#if it weren’t for your father Rose….

[s-darling-art]

This just in, I love Rose Wilson

[gutsby]

Make It Stick

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected-peepaw-p-in-v (I’m sorry). Accidental creampie. Age gap. Cumplay. Breeding kink. Ovulation has led me places I wouldn’t go with a gun.

Note: Convergence is a painting by Jackson Pollock. We studied it in high school and I thought it looked like jizz idk

Word count: 4.7k

He should’ve gotten snipped when he had the chance.

Should’ve taken the plunge, faced his fears of needles and fluorescent-washed doctor’s offices like any man his age could have done and gotten the damn vasectomy. Now he was here, nearly two decades older and still none the wiser in this cold, dead world with a pretty young thing like you between his sheets. In lieu of elective surgery, Joel Miller had only to grit his teeth, bite hard, and repeat over and over again in his head, desperate:

‘Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, DON’T—’

Words like those normally worked. With women that weren’t you, they tended to serve him exceedingly well.

But you were just so tight. And wet. And welcoming. And try as Joel might to pretend like he got laid on a regular basis, the truth was that he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t seem to think straight when it came to this fixation he’d developed for you, so, instead, he let his dick do all the decision-making whenever he found himself around you. Ten times out of ten that ended in:

“J-J-Joel—oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m gonna CUM.”

And that made it worth every last life-endangering drop.

Feeling how your flushed, lithe body came apart beneath his touch. How you needed him. How your eyes grew to half the size of your face and you gaped up at the man, lips parted, like you couldn’t even comprehend how the friction of seven inches could make you feel so good.

If he had it his way, he would’ve loved nothing more than to show you that feeling every night, and twice the next morning if his hip wasn’t giving him too much trouble.

But, at present, the man had bigger fish to fry. Like not becoming a new father at fifty-nine if he could help it.

With the last two fluttering pulses of your heat, and almost going cross-eyed from the pleasure as he felt it, Joel yanked his big, slippery cock out of your body and made a fist around his member as he always knew to do. Tugged and pulled and grunted above you—‘Sweet girl, you’re so fuckin’ good to me’—and watched your tits and your belly for the milky white ropes to ensue.

Strangely, though, your skin stayed the same.

No cum-spray Convergence appeared before him, no opaque and cloudy fluids dribbling down your ribs, nothing. Your stomach was as bare as the rest of you, save for a few beads of sweat, and that was all there was.

Joel shook his dick harder, confused. Beneath him, you were still coming down from your high smiling ear-to-ear and staring blissfully at the ceiling. Your chest rose and fell, rose and fell in quick succession, and while you endeavored to recollect your mind, Joel was losing his.

Where the FUCK was his cum?

In no naked horizontal tango to date had Joel simply…cum without noticing. Shit like that just didn’t happen to men, least of all to ones his age, so when he’d wrung his poor cock like a sodden towel and still saw nothing come out, he felt his stomach turn and plummet inside him.

He dropped to his hands and knees in less than a moment and lowered his head between your legs.

“No, Joel!” you squealed, giggling. Kicking your feet, “Another round and I’m gonna combust, you old perv!”

But Joel wasn’t looking to get his dick wet again. He was inspecting you. Or trying to, anyway. Quickly realizing he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, he let out a breath through his nose and lifted you off the bed. Your naked frame thrown over his shoulder, bare hip beside his head and your strangled, muffled cry of, ‘What the hell, Joel?!’ hardly seemed to register with the man carrying you off.

You were toted to the bathroom. Joel was about to ease you down on your feet. Then, appearing to change his mind at the last second, he set you onto the sink instead. Your skin bristled with indignation, anger. A little arousal.

“Last time we did it on a sink we broke the faucet,” you reminded him, feigning more dismay than you really felt inside. If anything, you liked it when your fossil-age fuckbuddy switched things up. You were just exhausted.

Heedless of your words, Joel kneeled on the floor and pried your legs apart before him. When you swatted at his silver-flecked head, he brushed your hand away.

“Hold still,” he grunted.

“How come?”

“‘Cause I said.”

How quickly he commanded that tone of a father.

“Wanna sleep,” you groaned, about to roll your eyes.

But you couldn’t deny you liked being doted on by him.

Joel’s touch was gentle. Probing. Spidering down the most sensitive parts of your bare lower half, between your thighs, and slowly coaxing you closer to the edge of the sink. Your breath hitched when you saw his head tilt.

He appeared to be deep in thought—a rare sight for anyone who’d seen Joel Miller in the postcoital state. Most every time he’d blown his load before, the man was dead asleep within ten minutes. His joints could barely hold himself upright after a half hour of plowing the back forty, much less carry you, too, so you were puzzled now.

He thumbed at the seam of your cunt, and you whined:

“Jo-el—”

“Can ya…push, baby?” His eyes flitted up quickly.

“Push?”

“Yeah, just…” With a look you couldn’t quite read, he placed the palm of his other hand on your belly. Then, pressing, “Like this. Like you’re squeezin’ somethin’ out.”

You cocked a brow in muted confusion but did as he asked. You watched his gaze, and it stayed on you.

Or, rather, on that soft and pliant spot between your legs the old man seemed to favor so much. On any other occasion, in a position like this, he surely would’ve been wearing a smile. Tonight, his lips curled into a grimace.

And twisted even further when you ‘pushed’ like you did.

At first you felt nothing. A gentle clench of your walls supplied little more than a sense of having been stretched—no novel concept to you, who’d spent the last three-and-a-half months or so getting fucked by the finest AARP affiliate alive most every night. It wasn’t until you clamped down again that you got the feeling there was something else. Something thick and warm and slow as molasses trickling out from between your folds.

You let out a low, tender, ‘Mmph’ without meaning to; it felt kind of nice. Beneath you, Joel’s face turned grave.

He watched as his spend oozed out of your freshly-fucked hole and thought of vasectomies again.

You were young—too young to know better. Too sweet and naïve to see any peril in spreading your legs for a man like him, in a world like this. And Joel swore he’d be careful. But no post-apocalyptic birth control method was perfect, or even close to it, and it was clear he’d relied too heavily on reflexes to keep him from cumming inside you. Joel was old—too old to be doing this shit.

Too grown and well-versed in sex to be making mistakes as stupid as that. His brow pinched in, and he drew his next breath as if the air around him was growing scarce.

“Joel, what’s—”

“When’s the last time you— you— uh…bled?”

Hardly more in control of his face than the rate his heart went thudding in his chest, Joel winced at the end. This time, you were the one to knit your eyebrows together. You could tell by that tight, discomfited tone he wasn’t talking papercuts, but were still unsure of his purpose.

“Like two, two and a half weeks ago. Why?”

Well, fuck.

Joel buried his face in his hands. You scooted closer to the sink’s edge, thinking little of his cum leaking out.

“Why?” you tried again. Softer this time.

An old, weathered head lifted to greet you. It was bleak.

“You see this?” Joel paused. Swiping his finger through the viscous white substance that had trickled out on the counter, in a puddle now, “Y’know what it means, right?”

You let his look, and the question, remain suspended in air for a second. Then another. Then you shrugged.

“Yeah. But…you’re old,” came your answer at length.

You’re old.

Joel and you both knew as much, but the former wasn’t quite following your train of thought. Still wanting to try and mitigate damages while he could, though, Joel reached for the roll of toilet paper that was fastened to the wall and tore himself a strip. He bunched it up and, reaching for one of your knees to spread you further for him, took to daubing the tissue across your entrance.

“What’s me bein’ old got to do with anything?” A little sharp, then, seeing you flinch when he drew too close to your clit, “‘m sorry, baby, just— gotta get this out of you.”

You made a face but let him continue anyway. Your eyes followed each movement of his hand, and reflexively, the muscles in your thighs tightened. Why bother with this when the man has so many better uses for his hands?

For a second, your eyes fluttered half-shut.

“Maria says old folks are, uh…infertile. Got something to do with a middle pause,” you said, breaths labored.

Joel stopped just long enough to shoot you a look.

“Menopause,” he corrected, all too matter-of-fact, before returning to his work, “is a woman thing.”

What the hell were they teaching in Jackson’s sex ed classes, anyway? Then Joel remembered how his brother sincerely believed that women peed out of their vaginas until he was twenty-three, and the thought of you not knowing the ins and outs of male virility wasn’t the most far-fetched idea in the universe. Besides, sexual health wasn’t exactly the community’s highest priority when the world around it was in a perpetual state of decay and hordes of fungus-faced fuckers ran rampant in the wild.

He curved a tender, careful finger against the ring of muscles framing your sex, trying to absorb more cum, and your grip on the edge of the countertop tightened.

“S-So, you—” You swallowed, throat constricting a little too, “You’re sayin’…men can make babies…whenever?”

You sounded so innocent as you said it. Joel wanted nothing more than to club himself over the head for being the cause of this predicament—of being such an instrumental part of the perceived corruption, as it was.

Meanwhile, your head was swimming in filthier thoughts.

Deeper, Joel, keep…pushing in…dee-e-per. You would have scarcely had more luck giving a fuck what Joel was talking about now than if he’d just said the room was on fire. By his voice, you knew you should’ve been paying attention, but the dexterity of his fingers was too much. He was caressing the first couple inches of your inner walls, attempting to scrape what bits of his release he could get unstuck from the flesh, but it seemed he was succeeding mostly in just turning you on. Rendering you deaf to the drone of his words as you pictured him pushing something else inside your tight, throbbing—

“—whole lotta problems for us if you’re, uh…ovulating,” Joel finished, expression taut and oblivious. You hadn’t heard the first part of that sentence and didn’t care to.

“Ovulating,” you repeated slowly. Indifferent.

Joel carried on without a hitch.

“Kids just ain’t fit for this world. I know you know that.”

You nodded along, not hearing a word.

“And if you’re— if y’ever did consider, maybe…”

Your lungs took an extra sharp inhale when Joel’s fingers coaxed out a warm, sticky glob of his load, and he petted your folds with his thumb. Then let out a breath himself.

“…y’oughta start a family with someone your own age—”

That part snagged your attention. Too swiftly, it came:

“My own age?”

Sighing, in spite of those welts of pleasure so heightened by his touch that the space between your legs began to throb and ache. Hardly possessed of more sense to form words that weren’t just echoes of his own, you tried communication from a simpler source—your foot.

You nudged his shoulder, and Joel looked up.

“What?”

“What?”

Parroting was, evidently, a hard habit to kill. Your toes curled into the bare skin of Joel’s shoulder, and when he re-inserted his finger, you ground your heel even deeper.

“When’s that ev…ever stopped us from doing it before, hm?” you said, tone strained but laced with some humor too, “Thought you liked sayin’ you’d make me a mama.”

Joel’s face flooded pink at the recollection—as a matter of fact, there had been several such memories. Instead of answering immediately, he just averted his gaze again. He anchored one hand to your thigh, and with the other teased out another string of your shared arousal before wiping his finger on the tissue, clinically, and repeating. All he had to offer in reply after was: ‘That’s different.’

And it was, to some extent. Joel wasn’t blind to the sea of uneasy looks that trailed behind you both whenever you walked the streets of Jackson together. How wide the eyes would get when instead of observing some filial display of affection play out before them, as expected, you’d loop your arms around his waist and take his lip between your teeth as you kissed—‘Can we please go home now, baby?’—that Joel was certain he’d been cemented as the resident pervert among everyone in town. Just how much worse that reputation was liable to get if there ever happened to be a round and swollen belly between that embrace someday was unthinkable. Dirty talk was one thing; parenthood another entirely.

This is for the best, became the low, grating refrain in his skull. Why he dug so hard, pushed so far inside the wet, velvety interior of your body without a thought for his own desires in that moment; he had to cull every trace of himself out of there, before he had half a chance to think.

“Baby, hey, hey, no—” Joel cut in a second later, abrupt.

No, no, no. You weren’t thinking either. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper inside.

Smiling a little, too.

“What are you— no, honey, don’t— you can’t,” Joel’s words splintered in every direction, watching you plunge his own index and middle fingers into the slick and the warmth he’d just been trying to get his cum out of. He looked up and saw your lids were heavy, about to close.

“What are you doin’? This ain’t…no, baby, it ain’t…safe.”

Back to sounding like a dad in no time at all.

“What’s wrong with leaving it in a bit longer? Feels nice.”

You had no idea what you were talking about. Joel pulled back on his hand and, in less than a second, had it freed.

“I just told you,” he huffed, “You’re too young—”

“I’m plenty old, Joel,” you returned, eyes snapping open, “You’ve shown me that more times than I can count.”

Joel was silent, stunned. He rose to his feet as your eyes seared holes into his, and for a second, he was uncertain whether to take a step back or reach out for you again.

“Baby…”

To his surprise, something like hurt surfaced behind your eyes. You set your lips in a tighter line, and your grip on the counter grew firmer just the same. He would’ve taken that move as his cue to lean in gently, slot his body between your thighs, and venture an apology of some sort, when the next thing you did stopped him cold.

Without a word, you slipped your free hand between your legs—eyeing Joel closely, almost scornfully, as you did.

You took your middle and ring fingers and sank them into your cunt. Not intending to let a drop of his spend leak out, you wedged them in as far as they’d go. Joel watched. Gawked. Once sufficiently pleased with the look of shock taking over his handsome, aged features, you withdrew the fingers. You brought them up to your mouth, wrapped your lips around the tips, and sucked.

It was a rare thing to get a taste of you and Joel together like this, so you savored it. You moved your mouth further down to drink it all in, peering up with wide, indulgent eyes and a look that was meant to punish.

Feels nice.

Tastes alright, too.

You’d licked the last bit of this glaze off your hand when your stomach clenched. You knew it would happen. Full as you were, you feared your body still hungered for more. As such, it hardly came as a surprise when next your muscles tensed, and you shifted closer to Joel.

“Maybe I don’t want babies with someone my own age.”

Either one of your knees were nudging his hips. Drawing him in. Joel appeared to waver for a second, unsure, but the look on his face made it clear this was mostly a matter of a delayed reaction. He couldn’t get his legs to move because the rest of him was still in awe. Staring at your lips, where the residue of his spend was glistening, then to your eyes, which were no less inviting, then up to the crown of your head and over it, to fix his stare on the mirror behind it. You watched him watch his own reflection with a look that was both hard and unkind, breathing slow. When he didn’t stir from that position after a minute, you touched a hand to his lower stomach.

And, brushing the heel of your palm against what felt like a hundred grey hairs in the old man’s happy trail—your favorite ones—you smoothed a caress along his belly, back and forth, before moving it left. Your hand came to rest on a mound of muscle and fat sitting right above his hip. Love handles, Joel had remarked one morning with vague distaste. Love handles, you’d repeated, beaming. You held on tightly now, appreciatively, and used your well-loved wall of flesh to pull him closer. As with any beckoning of yours, Joel didn’t have so much as half a mind to resist. He did, however, refuse to meet your gaze while you tilted your hips and spread your legs wider, before winding your ankles around the backs of his legs.

“Don’t you think I’d look pretty?” You pouted up at him. Your folds made a light, warm suction rubbing along the front of Joel’s cock—of course he’d grown hard again, and you could hold him, point him down to that wet embrace awaiting him patiently at the edge of the sink.

Joel cursed under his breath.

“‘Course I do…” he said, voice hoarse, “Y’always look—”

“I mean…with your baby inside me, Joel. Right here.”

As if to put a finer point on your words, you nestled the head of his cock inside the first inch of your body. Joel had to seize the laminate underneath you and grit his teeth to keep from letting out a groan too loud. That tip may as well have been a first-rate conductor of heat, and your warmth the thing that might send him spilling again

“You don’t—” Joel choked out, nearly incensed, “—don’t know what the hell you’re sayin’, baby. What that means.”

In truth, there wasn’t a world Joel Miller could imagine where a girl like you could give more than a passing thought to getting knocked up by him—a man his age. What good would it do? You had your whole life laid out before you like a four-course dinner spread; there was no sense whatsoever in letting the meal go to waste on him.

He communicated as much by moving to pull out.

You met the effort with a push of your own, sinking down another inch or two on his shaft and smiling when you saw his eyes roll back in his head at the dizzying friction.

“I know more than enough, old man—” Grin stretching ear-to-ear as you dug your heels in his ass and tugged him deeper, “—who do you think taught me all this?”

Of course, it had been Joel.

Always, always him—the only one, in fact.

Your walls drew him in like a hug. For once, Joel conjured up the strength to take a look between your lower half and his, and when he did, the next moan was inevitable. It trickled through his lips. Your body looked sublime swallowing a third of his cock, and it was almost as though a maggot had crawled into his brain, chanting:

‘Make her full. Make her yours. Tell any man who’d even think of looking her way she belongs to someone else.’

He couldn’t.

Joel would never be so selfish. Just think of her youth.

But when his gaze drifted back to yours, every thought and any word besides seemed gently to melt away. Beneath him, your eyes were two pools of desire.

“You like this…don’t you, Joel?” Your voice was tiny.

“I do.”

In fact, he loved it.

“Then why can’t we?” Why shouldn’t we?

Minuscule now, the words that reached him barely exceeded a whisper. It was as though the moment itself had drained all fear from your face—and out of Joel, all common sense from his brain—leaving you both to stare at the other with shared, stupid, anoetic looks of bliss. The man who had you beat by thirty-odd years seemed nearly of the same mind, with almost identical ignorance.

Idiocy.

“Just once?” Joel croaked.

Somewhere underneath, unseen, you smiled.

“Just one?” you murmured back.

He sank in another inch. When your walls contracted around him, Joel’s hands found your hips by force of habit and pushed your back against the glass behind it. The mirror was cool, and inside you, Joel was throbbing.

“Once,” he repeated, not thinking too deeply.

“One,” you said, with a world of more purpose.

Joel relinquished the last three inches, and with it, all of his resolve. The handsome, scarred, and plainly greying features all twisted as one, and the expression that you knew too well to mean that the man was feeling good took on the slightest hint of guilt. He gripped you tighter.

“One?” Joel panted. Confused.

He pulled out halfway just to find his home again. Your pearly slick mixed together with his spend, and both coated over Joel’s shaft in a pretty, generous sheen.

“One more of you, I mean.” You sounded too sweet. There was no way in hell you’d actually meant it.

Joel’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t stop, either.

“Baby…” he trailed off instead. He pushed in, pulled out, felt your tender little hole make an ‘o’ around his shaft, and then he kissed the edge of your left cheek—maybe to rein in the need in his words before he spoke again: “One’a me takes and I’m givin’ ya fifteen more, y’hear?”

The smile he received told him as much as he needed to hear. He probably wouldn’t have believed it even if you’d said the words yourself. Joel’s thrusts sped up, and as the pleasure distended in the pit of his stomach with the friction and the feel, his words flowed a little more freely.

In disbelief, “Wanna be a mama that bad for me, huh?”

Your grin grew bigger. You nodded your head.

“Make your old man a daddy, is that it?”

Exactly. Senseless as it was, your look said it all.

To have slipped between the grooves and ridges of Joel’s brain and caught wind of even a fraction of the things he wanted to do to you then, a smarter girl would have run. Would have shoved him back out as swiftly as she’d let him in and told him no, that’s gross, and gone home. And, had the grey matter floating inside your own skull not been so completely dominated by primal need and wanting, that’s likely what you would have done, too. Instead, with a head full of lewd, youthful stupidity, you seized the black-grey curls dangling at the nape of his neck and drew him closer. You spread your legs wider.

“That is what you’ve wanted this whole time, right?”

Under his scruff, a muscle tensed as Joel bit down.

That’s all he’s ever wanted.

Let the neighbors talk.

Let them say what they wanted to say—it was probably all true to the point they were trying to make, anyway. That Joel was a pervert, of course. That you were naïve, also true. That you would look too good not to stare in a white cotton frock with a bump underneath, absolutely. These were the ideas permeating your brain and his while Joel took a firmer hold of your sides and brought his nose to rest against yours. With every stab of his hips, he pressed kisses to your soft, parted lips, speaking low:

“That what you want, too, darlin’?” More serious now.

The head of his cock nicked a sensitive ridge inside you, eliciting a whimper, but you nodded. You nodded again, feeling the brush of his stubble at your mouth and your chin, and nodded again when he bottomed out, stuffing you tight. It felt a little more momentous than any other time in the past, now that you were picturing a fullness that wasn’t just him. Him and you: a concrete being to soothe the sting of his absence long after Joel withdrew.

Something to stick.

“Please say it, baby.”

Someone to call yours.

“I want it,” you said, sounding desperate.

A coil was just starting to form in the place you felt him. Drifting up, pulling tight, making your eyes go glossy and wide while they stuck to Joel’s and begged him for more.

“Want what?” He sped up, and his thrusts got sloppy.

“Want you,” you breathed, “Inside me, Joel, please.”

As if predicting your next thoughts, the man lowered his hand to your belly. You hadn’t even noticed the smallest bulge had taken shape beneath the skin. Joel slowed, momentarily, then rubbed the base of his palm against the mound where your body was obliged to make room for his cock inside you. He drew soft, tender circles there and, with the motion, sent stars flying before your eyes.

“Good girl,” he murmured, “Right here?”

“Ri— right there. Right there.”

Joel adored that sound. The soft, elated look, the gentle knoll of flesh in a bump below his hand, the whimpers rolling off your tongue repeatedly, quicker and quicker the more the pleasure inside you continued to build. Joel’s release was coming soon, too. For the hundredth time that night, he silently wished he were a little younger; so he could fill you up once, twice, twenty more times until your insides were stuffed and painted white. As if reading his mind, as he had for you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Hope our baby has your eyes,” you murmured to him.

It shouldn’t have had such a strong effect—but of course, it did. Joel pictured the small, sweet infant with irises that shone a bit like his, and his stomach caved in.

Tonight, tomorrow, or ten months down the line, he was getting you pregnant. He’d clear his whole schedule for it

“That right?” And now he couldn’t stop the smile as he spoke, leaning even further in, “What about their nose?”

He kissed the tip of yours.

“Hope they get this.”

He kissed either one of your cheeks.

“These too.”

You had to fight back a laugh while his scruff tickled skin. Two deep strokes away from the brink of release and he still somehow always stayed in tune with your needs.

The threat of your peak was perilously near. Joel’s spend and your slick, tender glaze made a chorus of sounds at each thrust, and the deeper he went, the bigger it swelled. Your smiles couldn’t stay for much longer when the feeling inside you both was being amplified like that. Sensing this, Joel took hold of your face and slipped his touch to cup your chin. He made you tilt your head up to him, as if to ask again, ‘Are you sure?’ and when you nodded, his lips twitched again. A fleeting hint of a grin, like he couldn’t be more eager to finish now if he tried.

Holding your face, cock swollen and throbbing and desperate between your walls, he felt a familiar twitch.

There it is.

[sooniebby]

ఌ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐎𝐘

W.C › 6.4k

Warning › bottom male reader. Reader has a cock and is mentioned to have slept with girls and boys. No set character, this is an OC, but you can imagine anyone

Plot › basically just this idea I had but expanded

Kinks › manhandling, accidental creampie, cross dressing, lite feminization, mirror sex, hint of dom/sub relation

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

To say you were a playboy was an understatement. New girl every week was you being nice. Now, as a senior, you didn’t care as much anymore.

Which led you to your current predicament.

You’d practically ran through the entire school by now and you were… bored.

The first years didn’t interest you. And you’d already gone through the pretty people in third and second year. It was looking like you’d have to start branching out to schools nearby.

A sigh left you as you plopped down at your seat, flicking at a lint of dust on your desk. It was lunch time and you weren’t feeling hungry. Well you were hungry for sex but not for food.

“Man, (L.Name), view this as a good thing! It’s lucky you haven’t gotten an STD by now.” Your friend, Ryun, said as he ate from his bento box. You only gave him a huff.

“I use condoms. They work, 99.9%!”

“Sure. I’m surprised none of the girls have gotten pregnant yet.”

Ryun let out a howl as you kicked his knee underneath the desk. “I fuck guys too! You should be wondering if I’m pregnant.”

“Wha—(L.Name), you can’t get pregnant.”

You shrugged. “You never know.”

“Are you insane?”

“Should you really be asking the resident slut that?” A voice cut in. Your eyebrows rose as you turned to see who was so bold to call you that only to see it was another one of your friends.

“Sana…! That’s so mean! I’m not a slut.” You whined as she plopped down at the desk beside you. She only gave you a knowing look before digging into her own bento.

“Ryun!” You looked straight at him. “Am I a slut?”

“Do you really want me to answer that…?”

“GAH!! Ryun~~~!” You whined, pouting heavily as you rubbed at your face in annoyance. The two ignored your childish behavior as you finally began to start eating your bento. It was a comfortable silence for a moment before a ding popped in your head.

“Oh no…” Ryun muttered, knowing that look in your eyes.

You leaned in close, grinning. “Guys.. This senior year, I should go for someone special!”

Sana sighed. “Who? Who haven’t you fucked by now?”

A teasing grin pulled on your lips as you motioned for them to come closer. As they pulled in, you looked around to make sure no one was ease dropping and giggled in excitement.

“Ito Yuki.”

A pin could be heard as Ryun and Sana stared at you for a moment. Their faces slowly contorting into something of pure disgust and disappointment.

“Him?! Student Council president, Ito Yuki?!” Sana whispered yelled.

“Mhm. I’ve never even noticed him before until now! You should’ve seen him. He still has those ugly glasses but he’s buffed up! What’s he training for?” You joked, laughing loudly in the quiet classroom.

Ryun groaned. “No way. Ito doesn’t date. Ever since he got ‘buff’ he has had girls tripping for him. But he’s turned them down! Every last one of them.”

Sana nodded in agreement. “Yeah. No way he’d get with you—especially with your reputation of dumping people after a week!”

“But that’s a good thing!” You cried. “If he’s never dated before, that means he’s a virgin!! Inexperienced!! Those are the best, especially in boys!”

“Gross, (L.Name).” The two said in unison.

You pouted. “Aah! You guys don’t understand!”

“I’d rather not,” Ryun countered.

“You’re just really perverted, (L.Name). And so weird. You won’t even let us call you by your first name.” Sana said, rolling her eyes.

“But he has no problem letting someone see his flat ass.” Ryun chuckled.

“My ass is not flat!” You gasped. “I’ll prove it—”

“—NO!!!”

You sat back down with a huff. Yeah, you were weird. Sana and Ryun, your friends since diapers didn’t use your first name. Only your mother and father did but you didn’t even like them saying it either. For some reason, it just sounds.. off hearing it from people.

There didn’t seem to be a real reason. You just didn’t like it. Though you’ve been hoping that one day someone would say your first name and you wouldn’t immediately grimace.

Oh well. You had more pressing matters.

And that was Student Council President Ito Yuki.

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“How are you going to ask him out?” Ryun asked, pulling out his bento. It’s been a week since your declaration to take Ito Yuki’s virginity but you haven’t really done anything. Mainly because he’s always doing student council president shit. Always so busy.

“Like how I ask everyone out.” You said, popping a grape into your mouth.

“Serious?” Sana gasped. “That unromantic shit you do? Gosh, people here have such low standards. I hope he rejects you.”

You gave her a tight glare and threw a grape at her, grinning when it hit her right on her nose. You weren’t unromantic so to say. But… your proposals left much to desire. You had a a short and sweet line.

“Hey, you’re hot. Wanna make out?”

You thought it was romantic but Sana believed the students here just didn’t have enough self respect. Both were probably true.

“Why would anyone reject this?” You sensually pull down your blazer to show off your collarbone and give Sana a flirty lip bite. She gagged immediately.

Ryun hummed. “I can think of many reasons why someone would reject you.”

“Ack! You two suck! Where’s the motivation?! ‘Ah, (L.Name), you’re so hot!! Who would ever say no to you?!’ Like huh??”

“You don’t need anymore compliments. Your head is about damn near jelly from your narcissism.” Ryun said.

You rolled your eyes. Tough crowd. The three of you continued on with lunch when there was a sudden shrill voice. You looked at Sana and Ryun before moving to the sliding door of the classroom, sliding it open and looking out the hallway.

And there he was.

Student Council President Ito Yuki.

A soft mop of jet black hair with over grown bangs. Mono lid eyes that resembled a fox eye. A beauty mark right underneath his right eye. Plump lips. Cheekbones. He still had those stupid circular glasses. His body, though. His body was insane. He wasn’t crazy buff but he certainly put on weight compared to his stick thin body from first year. He practically had boobs (pecs) now!

He was taller too. Maybe 182 cm…?

A group of girls followed behind him, all holding letters that they waved to try and give to him. Huh, was today? Fuck, it was Valentine’s Day!!

You cursed as you watched Ito Yuki continue to walk and ignore the girls, passively pushing away any one that got too close. You didn’t have shit to give him.

Also it wasn’t White Day so it would’ve been weird if you did… but boys can do Valentine’s Day too..? Right?

Ah, fuck it.

“(L.Name)?!” Ryun whispered as you stepped out into the hallway, right as Ito Yuki come close to passing your classroom.

“What are you doing??” Sana yelled, covering her mouth when a few students looked at her in surprise.

You squared your shoulders and stood up tall, only now noticing you only came up to his chest. Ah, you were a perfect height to suck on his—

Not now, (L.Name)!

Even in your thoughts you didn’t even use your first name. You let out a sigh and gave Ito Yuki your signature flirty smirk. Your eyes peering up at him, giving yourself a cute look. You had multiple ways of flirting, especially when it came to boys or girls.

A true bisexual playboy!

“Ito-San.” You said, blinking slightly to flutter your eyelashes. Ito seemed to be focusing on something else in his mind despite his eyes on you. Well you can’t have that.

You leaned in closer, resting your hand on his arm. You felt him visibly twitch at your touch, earning a slight grin on your lips. Too easy. There was whispering happening around you but you didn’t care. You’ve asked out people in public spaces loads of times.

This… was a piece of a cake.

“Ito-San… you’re—”

“—hot?”

You blinked, staring up at him in shock. Did he just? Your lips parted as you short circuited—should you continue or just come up with something on the fly? A slight gasp left you as his hand reached up and grabbed the back of your head, bringing you closer.

The crowd erupted into gasps, even Ryun and Sana looked absolutely shocked. You couldn’t even think. Someone.. was taking control? You—you—??!?

His breath tickled your ears as your eyes clinched shut, your hands digging into his blazer as you let out a stuttered breath. You could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle.

“Sure. Let’s make out.” He said, loud enough for only you to hear. With that, he pulled away, his hand gently rubbing the back of your head before dropping. His face was stoic, his lips straight but you could almost see a slight smirk on them as he walked past you.

It was hushed whispers as everyone dispersed as soon as the school bell rang, signaling lunch was over. Ryun and Sana ran over to you, Sana gripping your shoulders as she shook you.

“Hey, what the hell was that?!” She cried.

You only let out a whimper, looking at the both of them in pure shock. “I…I don’t know…”

“Wow. Ito Yuki changed. He put (L.Name) in his place!” Ryun laughed, patting you on the back. “So? He rejected you?”

Right. They didn’t hear him. You paused, almost wondering if you should tell them. Would they believe you? Sana and Ryun looked at you expectedly.

“Yea…” You muttered, laughing slightly. “He rejected me.” You looked down as Sana rubbed your shoulders in a comforting manner. Ryun just patted your head as they steered you back to the classroom.

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“I..Ito Yuki?!”

You glanced up as you heard your classmates exclaim in shock. Ito… Yuki? It had only been a week since that incident happened and you hadn’t seen Ito a lot. But that was to be expected. He was in 3-A, smartest of the third years and c student council president.

Sana and Ryun were geeking out beside you as Ito walked into the classroom, heading straight towards you. You felt weird. Not uncomfortable but odd. Like your body was… scared of him? But it wasn’t a bad scared. It reminded you of going on a rollercoaster.

The fear during but the ecstasy afterwards.

“(L.Name).”

Oh. That’s a first. You didn’t like hearing him say that. Huh.

“H..Hello, Ito-San.” You muttered, your grip tightening on your bag as he looked at you. His gaze was intense, even with his overgrown bangs. You wished those bangs covered his eyes more.

“Let’s go on a date.”

The classroom erupted into screams at his words. Date?! Date with you of all people?! No one even cared that Ito was surprisingly into men. No, it was surprising he would go for someone like you. The school campus’s proud playboy that was barely passing through school!

You didn’t even get to answer as his hand grabbed your wrist and began tugging you along. Your eyes met Sana and Ryun who looked at you with pure shock. You couldn’t blame them.

You’ve never really gone on dates before. Sure, at the beginning in first year when you were starting out your slut activities. But by second year, anyone who dated you knew that you mostly wanted them for sex. So to have Ito Yuki, of all people, coming to date you was… shocking.

Also fake. It had to be fake.

Yeouch!

Not fake. Not fake at all.

This was how you’d soon find yourself in a movie theater. Ito had something about liking movie dates and there was a movie he wanted to watch. A horror movie maybe? You couldn’t pay attention. You sat down beside him, staring off into space as the movie began playing.

It was an American movie, judging by the fact you couldn’t understand them. You glanced up at the screen, seeing the subtitles on the right. Ah, a slasher. You’ve seen multiple slashers so you knew the format like you knew blowjobs.

But you didn’t expect Ito to be interested in this type of stuff. You glanced over at him, watching as he stared straight at the screen, occasionally taking a sip from his soda. Huh, he’s zoned in.

You sighed and decided to get comfortable. Lucky for you, most slashers knew not to over stay their welcome. So you began watching, occasionally glancing at the other moviegoers who decided to watch a slasher at 5:00 pm on a Friday.

Mainly older couples. A few high schools students. And what you could assume some college students.

