ever.

It all goes back to him. Everything about you, your identity as ‘his girl’ reducing you to someone who doesn’t exist without him.

Fuck you, Andrei, you want to yell. Fuck you and fuck everything you put me through.

As you furiously rub your eyes, you realize you don’t know who you are anymore. You let yourself be molded into an unfamiliar version of yourself, into someone just for Andrei to want to keep around.

The tears start again, and you’re left sniffling in the suffocating silence of your bathroom. The only person who knew you, the you now, is gone.

And suddenly, you find yourself alone.

Well… Not totally alone. “Fuck him!” Maria shouts after she breaks into your apartment (she has your spare key) after you’d collapsed onto your couch and refused to open the door. “Seriously, fuck him. You’re way too good for him.”

“Weren’t you the one who convinced me to sleep with him in the first place?” Is your weak rebuttal, muffled and almost imperceptible as your head is burrowed in a pillow.

Your friend tsks, likely waving her arms around in that expressive way she does. “Yes, well. I never claimed to see the future. But now we know him for the piece of shit he is!”

Maria is your closest friend, yes, but you also know her to be someone who tells you what you want to hear. Right now, you’re feeling vengeful and angry, so she’s feeding into those emotions to make you feel better.

You know, in two months time or however long it takes you to process this, when you start missing him and tiptoe around the idea of calling him, she’ll support you then, too.

Which probably isn’t what you need, but, whatever. You’re just grateful you have someone on your side.

“I need…” You start, not quite sure how to phrase what you’re wanting. “I need to forget.”

“A one nightstand type of forget or get so drunk you pass out type of forget?”

You wrinkle your nose at the thought of sleeping with someone so soon. As much as you hate it, you don’t think you’ll ever stop craving Andrei’s body.

No man ever could make you feel that good…

“Get drunk,” You say, quirking a small smile at the whoop she lets out. “I can’t fuck someone right now. At least not yet.”

“Yeah,” The blonde agrees, sighing almost wistfully. “I’d feel the same if I knew what his dick felt like.”

“Maria!” You shriek, throwing a spare pillow as hard as you can her way. It misses, but does the job of lightening the mood and keeps you giggling the rest of the night.

She does her job in making you forget, though. Makes you put on one of your shortest dresses and gets you drink after drink until you’re hunched over a toilet in the back of some bar gagging your stomach out.

You wake up the next day with the worst hangover ever, but Maria is fairing the same and somehow you consider it worth it. Maybe you can live your life again without him.

You’ve done it before, right?

And really, it’s ridiculous when you let yourself think about how you’d only been seeing the man for five months and he completely managed to send your world careening in that timespan. So, you don’t let yourself think about it. Instead, you live.

For yourself, for your friends, for your heart that won’t ever be full but feels a little bit better every time you wake up each day without Andrei next to you.

You graduate university with your bachelor’s and get a job that’s even better than your last, and you make a really good group of friends at said-job without Maria’s help (though she’ll always be your best). The summer passes by with melancholy laughter and gentle healing, and while your first love always remains in the back of your mind, you think about him less.

So much less that you lose track of time, not even realizing that October of twenty twenty-three is here and the NHL season is starting back up. You haven’t spoken to any of the WAG’s since you broke it off with Andrei, assuming you would no longer be welcome in the ‘clique’ and preferring to separate yourself from a group associated with someone who brought you so much pain, so there haven’t been any reminders about the new season from them.

The memories of him are fleeting. They’ll come to you at random times, and now that you’ve lived in the past yet again, you can forget about the end where Andrei is a distant thought but every time his name is brought up it squeezes your heart so much you can’t breathe.

You’re doing better. Truly, you are. You’d stopped crying over him long ago, and you might have gone to class with swollen eyes and showed up to work despondent, but you’re working through it in your own way. Healing isn’t linear but you’re making progress slowly but surely.

One day, you wake up with a sudden determination to officially ‘get back out there’, per Maria’s words. There’s nothing spectacular about this day; it’s only mid-November, the weather in that awkward stage of autumn morphing into winter.

Maybe it’s because the night before you’d succumbed to the urge to search up the Hurricanes’ schedule, curious to when they’d be home and not.

It’s only a coincidence that they have a home game when you call your friends from work, asking if they’d like to go out after everyone gets off. It’s also a coincidence when you meet someone at said-bar you attend, and it’s absolutely insane how if you squint he kind of looks like Andrei.

Oh, but he’s so, so sweet… His name is Jack and he buys you and your friends drinks, keeps a respectful distance yet never strays far when you’re wrapped into another conversation. He asks for your number at the end of the night and you give it to him without hesitation, taking note of the way he creates your contact in his phone himself.

“You like cats?” He asks as he’s still typing away, and your breath catches in your throat because it’s a question that makes you think of the first night you met him. When you don’t respond, he gestures towards your keychain attached to the strap of your handbag.

“You have little kittens on your keychain. I think that’s what I’ll add to your name, yeah?” Jack laughs a little shyly, and it’s cute but you keep replaying kisa in your mind over and over in a Russian accent you never could quite imitate.

“Yeah, I do like cats,” You say, flushing at the sudden amusement in his eyes. “I like them a lot.”

Jack doesn’t waste any time texting you the next day, and the normalcy of it freaks you out a little. Where’s the anxiety? The stomach-dropping nerves that come with talking to someone new? The constant wondering if they like you or not?

It’s so safe and secure that it hurts, because it was never like that before.

Everyone in your life is so supportive, though, but that only makes it worse because they can see how good this man is for you, but why can’t you? You feel like pulling your hair out when he texts you good morning and goodnight and sick to your stomach when he shows up during your lunch break with flowers.

However, there’s no one is more enthusiastic about Jack's new presence in your life than Maria.

“He’s a dream guy, honestly,” She swoons, kicking her feet back on her ottoman. “You’re so lucky. I would kill for a guy I met at a bar to be so smitten with me he shows up to my job with flowers.”

You hum in agreement, unable to come up with something to say. “He… Yeah, it’s nice, I guess.”

The blonde eyes you from where you’re curled up on her couch, deliberately avoiding her stare as you mindlessly watch whatever is on the TV. “You guess? He’s perfect!”

“On paper,” You retort, huffing slightly in frustration at yourself because why can’t you see what everyone else sees? “I don’t really know him.”

“Yet. You don’t really know him yet.” She helpfully points out. “Why don’t you want to give him a chance?”

“I… I do. I am giving him a chance. Maybe I’m just not feeling it.”

“He’s not Andrei, babe.”

You fight the powerful urge to scoff. I know, you want to scream. I know. That’s the problem.

Jack is too perfect for you. You want the ups and downs, the electrifying chemistry, the undeniable connection you’ve felt with no one else before. You crave the feeling of those past five months, of being with someone who lit you up to your very core.

It’s been almost eight months and you still can’t get him out of your head.

You give Jack a rightful chance, though, like everyone in your life is begging you to. You can’t bring yourself to end it because there really is nothing wrong, it’s a perfect getting-to-know-you stage which checks off all the boxes. It’s just that you don’t want normal because normal is boring.

You want chaos. And Andrei is chaos personified.

Unbeknownst to you, Maria is still very good friends with a lot of the WAG’s and talks about you when they ask. They miss you, it turns out, but your friend never tells you this in fear of sending you into a depressive spiral that tends to happen when they’re brought up. They’re ecstatic to hear that your life seems to be going so well after the breakup, especially after seeing Andrei’s reaction to it all.

This is something Maria doesn’t tell you, either. She’s such a good friend, protecting your heart like that. Andrei did not come out of his house after you ended it the same person; he was a little darker, a little angrier, frustrated in a way that suggested nothing could be done to fix it.

It doesn’t help that he couldn’t take it out by playing hockey, because he wasn’t cleared to play until the end of October, a month into the regular season.

He never admits his sour mood is partly to blame you for. Not that it’s your fault—he’s the one who fucked up, not you.

Never you.

Maria knows all of this and still gives him the cold shoulder for his treatment of you. None of the girls were very happy after finding out while his teammates just gave him awkward pats on the back. It doesn’t stop him from finding out about you, though, and what you’re up to.

The WAG’s talk. They’re gossip machines, and while normally he hates them for it because he always has to watch what he says around them, this time he’s thankful because they tell their husbands and boyfriends everything.

He’s at Martin and his girlfriend, Nykki’s, apartment watching their cavapoo, Gigi, when he finds out you’re seeing someone new. They’re heatedly talking about something when they walk in and don’t see him on the floor cuddling Gigi, so he doesn’t interrupt.

“I mean, I’m not surprised, but wow. It certainly took her a while to move on, didn’t it?”

He hears a smack, assumes Nykki has hit him on the arm like she typically does when he pisses her off. “She loved him, of course it took time!”

“Ow!” He hisses, though it’s clearly in jest. “Well, yeah, but like… It’s been months. And it’s not like she’s in contact with any of us anymore to remind her of him.” Andrei notes the sourness in his teammate’s voice, feels his heart drop because he thinks he knows who they’re talking about, now.

“Still,” Nykki replies. “I was so sad after my first heartbreak. They take a while to heal from, especially when it’s not a clean ending. It’s no secret how Andrei treated her.” She’s frowning when she continues. “I wish I could give her a hug, but I get it. I wouldn’t want to see any of us, either.”

Martin sighs. “I get it, too. I sure do miss the wine she’d bring though. She had the best fucking taste, ever.”

“Of course you only miss her for her alcohol.”

Andrei decides to clear his throat at this moment. When he does so, Martin and Nykki whip their heads towards him on the floor, surprise and guilt decorating their faces when they see him holding Gigi rather dejectedly.

He starts by saying your name, even surprises himself when it comes out biting and, dare he say it… Jealous? “She’s seeing someone?”

Martin and Nykki share a glance. Gigi chooses this as the time to leap up from his lap and run towards her parents where Martin happily picks her up. “I’m going to go take her out. Thanks for watching, ‘Drei!” He quickly flees the apartment, and Nykki says something under her breath as she glares after him.

They both know Andrei isn’t letting this go.

“Do you remember Maria, her friend? Works in the Hurricanes’ marketing department?” She eventually says, joining him on the floor.

“The blonde one? Yes,” He replies, and even though there are many blondes working for the team he knows exactly who she’s talking about. She’s your best friend, after all, and he knows everything about you.

Like how he knows you will never get over him. Conceited? Yes, but he had (has) you wrapped around his finger.

“Well, she talks to a lot of us still, despite everything that happened. And she tells us things.” Nykki pauses, almost like she’s scared to go on.

“Things like?” Andrei inquires. “How she is doing? Who she is doing?”

She glares at him then, eyes narrowing into slits. “Not that you really have a right to know, but yes.”

His fingers dig into his palms and his jaw cramps with how much he’s trying to keep from exploding.

“So, she’s seeing some guy now?” He scoffs like the very idea is incredulous. As if whatever pathetic excuse of a man you’re talking to could ever compare to him.

“She has a right to move on, Andrei. You should too. You ruined her.”

That fact remains true, but he still has no desire to ever let you go as he deliberately ignores her advice, well-meaning as it is.

How ruined could you really be if you’re already with somebody else?

Unfortunately, it’s impossible to run into you because you avoid him like the plague. You know everywhere he and his teammates frequent so you stopped showing up long ago, and he’s pretty sure you keep a several hundred-foot radius between you and PNC Arena at all times. He doesn’t blame you, but it pisses him off to know he can’t easily find you.

Christmas passes, you spend it with Jack and Andrei spends it with his Russian teammates. The New Year arrives just as quickly, and as he locks lips with some random girl at the party he’s at he thinks of you. Wonders who you’re with, if you’re kissing that guy Nykki told him about.

You actually flew back home to spend it with your parents, giving Jack some weak excuse about how you weren’t able to see them over the holidays.

North Carolina winter is in full force as February of twenty twenty-four rolls around, and your life remains inexplicably boring while Andrei’s picks up. The Hurricanes are finally having a redemption arc after their awful first-half of the season, and thus are heading out to celebrate far more often than normal.

They’re more daring in where they choose to go, too, wanting to branch out of their norms, because why not?

This is really unfortunate for you. Horrifying, actually, because you’re out with your friends, Jack, and his friends too when the team comes strolling in. Eyes instantly shoot their way, aweing at the miniature celebrities in their own right for finally bringing a good professional sports team to NC.

The moment Andrei steps foot in the establishment you know. Your skin catches fire, your ears ring, and your heart thunders inside your chest because only man can set off your senses so powerfully.

You look away from Jack - who thankfully doesn’t notice, he’s sucked into a conversation with one of his friends - and find Andrei approaching the bar with Martin and Seth. He hasn’t noticed you yet and you try to keep that from happening as you sink down into your seat, flashing your friends an exaggerated smile when they eye you curiously.

You’re unable to hide for long, though, when a song bursts from the speakers and sends everyone into an excited frenzy, your group included as they crowd the dance.

Luckily you’re able to escape that particular rally and wave Jack off when he asks you if you’re okay. “I’m fine,” You shout over the bass rattling your eardrums. “Just letting my drink settle a bit.”

