#imagine not talking to anyone about the abuse done to you

[asarigg]

Inside the Character's Mind: Part 6

CHILDHOOD. SLY AND KOUJAKU. THE AVOIDANT BEHAVIOR: part 3

As if all that wasn’t already enough, at the end of the Re:connect, this happens. Aoba thinks to himself that this is not what Koujaku wanted, as much as Sly wants to think that it is, that he’s in the right. As if what he has done has helped the Koujaku inside, the one who’s like him, the true Koujaku, to come out. As if they could be free inside that cell.

Koujaku reacts to Aoba’s thoughts. Sly thinks for a moment that it’s his imagination, but when Aoba repeats his thoughts, Koujaku says his name. Koujaku, who despite not having articulated a single word all this time, weeks, months, says his name as soon as Aoba “speaks”, that’s what I’m talking about when I mention their spiritual connection, that’s how strong it is. It happening after such a different sex scene, where neither of them can say no, nor show any kind of rejection, is just a reminder that they are both locked away, suffering, and that they will stay there watching this happen day after day until the day they die, not being able to see, or touch, or call each other’s names, or say “I love you” or anything they once wanted to say. They can only just watch each other wither away.

These thoughts of “This isn’t what Koujaku wanted” are very interesting because just like Sly thought, Koujaku really wanted Aoba to accept and love him. But the last thing he wants is having Aoba reciprocate him just because that’s what Koujaku wants. He’d rather be rejected, and even die in the extreme case of the situation hurting Aoba, than having him living something he doesn’t really want, that he doesn’t feel in his heart. Giving himself to Koujaku letting him do whatever he wants without thinking twice, without thinking about his own wishes. A life that doesn’t respect Aoba’s wishes is a nightmare for him. Just like he says in the confession scene “All I can remember is that I didn’t want to touch you like that”.

I mentioned that they don’t treat the tattoo as something that changed Koujaku, but as someone else inside his mind. When Sly appears before him, Koujaku immediately knows that he’s not Aoba, but has a hard time believing it, because physically he’s the same but white. He doesn’t know what’s going on, he can’t process it, but he knows. And the thoughts that tell him that the man in front of him is not Aoba are in red, like someone else’s, with some lowercase and some uppercase, growing more intense as the madness and anger of his tattoo reflects through. Doesn’t it remind you of how Sly’s thoughts appeared in the middle of the screen when Aoba was in charge?

Sometimes I wonder what Sly’s real intention was here. In theory he wants to break Koujaku and bring out the beast because that’s the part of Koujaku that he sees himself reflected in, that destructive entity, his darkest, true side, his pure animal instinct. Exactly what Sly is.

But he still tells the sane Koujaku that he loves him and wants to convince him that he’s Aoba. If that had worked then what would he do next? Because he truly believes that’s what he wanted to hear, and when the narration returns to his point of view he tells us that his love for Koujaku is true. Obviously locked in a cell it would be difficult for anyone to believe him, and Sly wouldn’t get him out of there anyway when he wants to keep Koujaku for himself. But then why does he keep trying to convince him, over and over again, even when Koujaku still doesn’t recognize him as Aoba any time he wakes up? Would he have been satisfied with a sane Koujaku, with those restrictions he hates, just because he accepted his words? It’s only when he sees that Koujaku won’t buy it, no matter what he tells him, that he changes his strategy.

And it’s in this scene that we see Koujaku in control for the last time, and again the last thing he says before losing his mind is Aoba’s name. This ending makes us see how Koujaku once again enters a cycle of abuse. He has gone from being his father’s slave, to Ryuuhou’s, and now Sly’s, and he will probably never get out of that cell alive. He no longer has prayer beads protecting him, only chains imprisoning him.

Sly is aware of what he has done, and he believes that since he has destroyed Koujaku’s consciousness/spirit, it’s only fair that he is the one to destroy his body, not only fair but it even seems like an attractive idea, to die at his hands (Sly try not to be Ryuuhou challenge). I really like this dialogue where Sly tells Koujaku that he can tear off his flesh if he wants, on the condition that he stays. Staying with him, a reflection of his desire to feel loved, accepted, after so many years of abandonment. After hearing Koujaku speak back to Aoba, it must feel like a punch to the stomach to think for a moment that he’s wrong with what he’s chosen for the two of them, to think that Koujaku doesn’t really love him.

Having him locked in a cage somehow is perfect to prevent the slightest chance of Koujaku walking away, as well as keeping him in this state, unable to speak, unable to think, unable to reject him. It’s because of these things that I usually think that at least at the beginning the relationship with Koujaku in a good ending would be quite turbulent. He would like to flirt with Koujaku, but when he realizes that he really feels love for him, he feels vulnerable, weak, and needs to protect himself because the people who were supposed to always be with him and protect him, abandoned him. And Koujaku somehow “abandoned” him once too. So before exposing himself to that, he would rather push Koujaku away. Sly would always come back to him, because as much as he wants to walk away he can’t, he needs Koujaku to stay by his side. It doesn’t matter if it’s love or hate, Sly will take it because it’s intense, real and raw.

Fun fact: Sly and Beast Koujaku both have golden eyes, when they “transform”. Everyone has those three sides of their conscience but Aoba’s just have a distinct personality and identity each, which I think might lead to thinking that beast Koujaku might have a personality of his own. I think he’s somewhere in between, he’s obviously not like them, but he’s definitely his own entity. Like some kind of natural force, like rain, wind, the energy of the cosmos, possessing him, something more abstract than a spirit or god, which we usually see as human or animal-like appearance wise.

The first thing that strikes us when we see Aoba is that his design radically changes. When Sly takes control of his body it’s not like he suffers any physical changes, besides the shine of his eyes, however here he turns completely white. The only time we see something like that happen is when we see the true forms of Sei and Aoba, but those black marks don’t appear. This is what makes me wonder if the white color has something to do with those forms, as if it were some kind of symbolism of Sly “breaking free” and being himself, without restrictions, without Reason, but they don’t add the black marks to not spoil it, or because it looks like shit with the design, or because it simply has nothing to do with that.

The white color is the color of death, mourning, the color with which the deceased are dressed. A sterile color, without impurities, highly related to the spiritual world. Many white flowers are commonly used in funerals, usually Buddhist, such as the white chrysanthemum, used for its meaning of truth and sincerity. Aoba wears a white kimono and also gives one to Koujaku. These traditional elements could be there just to remember Koujaku but nothing in this document could ever be simple of course.