A hand grazed your thigh which caused you to let out a loud gasp. Luckily a jumpscare drowned you out. You looked down to see the arm rest pulled up that blocked you from Ito and his hand resting just an inch from your thigh.

Huh. What did he..?

You didn’t get to think any further when another loud jumpscare filled the theater. Your attention turned right as a poor woman was sawed in half. Oh, what a way to die. There continued to be gorey deaths that you forgot all about Ito’s strange decision to pull up the armrest.

Not until the movie cut to a random couple having sex in the car. Ah, you knew kills like this. Directors seemed to love having naked women run for their life after their boyfriend is killed.

There’s probably something wrong about that.

Before you could delve deeper into this question you felt a hand rest on your thighs. Just as you were about to even look down, the hand moved to your crotch and squeezed. A gasped left you that was coincidentally timed with the actress’s.

Has Ito’s hands always been this big? You let out a sharp shudder as you watched him grope your crotch. Really, you should’ve pushed him away. But you were just shocked that someone like Ito would be doing this.

And in a weird way, you did… like it? But it didn’t last long, just as the actress was killed by the killer, Ito pulled away. You couldn’t help your slight whimper as you glanced over at him. He didn’t even spare you a look.

Jerk.

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“You went on a date?!”

You sighed as you rubbed your eyes, staring at the two clowns in your room. Ryun and Sana had a spare key to your home—thanks mom!—so they didn’t even need to wait for you to open it. It was the next day after your date with Ito. It ended a bit unsatisfactory.

He just walked you home and waved goodbye. He didn’t even give you his number.

“Yea… he literally said that yesterday after class.” You whined, wanting to just plop back down and sleep. You masturbated all night last night, wishing he had touched you more. Which was a fucking first. You usually never have a wet dream about your partners.

“Wow… maybe, Ito-San likes you?” Ryun muttered, biting his lip as he sat down on your bed.

“Ito-San and (L.Name)?! That’s crazy.” Sana exclaimed. “But Ito-San isn’t someone to prank around.”

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Mhm~ maybe this sexy body has him curious.” You teased, sending a flirty wink to Ryun. He looked at you with pure disgust.

“Yeah, right.” Ryun grabbed a pillow and threw it at your face. “If he does, I owe you dinner for a week.”

“Deal!”

“Oh,” Sana suddenly muttered. “Wouldn’t yesterday be the start of the week? So you’ll break up with him next week Friday?”

You pursed your lips. Yeah, she was right. But why did you suddenly hate the idea of leaving him? You only gave a noncommittal nod and get out of bed, wanting to just take a shower and wash off the masturbation from last night.

Ito had to have know about you. He knew your usual phrase when asking someone out.

Well, you had the rest of the week to find out what he wanted from you.

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

Technically you didn’t. Because it was already next Friday and he didn’t come for you at all. It wasn’t like you could call him either—you didn’t have his phone number. Sana and Ryun could tell it was affecting you but you didn’t even know why.

You’ve dealt with this. Sometimes the weekly partner ended up being just one night. And sure, you got a bit upset the next day but you’d bounce right back right after. You didn’t understand at all.

“(L.Name).”

You glanced over to see Ito Yuki staring down at you. Your classmates seemed able to not scream like last time. But their phones were out and were whispering to each other.

“I..Ito-San..?” You slowly stood up, looking up at him in shock. You should’ve been mad but you felt your heart flutter. Wow, you must’ve really wanted his dick.

“Let’s go to my house.” He said, which earned a round of gasps. Sana and Ryun looked like deers in headlights. You could only nod as he grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the classroom.

Damn, Ito Yuki. He’s probably the only partner that ever had you this bad over dick. And you haven’t even had it yet! Shame it was the last day.

Once you reached his house, you were shocked at how big it was. “Wow… Ito-San, are your parents rich?” You asked, slipping off your shoes as you walked behind him.

“Yuki.”

“Hm?” You replied, grunting when you bumped into him.

“We’re dating, no? So call me by my given name. That’s what couples do.” It—Yuki said nonchalantly, moving to go to the kitchen. You followed right behind him, unable to hide the growing heat on your face. This.. this was a first.

Would he do the same…? You hoped he would.

Much to your surprise, Yuki began making dinner for you. It wasn’t anything difficult, just chicken Katsu curry. You tried to help but he quite literally manhandled you to sit down at the dining table. If there was a growing bulge in your pants you quickly decided to ignore it.

After he finished, he placed a bowl in front of you and sat down beside you. You ate in complete silent. It was a bit uncomfortable because you weren’t used to dinners like this but it gave you perfect view of Yuki.

He looked so pretty? You weren’t sure. He had pulled his bangs back with a cute hello kitty pin and you couldn’t help but wonder who gave him that. He didn’t seem like the boy to like cute stuff. You were able to see his eyes better now—fox like eyes staring right at you.

You coughed slightly and looked down at your curry. “Hm, this is good curry, Yuki. Who, uh, taught you how to make it?”

“My mom.”

“Oh. Where’s your parents?”

“They’re out for the weekend.” He said, his eyes trailing down your face, right to your lips. “They won’t be back until Monday.”

Oh? A slight shudder left your body as your back straightened. The whole weekend? Did he not want this to last the week?

“But today is a full week?”

Yuki hummed. “Since we started dating? Yeah, do you like those type of things?”

“Eh?”

“Keeping track of how long we’ve been together? Do you like doing that? I can do it for you.” He said, finishing his plate off.

“Uh—”

“Sorry I couldn’t meet you during the week, I had to help plan the festival coming up.” He reached over and grabbed your plate. The plates clinked together as he carried them to the sink, gently dropping them in.

Before you could stand up, you felt Yuki rest his chin on your shoulder. You flinched at the touch but calmed down as his nose nuzzled your neck. A giggle left your lips at the ticklish touch. He pressed a kiss on your collarbone before pulling away, motioning for you to get up.

“Do you,” he muttered, reaching over and grabbing the back of your head. “want to make out?” You didn’t even think before eagerly nodding, looking up at him expectantly. He pressed his lips against yours with ease. His glasses pushed against your face but you didn’t find it in yourself to care.

Your hand slowly reached up his body before resting themselves on his shoulders, fingers curling at his button up. Your lips locked with his, easily moving in tandem without pulling apart. Breathing didn’t seem important at the moment.

You hadn’t even noticed you were standing on your toes until the pressure on them began to hurt. A struggled gasp left you as you pulled away, needing to catch a breath while also resting back on the balls of your feet. But Yuki immediately chased your lips, sacrificing his back as he bent down.

His hands gripped your waist, his thumbs digging into your skin. When did he even pull open your shirt? You didn’t get to think with how eager he was kissing you. It felt like you were the inexperienced one with how easily he was taking control.

“Y-Yuki.” You managed to moan into his lips, pulling away to breathe. A giggle left you when he subconsciously chased after your lips again but you pressed a finger against his. “Wait a minute.”

It was different—but in a good way. You were always the one in control during make outs. People were the one to pull away after you made them breathless. It was exciting for it to be the opposite.

“Are you…?” You whispered, wanting to make sure.

Sure, you were a degenerate who liked having sex with virgins, but you always toned yourself down when you did. Treat them like glass unless stated otherwise was your motto!

Yuki hummed. “Virgin? Yeah.”

“Do you know how—?”

“—I’m a virgin, not an idiot.”

You pouted. “I was just checking. Your first time needs to be good.”

“It’s already good.” He whispered, a slight smirk on his lips when you looked away in embarrassment. “But it could be better.”

“Hm? Better how?”

For the first time ever, you saw Yuki’s lips pull into a full smirk. Oh no.

Oh no indeed…

In front of you on the bed was a dress. A cute dress. But a dress nonetheless. It was white with a black bow on the chest. Frilly ends on the sleeves. Paired with white stockings.

The outfit reminded you of something but you didn’t know what.

You dated a lot of people. You’ve done strange shit because of people’s kinks. This, was tame. You shuddered at the time you dressed like a dog. Not even just dog ears and a tail… a full on dog.

Honestly this was a breath of fresh air. So you huffed and slipped out of your clothes, putting on the outfit with ease. Hm, it fit perfectly. You briefly wondered if Yuki somehow had your measurements.

“I’m dressed, Yuki.” You called, slipping on the last stockings. There was a mirror on the closet door. You moved over and couldn’t help but twirl. The dress really was cute. You took in the detailing of the dress and noticed a slight stain on one of the sleeves. But how could it have gotten a stain? Did Yuki make other people wear this?

That left a bitter taste in your mouth. Just because he was a virgin didn’t mean he hadn’t fooled around before. Which you couldn’t judge. That was your reputation!

A pair of arms wrapped around your waist causing you to flinch. Yuki hummed as he looked at you from the mirror. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, his face still stoic. But the way his hands gripped your waist and body as it trailed around you.

“It still fits.” He suddenly muttered. “I was worried you would’ve grown too much since then.”

“Huh? Grown?”

“You don’t remember it?” His hands gripped your waist as he easily spun you around to face him. “First year. School festival.”

Festival? You stared at him confused for a moment before gasping in disbelief. “No way! You kept this?! I thought I threw it out?!” You said, pulling at the fabric in pure shock.

In your first year, your class did a maid cafe, but instead of girls, it was boys as the maids. You played as the head maid because you looked more girlish compared to everyone when you wore the wig. It was fun but you didn’t see the use in keeping the dress after so you threw it up.

Apparently Yuki found it.

“You did. I just grabbed it before they took out the trash. I would’ve saved the wig too..” he muttered, a slight pout on his lips.

You couldn’t help the slight scoff leaving you. “Wig? Do you want me to be a girl?”

“No. You just looked… cute. I like cute things.” He said, shrugging. “You just look cuter feminine.”

“But I don’t even remember you at the festival.”

Yuki hummed. “How could you? I was shorter than you back then. But I remember you. The cute head maid flaunting his cute little dress in front of everyone.”

You blushed. “I wouldn’t say I flaunted it…”

“Really? I think you were a lot of guys awakening that day. So many eyes on you.” His hands tugged at the bottom of the skirt. “Hm, you grew in height. It’s much shorter now.”

You reached down and noticed that it was resting just at the end of your ass. Certainly shorter than in first year when it was closer to your knees. Well at least you can say you did have a growth spurt… just nothing compared to Yuki’s.

“So, you want to have sex with me in it?”

“Mhm. I’ve masturbated to you wearing it for years now.”

You sputtered in shock, watching as Yuki moved away to possibly grab a condom and lube. This Ito Yuki was nothing to the one you thought you knew back at school. The way he could say it so casually made you feel some type of way. But you couldn’t explain it.

Gosh, you’d assume you’re the virgin.

With a slight pep talk in your mind, you squared your shoulders and stormed over to Yuki. He looked over at you and tilted his head, opening his lips to ask something but you pushed him down on the bed. Though you had to use a lot of strength for that—jeez, how tough was he?

You straddled his hips and grinned, looking down at him. “Don’t worry, Yuki~! I’ll make your first time special.” You whispered, gently rubbing your ass against his growing bulge.

Yuki seemed to want to say something but you kissed him, helping him pull off his pants. You knew what to do. You’ve done this so many times it was practically second nature. When you slipped off his boxers, you almost whimpered at the sight.

It was bigger than any you’ve seen before. That stereotype of slender men having bigger dicks didn’t seem like an internet lie anymore. You wondered if it looked bigger when he was thinner and didn’t have the lean muscle he had now.

Shit.

“Are you ready for your first blowjob?” You asked, smirking slightly. You expected him to finally start acting like a blushing virgin but he looked more so bored? Huh?

“Another time. I wanna be in you.”

You felt your cheeks flush. He wanted you quickly, huh? That’s a first. There were even times guys just wanted a blowjob from you and nothing else. This was, interesting to say the least. You gave him a hum and pulled down your own boxers, pulling up the dress.

You felt his eyes zero in on your body as you grabbed the lube and squirt some on your fingers. This was the best. Having someone watch you as you got yourself ready for them. You didn’t waste anytime, easily slipping in two fingers inside your hole. A grunt left you but you kept going, easily stretching yourself out.

If Yuki wanted to be inside, he’d get it. Besides, who doesn’t like a little bit of pain?

The dress was sticking to your skin already and you hadn’t even got his cock inside you yet. It was thin and a bit cheap in material but it certainly knew how to make you warm.

You reached over and grabbed the condom on the nightstand, easily tearing it open with your teeth. The slight eyebrow raise from Yuki made you smirk. It was a habit that you gained from sleeping around so much. Also past partners said it was sexy so you kept doing it.

What works, works!

After finally slipping the condom onto his cock, which surprisingly fit, you moved up to level your ass with his cock. You gave him a slight smile and rest your hand on his chest.

“You can always tell me to stop, okay?” You whispered, making sure he heard you. Yuki only gave you a nod, a look of impatience in his eyes.

Not wanting to make him anymore restless, you wordlessly began to sink down onto his cock. A short gasp filled the room as your fingers gripped his shirt. He was huge but feeling it inside was a whole different experience. You haven’t slept with a guy in a minute so you certainly felt a bit nervous than normal.

But it was fine.

The sight of Yuki was pretty to say the least. He still had on his stupid glasses, the hello kitty pin that held back his bangs. His face was already sweaty while his lips pulled into a slight grimace.

Ah, you knew the face well.

You leaned in close to him—your noses touching.

“Good? It’ll get better from here.” You grinned, leaning back as you slowly rolled your hips.

Except it didn’t really..?

It had to have been maybe ten minutes and Yuki hadn’t cummed at all. You came once which was embarrassing since you weren’t used to cumming before your partners. But you thought maybe he was just nervous so you kept bouncing on his cock.

But by the ten minute mark, he looked bored.

You thought you were imagining it but no, you could tell he was zoning out. His eyes were focused on you but he wasn’t reacting. Even when you picked up the pace, he didn’t even grunt.

A wave of embarrassment mixed in with anger flared within you. You stilled your hips to a stop, finally earning Yuki’s attention as he blinked and actually paid attention to you.

“Seriously…” You grunted, rolling your eyes. “If I’m that boring, you take over!” You were so used to being in control that you actually didn’t want him to take over. Really you wanted to go home, fully embarrassed that in the first time in forever, your partner wasn’t satisfied.

The hands that once laid on your thighs without any grip slowly moved upwards, digging its’ nails into the free upper thigh that wasn’t covered by your knee socks. You let out a surprised grunt at the pain but you didn’t even get to say anything about it before they trail up and grip your waist.

A gasp leaves you when you feel his hips slam up into you.

“Wh—?”

Colors blur as you feel yourself be pushed down onto the bed, your head bouncing slightly from the fast movement. Your legs are grabbed and pushed up, almost knocking yourself in the face.

“Yuki..!” You managed to cry out at his manhandling but he doesn’t seem to care at the moment. You can only watch as he takes off the hair clip and carelessly tosses it away. His bangs fall over his eyes and to your dismay, you can’t see them this time.

Doesn’t help the bedroom is only lit by a small lamp on the nightstand. The shadows practically cover his upper face beside his lips. You can see a slight glint in his glasses but he soon removed them as well, gently resting them on the nightstand.

It’s weird. Your stomach starts to feel weird again. That same feeling when he pulled you close on Valentine’s Day. What was this?

A quick slap of skin bleeds into the room as your thoughts are jumbled before you could even think. You could’ve sworn you heard a cry—like a high pitched voice. Was that?

Yeah, it was you.

Your back arched as Yuki slammed his cock inside you in a constant rhythm. There was cries and whimpers coming straight from you in tandem with his thrusts. You’ve never sounded like this before—you didn’t even think you could make a sound like this.

Your eyes began to water as you pressed your hand against your lips, wanting to muffle the new strange sounds coming.

“Hey…” Yuki’s thrusting slowed down as he reached over and grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away. “Did I say you can do that?” His fingers tightened around your wrist, earning a slight squeak from you in pain.

A laugh filled the room. A boyish smile appearing on Yuki’s lips. He looked so scary like this. No eyes for you to look in. Just the sight of his lips being your only way of knowing how he’s feeling.

“You’re so cute. Like a little hamster.”

“H..Hamster..?”

“Mhm.” His thrusting began again, filling the room with the sounds of squelching and skin slapping. “Cute little hamster. Squishy.”

“Squish—!”

A whimper left you as your toes curled. Shit, you were cumming already?! You let out a grunt and turned your head to the side, wanting to just bury it in the soft bedsheets beneath you.

“Two already.” Yuki said absentmindedly, his hands releasing your thighs as he slowed down his thrusting. You glanced over at him, seeing his hands trail up your body. They were veiny. Larger than yours. He could hold both of your wrists with one hand. You shuddered at the thought.

“Don’t make fun of me.” You whispered, hoping he would just cum already.

Yuki hummed. “I’m making fun of you?” He asked, genuinely confused. You wish you could see his eyes—just to see a glimpse into what he’s thinking. But all you get a little smile.

“I’m not making fun of you. I’m keeping count.” His hands reached the top of your collar, slowly tightening around it. You hummed, wondering what he was about to do. “So I can give you more next time.”

“Give me more?”

“Mhm.”

The sound of fabric tearing caught your attention as you glanced down and saw your dress being torn apart by Yuki’s hands. It started off slow, as if he was fighting the seams before easily pulling it apart once he reached the middle.

A strangled moan left you at the show of strength. Oh man. How could you survive any longer with this guy?

“Yuki!”

“I’ve always wanted to do that.” He said, leaning down as he pressed kisses on your bare skin. Your toes curled as you gripped at the bed sheets beneath you. “I’ll buy you prettier dresses.”

A breathy whimper left your lips. “There’ll be a next time?”

“Why wouldn’t there be? You’re my boyfriend.” He pulled out his cock and easily flipped you to rest on the side of your stomach. He plopped down behind you and raised one of your legs, slotting himself easily back into your tight heat.

“Y… You actually like me..?” You muttered, gasping as he begins a slow and steady pace, resting his chin on your shoulder.

Yuki simply hummed. “I wanna fuck you. We can talk later.” He said bluntly. You shrieked as he captured your lips into a kiss and began fucking you in a harsh pace.

The sounds of skin slapping and your muffled moans filled the room. Your fingers digging into the bed while his dug into your skin. There was a slight burn on your thighs and you weren’t sure if he possibly broke your skin from just how hard he gripped you.

You pulled away from the kiss, needing to catch your breath when you noticed why Yuki had put you in this position. The fucking mirror.

Damn pervert.

You couldn’t really hide yourself, not with his arm holding you up. All you could do was kiss him again, not having to see your fucked out expression. It didn’t take long for you to reach another orgasm with ease, the cum coating your stomach in a sight of white liquid.

A whimper left your sore throat as Yuki maneuvered you to rest on your knees as he continued fucking into you. Finally, you buried your face into the sheets, biting them to muffle your moans.

“I’m close. Just a little more, (Name)-Chan.”

Yuki let out a surprised grunt when he felt you tighten around his cock. You whimpered in embarrassment, squeezing your eyes shut. No way. No way that your body just did that.

A slight chuckle left Yuki as he draped his chest against your back, his chin resting on your shoulder. “So cute, (Name)-Chan.” With that, he pulled away and gripped your hips as he chased his own release. It didn’t take too long, his grunts mixing in with your cries.

His hips slammed against your ass as he groaned, finally reaching his orgasm. You hummed before feeling something wet coat your insides. Yuki pulled away and hummed.

“It broke.”

You turned around, seeing him hold a broken condom. “It broke?!” You cried, moving to sit up only to wince in pain. “Yuki… why are you so calm?!”

“It’s fine. It looks pretty.” He said, pointing at the cum slowly leaking from your ass.

“Pervert!”

“Mhm.” He pushed up his sweaty bangs and sighed, his eyes finally meeting yours. “Shower?”

“Yeah. Uhm, are we… a couple?”

“Yeah.” He got off the bed and leaned over to you, a slight smirk on his lips. “I’m the only man you can be a slut for from now on.”

“I’m not a slut!”

Yuki only gave you a shrug before walking away to start the bath. Well, it looked like you weren’t a playboy anymore.

But it felt good.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

First fic back!! Way longer than it needed to be… hope yall like Yuki. I kinda want to make him into a full OC, but I’ll see.

Tag list: @flurrina @chill-guy-but-cooler @iwishtobeacrow @ofclyde @mello-life25 @kiiyoooo @tomoeroi @tehyunnie @the-ultimate-librarian @smellwell @love-kha1 @star-3214 @remdayz @rhetorical-conscience @mooncarvers-world

[cherienymphe]

Pity Party

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: NON-CON/DUB-CON (+ mentions of), toxic/abusive relationship, mentions of manipulation, dad!Rafe, established Rafe x reader

➥ While this can absolutely be read as a stand alone piece, it is also the much requested follow up to my WTPO series. I hope this doesn't disappoint!

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

summary: You became the envy of every woman in Kildare County the day you became Mrs. Rafe Cameron.

⭑

You slid along the floor using your knees, hand occupied by an even tinier one as your son unsteadily put one foot in front of the other. Your lips were pulled into a smile as you watched him, your free hand hovering behind his back for when he very likely would fall. Your other son was occupied with a snack, and when—as expected—the youngest one’s legs gave out, you scooped him up with a giggle.

“Look at you,” you cooed. “You’re going to be sprinting by this weekend.”

His cherubic face smiled back at you, lips wet with drool, and you wiped his mouth with a smile. Your oldest—now done with his Goldfish—was currently tugging on your dress, and when you looked down at him, he had a wide grin on his face.

“I wanna play with him…”

His soft voice had your own expression softening, and you quietly told him ‘okay’, taking a seat right on the floor where you were formerly standing. You emptied your hands, letting your son crawl around and slap at the ground as his brother followed him, face so close to his as he whispered things to him that he didn’t quite understand yet. You let your mind wander, warmth blooming in your chest as you thought about how…sweet they were.

There had been a time where you feared they wouldn’t be.

…and as you stared at them, you almost felt bad for ever thinking they could be anything less than angels, but it couldn’t be helped. They were children, and there were very few things in this world that were more innocent than children. They both came out squirming and pudgy and perfect—screaming their heads off and only calming once they were in your arms. They came into this world looking at you with the kind of eyes that had never experienced or done a single bad thing in their life.

They were children…babies…

…but they were Rafe’s babies.

And as much as you would like to, you would never be able to forget how they both came to be here. Fighting off Rafe Cameron was hard enough when you were going through a tumultuous breakup, but it became damn near impossible once he managed to get a ring on your finger and a prison around you in the form of a fancy house. You looked down at the large rock, a pang going through your chest at the sight of a simple gold band below it.

The wedding had been the grand fanfare it was expected to be, serving it’s purpose of making you the envy of every woman in Kildare County. Your oldest son—having been an only child at the time—was pulled down the aisle in a wagon with a pillow in his lap that contained the rings. Rose had gushed over you in the dressing room, long having convinced herself no woman would ever marry Rafe and she’d never get to experience this. Your father had cried as he handed you off to your husband to be, and tears had kissed your own eyes but just for an entirely different reason.

Your dress was made for a princess, and your veil was made for an angel, and your makeup was made for a doll. Everything was perfect, everything going off without a hitch. Absolutely nothing—not a single thing—had gone wrong, and even though by that point you’d slowly started to accept your fate…something in you had hoped. For what? You weren’t entirely sure.

You’d hoped that some crazy ex girlfriend of Rafe’s would stand up and object. You’d hoped that your brother would go against your wishes and drag you away from it all. Hell, you’d even hoped that someone would choke on their spit and require an ambulance. Deep down though, you’d known what you really hoped for.

You had hoped that Rafe would do the right thing…and let you go.

It was a silly hope. Rafe Cameron had gone through entirely too much trouble to ensure you’d never leave him, even going as far as threatening to take your son away from you. He—both of them—was the only good thing to come out of this. From the first moment you laid eyes on him, you’d wanted him all for yourself and far away from Rafe. The brunette simply didn’t deserve him, and you had no doubt that Rafe would agree, but his selfishness outweighed any thought of doing what was right. That had always been the case.

You didn’t know why you thought your wedding day might be any different.

Rafe moments away from chaining you to him forever? There was no shot in hell of him walking away from that, and you sighed at how naively hopeful you’d been that day. The sound of your oldest son’s laughter pulled you from your thoughts, and you looked over just in time to see him jump to his feet, promptly sprinting towards the foyer. You weren’t worried, knowing exactly who it was that could elicit such a reaction from him.

You swallowed at the sound of Rafe’s voice, taking your 11-month old into your arms.

“...and how were my boys?”

He came into view as he said that, the messy haired little boy upside down in his arms as he kicked his feet and laughed.

You knew the question wasn’t meant for you.

“I was bad,” your son told him, and you fought back a smile, knowing why he said that.

Rafe’s gaze met yours, and the smile that threatened to ghost over your lips was gone. He merely smirked at the sight, rolling his eyes and turning his attention back to the boy in his arms.

“Bad? Oh no,” he chuckled. “Why were you bad?”

“I accidentally spilled juice on mommy’s dress.”

Your son’s words came out small, slurring together a bit with his slight lisp. You’d told him that it was fine—accidents happen—but you knew why he was so hung up on it. As awful as Rafe treated you behind closed doors, he treated you a million times better for the whole world to see. He was smart that way, and the whole world included your children. They saw their dad treat mommy like a princess—none the wiser to what the true nature of your relationship was really like—and so they followed suit.

An offense against you—no matter how small—was especially heinous.

“Oh that is bad,” Rafe murmured, setting him down on his feet. “Guess we’ll have to buy her a new one, huh?”

He ruffled his hair, and your son beamed at the thought of going shopping.

You avoided Rafe’s gaze as he neared you, an impressive feat when he came to kneel down before you. Your youngest was squirming in your arms—babbling—and you swallowed when Rafe reached out to lightly squish his cheeks. He pressed his lips to his tiny forehead just as his hand landed on your own cheek, and only then did you look at him.

Rafe stared at you for what felt like a long time, expression unreadable. Your oldest was going on about something behind him that neither of you were giving too much attention to. His blue eyes looked between yours, studying you, and you could smell his cologne. After what felt like too long, his pink lips finally curved into that haughty half smile you were used to seeing.

It never not made you want to smack it right off of his face.

“...and how was mommy today?” he quietly asked.

There were a thousand things you wanted to say to him.

You wanted to say that mommy cried in the bathroom because she still had thoughts of leaving sometimes even at the loss of her own children, but then she’d remember how much she loved them and couldn’t live without them and the guilt would set in. You wanted to tell him that mommy’s thigh still hurt from where he’d sank his teeth into it the night before for daring to tell him she still hated him sometimes. You even started to tell him that mommy had rare moments here and there where she’d momentarily forget their history and find herself content in this big house with her children and fancy ring until she remembered how her children got here and what said house and ring represented.

You didn’t say any of that though.

Instead, you merely blinked at Rafe, and told him what you always did.

“Mommy was fine.”

The vase narrowly missed Rafe’s head, his quick reflexes making your heart sink with disappointment. Your own quick thinking had you frantically looking around for something else to throw at him, but his feet moved faster than your brain, and he was nearing you before you made up your mind. Unable to stomach being around him, right now, you hurriedly sprinted to the other side of the room. You paid no mind to the way he called your name, a blend of anger and exasperation there.

“Are you done…?”

You didn’t look at him, keeping your angry gaze on the floor. Besides, you didn’t have to in order to know what he looked like. You could imagine it perfectly—steely blue eyes cold and intently focused on you, hands on his hips and jaw clenched so hard you’d swear it was about to break. When you finally did glance at him, you were proven right.

“This little…” he waved his hand about. “...tantrum. You’re finished?”

“Fuck you,” you whispered.

You couldn’t hold in your tears, and they spilled over without your permission. Rafe sucked his teeth at the sight, and when he took a step towards you, you made to leave the living room completely. Your sons were with your mom—they would be the whole weekend—because that was the plan. They would stay with grandma for a few days while you went to Charlotte to visit Pope at school. Rafe was supposed to be handling business with Ward, anyway.

He was not supposed to be sabotaging your plans and canceling car rentals and flights and ruining your entire weekend.

Rafe stopped you before you could get far, and you didn’t even attempt to get away, too defeated and upset to smack him square across the face like you wanted. His fingers dug into your skin, and you wondered if a light bruise would be there in the morning. You could tell by the way he held you that he was upset, but you didn’t understand what he had to be upset about. It had been four years since Rafe started this fucked up dynamic he called a family and over two since you’d reluctantly said ‘I do’. You even gave him another son…and yet…

It was clear now that he still didn’t trust you.

Sure, you had the stray thought or two here and there about escaping, but when it was all said and done, those were just thoughts. Your children meant too much to you to just take off, and even if you ever got to that point one day where you’d happily sacrifice their chance to grow up with a mother just to have your own freedom, Rafe would never let that happen. Your fate was sealed from the very moment he’d decided you were it for him.

“I haven’t seen my brother in months. It’s his last year of school, and I didn’t want the next time I see him to be at his Goddamn graduation,” you spat, lips trembling. “You said you were okay with it!”

“Yeah, I was,” Rafe replied in a tone that hinted at more to come.

You were right.

“...but then I remembered that this would be the first time we’d be apart for a distance more than thirty miles and how way up there in Charlotte you could disappear to wherever you wanted and-.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about any of that if we had a normal relationship,” you cut him off, a sneer on your lips. “You wouldn’t have to worry about the possibility of me running away from you if you’d never hurt me and raped me and damn near threatened me into marrying you.”

At those words, Rafe let you go as if you burned him, and you reminded yourself how much Rafe hated to be reminded of why you were really here. You were positive he sometimes convinced himself that this relationship was as real as it could be—the perfect parents with the perfect children and the perfect marriage. After all, it was what everyone on the outside saw when they were looking in.

The difference between the two of you it seemed was that you knew it was all pretend.

Rafe liked to believe that it wasn’t.

“All of that aside…do you really think I’d leave them?”

Your question came out whispered, and you didn’t miss the slight twitch in Rafe’s face. Leave them…not leave him. Rafe was smart in knowing that knocking you up would be the only thing to truly prevent you from leaving, and yet he absolutely hated to be reminded of it. To be reminded that it was not—and never would be—him keeping you here.

His expression morphed, a shadow passing over his features as he glanced away, shoving a hand into his pocket.

“I can’t take that chance,” was all he said, making more tears spill over. “Pope’s not going anywhere. You can always see him another time.”

You pulled your lip between your teeth in anger, and when he reached for you, he was stopped by a harsh slap to the cheek. Your lips wouldn’t stop trembling, and you just stared at him as he rubbed his face.

“You have taken so much from me, Rafe,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes at him. “If your goal is to make sure we’re both absolutely miserable…then keep it up.”

You turned away from him, refusing to spare him another look as you made your way upstairs to unpack your suitcase.

Most days in your marriage were okay. They weren’t awful, and they weren't’ exactly anything you’d jump at the chance to relive. They were simply just…okay. On those days, Rafe would wake you up with a kiss, sometimes more than that, and you’d start your day—usually something that consisted of preparing for your children to wake up. They made those days stand a chance at being somewhat enjoyable, and you thought to yourself that maybe one day when they were old enough, you’d tell them how much they did for you without even knowing.

On the days where your marriage wasn’t okay, you were usually overcome with how you really felt about Rafe. Those days didn’t come as often as they used to—a fact you didn’t like to let your mind linger on—but when they did, they usually ended in your tears.

…and Rafe pinning you down and just taking what he wanted.

Rafe had felt entitled to your body long before he put the ring on your finger, but after you took his last name, his entitlement went to an entirely new level. You recalled a day where you had the house to yourselves and how silly you’d been to think Rafe would respect your wish to be alone.

“Do you know what this means?” he’d harshly asked, squeezing your left hand as he held it up for both of you to see.

The 4-carat marquise solitaire glinted under the bright kitchen light.

“It means you’re my wife, it means you’re mine,” he’d hissed, getting in real close and touching your nose with his. “Do you get how patient I’ve been? How patient I am?”

You’d shrank away from him, wincing at the slight pain in your left hand.

“I know this hasn’t been easy for you, but it’s been years,” he’d told you. “There’s a ring on your finger and two little boys walking around with my face. You need to suck it up!”

The counter had been harsh against your stomach as he bent you over it.

The good days in your marriage were even more rare, and even those ended in you feeling sad for yourself. It was usually a whole day of your boys keeping a smile on your face, the feeling so infectious that even Rafe couldn’t make it go away. And that’s how you’d find yourself smiling at him and playing with your children together and actually acting like a family. Only…on those rare days…it wasn’t acting. For just several hours, everything that Rafe was and everything he’d done would be so far from your mind.

You’d find yourself bathing your youngest together—your oldest only listening to you when it was time to wash behind his ears—cooing over the baby that was just shy of turning one years old. You’d let your son run into your arms as he hid from the ‘tickle monster’, playfully pushing at Rafe’s chest as you protected the three year old from him. Sometimes you’d even fall asleep with your head so close to Rafe’s lap as he read to them, your son begging you both to stay until he fell asleep.

Of all the days in your marriage that you’d anticipated being the hardest, the ‘good’ days were not among them. Reality would set in during the morning, sometimes even that same night, and your chest would ache as you held back tears because what you and Rafe had was not real. It wasn’t a real marriage, and you weren’t a real family, and on those days where you forgot that, the truth just hit so much harder. All of the anger and disappointment would come back…and then the fear would set in.

It scared you how easily you could slip into that headspace and live in some alternate reality where Rafe was a good husband and your children hadn’t been the product of rape and you didn’t have errant thoughts of what it would be like to be free of him. It scared you how good it felt to forget it all, how a day might come where instead of finding yourself slipping into that mindset, you just…chose it.