He doesn’t question you, merely nods and smiles before disappearing somewhere with his friends. Now, you’re alone, and you can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing because now you have a perfect view of Andrei and his teammates leaning against the bar, looking far too good as they do so.

You can’t keep your eyes off him. You never could, especially can’t now as you soak up every little change your eyes can see. He has a scruff now, a sexy five o’clock shadow that you know firsthand how it feels between your thighs. His hair is a little longer, too—you wonder if it’s still as soft as you remember.

Jack suddenly appears from a break in the crowd and oh, yeah, fuck you can’t be thinking about your ex like this, can you? No, you aren’t officially with Jack, but it’s still wrong. He likes you so much, you know this, and you… Don’t hate him?

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you bemoan to yourself, torn between the angel on your left and the devil on your right that don’t give you the chance to decide because you feel eyes baring into your skull, begging you to notice them. Your entire being freezes, stuck in between some weird limbo as you lock eyes with Andrei for the first time in months.

There’s no one else but you and him as neither one of you refuses to break first, and you only lose eye contact when a group of people walks between you. When they’re gone and you’re able to freely look again, you realize he’s gone from his spot at the bar. All his teammates are still there, and they’ve now spotted you too.

Would it be wrong to call an uber and just tell Jack you felt sick?

Your name is suddenly being whispered into your ear, and you would have flinched if the sound of his voice didn’t have you relaxing back into your seat. You refuse to look up at first, because if you look at him so close to you again you’ll fold.

“Andrei,” You greet, quietly. “How are you?” You still aren’t looking at him, choosing to swirl around the drink in your hand instead.

“I’m good,” He replies, so close you can feel the heat of his body seeping into your skin. You lean into it almost subconsciously until he’s sliding into the booth next to you, pressing the two of you together. “How are you, my kisa?”

“You don’t get to call me that anymore.” You retort, finally meeting his eyes to cast him a withering glare.

“No?” Andrei reaches a hand up to brush some stray hairs from your face. So delicate his touch, he trails his hand down your cheek, your neck, and down your waist until landing on your thigh. You don’t stop him, either.

“That’s funny. I could have sworn that you’re mine.”

“I’m not,” You squirm under his touch, unable to push him away. “I haven’t been in months. Wasn’t ever ‘yours’ to begin with. You made sure of that.”

Andrei doesn’t appreciate the call out. The way his face twists is mean and you know whatever he’s going to say will hurt. “Right,” He scoffs, is snide with the way he tones it. “But you’re his?”

He gestures towards Jack, who thankfully is enraptured in a tense game of pool on the other side of the room. You don’t question how he already knows that’s who you’re with.

“I’m not anyone’s, Andrei.”

“Yes you are. You might have thought that because we haven’t seen each other we are just over?” He leans into you, doesn’t let you break eye contact as he gets so close your noses touch. “No. I bet me being so close to you right now has you soaked, and you want to know how I know that?”

Your throat is tight as you swallow. You can’t look away as you move to shake your head, but strange, because it comes out as a nod instead.

“You’re not ‘over me’, malyshka. You’ll never be over me. You love me.”

His grin is feral, his words biting as they cut through you at such a vulnerable level it has you flinching back from his touch immediately.

“Oh, fuck you, Andrei,” You hiss, an angry sheen of tears starting to gloss over your eyes. “Fuck you. I don’t love you anymore—especially not now.”

You move to slip around him but his arm shoots out and stops you in your tracks, leaving you frozen as he stands to tower over you.

“Careful,” He murmurs. “Your boy over there might think something’s wrong. Maybe I should introduce myself, make sure he knows I would never dare hurt you.”

“You don’t have to touch me to hurt me. You did that plenty without having to lift a finger.” You retort. “Now, get out of my way. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“But what if I want to talk to you?” You really hate the height difference between the two of you right now because it takes no effort at all for him to slide a muscular arm around your waist and keep you glued to his side. “Maybe I have missed you.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” You mutter, but he ignores you as he begins to lead you away from the booth you were in before. “My friends will wonder where I am if I’m not at the booth when they get back.”

“Not worried about your boy?” He mocks, noting the way you don’t mention Jack at all. “They won’t have enough time to notice.”

You narrow your eyes at his insinuating words as he stops at the bar, waving down the bartender who comes immediately. “His name is Jack.” You mutter, thinking he can’t hear you. He continues talking, ignoring you, and you’re unable to hear him over the noise so you don’t bother trying to understand what he’s asking for.

Soon enough there’s a drink sliding across the bar counter and Andrei pushes it in front of you. You eye the glass, making note of the fact that the liquid is red. “Vodka cranberry,” He confirms what you’re already thinking.

You flash back to the night you first met and suddenly you want nothing to do with the drink in front of you. “No thanks, I don’t want it.” You say, trying to step away.

You don’t get far, though, because he’s grabbing your wrist and tugging you rather harshly back to him. “Drink it,” He demands, watches your eyes and the way they dart from his face and back to the glass nervously. He sighs, then, like he’s realized something and lets go of your wrist only to land back on your hip. “It’s… Nothing is wrong with it. I didn’t touch it.”

He thinks you’re worried about being drugged? You almost laugh but manage to hold it back, because of course he doesn’t remember that this is the first drink he ever got you.

Your heart beats a little faster as you concede, finally picking up the drink and taking a tiny sip. He waits for your reaction like he’s the one who made it. “It’s good,” You finally say, licking the sweetness from your lips.

Andrei watches you, your eyes, your lips, everything about as time seems to stop and it’s just you and him, like it’s supposed to be.

You haven’t changed all that much, and you can tell he likes that. Your hair is a little shorter, you’re perhaps a little thinner now that you’re not on a college student diet, but you’re still you.

Andrei hasn’t changed either. You’re the same yet so different, and it’s incredibly difficult resisting the temptation to fall back into old habits.

“I’ve missed you,” He admits quietly, and you think it’s sincere this time. You wouldn’t have heard if you weren’t standing so close together.

Your heart thunders in your chest. You might be sweating out of nerves, or maybe it’s just the club. Your hands itch to touch him, and with more alcohol in you thanks to the cranberry you don’t stop Andrei as he succumbs to his urges first and uses one, large hand to cup your cheek.

You shudder as he caresses the skin, his thumb landing on your bottom lip and stroking it lightly. “Andrei,” You breathe, pupils blown wide. “You can’t—we can’t…”

He tilts his head, reminiscent of a dog. “Why not? You are not single?” He has you. He knows you know he does. You aren’t nearly as committed to Jack as much as you’d like yourself to be.

“I can’t do that to him,” You try weakly, already feeling your will bending to the persuasiveness of his touch.

His head lowers, hand remaining on your cheek as he brushes your lips together. You crave it, you realize, and move to fully push your mouths together but he’s pulling back before you get the chance.

“Go to the bathroom.” He says. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Will you?” You ask, the double-meaning clear as you stare at each other, neither willing to break.

Andrei’s face is unreadable. You can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing as his hands land on your hips and he turns you around in the direction of the restrooms. “Go,” He taps your ass, nudging you forward. “I’ll be there.”

You give in this time. You’re aware of the astronomically bad decision you’re making as you cut the line, faking a sick stomach and whispering ‘sorry’ over and over again in your head as the nice ladies let you through.

When you close the door you immediately make your way to the mirror. Your reflection stares back at you, and with mussed hair and smudged lipstick you should be feeling ashamed.

All you feel is anticipation, though. For Andrei’s hands on your body, for his mouth to kiss all the spots he’s missed.

Several minutes go by and the knocks on the bathroom door become more frequent. You think he’s bailed on you - it certainly wouldn’t be the first time - but then you hear his voice outside.

“Da, yes, she’s in there,” A pause. “She’s my girlfriend, she needs me.”

Your breath catches in your throat, turning to face the door as he knocks and can hear his voice more clearly.

Yes, you do need him.

“Kisa,” He says, slightly muffled but you feel the effect he has on you is all the same. “I’m here. Let me in?” He’s almost begging, and you quickly unlock the door as he pushes through.

His smile is mischievous as he closes the door behind him. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” He purposefully raises his voice, shows faux concern and plays it up in case anyone is listening outside.

“You’re so dramatic,” You say, pulling him down to you by the collar of his shirt. Now that you’re alone you don’t bother pretending you don’t want him as much as you do. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

“Yes ma’am,” Andrei relents immediately, closing the distance between the two of you. Both his hands come up to the sides of your head to keep you in place, tilting you in whatever way he likes. His lips are just as soft as you remember, and your bodies move together like they were never apart.

He’s demanding as he begins pushing you back, crowding you against the tiny bathroom wall. His words from outside come back to you suddenly, and you break the kiss to catch a breath as his lips begin a trail across your cheeks. “Girlfriend?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “I had to get them to let me through somehow.” It’s not what you want to hear but you lose the urge to fight him on it as he reaches your neck and begins sucking little hickeys onto the sensitive skin. Your head falls back with a sigh, uncaring of your hair catching whatever germs might lie on the wall.

You let Andrei do what he wants to your neck for a few moments, then when the urge to taste his lips comes again you grab the back of his hair and pull him up to you. He goes willingly, and you moan into his mouth as he continues to push back against you so hard you can feel his dick through his jeans.

He pulls back much too soon for your taste, and you try to follow but suddenly one of the hands holding your head comes down to wrap around your throat, restricting your breath as he pushes you back. You go to speak, but his other hand is leaving your face to unbutton his jeans one-handed.

You watch, eyes heavy-lidded. “‘Drei?” The weight on your neck is comfortable, so you don’t bother moving as he shoves the rest of his jeans along with his boxers down his thick thighs.

“You want to talk to other guys?” He starts with a bite. “Then you can remember the taste of my cock in your mouth while you do it.”

Your blood pressure skyrockets as the hand on your throat leaves to pull your hair back out of your face, grasps it like a rope, and pushes you down to your knees.

You’re at eye-level with his cock as it bobs in front of you, angry and swollen with beads of pre-cum leaking from the tip. He stares down at you expectantly, has to hold back a groan at your wide-eyed gaze looking so innocent.

As your lips wrap around his tip he’s reminded of the fact that no, you are not innocent. He made you that way. Fucked you like no man ever could. Ruined you for everyone but him. His feelings for you are complicated, but he does understand one thing…

Andrei doesn’t want you, not really. But he hates to think about you with somebody else.

Your tongue is masterful in its work as it swirls around his head, and once you get comfortable you begin going down. His head falls back and this time he doesn’t hold back his noises as your warm, wet mouth envelopes him.

“Missed this mouth,” He grunts as you suck. “Like it much better when you can’t speak.”

It’s insulting and degrading, yet it doesn’t fail to turn you on as you squirm and rub your thighs together in hopes it’ll give you the friction you need.

His hand in your hair soon starts pulling, sliding your mouth forward and back in increasing motions as he gets closer. He’s unabashedly groaning now, and you can see his abs clench when you suck a certain way.

Suddenly, you have the urge to have him fall apart before you. Maybe it’s revenge, wanting to see him lose control for you like you’ve done for him so many times; you tilt your head, using your tongue to stroke the sensitive underside of his cock and that has him jerking into you.

“Fuck,” He hisses. “Good girl. Just like that.” The praise goes directly to your clit, and you whimper as it throbs with no relief.

Despite being apart for almost a year, you still know what every twitch of his body means. You know he’s close because the hand in your hair is gripping you tighter, you can feel the steadily increasing tempo of his heartbeat through his pulsing cock, and his thighs are ever so slightly trembling underneath your hands.

You want him to come in your mouth. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything more; your efforts increase and you dig your nails into his skin to hear him hiss and as his thrusts pick up he starts hitting the back of your throat.

Internally thanking your lacking gag reflex, you don’t flinch as he picks up speed, now blatantly using your mouth for his own pleasure with little regard for your comfort. “Shit, baby,” He blurts, desperate. “I’m gonna cum.” You hum in response, the vibrations of the sound finally throwing him over the edge.

Andrei throws his head back for a final time, one long groan emulating from his unfairly sculpted chest as his cum hits the back of your throat. You’ve always loved the taste of him and this time is no different as you suck him deeper, not wanting to waste a drop.

He takes a few moments to collect himself and in that timeframe your ears slowly stop ringing and you come back to reality, finding that your knees ache from being pressed into the floor and there are loud voices coming from outside the bathroom door.

As you move to stand, he too seems to remember where you’re at and uses both arms to pull you the rest of the way until you’re back to standing. You swipe your hair out of your face as his thumb comes to your lip, wiping away a stray drop of his release.

Despite the post-orgasmic clarity, he looks at you with softness and something else swimming in his dark eyes. “You’re still good at that,” He states. “Been sucking anyone else off?” His words are quiet but every bit threatening as you note the possessiveness in his tone.

“No,” You gasp as his thumb pushes its way into your mouth. “Just you. Only you,”

“That’s right,” He says. “Just me. Only me.” Then he’s spinning you around, fingers remaining pressed into your mouth while the other trails up your spine until he’s gripping the back of your neck. “Hear them outside?” He asks.

The ‘them’ he’s referring to, you realize, are the voices outside the bathroom. They’re much louder now, a few knocks mixed in, and you wonder with slight panic how a manager hasn’t come to unlock the door yet.