The hair of a dead person is considered to turn white after a certain period of time, meaning that the hair is no longer a source of impurities, it can't be possessed by an evil spirit, and can be transported beyond the border that marks the separation between the sacred realm of the dead and the ordinary world of the living.

His skin, his characteristic blue hair, his eyes and his clothes turn completely white because at this point Aoba is no longer there. Not in a literal sense, of course, but in a figurative sense, Aoba is dead. And this is basically the same thing that happens with Koujaku. They are both reborn, destroyed, spiritually dying so that something else can be created, the ID, the instinct of destruction, the two beasts freed from the bodies that held them prisoners.

His clothes in general resemble those of a Miko, with a more “fantastical” and sexualized appearance. This post talks about it as well. Again it’s a reference to the spiritual realm, their religious side and how Aoba/Sly is an object of devotion, of how Aoba is somewhat a channeler for Koujaku. Just like there are rituals that call the gods to our world, like I’ve said in the section about hair, which serves as a connection with gods, Aoba is the only thing that connects Koujaku with this world, the only reason why he’s still alive.

[junkerqueen444]

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[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

Of course people have a right to talk about a person, even if it's contrary to the story that person is telling about themselves - the alternative is terrifying.

And Maya confirming larry is real? Does the above apply?

I'm really curious if people are pretending not to understand the simplest of concepts for stan reasons. Or if standom has so fried people's brains that they don't get those concepts.

My point is that we don't actually have a collective cultural rule that people shouldn't talk about other people. Fans make up imaginary rules when people say things that they don't like about 1D members and pretend these are universal and then apply them selectively.

We do have a collective cultural rule that outting queer people is not OK (however tentatively it is observed in this fandom). So outting Louis or Harry would not be OK.

[foxcassius]

wait also my tags on that post were about people i knew in freshman and sophomore year of college specifically. i mean some of them i knew after that and most of them i knew from high school but damn some people really made everything about themselves when i was being emotionally manipulated in my freshman year

[sicksorrows]

my nanami hcs (nsfw & sfw)

idk if these are hcs or smth bc he'd look like he'd do most of these but anyway enjoy my rant on my man

sfw

he would allow you to do ANYTHING to him and I mean anything, or vice versa because he'd also do anything for you. if you ask him to do the laundry or dishes, he'd do it without asking any questions.

if you ask him for help on something he'd literally help you without making you feel dumb.

he would give you a good morning kiss every morning.

he would make breakfast for you every morning and if you didn't feel like eating it he'd persuade you anyway (I would still eat it even if I have the urge to throw up)

he would ask you to put his tie on for him before work, just so he could spend a little more time with you before he heads out--he would also give you a peck before leaving.

if he comes home from a mission and got severely injured he would run up to you right away to get his wounds treated.

he's a big spoon.

he is 100 precent devoted to you, he would remember every single thing about you, ranging from your birthday to your favourite food, to your siblings/parents name, anything.

if hes willing to do anything for you, then that means learning stuff you like just so he could connect with you better. for example you really love drawing, he would practice drawing everyday and show you it just to get the smallest reaction from you.

he is SO good at communication. say you both are having a heated argument, he would try to keep you, and himself calm, to help the situation better. and just basically be respectful throughout the way

he would never abuse you for his own entertainment, I just can't see him do that.

he gets jealous but doesn't show it, which leads me to that hes really good at hiding things or keeping things secret.

he is a soft spoken person.

brag about you to anyone he meets, or he would definitely bring you up in most conversations if it reminds him of you.

nsfw

he would so fuck you in his clothes, and it would always be the shirts because he loves the way you wear him.

he is such a switch.

he would enjoy pegging

he whines and begs, he is also a grunter.

praises you during and after sex, telling you how good you were and just basically makes you feel better about yourself.

he is slow and gentle but also pushes your limits the slightest, just to get a reaction out of you.

loves hand jobs ...

if you're sucking his dick he wouldn't make you take his full length unless you're ready for it.

oh my god he always asks for reassurance

angry sex..imagine him coming home angry from work or a mission and he just needs something to calm down, which is you. so he fucks you whilst still being angry, so you're basically his energy recharge

pulls your hair. especially during oral

into slight bdsm, (blindfolds, handcuffs ect.)

knows how to use his hands/fingers.

body worshipper.

teases or edges you.

if you're receiving backshots from him, he would be slow with you and hold onto you carefully.

if were talking about foreplay he is SLOW. he wants to savour his time with you and taste every part of you at his own pace, he isn't one to rush with it.

loves hearing you being loud, if you were quiet he'd force you to become loud somehow

he whimpers.

makes sex tapes on certain occasions..and jerks off to them later

if its a special occasion like your birthday, he would so give you birthday sex.

hes kind of the type to do semi public sex, for example; a changing room, the beach, movies, elevators

roleplays..

lastly, he is the aftercare king. after you guys are done whatever you were doing he would pamper you like a princess with seven servants. he would clean you up before himself, and make sure you feel satisfied when he finishes. when you both are clean he would cuddle you and stroke your hair as you fall asleep in his arms.

ughhh I love this man so much its actually making me go insane every single second of the day, my life is getting so fucked up because of this man. nanami is literally perfect in so many different ways, I literally have so much more scenarios or hcs for this man but I can't say it on here cuz I dont wanna get flamed...I need this man so badly I literally only told two of my friends about nanami because im worried my other friends would judge me for this. but either way i love him so so so so much oh my god the way I wish he was real, because id actually treat him like a king and not like some person who just wants him for sex...anyway...if he was real id actually give him the biggest hug ever and literally ask him out, I would not care if he rejected me, in fact id be happy that he even interacted with me because this man is so hot and beautiful and all of the above I know im out of his league, or not even his type. I need his dick inside me so badly and I know I say that a lot but genuinely I dont think his dick is enough for me, theres something about him that makes me want to have him by my side forever, I wish our souls combined and we are spiritually together. I wish that we could mold into each other and stay like that, forever. my love for this man can not compare to the love I have for anyone else. if I were to choose over nanami and my old hyper fixation from like 5 years ago, id choose nanami. and there may be some days where I just dont fuck with jjk but that may not change my love for him. I have never talked about a character this much esp it being an anime character but that doesn't stop me.