It would be so easy.

…but you felt like you owed it to yourself to hate him forever.

Sometimes he made hating him so easy…and then other times so, so hard.

“They’re so sweet to you,” he murmured in the low lighting, both of your kids fast asleep in their room. 

You’d been trying to find sleep of your own, but Rafe’s phone call with Ward left you both up long after you wanted to be. You were unfortunately wide awake when slid in beside you, and your unopened eyes didn’t fool Rafe in the slightest. He knew you were awake.

“I would hope so,” you murmured, staring at the back of your eyelids as he lightly traced patterns into your satin covered stomach.

Your husband chuckled to himself.

“I mean they look at you like you hung the moon,” he quietly continued. “Especially your shadow…”

He was referring to your oldest.

“I’m barely there for him whenever you’re in the same room,” he whispered. “He’s happy that I’m home and he hugs me, but then it’s straight back to mommy.”

You slowly opened your eyes as Rafe’s hand became flat against your stomach, gently rubbing it.

“He treats you like a princess…”

You met his gaze at that, and you couldn’t quite place the look in Rafe’s eyes.

“...and I’m especially happy about it on days when I don’t.”

You sighed at that, staring at the ceiling.

“I’m glad that he’s nothing like me…”

You remembered Rafe saying something similar years ago before the boy in question had even been born, and you blinked as he leaned in, gently ghosting his lips over your cheek. You were tempted to push him away, but then you asked yourself if you wanted to start a fight so late in the night. Instead, you turned your head to face Rafe, your lips a hair’s width away from his own.

“I’m glad he’s nothing like you too,” you whispered.

You didn’t miss the way his face fell at that, a tick in his jaw that told you your words had the desired effect. Instead of saying something along the lines of what you both knew he wanted to say, Rafe merely heaved a sigh, still gently rubbing your stomach. He suddenly pushed himself up onto his elbow, looking down at you.

A smirk ghosted over his lips.

“I want another baby.”

Those words were the last thing you’d been expecting, and your eyes widened just a tad.

“...what?”

“Let’s try for a girl this time,” he suggested, and realizing that he was indeed serious, you sat up.

His hand fell away from your stomach.

“This time?” you murmured, more to yourself than him. “I don’t recall trying for anything the previous times.”

The mention of what he did to you had Rafe going silent, and when you looked at him, his nostrils were flaring.

“It can be different this time-.”

“How?” you wondered, frowning at him. “How will it be different this time? The only time I touch you is when I’m forced to, and I don’t know, that sounds pretty fucking familiar to me.”

Rafe’s hand had circled around your chin before you had time to react—he was sitting up now too—and you both just cooly stared at each other. He looked like he wanted to hurt you, and you stared back, just waiting for him to prove you right. He seemed to be toying with the thought, and after a few moments, he slowly exhaled through his nose.

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his blue eyes following the action.

A million thoughts were racing through his mind, that much you could tell by the emotions that flickered over his features. Eventually he settled on one, pulling his lip between his teeth.

“You’re not always unhappy…”

It was said like a statement, but there was a lilt there that told you he wanted an answer.

“No,” you eventually responded, honestly. “Not always.”

He nodded.

“...but I’m unhappy more than I’m happy.”

He closed his eyes at that, and you swallowed.

“What did you expect, Rafe? Sure, four years is a lot, but it’s also not when I think about everything you did to me.”

He dropped his hand and pushed himself to his feet. You watched him stand there, staring at the wall with his hands on his hips.

“...and what makes it worse is that you’re not even sorry. I know how much you want me to ‘just get over it’, but how am I expected to get over it when we both know you’d do it all over again so long as it got you the same result?” you choked out. “You’re not sorry for any of it.”

You blinked away tears.

“...and now you’re mad at me so much because I won’t roll over and play house.”

You saw his shoulders heave, and you could tell how much this conversation was frustrating him. Rafe really hated to be reminded of his own actions, hated to be reminded of the fact that your relationship was where it was because of him. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You were the one trapped in this gilded cage…not him.

“So, if you want another baby…” you quietly started. “...either something needs to change…or you just embrace the beast we both know you can be.”

His eyes snapped to yours at that, and as much as it made your heart skip a beat, Rafe rarely scared you anymore. You’d seen him and experienced him at his absolute worst. There really wasn’t much he could do to you anymore that would shock you…and he knew it. 

His baby blues glinted dangerously, and you bit your tongue.

He did the opposite of what you expected, and you watched him turn away from you to leave the room. You didn’t relax, knowing he’d come back, but you did heave a tired sigh, telling yourself that sleep couldn’t come fast enough.

Rafe’s hand tightened around your throat as he kissed you, the alcohol on your tongue making the kiss taste sweet. The world was moving so slow around you, and every place that Rafe touched felt like you were being gently electrocuted. Deep in the crevices of your mind, you knew that something was wrong. You hadn’t kissed Rafe like this in years, not since the early days of your relationship when you thought you might have loved him, and butterflies were in your stomach at one look from him.

You recalled the sight of your empty wine glass on the carpet, the rest of the red wine you didn’t drink staining the white fabric.

Your kids were asleep and the house was quiet and you were kissing your husband like you used to—back when he wasn’t your husband. Rafe had your back to the wall just barely on the inside of your bedroom, your hand struggling to reach out to the door. Rafe grabbed it, threading his fingers through your own, and you made a slight noise of protest.

He made a shushing noise into the kiss.

“Just relax…”

Relax.

That word triggered something in you, and you pressed your other hand to his chest. You were far too relaxed to be sober, and considering you only had one glass of wine, you knew that other substances were at play here. You recalled Rafe voicing his desire for another baby just the other day…and you recalled the slight back and forth it’d created. You expected one of two things out of Rafe, but neither of them included a scenario where you were too inebriated to properly fight back against him.

There was something especially sinister about Rafe creating this false sense of consent.

His lips traveled down towards your neck as he bent his head, and you felt like you didn’t have control over your body as you threw your head back. You shakily exhaled when both of his hands descended towards your waist, lifting you and forcing you towards the California king. When he settled you both onto it, all pretense was gone.

“Don’t you want a little girl?” he whispered against your skin, his fingers dancing along the place from where your shirt had ridden up. “Hmm? I know you get sick of being with just us boys.”

You made a noise that was unintelligible even to your ears, pushing at his head, but it was of no use. Whatever he slipped into your drink clearly wasn’t in his, Rafe having all of his strength and wits about him as he pinned you down. He kissed you again—slow—as his hands circled around your wrists. It took your breath away, and your lashes fluttered when he descended.

“A princess for my princess…”

You reached out to place a hand on the bed to steady yourself. Although you knew it was the room spinning, not you, and so focused on that, you didn’t even realize what Rafe was doing until the cool air you’d briefly felt against your core was replaced by his mouth. The action made your back arch, and—against your will—you reached down to press your hand against his head.

He hummed in between your thighs.

“You never let me do this anymore,” you heard him whisper, his breath against your skin before he dived back in.

To be fair, you never let him do anything, but especially this. It was too intimate, too loving, and those words were so far from the true nature of your relationship it wasn’t even funny. After all, Rafe was now at a place where he had to drug you just to get you to stop fighting against him. You found it interesting because he never minded the fight before. In fact, you’d even say that some part of him enjoyed it.

You wondered what had changed.

His head moved back and forth between your thighs, and it made you squirm. One of Rafe’s hands reached up to dig into your leg, holding you still. The other found your hand, and you were unable to remember that you didn’t like holding his hand. Another gesture that you felt was too intimate, something Rafe always liked to pretend that your relationship was.

Just when you were on the brink of coming all over his tongue, your husband pulled away, but not before pressing a quick kiss to the inside of your thigh. With stars just barely floating in your vision, you laid there, eyes falling closed as you fought to regulate your breathing.

A voice in your head told you that you didn’t want this, and that you needed to get up…but you couldn’t find the strength to.

When Rafe’s hands were on you again, they were pulling away every piece of fabric they touched, and you couldn’t help the tears that kissed your eyes. Being forced to feign compliance in your own assault somehow hurt a thousand times worse than if Rafe had simply grabbed you and held you down. You wondered if this made it easier on him, and you thought about how much Rafe hated being reminded of the things he did to you.

It was like it hurt him to remember it that way, to acknowledge it for what it was.

When he slid into you, you couldn’t help the small whimper you let out, eyes rolling as he stretched you out. Rafe’s hands were on you, pulling you closer, and as if your arms had a mind of their own, you threw them around him. His chest was pressed to yours as he thrust into you, and you pressed your face into the crook of his neck. He cursed when he sank into you again, and your toes curled.

“You’re so mean to me, you know that?”

One of his hands tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck.

“...have to drug my own wife just to get her to fuck me…”

Your nails dragged along the expanse of his back, and Rafe hummed at the feeling. You’d forgotten what it felt like to lie beneath him and just let him have his way with you. It felt like so long since he hadn’t had to force you down and take his cock despite what you may have wanted. Although, your current position wasn’t all that different, but you couldn’t ignore how relaxed you were from whatever he’d slipped you.

Rafe shifted, hands pressed into the mattress on either side of your head. His blue eyes glinted in the low lighting, and you blearily blinked up at him as he gazed down at you. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours while still holding your gaze. Your lips parted at a particularly hard thrust, and the corner of his lips curved upwards at the sight.

Deep in the back of your mind, you knew you didn’t want this, but it was for so many reasons that you were struggling to remember. For the time being, all you could focus on was the curve of his cock as he repeatedly pushed it into you and how good it made you feel. One of your legs hooked around his waist, and Rafe’s perfect teeth winked at you as he grinned.

“I missed this, beautiful,” he whispered. “You know that?”

The bed jostled from your movements, and Rafe glanced down between you to watch himself disappear into you. 

“I can’t wait to fill you up,” he told you, making your heart skip a beat and reminding you of how and why you’d found yourself in this position in the first place. “Can’t wait to see you swollen and round again and fucking glowing.”

You murmured his name, but you couldn’t tell if it was in protest or not.

Your mind was all over the place, and when Rafe’s hips curved into yours again, you arched your chest up into his. Sweat clung to your frame, and you briefly wondered how made you would be at him in the morning. You knew this wouldn’t be his only attempt—Rafe always proving to be more than thorough when trying for a baby—and you now weakly wondered about having to be cautious of the food in your own house.

You could tell when he was close, his thrusts becoming sloppy and his breathing picking up. He started  to kiss you more, each kiss becoming  messier and more open mouthed than the last. In your inebriated state of mind, you kissed him back, alarm bells going off deep within your bones. Your own breathing was labored, like you couldn’t get air into your lungs fast enough.

When Rafe came the first time—and you knew that it would be the first of the night—he grunted in your ear as he spilled into you. Your nails were trailing along his skin as he plunged his cock into you, not even stopping when you felt him start to soften, lazily thrusting into your folds. Your own climax was just around the corner when he spoke.

“I will fuck you all night,” he whispered against your cheek, his tone vaguely threatening. “I will fuck you as many times as it takes until you give me what I want.”

He leaned back a bit, his nose touching yours as he tilted his head, eyeing you in a way that made your skin grow cold.

“...and I will do whatever I have to to make you…” he looked between your unfocused eyes. “...agreeable.”

[fvsm4x]

𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 - „I don‘t deserve someone like you“

—In an arranged marriage to the powerful sorcerer Gojo Satoru, you, a blind young woman from a noble family, quickly realize the harsh realities of your new life.

.contains blind fem. reader x gojo satoru, gojo is shitty, angsty, hurt no comfort, curse au, cheating, mistress, toxity, wc. 6.1k

The scent of jasmine filled the grand hall, its soft, almost cloying sweetness failing to mask the tension that lingered in the air. The wedding was beautiful, by all accounts—ornate chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting soft, golden light across the room. Tall vases overflowed with white lilies and roses, draped with vines that twined delicately around their stems. Everything was pristine, perfect, a vision of elegance and status befitting the union of two powerful families.

But beneath the surface, it all felt wrong.

The whispers of the guests were hushed, though not out of reverence or respect for the sacredness of the ceremony. They whispered because of you. They stared, eyes flickering between curiosity and pity, hidden behind false smiles and hollow words of congratulations. They pretended to celebrate, but you could hear it—the murmurs beneath their breath, the way their voices dipped just low enough that they thought you wouldn’t notice.

But you always noticed.

You stood still, hands folded in front of you, your posture impeccable as you’d been trained, listening as they spoke about the bride. The blind girl. The one without cursed techniques. The one Gojo Satoru—the Gojo Satoru—was marrying.

The ceremony had been just as silent, just as stifling, the weight of a hundred eyes pressing into you like needles. You had felt their gazes on your back as you walked down the aisle, guided by your father’s hand. Each step had felt heavier than the last, each footfall an echo in the vast room, but you held your head high, your expression calm and serene, as you had practiced countless times. The world around you was dark, as it always had been, but your senses were sharp, attuned to every shift in the atmosphere, every murmur, every movement.

No one questioned the marriage aloud, but everyone doubted it in private. The Gojo clan needed an heir, and you—born into a noble sorcerer family, though cursed with blindness and lacking any ability to fight—were chosen for the role. Not because of your power, not because of love, but because your bloodline was old and respected. Your family’s name still held weight in the jujutsu world, even if you did not. And Gojo… well, he was too important, too powerful, for anyone to refuse his family’s demands.

You could feel the tension in the room from the moment you entered. It rippled through the air like a current, crackling just beneath the surface of polite conversation. Your family had assured you this was the best course for both you and them. It was your duty, they’d said, to carry on the family’s legacy, even if you couldn’t do it the way your ancestors had. You would be a wife, a vessel for a future heir. That was your purpose now. You weren’t here to fight curses or stand beside him as an equal. You were here to bear the weight of an alliance and ensure the bloodlines remained pure and strong.

And he?

Gojo Satoru, the man you were now married to, had been as distant as the stars. Even during the brief ceremony, his presence felt like a cold wind brushing past your skin. He hadn’t said much—his voice, when he spoke the vows, had been flat and indifferent, devoid of the charm and magnetism that he was known for. His hand had touched yours only for the briefest moment, cool and detached, as though the act of taking your hand was more of an inconvenience than a gesture of unity.

There had been no tenderness, no sense of connection. It was as though he were performing an obligation, fulfilling a requirement, nothing more.

And now, as the ceremony gave way to the reception, he was nowhere to be found.

You stood alone in the grand hall, surrounded by the murmuring crowd, your fingers grazing the soft fabric of your wedding gown as you shifted your weight. The gown was heavy, draped in layers of delicate silk and lace that clung to your skin, a reminder of the weight of the expectations placed upon you. You could hear the soft rustle of the fabric as you moved, the sound barely audible over the hum of conversation and the gentle notes of the ceremonial band playing in the background.

The guests were mingling, their voices a blur of idle chatter and veiled judgment, and you were left to endure it all in silence.

"Such a shame," someone whispered, though you couldn’t tell who. Their voice was soft, yet the pity in it was sharp enough to cut. "A blind girl, no cursed energy…"

"Can she even fulfill her duties?" another voice added, the words tinged with disbelief. "Gojo must be furious."

Your heart tightened, but you kept your face composed, as you had been taught. You didn’t react. You didn’t turn toward the voices or acknowledge them in any way. You had long since learned that reacting only gave them power. So you stood still, hands clasped in front of you, listening as they judged you without hesitation.

“She must be so nervous,” a woman murmured to her companion, her tone laced with false sympathy. "I can’t imagine being so helpless."

Helpless.

You had heard that word so many times in your life. It clung to you like a second skin, a label that you could never quite shed, no matter how hard you tried. They saw your blindness and your lack of cursed energy, and they assumed that was all there was to you. A burden. An empty vessel.

It wasn’t just the guests who thought that. You could feel it in the way Gojo had treated you during the ceremony. His absence now was only confirmation of what you already knew—he didn’t care. To him, this marriage was just another arrangement, another responsibility to check off his list. You had been chosen for your lineage, not for yourself.

He wasn’t going to try, and neither were you.

It was only after what felt like an eternity of standing alone, the weight of the room pressing down on you, that you felt a shift. The atmosphere changed, a ripple of movement through the crowd, followed by the distinct sensation of someone approaching.

You knew who it was before he even spoke.

"Looking for me?"

His voice was smooth, casual, tinged with amusement that felt out of place in the solemnity of the occasion. It was the same voice he had used during the ceremony—bored, distant, with just a hint of arrogance. You had heard Gojo Satoru speak before, though never to you, and his voice was always laced with that same careless charm, as though everything and everyone around him were beneath him.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t turn toward him immediately, taking a moment to compose yourself, to control the surge of frustration that rose within you. When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, calm.

"Where have you been?"

The question was simple, but it carried more weight than the words alone. Where had he been? On this day of all days, the day that was meant to unite you, however meaningless that union might be. You hadn’t expected warmth from him, but a part of you—buried deep—had hoped for something more than indifference.

"Busy," he replied, as though the question itself were a joke. He didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t press him for details. He wouldn’t have given them, anyway. His voice was closer than expected, and you felt a subtle shift in the air as he moved closer. "This whole thing is exhausting. Don’t you agree?"

His words dripped with nonchalance, as though the day had been an inconvenience to him. Perhaps it had been. Perhaps the thought of being tied to someone like you—someone who couldn’t see, someone who couldn’t fight—was more than just a burden to him.

You remained still, though your fingers tightened slightly around the delicate fabric of your gown. "I suppose it is," you replied softly, your voice carefully neutral. "But it’s necessary."

Gojo laughed, the sound low and mocking, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, as though he were studying you, amused by your response.

"Necessary?" he echoed, his tone mocking. "I guess that’s one way to put it."

There was a pause, and you could feel the tension between you thickening, the space between you filled with unspoken words. You wanted to say something—something sharp, something that would cut through his arrogance—but you held your tongue. You had learned long ago that sharp words would do nothing here. Not with him.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice lowering as he leaned in slightly, “did you think this would be anything more than an arrangement?”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t let your expression falter. “I didn’t expect anything more than what was promised,” you answered carefully.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because that’s all it is. An arrangement. Nothing more.”

You could feel the cruel smirk tugging at his lips, even if you couldn’t see it. You didn’t need to see it. You could hear it in his voice, feel it in the way he stood too close, invading your space as if to remind you just how small, how insignificant, you were in comparison to him.

The room around you felt colder, even though the temperature had not changed.

“Don’t worry,” he said, stepping back as though to release you from his presence, “this’ll go much easier if you remember that.”

As Gojo disappeared back into the crowd, the warmth of his presence faded just as quickly as it had come, leaving behind an emptiness that settled deep in your chest. You kept your face composed, your expression serene, as you had been taught. The noise of the reception swirled around you, a cacophony of clinking glasses and laughter, but none of it reached you. It felt distant, muted—like you were standing in a world that wasn’t meant for you, a world that you could never fully inhabit.

You didn’t need to see to know what was happening around you. The guests would be watching him now, the great Gojo Satoru, as he moved effortlessly through the crowd, exchanging smiles and pleasantries with his admirers. They’d hang on his every word, laugh at his every joke, their attention glued to him like moths drawn to a flame. He was the star of this union, after all—the one everyone came to see. Not you.

You were nothing more than the shadow in his light.

A part of you wanted to slip away, to retreat into the safety of solitude where the weight of the expectations and the judgment wouldn’t suffocate you. But you knew better. Your place was here, standing still, enduring. You had learned long ago that this was your role in the world of sorcerers—a silent participant, always on the periphery, always observing but never truly part of the action.

“Are you all right, my dear?”

The voice was soft, tentative—your mother’s. You hadn’t heard her approach, but the gentle touch of her hand on your arm was familiar, grounding. She was the one who had guided you through this life of duty, the one who had taught you how to survive in a world that had never been kind to those like you.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice steady. The lie slipped easily from your lips. It was a lie you had told so many times before that it felt almost like the truth now.

Your mother’s grip tightened slightly, her thumb brushing your arm in a subtle gesture of comfort. “He… he will come around,” she murmured, though even she didn’t sound convinced.

You resisted the urge to laugh at her words. Come around? Gojo Satoru? You had known, even before the wedding, that he wasn’t the type of man who could be swayed by something as simple as a bond of marriage. He was above all of that—above you. He was the strongest sorcerer alive, the most powerful, untouchable. And you? You were nothing more than the bride chosen for him because of your family’s name. A bride he could ignore without consequence.

“There’s no need for him to come around,” you replied softly. “This marriage is what it is.”

Your mother hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “You will find your place,” she said finally, though her voice wavered with uncertainty. “It may take time, but—”

“I know my place,” you interrupted, your tone sharper than you intended. You could feel her flinch, her hand withdrawing slightly, and a pang of guilt shot through you. She didn’t deserve your frustration. She had done what she thought was best for you, even if this life felt like a cage. “I’m sorry,” you added quietly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I understand,” your mother said gently, though you could hear the strain in her voice. “I know this isn’t easy. But… you must remember your duty. This is about more than just you or Satoru. It’s about the future of our family.”

Her words, though well-meaning, did little to comfort you. You had heard them countless times before—spoken by your father, by your uncles, by the elders who had decided your fate long before you had any say in it. Your family needed this marriage. It was a strategic alliance, a way to secure your family’s position in the jujutsu world, to ensure that their legacy would continue through the next generation. You were simply the vessel through which that legacy would be carried.

But what about you? What did you want?

Not that it mattered. In this world, your wants were irrelevant.

“I know,” you whispered, though the words felt heavy on your tongue. “I understand my duty.”

Your mother didn’t reply, but you could sense her reluctance, her uncertainty. Perhaps a part of her regretted the role she had played in this arrangement. Or perhaps she simply didn’t know how to help you, how to guide you through something she had never experienced herself.

After a moment, she squeezed your arm again, then quietly slipped away, leaving you alone once more in the sea of murmuring voices and clinking glasses.

-

The journey back to the Gojo estate was quiet and uncomfortable, much like the rest of the day had been. You had ridden alone, save for the driver and a house staff member assigned to assist you, a man whose presence was unobtrusive and respectful, though it did little to ease the weight in your chest. The noise of the reception was a distant memory now, replaced by the soft hum of the car engine and the occasional rattle of the road beneath the wheels.

When the car finally came to a halt, you felt the subtle shift in the air, the familiar scent of the estate reaching you through the open window. The door beside you opened with a soft creak, and you turned your head slightly, listening as the staff member stepped out and came to your side.

"Lady Gojo," he said quietly, his voice steady, "we’ve arrived. May I assist you?"

You nodded, grateful for his presence even if the formality of it felt strange. His hand found yours with a practiced gentleness, and you allowed him to guide you from the car, your feet sinking slightly into the gravel as you stepped onto the driveway. The estate was large, its grounds sprawling and ornate, though you had never seen it with your own eyes. You had been given descriptions, of course—told about the lush gardens, the grand architecture, the beautiful traditional touches that made the Gojo residence a place of prestige. But to you, it was simply a place. Another cage, perhaps larger and more opulent than the last, but a cage nonetheless.

The man guided you carefully, his pace slow and deliberate as you walked toward the main entrance. The stone path beneath your feet was smooth, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you moved. You focused on the sounds around you—the distant chirp of crickets, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the soft shuffle of your guide’s footsteps. It was a comfort in a way, grounding you in the present, keeping you from drifting too far into the overwhelming thoughts that threatened to consume you.

As you reached the doors to the estate, another figure emerged from inside—a woman, her footsteps lighter and quicker than the man’s. You could tell by the soft rustling of fabric and the light scent of jasmine that she was one of the house staff, perhaps the one assigned to assist you personally. She approached with the same quiet respect, her presence calm and unobtrusive.

"Lady Gojo," she greeted softly, her voice smooth and measured. "I am here to assist you with getting settled. Shall I help you to your chambers?"

"Yes," you replied quietly, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Thank you."

The man who had guided you this far bowed his head slightly, murmured a polite farewell, and took his leave. The woman stepped forward then, her hand resting lightly on your arm as she gently guided you through the grand entrance of the estate. The cool air inside the building was a sharp contrast to the warmth of the evening outside, the scent of incense and wood filling your senses as you walked.

You could hear the faint echo of your footsteps in the vast, empty halls, the sound a reminder of the sheer size of this place. It felt too big, too impersonal. The kind of space where someone could get lost—physically and emotionally.

As the woman led you through the winding corridors, she remained quiet, her touch firm but never forceful. She was practiced, you could tell, in the way she moved with you, guiding without pushing, always attentive to your pace. There was a quiet understanding in her actions, as though she knew that this day had been overwhelming, that words weren’t necessary right now.

When you finally reached the doors to your chambers, she opened them quietly and stepped inside with you. The room was cold, untouched, the air still and heavy. The silence hung between you both as she guided you toward the center of the room, stopping near the bed.

"Shall I help you with your gown, Lady Gojo?" the woman asked gently, her voice soft but professional.

"Yes, please," you answered, though a part of you hesitated. It felt strange, being undressed by another, but the gown was heavy, its intricate layers difficult to manage on your own, especially after such a long day. The weight of it felt unbearable now, pressing down on your shoulders, a physical reminder of everything this day had been.

The woman moved with care, her fingers deft as she began to undo the delicate clasps and ties of your wedding dress. You stood still, letting her work, the fabric of the gown slowly loosening and falling away from your body as she removed it piece by piece. The cool air brushed against your skin as each layer was peeled back, the heaviness gradually lifting, though the emotional weight remained.

Once the gown was fully removed, she folded it with precision, setting it aside on a nearby chair. You felt lighter, freer in a way, though the emptiness of the room and the absence of the man who was supposed to share it with you left a coldness in your chest.

"Would you like me to prepare anything else for you tonight, my lady?" the woman asked, her voice still calm and measured.

"No," you replied softly, shaking your head. "That will be all. Thank you."

With a quiet bow, she left the room, the soft click of the door closing behind her the only sound that remained. And then, you were alone.

Alone.

The word echoed in your mind, filling the empty space around you. You stood there for a long moment, the coldness of the room seeping into your skin, the emptiness of the house pressing down on you. This was your life now—a life of silence, of isolation. A life in which you were nothing more than a vessel for a future heir.

You hadn’t expected Gojo to be here, but even so, his absence stung in a way you hadn’t anticipated. He hadn’t cared enough to even pretend. This marriage, this life—it meant nothing to him. And to everyone else, you were just the blind girl. The one without cursed techniques. The one chosen not for her strength or power, but for her bloodline. A tool.

With a heavy sigh, you walked slowly to the bed, the soft rustle of the sheets the only sound in the quiet room. You crawled into bed, the cold fabric wrapping around you like a suffocating embrace. You stared into the darkness, your mind racing with thoughts you couldn’t quiet. Would it always be like this? Would this be your life—empty, cold, and filled with the constant reminder of your insignificance?

The cold sheets didn’t provide any comfort, nor did the quiet. The weight of the day pressed down on you, and despite your exhaustion, sleep didn’t come easily. Instead, you lay there, your thoughts swirling around in your mind, the reality of your new life sinking in.

-

The morning light filtered through the room’s large windows, though its warmth did nothing to chase away the cold that lingered in the air. You had hardly slept, the weight of the previous night pressing heavily on your chest. The events played over and over in your mind—the whispers, the ceremony, the emptiness. And now, waking up in this unfamiliar place, it was hard to shake the sense of displacement, of being trapped in a life that was not your own.

You sat up slowly, your body stiff from the restless night. The thin fabric of your nightgown offered little comfort against the morning chill, and for a moment, you remained still, unsure of what to do next. There was no routine here, no familiar rhythm to fall into. You had always known what your life would be—quiet, measured, controlled by duty—but now it felt as though the ground had been pulled out from under you, leaving you floating in a strange, empty space.

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts, soft but insistent.

"Lady Gojo," came the familiar voice of the woman who had helped you the night before. "I’ve brought you tea. May I enter?"

"Yes," you replied, your voice quiet.

The door opened, and you heard her footsteps as she approached, the soft clinking of a tray as she set it down on the small table beside your bed.

"I’ve also brought a change of clothes," she continued, her tone respectful. "If you’d like, I can help you dress for the day."

You nodded, though the thought of dressing for the day felt strange. What was there to do? What purpose did this day hold for you? You didn’t belong in this world of sorcerers and cursed techniques, of power and prestige. You were just the blind girl, chosen to be Gojo’s wife for reasons that had nothing to do with who you were and everything to do with what your family name represented.

The woman helped you out of bed, her hands gentle as she guided you toward the wardrobe, where she had laid out a simple, elegant kimono. You could feel the delicate silk between your fingers as she draped it over your shoulders, her hands moving with practiced ease as she tied the obi around your waist.

"Do you know what your plans are for today, my lady?" she asked quietly, though there was no judgment in her voice, only politeness.

"I don’t," you admitted, the words feeling heavy. "I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do."

The woman paused for a moment, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders as she adjusted the fabric. "You may not have cursed techniques like the others, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing for you here. The Gojo estate is large, and there are many things to explore if you’d like. The gardens are beautiful, and the library is filled with books from all over the world. You don’t have to…"

Her voice trailed off as though she had realized she was speaking out of turn, but the kindness in her tone remained.

"I don’t have to what?" you asked softly, curious about what she had left unsaid.

"You don’t have to wait around," she finished, her voice gentler now. "You don’t have to wait for someone to tell you what to do. You’re Lady Gojo now, and this is your home too."

The words settled into you, though they felt foreign, like a suit of armor that didn’t quite fit. Could this place ever really be your home? Could you find your own way here, among people who saw you as nothing more than a blind girl married to a man who didn’t care about you?

When the woman finished dressing you, she stepped back, her hands folding neatly in front of her. "Is there anything else I can do for you this morning?"

"No," you replied, your voice soft. "Thank you."

She bowed slightly and left the room, leaving you standing there, dressed but feeling no more ready for the day than you had before.

The silence that filled the room after her departure was thick and suffocating. You could feel the weight of the emptiness pressing down on you, the quietness of the house a stark contrast to the chaotic noise that had filled your mind since the wedding. A part of you wanted to crawl back into bed, to hide under the covers and pretend that none of this was real. But the woman’s words lingered.

You don’t have to wait around.

You had spent your entire life waiting. Waiting for your cursed techniques to appear. Waiting for your family to tell you what your role would be. Waiting for this marriage to happen, knowing it was never really a choice. But now, as much as you felt out of place, there was a flicker of something inside you that wondered if she was right. Maybe there was more to this life than just waiting.

With slow, deliberate movements, you made your way to the door. Your hand found the handle, and you stepped out into the hallway, the quiet of the estate enveloping you. The corridors were long, and though you couldn’t see them, you could feel the vastness of the space around you—the echo of your footsteps against the smooth floors, the subtle shift in the air as you walked.

You didn’t know where you were going, but for the first time since you arrived, it didn’t matter. You just needed to move, to take a step forward, no matter how uncertain.

As you neared a door, the sounds from within grew unmistakable—soft murmurs, the rustle of fabric, and then a quiet, intimate sigh. The knot in your stomach tightened. You already knew what you would find if you dared to push the door open, and yet your feet carried you closer, your heart thundering in your chest as your hand instinctively brushed against the doorframe.

Inside, Gojo’s voice was low, playful, teasing in a way you had never heard from him before. It sent a shiver down your spine—not from the words themselves, but from the realization that this was a side of him he had reserved for someone else.

Through the small gap in the door, you heard her—a soft giggle, followed by a breathy gasp as Gojo’s voice dropped lower, too quiet for you to make out the words. The tone was unmistakable though, thick with seduction, as if he was savoring every moment of this forbidden encounter.

You stepped closer, the barely-there creak of the floor beneath you drowned out by the sounds inside the room. There was no mistaking what was happening now. Her quiet moan was unmistakable, and the soft, wet sound that followed made your breath catch in your throat. Your mind painted a picture you didn’t want to see—Gojo leaning in, his lips pressing against hers with a hunger that had never been directed toward you.

The dull thud of your heart in your ears drowned out almost everything else, but you couldn’t tear yourself away. You shouldn’t have been standing there, listening to your husband making out with another woman, but the pull of the moment kept you frozen in place.

A light gasp escaped her, followed by Gojo’s chuckle, and then you heard him kiss her again—longer this time, deeper. The sound of their lips parting, the soft exhale of pleasure from the woman, filled the room. It was like a physical blow, striking you with a force you hadn’t expected.

It was the kind of kiss you would never have. The kind of affection you would never receive from him.

You had always known it, deep down. Gojo had never promised you anything beyond the formalities of marriage, and you had accepted that, hadn’t you? But standing here, listening to him give someone else the affection you would never know, the truth of it stung in a way you hadn’t prepared for.

You pressed your palm against the cool wood of the doorframe, forcing yourself to breathe through the growing lump in your throat. The walls seemed to close in around you, the air too thick, too heavy. Your body screamed at you to turn away, to walk back to the safety of your solitude, but your feet felt anchored to the spot.

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply this hurt, how thoroughly he had already broken the fragile illusion you had tried to build around this marriage. But as you stood there, every tender sound that came from inside the room seemed to chip away at whatever resolve you had left.

Finally, with a deep, shuddering breath, you pulled yourself away from the door. Your movements were slow, deliberate, as if each step was a battle against the weight of your own heart. You wouldn’t stay to hear the rest. You wouldn’t allow yourself to witness any more of Gojo’s betrayal.

Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? A betrayal.

It didn’t matter that this marriage had never been built on love, that it had been nothing more than a transaction between two powerful families. You had still given yourself to him, even if only in the way you had been told to, and now, he was giving parts of himself—parts you would never have—to someone else.