“They sound very angry, don’t they?” That same hand on the back of your neck strokes your skin, slowly working its way down to your waistband. “So we better make it quick. Hands on the wall, kisa,”

You know the moment he pulls down your pants he’ll find you to be unabashedly soaking. Despite claiming to be in a hurry, he takes his time working open the button of your jeans, grazing the skin above your panties before ever so slowly sliding them down your legs.

“Andrei,” You hiss, impatient. “Hurry up!” As the hand in your mouth retreats, you realize you’re both needy and nervous, an overwhelming combination.

He only laughs. “Someone is needy,” He mocks, holding your hips in place when you try wiggling against him. “Patience.” Leaning into your ear he murmurs this, staying this way as he fully slides your jeans past your knees.

Andrei sneaks his hand in between your thighs, something resembling a growl rumbling from his chest when his fingers find your dripping folds, feeling how you throb for him. “Missed this pussy even more,” He breathes, lubricating his fingers with your slick before slowly circling your clit. Your arms shake from where they hold you up and it’s a battle to keep yourself from collapsing.

“You are just made for me, aren’t you?”

You’re so wet you practically suck him in as he guides his dick to your entrance, and he wastes no preamble as he pushes in. If he thought your mouth was heaven after so much time apart, the feeling of your pussy squeezing him in so deep doesn’t even compare. His hands are digging into your hips as he ruts into you fully with one thrust, panting as your warmth contracts around him.

“Still so fucking tight,” He marvels like he can’t believe it, like it’s a dream you feel even better than when he replays the memories of you on repeat. “You been waiting for me?” He’s not expecting a response as his rhythm picks up, finding a familiar pace for the both of you that has him swearing under his breath and you struggling not to shout your pleasure to the rooftops.

“God,” You cry out when the head of his cock directly hits your g-spot, your hips jerking up so hard you would have fallen if it weren’t for Andrei holding you up. “Fuck, Andrei, fuck, I’m gonna—”

Andrei laughs, a sound that would have been more menacing if he also wasn’t gasping for air. “Already?” He mocks. “I barely touched you, baby,”

You don’t have to touch me, it’s on the tip of your tongue waiting to be blurted out. You don’t have to touch me for me to be on my knees for you. The words are ready, but instead all that comes out is a moan and maybe that’s for the best because he probably wouldn’t respond as well as he does in your dreams.

He’s unaware of your internal dilemma as he leans over you, pressing his clothed chest to your back. “Gotta be fast,” He reminds you, as if you’d forgotten. “You ready?”

“No, I—I can’t,” Because you don’t want this to be over. You don’t want to cum because he’ll follow you right after and then when clarity hits he’ll leave you again and you’ll be back to square one.

“Yes, you can” He croons. “I’ve got you. Not gonna let anything happen to you, I’m right here.” You want to sob as one of his hands leaves your hip and finds the junction of your bodies, gentle fingers prodding your pussy spread-wide around him until he finds your clit and rubs.

Your body is trembling and you can’t tell if you’re trying to move towards him or away, but it doesn’t matter anyways because he has you trapped between the wall and his body and the unrelenting pace of his hips slamming into you.

You have a sudden urge to look him in the eyes before you come undone by his cock and his fingers, so you crane your head to the side and watch him watch you. His hair is damp from sweat at the corners of his hairline, his lips slightly open as he pants and you think you spot him lick his lips when he catches you staring. You go to say something but he swoops down, catching your mouth with his own and promptly shuts you up.

Andrei doesn’t relent in his motions despite the uncomfortable position, not letting you break from his lips by removing his hand at your hip and gripping your face to keep you right here. He owns you, at this point, mind, body, and soul as your lungs beg for breath while your clit throbs beneath his fingers and oh, oh, there it is and you’re gone—

You feel the rough pads of his fingers bullying your clit but you don’t really focus on it until now, how the calloused ridges carelessly sweep over you with no semblance of relief and only when you body abruptly freezes does he part from you, but only slightly, leaving a hair’s width of space between your lips. “Beautiful,” He says, under his breath so quietly you don’t hear him as your bones catch fire and your brain short-circuits.

Heat sears you from the inside-out and you do nothing but endure as Andrei rocks you through it. There’s tears of ecstasy streaming down your face, you’re sure of it now, and you think he’s wiping them from your cheeks but you can’t open your eyes enough to check.

It takes a few minutes, but once your heart stops racing you can hear your favorite voice swearing behind you and only then do you comprehend him still moving inside you, but before you can whine at the sensitivity he’s stilling with a long, drawn-out groan.

You don’t dare speak first, nor are you the first to move. The air around you is stagnant with tension as you rest your head on your arms, breathing deeply to catch your breath. What does this mean? You’re spiraling already and it’s only been minutes since your desperate fuck in this bathroom.

Eventually, Andrei moves first. He slides his softened dick from you with a hiss and you feel his cum trickling out without him there to keep it plugged in. Wrinkling your nose at the feeling of having to walk around with wet inner thighs now, you slowly stand up as his hands fall from your body. You slide your panties and jeans back up the rest of your legs, ignoring the uncomfortable sensitivity of being covered once again.

Neither of you speaks a word. You want to cry suddenly, and this time not from pleasure. “What did we just do?” You manage to choke out, your voice so hoarse you have to clear it. He’s clearly planning on just leaving without a word but you’re not going to let him.

You stare at him expectantly. He’s turned around so all you have in your view is his slide profile, clearly struggling with what to say as his jaw clenches tightly.

“Nothing,” He finally says, and he might as well just fucking stab you in the back. “We did nothing. You’re going to go back out there and pretend nothing happened because it didn’t.”

Oh, he makes you so angry. You can’t believe you’d forgotten that. “You’re serious?” You know he is but you don’t want to believe it.

Andrei meets your glassy eyes and you wish you could read him like he so easily can read you. He looks as conflicted as the day you walked out of his house for the last time, like he has so many words to say but refuses to let them fall from his lips. Just like then, you know this rendezvous means more to him than just a meaningless hookup.

If only he’d admit it…

He exhales a shaky breath as another loud knock disturbs you. “We need to go.” He dodges your question just like he dodges every issue in his life, especially in regards to you. “Come on, kisa.”

“You can’t just call me that, after—after this,” You hiss as he grabs your arm and pulls you towards the door. You panic on the inside as he unlocks it because once you leave this dirty sanctuary you know your problems will only get worse.

Strange, how Andrei manages to make everything worse despite making you feel so good.

As if your emotions don’t matter to him (they really don’t), he flashes you a grin as he drags you behind him, past the angry horde of people who, now that you think about it, definitely know you were fucking. “I know you like it.” Spoken so simply, so plain, you hate that he’s right.

You’ll always like it. Always love him. For as long as you’re hung up over him it will always come back to bite you in the ass and he knows this too.

It’s why, without shame, his arm is curled possessively around your waist as he leads you through the crowd of people. Your friends, Jack, don’t even cross your mind as he does so.

“Go find your friends,” He soon leans down to whisper in your ear. “Then find Jack. Tell him you felt sick and had to use the bathroom.”

“What if I don’t want to?” You snap, purposefully antagonizing him.

Andrei merely raises a brow at you. “You can always stay with me, with my cum dripping down your legs, and explain to everyone how you missed me so much you couldn’t stay away.”

You want to hit him. You almost do, but he continues before you actually go through with it.

“I wonder what Jack would say?” Of course he was listening to you earlier. He ignored you then, of course, but he listened.

And yeah, okay, you get it. Not a good idea to let everyone you know see you with him. He doesn’t want his friends to see him with you, either.

“Trying to get rid of me?” You ask, intending to sound sarcastic but it comes off as more insecure than you wanted it to.

You know he is, but you can’t help but ask for confirmation. Maybe it would help you move on to hear how little he actually cares for you.

“I don’t think I could get rid of you if I tried,” He replies. You can’t tell if he’s serious or not. “You’ll never get rid of me though.”

He’s right, again. You hate so much that he is because you both know you’ll be crawling back the moment he calls.

You want to cry again as his arm leaves your waist, the absence of his heat leaving you shivering.

Andrei looks at you for a long time, just appraising. He tilts his head like he doesn’t know what to think, but then he spots something behind you and starts backing up.

“I will see you again someday, kisa.” He winks at you, and then he’s gone.

Someone behind you taps your shoulder while speaking into your ear, a voice you recognize as one of the girls you came with. You should probably focus, banish Andrei from your mind, but you don’t.

You strain your neck, watching for him through the crowd. He’s back at the bar with his friends, his teammates you once knew.

He’s laughing at something one of them said. Like he wasn’t just with you, fucking you against the bathroom walls.

“Are you okay?” Your friend behind you asks, the one thing from her you do catch.

“Yeah,” You say, swallowing despite the dryness in your throat. Andrei is talking to more people now, girls that have approached him, you notice. “I’m fine.”

He looks gorgeous under the lights. You catch his brilliant smile, the glimmer of his eyes, and those lips you can never get enough of. You soon lose sight of him amidst the throng of people, but his fleeting allure forever lingers...

Like a steadfast reminder, a haunting echo of what can never be.

A/N: Well, that was fun. I hurt my own feelings writing this but it was worth it. I hope you guys enjoyed! Please remember to reblog & comment!!

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[papasbaseball]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 5

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 3,064 of 13,013

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AO3 Link

Despite his promises, the ambassador – who I've come to know as Humak Tigelaar, a distant cousin of the Arjiki chieftain – never leaves the palace to explore the Emerald City. This is not the case for me. With good behavior at dinner and pleading my case over breakfast, the Wizard grants me permission to go to the children's home with an escort from one of the Royal Palace guards. The guard I've been provided with, Bruno, is not as tall as the Wizard, but well-built with broad shoulders and curls of brown hair that stick out from under his officer's cap. It is in fashion for most of the Royal Palace guards to have a mustache, but he is clean-shaven and seems to hold no regard for the way others look at him. He also has no interest in looking at me either, instead preferring to scan the crowd as we walk through the streets of the Emerald City. I try following his eyes, but find nothing more dangerous than some children playing stickball in an alleyway. I wonder if it was the Wizard who picked him out or Glafly, given the way he is taking all of this so seriously.

It could have been the Wizard, I think. I expected him to spend his time in the study connected to his bedroom, but after breakfast, he disappeared to the bottom levels of the palace. Maybe if today goes well, I could ask if I could follow him around while he does his magic and work for the day. It would certainly be more interesting than snooping around all of the gilded objects that I've seen and not getting a chance to even use a feather duster to help out my friends. If today goes well, I'll ask him tomorrow, I promise myself.

We reach the children's home and I palm the ribbon that I had stashed in my coat pocket as Bruno opens the well-worn door for me. The inside of the home is warm, with a fire roaring in the hearth that sits opposite the outdated reception desk. A unionist sister sits there, making notes in a ledger quickly before she lifts her head to see the cause of the chilled draft. A smile warms her face as she recognizes me.

"Are we here to see Fileah?" she asks.

"Yes, Sister Margaret," I nod. "I'm sorry that I couldn't have come earlier. I was-" I look to Bruno who is making very careful note of everything around the room as if memorizing it or checking it for traps. "-unavailable."

Sister Margaret looks at Bruno and then back to me. "Is this your... fiance? We don't have him on the approved list yet, I'm afraid."

My eyes go wide at the suggestion that straight-laced and unsociable Bruno is romantically involved with me. For all of his attentiveness, he seems to not have heard the ridiculous suggestion.

"No...No!" My words aren't coming to me as I try to find a way to politely explain that the Mighty and Powerful Wizard of Oz had decided to keep me as his... Plaything? Personal maid? Why was he keeping me? If I couldn't figure it out, how was I supposed to explain it to Sister Margaret? I settle for another lie, unhappy to add again to the total of untruths that I need to keep straight. "He's our cousin... from out of town. Just signed on to the force."

Sister Margaret squints to get a better look at him, maybe to see if there is any familial connection in a cheekbone or jawline. Satisfied, she pulls out an index card from one of her desk drawers and asks me for his information as she fills it in neatly. Bruno seems unfazed by this whole process, taking great note of the ornaments that hang from the boughs stuffed in a great wicker basket in the corner. He flicks a red glittery one, and I think he’s trying to find a way to turn it into a weapon.

Once "Cousin" Bruno is duly noted, Sister Margaret takes us to the dining room. The children are having lunch and it doesn't take long to spot Fileah. She's a wisp of an 8-year-old girl, all limbs with a scrawny neck and a nose that pokes out over her lips making her look like a rabbit. I wonder if I looked like her when I was her age, and decide that I didn't, not at least with our parents providing for us. Looking at the trays of the children I see that today's menu consists of salt and pepper potatoes cooked until they look more like clumps than potatoes, half of a hunk of bread that could have been used for a sandwich had their neighbor not had the other half, and a ball of meat that is gray from being boiled for too long.