I want to give him the most malevolent, jaw dropping, hip thrusting best fucking head in the whole world. I dont care if it doesn't fit in my mouth id let my jaw lock if it had to be sucking him off. I wish jjk was an underground unknown show so I could just thirst over nanami so no one else could have him, but im glad it got popular because this is literally how I found my man. especially when I was a jjk hater and I never knew about him, but when I gave it a try im SO glad I did. im also SO grateful gege even made nanami a character, just a little ungrateful he killed him off but that okay! at least nanami existed through out two seasons. but if gege went with his other plan which was making nanami into a villain I would still hit cause oh my god the thought turns me on and im going insane about it. I literally wish I could write well, or draw well, so I could complete my desires which is drawing nanami in any way I could, or writing good scenarios with him but god gave me that ability to not draw (or write) because He knew id be unstoppable if I did, anyway, I need backshots from nanami until my voice practically runs out and the last words im left saying is: I love you, nanami.

[muzansfangs]

hello, may I request bleach male characters reaction to F! reader breaking up with them in a modern au?

You break up with them.

Starring: Kyoraku Shunsui x f!reader; Jugram Haschwalth x f!reader; Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x f!reader; Urahara Kisuke x f!reader; mention to Jushiro Ukitake, Ulquiorra Cifer, Yoruichi Shihoin and Sosuke Aizen;

Format: short-imagines;

Warnings: sfw, angst, modern au, breaking-up, alcohol consumption, toxic relationship, self-deprecating behavior, mental struggle, anxiety, psychological abuse, inferiority complex, suggestive themes, mutual pining, power imbalance, family problems, trust issues, infedelity, violence, gore;

Plot: Once upon a time, you were happy by their side. Things changed, though. Their flaws, their behaviors hurt you to the point of no return. You left them, they are now coping with the absence of the only woman they had ever claimed to love, whilst you try to build yourself up again.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Kyoraku Shunsui.

Lumpish, unsteady steps approched your bedroom. He probably figured you were already asleep. After all, it was three in the morning. However, you were wide-awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, a luggage at your feet and a livid expression plastered over your face. You had spared him the fatigue of moving cautiously in the room not to startle you. The last act of magnanimity you had ultimately decided to grant him.

“What are you doing awake, sweetheart?” Shunsui slurred, a frown on his face, droopy eyes boring into yours as he sauntered towards you confidently.

You scoffed, even jumping on your feet to catch him in your arms, when he tripped over the carpet. He was blind drunk, the stench of saké wafting over your face making your skin crawl and your heart shatter in your chest. It was already broken, for what could matter, hence your decision to leave. On the other hand, you cared way too much about him.

Shunsui sighed, slumping down onto the bed, weary from the lack of sleep and hours spent chugging down enough alcohol to slip you, or anyone else, into an ethylic coma. Dark circles under his eyes, disheveled hair and a feminine perfume that was not yours had given him away that night, like the privious ones. This relationship was toxic and you were not going to spend the best years of your youth attempting to save the life of a lothario who had a tendency of loving self-destructive activities.

“I’m leaving, Shunsui. We’re done. I can’t do this anymore” you simply explained, watching him sulk, obviously expecting you to give up on him, sooner or later.

“Is there anything I can do to make you stay?”.

You felt tears prickle at your eyes, jaw clenching as you shook your head and picked up your trolley. You were devastated.

“Don’t make it harder than it already is. — you admonished him, swallowing the lump in your throat as he stood up and tried to reach for your hand, but you stepped away — No, Shunsui. I tried really hard to show you how much I cared about you, about us. All you did was choosing bottles of liquors over me”.

“Honey, wait, I care about you, let’s go to sleep. We can talk about it tomorrow—” he rambled, his grey eyes shimmering in the dimly illuminated bedroom. They always seemed sincere, even his tone was softer and somehow more serious than it usually was. Yet, you knew better than falling for his sugarcoated promises to work on himself.

“There’s no tomorrow for us. We’ve been there before, Shunsui. I’m tired of being the only one invested into this relationship! It’s one-sided and, frankly, I don’t deserve it” you declared, watching him slick back one of his unruly cowlick constantly tickling his nose. You were going to miss him, of course you were.

No one fell out of love in one single night. Naturally, you were not an exception. You could not stop the tears rolling down your cheeks, not even a sob escaping your quivering lips, but you could run away to save your heart from being buried underneath a pile of ashes and dust, shambles of the wildfire consuming what remained of your love. Shunsui knew he had lost you. He fell onto his knees the moment you turned your back at him and walked out the room. He was in no condition to chase after you, not right now. He cussed and fell onto his knees, hands planted onto the carpet, fisting the fabric in his huge hands out of frustration and despair. It was all his fault and he knew you were right.

The sound of the front door slamming close made his heart sink into his chest as he punched the floor in anger. He was worried sick about you. Disappearing from his life in the dead of the night, alone, in a city as big as that. He felt miserable. He wanted you back. He wanted you safe in his arms, not alone at the bus station looking for a place to spend the night at.

You were right to leave him. He had no right to stop you. Shunsui knew he did not deserve you. But he could try to change and, hopefully, win you back. The last thing he did before laying down onto the floor was sending a message to you.

“Please, send me a text, when you’re somewhere safe”.

Obviously, you did not text him back, but your mutual friend Jushiro did. At least, Shunsui thought, you were in good hands. Better than his ones, undoubtedly.

Haschwalth Jugram.

It happened after the umpteenth dinner at the Royal Palace. Your relationship with him was balanced. He treated you with so much care, stared at you from across the rooms in adoration and reverence, gave you more than you could have ever asked for. The real problem was who he was: a Prince, the scion of a Royal family that had never truly accepted you and the class you came from.

His father’s glacial stare spoke volumes, it made you feel so out of place you often ended up having panic attacks during balls and dinners. The spotlight was perpetually on you. Snippy remarks from his mother and the uptight members of the upper class hanging around the royal family poisoned you to no end. Restless nights and a sudden incapacity to concentrate on easy tasks, such as walking down aisles alone, or dancing with your beloved boyfriend under their attentive eyes, were the results of their ferocious tongues.

The worst part of it was that you had no one to talk to about the stressful situation you were experiencing. You had been forced to move to the castle with your boyfriend, determining your connections outside to keep their distance from you. Your old flat had been abandoned along with your ordinary life. Nights out in a pub with your friends had become a taboo and even the necessary visits to your parents had been drastically reduced to mere lunches with bodyguards roaming through their house.

Talking to Haschwalth about your uneasiness and discomfort had led to arguments between the two of you and you had not failed to notice how his mother seemed uncharacteristically gregarious the day after your altercations with her son. Maids talked a lot, unfortunately. However, you were not going to tolerate this situation any longer. Collecting your clothes and belongings into a bag, you had asked Haschwalth to meet you at the train station, after escaping the bodyguards’ watch, while shopping at the mall.

When he found you, alone, piercing blue eyes pinning you on the spot, he realized it was the end of the road for you two. You were distraught, hands wiping away the tears from your face, whilst you attempted to talk.