As you made your way back down the hall, you forced yourself to hold your head high, your face impassive, though inside, the ache that had started when you overheard their conversation had turned into a deep, gnawing hurt.

You wouldn’t confront him.

But even here, in the peacefulness of the garden, you couldn’t escape the nagging thought in the back of your mind—the knowledge that no matter how far you ran, you would always be trapped in a life that wasn’t yours.

And you weren’t sure if you could ever find a way out.

As you wandered through the garden, the air heavy with the scent of flowers, you couldn’t shake the hollow ache in your chest. The calmness of the space did little to ease the knot that had formed in your stomach, the knowledge of Gojo’s casual betrayal lingering in your mind like a bitter aftertaste. You tried to ignore it, to focus on the sensation of the soft breeze against your skin, but the conversation you had overheard replayed in your head.

And then, as if summoned by your thoughts, you heard his voice.

“Ah, there you are.”

The sound of Gojo’s voice cut through the stillness of the garden, light and casual, as if he hadn’t just been somewhere else, entertaining another woman. You stiffened, your back straightening instinctively, but you didn’t turn toward him. You didn’t need to see him to know that the easy smile was probably plastered across his face, his usual carefree attitude masking whatever true thoughts lay behind those bright blue eyes.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel path, growing closer until you could feel his presence beside you. He stopped, his hands probably in his pockets, his head likely tilted with that insufferable smirk still playing on his lips. The scent of his cologne, sharp and faintly sweet, filled the air around you, overwhelming the natural smell of the flowers.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of casual curiosity. “I figured you’d still be sleeping off yesterday.”

You said nothing for a moment, your hands tightening slightly at your sides as you tried to maintain your composure. The silence stretched between you, and you could feel his gaze on you, even if you couldn’t see it. Finally, you spoke, your voice quiet but steady.

“Just walking,” you replied, your tone cool. “Isn’t that what people do in their own home?”

There was a beat of silence, and you could almost hear the grin spreading wider across his face.

“Right, right,” he said, amusement dancing in his voice. “Our home.”

The way he said the word “our” felt like a mockery, as if the very idea of this being your shared space was some kind of joke. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the wave of frustration that threatened to rise. This was your life now, tied to a man who didn’t care, bound by a duty you hadn’t asked for.

“You’re up early,” you continued, your voice steady but cold. “I thought you’d be… occupied.”

Gojo let out a soft chuckle, the sound low and almost teasing. “Ah, you heard that, huh?”

There was no apology in his tone, no trace of guilt. If anything, he sounded amused, as if the idea of you hearing him with another woman was nothing more than an inconvenience, a slight miscalculation on his part. You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you struggled to keep your composure.

“What does it matter?” he continued, his voice light and airy, as if this were all some kind of game. “You know what this is. You knew what this would be.”

His words hit you like a slap to the face, and for a moment, the air seemed to still around you. Of course, you had known. This marriage wasn’t built on love or trust; it was an arrangement, a union forged out of necessity and obligation. But hearing him say it so bluntly, with such casual disregard for your feelings, made the reality of it all the more painful.

You turned your head slightly in his direction, though your eyes remained unfocused, your gaze fixed somewhere in the distance.

“I know what this is,” you said softly, your voice carrying a quiet strength. “But that doesn’t mean it has to be so cruel.”

Gojo’s laughter rang out, sharp and biting, and you could feel the shift in his demeanor, his charm slipping just slightly to reveal the edge beneath.

“Cruel?” he echoed, the word rolling off his tongue like a taunt. “This is reality. You’re the one who agreed to this. You knew exactly what you were getting into. You can’t act surprised now.”

Your chest tightened, the frustration and hurt bubbling just beneath the surface. But you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break, of knowing just how deeply his words had cut. Instead, you drew in a steady breath, your voice calm despite the storm raging inside you.

“I didn’t have a choice,” you said quietly, the truth hanging between you like a heavy weight. “Neither of us did.”

For a moment, there was silence. You could feel his eyes on you, studying you, perhaps weighing the truth in your words. And then, with a soft exhale, Gojo’s tone shifted again, the sharpness receding as his usual nonchalant air returned.

“Yeah, well,” he said, his voice softer now but still distant, “that’s the way the world works, isn’t it?”

You didn’t respond, the quiet settling between you like a heavy fog. This was the man you had married—Gojo Satoru, the most powerful sorcerer alive, a man who wielded immense strength and influence but saw the world through a lens of detachment and indifference. He lived in a reality where emotions were weaknesses and connections were expendable. And now, you were a part of that world, tethered to him by duty and expectation.

But even as you stood there, feeling the weight of his presence beside you, a small flicker of resolve burned within you. You couldn’t change him, and you couldn’t change the circumstances that had brought you here. But maybe, just maybe, you could carve out something for yourself within this life. Something that wasn’t defined by him or by the expectations of others.

“I’ll leave you to your walk,” Gojo said suddenly, breaking the silence. “I’ve got things to do.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the distance as he left you standing alone in the garden. The emptiness he left behind was palpable, but you stood there for a long moment, the cool breeze brushing against your skin.

This was your life now—a life filled with silence and distance, with a husband who saw you as nothing more than a convenience, a vessel for an heir.

© fvsm4x 2023/4 : do not translate, plagiarise or steal my work.

[pawnshopbleus]

On Top

Young!Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Plinth!Reader

Warnings - Smut, Penis in vagina sex, Cunnilingus, Squirting, Abortion is mentioned once, Angst with a happy ending. Not beta read :0

Authors Note - I think this is the first time I’ve written p in v sex so please bear with me.

Standing in front of the door to the Snow residence, you made sure you had everything. The basket you brought over for Coriolanus and his family was filled with food, gifts, and roses for Grandma’am. You wanted to celebrate Coriolanus’s historic win in this year's Hunger Games. Well, Lucy Grey won, but she wouldn’t have done without your Coriolanus. 

Your knuckles tapped the door three times and you patently waited until the door opened to reveal Grandma’am’s signature snow-white hair. She smiled at you and embraced you. She stepped aside and let you enter the home you had become so familiar with over the years. 

“Grandma’am, I wanted to bring this little gift for Coriolanus’s big win. The flowers are for you, by the way,” you winked and placed the basket on the table. “Speaking of, where might he be.” 

Grandma’am's eyes softened at your comment. “He’s with the dean,” she said, “He will be here any moment. You can wait for him in his room if you’d like.” Grandma’am rushed over to examine a particularly pretty white rose. 

You sat on Coriolanus’s bed tracing hearts on his pillow for what seemed like hours before his door opened. He looked frantic as if someone found out something they weren’t supposed to find.

“Come on, Coryo, you’re supposed to be smiling. Lucy Grey won. Aren’t you happy?” 

“I cheated,” he sighed. 

Your heart stopped. He what? Never in a million years did you think that he would do such a thing. With strong women like Tigris and Grandma’am raising him, you would have thought that he had the decency to break up with a woman before he did that.

Coriolanus shook his head as soon as he realized that you might have been taking his comment in the wrong way. “I cheated in the games. Not on you. I would never do that.” 

Your body relaxed and then it shot back up again. “Wait, what do you mean you cheated in the games? Is that even possible?”

Coriolanus explained what he did in order to get Lucy Grey to win. The compact mirror that used to belong to his mother had been packed with rat poison, poisonous to anyone who came in contact with it. He also put his father's handkerchief which was covered in Lucy Grey's scent in the snake's cage. If the snakes were familiar with her scent then they wouldn’t kill her. So it wasn’t her singing that saved her, it was Coriolanus. 

“What are they going to do to you?” Your eyebrows scrunched together with worry. You couldn’t lose Coriolanus for his stupid, yet chivalrous actions. 

“I don’t know yet. I don’t want to think about the future. Right now, I want to live in the moment with the prettiest girl in all of Panem.” Coriolanus smiled at how your face heated up so quickly, but deep down he was hurting. He knew what his punishment was. Twenty years of service as a peacekeeper in the Districts. He would leave the Capital and everything he’s known since he was a baby. That he could deal with, but losing you would be the hardest thing he would have to deal with. 

He knew that you would run to your father and beg him to get Coriolanus out of serving, but he didn’t want you over-exhausting your father's resources. He was a big boy and he needed to learn how to deal with his consequences. He would be fine. After all, Snow lands on top.  

He wanted to live in this moment with you. He wanted to memorize every inch of your body. He wanted to hold onto that memory and make it last. 

Your smile calmed him. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, eyes focused on your lips.

You nodded your head and smiled into the kiss. It was soft and sensual, vastly different from the kisses that the two of you usually share. Your lips brushed together as your bodies got closer to each other. By the time the two of you broke apart, you were under him, his forearms caging you underneath him. There was no need for him to do that. This is where you wanted to be, with Coriolanus. The toxic and tyrannical world that you lived in was long forgotten as she swooped in for another kiss. 

His lips traveled down to your cheek, then your jaw, and settled on your neck. He spent the majority of his time kissing and nibbling at the skin on your neck. There would be pretty little marks on your skin later, reminding people that you belonged to him. Coriolanus doesn’t remember when he got this territorial, but he sure loved the fact that Strabo Plinth’s beautiful daughter was his girlfriend. His girlfriend to mark and fuck and love whenever he wanted (with your consent of course.) 

You laughed as Coriolanus licked the sensitive patches of skin that he nibbled raw. “My parents are going to kill me when they see what you’ve done.” 

Coriolanus kissed your lips one more time in response to your comment. He then resumed his exploration of your body. His hands traveled down to the hem of your shirt, lifting it up to reveal the bra that he unclasped in less than five seconds. He threw it on the floor of his bedroom, letting it get hooked onto the pile of books in the corner. 

Coriolanus kissed in between the valley of your breasts. He flicked his tongue over your sensitive nipples. It was cold in the Capital of Panem and unfortunately, the Snow’s didn’t have indoor heating. Maybe it was because they didn’t want to melt. 

You sighed in pleasure as Coriolanus continued to explore your breasts. After five minutes of teasing, he began to travel south to the part where you needed him the most. He hooked his fingers into the belt loops of your pants, “may I?” 

You nodded, “Ever the gentleman.”

With your permission, he ripped your pants off of you and threw them on the floor. They were lost in the pile of clothing that had gathered on the floor. Coriolanus had shed some of his clothing as well. His ripped body was adorned in nothing but his white underwear. 

Coriolanus spread your legs apart, “Look at how wet my girl is.” He traced a finger down the cotton of your underwear and slowly slid it up your legs. He wanted to drag this on as much as possible. You let out a grumble of frustration, getting tired of his constant teasing. Coriolanus gave in and got rid of your underwear. 

The same finger that was used to skim the fabric of your underwear was now being used to gather your slick and spread it across your sensitive pussy. You took a deep breath of air into your lungs. The feeling was new, but not unwelcomed. Coriolanus flicked his tongue over your sensitive clit. Your clit was pulsing with need. You needed Coriolanus to drop the act and eat you out like he was a starving man.

“Coriol-” Your word was cut off by a moan as his mouth did exactly what you wanted it to do. Coriolanus delved into your pussy, tracing shapes onto your clit with his tongue. Your back arched off of the bed again. Coriolanus’s fingers teased your hole, trying to find the perfect time to ease into your channel. 

Coriolanus’s fingers weren’t thick, but they were long making it easier for him to tease your G-spot. He fucked his fingers in and out of you as he sucked your clit. You had to bite your lip in order to keep quiet. Your lips were sure to be chewed raw after this, but they would serve as a reminder that you had a man who was willing to do this for you. Many high-society women told stories about their husbands not pleasuring them when they had sex. It sounded like a horrible life to lead, but they were rich and beautiful so they needed to sacrifice something. 

Coriolanus curled his fingers up, letting them knock against your G-spot. He continued to kiss and lick at your clit. You were close. By the way you were clenching down on his fingers, he could tell that the waterworks were coming. Your naked chest rose and fell as you played with your nipples, increasing the pleasure that you felt. Your head fell even deeper into the pillow as a chill ran down your body. That chill eventually led to where Coriolanus was currently still working. He ate your pussy like a starved man, just the way you liked it. 

Without warning, your juices painted Coriolanus’s face. He wasn’t surprised that you came so fast. The last time you had sex was two months ago. You were burning for him and he was burning for you. 

Coriolanus wiped his face with the back of his hand and laughed. That was the first time he had actually made you squirt. It had always been a personal goal of his after Tirgis explained to Coriolanus how a woman's body works. At first, he was traumatized. He didn’t want to have the sex talk with his dear cousin, but when he laid eyes on you for the time, he wanted to do everything Tigris said and more. 

His cock was hard. You could see the outline of it through his white underwear. You would tease him about his tighty whities later. Right now, you were laser-focused on the fact that Coriolanus hooked his thumbs under his waistband and lowered them, exposing his cock to the cold air. His hard cock slapped against his lower stomach. He jerked his cock off, spreading his precum all over his length. He wanted to make sure that it went in as smoothly as possible. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you. 

He lined himself up at your core. He slid his tip up and down your pussy, gathering your slick with his dick before he pushed into you. Your insides welcomed him with little to no problem. The stretch felt good. You were all slicked up and ready for him.

Contraceptives weren’t a problem for you. Coriolanus was always careful and made sure to come somewhere that wasn’t your vagina. You didn’t want to have a kid just yet. First, you wanted to study at the University and travel back to District Two if you were given the chance. Then you wanted to get married. Pereferabbly to Coriolanus, but you didn’t know if that was possible yet. With his fate still undecided, your plans to marry the love of your life dwindled. Besides, even if you were to get pregnant your father would have enough money to get you an abortion

Coriolanus’s head fell forward as he buried his cock in your tight pussy. Two months and he had forgotten how good you felt. Your insides fluttered around him as he bottomed out. 

Coriolanus began to thrust his cock in and out of you. He was methodical with everything he did. Coriolanus set a rhythm as he fucked into you. He fucked you hard and fast. The side of his bed slapped against the wall and his mattress cracked and groaned as he fucked into you. You prayed to the heavens that Grandma’am and Tigris were in a deep sleep. Or that the walls of the Snow residence were thicker than Coriolanus’s cock. 

Coriolanus peppered your mouth with kisses in order to muffle your moans. He kept his pace as he did this. Your breasts jiggled as he fucked into you. Your hands found their way down to your extra-sensitive clit. You circled it with your fingers and moaned in pleasure at the feeling. 

His balls slapped against your ass as his strokes became more deep and labored. He was going to come soon. He needed to come soon. He couldn’t hold on much longer. Two months with no sex had gotten to him. “Fuck,” he said under his breath as your pussy clenched around him. “Where do you want it?” He asked, his voice was strained from trying to keep his composure. 

“Inside me,” you said. You were close too, the feeling of your finger frantically rubbing your clit and the feeling of Coriolanus's cock buried deep inside of you spurred your orgasm to come out from the woodwork.  

You have come a second time, your pussy fluttering and squeezing Coriolanus cock that was still inside of you. A string of curses fell from Coriolanus’s lips as he came inside of you. His pulsing and throbbing cock pushed his come deep inside of you as he continued to fuck you as he came. His thrusts were slow but intentional. He would have lasted a few more seconds, but with the way that your pussy squeezed his sensitive cock, he came instantly. 

Coriolanus slowly eased his cock out of you. The both of you were breathing heavily as Coriolanus went to grab a towel from his closet. He eased your legs open one more time as he cleaned you up. He was slow and gentle with it. He knew that you were still sensitive after two orgasms.

His come eased out of you and onto the towel. The sight almost caused him to get hard, but he didn’t feel like tiring you out even more. 

Once he was done cleaning you up, he tucked you into his chest and covered the two of you with the blankets on his bed. He kissed your forehead and your cheek. Coriolanus’s love language was kissing. He loved kissing you. He loved doing anything with you, but kissing was his favorite. 

Your eyes closed, but you weren’t falling asleep. Not yet. Sex might have been a clever distraction, but now that you were coming off your high you needed to know what will happen to the future of your relationship. 

“Coryo, what is going to happen to you? I know that you know what your punishment is. I'm not stupid.” 

Coriolanus sighed as he tried to keep his voice from waving. He rarely cried, but in moments like these, he did. Just you and him shielded away from the rest of the Capital were his favorite. “Twenty years as a peacekeeper.” 

You let out a shuddering breath as you tried not to cry. Your body ran cold as you repeated those words in your mind. Twenty years as a peacekeeper. Twenty years without your Coriolanus. Your Coryo. 

“My dad can-” 

“No,” Coriolanus said. “I don’t want your dad to get me out of this one. I need to learn how to do things on my own.”

“What if I had a crazy elaborate plan to get you out of it?”

“Nothing could be crazier than this.” Coriolanus got this crazy idea. It has been sitting in the back of his mind ever since you agreed to be his girlfriend. “Marry me?” 

This isn’t how he wanted to propose to you. He had already gotten your father's approval months ago. You were perfect for him and you deserve a perfect proposal. He wanted to take you to a fancy restaurant, get down on one knee, and ask you that way. Traditional and expected of Capital people, but things never go as planned when you’re a Snow. 

“Seriously?” You were in disbelief. Of course, you wanted to marry him, but this all seemed a bit rushed. “I mean, yes, I’ll marry you, but Coryo. You’re about to leave.” Then, your brilliant mind comes up with the perfect plan. 

You’ll marry Coriolanus, making him one of the heirs to the Plinth fortune. Thus making him more valuable to the Capital. This way you get to marry the love of your life and keep him within arms reach. Were you being possessive? Maybe, but it was better than the dean having to deal with an angry Plinth. 

And your plan worked. You and Coriolanus got married a week after he proposed to you. It was a bit rushed, but the two of you were ready. He was going to be a loving husband, and you, a loving wife. Coriolanus’s punishment would be reduced to two months of training in District Two. He would then return to the Capital as a peacekeeper. He would keep the peace during the day and return to you at night. 

Turns out Snow does land on top.

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

Time to study up on straight people sex!

[pepperyduck]

growing old with kento nanami, pt. 2

word count: 3.5k

warnings: having kids, raising kids, naming kids after lost loved ones, descriptions of growing old, like actually growing old and having grandchildren, descriptions of body changes after birth, dad nanami, no angst in this one just living a happy life with husband nanami :3 (18+ mdni!)

notes: i love u all sm, i am giving this man the ending he deserves. now get ready bc i just went through a terrible breakup and must project it in my writing. much love!!!

part 1 | masterlist

nanami watched you with loving eyes as you laid in your hospital bed, exhausted and sleeping so peacefully after the delivery of your baby. your hair stuck to your face in messy patterns from all the sweat, your chest rose and fell on the perfect, comfortable beat. this time, he was sitting in the chair next to your bed, a book open and ready to be read, but kento’s eyes refused to skim the pages – you looked so beautiful. the room was quiet, only the soft buzzing of an air conditioner and beeping from one of the monitors stuck to you would infiltrate the silence. kento paid close mind whenever you began to stir, lightly fluttering your eyes open to look at him, oh so tired.

“good morning, beautiful,” kento cooed, closing his book to rest it on his thigh. he reached out his hand to lay it atop yours, a soft smile grazing his lips when he looked at you.

“hi,” you groaned, slightly rolling over and wincing when the sharp pain began to shoot through your body. kento’s brows furrowed whenever he saw your discomfort.

“how are you feeling?” he asked.

“tired…it hurts,” you muttered, closing your eyes again. kento’s thumb lightly grazed over the back of your hand, tracing the veins.

kento made sure the nurses that came to check on you administered some pain medicine, and after a while, you began to not be in as much torment as before. you were told you could go home in a day or two, after the pain subsides and the baby is evaluated to be in good health.

kento pushed you down the hallway in a wheelchair towards the nursery, and politely asked to see your baby. you cried so many tears of joy the moment your baby boy was settled in your arms, swaddled in a hospital blanket and sleeping gently. he was so beautiful, a spitting image of his father from the word go. even though he was tiny, and his features weren’t so defined, you could already see the resemblance.

“have you decided on a name yet?” the nurse sweetly asked, clipboard in hand with all your information. you and kento swapped looks for a moment, obviously unprepared for the question. for a minute, you thought in your mind about all the names you discussed, finally landing on one that would be thoughtful and fitting.

“what about ‘yū’ kento?” you suggested, looking up at your husband for his approval.

the gesture of naming his son after his passed best friend made kento a little sad, but he knew haibara would be proud and so happy, so he nodded his head in agreement.

“yes, yū. that’s perfect.”

taking care of such a tiny human came so naturally to kento. he was easily able to balance work on top of making sure the baby was okay. for the first few months, it seemed as if yū would always cry when he was with you, until kento finally would pick him up and settle the baby in his arms. kento had taken an adequate amount of time off from work, working only 3-4 days a week, he made sure you had enough time to rest in between taking care of the baby for days at a time.

after a while, yū began to calm down, reverting into a happy, smiley, giggly baby. you felt more comfortable taking care of him on your own without kento there. so, in return, kento began working even more, picking up his normal 40-hour work week. since you had moved cities, you hadn’t found a stable job yet, but that was okay. because kento wanted to take care of you. he wanted to be the one to take care of his family.

so, you let him. he provided as much as possible for you and your child, all the while ensuring he wasn’t overworking himself in the process. he wanted to live a happy life, after all, he was never going to revert back to the ways of his 24-year-old self; working impossible hours and remaining exhausted 24/7.

since yū had began to grow older, hitting the year-old mark in the blink of an eye, you came to realize that you only took care of him. not that you minded, of course, you loved your baby. but you were less active, and it showed on your body. more and more, you looked in the mirror to find the pregnancy weight still latched on to you, the body you once had just didn’t seem to be there. you knew your husband should be the one to talk about insecurities, sure, but with all the surgeries he went through, and all he did to improve his health; you thought he looked just as ravishing as the day you met him. he did look just as handsome, even with the scars covering half of his body. he was simply a beautiful man.

and you began to feel undeserving. ugly. lesser than the person you were married to. and for what? because of some baby weight? it was natural. so why did you feel so increasingly terrible about yourself as time went on? you worked out, you stayed as healthy as possible; but it was like nothing was going to let you get back to how you looked before the baby.

you were looking in the mirror in your bathroom, a huge one, just like you dreamed of. but the large size of the mirror only gave you more sight into your own reflection. a reflection that filled you with disgust. you frowned at the weird shape and size of your tummy, or at least the shape you thought was weird, and the way your face seemed chubbier, and your thighs had grown in size.

“hey, honey,” kento greeted you, walking around the frame of the bathroom door. his sights were immediately infiltrated with the picture of his gorgeous wife, with her sleep shorts tugged down below her stomach, endearing stretchmarks littering the skin that once carried his beloved son.

you tugged your shorts up quickly and replied to him, “hi, kento.” with a quick turn on your heel and a step forward, you planted a light peck on his lips. he smiled down at you, eyes glittering with the very glimpse of such a beautiful woman.

“what are you doing?” he asked, snaking an arm around your waist to pull you close. you sort of slumped your body against him, resting a head on his shoulder, and you sighed.

“do you think i look…different now?” you couldn’t stop yourself from asking the question, blurting it out as you rested against your husband. he pulled you away and rested his hands on your waist to look you in the eyes.

“what do you mean, hm?” kento’s thumbs grazed up and down your soft skin.

you looked back into the mirror, frowning once more at the silhouette your body created. with a pitiful tone, you began to speak, “my body. ever since i had yū, it’s just been…ugly. i feel ugly.” you described yourself with one of the most hurtful words and caused kento’s eyebrows to furrow as he looked at you.

ugly? how dare his own wife speak about his wife that way. because, in his eyes, you were the most breathtaking individual on the planet. in the universe, actually. sure, he had noticed the changes of your body – the changes that came from you growing a human being inside of you, single-handedly giving him the best gift he’s ever received. if anything, he loved the changes of your body, somehow your skin became even softer to him, contrasting his rough hands perfectly.

“i’m sorry,” you apologized, noticing your husband’s glare once you looked back up at him. he shook his head.

“don’t apologize, i understand.” kento comforted you, bringing a sweet hand up to your cheek to pull you in for a soft kiss. once he pulled back, he ran a thumb over your cheek, “do you want to know what i think, sweetheart?”

brows furrowing, you looked up at him with a confused expression, “think about wh-,” he cut you off with another kiss to the lips. he skimmed his lips over different parts of your face, planting light pecks over all the skin.

“i think,” kento’s lips trailed down your neck slowly, then to each off your shoulders, beginning down one of your arms. “i have,” his kisses didn’t waver as he made his way down your arm, giving a firm kiss to the back of your hand as he held it, kneeling down. “the most,” he smiled up at you before focusing on your tummy, kissing the shirt that laid atop your soft skin, trailing all over your abdomen.

“beautiful wife in the world.”

you giggled at his gesture, the laugh soon faltering because kento’s stare on you was full of complete seriousness. the things that kento thought were always fact, never fiction, you should’ve known that. so yes, what he said was true. it would always be true in his eyes, too. always.

with all the intimacy conjured in the bathroom, that was the night you got pregnant with your second child, a daughter named mayu.

parenthood came with its own highs and lows as your children grew. your daughter loved her father til’ the earths end, always opting to stay under his arm whenever he was home. mayu had taken more of your looks this time, not quite the spitting image like yū was to your husband, but enough to tell that you were her mother. she was full of energy and happiness and took on a sassy personality from a young age. yū, however, was very emotional and laidback compared to his sister. it was quite funny how much their personalities showed, even when they were unable to talk. but as they began to grow up and adopt certain mannerisms, their personalities began to bloom even more.

as kento got older, he had gained just a tiny amount of weight, filling out his muscular form even more. his abs slowly faded with time, turning into a less-defined version of themselves. and your favorite part about kento growing older was his hair. once your children reached 3 and 5, kento had reached a good 35, turning 36 soon, little grey pieces began to pepper themselves into his hairline, shining brightly in between the blonde strands. he began to have small crow’s feet in the outsides of his eyes, and smile lines from the amount of smiling he did with you.

on yū’s first day of school, kento had to hold you as you sniffled back tears, watching your oldest boy walk through the front doors of the school. he held his arm around your shoulders and waved his son off, shushing you and saying he will only be gone until 3 p.m. little did you know, kento had to hold back his own tears, because in that moment he felt so accomplished as a father, even though that was only the beginning of yū’s journey.

not to worry, though, because on mayu’s first day – your husband cried like a baby seeing his daughter walk off into school, nervous for the first time in her life.

the first few years of your children’s school life were smooth sailing. yū and mayu alike made many friends and looked at school in a positive light. you and kento never got tired of their endless stories – about a game they played or a lesson they learned or a book they read. every little art project and 100 on a test decorated the fridge. kento made sure to teach them both about the importance of schooling and how to remain at the top of their class, along with balancing the increasing schoolwork the older they got.

it wasn’t until yū hit middle school that things began to go downhill.

neither you nor kento thought that your children would be able to see curses. only one of you was a sorcerer, and kento was the only one in his family that was able to be a sorcerer, too. but when kento took him to a bakery, yū saw the same creature as his father crawling around on the floor, eliciting an ear-shattering scream – kento felt doomed.

“what do you think we should do?” you questioned, leaning against the counter as your husband sat at the kitchen table, lips pursed beneath intertwined fingers pressed on the lower half of his face.

“i do not want him to be a sorcerer,” kento stated, a stern tone in his voice, “but he…he’s…i don’t know if we can stop it.” your husband sounded defeated at the statement.

he could only ask himself why this had to happen to him of all people; someone that had run away from jujutsu twice now. you and kento both decided to wait until your children were older to explain it all, and where all their uncles and aunts and family friends came from, but at the time, it all seemed inevitable but to give some sort of explanation.

so, of course, he called one of the people he trusted – and now respected – the most.

“nanami!” gojo squealed as soon as the front door was opened, revealing the still tall and lanky satoru. kento seemed to still be annoyed by his presence, yet inside he was thankful for his friend to show up on such short notice. gojo had been around your children some, obviously, but you and kento tried to keep your distance because of how dangerous it all was.

after giving satoru the rundown of the past days’ events, you sent mayu off to a friend’s house and sat yū in the living area with all the adults. until that point, he had no explanation as to what he saw in the bakery. but with ease, just as everything was with gojo, he gave yū the clarification needed to understand he had a special gift, and to use it wisely. kento made up his mind as to not scare your son by telling him about how he got all those scars, saving that for a later date. yū still didn’t understand everything entirely, but ended up having some sort of grasp on his abilities. that was all that was needed.

you and kento collectively decided it would be yū’s choice when he was old enough to decide to become a sorcerer, with the help of gojo, of course.

fortunately, or unfortunately, for mayu, she would end up not having the same abilities as her father. it was sort of a blessing, only having to worry about one kid being raised to fight the second they turned 14.

the years spent waiting for yū to become old enough to decide about jujutsu felt like a ticking time bomb for you and kento. many, many nights were spent in the kitchen, talking endlessly about your concerns but also the upsides to having your son learn under one of kento’s most trusted partners. but the both of you became more honest with your son about the reality of going into jujutsu, the pros and cons of becoming a sorcerer, and how it could both positively and negatively affect his life.

ultimately, though, kento was the most relieved he’d ever been when your son gave his answer about becoming a sorcerer, a few days away from the end of middle school.

“uh, no, dad. it sounds way too dangerous. i want to go to college.” yū’s words came off as that of a normal, moody teenager, but in the end made a weight lift off you and your husband’s shoulders.

they say time flies when you’re having fun, and that was the truest of statements when it came to raising your children with kento. yū’s high school years approached quickly, mayu’s seemingly approached even faster, it was all a rush of images that remained in your head. the sports teams, never missing a thursday night game to cheer on your son from the stands, as he led his soccer team to the regional levels. the first time yū brought a girl home, with you and kento seemingly even more nervous to meet the sweet young lady that attached herself to your son’s arm. prom was so much fun, seeing your husband knot the same printed tie around his son’s neck that he wore in his sorcerer days, before taking a thousand photos of yū and his girlfriend. your son had the most elated, idiotic smile on his face once he opened the door to find his girlfriend dressed to the nines in a stunning dress, the same smile on his face when he came home after a fun night with his friends. and of course, graduation topped it all off, yū standing at the top of his class just like his father. both you and kento had to stifle back tears watching him walk across the stage.

mayu’s high school days were a flash as well, a very fond memory looking back. she remained with the same snappy and sassy personality, just as when she was little. mayu remained close with her father, but began to talk to you as she got older, needing advice for any decision she made. it made you feel like a proud mother, someone she wasn’t embarrassed of because even through her mood swings and bad days, she always found refuge in you. mayu became the student council president by her second year, running every school event like a ship, making sure to always get extra t-shirts for you and kento because you would always show up. while yū was away at college, mayu became your focus as you let your son navigate his way through life.

kento thought he was going to have a heart attack the second his beloved daughter said she had a boyfriend she wanted the both of you to meet. the night that boy rolled up in his car, knocking on the door frantically, kento put on a stern and serious face as he was the one to open the door. mayu came running up behind kento, to no avail, as her boyfriend was already bowing and then shaking your husband’s hand. he politely introduced himself, practically shaking with how intimidated he was by your husband. but the night went on smoothly, you had dinner together and found out more about mayu’s boyfriend and his aspirations. at the end of the night, after he had left and mayu went to bed, kento said he was an, “alright young man,” which was the biggest compliment if you were going to date his daughter.

mayu’s graduation was the time for kento to sob again, seeing his daughter get so much recognition for all she did for the school, feeling like the proudest dad of two children. yū had driven into town, sitting next to you and kento in the stands, a bouquet of flowers for his sister. mayu moved into her dorm only a few weeks later, leaving you and kento in an empty house, riddled with the memories of raising two beautiful, accomplished, important and thriving children.

it all went by too fast.

after your birds had successfully left the nest, you and kento spent all your time together once again. the days would mix up as he began to work less and less to prepare for his retirement. time flew by, aging you and your husband both, the wrinkles becoming delicately pronounced each year, the grey hairs eventually taking over all the blonde in his head. you spent your time reading, baking, and most of all, traveling as soon as kento’s last day at work hit.

you flew all around the world, visiting the most gorgeous and diverse cities alike, emerging yourselves in all the different cultures, practices, and kento’s favorite part – the food. you visited malaysia with him again, just as you did on your honeymoon, the love you felt all those years ago still present within you both. you walked along the beaches and toured all the spots you favorited on your honeymoon again.

your life with kento nanami was beautiful.

you lay in bed with your husband at your side, his peaceful yet loud snores endearing as he sleeps so soundly. tomorrow, your 25th wedding anniversary will be here. you’ll walk out on the porch of the beautiful condo kento bought after retirement with a cup of coffee for him. you’ll read a book as your husband basks in the view of the beach he longed for all his life. your children and their spouses will drive in around afternoon, and spend the weekend with you both, letting you get time in with yū’s new baby, your grandchild. you will mingle, laugh, maybe cry and reminisce in all the memories you and your husband built up over the course of decades. your house will be loud with the sounds of kids and family and friends, all there to celebrate the life you’ve had with your husband.

even if kento were to die the next day, or in a year, or in 10 years, something would always remain true.

kento nanami had successfully spent his life with his true love.

taglist: @kundere20000000 @missakward123 @cherriee-ee @lagataprrr @ourfinalisation @ynniksslirg

let me know if you want to be added!

[coryndoll]

waking up to you

au!rafe cameron x reader

— in which you wake up in a strange alternate reality that just so happens to be the outer banks universe, and to your disbelief, you’re suddenly in a relationship with the shows most unlikely character, rafe cameron.

warnings: swearing, pretty safe !! lowkey i rushed thru im sorry LMAO

authors note: okay ik im a little late with an update and its kind of shorter but i wanted to get out a part asap. im rewatching the 100 rn and ugh. anyway if u arent part of the tag list yet, feel free to let me know thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3

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you sit at the small table across from rafe, your fork hovering above your plate, but your attention keeps drifting toward the large window facing the street. you can’t help it. john b and jj were out there earlier, just hanging around.

it didn’t seem like they would come in, but you still feel uneasy. your eyes flicker to the entrance every few minutes, waiting for them to either walk in or disappear.