Fileah looks up from her disappointing lunch when a small girl next to her tugs on her sleeve to point me out. I don't know how many visitors the other children get, but I had never seen someone visiting at the same time I had ever been there. It makes sense, in a way. Fileah and I are either lucky or unlucky, depending on how you look at it: lucky in the sense that I was old enough to declare my emancipation when our parents had died and I could bring her things from the outside, unlucky in that we were separated and I couldn't support her or let her live with me at the palace. Today, I feel as if we are lucky, as if things might be different soon. She smiles as I approach. I take a seat across from her at the dining table. Bruno makes an assessment of the dining hall, and seeing that the tallest possible threat comes only to his waist, sits down next to me.

"How's my favorite little rabbit?" I ask.

Fileah smiles at the old nickname. Even though she's only 8, I can't remember if I gave it to her or if our mother did when she was born. "You've been gone for a long time," she says.

Even though I had the entire walk from the palace to figure out what to say, I never came up with an answer. No doubt Bruno would be listening too and any oversharing of information would be reported straight back to Glafly and eventually the Wizard. Maybe the Wizard really could read minds as so many of the staff had wondered and he wouldn’t even need to wait to hear it from Glafly. Regardless, I keep my oath of secrecy about just how human he is that I promised when I went into his service, even if I didn’t work officially as a maid anymore. "The staff is having a restructuring," I settle on.

Fileah pushes a small lump of boiled potato around in some brown sauce, not looking me in the eyes. "I was worried that you forgot me." I can hear the hurt in her voice.

"I could never forget you!" I say. "As a matter of fact, I got you a present."

Her eyes are suddenly bright, wide, and looking at me, and I try my best to memorize every ounce of joy on her face. I fish out the ribbon before I can lose myself in the worry of when I might see her next. It's an emerald green with a golden brocade of peacocks. When I had gone back to my room last night, I finally got around to reading the note that had been left on the vanity.

Enjoy the ribbons - O

It took a bit of figuring out, but eventually, I was able to open the top of the vanity to see hundreds of different ribbons in all shades of green and gold, perched on display in a case like colorful macarons. Some I had pulled out and gasped, gawking over them as they had been inlaid with diamonds or sapphires. The entire vanity of them must have cost more than I would ever make in my lifetime, more than likely double. I had picked the one with the peacocks on it because I remembered how much she had liked seeing them at the zoo when I took her a few years back. She had loved them so much that she promised me one day she would grow up to come back and take care of them.

Fileah gasps, and she is hesitant to take the ribbon from my hands. "It's so pretty," she says.

"Do you want me to tie it in your hair?" I ask. I get up and go around to the other side of the table, pulling her two braids to the back of her head. Before I leave, I'll make sure to weave it into them so none of the kids can steal it, but for right now, I want everyone to see her and the beautiful peacocks fully on display.

"Is that your boyfriend?" Fileah asks as I'm looping the ribbon.

"Fileah!" I exclaim. I look around to see if Sister Margaret is anywhere near before I say anything. "This is Bruno. He's one of the palace guards. Our Wizard sent him with me." I finish tying the ribbon and take my place again at the other side of the dining table. “And as far as you know, he is our cousin.”

"I asked if he was your boyfriend," Fileah says. She gives him a good once over, staring him down as she skewers her overcooked potato. When he meets her eye, she says, "Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Animal or human?" he asks.

I kick Bruno under the table, trying to get both of them to stop the violent topic. My head is practically spinning as I look around to make sure that nobody else is listening to their conversation. It probably won't be of much use. There are two boys and a girl who are intently listening into the interrogation, lunches long forgotten.

"Umm," Fileah says, eyes cast upwards as if the correct answer was stored somewhere in her brain. "Can I ask both?"

The bloodthirsty curiosity brings a smile to his face and he laughs. He laughs. I can't believe that my scrawny rabbit of a sister has gotten Mr. No-Nonsense to laugh. "13 animals, 1 human," he says, "but I didn't 'kill' them."

Fileah's nose scrunches. "Well, they're dead right?"

"Yes," Bruno says.

"So you killed them," she says.

Bruno blinks and sighs. I know what he means. It's not like he planned their murder or anything, but Fileah doesn't know that. Fileah hasn't figured out that he's just doing his job and that it's rude to ask someone questions like that.

"Did you kill the Winkies that were at the gate?" the boy next to Fileah asks. Both Bruno and I are confused about that.

"Winkies?" he asks.

"Ms. Amrose said that's why the house has been so cold," the boy continues. "She said the Winkies came and took all of the firewood back."

"That's not what she said, you idiot," Fileah says.

"Fileah!”I exclaim. “We don't call people names. Say you're sorry." The rude ways of the other children are rubbing off on her, and I wish more than anything at this moment that I had the money and a place to take her out of the orphanage, but I don't. It's bad to speak ill of the dead, but I can't help but hate my father for taking out that stupid loan for his business and using the family house as collateral. I might have been able to scrape by and make mortgage payments on it, but once the bank repossessed it, I was forced to look for room and board and a wage all in one place.

"But it's true," Fileah protests. "Ms. Amrose didn't say anything about the Winkies coming to take the wood. She said her brother went down to the gates and they wouldn't let them have the wood."

"Well, it's still not nice," I say. The home is noticeably colder now that they’ve mentioned it. I hadn't realized because I had managed to finagle some warmer servant’s clothes out of Emily and found an emerald fur-lined coat and muff in the trunk at the end of my bed. I pull the fur tighter, trying to banish the confusing thoughts of my mismatched wardrobe and who put them together. Today is about Fileah.

"Do you know when we'll get our wood back?" Fileah asks me.

"I don't know," I say.

"Ms. Amrose's brother got hurt," she says. "She hasn't been here so much because she's staying at home taking care of him. I hope he gets better soon. She gives us sweets when the sisters aren't looking."

That piques my interest. "Did she say how he got hurt?"

Fileah doesn't answer that. Her only reply is the way she looks at Bruno. I hadn’t noticed, but Bruno himself has lost any sort of cheer he may have had from answering the children’s silly questions. I fear that I am certain of what happened to Ms. Amrose's brother, and certain that Bruno has had something to do with it.

"I think it's time to go," Bruno says. "I'm sure his Ozness will be missing you."

I smile, trying to feign ignorance. "Bruno, don't be silly, we just got here."

Fileah doesn't say anything, but she's still looking at Bruno. I wonder if she's afraid that he will hurt her too.

"Let's go," Bruno says. I don't fight him as he helps me up by my elbow, but do turn to him quickly before he can escort me out.

"I still need to redo her ribbon," I whisper.

"You can do that or you can help yourself and her by leaving," he says.

I bite my tongue, considering my choices, but there really aren't any, not at least when it comes to Fileah. I tell her goodbye and then promise her I'll be back before Lurlinemas as Bruno escorts me out of the dining hall.

"You'd really harm a child?" I ask as I sign us both out, thankful that Sister Margaret isn’t at her desk. He doesn't answer that.

When we get out on the front steps, he says, "Are you hungry?"

"I want to go back to the palace," I reply.

"There's a bakery just around the corner here," he says, pulling my elbow. Clearly, I'm not getting a say in this.

We pass shops filled with painted wooden toys, bright red and gold flowers, and all other trappings that ring out the presence of Lurlinemas. I consider asking Bruno to stop at the toy store, wanting to look for a proper present for my sister, or at least to have an eyewitness before he took me off to some back alley to kill me. Instead, I see our reflections in the window and am struck by the memory of being hauled off by the palace guard at the night market. At least Bruno hasn't got my hand bolted to my spine. Still, I get the sense that he wouldn't listen to any pleas for window shopping.

The bakery that he brings us to looks like someone had jammed it in between its taller bank and cobbler neighbors. It’s at least 10 feet shorter than them, and only about 10 feet wide brick to brick. It's painted a sickly green but makes up for the lack of curb appeal in the warm scents of yeast and saffron that waft from the front door to the cobblestones we're stepping off of. Inside, he orders us two saffron buns – the baker gives him them for free on some account of familiarity that I don't catch – and sets us down at the bistro table that's been shoved in the corner.

"Are you trying to take me on a date or something?" I ask. I’m shocked that I’m not dead yet, instead holding a sweet bun. The bun is so warm that if it weren't for my gloves, I'm sure it would be burning my hands. The yeasty and fragrant steam coming from it seems to be a warning.

"You need to tell your sister to forget what she heard," he says. He doesn't even bother pretending to eat his bun, the little white plate with the steaming treat on top sitting in the middle of the table.

"What? About Ms. Amrose's brother?" I ask.

"What happened at the gates... No one is supposed to know about that," he says lowly.

"Why are you telling me then?" I ask.

Bruno pulls the plate closer to him, and I think for a second he might actually want to eat the bun. "I’ve got family too. A little brother. I don't want her to get hurt or nothing," he says.

"Who would hurt Fileah?!" I say, trying to keep quiet despite my rising voice. "She's just a little girl."

"I've seen the Gale Force take people her age before. They were spies, but still..." He pushes the plate away again as if the subject has ruined his appetite.

"What happened at the gate?" I ask. I feel like I know, but still, I want to hear it from him.

"You'd do best to forget it," Bruno says. He pulls out his pocketwatch, checking the time.

"It was a riot, wasn't it?" I ask.

Bruno's eyes snap up to meet mine and the jade within them is burning. "She's just a girl! Don't go asking stupid questions that'll get you both killed." He strokes his non-existent mustache as if it would stop the harsh tone in his voice. "I'm risking my own job taking you here. If it were Leo... Just..." he pushes up from the cramped bistro table, the metal chair ringing out as it scrapes along the tile. "Come on. I'm supposed to have you back by two."

I go to stuff the saffron bun in my pocket, hoping to have it later, but he stops me, putting the bun back on the little white plate.

"Don't," he says. "Don't let anyone know you were here. Just make sure your sister stops, okay?"

And so we leave the bakery: the bakery that I don't know about and have never visited.

[bubblergoespop]

EA ramble so Spoilers hehehhe (it’s very long and half of it probably doesn’t make sense i’m sorry)

FIRST OF ALL the start of the audio oh em gee he’s such a horny bastard i love it. i need to stop saying that um anyway. tbh i wasn’t even caught off guard that much bc that’s just the kind of thing i expected from a porter audio.

THE SAM CALLL AAWHHH porter’s genuine shock at sam, vincent and lovely leaving the house hurts me because he can’t seem to fathom having the kind of freedom and lack of obligation to make that choice AGH and i love his attitude he’s so silly.

“i am busy with someone very important to me.” kill me now please i can’t take this anymore. this whole audio’s focus was the fact that porter and treasure don’t know each other that well but despite that, porter cares too much about treasure to just up and leave them even at the mention of his house falling apart. it’s crazy how much he cares for treasure already and I LOVE IT wow sure do hope nothing bad happens to this weak defenceless unempowered human….

speaking of unempowered, i LOVE that porter addressed the power imbalance and how that was affecting treasure’s responses to him. i know treasure seemed to be stubborn, straightforward and upfront in porter’s sleep aid audio but i have a feeling that after porter denied “talking” so adamantly, treasure didn’t want to keep pushing him. not just out of care but also a slight hint of fear. not only are they unempowered but they were also completely uninformed before porter and i’m sure they still know little to nothing about the magical world. i can’t blame them for being hesitant to push a vampire, whose abilities they don’t really know the full extent of. saying that, they do still obviously care for porter and i’m so so glad that porter addressed this to ensure that treasure’s fear of giving the “wrong answer” doesn’t hurt their relationship with him.

and on the topic of their relationship, porter’s soft “do we?” after talking about the possibility of wanting to make their relationship long-term and more in depth AAAAAHHHH he’s so cute. and him acknowledging that it’s been a while since he’s had the desire or even the time to get to know someone outside of the solaire house hurts my heart so much. the fact that even after he was “freed” of his maker, he still was too absorbed by the need to appease william that he didn’t have time to live his own life outside of that is so painful to think about and i love it. also he’s just cute when he’s unsure heheh.

ngl i thought porter mentioning treasure’s surname would lead to him revealing his own true surname. but that’s mostly just me being hopeful because it’s still quite soon in his and treasure’s relationship. he doesn’t even know treasure’s surname so i doubt he’s in any place to just drop something so personal, maybe even something that brings up such emotional memories considering even his life before turning wasn’t the best.

porter’s little darling’s hehehe erik loves that term of endearment so much i swear. OH and porter’s repeated mentions of sam, to me, prove that there is something more to sam’s friendship with porter than there seems to have been shown to us. sam himself has already said he has a sort of tolerance for porter’s bullshit, even if it has limits. and now, porter’s mentions of sam throughout a conversation that doesn’t involve him tells me that the pair are closer than they seemed to be. which makes sam leaving the house hurt even more oh my god i can’t believe how porter feels considering maybe the one person in the house he could stand to be around is leaving. and even after trying to make up with vincent, now vincent is leaving too. porter lets pack our bags too and run away together as well please, you deserve everything.

UGH TREASURE MEETING SAM AUDIO WHENNNN??? erik please give sam a chance to reflect the “sam landed you?” comment onto porter with treasure.

AAAGGGHHHHH i can’t wait to see where this relationship goes. i didn’t think this would turn into such a long ramble wow i love this man (he’s fictional) he’s such a cutie (he has no canon appearance) i wanna marry him (he’s nothing but a voice).