“I love you. I really do. But that’s not the life I expected to live with you. It’s never the two of us. They hate me, Haschwalth” you started, your boyfriend’s jaw clenching.

“I am expected to become the King of this Country. If you wish for me to turn my back at my family, you are clearly mistaken” he replied lowly, twisting the blade in your heart already making you bleed out before his magnificent eyes.

You shook your head “That’s why I have to leave, Haschwalth. I don’t want you to give up on the throne, or go against your family. I just… I needed you to stand by my side, when they denigrated me publicly” you punctuated, but even this was not enough to make him flinch.

They had taught him how to suppress his emotions well. Stolid, impassive, detached from sentimental matters. Maybe way too much for him to build a strong, intimate connection in a healthy relationship.

He did not look away, instead he took a single step closer to you “You do understand that’s not affordable for the future heir of the throne? It’s something beyond my willpower. — he replied, voice firm and devoid of any affection he had usually opted for in your regards — I would never ask you to disrepect your parents, if their antics offended me. Insofar as possible, I’ll make sure you can rely on me. Don’t make a scene”.

“No, Haschwalth. I refuse to be mistreated by the band of lackeys your mother surrounds herself with and pretend everything’s fine! — you blurted out, drawing the attention of some people waiting for their train on the platform — I should have known I meant less than a noble title” you choked out, right before turning around and heading straight to the coach assigned to you.

His eyes followed you, a turmoil of contrasting feelings making their way in his mind. This was far from the life he wanted to share with you. Only when he saw the train departing, he realized he had lost you forever and how severe the emotional damage his parents had inflicted to him really was. He felt kind of dehumanized, an empty shell even in private matters.

Your absence affected him more than you could have ever imagined. He watched you from afar for months, making sure you were fine without him. And you were. It hurt him immensely and, even though he wanted to contact you, he did not. You needed space and time and it was probably for the better. He had watched your lovable smile fade from your face through the time you had spent at the Royal Palace. Now, watching you eat a pizza with your friends, he witnessed to you blossoming again into the radiant girl he had met a long time ago.

Maybe, one day, if you still wanted him, he would have come knocking at your door again, offering his heart to you on a silver tray.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

From the moment you had seen him getting off of his motorbike outside a bar, black leather jacket and cheeky grin modeling the wondrous eyes of the girls sipping on their drinks into glossy hearts, hoping vainly for him to choose them, you knew he was troubles. The wise ones turned their heads away from him, reminding themselves of who he was, where he came from and what kind of a player he was. You had tried to do the same, but you were a little more adventurous and naive back then.

He bought you a drink, rizzed you up and you decided to stay by his side for more than a one-night stand. Boy, how delighted you were to find out he actually had decided to stop collecting broken hearts anywhere he went. You dated for a while, then you settled down and your life turned upside down. You met his friends, learned a little more about the place he came from and you had the confirmation he was part of a gang called ‘The Espada’.

You thought you could handle the situation. You even stitched up his friends for free, when they dropped by your house wounded, collecting scars from the violent fights with cops, or members of other gangs. It took a while to realize Grimmjow did not want to change his lifestyle. According to him, he already had made a lot of progresses since you two had become a couple. You would have been a liar not to agree with him on that: after all, he had even dressed up in a nice clean white shirt and attended a dinner with your parents. He behaved that night, you felt on cloud nine.

But things changed abruptly a couple of weeks later.

He began to come home later than usual, battered, nervous. The news an emerging gang was raising and had declared war to ‘The Espada’ began to spread.

It was your best friend’s birthday and Grimmjow had been invited too. He was busy patrolling a zone, hence he had let you know he would have met up with you later. When hours began to pass and most of the guests had left the party, you sensed something had gone wrong. You hopped into your car, driving to what you had grown to learn was his gang’s den. Of course they tried to keep you out of the situation, but how could you not fight your way inside, when you heard someone screaming at the top of his lungs. The scene welcoming you into that barrelhouse made your stomach churn. A man, battered, tethered like an animal to a chair. His face was a bloody mess, but so was your boyfriend’s one.

When your eyes met, he cussed and punched that man one last time before marching towards you. For the first time ever you feared he was going to harm you too and, when his hand gripped your forearm with far less grace than you expected, you began to wriggle in terror.

“Let me go! Grimmjow, hands off, now!” you squealed, your protests falling to deaf ears as he led you out of the pub.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”.

“Is that even important?! Look at yourself, Grimmjow! That’s blood! There’s blood on your clothes, on your face! What the Hell was that?” you questioned him, hands trying to reach for his face to check on him for any injuries.

He groaned and turned his head to the side scornfully “It’s not mine, alright? Mind your damn business, princess. That’s not a place for you. What is it, don’t you like this anymore?”.

His words blinded you, the sound of your hand colliding against his cheek made you flinch as well. You had hit him. You really had. Despite that, the one sobbing before his eyes were you. He sighed, glaring down at your smaller frame like a caged animal. He was restraining himself.

You took a step back, swallowing thickly “I can’t stand there and watch you ruin your life and… And kill people” you stated then, hands shaking.

Grimmjow shoved his hands into his pockets, eyeing you contemptuously “I was like that before I met you, sweet cheeks. — he gruffly said — If you want to stick around, suck it up. Otherwise, go hook up with a Prince. One of those fuckers whose hands smell like money, not of gasoline and blood”.

The world seemed to shake under your feet, your hand clasped over your mouth as you realized how stupid you had been to fall for him. To believe he could actually change. He was toxic for you. He was a monster. This was not your boyfriend.

“Fuck you” you muttered, jogging towards your car with a blurry vision and stomach cramps. You drove away into the night, miraculously making it back home safe and sound. Clueless, among other things, that Grimmjow had sent Ulquiorra after you to make sure you were fine.

Deep down he knew he had screwed up and, every single time he drove by your house, he remembered all those summer evenings spent on your rooftop with your fingers running through his soft blue hair and how much loved he had felt for the first time ever in his life. It was not just sex. It was not just about the way he fucked you. You were not a random girl. He loved you.

Urahara Kisuke.

A brilliant, laidback engineer who had easily whisked you off to live a colourful life travelling the world by his side. It was easy loving Kisuke Urahara. He never missed a chance to make you laugh and tell you to pack your stuff for your next tropical destination, a trip organized specifically for a project he was working on. He was also a party person, very popular among important people and, unfortunately, with the ladies.