“stop glancin’ at the damn window, y/n, i can . . . feel your worry from here," rafe mutters, his voice low and rough, but there’s a hint of something softer there. he doesn’t even look up from his plate, just keeps cutting into his food like it’s nothing, but his words hit you harder than they should.

you blink a few times, then drop your gaze to your plate, the food suddenly less appetizing. it’s not like you can explain it to him—that you’re afraid of seeing john b or jj or that they might somehow sense that you’re not the same y/n they used to know. you’re not sure they’d even care, but the thought of facing them right now, of fumbling through some conversation, makes your stomach twist.

still, you force yourself to eat, to appear normal, though the tension buzzing between your shoulders doesn��t fade.

when you and rafe finally step out of the cafe, your eyes immediately search the street for the van. you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you see that it’s gone. maybe they left. maybe they figured it wasn’t worth it. either way, relief washes over you, but it’s fleeting. you get into the car quickly, a little too quickly, as if you’re still afraid they might show up.

rafe slides in beside you, his movements slower, more casual, and turns the key in the ignition. the engine roars to life, but the radio stays off, just like it was earlier.

the drive home is quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the car as it rolls down the streets. you stare out the window, trying to keep your mind from spiraling, but the silence feels suffocating. eventually, you speak, your voice hesitant, unsure, “remind me why ward and rose hate me again?”

you regret the question the moment it leaves your mouth. you should know why. y/n would know exactly what’s going on between her and rafe’s parents. but you’re not her, and you need answers.

you hold your breath, waiting for his response, and in your peripheral, you see him furrow his brows, his hand on your thigh loosening like he’s pulling back, even just a little.

for a second, you think you’ve blown it, that he’s going to catch on, but then he speaks.

“they don’t hate you,” he says, his tone sharper than before. “they just . . . my dad thinks you’re in it for the money, remember? the cameron wealth. he just doesn’t trust you. and you know how rose is. she just agrees with him as long as she gets her allowance from ward cameron.” there’s a bitterness in his voice when he says his father’s name, like it’s coated in something darker. “seems a bit fucking hypocritical if you ask me.”

in it for the money? the words bounce around your head, disorienting you. you weren’t expecting that. your eyes drop to the dashboard, and you try to wrap your mind around what he’s saying, but it feels wrong. that’s what they think about her. not you. it’s hard to remind yourself of that, to separate yourself from the y/n everyone else knows.

at least, that’s what you think this is. that there was a version of you living in this world, the right version. but something must’ve been two nights ago and there was just . . . you don’t know. you can’t accept that this life is yours. you’ve never lived it.

you hesitate, then whisper, “do you . . . agree with them?”

the question hangs in the air between you, and for a second, you think he’s not going to answer. but then the car comes to a sudden stop as he pulls up in front of the house, slamming on the brakes harder than necessary. he turns toward you, eyes sharp, focused. there’s a pause, a heavy silence.

“no,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “i don’t. you know that.”

you look at him, trying to read his expression, trying to understand why he’s so sure. there’s something there in his eyes, something unspoken that makes your chest tighten. but you don’t push. instead, you just nod, swallowing the lump in your throat.

you step into the house and the door clicks shut behind you. the echo of your footsteps fades as you make your way upstairs, shoes dangling from your fingers by their backs.

when you reach rafe’s room, you drop the shoes in the closet with a soft thud and let yourself fall back onto the bed. the mattress bounces slightly under your weight, the cool sheets brushing against your skin as you settle in. you fish your phone out of your back pocket, unlocking it with a quick swipe.

a few notifications pop up on the screen—most of them unimportant, just the usual, but two names catch your eye. one from your mother, another two from jj.

your thumb hovers over jj’s messages first, curiosity or maybe just habit pushing you to open them: ‘ hey how u been? ’ followed by another message, ‘ saw u at driftwood lol ’

you grimace. please stop talking to me, you think, and you almost consider typing that out for him, but you just swipe the conversation away. it feels wrong, ignoring him, but it’s safer this way. at least for now.

you tap on your mom’s message, her name flashing up on the screen. it’s a simple ‘ hello? ’ sent after a previous message asking if you wanted to video call tonight. guilt tugs at you for not answering sooner, but you quickly type a response: ‘ i’ll be there ’

you drop the phone onto your chest and close your eyes, the tension slowly leaving your body.

rafe comes into the room just a minute after, dragging his feet as he enters, and flops down on the bed beside you with a heavy sigh. he’s on his back, his arms thrown up to rub his eyes. the weight of the day is already too much, you can tell.

you roll onto your side to face him, watching the rise and fall of his chest for a second. he looks tired—more than tired—and for some reason, you feel this sudden pull to comfort him. maybe it’s because you’re realizing that you’re stuck here for longer than you ever imagined, or maybe it’s because, despite everything, there’s something grounding about feeling him next to you. something real.

you slide your hand over his stomach, feeling the firm muscle under his t-shirt, and trail your fingers up to his neck. his skin is warm, smooth.

he smells like fresh ocean air mixed with something expensive—sandalwood, maybe, and a hint of cedar. it’s clean, masculine, and comforting in its own strange way. your hand rests against the side of his face, and you lean in, pressing your cheek lightly to his shoulder, inhaling deeply as if trying to memorize it. the scent of him feels like an anchor to this new world, even if you don’t fully belong in it.

rafe’s eyes flutter shut, his face softening under your touch, and after a quiet moment, he murmurs, "i love you."

the words catch you off guard. you blink, your heart skipping for a second as reality slams into you. you don’t really know him—at least not this version of him. not like that. and yet, you have to play the part, don’t you?

“i love you,” you mumble back, the words feeling foreign on your tongue, like they don’t belong to you. but even as they leave your lips, your mind is already spinning, thoughts racing faster than you can keep up.

a million things zip through your head at once—what if this is it? what if you never find a way home? what if you’re stuck here forever, living this life that doesn’t belong to you, loving a man who isn’t really yours?

it’s terrifying—the possibility that you might grow attached to this place, that you might actually start to like it. and then what? if you ever do go home, what happens? will you feel crushed by the weight of leaving it all behind? will you go insane, trying to navigate two lives, two versions of reality?

maybe you have nothing to worry about. maybe everything will work itself out.

but maybe you have everything to worry about.

you sit up slowly from the bed, careful not to disturb rafe as he drifts deeper into sleep. you slip away from him quietly, your feet making no sound as you pad across the room to his desk. sitting down, you lean forward, resting your elbows on the cool surface, and run your fingers through your hair. you’re tired—bone-tired—but sleep feels far away, unreachable. you need something, anything, to distract you.

your eyes open lazily, glancing at the surface of the desk. it's clean, organized, too neat, really, for someone like rafe. there’s not much on it aside from a few pieces of mail. you sift through them halfheartedly—most of it is boring stuff, some bank letters, a couple of magazines.

some are even addressed to you. they’re opened already, though, and there’s nothing of importance. not that you expected there to be.

pushing yourself up from the desk, you wander around the room. it’s yours too, right? or at least it feels that way, with how much space you apparently take up.

your fingers trail along the dresser, the faint creaking of the drawer breaking the silence as you pull it open. inside, neatly folded, are your clothes—well, her clothes. the y/n from this universe. it feels strange, surreal, knowing this other version of you needed extra room for her things. maybe she had more stuff and she just wanted more space.

your mind drifts back to what rafe said earlier. that ward and rose didn’t like you. didn’t trust you. they thought you were just after their money, like some kind of gold digger. you snort at the thought—it’s ironic, really. considering how ward and rafe were obsessed with finding literal treasure in the show. maybe everyone in this family, including her, were a little too focused on gold.

closing the drawer, you step toward the closet, opening it just as carefully. it’s split down the middle, half filled with rafe’s clothes, the other half with yours. the dresser must’ve just been for overflow.

you shake your head, closing it softly and moving back toward the bed, your gaze trailing toward your phone. it's sitting on the bed next to rafe, tempting you, but the thought of waking him just to grab it doesn’t feel worth it.

you sit down on the floor instead, crossing your legs and staring blankly at the room around you. bored. that’s all you are—bored and stuck.

your choices are limited. you can’t go downstairs and risk running into ward or rose, can’t hang out with anyone yet, and leaving for a drive without telling rafe seems . . . wrong. maybe this universe’s y/n felt the same way. maybe she felt isolated here, bored out of her mind. maybe she lost it at some point. maybe—

god, stop, you think to yourself, shaking your head.

you stare at the floor for a while, trying to focus on the wood grain beneath your fingers, but your gaze eventually drifts to something under the bed. boxes, mostly, a couple of old board games, but something else catches your attention. something wedged between two boxes.

curious, you lean down and reach for it, your fingers brushing against the cover of what looks like a journal. you pull it out, wiping a thin layer of dust from the top as you grimace. “gross,” you mutter under your breath. guess rafe doesn’t clean under the bed often.

lying down on your stomach, you run your hand along the outside of the journal. it’s worn but intact, the pages thick and sturdy under your fingertips. you never took rafe as the journaling type—he doesn’t seem like someone who would sit down and pour his thoughts onto paper. but here it is, in your hands. something personal. something that might give you a glimpse into his mind, this world, this version of him.

you hesitate for a moment, staring at the journal as your thumb traces the edge of it.

you open it, flipping past the first few pages with a lazy flick of your fingers. the familiar scent of old paper wafts up, and you wrinkle your nose at it. laying your head on your fist, you hold the journal open with one hand, skimming the neat, familiar handwriting.

it’s strange seeing rafe’s thoughts laid out like this—stranger still because you never imagined him as someone who would keep a journal at all.

but he does. and he’s detailed.

each page is filled top to bottom, crammed with his thoughts, feelings, and observations. day after day, entry after entry. it’s more than you expected, almost overwhelming in its depth. he didn’t just write about major events or things that stood out—no, he captured everything. the small details. the mundane moments. he seemed obsessed with recording every second of his life.

as you glance at the dates, your brows furrow. the entries are more recent than you thought they’d be. flipping back to the beginning of the journal, you see that it starts in early may. a sharp contrast to what you remember from your own life—your real life—where you had left in the middle of september. it’s jarring. maybe time works differently here.

and then, something else catches your attention: the handwriting.

it’s familiar. too familiar. not just because it’s rafe’s, but because there’s something about the way the letters curve, the way the words flow across the page.

you sit up a little straighter, squinting as you begin to properly read through the entries. your eyes scan the first entry dated may 12.

‘ 05/12

i don’t know why i’m even bothering to write this down. everyone says journaling is supposed to help or whatever, but all i feel is frustrated. it’s like everyone around me has it together, and i’m the one constantly getting in my own way. or maybe they’re the ones in my way. i don’t know. it’s hard to tell these days.

i’m trying, though. i think? i mean, isn’t this part of trying to get better? to work through my issues instead of ignoring them? i just don’t get why it feels like such a chore. i’ve spent so long pretending everything’s fine, so maybe that’s why this whole “self-reflection” thing is pissing me off. i’m not used to it. i’m not used to being told that i need to change, when i feel like i’ve been doing fine. they’re the ones who need to stop acting like i’m the problem. i’m not perfect, sure, but who is?

whatever. maybe i’m just overthinking it. i know i need to be better, but it’s hard when people keep pushing me into a corner, expecting me to react the same way i always have. i don’t want to be that person anymore, but it’s like, what’s the point of trying to change when no one’s even going to notice? or worse—they’re gonna keep treating me like i’m the same person no matter what i do.

i don’t know. this is stupid. but maybe it’ll help if i keep writing. or maybe not. we’ll see. ’

you blink at the page, your brow furrowing in confusion. why is rafe trying to change? change from what?

you try to shake off the unease and flip through the pages, skipping a few until you reach another entry. this one’s dated august 3rd.

‘ 08/03

i swear, sometimes i feel like no matter how hard i try, people just refuse to see it. today was fucking awful. jj and i got into it again, and i don’t even know how it got so bad so fast. i’ve been trying to be better. i’ve been trying to show up, to listen, to be the kind of friend everyone says i should be. but jj? he just doesn’t get it. he always wants to bring up the past, like i haven’t already said sorry a million times. like i haven’t tried to make up for everything. what more do they want from me?*

and the worst part is, he made me feel like i’m the bad guy. like i’m still the same selfish, narcissistic person from months ago. but i’m not. or at least, i’m trying not to be. but how am i supposed to change when people like him just won’t let me? he said i’ve been a bad friend. me? a bad friend? maybe i haven’t been perfect, but who has? i’m doing the best i can, and it’s not like everyone else is a saint. but no, it’s always me who gets the blame.

honestly, i think jj just made everything worse. i was starting to feel like i was making progress, and now? i don’t know. i feel like i’m back to square one. all i wanted was to fix things, to show i’ve changed, and instead i’m just stuck here, trying to explain myself to someone who clearly doesn’t care.

whatever. i’m done trying to explain myself. if people don’t want to see that i’m trying, then that’s their problem, not mine. ’

your heart races as you read the entry. wait . . . this is familiar. the mention of jj. hold on.

you flip through a smaller chunk of pages, eager to find the last written entry, and stop on september 17.

‘ 09/17

i’ve done everything i can. i’ve changed. i know i’ve changed, but no one else seems to think so. it’s like no matter what i do, i’m still the same person in their eyes. the selfish one, the one who only cares about herself. it’s not fair. i’ve been working so hard to be better, to be different. but every time i walk into a room, it’s like they’re waiting for me to mess up again. waiting for me to be the person they’ve decided i am.

i just wish they’d give me a break. i’m not that person anymore. or at least, i’m trying not to be. it’s exhausting, having to prove myself over and over again. i thought things would be different by now. i thought people would see that i’m not the same. but all i get are those looks. like i’ve done something unforgivable. like i’m still the villain in their story, no matter how hard i’ve tried to rewrite mine.

i don’t know what else to do. i’m tired of fighting for people to see me. maybe i’ll never be enough for them. maybe they’re just waiting for me to screw up again, to prove that i haven’t changed at all. but i have. i have changed. i know it.

god, i just wish i could do something big. something to show them all at once that i’m not who i used to be. i’m better now. i just don’t know how to make them believe it. ’

your blood runs cold as you read the last line. panic surges through you, and you glance around the room as if seeking an escape. you scan the pages, your eyes racing over the words, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

you were absolutely wrong. this isn’t rafe’s journal.

this is hers.

@v2los @cosmixstar @meeuhsworld @httpsdrewstarkey @lovdrew @lilithblackkk @rovckwells @cherrylooney @iissza @namelesslosers @cocolovey @rafeyswrd @odairtrqsh @gretag13 @vivian-555 @lunaleah @smol-coffee-addict @twinge-vix @behindviolettwrites @avngrssckr @stonerroadbull @cali-888 @coquettajob @simpingcorner @nymphetkoo @pinkpantheris @ilyrafe @romaescapes @cold-soup1223 @inaluvrsworld @rafesweetie @faephoria @solo-pitstop-vibes @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @drewsephrry @sgecorrow @rafesgiirl @ravisinghs-wife @booksntings @tinyfairies @maybankslover @honeyluvsatj @darleneslane @alysaaaa444 @w4nnabeurs @watersquirtpewpewboomm @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

[yelenasbraid]

baby bliss — joe burrow

summary — you just had a baby, and you’re pregnant again. it’s safe to say that joe has his concerns.

warnings — fem!reader, mentions of pregnancy, fluff, anxious joe, mentions of sex, panic attack

requested by — anon <3

YOU ALWAYS KNEW you wanted a family. ever since you were in middle school, you knew that you wanted to have kids. you didn’t know who, at that point, would make you a mom, but being a mother was one of your many desires.

so, when you and your husband found out about your first, you were through the roof excited. your dreams of being a mother came true, but not without the long-haul of a 9 month pregnancy. morning sickness got the best of you in the first trimester, not to mention you hated the smell of meat. joe was as supportive as he could be, and he wished he could be there more often than he was.

it got a little better past the first trimester, especially when you found out you were having a little girl. joe was beyond excited, already picking out outfits for his daughter. you always saw joe as a girl dad, and you couldn’t wait to see him finally hold her.

the months drug on, your belly growing more and more swollen by the day. it came to point where you were doing anything to try and get this baby out.

“ok, we’ve tried spicy food, the yoga ball, and exercise. baby girl just won’t budge,” you groaned as you sat on the couch one evening, balancing your food bowl on your belly.

“she’s stubborn like her mama,” joe teased, nudging you with his foot. you gave him a look, which made the blonde next to you giggle.

“hush, burrow. she gets her genes from both of us, not just me,” you chirped as you put another forkful into your mouth.

“you what what we haven’t tried?” joe wiggled his eyebrows at you, making you furrow yours in confusion.

“what?”

“sex,” he answered, rather bluntly of course. he wiggled his eyebrows as you laughed.

“that would be the most unflattering sex we would ever have,” you told him, causing him to then make a face at you.

“there is no such thing as an unflattering angle on you, babe. plus, i put that baby in you, i could be the one to help her out,” he spoke in a sing-song voice. you only laughed, your cheeks heating up to a rose red color.

needless to say you guys did have sex that night, and despite your baby bump, it was still as amazing as it always was. baby girl seemed to agree, and she came not even 24 hours later.

joe sat in the chair across from you, baby girl lyla on his bare chest, watching her sleep. you laid in the hospital bed, barely keeping your eyes open. you watched as your husband cradled his baby girl, his hands engulfing her small frame. he whispered sweet nothings to her, never taking his eyes off of her.

he was so proud of you and he was so in love with his lyla.

—

5 weeks flew by, and you and joe were getting used to having lyla at home. there were many sleepless nights, even if you and joe were on a schedule. in those 5 weeks, lyla grew like a tree, her features developing to look more like her parents. she had joe’s bright blue eyes and your hair color. she was a daddy’s girl, that was for sure.

joe loved being the one to change her and bathe her. he loved spending time with her, making sure she knew she was loved and cared for. you loved watching joe step into the father role, silently vowing to protect his girls for the rest of his life.

it also made you hella horny.

you weren’t supposed to have sex until 6 weeks after giving birth. your hormones were in overdrive, and every single angle of joey made you want to strip him down. which you could do, but realistically you knew where that would lead.

lyla was down for a nap, and you and joe sat on the couch. it was one of those days where your skin was on fire and you desperately needed touch. joe’s hand was on your thigh, rubbing small circles on your skin as a show played on the tv. it made you go absolutely insane. it was only one more week and he’d be all yours. it was just one week, what was it going to do?

“fuck it,” you mumbled, climbing onto joe’s lap. he was shocked, to say the least, but he’s been impatient too. seeing you in mom mode, despite the messy hair and baggy clothes, it just made things worse for him. he’s not been able to have sex with you for 5 weeks, and while he understood why, he just knew that 6th week was going to be the best week of his life. well, one of the best weeks.

your hands went to his cheeks, pressing your lips to his. your house was a mess, but the baby was asleep and you needed joe. his lips moved effortlessly against yours, the need in his bones spilling over into your mouth. his hands settled on your hips, moving up and down your legs and back. he’s missed this, he’s missed you, specifically the taste of you. you got lost in the taste of him and how he touched you, fulfilling the desire that’s been burning through you for the past couple of weeks.

“are we about to do this?” joe asked, pulling away from you for just a second.

“yes, but we need to be fast and quiet,” you told him.

“yes ma’am,”

—

you didn’t regret having sex that day. it felt good, and your needs were fulfilled. what you didn’t expect was to feel nauseous a week later. you didn’t expect to see two more blue lines show up on a pregnancy test. panic settled in, your hands started to shake, and your mind ran a million miles an hour.

what the hell do you tell joe?

you set the stick down, and while you’re excited you’re having baby number 2, you were still anxious. you beat yourself for letting your hormones get the best of you, leading you to enjoy your husband in the most intimate ways.

the door shut downstairs, signaling joe was home. you walked out of the bathroom, grabbed lyla from her crib and walked downstairs. lyla babbled all the way down, not having a clue of what the stick in her mama’s hand meant.

“there’s my pretty girls!” joe grinned as he saw his wife and daughter greet him. he spread his arms out, taking his little girl into his arms. he softly bounced her on his hip, her giggles echoing in his ears. he wrapped you in the hug as well, kissing the top of your head.

“how’re you, mamas?” he asked you, cradling the back of your head with his hand. your heart was beating a million miles an hour, sweat sticking to your forehead.

“i’ve got something for you,” you told him, your voice a little unsteady. his brow furrowed, catching the shakiness of your voice. he gently placed lyla in her play area in the living room, the little girl going straight for her stuffed animals.

“what is it? are you ok?” he asked, his hands ghosting over your body. he was afraid that your premature sex did something, and that maybe you needed to go back to the hospital. he saw you pull out a pregnancy stick, placing it in his hands. two more beautiful lines showed up, informing him he was going to be a dad to two kids.

“wait, really?” he asked, his excitement building.

“yep, it’s why i’ve not been feeling well,” you informed him, stealing a look at your daughter. joe picked you up and hugged you, swaying you from side to side.

“that’s amazing!” he set you down, and as he did, his anxiety settled in. there was a reason why they had you wait 6 weeks until you could have sex. infection, the risk of tearing, the list goes on. your body was put through the wringer with pregnancy and birth, and you were about to do it all over again?

“babe?” you snapped him out of his anxious trance, forcing him to swallow. he couldn’t show you he was scared, not now.

“i’m ok, i promise,” he reassured you. joe knew you’d see through him, you always did, but for right now he didn’t want to bring it up. he gave you another hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. your daughter’s whimpering separated you two, signaling it was time for dinner.

—

the next few days were anxiety-inducing for joe. he went to practice, came home, had dinner with his family, and held his wife at night. but his chest was in a constant state of tension. he woke up every time you shifted, every time you groaned he would be there in and instant, and if you walked funny he would watch you with wide eyes.

you noticed the shift in joe. he seemed on edge, anxious even. you tried talking to him about it, but he brushed it off, telling you that practice was rough. you’ve known him long enough to know that he was lying, but if he didn’t want to talk about it, you weren’t gonna press it.

you walked downstairs one afternoon, empty water bottle in hand, stomach rumbling. you just put lyla down for a nap and wanted to reward yourself with a snack. you were hungry more often with this one, fingers always itching for a snack.

“i swear we’re having a boy this time with how often i’m hungry,” you commented as you walked into the kitchen. you watched joe for a second, your smile faltering as you watched him pace. you knew something was up, his actions the past few days said enough.

“joey? honey?” you walked up to him, stopping him in his tracks. you placed a hand on his arm, stopping him from continuing in his tracks. joe met eyes with you, his chest heaving. his eyes flicked over your body, subconsciously looking for anything that told him you weren’t ok. you seemed ok, you didn’t seem like you were in any obvious pain. his eyes found yours again, but he still had yet to say something.

“what’s wrong?” you asked him, cupping his cheeks with your hands. the feeling of your warm hands on his cheeks momentarily grounded him, but the moment didn’t last long. his breaths quickened and his chest heaving with each attempted inhale. his whole body went rigid, even if you were standing right in front of him, perfectly fine.

“baby, look at me,” you encouraged him, keeping your hands on his cheeks. he tried his hardest to keep his eyes on you, even if all he wanted to was disassociate. he watched as you inhaled, exhaled, and repeated.

“keep breathing with me,” you encouraged him, imitating your breathing. he followed suit, his hands wandering around to find the cool counter, the warmth of your waist, and the softness of your shirt. he honed in on you, taking in the glow of your skin, the smell of your perfume, the feeling of your skin. he grounded himself, resting his forehead against yours.

moments passed, your hands rubbing circles under his eyes, his arms wrapping around your middle. he buried his face into your neck, inhaling your scent. he felt calmer, especially since his adrenaline was crashing down through the roof. after a few moments, you led him over to the couch, sitting down. he immediately laid against your stomach, wrapping his arms around yours as gently as he could.

“what’s wrong, baby?” you threaded your fingers through his hair, the frosted tips fading into more of his dirty blonde.

“i’m just worried,” he sagged into you, feeling the hangover from the almost-panic attack he had moments ago.

“yeah?”

“i feel like it’s too soon, that we got too excited,” he hummed against you. realistically, he knew you were ok. if you weren’t, it would be more obvious.

“maybe it was, but i’m ok. i feel ok, baby’s ok,” you comforted him, continuing to massage his scalp. he sighed, giving you a gentle squeeze. moments like this were rare with you, especially with a little one, who was sound asleep upstairs.

“i’ve just heard of all the things that could happen,” he continued, closing his eyes. sleep has evaded him just as much as it’s evaded you. any sleep he could get he grabbed, but he knew you were up more than he was.

“i know, and trust me, it scared me too. but we’re ok, i’m ok,” you kissed the top of his head. he accepted your answer, allowing himself to finally relax for the first time in a week. you two were drifting off, eyes almost closing when you heard the whimpers of lyla on the baby monitor. your eyes opened, groans escaping your lips.

“duty calls,” you hummed, shifting, making joe get up off of you. he leaned up and kissed you, softly and briefly.

“i’ll go get her,” he offered, standing up on shaky legs. he was beyond relieved you were ok, that baby #2 was ok. he knew that he should have trusted your instincts and your body, but he was apart of this family too. if anything happened, if you weren’t ok, he’d beat himself up for the rest of his life.

but you were ok, and as he lifted his baby girl into his arms, that reality sunk deep into his chest. he pressed a soft kiss to lyla’s head, fuzzy with hair. he carried her downstairs, forever grateful for the growing family he had.

hehe this was so cute i loved writing it. i hope you enjoyed it anon! it was so much fun and i love dad joe. pls enjoy and feel free to send requests!

tags: @wickedfun9

[parkerslatte]

Clouded | Part One

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: blood and injury. mentions of torture. beron in general.

Summary: Y/N works as a servant in the Forest House when an unfortunate encounter with Eris leaves her without her job with no valid reason. When she is at her small house, Eris shows up covered in blood. Truths Y/N has wanted to know for years come to light.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

Part One | Part Two

•••

Y/N tried to carry herself with as much grace as she could muster. At least if she looked like she belonged, people would respect her more. Her servant clothes were ratty and torn, Beron had no care in the world to use his money to supply the servants who weren’t typically seen around the Forest House in a lavish uniform. The only reason Y/N was walking around the house was because her friend had gotten sick so Y/N took on her duties as well as her own. 

The hall was empty when Y/N entered it. No voices were to be heard so Y/N relaxed her shoulders. All she needed to do was get to Beron’s personal kitchens and collect all of the pots and pans to be swapped out with new ones. The only thing Y/N wanted to avoid on her way there was—

She collided with a firm chest and before Y/N knew it, she crashed to the floor, knocking all of the air out of her. 

“Of course it would be you I run into,” a voice sneered.��

Y/N finally looked at the person she collided with and her worry turned into anger. “Out of everyone, why have I been cursed to see your face this early in the morning.”

Eris rolled his eyes. “What are you doing in this part of the house? The last I heard you work four floors below where no one is witness to your unsightly appearance.”

“I am doing my friend's work while she is sick,” Y/N answered. “I guess it is a foreign concept to you. Both work and friends.”

Eris offered a sarcastic smile in return. “I see your comebacks have changed.”

“I see you have changed, for the worse,” Y/N muttered. 

Y/N remembered centuries ago when she once considered Eris a friend— perhaps even more. She thought he was the most amazing person ever. What a huge misjudge of character. 

Y/N held out her hand. “The least you can do is help me up.”

Eris looked around the hallway for a brief moment. Y/N sighed. Of course he would look before being caught touching a simple servant girl. 

The moment their hands touched, Y/N gripped onto Eris’s hand tightly before pulling harshly. The heir of the Autumn Court was swept off his feet and came tumbling to the ground. 

Y/N only intended for him to fall down next to her— not on top of her. Eris’s elbows were braced on either side of Y/N’s head as he saved himself from his entire weight pressing on top of her. His body was perfectly slotted between her thighs. His face hovered over hers, so close she could feel his breath brush her face like a gentle caress. 

Y/N met Eris’s eyes and her heart skipped a beat. She had forgotten how beautiful the colour of his eyes were. 

“Y/N, I—“

Footsteps echoed down the hallway and Eris rushed to get up from Y/N. The moment he was on his feet and straightening his jacket, Beron walked around the corner. 

Eris looked down at Y/N, a scowl on his face. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

Beron cleared his throat. “Eris, is this vermin bothering you?”

“No,” Eris said quickly. “She isn’t.”

“But, you mentioned—“

“I will escort her out, Father,” Eris said and gripped Y/N’s upper arm. 

Before Y/N could say anything, Eris dragged her down the hallway and out of sight. Once Y/N was sure they were alone, Y/N pulled her arm from Eris’s grip. 

“Eris, get off me!” Y/N exclaimed. “I need to get back and do my job.”

Eris only gripped her arm once more and pulled her into a small storage room. He pressed his back against the door. 

“Eris,” Y/N said. “I need to get back to work.”

“No you’re not, Y/N,” Eris said. “You are leaving.”

Y/N scoffed. “I am not leaving. If this is just for pulling you down to the floor and harming your ego—“

“It isn’t about that, Y/N!” Eris snapped. “But you are leaving and never coming back here again. If I ever see you in this house ever again, I will banish you from this court myself.”

Y/N’s heart dropped. “Eris…”

“Go, Y/N,” Eris said. “I don’t want to ever see you again.”

Eris opened the door and gestured for her to step out. Y/N followed, her gaze cast down to the floor. 

“I am sorry, Eris,” Y/N muttered. “But I need to keep this job. I cannot afford my house without it.”

“That is not my problem, Y/N,” Eris replied, straightening his jacket once more. 

“Please, Eris,” Y/N begged. “Out of everyone in this house, you are the one who knows of my situation.”

There seemed to be a flash of regret across Eris’s face but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a sneer. “Y/N, I do not care about your situation. If your father were any smarter then he wouldn’t have gotten himself in debt before he passed, leaving you to pay it all off.”

Y/N’s eyes glistened with tears. “I hate you, Eris Vanserra.”

“I hear that a lot,” Eris said, looking away from Y/N. “It doesn’t sound any different when you say it. Leave, Y/N, before I need to force you.”

Eris sauntered down the hall, leaving Y/N alone in the centre of the grand hall, tears falling down her cheeks. 

***

The following day, Y/N spent hours looking for jobs in the nearest village. Conveniently no one was hiring. The moment she was home, Y/N spilled out all of her savings onto her bed. Although she had already paid over half of her father’s debt, she still had a long way to go. Paying only half had taken her nearly a century with the wage she was on. 

Y/N sighed and slumped down into the small tattered armchair. She loved her father dearly, she always had and she grieved him more than she cared to admit. But she hated him sometimes. She hated him for leaving her with the burden of his debts. 

Before she and her father were cast out in the Autumn Court, her father was well respected amongst the nobles and often spent his time with Beron and his other advisors. He often brought Y/N along and it was there she first met Eris. The heir was an only child at the time so was often bored of playing on his own. It didn’t take them long to form a friendship. They were attached at the hip…until the long awaited consequences of her fathers debts caught up to him. 

Beron offered her father a job in the house to earn money to pay his debts, probably the only kindness Y/N saw the High Lord give at the time. Only it wasn’t a kindness at all, it was simply a death sentence. Beron was well aware of her fathers debts amongst the other nobles and allowed him to fight in his army, completely untrained and unarmed– leaving Y/N completely alone. 

At first she thought she could rely on Eris and she could, until his brother came alone when they were twenty. It was as if a switch flipped within Eris. He went from Y/N’s best friend to someone she hated and despised. He was cruel and cold, despite the fire coursing through his veins. Y/N hated that she still saw him occasionally around the Forest House…well, that wouldn’t be a problem now. 

Y/N tried not to cry as she looked at the money on the bed. She barely had enough to pay for her food for the week. There were times where Y/N debated running away, she debated leaving Prythian completely, somewhere where Autumn had no ties. She could start a new life– a happier one. 

But something always pulled her back. Y/N didn’t know what but she needed to find out. 

A loud thump echoed through her small house. Y/N stilled and didn’t move. What if it was someone trying to claim their money now that they knew she wasn’t protected by the walls of the Forest House? What if they weren’t there for money at all?

Another loud thump, this time more desperate. 

Y/N carefully slid her dagger out from its hiding place and slowly walked to her front door. 

Another thump more desperate than the last. 

“Y/N…” Eris’s voice weakly called out. “Please…let me in.”

Y/N walked faster over to her front door and opened it with a scowl. 

Her dagger clattered to the floor. 

She let out a gasp. 

Eris collapsed into her arms.

***

Y/N panicked as she rushed around Eris to clean up all of the blood covering his body. And from the scent of it, every single drop was his. The rise and fall of his chest was shallow as she cut away his white shirt. Well she assumed it was originally white. 

His pale torso was coated with a layer of blood, some had dried but most of it seemed fresh. The deeper wounds still bled freely. 

Y/N wasn’t sure what to do. She could only heal small wounds and gashes, that was only what her father had taught her. This was extreme but they were too far away from a proper healer. By the time they got there, Eris would be dead. 

“Come on, Y/N,” she muttered to herself. “You can do this.”

She worked on stopping the blood flow from the large open gash in his side. She wiped away all of the dried blood surrounding the area. The gash wasn’t as large as she originally thought but it was deep– too deep for her to deal with. 