[rotworld]

A Bird in the Hand

you've been "partnered" with the nightbound who betrayed you for weeks now and neither of you are happy with how things are going.

->virgilio/reader. explicit; contains hypnosis, blood drinking, mild gore, power imbalance, aphrodisiacs, food control, mentions of conditioning.

.

.

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Every day, there’s a notebook open on the kitchen counter. You can’t miss it because it sits right next to an enormous breakfast feast, already made, plated and waiting by the time you drag yourself out in hungry desperation. Everything is artfully arranged like it came right out of an upscale restaurant’s kitchen from lightly sprinkled garnish to elegant, swirling sauce patterns. Even the fucking cereal looks like a mouthwatering food blog photo, a row of sliced fruit ringing one side of the bowl. 

There’s a pen tucked into the notebook’s spiral binding. At the top of the page, a single question is scrawled in neat cursive: What is your favorite movie?

It’s late. The sun shields are open and you can see the city skyline glittering through the windows. The only light in the room comes from a lamp perched on the counter, the thick dome shade softening the light to sunset orange. You uncap the pen, watching clouds drift across the moon. 

Fuck you, you write.

*

Some nights are spent at Cassowary Tattoo. 

It’s that or stew in your own misery for long, silent hours, because you’re not allowed to leave the house on your own yet. You claim your spot in the waiting area, stretched out on the sofa by the front windows with a stack of books on the coffee table beside you. It’s so cozy it makes you suspicious, the comforting and non-confrontational vibe almost smothering—lots of plants and pottery on the wooden wall shelves and muted rugs to soften the hardwood floor, some slow-tempo jazz playing over the speakers. Was it already like this or did they do some hasty redecorating? It feels more like a coffee shop than a tattoo parlor.

Your name is called with slow reluctance. “Hey, uh…” It’s the guy working the desk—nightbound. You saw him sipping from a blood pouch earlier. He knows what you are, too. That’s why he watches you like a hawk. He looks young but that doesn’t mean anything. What does is how nervous he is around you, anxiously vigilant whenever you shift around to get comfortable or exhale just a little sharply. Not like he’s scared of you, but scared of potentially having to handle you, like he’s watching a priceless vase wobble precariously on its stand. A lot of fledglings are like that because the older nightbound teach them that witches are some kind of endangered species, rare and skittish, necessitating firm but gentle handling.

He’ll chase you if you try to run. He doesn’t want to. He’s afraid he might hurt you by accident and then Virgilio will be mad at him, and he would sooner chop off his own hand than risk one of his superiors, his elders, being mad at him.

“Yeah?” you say. 

He flinches whether you soften your tone or not. “Are you, uh. Are you hungry? Sergeant—uh, Virgilio wants to know.” 

“I’m fine.” You pretend to be interested in the books you brought along, propped up on your side with one of the musty tomes open in front of you. It’s all dry, boring shit, leatherbound antiques on loan from the Dusk Council’s extensive library. Nightbound biology, nightbound psychology, nightbound history—there’s a lot here that you don’t know despite how they’ve been breathing down your neck your whole life. 

“Oh. Okay.” He fidgets nervously with his phone. “Well, uh. I think he ordered you something anyway.” 

He did, of course, and it shows up just a few minutes later in the hands of a delivery driver. Virgilio appears at the same moment, pushing through the curtain dividing the shop. There’s no doorbell or chime or anything. Every nightbound in the shop can hear it when somebody parks on the street right outside, or when the front door opens with a wheezy creak. Virgilio exchanges pleasantries and leaves a nice tip. He places the takeout bag on the coffee table right next to your books and then he pulls up one of the armchairs. His hair’s up in a ponytail. He’s wearing a black tank top so his tattoo sleeves are on full display—a moon and clouds, raven wings, a skull hidden among full-bloom flowers and half-melted candles. 

His smile makes your stomach twist up in angry, sickened knots. “Hey. Got you something.” 

You don’t answer and you don’t meet his gaze. Undeterred, he pulls a container out of the bag and opens it for you, steam and a garlicky scent wafting out. It’s some kind of spinach dish, sauteed leafy greens topped with crunchy garnish. 

“Smells pretty good,” he says, stirring it with a plastic fork. “Let me know if you like it and I’ll make it at home sometime. Just need some garlic and olive oil. Maybe a little amaretto if you want it fancy.” He slides the bowl across the table, closer to you. “Come on. You must be hungry. You barely touched breakfast.” You still don’t take it and his smile wanes, all that cheerful enthusiasm souring into weary resignation. “I don’t want to put you under but I will if I have to. It’s for your own good.”

“Stop saying that.” The threat of hypnosis makes you sit up, but you still don’t reach for the bowl. You don’t want it. You don’t want any of this. “‘For my own good?’ This is all for you, so you can feed as much as you want.” 

“It’s for you,” Virgilio insists. “So you don’t end up anemic or worse.” 

The wounded look on his face makes your blood boil, soft eyes and furrowed brows like he thought this would go any other way. He wants to talk? Fine. You can talk. “I wouldn’t need to worry about that if you fed from anyone or anything else sometimes. But I’m here, so you might as well take as much as you want, right? Why bother with a donor who actually likes getting fed on? Is that not as fun? You can’t get off if your blood bag is having a good time, too?” 

Virgilio catches your chin between his fingers and jerks your gaze up to meet his eyes. He’s got your mind in a vice-grip before you can even blink and for a blissful moment, there are no thoughts in your head. No anger. No fear. Nothing. Just fuzzy warmth and gentle drifting. His eyes are glittering gold and you’re sinking, all the tension leaking out of your body, all your worries evaporating—and then he lets go, slowly, like a fist loosening. He maintains just enough control that you can’t muster the energy to yell at him or tear yourself away. 

“Eat the fucking food,” he says, his voice low and ragged. You can only think clearly when he stops touching you, and even then, you find yourself picking up the bowl and spearing spinach on your fork. Virgilio leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you mutter between bites. “I didn’t choose to be what I am.” 

Virgilio takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Yeah. Me, neither.” 

*

Every three days, your breakfast comes with roseblood. Virgilio brews it himself on the stove and the delicate garden-fresh aroma fills the whole house by the time you wake up. He pours the first dose into a black mug with a golden bird silhouette stamped on the side, and then he drops in a few colorful crystals that gently fizzle, making little prismatic bubbles at the surface. That’s nectar, condensed and edible magic. The sweet scent makes your mouth water. He sprinkles a couple leftover rosebuds on top and slides the mug over to join the rest of the trays, plates and bowls he painstakingly prepared. 

“Buon appetito,” he says with a grin. He usually makes himself scarce when you show up for food but today he’s decided to stick around. He stays on the other side of the counter, at least, a newspaper unfolded in front of him so he can pretend he isn’t watching you intently. You eat begrudgingly. Virgilio is such a talented chef that it makes you angry. His plating is immaculate and his dishes are perfect whether he’s baking, boiling or braising something—a sharp contrast to the single small plate at his elbow with nothing but a piece of toast smeared with marmalade. 

You watch him. He watches you. Neither of you speak to each other and the only sounds are the clink of your silverware and the whisper of turning paper, the occasional muted crunch when Virgilio nibbles on his toast. The roseblood is delicious, sweet like honey. You catch him smiling when you hold up the mug, enjoying the soft floral scent and the warmth against your palms, but he quickly averts his eyes back down to the newspaper. 

You think about those videos of animal shelters and people who sit with nervous dogs until they stop shaking. That’s how he sees this, you think. A selfless act. Doing you a favor. Coaxing you to him with food and gentle words, like he doesn’t already have the leash around your neck. 

Today, the notebook asks, What do you like to do in your spare time? 

Virgilio’s gaze is drawn by the scratch of the pen across the paper. You scribble quickly and furiously, then shove it aside. He doesn’t have to look to know you’ve written the same words you always do. He gathers up his newspaper and toast and finally gives you some privacy.

*

Some nights are spent in Dr. Griffiths’ office. The two of you look like a couple on the verge of divorce. Virgilio hunches like a man in a confessional booth and you’re scrunched up against the armrest of the big Victorian sofa, keeping one full cushion between the two of you. Your gaze travels across the room in careful avoidance of Virgilio, wandering from the bookshelves to the hanging paintings to the swinging pendulum of a grandfather clock. Candles flicker atop ornate brass stands. It smells like leather, parchment and incense. 

“I just don’t know what else to do,” Virgilio says. “It’s not like I don’t get it. I do. But you have to understand that the second you became active…look, you weren’t leaving that dinner party without the rug getting pulled out from under you, okay? That’s just how it is. If I didn’t do it, someone else would’ve. And I know you hate me for it, you feel like I took advantage—” 

“Let’s not assume,” Dr. Griffiths says gently. “It would benefit you both to ask each other how you feel, rather than jumping to conclusions. Even in situations where you’re certain you already know, is it not better to ask? To have the opportunity to voice those thoughts and feelings?” He’s nightbound, of course, because why would the Council send you to any other kind of therapist? His eyes glint like an animal’s and he has the uncanny, fluid grace of an elder. He dresses somewhat eccentrically for his profession, stylish and formal in a black blouse with translucent sleeves and fitted slacks, his high heels glossy like obsidian. He looks the way people expect nightbound to look, sickly pale and ghostly as though carved from marble. 

Virgilio glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “They don’t talk to me if they can help it.” 

Dr. Griffiths tilts his head, regarding you with a pensive frown. “You’re still not speaking to your partner?” 

“No,” you mutter.

“Why not?” 

“You can’t guess?” 

He smiles and pushes away from the desk. You watch him warily as he comes to stand beside you, resting his palm on the armrest of the sofa. He looks down at you, tilting his head in that odd, bird-like motion the nightbound all share, like an owl tracking a scurrying mouse. “No assumptions, remember?” he asks.

“It’s really not that hard to figure out,” you insist. He hums, urging you to continue. You don’t look at Virgilio but you can feel the weight of his stare. “My life doesn’t belong to me. I’m like his pet or something.”

“That’s not true—” Virgilio starts to say. Dr. Griffiths cuts him off with a sharp glance. 

“Go on,” he says patiently. 

There’s a lump in your throat, the burning sensation of tears forming in the corners of your eyes. You swallow hard. “And my time, that’s not mine anymore. I’m basically nocturnal now because I have to be. Even if I get up early, I can’t see the sun because of the stupid shields on the windows. It’s so dark everywhere, all the time. And my bedroom isn’t mine, it’s just the guestroom in his house. Some of my stuff’s there but it doesn’t matter. He can come in whenever he wants.”

“I would never—”

“Virgilio,” Dr. Griffiths says, firm but gentle. 

“And,” your voice cracks, “and the food, too. He picks that. And I know why, I know about roseblood and the risks and all that stuff, I know that. But it just reminds me that I don’t have anything anymore. I don’t even have myself. And…and…” Your words unravel into sobs. The sofa creaks under Virgilio’s shifting weight and you see him in your periphery looking sick with guilt. 

His hand trespasses onto the cushion between you. You hear him come closer. You know what he’s going to do and it makes you feel even worse, but you don’t try to stop him from touching your shoulder and turning you towards him. You don’t fight the gentle pressure of his fingers on your chin. You don’t squeeze your eyes shut or try to look away. Your eyes meet and Virgilio’s calming presence fills your mind, quieting your sobs to sniffles and numbing the ache in your chest.

Everything is okay for a while. Everything is light and airy, soft and sweet. You’re freed from thought and fear and worry, left with nothing but peace. When you surface, it happens slowly. You feel an arm wrapped around you, a gentle hand stroking your head. You smell chewing gum on his breath. Virgilio holds you against his chest, idly stroking your back and pressing kisses to your tear-dampened cheeks. 

Dr. Griffiths is back by his desk, frowning thoughtfully. “You have a problem with control, Virgilio,” he says. “Understandably, you crave it. You exert it however and whenever you can. Losing it makes you lash out and act impulsively. I would hope, then, that you might have some sympathy for someone who has none.”

Virgilio wraps around you like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling to pieces. He knows this will end badly once you get home; more tears, more distance, days of agonizing silence and refusing to meet his eye. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, you’re right.” He holds on tight while he still can. 

*

There are indents in the notebook paper, like someone scribbled furiously on the page before it. You turn back and find line after line written and then hastily crossed out. A handful are still legible:

What is your favorite breakfast food? What is your favorite food? What foods do you like? What would you like me to make you? I will make you anything you want if you ask for it. I didn’t know it upset you so much. I thought maybe it upset you, but I didn’t know what to do. I’m trying to make the best of a difficult situation. I know it’s not fair. I’m not good at this. I can’t let you go but I will do anything else, just name it and I will do it. I’m going to put a better lock on your door. Do you want a better lock on your door? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m really sorry.

On the next page, Virgilio’s handwriting reverts to its usual neatness. It simply says, List some foods that you like. 

*

Some nights are spent at home. Virgilio’s coworkers say he’s allergic to time off, which is news to you. It feels like he’s around more than he isn’t. Usually you stay in the guest room and only venture out for food but tonight, you reluctantly join him on the living room sectional. Virgilio is hunched over and doodling in a sketchbook, so shocked by your sudden appearance that you hear his pencil lead snap. You flick on the lamp and unceremoniously drop your entire stack of books on the coffee table, picking one from the pile at random to start with. 