Kisuke would have never broken your heart. This was what he had promised you so many times, espacially while you were tangled into the bedsheets of your bedroom. Panting, sweating, he swore to love you through breathy groans. You believed him, of course you did. Maybe, you should have kept an eye on him and his best friend, the eclectic artist Yoruichi Shihoin. Maybe you should have not let her hang around with him so often. Still, you did not like being controlling. You had no apparent reason to be resentful to her, or to put a leash on your boyfriend.

Staring in horror at the two of them, naked, into the bed where Kisuke had told you so many times you were the only woman he loved, felt like someone had kicked you in your guts. They had played you like a complete idiot. It pained you to find out your boyfriend’s rival was right. He had tried to warn you about Kisuke’s habit of enchanting people with words and hide his second nature masterly.

“I can explain!” Kisuke breathed out, reaching for his sweatpants in a hurry to chase after you.

Yoruichi, on the other hand, sat comfortably on your side of the bed. Her topaz yellow eyes bored into yours, a mocking grin gracing her lips. She could keep him, for all you cared. A man who cheated would have done it again and again.

You scoffed and stormed out of the bedroom hastily “I don’t need a goddamn oculist, Kisuke. Go to Hell” you snapped, hellbent to leave that house as soon as possible.

He ran after you, quick to block your path “Baby, please, I know I fucked up. I’m sorry, I’m terribly sorry! Just… Just let me explain” he pleaded you, the vulnerability in his eyes almost making you faltering. But it was enough. You were fed up. He had cheated on you, you had wasted opportunities and chances to support him in his work. All for what?

Where did it get you? To be disrespected in your own house, under your nose.

“No, thank you, I don’t want to hear another word coming out of your mouth. Congrats for having reduced our relationship to a huge pile of shit. That’s the best construction you’ve ever made” you spitefully hissed at his face, your throat constricting with each hateful word leaving your mouth as you pushed past him and ran off to your car.

Kisuke fell onto his knees, hands fisting his sandy hair, while he realized what he had done. He felt lost without you. Yoruichi made her getaway almost immediately, leaving him alone and with a shattered heart in his chest. The bitter taste of your break-up indulged on his tongue for a long time, culminating in a terrible phase of regrets when he saw you walking by Sosuke Aizen’s side. A gleeful smile on your lips, you let that bastard loop his arm around your waist.

You seemed happy. You truly were. The problem was you were happy without him. This was something he could have never done a damn thing about.

Kisuke knew he had lost you forever.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! Angst, yes, a lot of angst. If any of the above shit happen to you, RUN FROM THAT MAN. Those are not red flags, those are RED BLANKETS. Love you all! Let me know what you think about this!

As per usual, likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Love,

Luce

[bloodlust-1]

Would you be okay with writing something with a Tav who is a virgin that is kind of scared of sex but still desires Astarion?

Totally! I imagine Astarion to be completely shocked, but relieved. Why? Tav would never have to experience the sexual abuse he had. Some lovey-dovey Astarion, anyone?

Hope this is good enough anon! <3

˚ ° A purity like yours ° ˚ part 1

Astarion x fem Tav — fluff, Explicit 18+

Summary: Tav has a secret that’s been heavy on her heart. Her virginity was a topic she ran away from, but it’s time for Astarion to know the truth.

Notes: I LOVE making companions in love, it makes me whelm all up inside🥹 Not exactly smut, but talks of explicit topics. Part 2

Tav sat quietly, her eyes focused on the floor as Astarion licked the last of her blood from his lips. Tav was unusually silent and he wasn't sure what was bothering her so much of lately.

He paused and narrowed his eyes, "You're rather quiet this feeding, my sweet. Is something wrong?"

Tav lifted her head slightly and looked up at Astarion. "I'm just...thinking," she said softly.

To Astarion, Tav was always thinking of lately. Especially when he's done feeding from her. He was confused if maybe he had done anything wrong? Was she having any doubts about their relationship?

Astarion brushed Tav's hair away from her eyes and smiled. "About what?"

Tav looked away again, her brows furrowed in concentration. "Just...us, and our intimacy." She shook her head, pushing away the thoughts. "It doesn't matter. I'm alright."

Astarion cupped Tav's face in his hands and looked into her eyes. "It does matter. Tell me, what's wrong?"

Tav sighed. "I feel so...embarrassed." She mustered any courage to finally look at him, her eyes glistening. "I feel like there should be something more to this. W-When you feed from me, I mean."

Astarion tilted his head confused, "You're embarrassed because you want to do something more?"

Admittingly he was blank. But when Tav opened her mouth his eyes widened in - anticipation. Even his ears pointed up with shock.

Tav didn't know which stung more, the fresh punctures on her neck or her confession.

"I just want to make you feel good and I want to have sex with you but-"

Tav bit down on her lower lip, she could feel the heat running into her eyes as her vision became blurry. "I just don't know how...I've never had sex before."

Tav finally allowed the emotions that had been building up inside her to come pouring out. She felt a deep sense of relief, but at the same time, a wave of shame washed over her. She felt embarrassed for even having to ask Astarion for sex, feeling naive and inexperienced.

At the same time, Tav felt so inadequate when it came to physical intimacy; Astarion was the only one who had any sort of skill in that area. And it made her feel so small.

Astarion's expression softened as he realized what Tav had been hiding from him. "...No -...you?"

Tav wiped away the single tear, nodding.

Astarion felt his face burning as his heart raced and his palms grew sweaty. Tav was absolutely stunning and he had been wondering why she had grown so flustered and shy when her body trembled and begged for him. Now it all made sense.

"But..." Astarion cut himself short in the midst of his thoughts, overwhelmed by the magnitude of her offer.

He was taken aback by her beauty, her inexperience, and her willingness to give him something so special, something so treasured and valuable.

But Astarion felt undeserving - he couldn't help but feel guilty. He knew she deserved much better and that her virginity was too precious to give to someone like him.

He chuckled softly and scratched the side of his head, "I am the worst person for this." Meaningful sex? This was completely foreign to him. How could she even ask him that? Of course, he wanted her more than anything.

He leaned over and with the pad of his thumb, he wiped away Tav's damped cheek, "Now, now, little love." His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer until she sat on his lap. "You should not feel ashamed of something like this. I mean, look at me."

Astarion's ears lowered in shame as he half smiled, "I can't remember half the people who used my body. I wish I knew a purity like yours." He rested his head on Tav's shoulder, "I'm just relieved you will never feel what I've felt."

Astarion felt protective towards Tav more than ever, he wanted to keep her safe. No harm would come to her as long as he was there to watch over.

Tav threaded her fingers between his white curls, sniffling away the embarrassment, "I want to feel you in every way possible, even if you think you're unworthy." Her lips connected with the skin of his forehead. "You were always special to me, Astarion."