Tears pricked Y/N’s eyes. Not only would she be an outcast from the village because of the debt she owed but now she would be an outcast because she let the heir to the court die. 

“Eris,” Y/N whispered. “Please stay with me. Don’t you dare die on me. Not today.”

***

Most of the larger wounds on Eris’s body were cleaned and were slowly beginning to heal. The smaller cuts and bruises were only faintly there now. Y/N’s hands were still stained red from Eris’s blood. She hadn’t moved from her position on her coffee table since she finished sewing up the gaping wound in his side. Y/N was sure she had never been so scared in her life. What would have happened if she wasn’t able to help Eris? There were instances where she was sure he was going to die right there on her couch. Y/N shook her head, banishing the thought from her mind. Eris was alive, the clear rise and fall of his chest gave that away, no matter how shallow it was. 

Despite her uncomfortable position atop the coffee table, Y/N didn’t move, didn’t blink as she watched Eris. His wounds had slowly begun to heal but she still did not trust her own healing abilities fully. If any of the wounds got infected whilst they healed, Y/N didn’t want to wake to Eris dead on her couch. 

Y/N let out a yawn but continued to keep her eyes open. 

***

When Eris finally awoke, it was to a shout of pain. He shot up from his position on the couch, ripping open the wound Y/N had so carefully stitched. His hand flung to his side, pressing down to slow the bleeding. 

Y/N ran into the room, panic flooding her eyes. Eris was confused. Why was Y/N here? His heart beat faster as he surveyed the room. It had been many, many years since he had last been inside this small cabin but he recognised it instantly. Eris only began to panic even more. 

“Of course you wake when I was getting a drink for myself,” Y/N said, sitting down on the table in front of him. “And you ripped your stitches open.”

“Y/N,” Eris gasped. “What am I doing here?”

Y/N wiped her hands down her face. As she shuffled closer, he could identify the dark circles under her eyes that he knew were not there the last time he had seen her. And as she shuffled closer he only now noticed his lack of shirt, bare skin exposed to the air. Shame instantly rose within Eris. 

“You turned up here yesterday evening,” Y/N said, a haunted look in her eyes as her gaze drifted to the side. “You were covered in blood– your blood.”

Eris gulped down air as he pressed on his wound harder, he could feel the blood begin to slither between his fingers as he tried his best to keep it within his body. 

“Here,” Y/N said, the softest Eris had heard her voice in years. “Let me help.”

“You’ve done enough,” Eris said, letting his facade and walls turn to steel. “I can deal with it from here.”

The moment Eris went to stand, he collapsed instantly. Y/N rushed to his side and helped him settle back on the couch. The bloodstained couch. It was a wonder how he was even alive.

“Let me help you, Eris,” Y/N said, more firmly this time. A tone he was far more used to.

“Why?” Eris scoffed. “Because you care about me?”

“No,” Y/N said. If she had any idea of the dagger that word sent to his heart. “I don’t need the heir of Autumn to die on my couch. I’m already an outcast in the village already.”

Eris's eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Y/N.“

“I’m glad I could help you Eris, but why are you here? You threatened me with banishment not even a day ago and now you show up here begging for help,” Y/N said. 

Eris sighed. “I don’t know why I ended up here, Y/N.” It was a lie but Y/N didn’t need to know the truth— at least not yet. 

“Then what happened? You nearly died on me multiple times,” Y/N said, her voice catching. Eris fought the urge to reach out. 

“I can’t say, Y/N,” Eris said, looking at his bloody hands. 

Y/N scoffed. “Eris, you show up on my doorstep close to death and you cannot tell me what happened?”

Eris squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t, Y/N.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” 

“Both,” Eris said, meeting her eyes again. 

Y/N sighed. “Let me see your wound back up.”

“It’s fine, Y/N. I need to leave,” Eris said. 

He tried to stand but the moment he tried, he grunted in pain. His side felt as if it were on fire. 

“Eris, you need to have this stitched again,” Y/N said, shuffling closer. “It won’t heal properly otherwise.”

Eris held her gaze. He could see the gleam of the unshed tears lingering in her eyes. Eris knew they weren’t for him. They were because of him. If he had died within her house, he didn’t even want to imagine what the rest of the village would say about her. He didn’t want to imagine what his own father would do to her. Eris only knew it would be far worse than what was done to him. 

“Fine,” Eris said and allowed himself to pull his hand away from the wound. It was still bleeding but not as much as before. 

Silently, Y/N moved to his side, sitting down on the dried blood. Eris cringed. That was his blood covering the couch. It was his blood covering her dress. 

Eris could barely feel the needle stitching his skin back together. All he did was stare forwards at the small table in the centre of the room. It was the same table as the last time he was in this house, Eris noticed. 

***

511 Years Ago

Eris laughed as Y/N pulled him into her house. It was late at night and the house was empty, her father was working late and Y/N took it upon herself to drag Eris back here. 

“Y/N, why have you dragged me here?” A twenty year old Eris asked as a nineteen year old Y/N dragged him down to sit on the couch. 

“It was your birthday a few days ago,” Y/N said. “And I know that you didn’t do much for it because your mother and father have been fussing over your mothers pregnancy. So…”

Y/N reached into her small bag and pulled out a small box. She handed it to Eris. 

“You didn’t need to get me anything,” Eris said. 

“Well I did,” Y/N said, casually holding onto his arm. 

Eris slowly opened the box and was greeted by the sight of the most beautiful ring. 

“I had it engraved!” Y/N said excitedly. “I know how much you love to be around me…”

Eris rolled his eyes but didn’t object. 

“So,” Y/N continued. “You will always have a piece of me with you. I asked for the gem in my necklace to be split into two.”

Eris read the engraved text on the inner part of the ring. 

“For the days you feel alone…”

“I have a matching one,” Y/N said, taking her own ring out of her pocket. 

“All you need to do is touch the gem embedded in the metal and I will feel it,” Y/N said. “The same with me.”

Y/N slipped her own ring onto her finger. It was thinner than Eris’s ring yet just as beautiful. She lightly ran her finger over the gem and Eris felt his ring heat up the smallest amount. 

“Y/N…” Eris said, looking at the ring in his finger. “How much did you spend on this?”

Y/N shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

Eris looked at Y/N, many emotions overwhelmed him to the point where he couldn’t find the words to say. Despite having a good relationship with his mother, she had never gotten him a meaningful present before. His father never really cared about birthdays so Eris rarely even got a ‘Happy Birthday’ from his father. 

But this gift from Y/N trumped any other gift he had received before, or will ever receive. He felt a tug and his breath was gone for a brief moment. 

“Thank you, Y/N,” Eris said, his finger gliding over the small gem. 

Y/N smiled. “You’re welcome. Now you will always know I am beside you.”

Eris couldn’t think of anything to do but pull her into him, wrapping his arms around her body. Y/N’s arms snaked around his neck, embracing him tightly. 

The scent of her overwhelmed Eris. Her scent was once he could always pick out in a crowd of a thousand. It was comforting for him, it made him feel safe, loved. 

“Y/N…” Eris began, afraid for the words that were about to come out of his mouth. “I love you.”

Y/N’s body went rigid before she pulled away from Eris, an indescribable expression on her face. Eris’s heart sank. 

He quickly avoided her gaze and shuffled uncomfortably on the couch. “I’m sorry. Just forget I said anything.”

Just as he went to stand up, Y/N gently clasped his hand. “You love me?”

Eris met her gaze once more. “I do. I have for a while now, I just didn’t want to complicate things. I didn’t want to lose you as a friend.”

Y/N shook her head. “You haven’t lost me as a friend, and you never will.”

Eris offered a stiff smile. “Well I would prefer it if we just completely forget that this ever happened between us.”

“Why?”

Eris shuffled. “Because you don’t return my feelings.”

Y/N smiled, soft and gentle. “I never said that.”

Eris’s heart skipped a beat. 

Y/N laced her fingers with his. “I love you too, Eris. I never said anything because I thought you would never return my feelings.”

A sigh of relief slipped past Eris’s lips. “You love me back?”

“Of course I do,” Y/N said, positioning her body closer to Eris. “How could I not?”

Eris smiled. “I honestly don’t know what to do.”

“I do,” Y/N said and soon enough her lips were pressed firmly against Eris’s. 

***

“Eris,” Y/N said. “Eris!”

Eris snapped out of his thoughts and turned his attention away from the table in front of him. “Yes?”

“You’ve been staring blankly at the table ever since I began stitching up your wound,” Y/N said. 

Eris looked down and noticed she had already finished. He barely felt it at all. “Thank you.”

Y/N nodded before moving away from him. Despite the fire coursing through his veins, Eris suddenly felt cold. 

“Now are you going to tell me what happened?” Y/N asked as she wiped the blood from her hands. 

“No,” Eris replied, grunting in pain as she shifted positions. 

“Still so stubborn,” Y/N muttered.

“I need to leave,” Eris said. “I don’t want my mother wondering where I disappeared to. And I have other matters to finish.”

“You are not going anywhere,” Y/N said. “Not until you are fully healed anyway.”

“I am leaving, Y/N,” Eris said.

“You can barely stand without causing pain,” Y/N commented.

“I can,” Eris said. 

Y/N folded her arms across her chest. “Prove it.”

“Fine,” Eris said.

This time Eris did manage to get to his feet but the pain all over his body made him sway in place. He felt as if he were being beaten all over again. 

“See,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m fine.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Sit back down, Eris.”

“I’m not staying here, Y/N,” Eris said as she took an excruciating step towards the front door. “I can’t.”

“Why? Afraid being seen with a servant girl will ruin your image?” Y/N spat.”

“Don’t,” Eris hissed.

“Don’t what?” Y/N said, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Eris said. “You are so much more than that.”

“As if you believe that, Eris,” Y/N scoffed. “For years you have looked down upon me for being a worker in the Forest House. You have sneered at me in the halls. You have constantly belittled me whenever someone sees you talking to me. You act like I am the scum of the whole of Prythian. I can’t believe I loved you all those years ago.”

Loved. 

Past tense.

The one word cut Eris deeper than any other wound on his body. Of course he already knew that Y/N no longer loved him but it didn't hurt any less to hear it come from her mouth. 

“I have my reasons for everything, Y/N,” Eris said, closing his eyes, wishing he were anywhere else. 

“It would help a lot for you to justify them,” Y/N said, her voice cracking. “You were my first kiss, my first love, my first everything. I always imagined what our life would be like together. I pictured it every day. The day my fathers debts were made public, you comforted me, you stayed with me for those first few weeks when it was the hardest. It was in those moments when I realised how deep my love went for you. Everyone else abandoned me, but you stayed.”

“But the moment your brother Tycho was born, everything suddenly shifted. You became a completely different person. You became cruel, distant and cold, not just toward me but to everyone who was close to you,” Y/N said, her eyes brimming with tears. “You became a stranger to me. I thought it was just the stress and gave you the benefit of the doubt but the moment my father passed away and I heard you laugh with your father about it, I knew that beautiful heart inside your body had turned to stone.”

Eris squeezed his eyes shut. “I had my reasons.”

“As you’ve said, but I deserve to know the reason why the Eris standing before me right now, killed the male I was once in love with.” Y/N’s voice broke and Eris dreaded to find out what he would find if he opened his eyes. 

“I can’t–”

“That is bullshit, Eris,” Y/N exclaimed. “I deserve to know why the male bleeding in my living room replaced the one who I shared so much of myself with.”

Slowly, Eris opened his eyes. Tears were streaming down Y/N’s face. Eris’s heart clenched as he fought the instinctual urge to reach for her. 

“It was because of you,” Eris confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I did all of it to protect you from my father and my younger brothers, everything.”

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked. 

“I have already told you too much, Y/N,” Eris said. “I need to go before my father finds out where I am.”

As Eris turned, Y/N suddenly gasped. 

“Eris,” Y/N said. “Your back…”

He knew what she could see. The scars that littered his back were his own secret, one he preferred no one else knew about, not even his own mother. When Eris had received the beating from his father, he was shocked to discover that he wouldn’t be adding to the collection on his back, but on his torso and chest instead. 

“I told you I needed to protect you from my father,” Eris said before limping out of the small house. 

The moment the cold air hit his skin, Eris hissed in pain. He was more aware of every cut and wound on his body. 

“Eris, don’t walk away,” Y/N begged as she followed him.

“Y/N, go back inside,” Eris said. “And don’t ever talk to me again. I can’t let him anywhere near you.”

“At least stay until you are healed,” Y/N said. “Your power is drained. Are you really going to walk all the way to the Forest House from here? You could die in this cold.”

“Better out there than in your house,” Eris said, each step felt like a rain of daggers. 

“Eris, please just come back inside,” Y/N said. 

“Y/N, the longer I stay here, the more danger you are in,” Eris said. “My father has most likely already sent my brothers after me. I cannot be seen with you. It will only confirm his suspicions.”

“What suspicions?” Y/N asked.

The more Eris walked the more he could feel his energy drain. He dragged his feet along the path to the gate of Y/N’s garden. His legs began to get weaker and weaker and his head spun. He had lost too much blood to be up on his feet this fast. 

“Please, go back inside,” Eris muttered.

“No, what suspicions, Eris?” Y/N asked. 

“Please…” Eris said, feeling himself get weaker. 

He buckled under his own weight and fell onto the cobblestones below him. He could barely lift his arm up. The sound of Y/N’s quick footsteps echoed on the ground and she appeared in his vision. 

“Y/N,” Eris mumbled. “Please, just leave me here.”

“No,” Y/N said. “I told you to stay inside but you didn’t listen.”

“I can’t be seen with you,” Eris siad, his vision becoming blurred.

“I don’t care, I am not leaving you here to die. I won’t let you,” Y/N said.

“I can’t let you get close to me,” Eris whispered. “It was the only way to stop it.”

Eris couldn’t stop the words falling from his mouth. Everything he never wanted to say aloud was coming to light. 

“Stop what? You are not making any sense right now,” Y/N asked and Eris felt the warm caress of her hand on the side of his face. From what he could see, Y/N looked concerned, all the hatred for him had seemed to be wiped clean from her face. 

“Stop the bond snapping,” Eris mumbled, leaning into her touch. “You are my mate, Y/N.”

Eris’s eyes fluttered shut as he felt himself drift into unconsciousness. 

[pathologicalreid]

sanctuary | s.r.

in which hotchner!reader reunites with the BAU after her time in WITSEC

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff (flangst?) content warnings: mr. scratch arc, witsec, hotch and jack and thriving, luke and garcia bickering, thunderstorms, anxiety, hotchner!reader, boyfriend!spencer word count: 1.79k a/n: the fluffier, more fun follow up to sense memory! but you don't have to read sense memory to understand this fic <3

You kept your hood tugged over your head, staring at the books on Spencer’s desk as you waited for him to show up. He had texted you when the jet landed, letting you know he’d be home tonight.

The darkness was starting to get to you. The way the sun set earlier and earlier in the day, draping your apartment in a fog that no number of lightbulbs could diffuse, scared you. The obscuring of your eyesight brought back memories of a time that was best forgotten, and paranoia rushed through your veins whenever you sat in the apartment.

Usually, you’d make the drive up to your dad’s house in Philly, but he was off chaperoning a field trip with Jack’s class. You were perfectly safe in your own apartment, Spencer, despite his Luddite tendencies, had a new security system installed, and your sidearm had been returned to you by the marshal service. Even so, every time you heard a creak in the floorboards or the tapping of something in the window, the hairs rose on the back of your neck.

There was no one for you to call. You didn’t want to bother your father and Jack while they were together. You didn’t want to worry Spencer. Your therapist would just suggest that staying in the dark apartment was a good method of exposure. You didn’t want to be exposed; you’d had more than enough fear for one lifetime.

You’d retreated to the BAU. The sixth floor of the FBI’s Quantico headquarters had been your home away from home for longer than you could remember, the walls of your sanctuary provided you with shelter from the storm.

When you had brandished your badge for the men at the security table, they looked like they had seen a ghost as they sent you upstairs.

Your desk had remained untouched by time, Spencer told you that Penelope would periodically go through and dust the surface, waiting patiently for you to return to your place. The desk chair that Luke tried to steal from you time and time again tucked beneath the furniture, hoping for you to take your seat.

The magnetic pull that you felt from your desk was the exact reason why you elected to sit at Spencer’s desk, surrounded by his books, a photo of the two of you, and fewer reminders of the life that you used to lead.

Spencer had respected your wishes for your return to remain a secret. The only other member of the team who knew your whereabouts was Rossi, and that was because he quit taking no for an answer when offering to visit your father and was surprised to find you weren’t there.

Twisting slightly in the chair, you thought about going to see Penelope, but what would you say to her? What would you do when you got to see her again?

Ten months was a long time to be away from your second family, even more so when you’ve been hiding amongst them for the past two months. A flash of light outside clues you in to the arrival of a July thunderstorm, sighing, you rest your head in your hands and wait in the comfort of the BAU.

Everything about it just felt so normal. The ticking of the world clocks above the unit chief’s offices. The pictures of Roxy that Luke kept on his desk. The crayon drawings that JJ kept on her desk. The dinging of the elevator that signaled that the team had finally returned.

You hadn’t thought this far ahead.

The glass doors to the BAU didn’t give you any cover to run and hide in Rossi’s office, leaving you entirely exposed in the bullpen, save for your hood that concealed your face.

“My beautiful people,” Penelope greeted the team in front of the doors. “Now, it is not my intention to alarm anyone, but there is a mysterious cloaked figure sitting at the wonderful Dr. Reid’s desk.”

Your face warmed while everyone talked about you, discussing who you were, and who you could be. None of them mentioned your name, either for a lack of belief or an act of protection, making it so no one got their hopes up.

The familiar rush of air hit you as someone opened the glass doors, you kept your head down as footsteps approached you. The familiar tapping of Spencer’s boots grew louder until he was standing right in front of you, crouching to the ground so he could look you in the eyes, and placing a gentle hand on your knee. “How long have you been here?”

Frowning, you picked at the seam on your leggings, chewing on the inside of your lip as you shrugged, “An hour, maybe? I lost track of time.”

Spencer nodded in understanding, “I tried to call you from the tarmac, but you didn’t answer.” He turned to where the doors were, holding up a hand as he tried to hold off the other team members, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you assured him, “I just… I thought I’d feel safer here.”

He squeezed your knee gently, “But you know now you have to talk to everyone, right?”

You hadn’t expected the team to allow you to walk away from them again, so your head bobbed in confirmation, and you pushed your hood off of your head, receiving a gasp from Penelope once she recognized you. Spencer stood first, holding out his hand to get you up from his office chair before facing the team.

Adjusting your sweatshirt self-consciously, you studied all of their faces, each person simultaneously so different and somehow precisely as you remembered them. You screwed your eyes shut before opening your mouth, “Hi— oof!”

Your greeting was interrupted when you were engulfed in a hug, opening your eyes to be met with familiar blonde hair—Penelope was hugging you so tightly that it was restricting your breathing, and you reciprocated gratefully. Your olfactory memory was firing receptors in your brain as her vanilla perfume flooded your senses.

Spencer’s hand was settled on the small of your back, gentle but firm, a method of reassurance. You’re safe. It’s okay. These people love you.

Sniffling, you nuzzled your face into her shoulder, “Oh, Penny,” you murmured into her shoulder. Nearly a year of thoughts rushing through your mind, yet you couldn’t get any of them out without blubbering.

Surprisingly, she pulled away from you first, holding you at arm’s length and looking you over, studying your appearance like she was trying to jog her memory.

Before she got to say what she was thinking, another familiar character reached out and pinched your arm, “Ow, what the hell?” You peered over at Luke, who was seemingly not in a hurry to take his hand away, but Garcia came quickly to your defense and began swatting at his hand.

“Back off, Newbie,” she said, continuing to bat at him until he put his hands up in surrender.

Laughing, you glanced back at Spencer, who bore an amused look at the scene before moving forward and giving JJ a hug while Penelope and Alvez had their spat. You sighed in JJ’s arms, “Some things never change, huh?”

Pulling away from the hug, JJ rolled her eyes, “Oh, you have no idea.” Her curious blue eyes flickered between you and Spencer, obviously noticing that this wasn’t a reunion between the two of you.

“Hey, Em,” you beamed, turning around and reaching out for the new BAU Unit Chief. Well, newer, you supposed. “Thank you,” you whispered to her, knowing everything she’d given up protecting you and your family—once you got Spencer talking, it was a difficult task to get him to stop storytelling.

You pulled away, greeting Matt with a handshake and waving timidly at Rossi, who you’d previously reunited with and had provided you with several home-cooked meals. “You look great,” Tara said, observing you from in between Garcia and Luke, serving as a human barrier between the two of them.

Doing a little spin, you smiled anxiously, pulling at the sleeves of your sweatshirt, you looked around at everyone again, “Thank you.” All of the stress of being in Witness Protection had worn out your body, and one of your goals before returning to the BAU was getting healthy again. You were glad to hear that it seemed to be working.

“Come back here,” Penelope beckoned, waving you over to her until you were standing between her and Spencer in the circle that had been formed in the bullpen. Her eyes shone as she looked at you with wonder, “You’re here! You’re real,” she said excitedly, gathering you back into a hug. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she gently shook you, “I missed you.”

You relaxed into the hug, “I missed you too,” you whispered, stepping back and gratefully accepting Spencer’s hand when he extended it to you.

JJ clicked her tongue at the two of you, “What, uh, what’s going on here?”

“What?” You asked, feigning innocence as Spencer not so discreetly snaked a hand around your waist.

The blonde raised her eyebrows in incredulity, “Do you expect us to believe that this is how the two of you reunited?”

You shrugged, looking up at Spencer with adoration, “I split time between my dad’s and Spencer’s, so… we live together.”

Everyone was silent, and you expected an uproar. Frustrated questions on why you kept it a secret and why you stayed away from everyone when all they wanted was to be there for you, but the cacophony never came.

Instead, there was an encouraging whoop from Luke, and your eyes widened as cheers filled the room, “Really guys, it’s about time,” Emily acknowledged, smiling at the both of you.

It struck you then that you had been scared. You had been terrified of coming back to the BAU to find that they didn’t understand you and your reasoning for keeping your distance, but this was a group of people who knew better than anyone why you needed that time.

You felt a little silly, knowing you had been under the impression that these people would greet you with anything except for open arms. The realization that it wasn’t the building that made the BAU such a safe space for you but the people hit you like a bag of bricks.

Steepling your fingers and placing them in front of your face, you smiled at all of them, “I missed you all. So terribly much.”

Emotions made you weak at the knees, and you might’ve fallen to the ground if it weren’t for the BAU enveloping you in a hug, holding you up—keeping you safe.

[gutsby]

Abstaining Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: The only thing worse than an anti-sex retreat is an anti-sex retreat with your former fuckbuddy and dad’s best friend. Especially when sharing one cabin.

Warnings: 18+. IF HE AIN’T GRAYIN’ I AIN’T STAYIN’ 🗣️ [Age gap]. Unprotected p-in-v. Forced proximity. Joel making you fuck just his middle finger when he’s mad. Daddy kink. Overstimulation. First-time squirting. Angst.

Translations: ‘Don’t piss down my back & tell me it’s raining’ is a fun Southern phrase for, ‘Cut the bullshit’ or ‘Don’t lie.’

Sequel to Waiting Game & Hating Game (last rhyme I swear)

October 26, 2024

Dear Joel,

Roses are red,

We’re a couple of sluts,

Abstinence camp is awful,

I miss you rearranging my guts.

You were just about to put your pen back down to paper and add the finishing touch, signing an equally lascivious farewell, when the letter was snatched out of your hands. A tyrant in khaki capris and an artichoke-colored polo eyed over your words with a pointed look and frowned.

“Letters to the boyfriend have to be G-rated,” Marlene said, crumpling the thing in her fist before chucking it.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you returned shortly. Then, “That was actually meant for my dad’s friend.”

You sat tight a moment as the dots came to connect in the woman’s parochial and prudish mind—waiting for the wince of disgust to twitch at the corners of her eyes when she put two and two together. Once it did, you grinned. Even when she plucked the pen out of your hand and told you to sit outside, if you can’t participate in this one simple activity, you smiled bigger and strolled at a comfortable pace out the canteen door.

Anti-sex ‘summer camp’ wasn’t bad at all when you didn’t give a fuck what your counselors told you to do.

It was ridiculous, really. Absurd. Tommy Miller catching you sucking his brother’s dick under the table at your father’s birthday dinner, losing his shit with you both, then threatening to tell your dad everything if you didn’t agree to this stupid retreat and stop seeing each other. You’d barely been trapped in the shithole for twenty-four hours, and you already knew this angle wouldn’t work.

What many of your fellow campers affectionately called the ‘Firefly Fuck-Free Zone’ or the ‘Federal Dickriding Response Agency’ (F.E.D.R.A.) was in fact a secluded enclave south of Austin where khaki-clad monsters forced you to reckon with your sexual urges like one might treat a mutated strain of the Cordyceps fungus. You weren’t meant to keep them for long, and if you did, someone like Marlene would surely shame you for it.

Frankly, Tommy was dumb as shit if he thought this anti-boinking boot camp would have an effect on either one of you—Joel wouldn’t ever bang you again after what happened that night, but it wouldn’t be because of some arts and crafts bullshit he did out on a FEDRA ranch.

He just didn’t want your dad to find out and kill him.

That was a fair concern to have. You didn’t blame him.

Presently, you kicked your feet up on the porch outside the cafeteria, where the rest of the group was finishing up letters to their loved ones—this latest activity was meant to be ‘making amends’ to the people in your life—and you tipped your head back to survey the landscape.

Nothing but sweetgrass and gently rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Somewhere across the plains there was another cluster of cabins, though you couldn’t quite see it, and someplace within that minuscule cluster, you knew there was a middle-aged man. Dark grey eyebrows furrowed in concentration and chest heaving gently. Likely hunched over an old oak desk about five sizes too small for his frame as he gripped a pen and scribbled:

Dear Tommy,

Fuck you, you fucking fuck.

Sincerely,

Joel

You grinned again just thinking about it.

If anyone had a reason to be ticked off and terrified, it was Joel. And you, you guessed. You still hadn’t gotten your period—but that wasn’t due for another few days.

For now, you’d settled on worrying yourself over what would happen after the retreat had ended; what would you and Joel do once you went back to school? What would become of his life back in Austin with a supremely pissed off brother and a best friend who didn’t know his kid had been fooling around with a man twice her age?

Silently, you thanked your lucky stars Joel’s part of the camp was kept separate from yours, because you didn’t think you’d be able to keep a straight face if you saw him.

The whole thing was sickening, if not slightly funny.

You slipped Joel’s old pack of American Spirits out of your boot and fished in your back pocket for a lighter.

Then you crammed both back when you heard a boom:

“LAKESIDE GUIDED MEDITATION STARTS IN FIVE.”

The tinny intercom rang a deafening pitch in your ears. You clamped a palm over the left side of your head and winced, having forgotten this exercise in mindfulness was supposed to be the last event to wrap up your day. You just wanted to slink back up to your cabin and sleep. Or eat. Or slip your fingers between your aching legs and indulge in some much-needed Joel Miller reminiscing.

Then you recalled how masturbation was also off limits to all would-be sexaholic campers—if there was any time to sneak off and get busy by yourself while your counselors were otherwise occupied, now would be it.

Just as you cast a glance over your shoulder to see if a stealthy exit was even possible, a voice trilled overhead.

“On your feet, skank.”

You looked back fast, and damn did Tess look smug.

Your bunkmate crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe, seeming to feel your thoughts before they’d even been fully processed.

“If you skip meditation, I think Marlene’s gonna take you behind the rec and shoot you in the head,” she added.

“How kind.”

“Yeah? Certain death?”

“Better than the dick deprivation,” you grumbled, only half-kidding as you dragged yourself back to your feet.

Theresa Servopoulos was no avid fan of penis herself—she much preferred women when she had her pick of it—but she grinned all the same and clapped a comforting hand over your shoulder before the two of you started walking down the mess hall’s front steps. Then she only laughed a little bit when you almost ate shit treading down the winding rocky trail to the lake and cursed your present lack of intercourse for causing your clumsiness.

“You realize it’s only been, like…a day, right?” she said.

“Might as well be a million,” you muttered, “I feel like I’m never getting laid again.”

“Oh?”

Tess gripped your elbow when a root protruding from the path nearly sent you flying again. She tried not to smile.

“Well…my fake brother’s mad at me for going behind his back and fucking his brother,” you explained, coolly.

Stupidly.

“Wait—you fucked your brother?!”

That stopped Tess in her tracks. The two of you were approaching the cusp of a clearing, just feet away from where the forest gave way to the shoreline of the lake. Folks were already congregating at the water’s edge.

“Any day now, ladies,” Marlene called through cupped hands. Tess was still regarding you with eyes the size of saucers as you traipsed across the way to that voice.

“Not my brother,” you hissed.

“You said your brother’s brother. That makes this guy your brother, too,” Tess whispered—still far too loud.

“Not my actual brother, he’s just— fuck—”

Suddenly, two scraps of red fabric were catapulted in your direction. Tess caught one. You caught the other.

“Tie ‘em over your eyes.” Marlene ordered.

“The fuck?” you mumbled, but ventured nothing more as you were ushered to join the group sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of you. Everyone else was tying bandanas around their eyes like all of this was normal.

“Another trust exercise,” Tess’s voice was low as you dropped your asses one after the other on the sand. Speaking like a seasoned veteran of the anti-sex retreat, she helped you get yours on and shot you one last ‘You-better-not-have-actually-fucked-your-sibling’ look before letting you help her secure her blindfold, too.

Just as Marlene began describing in great detail what this blind, guided meditation in self-love and elemental trust was meant to look like, your friend opted to give voice to her concerns the second the opportunity arose.

Still seated side-by-side, still blind, Tess leaned over.

“Please tell me you’re not here for bangin’ your brother.”

You had to stifle a laugh.

“I am not.”

“Then explain, Cersei!”

Just then, a throat cleared behind you. Evidently another camp counselor at your rear was telling you, wordlessly, to shut the fuck up and listen to the instructions. You and Tess just scooted closer and lowered your voices.

“So this guy, Tommy…he’s been like a big brother to me for years. Worked with my dad and always had my back for the wild shit I did back in high school,” you began.

“Uh-huh.”

“His big brother, Joel, is like…old as shit, but wildly hot.”

“Dangerous combo.”

“And Joel’s my dad’s best friend. Drove me back from college over fall break when he was visiting Boston, we took a little motel detour on the road trip home, and bam—” You snapped your fingers for effect, “We fuck, right?”

“Right.”

“—imagine you’re standing at the edge of a waterfall—”

Marlene couldn’t be serious with this hippy dippy shit. You tuned out the rest of what she said and continued:

“It’s incredible. But the condom busts open at the end—”

“Oh shit.”

“—deep breath in…and release…and again, we—”

“Freak the fuck out, right? I’m poppin’ Plan B like candy.”

“As you should.”

“—hold that breath in right there—”

“A week later, me and Joel hook up at my dad’s birthday party. Only we fuck up, ‘cause Tommy catches us, and—”

This time, the counselor who’d cleared their throat to shut you up took to nudging you both in the back with the toe of their shoe. You straightened up, tilted your head back, and scowled at them through your blindfold.

“Do you mind?” you said, turning in place but unable to see anything behind you. You imagined whoever had just butted in on your conversation was probably frowning. They said nothing in return, just huffed like a child.

“Anyway.” You pivoted back to Tess, “Tommy flips his lid, tells us he’s gonna snitch on us to my dad if we keep fucking around like that, and then he…sends us here.”

You heard your friend fight back a chuckle beside you.

“And abstinence camp is supposed to cure you of this awful disease? Wanting to fuck daddy’s best friend?”

Oddly, you wanted to giggle too. You weren’t sure what was so funny, or why Tess’s tone made you want to say something equally out of pocket and lewd, but then you were leaning over before you could even think twice:

“That old man’s dick is like a fuckin’ drug, dude.”

You wished you could’ve seen her face when you said it. But you didn’t need to catch a single glimpse to know she was grinning big and dumb when she whispered,

“Prehistoric cock must’ve been pretty nice, huh?”

You choked. She snorted. You returned, next, shortly,

“Best senior citizen schlong I’ve had in my life.”

You weren’t sure which one of you burst out laughing first. Maybe Tess. Probably you. Either way, both of your sides were splitting in seconds, as the ridiculous and just marginally offensive descriptors for Joel’s dick trembled at the tips of your tongues. You felt like a teenager again, telling your friend your filthiest desires for the DILF-next-door—except this time, you’d actually fucked him. Small perks to seeking out middle-aged men in your twenties. You had to clamp your hand over your mouth to rein in the peals of laughter as Tess wheezed quietly beside you.

Then you felt hands.

Two palms under your armpits, yanking you up.

You stumbled back, graceless and still staving off half a laugh as your back struck the counselor’s chest.

“Just…take her back up.” You heard a female’s voice to your left, low and not sounding particularly amused.

Take you where? Was this the part where Marlene dragged you behind the rec and shot you in the head?

About damn time.

Whoever had grabbed you grunted in acknowledgment. You swayed in their arms, trying to regain better footing, but the grip tightened up in a second and thrust you sideways. You staggered, cursing your captor.

“Fucker,” you hissed.

Fucker said nothing.

Their hands slipped from your pits to one of your wrists, leading you away from the lake in long strides. You were moving so fast you scarcely had the chance to pull the blindfold back, so you just kept walking. Marching.

“Can you slow the fuck down, please?”

You imagined the face of the person leading you forward might’ve twisted in a scowl. Their lips didn’t stir, though.