You peek over the edge of the book. Virgilio is frozen for a moment like he thinks the slightest twitch might scare you off. You don’t think he’s even breathing. He watches you carefully, assessing you with cold focus like he’s sizing up a threat. The intensity in his stare frightens you. You don’t know what gives you away—quickening pulse? Hitched breath? Some subtle scent? He blinks and his gaze softens. He sets his sketchbook down and turns to give you his full attention. His casual lean, the way he drapes his arm over the backrest, reminds you of the night you met. 

“How about a truce?” he offers. 

You stare at him suspiciously. “What kind of truce?” 

“Less mesmerism.” 

“How about no mesmerism?” 

“Less,” he stresses with finality. The way your expression crumples with disappointment makes him sigh and rub the back of his neck. “What else do you want? Within reason.” 

You almost scoff at that but Virgilio’s anxious stare makes you reconsider. He’s trying, at least. It’s the smallest of consolations, but he’s giving it to you. “Could you talk to me the way you used to?” 

“The way I used to?” 

“Like at the party. Before…” Before he ruined your life. Betrayed your trust. Claimed you in front of the whole Council. Your heart is in your throat. “Like before,” you say quietly. 

The hoarseness of your voice makes him restless. He drums his fingers along the back of the couch and his gaze wanders. “I tried that,” he says. “When you first came here—” 

“When I was brought here,” you correct him. He clenches his jaw. “I didn’t choose to come here. You know that.” 

“The point is I tried that already. I acted like nothing was different. You still wouldn’t talk to me.” 

“Because I was angry. I still am,” you tell him. “I know I didn’t have much of a choice. I know somebody else would’ve done it if you didn’t. But it hurt. I’m allowed to be hurt. You can’t just snap your fingers and make me forgive you—”

“I could,” Virgilio says. He turns towards the kitchen windows where the moon is just a curled sliver. “I could make you. Probably not in one session. I’d need to reinforce it a few times. But I could.” He says it so plainly. Soft and contemplative, like something he’s spent long nights turning over in his mind. “Hm. That sounds extra fucked up when I say it out loud.” You flinch when he gives you a sidelong glance. “I really am sorry. About the way I did it, anyway. If we’d been anywhere else, I would’ve taken you home and talked it over first. I would’ve made you comfortable first. Been gentler about the claiming mark.” 

The reminder makes you pick at the turtleneck collar of your shirt. The scars on your neck are crescents of bumpy, gnarled tissue like the prints left by a vicious mauling. Virgilio follows the movement of your fingers intently, hoping you might peel the fabric down and show him the proof of his claim, but you won’t. You keep it covered as much as possible. The way he looks at it even through your clothing, the voyeuristic hunger in his eyes, unsettles you. 

“And yeah,” he says wryly, “I know you would’ve agreed to it. I would’ve laid out your options, and you would’ve picked me. That’s not a brag. The bar is real low and I know that. I’m perfectly happy being the lesser evil.”

He’s lying. You can’t usually tell. Before he started covering everything up with cloying, overindulgent sweetness, he hid all of his feelings behind a veneer of deadpan sarcasm. But that last part, you’re certain, was a lie. He doesn’t look at you when he says it. His voice gets small and timid, almost ashamed. You set your book down on the table slowly and take a steadying breath. 

“Do you want to feed on me?” you ask him. 

Virgilio blinks a couple times, like he’s trying to wake himself up. “Are you fucking with me?” 

You were really hoping he wouldn’t make a big deal out of this. “Remember what I said at the therapist’s? About how I’m basically your dog?” 

He frowns. “You’re not—” 

“Not looking to argue,” you cut him off tiredly. “Sometimes it feels like you’re trying to train me. Rewarding me for good behavior, punishing me for bad, all that stuff. Well, we’re trying to make things fair with a truce, right? So now I’m going to train you, too.” You lean back against the couch cushions and hook your fingers into the turtleneck, rolling down the collar until your throat is exposed. Virgilio’s pupils dilate. “If you’re good, you get extra.” 

He drags his gaze up from your neck to your face and your heart races. You don’t see him like this very often. Virgilio is old enough to control his appetite, normally unfazed by the sight or scent of bare human skin. The temptation of your blood when he didn’t expect it seems to have caught him off guard. He looks at you like a starving wolf looks at a lone deer, how the same wolf looks at a mate in heat, lust and hunger a single entity. Virgilio prowls closer on all fours, crawling towards you on the couch. You both know he’s the one in control here. He can take what he wants, when he wants. 

But he stops just short of you, one hand landing on the cushion beside your feet, and looks at you with that animalistic tilt of the head. “Have I been good?” he asks, his voice low and eager. 

Heat rushes through your body. “Yes,” you say. “You’ve been very good.” 

There’s something ritualistic about the way Virgilio feeds. You don’t know if all nightbound are like this or if it’s unique to him, but he goes slow. There’s foreplay before the bite. The approach is a dance, graceful and gradual. He caresses your leg as he shifts closer and he presses kisses everywhere, even over your clothes. To your ankle. To your knee. To your hip. They’re chaste but they linger and they feel reverential. He slides into place beside you and pulls you into his lap, hand wandering. He rubs your shoulders and strokes your sides. You see desire in his eyes but also sadness and solemn determination. This is about more than blood. 

His fingers slip beneath the hem of your turtleneck but he doesn’t take it off right away. He feels you first, his palms sliding up and down your chest. It feels good—not just the stroke of his fingers against your hardening nipples but also the undivided attention, the focus on your body and your pleasure, the weight and wanting of his stare. To Virgilio, nothing exists but you right now, you and your warmth and your pulse thudding beneath his fingertips. His lips move hungrily against yours, coaxing you to tangle your tongue with his. He makes small sounds, contented sighs and soft moans. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he murmurs, nipping at your lower lip. Your heart flutters at the teasing prick of his fangs, his venom fizzling pleasantly on your skin. “I swear I will. Someday I’ll be worthy of this partnership.” He pulls your turtleneck off and buries his face against the side of your neck, inhaling deeply with a shudder. His hips move involuntarily, short, needy thrusts that grind his clothed, hardening cock against your ass. He presses his lips against your neck, teasing you. He knows exactly where you’re most sensitive. The marks from the last time he fed still haven’t faded. But he likes to feign ignorance, enjoying your quiet moans until he reaches the spot that really makes you squirm.

For all his protests about you not being a pet, he really does have you trained. You don’t flinch anymore when he prepares, stroking the back of his fangs with his tongue until his mouth is full of venom. Sloppy, open-mouthed kisses leave tingling numbness in their wake. Testing nips make you shiver in pleasure rather than pain. You wrap your arms around him and hold on tight, not out of fear but in anticipation. Virgilio savors you, dragging his tongue over your pulse. His hand cradles the back of your head as you turn and bare your neck to him. 

“Two and a half centuries in this shitty world,” he whispers, “and nothing has ever been as precious to me as you are.” 

Virgilio’s bite is ecstasy. The moment his venom floods your veins, your toes curl, your back arches, and you cum. If he didn’t hold onto you so tightly and keep your head still, you would thrash and flail wildly. You know he feels just as good, maybe even better, because his hips buck like he’s fucking you, rolling, languid thrusts that lightly bounce you in his lap. You’re aware, dimly and distantly, that the bite is shallow. He’s keeping it light and controlled, sucking the blood that beads to the surface rather than widening the wound, and in a state of pure instinctual want, it infuriates you. You want more, deeper, harder, everything he has filling you. He keeps a firm, steady grip on the back of your head to make sure you don’t try and impale yourself on him further. You whine when his fangs retract and he laps at the punctures left behind. 

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs against your skin, trying to soothe you. The praise goes straight to your sex, heat and arousal making you move your hips against him. “Mm, yes, you are. So sweet and delicious.” His hand dips between your legs. He doesn’t undress you but he loosens the clothes on your lower half enough to get his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, and then he’s mercilessly working your sex with his fingers. “Cum one more time.” He’s growling, so deep in his own primal need that his voice is low and rumbling. He’s not asking. It’s an order, and it makes you whimper. “One more. Come on. Sweet thing, letting me have a taste of you. Let go for me.”

Already raw and right on the edge, you cum with a sob. Virgilio doesn’t let up, still mouthing at your neck and whispering filth. He coos about the mess you made on his fingers while your hips helplessly chase his hand. He doesn’t stop until you sag against him, worn out and oversensitive. The blistering pleasure phase has run its course but his venom will keep you in an extended post-orgasmic bliss for a while longer. He lays down and keeps you tucked against his chest, gently rubbing your back. 

It’s nice, you think deliriously. Every feeding is nice, but usually you shake him off and demand to be left alone once it’s over. It was a mistake to stay. Now that you know what it feels like to be in his arms, you’re not sure you’ll be able to leave.

“You can take a nap, if you want. I’m not going anywhere,” he says softly. Warmly. He sounds happy, you think. Because you fed him without prompting? Because he’s in control again? You don't know if tonight was a step forward or back, but you aren’t going to worry about it right now. Not when the lights are low and Virgilio’s touch is so tender, and everything almost feels alright. 

*

The next night, you're up and moving a little earlier than usual. Viriglio is still cooking. You sit at the counter to watch. He looks back over his shoulder at you briefly, almost shyly, like he doesn't want to scare you into leaving. He nods in greeting. You nod back. He looks a little disappointed but he smiles anyway and returns his attention to the stove. 

You tell him your favorite movie. 

[manheeiim]

rafe cameron coded songs - part two

summary: rafe cameron coded songs || warnings: drinking, smoking, rafe is mean and controlling || genre: established relationship, fluff, angst, headcanons || word count: N/A || a/n: more coming soon

𐙚 off to the races - lana del rey

"My old man is a bad man, but, I can't deny the way he holds my hand, and he grabs me, he has me by my heart."

In every single au of him I have in my head, he's always older than reader but significantly so when it comes to father figure bf!rafe and dad's best friend!rafe. He's also totally not the best person, he's literally a bad man, but despite that, reader can't bring themselves to stop loving him.

"He loves me, with every beat of his cocaine heart"

We all know he does coke and is a druggie but either way, he'll love you, drugged up or not and you'll love him both ways as well because you just can't help it.

"Watch me in the swimmin' pool, bright blue ripples. You sittin', sippin' on your Black Cristal, oh, yeah,"

Swimming in the pool in the backyard of Tannyhill, Rafe sits on a lounge chair in his bathing suit, a pair of sunglasses on his face, and a bottle of Schwarzbier in his grasp as he watches you in the pool.

"My old man is a tough man, but he got a soul as sweet as blood-red jam,"

Rafe puts on a tough exterior to everyone else and even to you at times but at the same time, you're the only one who really gets to fully see his sweet side. He won't dare to show it to anyone else, not wanting to seem weak.

"He doesn't mind I have a flat broke-down life. In fact, he says he thinks it's what he might like about me,"

I'm thinking trailer park bunny!reader x kook!rafe. She's poor and unfortunate overall but he doesn't mind. It's kind of intriguing to him. He'll take you into his care, and show you what it's like on his side of town. He likes how fascinated you seem to be with everything he'd taken for granted after having it all of his life.

"Light of his life, fire of his loins. Keep me forever, tell me you own me. Light of your life, fire of your loins. Tell me you own me, gimme them coins"

Yes, I know this in reference to the book "Lolita" and I'm not saying Rafe is a pedo. What I want to mention is the whole power imbalance between Rafe and reader. Rafe would definitely be the one in charge of the relationship, whether you liked it or not. He didn't find anything wrong with it, not at all, and you didn't either, well, most of the time.

"Because I'm crazy, baby. I need you to come here and save me,"

You just want Rafe to keep you in check, to make sure you don't make any mistakes, to keep you out of trouble. He acts annoyed about having to do that, and he honestly does get annoyed. At the same time, though, he likes to have you depend and rely on him like that.

"I'm not afraid to say that I'd die without him. Who else is gonna put up with me this way?"

You don't know what you'd do without him. If he weren't around, what would you have? Nothing. Nothing materialistically anyway. You can't imagine your life without him, you rely on him and love him too much. Things wouldn't go well for you. He's the only one who can put up with your attitude and issues. The only one to love you for you in the way you want.

ᥫ᭡ link to my masterlist

[awkwardandeccentric]

So I want to talk about how attentive of a sexual partner Blitz is to Stolas.

How much of Stolas’ situation Blitz knows is anyone’s guess. Stolas is extremely private, but I imagine they at least had a conversation about why he has a kid and a wife despite being a gay man. Also, given the fact that Blitz had pity sex with Stolas, someone who was clearly new to this whole scene, I think Blitz knows he’s not dealing with a sexually aware person. Which might explain why he’s so forgiving of Stolas’ OTT flirting in Season 1 when most would have peaced tf out eons ago. He knows he’s not dealing with most people here.

And I think Blitz takes this very seriously. He knows he could seriously fuck up Stolas for the rest of his life if Blitz takes advantage of this experience imbalance. He most likely knows that Stolas would do pretty much anything he’s asked and so long as the safe word isn’t said, Blitz is in the clear.