He shifted his head up, catching the glisten in Tav's eyes. She chose him and still continues to each day. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?" He scuffed sarcastically before pulling Tav into a kiss.

His hands gently caressed her spine down into her back dimples. Astarion felt Tav shudder under his hold. She started to breathe heavily into the kiss, "I want you to know how much I love you..." Her eyes locked with his.

"Darling, you don't need to prove yourself with your body." The tension around them went soft and he held tightly onto her body, laying them both down against Tav's bedding.

Astarion cuddled Tav closely against his chest in an embrace. "On a perfect night, when the sky is clear and the environment is forgiving, I will take you into me and make you feel things you've never felt before. Ecstasy, my love."

"What if I don't know what to do?" Tav nervously glanced up at Astarion, who was quietly gazing out into the distance while gently stroking her hair. He was trying to be patient and not pressure her into making any decisions.

He wanted to take her under a bed of stars, and tonight he just wanted to hold her in his arms. Shield her from anything like he wished someone did for him. He would be that somebody he needed so long ago.

"I'll teach you, of course." He reassured her softly, still stroking her hair.

"You're not the only one who would be learning something." He peeked down at Tav, a smile tugging on his lips smugly.

"What, how?

Astarion's hands ran down Tav's side. His touch was gentle yet confident as he moved lower and lower. He whispered sweet nothings in her ear, telling her how beautiful and perfect she was. "I need to learn what gets you hot - "

Astarion smiled slyly as he felt her body react to his touch, knowing that he was driving her wild. His hands moved with a sensual grace as if they had done this many times before. "Where you shiver - "

"Where it hurts - " his hand gripped Tav's ass firmly, making Tav blush and squirm. Astarion continued to fondle Tav's ass, enjoying the feel of it in his hands and the way that the heat from Tav's skin seemed to seep into his own.

He leaned over Tav's ear, whispering teasingly, "Where you would want me to cum. Inside your tight cunt, or outside your soft stomach…"

Tav's body grew hot and her heart raced as Astarion's hand explored her body. She gazed up to look at him, her eyes wide with surprise and pleasure. Astarion smiled and leaned in to kiss Tav, their lips lingering together as he continued to caress Tav's ass. Intertwining their tongues together in a harmonious dance. She felt herself melting into his embrace, her body trembling with pleasure.

After what felt like an eternity, Astarion finally pulled away, and a satisfied smile tugged his lips. Tav blushed deeper, wondering what Astarion was thinking.

He chuckled, leaning in to kiss Tav's cheek. "You're so beautiful," his voice low and husky. Tav felt the aching between her legs, but she smiled, feeling her heart swell with happiness instead.

Sex was a scary thing for Tav. However, Astarion made her feel safe and seen, so maybe it was all in her head. She looked forward to when Astarion would take her as his.

They lay there in each other's arms for a while, their bodies intertwined in a peaceful embrace. Love was more than just sex, and it proved a hell of a point to them both.

Part 2 here

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

[portraitsofguilt]

── # 𝗖𝗛𝗥𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗠𝗔𝗦 𝗕𝗢𝗡𝗨𝗦 lawyer! abby anderson

content warnings.          18+ MDNI, nsfw content, SMUT, female-bodied reader, lawyer! abby anderson, apprentice! reader, semi-public sex, office sex, implied age gap (?), power imbalance, praise kink (reader), fingering, eating out, kissing, tiny spots of dark content,

author's note.   this is really just yapping and some smut but hopefully it's not disappointing either way HAHAHAHA enjoy.........

so, there wasn’t a lot you could have done about the unfortunate hours you were called in for just try and bear it with the unlimited coffee that the office let you have. you wouldn’t call it a christmas bonus, but it was definitely not the cheap blend they left out, this one actually tasted like coffee and not just some dirt brown liquid with some caffeine sprinkled in it. for a law firm designed for the people who had money to spare, they sure skimped on procurement of the cure for sleep deprivation.

“let’s have a chat in my office.”

out of anything that graced the earth to wake people up, miss anderson, top partner of the law firm and who you were assigned to do grunt work before you could take on your own cases was the best remedy for the last rush of cases before everything stopped for the holidays.

miss anderson always asked you at times like this to sit into her chair, imagine yourself as the top partner, and the stress it came with which you usually stammered out a couple of apologies for because you were there to make her life easier, not to stress her out even more with your rookie comments.

“don’t worry darling, it’s the managing partner’s fault, not yours.”

comments like that puts you at ease, gives you back that spark you need to keep going for that bright future of being a big shot lawyer at one of the best law firms nationwide. it gives her the very opportunity she was looking for to take advantage of- you buried deep within her cherry-picked praises that you don’t even notice when she goes to the door to turn the lock and dim the lights, that her heels are now not clicking with rush but with a sort of sultriness (not that you were paying attention to anything but her words).

and oh god her words, she could talk you into anything and she knew it, abused it just the way you wouldn’t complain about it to anyone, and even if you thought about gloating, there was just no way anyone would believe you. it was an all-evil plot to use you for her own ease, to get rid of that thumping headache that always tore through her eyes and ears.

“next to your christmas bonus, I have come up with my own form of… gratitude.”

 because everything has led up to this moment, although she wasn’t too keen on kneeling for an apprentice, her head being between your thighs with the plush of them warming her ears and your moans calming that migraine that the snow and deadlines brought with themselves. needing and wanting more was on both of your minds as miss anderson’s tongue delved deeper within your leaking hole, with a thumb gently circling your clit and an empty hand filling itself with all that it could find under your white button up.

she is slowly easing you into a rhythm, something that followed the tempo of the slow christmas music faintly playing in the background, but overtime as the world faded, so did the sluggish movements of her tongue and fingers, and soon she was eating you out like there was a time rush, a hungry animal who could only survive on your sweet nectar pried from you with numbing pleasure.

you couldn’t place yourself when the knot in your stomach started to tighten, the rush of adrenaline that surged through you at the promise of an orgasm made you tear up the expensive leather of your boss’s chair and almost dig a hole into her spine with your high heel. it was a shot of ecstasy after each bold stroke of her finger that moved through your clenching walls and if she hadn’t told you to keep quiet then stuff your panties into your mouth to actually keep you quiet, you were almost certain that cops would’ve showed up at the rate you would have screamed at.

but the night wasn’t over after she kissed and fingered you through your climax, not when her lips were so addicting that after she completely pulled away, hands cradling your face as she pulled you closer to herself. on top of her desk, legs open and skirt riding up until her black lacy panties just peak out, letting you have a sample like a search-and-rescue dog, getting you hooked on the smell alone and having you want more and more until there is nothing left for you to look for.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Seven — Azriel x Reader

Note: I hope you enjoy this part because I’m not overly happy with how it’s written, I don’t know why 😭probably just me being a DUMBASS. Also, it’s still not letting me tag some of you 😩anyone know why?