In a matter of minutes, your feet were crunching on the flat, gravelly terrain you knew to lay under the cabins. This person was leading you back. Likely to throw you off to your room in the next several moments—but not before ripping you a new one for disrupting the peace back down at the lake. You weren’t stoked to hear it.

“Alright, just—” You tripped as you were led up the rickety steps, cursing again, “—just leave me right here.”

A set of knuckles at your spine thrust you forward.

“No? Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

You shook your head as you entered the cabin and heard footsteps follow you in. It occurred to you then that now was probably a good time to take off the blindfold.

Before you could, though, it was ripped off for you.

“Pack your shit.”

Dude.

You spun on your heels.

“DUDE!”

Your eyes moved up the very khaki shorts you despised, the puke-colored polo, the neatly embroidered camp logo, and a nametag strangely labeled ‘Lucien Flores.’ Everything in the ensemble screamed ‘camp counselor.’ But the face above it—it wasn’t one of their own at all.

It was far too lax. Fresh with an easy, shit-eating grin.

“Sweetheart—”

He started to speak, only to get the wind knocked out of his chest when you threw your arms around him.

The barrage of kisses came without you ever really intending to place them at all. You were just so stunned, practically overcome with joy to see Joel Miller in all his ruggedly handsome glory, then confused. What was he doing here, and why was he dressed head-to-toe as a counselor? And why were you so into that on him?

You doubted you could even ask the questions, and he was barely more able to answer the longer you stayed latched to his neck, kissing him everywhere your mouth could get to. You’d just stood on tip-toes to press your lips to his when you realized he wasn’t reaching back.

His hands hung limply at his sides. Still, he smiled.

“Abstinence camp ain’t taught ya much, has it?”

You parted your lips to drag your teeth along the grey-spattered scruff on his cheek—biting but not quite. Begging him to kiss you back, grab your ass, anything to quell this anguish twisting low in your stomach at the lack of contact. Joel didn’t seem keen on answering to it.

“I’ve learned plenty, Miller,” you panted against his jaw, before moving below it to sink into the skin of his neck, “Lemme show you all the stuff FEDRA told us not to do.”

Yes, you sounded desperate. No, you didn’t really care. You were much too busy fiddling with the front of Joel’s shorts to concern yourself with anything but his cock. It made it all the more gut-wrenchingly horrific and disconcerting when you felt his hands push yours away.

“No,” Joel said, simply. Then, nodding to your luggage at the foot of your bunk, “Pack your stuff, sweets. C’mon.”

He was seriously trying to break you out?

You admired the cojones on the man, but you wanted to fuck real quick to get it out of your system. Needed it.

“Joel, I—” You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.

What your mouth couldn’t finish, your eyes said clear as day: I want you to take me right here. Quick and dirty. But, again, Joel seemed completely impervious to your pleas. Almost callous in the face of such a desperate request made from your eyes to his. He moved over toward your suitcase when you didn’t want to budge.

Luckily for you, you’d never unpacked. All that was left were the clothes on your back and a water bottle on the nightstand. Joel grabbed the latter and turned around to snag the suitcase on his way to the door, when he was met with you. Obstructing his path and frowning a little.

“Joel?” You raised a brow.

“Mm?”

The man in front of you straightened up, rolling a nonexistent kink from his neck before regarding you.

His gaze was alarmingly sedate.

“Y’know, you’ve got quite the knack for makin’ shit difficult—”

“Just a quickie, Miller—”

“I ain’t fuckin’ you here!”

The sudden boom of his voice should’ve startled you. But then a broad, warm palm came to rest on your shoulder, and Joel’s expression dropped immediately. There was still a tightness to it, somewhere deep within, and you couldn’t quite work out why he seemed so…off.

Then you caught sight of something steely in his gaze.

It just might’ve clicked if Joel didn’t reach for your face and elucidate things for you himself, eyes narrowing.

“I know my old man dick is like a fuckin’ drug and all…”

Shit.

Cheeks squished between his two big hands, you had only to stare. And blink. And silently regret being so loud when you were talking to Tess before. It didn’t look good.

“Joel—”

“No, no, my senile brain must be mistaken—it was actually that prehistoric cock that did it for ya.”

Your face heated with shame. You blinked again.

But just as you tried to shake your head between Joel’s hands, he pressed his palms tighter and drew you closer.

“Senior. citizen. schlong?” he intoned, painfully slow.

“Joel, I just—”

“Need to fuck someone your own age, it sounds like.”

The man in front of you released your face just as fast as he’d grabbed it, and when he stepped back, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of desperation. That wasn’t what you’d meant! It sounded so puerile and cruel coming out of his lips like this, but you had to tell him it was a joke.

“It was a joke.”

No time to mince words now.

“Real fuckin’ comedic genius,” Joel snorted.

He rolled his eyes and tried to sidestep you, but you mirrored the movement. When your hands flew to his chest to keep him from moving, please, just listen to me, Joel, he pretended not to hear it, or feel it, against him.

“Alright. Enough,” he muttered, “‘S’time to go home.”

“No!”

“No?”

“No.”

For the first time, you saw Joel’s nostrils flare. You pressed into his sternum again, hoping to hold him in place so you could explain yourself, but it seemed he wasn’t planning on staying stationary. Joel dropped to your bunk—or Tess’s, technically—and situated himself comfortably on the bed before shooting you a look. You barely had had a moment’s time to contemplate your next move when he yanked you onto the cot with him.

Joel didn’t try to kiss you. He didn’t attempt to remove one article of clothing from your body or his. He just sat there, staring, while you straddled his hips staring back.

“If you wanna fuck me so bad, go right ahead,” he said, motioning indistinctly in front of him, “Be my guest.”

When you stilled, he added, “That is all y’want, right?”

With your palms laying flat on his chest and a head full of conflicting thoughts—you did want to bang him, obviously, but not before you’d gotten a chance to set things straight, not when he was looking at you like this—you chewed your bottom lip. Certainly you couldn’t continue while Joel still believed you were embarrassed by his age, his lips downturned and humorless as ever.

“C’mon,” he tried again, a touch more venom laced in his words as he spoke, “Show me how much ya want it.”

You needed time to think.

“Why are you…dressed like this?” you said, stalling.

But Joel wouldn’t be kind enough to give you that time.

“Stole the uniform so I could sneak out and over here and get you out. Are we gonna fuck now or what?”

His hands moved over your own to guide them to his lower half, just above where your clothed core was touching his. Your fingers moved mechanically, almost reluctantly, to undo the button and zip of his shorts.

Was that a flash of hurt you saw in his eyes?

You’d never been good at this communication bullshit. Neither had Joel. The two of you would probably just have sex now to hash out your feelings, as was par for the course for a pair of emotionally stunted individuals. It still pained you to see him look at you like that, though.

“Tess and me were just kidding, baby.”

You palmed the bulge in his boxers and heard him grunt. When you nudged his cock out of the fabric to stroke him, his eyes fluttered shut and he sucked in a breath.

“I would never say those things to hurt you,” you added.

“Didn’t hurt me none,” Joel returned instantly. Then, feeling you flick the pad of your thumb over the head of his cock, he exhaled and held his face firm in place. Like he didn’t want you to see the effect you had on him.

You let go of his cock to take off your socks and shoes. Then your top. Then your shorts. Then you slid down his body a little, unsure if this was the time to be trying something new. Or even doing this kind of stuff at all.

At first, you just sort of lowered yourself to Joel’s groin, his dick resting comfortably between your tits. Then you started to move, and your hands were cupping either side of your breasts to push inward on his member. Before you even fully knew what you were doing, you were squeezing Joel’s dick with the soft, supple flesh and stroking him gently. Gaze glued to him all the while.

His eyes cracked open to catch you watching him. Evidently, Joel couldn’t contain all of his reactions, because he audibly groaned when you got going.

Sliding your tits up and down his shaft, feeling him pulse between them. Sensing a warmth pool in your own lower half but being too focused, and slightly ashamed, to act. You just wanted to make Joel feel good, even if your words weren’t able to do the trick with apologizing.

“Come here,” you beckoned him with just one finger as you slid off the bed, to the floor. Joel sat up, and you kneeled obediently between his legs. The two of you shared a tense, sexless look for a second before you lowered yourself back down and resumed the position.

This time, Joel could—and did—stir his hips to create some friction between your tits. His brow pinched inward with a muted concentration, and you wanted to say it looked handsome on him, that you were sorry for saying those stupid things to Tess and making him doubt your affection for him, but you kept your mouth shut. You had to remind yourself that emotions had no place between two needy, unfeeling people who just wanted to fuck.

Maybe that was how it should’ve been from the start.

But watching Joel’s face twist and contort in pleasure nearly wiped the thought clean out of your brain forever.

You felt many things for him, whether you liked it or not.

You really wished you hadn’t said the things you’d said.

Joel braced his hands at the edge of the bed on either side of him, hips working a steady pace to fuck your tits. He was staring mostly at the spot where the head of his cock was poking up through your cleavage with each thrust, entranced by the sight, and in a second, a full-throated moan was fighting its way out of his chest. He spit in his hand and paused to smear the stuff on his shaft, on your tits. Spit again and rubbed even harder.

Seeing him so cold and detached, you wanted to apologize again. Maybe beg him to say something kind.

Instead, you mumbled, “I love it when you fuck my tits.”

Joel scarcely acknowledged the remark, just letting you work yourself over him, meet his shallow thrusts, look sweet and wait patiently for him to cum all over you. When it seemed he might be ready to do it, though, Joel withdrew from you the next second and moved back on the bed. He pulled you into his lap, straddling again, but this time situated over the side of the bed—him sitting up, you perched on the flat, sturdy expanse of his thighs facing him. In the space between your bodies, Joel slid a quiet and almost careless hand to your heat, flicking the sheer fabric of your panties to the side in one go.

The moment his fingers made contact, you flinched.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to his touch, you just felt unfairly balanced in this situation. Joel appeared so stoic; you, a complete and utter wreck. Fighting fifteen different emotions at once and feeling unusually vulnerable spread open to him now, you almost didn’t register what he was doing—or what his hand might find.

Joel’s groan brought you back, though. When he rubbed his knuckles over the seam of your cunt and practically choked out twice his lung’s capacity, you had to look.

Aloof as he tried to be, the man’s desire was painted all over his expression. And his crotch. And his hand.

Well, actually, that last bit of arousal was yours.

“Fuckin’ soakin’ me, sweetie,” Joel breathed.

You perked up at the term of endearment. Watching one glistening fist of his make its way back and forth against your body, smearing sticky wet pleasure all over your mound and your folds, you found yourself gnawing your lip once more, this time for entirely different reasons.

Joel seemed to soften—even if only for a glaring carnal need, you didn’t care. You sank into this gentler touch.

“Khakis kinda suit you, Miller,” you said, off-handed.

Really, Joel looked almost as comical as he was sexy in that camp counselor getup: tan shorts stretched tight over even tanner legs, polyester top sitting pretty on wide, hulking shoulders, that silly stitched logo for the camp emblazoned over his left pec, and, of course, the nametag that didn’t belong to him but to Lucien. The whole thing was so alien to his lumberjack-chic demeanor that he nearly seemed boyish. Endearing. Some spearmint-scented hottie you might’ve had a crush on at camp years ago. You couldn’t help but smile.

Joel tried not to hold your gaze for too long.

“Don’t go pissin’ down my back and tell me it’s rainin’.”

When he slid one finger to your entrance, you tensed again, but smiled just the same and let out a breath. You felt him prod at the warm, wet skin and thumb at your clit, and something told you that he’d wanted to grin too.

“I’m serious,” you said, “Scout’s hon—ohfuckfuckfuck.”

Joel pushed one finger inside you. In spite of the ease with which he slipped between your walls, that gentle sensation made it wonderfully snug. He gripped your hip and started moving his single digit in and out, and in spite of yourself, you squirmed a bit. Joel never failed to call you out for doing that; today would be no different.

“Easy, sweet pea,” he hummed when you jumped again.

But you couldn’t help it. Your hands quickly anchored themselves to Joel’s shoulders, your legs spread wider, and your hips started stirring—bucking, really—against each teasing touch. It was still just one thick finger of his.

You glanced down and saw that it was his middle finger, in particular. The double meaning wasn’t lost on you.

“Another,” you pleaded.

“Nuh-uh.”

“You’re a mean ol— mean man.” You tried to correct course when you felt a mention of ‘old’ slip back into your vernacular, and inwardly, you cringed at your words.

Joel had already heard it. He cocked one eyebrow.

“Mean ol’ man?” he scoffed, still fingerfucking you softly. When you bucked against it, he nodded as if to say ‘fair enough.’

Then, before you could chime in, he nodded some more.

His expression was hard.

“Fuck my hand,” he said.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You weren’t quite sure what he meant for you to do. When he nodded a third time, the gesture was accompanied by a quick dart of his eyes to the place where your cunt was being penetrated by his one finger. He curled the finger inward, and when you twitched at the hot throb of pleasure that followed, he grunted.

Fuck my hand.

Nails still searing tiny half-moons into his shoulders, you acted more out of impulse than by command. The look from Joel sure didn’t hurt, though. The second you started rolling your hips, he nodded again. Holding onto his praises for now and simply showing approbation.

“Like that,” he murmured.

All you were doing was rocking back and forth over his finger, whimpers percolating quietly in your chest, but the act alone made you feel desperate. And Joel smug.

It was like he wanted to see you getting off to this one, comparatively smaller part of him without being filled. Bucking plaintively to find that fullness and coming back empty every time. Your whimpers turned into whines.

“Need more,” you keened.

“Yeah?” Joel replied gently.

“Yeah.”

A beat, then:

“Tough shit.”

But he said it so goddamn sweet you had to do a double take to make sure you’d heard him correctly. When you met Joel’s eyes, you saw a hint of amusement lingering behind them. Then he squeezed your hip again and started helping you move into his hand, up and down.

“Only givin’ more fingers to good girls, y’hear?” he said.

“What about your cock?” You couldn’t help it.

Joel just breathed out through his nose. In a second, he went from camp counselor to disapproving father figure.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?”

That was all he needed to say, but the firm plunge of his middle finger certainly put a finer point on it. He curled the digit again and, upon grazing that spongy surface inside you, saw another desperate plea in your eyes.

And pleasure.

The pleasure ran almost as intense as the desperation.

Your head fell back when Joel got to making those ‘come hither’ motions again and again, thumb circling your clit, eyes trained on your figure with a marked concern. Like the prospect of not drawing an orgasm out of you in the next two minutes might very well ruin the man’s night.

“‘S’alright, honey,” Joel said quietly.

Then, finding your gaze when your head tilted back,

“Be a good girl and let go for me. Let go for daddy, hm?”

Fortunately for him, that one low hum and another flick of his middle finger and thumb were all you needed to find your release. You came on his hand with a sharp, pitiful cry and a ‘Fuckthatfeelssogooddaddyplease,’ hips working feverishly against his hand as you rode out your high. The sight of you bouncing up and down on his open palm and the way your eyes rolled back, begging him to fuck you full of his cock next, felt wildly obscene.

Joel loved obscene. Needed obscene. Hot. Febrile. Raw.

He nodded again.

Before you’d even descended fully from those staggering heights, his finger was moving too—joined by two more. Joel stuffed his index and ring fingers inside your still-pulsing hole and pretended not to hear your soft cry.

After all, you’d asked for more before. Joel was just sating your desire; your overwrought body would be fine.

“Joel,” you hissed, seizing his wrist.

“Too much?” he returned.

You tried to verbalize some answer but were cut short by a punishing stretch—all three fingers plunging in and out of your sensitive, drooling cunt and making it full of him.

“Too soon?” he tried again.

“I—”

“Too fast?”

“N—”

“Too…old?” Joel pressed after a beat.

There was an air of feigned condescension in his tone as he took on a faster pace gliding his thick, calloused fingers between your walls. You might’ve screamed if you hadn’t found your forehead pressed to his and the warmth of his irises boring into yours while he did it all. At this distance, you could discern a trace of hurt again. Something needing to be soothed inside Joel Miller.

You rutted your hips and shook your head, skull still stuck to his as you did so. Whimpers coming low.

“I didn’t…mean it,” you managed at length.

“What? That I’m ‘old as shit but wildly hot’?”

Joel wedged his fingers straight down to the knuckle and nearly tore a shriek out of your body. His eyes were surprisingly soft. Making sure your pleasure was all there.

“Hyperbole,” you choked, voice hoarse.

Then your jaw grew lax when a hand cupped your chin. All you wanted to do was melt into Joel, but you sensed something brewing again behind those honeyed eyes. Blinking was all you could do to keep your composure.

“You’re right, darlin’,” Joel said, “I am too old for you.”

Right after a clench in your tummy, a hurried word leapt up to your tongue, ‘NO!’ and you had to swallow a moan to keep from succumbing to the pleasure Joel was bringing with his fingers. Sandwiched between two orgasms was no time for a serious argument to take place, but there you were, fighting against it anyway.

“N-No,” you stammered. Stupid.

“I am.” His voice came softer somehow, more resigned.

When outright rejection of the claim seemed futile, you tried to pivot. Climax still closing in as fast as ever.

“I don’t care about that,” you hissed, exhaling hard when the first ripples of bliss crept up toward your stomach.

Joel watched you with careful eyes.

“Yeah? And Tess?”

“Joel—”

“Or Tommy.”

“I don’t—”

“Everyone else?”

Almost against your will, those minuscule ripples turned to waves of full-blown euphoria, and then you were clenching again on Joel’s hand and crying out in climax. You willed your gaze not to stray from his, but it was tough. Especially when the eyes beneath your own seemed so fucking morose and removed from you.

Don’t do this to me, Miller. Don’t do it, don’t do it.

In the wake of what should’ve been consummate satisfaction, you found yourself retreating to a place more akin to starvation—suddenly eager to get your mouth over his and start kissing, tonguing, and scraping your teeth like you’d missed out on a full week’s worth of meals. Feeling selfish but also uncertain how else to proceed—was Joel Miller breaking up with you here?

You couldn’t be sure, because he kissed you back. Joel kissed you and cupped your cheeks, then chased your frame all the way down to the coarse, scratchy sheets of the bed, where he was quick to climb on top of you.

Hell, it seemed breathing was too tough to accomplish with your frenzied pace and the continuous stream of open-mouthed kisses placed anywhere and everywhere. A groan from Joel trembled between your lips as you helped him get his shorts and boxers the rest of the way down his legs—all but dragging them with your heels—and he tightened a fist in your hair when they were off.

“I shouldn’t’a come here,” he mumbled.

“But you did,” you panted.

Both of you got lost in another onslaught of kisses, and you tried not to sigh. Joel was still battling something.

Even as he peeled your panties off and lined himself up with your entrance, he seemed resolved to stay quiet. Holding your gaze and not saying what had to be said.

He was a lot like you in that way.

You kept kissing him anyway.

The events that followed seemed to you little more than fleeting, happy scenes from a film you’d always wanted to see—an eager Joel, a caring Joel, an I-don’t-think-I’m-physically-capable-of-holding-you-any-closer Joel. The weight of his cock a welcome friend and the kisses somehow far too intimate to be considered friendly at all. You’d almost forgotten you were at a camp designed to prevent this very thing from happening between two stupid, impulsive people like you, and you didn’t care.

All you knew was a yawning stretch—that aching, empty void filled to perfection by Joel’s member—and the shockwaves of pleasure that vibrated in bands all the way down to the balls of your feet. You felt safe and secure caged between two muscular arms, and you reveled in a warmth that spanned every inch of your body touching his. The weight suffocating and somehow not oppressive; Joel cradled your head to make sure of it.

“Ain’t…hurtin’ ya, am I?” he said when you winced.

You shook your head against his sweaty palms to say that he wasn’t; you were just adjusting. He scanned your face for any trace of insincerity but found nothing.

In this tender position, your brain was ready to burst—whether from guilt, shame, ruthless self-loathing, or a sobering sense of closeness, you weren’t sure. All four seemed to form the impetus for the words that came next, which were soft, repeated apologies against Joel’s mouth. He swallowed each one without a second thought.

“Quit sayin’ it,” he rasped, low.

“I’m sorry, Joel, I’m sorr—”

Soft lips again. ‘S’okay, honey.’

You weren’t sure why, but your face felt extra hot.

Joel pressed his thumbs on either side of it while he kissed you and went deeper. Then he squeezed even more, and your breath hitched quietly in your throat.

Aw, shit, he could probably feel your heart running amok in your chest and thrumming like crazy right now.

“Ain’t nothin’—” Joel paused to send one measured thrust along your cervix, “—to be sorry for. Nothin’.”

Your legs tightened at his sides when his hips started to snap in quick, stuttered motions, desperate for more friction and depth. He got both, and he groaned feeling you tighten around him as he filled your cunt to the brim. The silky warmth of your walls drawing him in was almost too much, and every now and then he’d have to slow to mutter some, ‘’S’fuckin’ chokin’ me, honey, ya feel that?’ or ‘This pussy’s just made to take me, huh?’

Joel asked like he actually needed the reassurance. As if the slick, dripping arousal coating his length and the sounds of your whimpers mixed in with those wet slaps weren’t enough—as if he had to have deeper consolation.

He was splitting you open and looked guilty as he did it.

Still shaking with each thrust, you helped him slide his shirt over his head and bring him bare, chest-to-chest with you. You couldn’t ignore the tension any longer.

“Joel, I fuckin’ love— I need you inside,” you managed.

“You do?”

“Uh-huh.”

His face softened.

“‘S’mine, isn’t it?”

He said it so fast you couldn’t make out if it were really a question or a simple statement of fact. His balls routinely smacking your ass, eyes searching yours, always gentle.

“Say that you’re mine.”

No, Joel—don’t do that, don’t say it like that.

Your visceral reaction was to recoil. You couldn’t because he had you pinned, but damn did you want to—not him, not this, not now, Joel, why would you fucking say that?

The look in his eyes now surpassed the hurt from before. It was open and aching, even as he drilled your body in two at a near-ruthless pace. Asking you so sincerely.

The obstinacy inside you was almost laughable. Damn near sent your head spinning in a fit of hysterics at how much you wanted to say but wouldn’t; how much you sensed lay waiting to fly off Joel’s tongue but couldn’t. If you were any more emotionally pent-up you might’ve ruptured a blood vessel and lost all ability to think.

It didn’t help that you were both about to cum.

Or that Joel’s right hand was fumbling for your clit.

His expression was steady as ever when you jumped, made a whining noise below him, and grabbed his wrist. You looked down to where your bodies were joined and got a dizzying glimpse of that sight: cunt swallowing Joel’s cock repeatedly, pleasure pooling between your two bodies, then a digit at that little bundle of nerves.

He kissed your hairline and hummed.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Whose pussy is this?”

His thrusts sped up, along with his thumb.

“Don’t.” Not an answer but a warning: tread lightly, Joel.

He kissed your forehead again. And again. For a second you thought he might stay that way until you both came, but then his lips were finding yours, mumbling softly,

“Say no one’s gonna fuck you but me.”

“But—”

“None of those pencil-dick douchebag Delta Sigma whatever-the-fuck ya call ‘ems—” Joel continued, unfazed, “—not your lab partner, not your hallmate—”

His cock was gliding in and out of you at a punishing pace now. Wonderfully slick with sounds obscenely piercing to your ears. You could feel Joel digging in the depths of your tight, throbbing cunt, could see his expression contort with much the same pleasure you were experiencing yourself, and could very well smell the faint aroma of American Spirits still staining his breath. Joel Miller was a sick fuck for what he was doing to you, and he knew it. You nipped at his lower lip in between tender kisses and quietly-spoken words, and whimpered.

“—not your TAs, not your professors—” he pressed on.

You opened your mouth to let a lewd moan escape when Joel lifted his hand to shove a thumb inside. Instinctively, you sucked the whole thing straight down to the knuckle.

“Nobody but me, y’hear that?” Afforded better leverage with his finger wedged between your teeth, he shook your head a little as he fucked you. Watched you bob and nod a wordless ‘yes’ in doe-eyed complaisance while his cock drove shockwaves of pleasure straight through you.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth, and you let him.

You drooled all over that man’s finger like it might’ve been supplying oxygen to your lungs, and when Joel leaned in and said, ‘Ya like that, sweet pea?’, you answered in the affirmative. Or at least as close as you could get while Joel was filling up his two favorite holes.

Your orgasm was maybe two strokes away from shattering bones, it seemed. Now was his chance.

Swiftly, Joel retracted his touch just far enough to drag a string of saliva out of your mouth—then deliver a taut but gentle slap to your cheek. The soft thwack, combined with the sounds your bodies were making down below, served only to elevate the pornographic pitch of your moan:

“Joel!”

“That’s right.”

Joel’s mouth hovered an inch over yours, half-smirking, as if waiting to suck the words clean off of your lips. You whined when his thrusts got quicker and the mouth that was grinning got to kissing your own again. Talking dirty, too.

“Show me who this cunt belongs to. Say it,” he grunted.

You clenched, kissed him back, were just barely aware of the words you were trying to form when you stuttered some unintelligible, ‘Y-Y—ohfuckdaddyjustlikethatoh—’

Oh.

Your eyes widened to Joel’s, and before you could even begin to process what was happening to your body, his name just snapped off your tongue like a shot. A shriek. Some blissfully half-strangled moan that Joel captured between his teeth as he fucked you into the mattress and held your body tight to his own. His palm was wet.

Your legs were wet.

The soft, heaving juncture between your bodies was wet.

You were only dimly aware of the sensation as you dug your heels in Joel’s back and let out a series of cries and moans, but then that fluttering feeling inside made you flinch. A pulsing between your thighs and a…warmth.

You were still blinking through a post-euphoric haze when you felt a soft heat simmer and sink within you.

Did Joel just…cum inside you? Again?

“You dumb motherfucker,” you hissed without hesitation.

You’d just managed to shove him away—not far, but away—when you scrambled into a sitting position and slapped a hand over your stomach. Expecting to feel a churning and an awful pinch as you came to make out some vague sensation of Joel’s seed painting your insides, you were surprised when you didn’t get it at all.

In point of fact, Joel had just sprayed a full Jackson Pollock onto your stomach and was blinking, still fisting his cock as you quickly made your way back to your feet.

Where was that wetness coming from?

You stood and stared down at your stomach. Your legs. The translucent, trickling something that had paved a clear path between your thighs and all over Joel’s front. It didn’t make sense, unless—

“You fuckin’ squirted!” Joel cheered.

Your first instinct was to make a face.

That shit only happened in poorly produced pornos and movies based on books by Colleen Hoover, not real-life human beings. What the hell was this man on about?

“Be fucking serious,” you scowled, reaching for a stray shirt on the floor. Before realizing it was even yours, you hastily swiped several big globs of Joel’s cum with it. Your face grew even more enflamed, and yourself, oddly…ashamed. You couldn’t quite make sense of why Joel was grinning so big, or why you felt so embarrassed by what appeared to be a natural bodily function, but you suspected it probably had something to do with the state of sex education in Texas. Those fuckers definitely skipped squirting in favor of abstinence-only rhetoric.

Still weird. Still gross. You wished Joel would stop smiling.

“Lose the look or I’ll slap that fuckin’ grey off your head.”

Admittedly, neither aftercare nor communication was your métier. You started throwing on clothes, annoyed.

Meanwhile, Joel was swiping moisture off his abdomen three thick fingers at a time and wiggling the residue up for you to see—‘All it is is a sign of good lovin’, sweets, ain’t nothin’a be ashamed of!’—and you gave him just one finger in return. You were sliding your shorts up your legs and attempting to scrap the jizz off your FEDRA top when Joel started shrugging on his stolen clothes, too.

Your back was turned to him, eyes scanning the almost too-calm outdoors through the window a minute later, when you felt an arm snake close around your waist.

“Tastes a little like honey,” Joel crooned in your ear, doubtlessly smirking as he swayed you, “Only sweeter.”

You rolled your eyes. No cunt tasted like a honeycomb.

And you tried to say as much when he stroked over the strip of exposed skin between your shorts and the hem of your shirt, squeezing you tighter, but Joel was too good. He spidered a teasing touch over your tummy and yanked you back into his chest when you squealed and tried to break free. Then your sides, your ribcage, your shoulder blades—anyplace Joel could tickle, he tried to—and most spots, you were squeamish as hell. You clamped a hand over your half-open, giggling mouth, and when you felt him flip you around, you didn’t protest.

Suddenly, Joel’s hands were on either side of your face. He wasn’t smiling quite so big anymore but nevertheless maintained a kind glint behind his eyes. They were soft.

“‘M’sorry,” he said.

Then, pausing as if to consider his words, he said,

“You did great.”

He stopped again to press a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“So good.”

When he saw another smile twitch at the corners of your lips, as though asking him for more, he kissed those too.

“If that was your first time with…that…I’m, uh…”

“What?”

Another beat. Another stupid, stubbled grin.

“The luckiest…senior citizen sonovabitch, I guess.”

At the tail end of that, and once Joel had punctuated his sentence with another tender peck, you met his gaze again. Somehow, it had only gotten softer. His thumbs were searing the gentlest of imprints in the apples of your cheeks, his breaths were even and warm, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought the man was contemplating saying something else to you then.

He didn’t.

The bridge to an old Billy Joel song made sure of that.

“And when she’s walkin’, she’s lookin’ so f-i-i-i-ine.”

You heard gravel crunch outside the cabin.

“And when she’s talkin’, she’ll say that she’s m-i-i-i-ine.”

Footsteps bounding up the half-rotted, cedar steps.

“She’ll say I’m not so tough just because I’m in love wi—SHIT.”

Tess’s face went blank the second the door swung open.

Thankfully, both of you were clothed. You and Joel leapt apart like she’d just caught you in doggy, though. And Tess looked like she might’ve seen an asscheek or two with the way she was staring at you both, letting the screen door slam shut, and a wordless ‘what-the-fuck’ caught somewhere in the tepid air between you three.

You stared at Tess, and Tess stared at you. Joel peered over her shoulder for the arrival of any more onlookers or folks just wanting to sing ‘Uptown Girl’ in your general vicinity. Fortunately, no one else appeared behind her.

But Tess looked awestruck enough for fifty people. She blinked and visibly swallowed as her gaze shifted to Joel.

“So FEDRA does dick appointments now?” she hissed.

“No!”

“I’m not—”

“He’s from the other camp.”

“You’re shitting me. Absolutely shitting me right now.”

You brought both hands to your face in a stifling, quiet desperation, unsure what to do. Joel just blinked back.

“I’m—we’re—” he started.

“Fucking!” Tess bit back, “You are so fucking. Raw.”

She wasn’t wrong. Her sixth sense for knowing who was having clandestine sex in her bed was kind of insane.

But, where you expected a look of horror to crawl into those taut, too-smart-for-her-own-good features, you found your bunkmate starting to raise her eyebrows.

Then laugh.

Tess threw her head back and laughed because she thought you were boinking a FEDRA camp counselor.

Joel shared a similar look of surprise but didn’t laugh.

“Yeah, I’m uh…J—” Again, he made as if to speak, to introduce himself, but Tess cut him off. About to wheeze.

“Lucien Flores, you dirty dog!” she cackled.

Joel glanced down at his nametag, started to shake his head, and probably didn’t anticipate Tess smacking him on the shoulder in a semi-congratulatory sort of way. Given a little more muscle to the playful punch, she just might’ve knocked him over. Joel was then trying to pry the pin off his polo just as you stepped closer to her.

“Tess, he’s…” You considered spilling the beans en masse but quickly decided against it. You’d have to stick to the barest of bones if you had any hope of escaping this place. So, resuming, you squeezed her arm and just said:

“Flores is gonna bust us out. Get your shit and we’ll go.”

Theresa Servopoulos didn’t need to be told twice.

And when she scrambled over to her sex-stricken bunk, inquired with a hurried but patently grossed out expression about who the fuck had wet the bed while she was gone, Joel didn’t hesitate—he said it was him.

“FEDRA man with a piss kink. I like you already, Lucien.”

[hopelessromantic5]

King Arthur happens to be traveling through Ealdor the exact day the citizens decide they’ve had enough of Merlin.

Labeling him too dangerous, they tied him up on the pyre in the center of town.

As long as Merlin had been alive, he’d never seen this pyre lit.

He would’ve just gotten himself out of this situation with his ‘gifts’ if it weren’t for his poor mother.

The villagers would never let her live in peace if he magically disappeared.

No, this was the only way she could go on living, even with a broken heart.

He didn’t fight. He didn’t really hear much of what they spit at him. But he could hear his mother wailing at him, to save himself, to do whatever he must do.

He’d resigned himself to an early death.

Tom, the town representative, started spewing some righteous words at him. New Religion words that didn’t quite make sense to him, but that’s to be expected. He is, himself, a creature of the old religion, if prophecy is to be trusted.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, serpent?”

Merlin opened his mouth to tell his mother that he loved her, but he stopped short.

In the distance, he could hear a sound.

The beating of hooves on hard, cold dirt.

Visitors were approaching.

It must be fate, he thinks.

As the horses drew closer, the villagers slowly turned their attentions away from him.

Merlin simply hung his head, letting the Earth he loved so dearly decide which way his life would swing.

“What is the meaning of this?”

A calm, steady voice came from behind him. Deep and concerned. Merlin wished he could see the man.

“My lord,” Tom bowed, as well as he could, which was strange.

Upon realization, Merlin’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, were these visitors noble? They never had nobility stay long enough to make comments on anything, only ever just passing through.

“I asked you a question.” The voice said again, with all the authority of someone who’s used to using it.

“This man is a sorcerer, sire. We were just-“

“What has he done?”