I acknowledge that this is a lot of speculation and we don’t see any of this on screen. But there’s a little word that sticks out to me in Full Moon when Blitz is talking with Fizz. Seemed. “He never really seemed into the beads.”

Blitz had to pick up on that through clues in Stolas’ body language and/or tone of voice. Stolas never actually said ‘no.’

Now, unfortunately, there are some really awful people out there that would go, ‘Well he didn’t say ‘no’ so it’s not like this is rape’ and then continue with something that their partner clearly isn’t enjoying. Fortunately, Blitz is not one of those people. He could tell Stolas was either saying ‘yes’ to something he didn’t want to do or was trying to find a way out that gave him plausible deniability. Whether Blitz called him on that or made a mental note and let it pass, we’ll never know. And it would not surprise me in the slightest if Stolas agreed to things that he didn’t want to do because he has such low self-worth and how he wanted to seem more experienced than he actually was.

This may also explain why Blitz is so frustrated about Stolas’ blind spots to the power imbalance. Blitz is taking great pains to make sure Stolas walks away from every encounter self-assured and not feeling taken advantage of and he feels like he’s not getting that effort back.

Regardless of whether I’m reaching or not, I think “seemed” was chosen deliberately by the writers. They’re telling us that Blitz is paying very close attention to non-verbal cues and he cares about consent. That everything he and Stolas do, he’s checking in to make sure Stolas is enjoying himself and if he’s not, the activity ceases. Blitz takes this seriously. He may act otherwise, but he knows the kind of power he wields and he doesn’t want to abuse it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All the Good Girls Go To Hell 16

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, injury, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You come home for the summer but your break is not as relaxing as you expect.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: hello again!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You shut Naomi's door as she sprawls on the bed. You push the chair in front of it, making sure the handle can only catch on the top. You search out some clothes from her dressed and put them on her, guiding the fabric along her limp body. 

You roll her under the blankets and check her breathing. She's really out of it now. Her eyelashes flutter but she can only murmur senselessly. 

You don't know what to do. You should go back home and tell your mom all about Steve. But you can't leave Naomi here. You're worried about her and whatever the hell is going on with her and Bucky. 

You slide off your glasses and rub your eyes. You sigh as you try to untangle the web winding wider and wider around you. It's all so strange.

There's a soft tapping at the door. You jolt up and fold your arms as you stare.

"Doll, let me explain," Bucky pleads from the other side, "there's something you need to know about Naomi."

You tremble but don't answer. You don't know how to. You have nothing to say.

You get up and walk towards the door. As you near, you hear the friction of his hand on the wood and he rasps, "doll…"

You turn off the lights and back away. You go back to the bed and climb in next to Naomi. She grumbles and grabs your hand clumsily.

"It's okay," you assure her, not even sure she can hear you, "in the morning. We'll figure it out then."

You don’t know if you're assuring yourself or her. You stare at the door, the shadow beneath, and hear the long exhale of Bucky’s frustrated capitulation. The door shifts just a little as he pushes off and his footsteps retreat down the hallway.

You only realise then how your heart is thumping so loud. How afraid you are that he would come through that door. That question of what would happen if he did. Could you fend him off yourself?

You nestle in close to Naomi, pulling the blanket around both your bodies. You don’t understand. None of it. This whole night has been a slurry of confusion.

Steve, his wife; Bucky, his confession; and Naomi. She’s as young and afraid as you. How can she not be? Whatever is going on, you can only feel horrid for her. For whatever trap she’s fallen into. The more you think about it, the more you realise how few people really care for her.

You don’t know what to do or where to go, you just know you have to get away from here. You need to get space and you need to get answers. Whether she wants to or not, Naomi is going to give you them. You are going to keep asking until you have the truth.

☀️

You can’t sleep. It’s just before six and you’re still awake. You lay with an arm beneath Naomi’s head as she huddles into you. It’s almost peaceful despite the underlying wave of anxiety. 

You move slowly, without a solid plan, but you have to get going. You know that much. You don’t want to wait too long. You don’t want Bucky to try to stop you and you don’t want to lose your nerve.

You put your glasses on and change in the low dim of the summer morning. Next, you check your bag and make sure you have everything; phone, keys, wallet. You search the room and find Naomi’s phone but no wallet. You go to the bed and gently squeeze her arm.

“Hey, hey, where’s your wallet?” You whisper.

She grumbles and clutches the pillow, pulling it closer as she buries her face in it. Shit. This isn’t going to be easy. Whatever, fuck the wallet.

“Nay,” you rub her shoulder, “hey, you gotta get up. We’re going to get coffee.”

She babbles, gibberish really. You manage to turn her onto her back as you brush her hair away from her face. Her lashes flutter as you stroke her cheek with your thumb.

“You promised we’d go for coffee, remember?” 

It’s a lie but she’s barely cognizant. You just need to get her on her feet. She grumbles and you retract your touch. You go back to her dress and take out a white hoodie with American Eagle scrawled across the front. You return to the bed and hook your arms around her, pulling her to a sitting position.

You manage to hook the sweater over her head and let her lay back so you can guide her arms down the sleeves. She stirs and shakes her head, swatting at her as one sleeve hangs lower than her hand still.

“Stop,” she gurgles.

“Hey, come on, coffee time,” you coax her, “I promised you a double shot latte.”

“Too early,” she sneers groggily.

“Na-omi,” you hiss the syllables, “get up.”

She shakes her head but you’re able to sit her up. She’s only half awake as you help her get her legs over the side. You find some sandals for her and keep them in hand as you manage to get her to her feet.

You sling her arm over your shoulders, bag hooked over your other elbow, and flip flops grasped tightly. Awkwardly, you use the arm around her to twist the door handle and inch it open with your foot. You peek out before sidling out with Naomi.

You listen after each step, a gradual flight from this place that grows eerier by the second. You get to the front door and manage to scoop up your own shoes from the mat. Naomi’s weight isn’t so heavy as she yawns, more aware with each step.

You manage to get out the front door, not without a chirp from the security system, and jostle down the steps. You take Naomi to your car, dropping your hand full into the back seat before settling her into the passenger side. You do up her belt and close the door.

You hear the same chirp as you go around the driver’s side of the car. You glance over the roof and see Bucky appear, his hair askew as he stops short and looks at you with a desperate frown. He says your name but you ignore him, dropping behind the wheel and hitting the locks as you shut yourself in.

You turn the engine and back out, swerving sharply around to drive down the long driveway. You don’t look as you turn out onto the slow suburban street, squeezing the wheel as you lean into it. Just keep going.

“Erm,” Naomi murmurs, “what’s going on?”

You sigh and keep your eyes set ahead of you, “that’s what you’re going to tell me.”

☀️

You rub your forehead as you take your first sip of coffee. You bask in the heat and flavour. It’s almost refreshing. Naomi slurps from her cup sloppily and groans as she puts it back in the cupholder. She falls forward and rests her head on her arms against the dashboard.

“Ugh, I feel like shit.”

“I bet you do,” you say, almost heartlessly. “You were fucked up last night, Nay. You really scared me. I don’t… how did you get so bad?”

She raises her head, clutching it as she makes herself sit up. She stares through the windshield and bends her arm through the open window. She grabs her cup again and takes another drink.

“I was sneaking shots in the bathroom when we were getting ready,” she pouts, “I’m sorry. I was so nervous and… you know how my dad is.”

He huff. She doesn’t remember but you do. You’re not going to let it fester. You need to know.

“Your dad?” You say, heart jumping as you try to find the way forward. How do you say it? You don’t want to accuse her because you don’t think she did anything wrong? You don’t even know how to explain your suspicion. “Naomi, do you remember anything last night?”

She sets her cup between her thighs, keeping it there as she shrugs and scratches the back of her neck. She rubs her temples and squeezes her eyes shut.

“I remember Steve being a dick,” she says thinly, “but… no.”

You take a deep breath. This is the line. You step over it and it disappears. There’s no going back but after what you saw, you think it’s already gone. You already can’t forget.

“Naomi,” you gulp and pause to take another swig of your coffee. You hug the hot cup between your palms and gather your strength, arranging the words just so before you say them, “last night… I saw you and Bucky.”

“Hmm?” She won’t look at you. Her throat constricts and she just stares out at the empty plaza, across at the Starbucks where cars line up in the drive-thru. “I don’t remember, I told you. I get crazy when I’m drunk.”

“Naomi,” you repeat more firmly, to ground yourself and her, “you were on top of him. You said… you asked him to… like Rome?” You quote her uncertainly, “does your dad…”

She hangs her head and heaves. She clamps her lips tight and moves her late from between her legs. She bends forward and grips her head before making herself sit up straight. You see her fighting herself.

“He’s not,” she says at last. She won’t look at you as she leans her head against one hand, her elbow still through the window, “not my dad. My name isn’t Barnes. I met him last year, right before tuition was due. He could pay, my parents wouldn’t, and I needed to get out. So. Those are the facts. Details don’t matter.”

You stare at her. You’re flooded with dread and confusion and despair. You don’t get it though.

“If he’s not… then why lie to me?”

She laughs sardonically and tilts her head back, slipping her arm off the door. She wrings her hands in her lap and shrugs.

“You thought I was cool. I didn’t want you to know how pathetic I really am.”

You nod. You try not to judge. You might not see yourself doing something like that but did you ever really consider it? Besides, Bucky’s old enough to know better, Naomi just seems lost. And even if she lied, you’re still friends.

“I don’t think you’re pathetic. I only wish you hadn’t lied. It might be… different but I don’t know, I don’t think I wouldn’t hate you. I still don’t. But, I need you to explain it to me. I want to understand.”

She sucks her teeth and chew her lip. You see her thoughts, her struggle, and for the first time, she isn’t putting on her barbie doll mask.

“I started an Only Fans when I turned eighteen. My parents are not doing well. They lost some money because they paid into this crypto thing and the first thing to be on the chopping block was school,” she shakes her head at the windshield, her cheeks taut with emotion, “I was upset. I’m not the brightest but I worked hard to get accepted and I don’t know. School is my only option besides… this.

“My mom always told me I could marry rich but I didn’t want to be stuck with some dude forever. So I thought selling pictures and videos. Then I met Steve. And Wanda. They were looking for a third. I did that for a little but they move around. They introduced me to Bucky. He just split with Yelena because he was messing with Natasha.”

“Natasha?”

“The very same,” she affirms, “anyway, he liked my pictures, he was on my OF. He asked me to go to Rome with him. I told him I had school coming soon and I needed to make more money to pay for it. He offered to cover tuition if I went away with him in August. So I said yes.”

You sit in silence. Wow. That’s a lot. You don’t know what to say.

“Then I went away to school. My parents found out about my OF then, I mean, it wasn’t them paying for it. And they said I couldn’t come back home. They were selling the house anyway. Bucky offered to pick up my stuff and said I could crash for the break. That things could carry on…”

A tear breaks free and streams down her cheek, then another, and another. She sniffs and wipes her face.

“They did. I didn’t mind. It was fun but now. Now it feels like he just puts up with me. I’m terrified. I’m going to be put out on the street whenever he decides this is really over.”

“Nay,” you say softly and touch her arm. She flinches but doesn’t pull away. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. I couldn’t even…”

“It’s why I wanted to be your friend. You’re so sweet and accepting. And not like me. You’re genuine and I wanted someone like that to like me. So I lied. Over and over. I’m sorry. I know an apology can only do so much.”

You sniff and shudder out a breath. You still don’t know what to think about everything. You know Steve and Wanda are questionable, that you didn’t need help with. But Bucky, you can’t decide. Is he just moving on or is he just looking to use another girl?

“I’m not mad at you, Naomi, and I’m still gonna be your friend, but I don’t know what to do.”

She nods slowly, “me either.”

“But I think that my mom would let you sleep over.”

She raises her brows and looks at you. Her face is streaked from crying and her eyes reddened with her hangover. You see her trembling, you see the sparkle in her pupils, you see the desperate hope. You see her glowing. More beautiful than you've ever seen her before.

“I just have to apologise to her first,” you utter, “but, for you, I can swallow my pride.”

“You… you’d really do that for me?”

“Yeah, I mean, with what you’ve told me about Steve, he’s not gonna be a problem for long, is he? He’ll go find another girl to mess with.”

“Ha, yeah, trust me, he doesn’t last that long,” she gives a croaky laugh as she sucks up the last of her tears, mopping her face with her hoodie sleeves, “talks a bigger game than he can play.”

You chuckle then pick up your cup again, glancing around the lot.

“How about we wait around and have some breakfast before we go? You look like you could use some bacon.”

“Mmmm,” she hums, “gimme all the bacon!”

[phyrestartr]

HOUND pt.2 | Miguel x M!Reader

Geneticist!Miguel x Guard!Reader Part 2 W/C: 2.7k | Part 2 of 2

#NSFW, zombie AU, apocalypse AU, mentions of exploitation and abuse, body horror, gore, immoral research and experiments, power imbalance, reader is a criminal, miguel is a scientist, dark themes, part 2 ends on a positive note, reader is morally grey, bottom!miguel, top!reader, sorry there's lore lol

Note: AAAAH ok it's done and now I can struggle to finish my other fics instead asjdkf;weiafjf

--

Miguel couldn’t recall what happened after that. The noises outside the door, the wet sloshing of viscera and pained outcries echoed faintly in the black corners of his mind, but nothing else. Nothing about how he got out of that room. Nothing about what had attacked him. Nothing about where you had gone. 