Summary: The Bat Boys are worried about reader. Cassian’s getting a little suspicious of Kaeda. Azriel is really, really missing his friend.

Word count: 7k.

Warnings: Some injury detail.

“He cannot do this. Surely, he cannot fucking do this.”

Azriel slams his fist on the table so hard that ale sloshes over the lip of a mug. The atmosphere in the mead hall is unusually calm tonight. There’s more laughter than arguing, and some dickhead with a lute is even providing the attendants with music. But at the centre table, a cloud of doom darkens the mood.

Everyone has wisely given Rhys, Cassian and Azriel a wide berth.

Tensions are high. Something’s got to give.

“His role in this camp is to oversee our training.” Az balls his fists. “Not to get involved with how we spend our time outside of it.” He eyes Cass and Rhys opposite him. “Right?”

“Technically, yes.” Rhys confirms. “But as the overseer of said training, he also has the authority to remove any distractions as he sees fit.”

“Distractions? She’s our friend, not a fucking toy—”

“I’m just putting it to you straight, Az. It’s the typical Illyrian attitude rearing its ugly head. All four of us made the decision to go to Fenlaros, and yet it’s the female who shoulders the blame.”

“It’s fucking ridiculous.” Cassian finally speaks up.

He hasn’t said much. Too busy thinking about last night.

Nobody knows a thing about that wild, impulsive fuck except him and Y/N. He plans to keep it that way. Not out of any sense of regret, but…he doesn’t know. His brain is ticking over.

He can’t help wondering something that’s never occurred to him before.

Is Y/N branded a certain way by Illyrian ideologies because the closest people to her are males? Has she unfairly gained a reputation — one that would be made worse if what she and Cassian had done became common knowledge?

He doesn’t want to be the reason she gets more shit thrown her way. He’s starting to think he should think harder before he acts. Maybe last night was a mistake. He can’t even see Y/N to talk it through with her.

“So what do we do?” Az is asking as Cass zones back in. “There’s got to be something. Do we take the matter to your father?”

Rhys cocks an eyebrow. “Be real for a second, Az. My father would laugh us out of Velaris. He doesn’t concern himself with trivial camp matters.”

“Y/N having to choose between an abusive household or perishing in the snow is not a trivial matter.”

“To him, it is. He’d tell Devlon to lead and do what he believes is right. Which, he already has, even if we don’t agree with it.”

“Well that’s bullshit. We can’t just lie down and do nothing—”

“I’m not saying that, Az—”

“What about your mother? She adores Y/N. Surely she could appeal to your father—”

“No. She’s pregnant. She stays out of this.”

“Then what do you suggest, Rhysand?”

“How about you start by explaining to Cass and I what’s gotten into you recently?”

Finally, Az has nothing to say. He goes silent. Still.

He stares back at his two friends like he can’t imagine why they would wonder such a thing.

And then he purses his lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Cassian scoffs. “Please. Even I think you starting fights left and right has been extreme.”

“Fuck you. You’re totally exaggerating.”

Rhysand raises an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“We’re just worried that your behaviour has changed since Kaeda came into the picture—”

“You know what I’m worried about?” Az snaps. “Our friend who is literally homeless as of this morning. That’s a little more important, don’t you think?”

Yes…and no. It’s not that Cassian and Rhys don’t agree. It’s just that…that all roads lead back to Kaeda. And that’s becoming a problem.

“We’re not just going to leave Y/N to deal with this alone, Az.” Rhys tells him. “We just need to be careful about how we deal with it. Devlon isn’t messing around. I don’t want us to cause her more trouble.”

As folds his arms. “So what do you suggest?”

“I’ll talk to Y/N’s friend — Vegha. I’m sure she can open her home to Y/N while we figure things out. Just don’t do anything impulsive or stupid.”

That seems to appease Az a little. He sits back in his chair — allows himself to be a bit more open.

Until Cass totally fucking ruins it and says, “And don’t go starting any more fights just to impress Kaeda.”

Az says again, “Fuck you.”

Cass returns a withering look. “Fuck you right back.”

“Productive.” Rhys comments, shaking his head. He pushes to his feet, and both his friends look round.

“Where are you going?” Az asks.

“To speak with Vegha.” Rhys tells him. “And don’t follow me. You two idiots will only make things worse.”

He has no idea how right he is.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

It starts with the fire going out. Always.

The door swings open hard enough to hit the wall, and freezing air envelops the place. Your father tracks snow into the house, and he smells so strongly of booze that it permeates the room and spreads like a sickness.

You are five years old. You like to draw things in the soot that coats the fireplace. You don’t like green apples, but red ones aren’t so bad. The house always feels untidy since mama stole away in the dead of night a year ago. You try to keep on top of the cleaning, but the damp and the cold makes your hands sore, your bones ache.

Every night, you sit with your hands in your lap and wait for your father to return home. If he’s coming back from the forge, he’s tired and in a bad mood. If he’s coming back from the mead hall or a tavern, he’s drunk and in a really bad mood.

Tonight is the latter. But not only is he drunk and in a bad mood — he’s also brought company.

Four other males. They’re all huge — too huge to fit into the house, you think. If they’ve come for food, there isn’t any. If they’ve come for comfort, there isn’t any of that, either.

But they’re looking at you, all four of them. And in some way, you know that it’s you they’ve come for.

“This is the one?” A male with reddish-brown hair asks.

“I have only one.” Your father answers, and he jerks a chin in your direction. “That is it.”

It.

“Scrawny. There’s barely anything of her.” A second male comments. “This won’t be difficult.”

“I always think that,” reddish-brown answers, “and then they start fighting back. Kicking and scratching.”

You may only be five, but you are not foolish. Something is very, very wrong. A sinister wave has swept your already-miserable home, and you are about to be swallowed up in it. You eye the four males with wide eyes and scoot back a little.

Reddish-brown is the leader. He folds his arms with an authoritative air and announces, “Pathorn and Yevmael can hold her down,” he turns to the second male, “you take one wing, and I’ll take the other.”

The male that steps towards you from the back has eyes as black as the soot in the hearth. His lips twitch up on one side, and he says, “Come here, then, little pup.”

You do not move.

“Come.” He repeats. “It won’t hurt…much.”

They laugh at that.