“Sire?”

“What has this man done to call for these extreme measures?” When no one answered him immediately, he rephrased.

“Surely there must’ve been a crime committed?” As if it’s a question.

Merlin’s mother pulled herself out of shock and brought herself forth.

“He did nothing, sire.” She spoke firm and unmoving. She must’ve seen hope in this man that Merlin had yet to lay eyes on. “He’s only ever used it for healing wounds and helping our gardens in the winter. Please have mercy on him, my lord. He is my only son.” Tears started falling as her voice broke. She finally met Merlin’s eyes again and he smiled at her, weakly.

“So this man-“

“Sorcerer.” Corrected Tom. What a dick.

“This man, did nothing but heal you and help you survive and this is how you repay him?”

Again no answer.

The man seemed to gesture at Tom, walking towards the town elder, and bringing him finally into Merlin’s line of sight.

The doomed boy nearly gasped.

Silver and red bled together in the sun, armor and finery melded like roses in white sand.

The man-the lord…the knight? He had golden blonde hair, that shone like it’s own light.

Blue eyes made even more obvious and striking surrounded by unblemished, sun-kissed skin.

“You seem to be leading the horde. Tell me why?” No, answer. “Cut him down.” A command. The stranger’s face was a hard, blank line.

Funny how, even then, he didn’t feel like a stranger. But Merlin was in no state to remember it.

“My lord, I do not think that would be wise. Your father was the one to wage war on magic-“

“I am not my father. Cut him down.”

Merlin swallowed. Uther Pendragon was the only person in his mind that waged the war on magic, that began the purge. Which means this man could only be his son, Prince Arthur.

What a prince he was.

Well, King, now.

No wonder every person in the vicinity practically dropped to their knees upon his arrival. They’d all heard stories of ‘The Just King’ that now reigned over Camelot. Giving whatever he could to his citizens that needed it most, never turning anyone away who seeks shelter. Merlin had heard the same as everyone else. Seeing the King in person now, he was in awe.

“I will not endanger the lives of all who live here.” Tom turns back to Merlin with the lit torch.

Merlin held his breath, but the second Tom turned away from him, the King pulled his sword. It made the loveliest sound as it left the sheath.

The sound of salvation.

Tom had the tip of a majestic blade directed right at his throat, as the King spoke again.

“I said, cut him down.”

The look on the King’s face was one that could kill.

Merlin wondered momentarily why he cared so much.

Finally someone from the crowd stepped forward with a knife and began to cut away Merlin’s ties.

Hunith leapt forward and engulfed her son in a hug, while also somewhat holding his body upright.

He did not want to let go, considering he thought he would never get to hug his mother again. But the entire village was watching them.

As was-

“What is your name?”

It was phrased as a question but spoken like a command. Merlin knew it was directed at him without opening his eyes.

He did, reluctantly, release his mother and turn to the golden King, facing deep blue eyes head on. Never cowering.

“Merlin.”

The King must’ve seen something in him. Something every other person was blind to or chose to ignore, simply because he was a peasant. He took a step closer and Merlin could hear the tiny tink of metal pieces on his shining armor, as he did so.

“Well, Merlin.” He said, as if trying it out for himself. “Seeing as I’ve just given you your life, I’d like to ask a favor.”

Merlin’s curiosity was peaked, to say the least. King’s didn’t ask favors, they took whatever they wanted.

King Arthur did not wait for a reply to continue.

“I’m in need of assistance. And I could use someone with a gift like yours, specifically.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes in minuscule doubt. Doubt of intentions, doubt of his safety.

The King somehow knowing his exact thoughts said

“Of course you would be permitted to come back when you are needed. And when I have accomplished my goal, if you wish, you can leave. I will not keep anyone against their will. I am simply offering.” A small smile played on his mouth. Flush pink lips. He also held up his hands as if to say ‘I will not harm you’.

Merlin’s gut told him to follow this man.

Terrifyingly, his intuition told him to follow this man, practically a stranger, anywhere. Everywhere.

Merlin felt a pull he’s never felt before. In the moment, he assumed it was immense gratitude for saving his life.

Merlin turned to meet his mothers eyes, he already knew what she was going to tell him.

“I think it will be good for you. To get out for a while.” She smiles softly.

“Will you be alright?” He whispered, glancing at the crowd still gathered around an unlit pyre.

“I’ll be fine.” She grabbed him in a bear hug, like she always did. “And if they boot me out, I’ll come find you.”

Merlin sighed into her shoulder.

“Alright.”

When Merlin turned back, the King had turned his eyes to the ground, giving mother and son a moment of privacy.

Merlin was starting to warm to him already.

“Can I pack first?”

King Arthur met his gaze then, doing that half smile thing, again.

“I suppose.” He nodded. “But don’t dawdle we need to move if we want to make it back before sundown.”

“Yes, sire.” The title which usually held reverence and respect, was laced with sarcasm. He didn’t seem to think twice, as he strode away towards their hut to gather his things.

If Merlin had looked back, he would’ve found a fully beaming King looking after him and about six knights with faces of complete shock.

And perhaps, one knowing mother.

[thebubblesareevil]

Only the best Kings wear pink! Pt 3

When Jason started to wake, he kept his eyes closed; his training kicking in to assess his surroundings. He could hear…giggling children?

He thought back on what happened and reassured himself that he had not passed out on a playground.

He could feel someone poking his cheek before someone else, an older woman, shooed the children away.

“Dear sir, feigning sleep will do you no good.” Announced a gentle voice.

He opened his eyes to see a woman draped in a medieval a large amulet around her neck, she had her hair tied back in a simple braid. She could definitely be considered attractive, he chose to ignore the glowing green skin for now.

He swiftly opened his eyes, it didn’t take long to realize his mask had been confiscated, which definitely didn’t help his mood any.

“Where am I and who are you?!” He demanded in a gruff voice.

“You’re in King Phantoms personal healing quarters. Sir Frostbite has informed me that you will make a full recovery from your overindulgence of distilled ectoplasm.” She giggled. “Must have been quite a wild night to still be feeling the effects this long, you must connect me with your supplier!” She chirped as if he understood a word of what she was saying. She straightened her back.

“As for who I am, I am Queen Dorothea of Maddingly. A pleasure to make your acquaintance ” She giggled a little as she gently held out his hand.

“Red Hood.” He answered, taking the hand. (Stranger or no, Alfred would kill him if he forgot his manners)

“The please is mine.” He grunted. He felt unusually calm considering his situation. Truth be told he couldn’t remember how he got there.

Then he remembered.

Lian. Roy. The summoning.

Jason jumped from the bed, much to the amusement of the Queen as he stumbled over his own legs.

“Where’s Lian??!!” He shouted at the Queen.

She only raised a single brow in amusement. “I can take you to the little princess now, though you may want to use the rest-“

Jason glared. Queen Dorathea giggled.

“Very well Sir Hood. The little princess is in the garden with her father having tea. Shall we?” She gestured to the door.

Then she started gliding out of the room, barely waiting for Jason to grab his guns and follow after her.

The traveled through the gloomy halls, though he could hear echos of children laughing. It should have been comforting.

It was creepy.

When they finally exited the castle, Jason was greeted with a bright just off-Lazarus green sky. Glowing children and various creatures roamed the gardens as he passed. Some carrying trays, some just stopping to smell the roses? All paused to greet the Queen.

Finally they came upon several arches and tables with little girls and boys talking in the most exaggerated fancy voices he had ever heard. He would have laughed if he weren’t listening for one particular little voice.

“JAYJAY!”

Jason spun around just in time to be tackled by the little cannonball. He allowed himself to be knocked to the ground, basking in the little girl’s laughter.

“Uncle Jay! Uncle Jay! Are you gonna have a tea party with us???” She chirped, beaming up at her uncle.

“Who?” Jason looked up to see Roy standing a few feet away, holding back laughter as he snapped pictures with a glowing green camera.

A boisterous laugh came from the table behind his friend where he found the so called Ghost King….wearing a princess crown??? (One of those pink cone ones with the ribbons)

“What on earth?” Jason muttered.

The king snorted. “I see the younglings managed to break into the medical wing.”

Jason frowned. Roy took more pictures.

The Queen giggled. “I did try to warn him.”

“Warn me? What??”

The large ghost approached Jason with some kind of disk. He had no chance to protect himself if the ghost attacked with Lian in his arms…

The King knelt in front of Jason and turned the platter to face him.

“Personally I think you look adorable.” He gave Jason a wink as Lian giggled.

Not that Jason noticed as he looked at his reflection in the platter to see his face covered in heavy glittery pink blush, his eyelids with a dark unflattering blue eyeshadow and bright red lipstick circling his lips.

That plus the little bows in his hair left him quite a sight.

Jason took a deep breath as he carefully got to his feet. He handed Lian to the Ghost King who dutifully snuggled the little monkey.

He turned to Roy. He didn’t hesitate, he took off after his dear friend, intent on prying the camera from his cold dead hands.

Roy booked it, the two performing impressive acrobatic feats from one tea table to the next as the fought for possession of the blackmail.

The King let out a booming laugh, turning to the little princess.

“Who should we help, daddy or uncle Jay?”

Lian tapped her chin, thinking carefully.

“Both?” She replied, tilting her head.

Danny grinned. “Both is good”

He released the little monkey as she raced to tackle her uncle Jay while Danny valiantly picked up the young archer by his armpits.

———

Clockwork sipped his glowing green tea. Entirely too pleased with himself as he enjoyed the sound of laughter returned to the infinite realms.

All was as it should be

[yandere-writer-momo]

I cut out the sex scene because it bordered on Noncon. This is pure horror, it’s not even meant to be seen as romantic.

Yandere Baki Short Stories: Monster

Yandere Cheater Hanayama x Afab Reader

TW: HORROR, Suicide (fake death), depressing themes, angst, delusion, Yandere behavior,etc

(Your name) blankly stared at the passport in her hands. this was it… She was finally leaving her neglectful husband. She would turn over a new leaf and live her life for herself for once.

No more arranged marriage. No more loneliness. No more sleepless nights from the women he’d bring to his room. (Your name) would finally be at peace.

The wind ran its fingers through her hair and tousled a bit. She wished the comfort was an actual person rather than the icy wind but life didn’t quite work out that way. She was a woman born into a crime family but she had no interest in continuing the legacy her family intended her to.

(Your name) had no desire to be a pawn piece used as a peace treaty amongst the rival family. She wanted love. She wanted to live. (Your name) didn’t want to be the submissive, demure wife of an oyabun who constantly fraternized with other women.

She tried to make it work, she truly did. She tried talking to him whenever she had the chance, she tried to cook for him, organize his schedule, do his paperwork, and she even tried to get him to walk with her in his rose garden, but he’d flat out ignore her. She merely wanted to make their relationship tolerable, she wouldn’t even care if he wanted to continue to see those promiscuous women so long as they were amicable with each other. Yet he hated her because she was the daughter of the rival gang that killed his father.

Hanayama Kaoru was as cold as ice. His heart permanently locked up and unthawable. If (your name) stayed in that manor and went through with the marriage, she had no doubt she’d be miserable with him for the rest of her life… so she did what any sane person would do. She ran.

(Your name) would start a life in a different country with a new name. She would be selfish… faking her death wasn’t even a hard task to do. She simply wrote some depressing diary entries that would bring an angsty teen to shame. She even wrote a suicide letter.

Poor, clumsy (your name) jumped off a cliff and drowned in the murky ocean never to be seen again. It was fool proof.

(Your name) adjusted the sunglasses on her face and continued her journey into the airport. Her small suitcase rolled behind her, the wheels clacked against the brick road.

It was the start of a dream… or so she thought.

.

.

.

Hanayama laid in his bed in thought. Where was she? (Your name) would usually be here around nine in the morning to make sure he was up…

Hanayama sat up in his bed and pushed the woman that was draped across his chest off. His dark eye turned toward the door. Why wasn’t she here?

Hanayama wrapped a robe around his bare body and made his way out of his room. He ignored the grumbles of his latest bed warmer to instead try to figure out where his wife was. Why wasn’t she here?

Hanayama noticed how quiet the manor was and it unnerved him…

Hanayama was shocked to see there was no breakfast made for him in his office and no (your name) in there to greet him… where was she?

Hanayama then paused. Maybe she decided to leave him alone like he asked?

Hanayama sighed and nodded. Yes… that’s what happened. She must have finally decided to listen to him!

And so Hanayama went on to continue his day but the dread in his stomach hadn’t gone away.

His gut knew there was something horribly amiss.

.

.

.

A week had gone by since Hanayama had last seen (your name). His glass of water was no longer full beside him and his desk was unorganized. Hanayama’s meals weren’t made correctly and his schedule was in disarray.

A week without her and Hanayama now realized just how much his wife did… and it bothered him.

Hanayama stood outside the door of her room with a frown. He should talk to her… he needed her help with the paperwork.

“Wife. Are you in there?” Yet there was no response. He felt his hair stand up on his arm as alarm bells loudly rung in his head. She always answered him… she would have ran to him if he came to see her first.

Hanayama slid the door open to her room and was shocked to see how plain it was. This room didn’t look like it belonged to the wife of an oyabun. This room looked like a servant’s. Where were the decorations and the clothes?

Hanayama felt his stomach twist when he noticed just how little she owned and how cold it was in here. Was this why she’d ask for blankets? Why she wanted to go shopping?

Hanayama felt guilt sink into him. He was an awful husband- what was that?

Hanayama began to tremble in fear at the letter on her desk. His hands shakily opened it to read its contents. And not even after the first paragraph, he ran out the door.

She couldn’t have killed herself… she wouldn’t have. She loved being here with him. She loved him. She’d never do that.

Hanayama ignored the shouts of his men as he ran onto the cliff behind the Hanayama compound. His heart drummed in his ears from his scared he was. She was okay… she didn’t actually do it…

But the sandals at the edge of the cliff told Hanayama everything he needed to know.

Hanayama’s hands shook as he picked up the dainty, worn out sandals. Tears gathered in his eyes in realization.

(Your name) jumped off this cliff and it was all his fault…

Hanayama heard his men shout as they paused behind him in shock.

“Send out a search party to find my wife’s body.” Hanayama ordered his men who obeyed. They quickly left him to his own devices.

Hanayama held the sandals close to his chest as the tears began to fall. His wife… his poor wife.

This was all his fault.

.

.

.

(Your name) really loved her life in Hawaii. It was such a beautiful island and the people were so friendly!

(Your name) smiled as she laid in the sun to tan. She wondered if Hanayama was finally happy since she was out of his hair?

She shook her head to get rid of the thought. Why did she care if her neglectful husband was happy? It’s not like he ever cared about her happiness…

Hanayama never went on walks with her and he never ate a single meal with her. Hell, they never consummated their marriage. He went to bed with some other woman on their wedding night just to let her know how he felt about her.

Hanayama probably left for joy when he found that letter. He no longer had to deal with such an awful wife and he was free to do whatever his heart pleased so (your name) should do the same.

(Your name) went back to enjoying her drink. It was better to forget the old life she had, it’s not like Hanayama ever cared about her in the first place.

.

.

.

(Your name)’s funeral was practically empty save for Hanayama and Kizaki. It made Hanayama feel even worse that her own family didn’t even come.

Her body was never found either so her sandals would be buried. It made this whole ordeal even more depressing.

Hanayama had read her diary and was so distraught to find out just how much she cared for him. Of how she had originally really wanted their relationship to work since she didn’t have love at home. But she eventually just wanted to be friends if he didn’t want to ever touch her. To at least be civil with one another if he couldn’t love her.

(Your name) would write about how she had always wanted to go on a date or just a walk in his rose garden. Of how she just wanted to spend time with the husband that hated her. Of how she’d like to start gaze with him and listen to his troubles… he never deserved her.

Hanayama felt like the worse man in the world because she had ended her own life to make him happy. To leave him alone like he wanted her to… but he no longer wanted that.

“They always say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone…” Hanayama whispered as he placed a rose on (your name)’s casket. “I will never touch anyone else ever again. I will atone for my sin of neglecting you.”

Kizaki frowned at how distraught his boss was. (Your name) was a really sweet young woman but he didn’t think Hanayama would be so affected by her death. He’d give him time to move on, Kizaki was sure Hanayama would be back to normal in no time…

.

.

.

Hanayama now slept in (your name)’s old room. It was so cold in there but he felt closer to his wife… like she was here with him.

Hanayama would bury himself into her pillow and inhale her soft scent every night to help him sleep. He missed her so much… he missed his beautiful wife.

Hanayama often dreamt of her smiling at him when she used to bring him breakfast. Of how her face would light up whenever she’d ask about the rose garden… he swore he heard her voice from time to time. (Your name) haunted him.

Sometimes he’d dream that she was still here and she was pregnant with their first child. Vivid images conjured in his mind of her smiling face as the two of them had a picnic together in the rose garden she loved so much. Or maybe even the two of them visiting Hawaii together so she could swim with the dolphins?

Hanayama would never forgive himself for what he destroyed. For how he pushed his wife to do such a horrible thing. Hanayama would punish himself till the day he died for being the reason such a sunny person was snuffed out of existence.

“I miss you so much, (your name). I’m sorry… I’m sorry.”

Hanayama apologized to her every night in her room, he just wanted her back… he wanted his wife back so he could make it all better to her.

If she reappeared before him, he’d be the perfect man for her. Hanayama would take her out on dates and have her sit beside him as he did paperwork. He’d sleep beside her and he’d make love to her every night.

Hanayama would be the ideal husband if she was alive. Yet that was all a dream he had… or so he thought.

.

.

.

Half a year had went by and Hanayama looked worse for wear. He had bags under his eyes and his face was a bit gaunt. Kizaki began to be worried sick about Hanayama.

“How about a vacation?” Kizaki offered Hanayama. “You could go to Hawaii?”

Hanayama felt his heart clench at the mention of that island. (Your name) had always wanted to visit there… she wrote about it in her diary.

Kizaki frowned at Hanayama until the large man rose up. “Yes… I think that’s will be nice.”

Hopefully Hanayama pulled himself together on that little trip.

.

.

.

Hanayama felt his heart stop when he arrived to the hotel in Hawaii. There she was… there was (your name)! But how was she alive? Was this some sick twist of fate?

“I can help whosever next-“ (your name) felt her eyes nearly bulge out of her head when he ex husband stood before her. What was he doing here-

She was suddenly pulled over the counter and into his large arms as he latched onto her like a lifeline. His face buried into her hair while his nose greedily inhaled her scent. She was real… she was alive!

(Your name) tried to pull away from him but Hanayama’s grip was inescapable. His whole body trembled in relief. “(Your name)… I’m so happy you’re alive. Let’s go home.”

“I think you’re mistaken-“ (your name) gasped when Hanayama suddenly kissed her. His large lips practically swallowed hers in a hungry kiss. Why was her ex husband so strange? He’s never cared about her before, hell, he’s never kissed her before. So why did he act like they were long lost lovers?

“Let’s go home. I’m going to make everything right this time. I think the boat is still at the dock so this must be destiny...” (Your name) could do little to change the Oyabun’s mind. The giant threw her over his shoulder like a savage as he carried her out of her job at the hotel.

“Hanayama, please let me down-“

“I read your diary every single day since you disappeared. I’m going to make it all right.” Hanayama quietly rambled. “I will live the rest of my life as your one and only husband. There will never be anyone else, if you want I’ll get rid of them.”

“That’s unnecessary-“

“It is necessary.” Hanayama interrupted her with a sigh. “I have to atone for my grave sin of negligence.”

Hanayama set her down on the boat before he gestured to the bewildered crew to take them back to Japan. The silence was so thick, a knife could cut through it.

A few moments went by, the sound of waves and the engine of the boat their only soundtrack until Hanayama’s deep voice spoke up.

“When we get home, we can walk together in the rose garden.” Hanayama engulfed her small hands in his large palms. “We can have another wedding and this time, we can consummate our marriage properly.”

Hanayama sighed dreamily when he brought her hands up to cup his cheeks. “I’ll spoil you this time around. I forgive you for your little runaway attempt but this time I’m never letting you go.”

(Your name) gulped as pure terror swallows her whole. This man was no longer her old husband, this was a man who had gone completely insane with guilt to the point he didn’t realize what reality was… this was a monster.

[tune-on-in-folks]

Day 13! I actually managed to get this in time! And I do like this one, it has it's charm. Enjoy a Human!Alastor x Reader.

Tags/Warnings: Murder, blood, p in v sex, fem!receiving oral, oral sex, creampie, talk about murder, actual murder, abuse, mention of abuse, implied and written abuse, reader's husband is an abusive asshat, serial killer Alastor Word Count: 2, 876

There was not a man in town that was as captivating as Alastor Hartfelt. The popular radio host was quite the charmer, always managing to charm men and women alike. Which worked to his advantage. It was easy to lull his victims into a sense of calm, earning their trust. Long enough to draw them to his cabin, and end their lives. Of course, no one was particularly fussed when the people he chose went missing. They were often men who reminded him of his own father. They weren’t people that would be missed by anyone and he knew that. After all, his mother hadn’t missed his father one bit when he went missing one night.

Of course, with his charms and his rising popularity as a radio host, he began to draw unwanted attention. That often came in the form of womanly admirers, those who sought to try to win his heart. Or earn his favor. Of course, Alastor didn’t have time for them, he was a busy man after all. His friendship with Mimzy helped dampen the amount of womanly suitors enough that he was finally getting left alone.

Enough for you to catch his attention.

Alastor knew who you were, you worked for his radio station, after all. You were an intern, fetching coffee, taking calls, the sorts. He had spoken to you only a handful of times, typically when you brought him his morning coffee. You were quiet, never trying to strike up a conversation with him unlike all the other women who worked at the station. You were refreshing and Alastor found that he enjoyed your quiet presence. He requested you for tasks by name more and more.

“You, my dear, are a fresh breath of air!” He said one day, giving you a soft smile.

You had flashed him such a pretty smile in turn, “How so?”

“You, my dear, understand me.” He replied, refusing to elaborate.

The more you saw of Alastor, the more you were charmed by the man’s charms. He once told you that you were a fresh breath of air, but he was your own fresh breath. His witty remarks, kind smile, and soft touches were in stark contrast to your husband’s. You found yourself growing fond of Alastor and the increasing time you’d spend with the radio host. It wasn’t long before he promoted you to his assistant, which meant that you were spending most of your time with Alastor. It was nice, something you looked forward to. He quickly became your reason for living. You often fantasized about having married him instead of your husband. The silent camaraderie between the both of you was enjoyable. Alastor made you laugh, shared your humor, and your wit. He was gentle, kind, and charming. He was everything your husband was not. He was everything you wanted. Somewhere along the lines you had managed to fall in love with Alastor. Your promotion to assistant came with a single red rose a few days later that had your heart skipping a beat. Especially because you knew the meaning behind such a simple gesture. Alastor had given it to you, and kissed you in the privacy of his office, admitting to his affections for you. It was enough to make you swoon.

The news of your promotion got to your husband faster than you could muster up the strength to tell him yourself, fearing his anger.

The news of your promotion somehow got out to your husband.

You had just finished putting the rose into a small glass when your husband came home, raging drunk, demanding you to explain why he hadn’t heard of your promotion.

“I had to learn that from John. Is there something you don’t want me to know?” His hands slammed down on the table, shaking the vase with the single rose.

His eyes caught on the bloom, “Who the fuck gave you a single fucking rose?” He picked up the vase, hurling it, “Answer me, damnit!”

You barely flinched as the vase went flying towards your head, barely missing. “A work friend.”

Your husband had scoffed, advancing on you. “Work friend, my ass. No one gives my wife a single red rose and gets away with it!”

What he meant by that was that you got punished instead. His hand struck your face, sending you sprawling to the floor. You barely flinched, used to your husband’s anger. You were in for a long night, but you didn’t care. Because Alastor had given you a red rose and you knew exactly what that meant. Unspoken love coming to light. He was always such a charmer.

You came into work the next day sore, bruises barely covered with makeup, but enough that no one batted an eye at you. That was until you entered Alastor's office. He was working on his latest script, his eyes flickering up upon your entry.

“Hello, my dear.” He greeted, pausing as he saw your limp.

He sat up fully, pushing his round glasses further up his face to take you in better. After a moment of observing you he spoke up.

“Are you alright, little doe?”

You chuckled, trying to brush off his concern. “I’m perfectly fine, Alastor. I had a small tumble today, that’s all.”

“Hmm.” He hums, his eyes narrowed.

He had heard around the speakeasies that your husband wasn’t the kindest man. But he had never seen the physical signs of abuse before. His eyes caught on the bruise under your eye, your makeup having smudged.

“Come here, darling.” He gestured, reaching for your hand.

You flashed him a soft smile, taking his hand as he pulled you closer to him. 

“Alastor, you know I’m married, you charmer.” You attempted to joke.

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bruised cheek. He watched how you flinched at his slight touch.

“Yes, that’s what I’m worried about.” He mutters, his voice dropped into something low and dangerous. “He did this, didn’t he?”

You took a deep breath, knowing that no matter what, Alastor would always be able to see through you. “He did. But I’m okay, I promise, Al.”

He had withdrawn his touch, his mind already churning with plans on how to charm your husband. How to earn his trust and kill him for ever laying a single hand on you. He had already been narrowing down the speakeasies your husband frequented. It was only a matter of time before he was the next victim of the Bayou Butcher.

“I promise you, my dear. I will help you out of your situation.” He flashed you a dangerous smile.

You chuckled, sitting down beside Alastor, “And I would love your help.”

Oh if you only knew what you were agreeing to.

Alastor had managed to ‘accidentally’ cross paths with your husbandthe next night. He pretended to be new in town, working to charm your husband. But Paul wasn’t a stupid man and didn’t give his trust readily. Alastor realized it would take a few nights of charming your husband, much to his distaste. Barely an hour in and he was disgusted by the man. But you were the one woman who managed to capture his attention, and subsequently his affection. And Alastor was determined to free you from your husband. 

Your husband's beatings grew more frequent in the coming days, and you did your best to hide it.  Alastor always saw through you, however. His anger was growing, his patience slipping.

And now it was breaking.

You hadn’t managed to make it into work that day. Everyone noticed your absence, and they talked. They talked loud enough for it to get back to Alastor that your husband had hurt you badly. He left his studio early that night, having decided that that was the night he’d kill your husband.

“Alastor!” Paul roared upon seeing the Alastor enter the speakeasy, “Come here, my friend!”

Alastor gave him a polite smile, his eye twitching in utter annoyance, but he greeted the man all the same. “Salutations, Paul. Fine weather we’re having today, yes?”

“Who cares about the weather, hey!” Paul slapped his chest, “Let me buy you a drink.”

Alastor let him, keeping an eye on how much your husband drank. He always ensured that for every shot he had, your husband had two. It was a little game he was playing, his impatience showing. He was tired of trying to charm your husband, he was going to kill him and he was going to do it tonight.

Eventually Paul left to head back home, declining Alastor’s offer to help him home. The radio host could only quietly glower as his plans changed. He would just have to tail your husband home, and draw him away before he arrived at your home. Alastor couldn’t risk y0u seeing him kill your husband. But of course, he got distracted fantasizing about killing your husband, that he lost sight of him. Cursing, Alastor quickened his pace. He realized, too late, that Paul had arrived at your home. His anger was simmering beneath the surface, but he would be damned if he’d let Paul live another night. He needed a plan to draw him back out, away from you.

Yelling erupted from your home, Alastor’s anger sparking into a full roar as he heard what he thought was you being thrown to the floor. Unable to stop himself, he rushed up the steps to the front door of your home. Cold panic flooded him as silence suddenly blanketed the house. He shoved the door open, ready to kill your husband for hurting you, when he froze.

There you stood, covered in blood, a knife in your hands. Paul lay on the floor steadily bleeding out from a wound in his neck. Alastor gently closed the door behind him, locking it. He made sure that the blinds were completely drawn before he made his way to you. You set the bloody knife down with shaky hands, taking in Alastor’s calm approach.

“Alastor?” You whisper, not having anticipated his presence.

You had acted out of pure instinct when your husband lunged at you, he had managed to put two and two together. He had figured out it was your boss who had given you the rose. He had told you he was going to kill you, and yet here he lay, dying on the floor of the house you shared.

Alastor stopped in front of you, taking your bloodied hands in his. “Well, my dear, I must say I’m very proud of you.”

He cupped your cheek, smearing your husband’s blood onto your face. You shivered at the feeling, adrenaline still pumping through your body.

“Al-” He cuts you off, his lips pressing against yours incessantly.

You moan into the kiss, not having expected it.

Alastor rests his forehead against yours, his voice deep and sultry as he asks, “Tell me my dear, how does your first kill feel?”

You shiver, “exhilarating.”

“Mhm, good.” He smiles widely, capturing your lips again. “You did so good.”

His mouth trails down your jaw, to your throat. Your breath hitches as Alastor nips and kisses your skin. You wrap your hands around his back, sliding a hand into his hair as you moan.

“Alas-tor…” You whimper, “I just..fuck…killed my husband.”

He pulled your nightgown over your head,pulling a small gasp from you. 

“You did. And I’m so proud of you.” He praises kissing you again, “I was going to kill him myself, but you did wonderfully, my dear. We’ll take care of his body in a moment.”

You whine into Alastor’s kiss, feeling his grip on your hips tighten. He rolled his hips against you, his erection pressing against your low stomach.

“Alastor..” You gasp as he leans down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. “You…You’re the Bayou Butcher?” It was less of a question and more of an observation.

“I’m surprised you figured it out, my dear.” He praises, sliding your panties off.

“Of course I did, I know you.” You whisper, gasping as he hoists you up, pressing you against your kitchen counter.

The knife you had stabbed your husband with was right beside you as Alastor kissed down your body.

“And how long have you known?” He asks, nipping at your inner thigh.

You moan softly, “I figured it out months ago. Enough time to figure out a pattern in the men you kill. I was hoping Paul was next.”

“He was, but you beat me to it, my dear.” He pushes your thighs open, licking a long stripe up from your slit to your clit.

You gasp, moaning as Alastor closed his mouth around your nub, his fingers sliding into your tight cunt.

“I’m surprised you’re as wet as you are. You did just kill your husband after all.” He teased you, curling his fingers inside you.

“And I have the man I love touching me.” you retort, rolling your hips down against his touch, your breath quickening.

Alastor chuckles, speeding his touch up as he sucks and nips at your clit. He could feel your walls squeezing around his fingers as you got closer to your release. A few more moments and you were crying out, cumming around his fingers. He continued to finger you through your release, lapping up your juices. He pulled his fingers out a moment later, licking his fingers clean. He reached for his pants, freeing his cock. Your eyes caught on his member, a shiver of anticipation running through you. He raises an eyebrow as you attempt to close your legs, prevented only by him being nestled between them.

“Now, now. No getting shy on me, my dear.” He chuckles, pumping his length a few times.

Alastor grabbed a hold of your knees, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. He ran his cock through your slick folds, positioning himself at your entrance.

“You’re just so big.” You mummer, glancing behind him towards your husband’s body. “Bigger than him.”

“Ah-ah-ah, eyes on me, darling.” He scolds, grasping your face in between his fingers.

You meet Alastor’s gaze again in time for him to flash you his charming smile. He begins to press into you, slowly rocking his hips. He entered you slowly, drawing a long moan from you.

“I’m the only thing you should be concerning yourself with right now.” He murmurs.

“Oh fuck!” You whimper, rolling your hips down as he pressed into you.

“So good.” He moans himself, slowly reaching his hilt. “So tight. You were made for me.”

You smile softly, arms wrapping around his back as he begins to rock his hips.

“You did so well, my love, and now look at you, taking my cock so well.” He continues to praise, his thrusts long, deep, and slow. “I’ve waited far too long to be in your perfect cunt.”

You chuckle, meeting Alastor’s thrusts as he picks up his pace. “And I waited too long to kill my husband.”

He hums, his breaths coming a little faster. “Better late than never, my darling doe.”

He picked up his pace, the sound of him fucking you filled the air. Your moans were met with his grunts, mixing with the symphony that was your bodies meeting over and over. Your grasp tightened on Alastor’s back, kissing him deeply. Your pleasure was building higher and higher, the coil in your gut tightening. You knew you were close to your release again.

“Ah-Alastor, I’m close.” You mewl against his mouth.

He pistoned in and out of you faster, his breathing growing labored. He slipped his hand between your bodies, rubbing at your clit in tight circles.

“Let me feel you, darling. Let me feel you fall apart around my cock.”

You cried out, your head falling back against the cabinets at his touch. Your body quivered, his name spilling from your lips loudly as you came hard around his cock. Alastor buried his face against your neck, biting down on your shoulder as his pace faltered. A moment later he found his own release, pushing as deep as he could inside you. You moaned at the sensation of his seed filling you, your walls squeezed him, milking him for every drop.

“Fuck,” he panted, “Just like that. You’re such a good girl. My darling little doe, you took me so well.”

He kissed you gently as he slowly pulled from your cunt. You whimper at the loss of his cock.

“Alastor.” You whisper, reaching out for him as he takes a step back from you.

He flashes you his smile again, tucking his softening cock away. “Let’s get you cleaned up, hmm? Then I’ll dispose of this insolent creature’s body.”

Alastor scooped you off the counter into his arms. You smile, pressing another kiss to his lips.

“Thank you for your help, my love.” You whisper against his mouth.

“Of course, my dear, you don’t have to worry about him any longer. I’ll take care of it.”

You giggle as he begins to carry you upstairs, you couldn’t care less that Alastor was the Bayou Butcher, he was the man you loved. And lucky for you, he loved you back.