The mystery led him to reviewing the footage. The security cameras were set in each room, only to be accessed in times where someone was suspected to be infected and other suspicious situations. He found the moments leading up to everything, the moment you pushed him against the wall, when you started taking off the vest, when you threw Miguel into the bathroom and forced the door closed with brute strength. 

What followed was unbearable. The thing, now confirmed to have been one of your kind, rippled with overwhelming, excruciating power. You couldn’t square up with it fairly, but you were smart and fast, hitting when it really counted and pulling the trigger only when you knew it’d strike true. But the problem was its objective; the entire fight, Miguel realized, was a contest for the bathroom door. The monster didn’t care about you. You weren’t its target. It was going for him.

But it didn’t show you any mercy. It tore chunks out of you, shattered your ribs, broke whatever part of you it touched until you’d put it down for good with a full mag into its soft, melted skull. You staggered backwards, feeling behind you for the cool touch of the door before you collapsed against it, trying to stay standing despite it all. It was hard to watch. To see someone suffering and still fighting the good fight even though they’d already lost in order to win. 

You eventually crumbled and held what was left of your stomach and chest as you heaved in air. Loud sounds, like a wooden train whistle, hissed through the gaps left between your exposed ribs and the holes in your tattered lungs time after time, breath after breath, up until the EMTs arrived; you scrambled to get up, nearly spilling your guts and breaking off a leg before a tranquilizer hit you, and put you down. 

After that, you’d been carted off, and Miguel stepped out of the bathroom moments later, shaken and confused. Gabe showed up, thank God, and the thing that’d started all the bullshit was dead, but he couldn’t help the lingering tendrils of paranoia stitching the muscles taut in his shoulders. Then, and now. 

He needed to see you for himself. 

“Listen, listen, it’s suuuper nice that you suddenly have a weak spot for the guy, it’s really cute, but we haveta set you up with a different one for now–”

“What?” Miguel cut in while Lyla spun in her chair and fixed her obnoxious sunnies. “Why do–they heal. I don’t want any other–”

“Yep, yep, yep, I totally get it, but he’s reaaal messed up. He’s gonna take some time to fix ‘n heal and everything, yenno?” Lyla spun around again in a full 360 before coming back to face Miguel and point her pen at him. “If he’s too hard to fix, then they were thinking of scrapping him for parts and testing and everything.” 

Scrapped. For parts. 

“They won’t scrap him.” Miguel frowned. “He’s the best host we have. The most successful specimen the whole fucking project's made.” 

“Uh, yeah, and that's why they're gonna do their best to save him.” She tilted her head, curious. “No one wants to kill a good dog, y'know.” 

It was true. No one wanted to rid Alchemax of one who was dedicated enough to put their life in jeopardy for the sake of protecting their charge. He didn't expect you to go this far. No one did. 

–

It took weeks for you to be reinstated as Miguel's watchdog. In the interim, he was appointed a new guard, but life didn’t feel right. He supposed that bonds and trust played into the feeling more than he'd like to admit. Sure, the two of you hadn't really spoken before that day, but you'd been with each other for years. Silently learning about one another, measuring each other's capacity to be trustworthy. 

So with a new dog, Miguel felt unnerved, maybe even a bit unsteady. It had been one of them who'd snapped, after all. One of them lost their minds and went on a rampage–which was exactly what the current meeting was about. 

“No one saw it coming,” one said. “We didn't think it would happen, and that's the problem, isn't it?” 

“Weeell, things are bound to go awry here and there.” Olivia shrugged and crossed her arms. “It's part of science! I'd say this whole drama has given us some pretty good results on the extremes; one imploded and started eating people, and the other one exploded trying to save one of us.” 

“Still think we should scrap O'hara's mutt for parts,” Aaron interjected, unhelpful and annoying as ever. “Who knows when that one'll blow too, hey?” 

Miguel ignored Aaron. He wouldn’t feed into his prodding and pushing. “He's mine. I decide when he's too dangerous.”

“You sure you're not gonna be blinded by feelings, O'hara?” Aaron spat with an ugly smile. “I saw the footage. You–” 

“Oh my God, don't act like you don't try to fuck everyone else's guards,” another scientist groaned. “You're probably why one snapped.” 

Aaron's face blistered red. Miguel smirked, enjoying the show, enjoying the fact that no one was on the idiot's side. It was the apocalypse. Fucking mutants was the least of their worries. 

Stone, exasperated, called it there, and everyone dispersed. Miguel took his time with his thoughts in the silence of the room. The lack of people around him sparked a jolt of adrenaline, or maybe fear, and sent his train of thought off the rails and into something ungodly. He hated being alone these days. He couldn't bear the thought of being the last man standing, of having to fend for himself after everything. Not that he would have to, no, not unless your replacement did him in, or–

“Sir?” 

Miguel turned and nearly knocked his chair off its wheels. He clutched the desk in a panic just before his eyes landed on you. 

You looked different. Streaks of faint scars painted the side of your face where an eyepatch hid away whatever wreckage laid beneath. A metal brace hugged one of your knees and dripped down into a glittering, high-tech prosthetic limb that told a story Miguel didn't want to indulge in. And you looked tired. So tired. Your voice, once something rough like sandpaper, now sounded like shattered glass grinding underfoot.

But you still had that placid, somewhat judgemental stare that told him, I'm alright.

Your brows raised expectantly, like your return didn't need to be celebrated and you'd much rather like to get on with your day of following Miguel around like a lost puppy. He could relate, and he could comply. 

–

Acting normal until getting you into his new quarters was tough; Miguel had the inexplicable urge to touch you, see your skin, feel your heat singe his palms, but he wouldn't do it in the eye of the others, no. Not for his own decency, but because they didn't deserve it. You were all his. 

Miguel was sure to lock the doors and initiate an armoured lockdown to ease his paranoia before he turned to you with a demand on his tongue: “Strip.” 

You quirked a brow. “This didn't go so well last time.” But you complied, clearly trying to hide away your amusement.

“It's fine. We're fine.” He helped you pull the vest and the shirt off just like he did all those weeks ago, but now with more finesse and determination; he wanted his do-over, and he was going to get it. “I need to see for myself.” 

“Whatever.” You rolled your shoulders once your bare skin hit the air and prickled with goosebumps. Even the lifeless spots with angry reddened scars recoiled from the sharp nip, and then the heat of Miguel's touch.

He dragged his gaze all over you, drinking in the ruined expanses of skin with hungry eyes. Every new mark was examined, every stitch and bandage touched and committed to memory, every bruise earned the softest graze of fingertips. It was hard not to be enticed with one another in that tense, long silence. 

Miguel's eyes lingered on your split lip before meeting your eyes, reading whatever he could from you. But he didn't expect what you said. 

“You get hurt?” You grumbled. 

Miguel shook his head lightly, his attention unwavering as his hands made themselves useful and plucked loose the buttons on your cargos again. “I'm fine.” He pulled the zipper down next. The muscles of your abdomen rippled against the palm keeping you still. “Sore from you throwing me, but fine.” 

The corner of your mouth twitched. “If you'd listened and moved–” your next words dissolved against the brutish lips colliding with yours. Miguel's hands slipped further below and palmed your soft cock through the thin material of your undergarments; apparently you weren't surprised by the candid dick grab, but the kiss of all things threw you for a loop. Miguel moved to leaving marks along your neck while your brain scrambled to make sense of the random affection. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” You breathed, unsure of where to touch or what to do with your hands.

“Picking up where we left off.” Miguel squeezed your filling bulge again, eagerly massaging you in encouragement to get things going. His ego swelled when your hand found his shoulder after a particularly weak spot was found.

“Hah. I shouldn't be–” 

“You'll manage,” he insisted, watching you like prey trying to woo its predator. “You probably haven't been touched like this in a while, si, guapo?” Your hips jolted against his hand while his husky voice drew you in. “Bed. Now.” 

You didn't have much of a choice, not when Miguel's needy hands guided you to the soft sheets and forced you to lay down. You were just in the middle of a sore groan when Miguel pulled your waistband down just enough to free your hardened cock, and give you a fierce dose of whiplash between the pain of healing wounds and the bliss of hands on you.

For all of Miguel’s want, now that he was this far, he wasn’t sure where to take it. He was going to make you cum, obviously, but how would he go about it? Handjob, blowjob, actually taking it up the ass? Some were obviously more impactful than others, so–

“Christ, alright, now that you’ve played with my dick, we can put it away for today, Doc,” you grouched, sitting up to pull Miguel’s hand away. “I’m too tired for this shit.”

“Wh–no.” He swatted your hand away like a petulant child and shot you an equally childish glare. “You have to obey my orders, as far as I recall.”

Something akin to a deadpan hit your face. “You’re fucking joking. You’re gonna pull that shit now?”

“You’re my subordinate,” Miguel reminded, not bothering to hide his smug demeanor and faux innocence. “Act like it.” 

Before you could bitch back, he started stroking you firmly and slowly, squeezing harder near the tip and base with every motion. You stopped complaining surprisingly fast–Miguel almost wanted you to fight him more, but, maybe for a first run, your utter compliance would serve him. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hold you down or fend off your grabby hands while, at the same time, trying to get a handle on how to properly please another man. 

Just when you sounded like you were about to object again, he took you into his mouth, and shut you up. At that moment, Miguel was glad you were touch-starved. Otherwise, the inexperienced gags and hefty strings of saliva connecting his lush lips to your throbbing length would’ve surely shortened Miguel’s lifespan. He was supposed to be good in bed. He was good in bed. And he’d make damn sure to continue being good in bed with another man. 

Your hand fisting in his well-kempt hair had him growling with warning, thinking you were going to try to make him stop, but one glance up at you through teary lashes washed that thought away; your eyes were shut, bottom lip caught between your lip and welling with the faintest bit of blood from those elongated canines of yours. A kinder shade of crimson painted your cheeks and the bridge of your nose a sweet summer colour that seemed to darken more when Miguel bravely slipped you down his throat and up again. 

“Shit. Fuck. Shit.” You let go of his hair with a pathetic whimper and collapsed onto your back, hands reaching back to claw into the wall and headboard to try and expel your rattling energy someway, somehow. The grating of metal and long, deep marks left in your claws’ wake would piss Miguel off any other day, but right now, your destructive praise fed his ego until it threatened to burst. 

But a slight shift from the scientist and a misplaced hand on the convergence of flesh and metal shook up the easy rhythm. You hissed and sat up, reflexively snatching his hand away from your leg with barbed fingers. Miguel pulled off of you with a choked yelp rattling in his throat as your hold drew blood, and like a dog who'd bit another too hard, you let go. 

“Shit, I didn't mean to–” you stopped yourself, though, and instead took Miguel's hand with a less-lethal touch. You looked at the wound before leaning down and running the flat of your tongue against the wound once, twice, thrice. The pain subsided quickly after, leaving behind a tingly, sparking feeling. “Doesn’t look too bad.” Miguel watched your nostrils flare and pupils dilate–clearly, his blood was having an effect on you. And that fact was having an effect on Miguel, in turn. 

The apology for hurting you was long forgotten by the time Miguel leaned up and kissed you, holding the side of your face with his wounded hand. He pushed hard against the tip of your fang until spongy flesh gave way, and the vile tang of blood pooled in his mouth, and now in yours. 

You moaned, or maybe growled, and Miguel’s hips jerked. He worked on slipping his weeping tongue around your mouth while his good hand continued his work on your stiffy, eager to finish you off while you were distracted. Your hands clutched at him again, claws still nipping into his skin and clothes, but more like a cat kneading its owner rather than a lion latching onto prey. 

But those barbs sunk deep into him when you came. Your hold on him tightened, and the low growls reverberating through your body crescendoed into a few, cherished moans when your lips left his as rapture hit you. Miguel spared a look down at the mess you’d made, but too quickly his gaze returned to the bobs of your Adam’s apple, the muscles pulsing and tensing in the aftershocks, the sheen of red coating your cracked lips. It was enough to make him come undone, untouched by you, only fulfilled by the rub of cotton on his hardened cock.

And of course, you noticed it right away. Ugh. “You’re a freak,” you scoffed out between breaths. “Fucking–cumming from, what? Getting your pet off?” 

Miguel rolled his eyes to betray his embarrassment, and squeezed you hard at the base to pull one last mean, choked groan out of you. “Callate. You could try being grateful, hm?”

“Don’t think that’s in my programming.” You leaned back and looked down at the mess. “Who’s gonna clean this up, Doc?” You prodded looking up at him through your lashes. 

Miguel’s intrigue piqued. “Here I thought you were too tired,” he mocked. 

“Might change your mind tomorrow. Oughta cash in while I can.” 

“Hm.” Miguel let go and leaned back, shaky fingers working on his own clothes. “Guess I can give you another treat.”

But, as fate would have it, one more go of it turned into five, and left him half-alive come the morning.