You tuck your dirty, bruised knees tightly into your chest and rest your chin atop of them. You say nothing, make no move.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” His friend at the back says, stalking over to you. “Just pick her up.”

He does exactly that — by the scruff of your neck. You yelp as he yanks you into the air, and on instinct, your arms are flailing, legs kicking, tiny wings flaring.

“Look at that.” Charcoal eyes sneers at those very wings. “It’s a fucking abomination.”

If this is a game, you don’t like it. You twist in the male’s grasp, try to wriggle free, and he growls a curse at you. You growl back — a fierce, fierce noise, you think. It makes the males laugh again.

“On the table.” Reddish-brown says. “Face-down.”

“Papa,” you fight, “papa, papa, papa.”

There comes no response. It’s then that you realise he’s removed himself from the room. Left you with these monsters.

“Quiet now, pup.” Charcoal eyes says. “This won’t take long.”

You want to scratch him, and you try, even though your nails are chewed and bitten, despite mama always telling you not to do that. But mama isn’t here now and neither is papa. It’s just strangers with angry faces. Strangers who want to hurt you.

You’re slammed down onto the table, and you let out a cry. Someone holds your legs down. Another person holds your arms.

You are five years old. You like to draw pictures in the soot that covers the fireplace. You don’t like green apples, but red ones aren’t so bad. You are utterly and totally alone.

“I hope you never thought about flying.” Reddish-brown steps up to you. “That day will never come.”

And then they begin hacking at your wings.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Your father takes you to a healer only when it’s almost too late. A fever scorches you head to toe. You think that mama returns to sit by your bedside, but that isn’t real. It’s a dream.

You’re too weak. You sleep fitfully on your front, because trembles wrack your body that continuously wake you up. You jerk every time the pain at your back gets too much.

The door opens, and you wonder if mama is returning again. You like that dream. But it’s your father, accompanied by the male who has been leaning over your weakened body for days.

“Will she live?” Your father asks.

“She will.” The healer tells him. “If she can fight off the infection.”

“Can’t you just give her a tonic, or something?”

“This is the worst wing clipping I have ever seen. There are ample healers in Illyria who are qualified to carry out the practice. What possessed you to instead leave her in the hands of a group of soldiers?”

“I will do with my child as I see fit.”

“You may no longer have a child, if she cannot fight this. Her life hangs in the balance.”

Your father makes a noise that sounds like a growl. He does that when you’re in his way, and he just wants to sit quietly without you lingering around him. “Give her a fucking tonic—”

“If she survives this,” the healer tells him, “she will be scarred and in pain for the rest of her life. You did not merely clip her wings. You butchered them. This is precisely why a healer should be the one to perform the procedure—”

Your body jerks with a fresh wave of pain, and you whimper. Both your father and the healer look over at you.

Your father’s lip curls, and he turns to the male once more. “Fix her.” He commands. “Because if you can’t, you’re helping me bury the body.”

No. The males will come back and put their hands on you again. They’ll bury a body. They’ll bury your body. They’re going to bury you. Soil will fall on your ruined wings, and when mama truly does come back, she’ll have only an unmarked grave to greet you at.

You try to move, but you’re strapped down. You whimper again.

Bury the body.

Bury the body.

Bury the—

Your body lurches up.

Sweat slicks your skin. You press a hand to your forehead, but it’s cool, not burdened by fever. You’ve awoken like this every morning for the past week.

The dreams are burdening you a lot right now. The memories.

They remind you, at least, why you will not return to your father’s home. Even if you end up hunching yourself up in doorways and exhausting any other dire options.

You hear a noise from the doorway, and you rub the bleariness from your eyes. Illuminated by the dim light in the hall, a male leans against the doorframe. He watches you nonchalantly, biting into an apple. Green, not red.

“You were shouting in your sleep again.”

You heave a deep, slow sigh and rake your fingers through your hair. Sweat soaks the strands.

“You dream often about burying bodies, don’t you?” The male steps into the room. He flares his wings, and you try not to look at them. “You’re quite odd. I think I like it.”

“Get out, Markis.” You sigh again. “Stop watching me sleep. It’s strange.”

“Is it more or less strange than chanting about burying a body?” He smirks. “And you’re in my house, remember? You can’t tell me to get out.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my house, too, and I can.” Suddenly, Vegha is appearing. She swats her younger brother, and a slither of relief settles into you. “Stop bugging her, Markis. Go to the training rings, or something.”

Markis so clearly doesn’t want to leave. He eyes you, his gaze falling from your neck, down to the old, threadbare sweater that you’ve been sleeping in. It’s Azriel’s — still smells like him.

The intensity of the male’s gaze is uncomfortable. And after a week of tolerating it, you’re not sure you can any longer.

“Fine.” He swallows down a bite of apple. He sends you a leering smirk. “I’ll tell your friends you said hello.”

Vegha rolls her eyes. “Markis, just leave before I boil your entire head—

“I’m going, I’m going.”

The male strides out of the room, shooting you one last look over his shoulder. You should ignore it, because the idiot is just basking in the novelty of having a female under his roof that he’s not related to, but the discomfort has sunk itself under your skin, and you’re not sure you can live with it.

Which is a bit of a problem, considering there are no other avenues for you to explore, and have nowhere else to go.

Vegha shuts the door behind her brother and turns to you. “You slept fitfully again.”

“Yes.” You feel a little bad admitting it. It’s not her, nor her family home, nor the bed that’s the problem. It’s you. All you. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Of course, you do. I wish there was more I could do to help.”

“You’ve done more than enough, Vegha.”

She doesn’t look convinced. The worried streak in her eyes is an indicator of how terrible you look. And you know she’s just caring for you as your friend, but you can’t stand it. One more pitying glance may push you over the edge.

“I have to get to the crèche.” She tells you. “Can I get you anything before I leave?”

“No—thank you.” You sit up. “Listen…I won’t be here when you return home. I’m getting out of your hair today.”

She pauses. Studies you. “You’re not in my hair. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you need. Ignore Markis — he’s a cock.”

You breathe a soft laugh. But you can’t ignore Markis — not any longer. Just as you haven’t been able to ignore any of the males who have made the past week even more difficult than it already was.

Illyrian males are…are a sickness. They’re bred in violence and depravity. So few of them are good.

And if the past week without Azriel, Rhys and Cassian has taught you anything, it’s that to some degree, your exposure to such behaviours has always been muted, thanks to their protection. They’ve been a strong unit around you since you were eleven years old. Most males have been wise enough to steer clear and escape the wrath that would come down on them for messing with you.

But now you’re forbidden from seeing them, and you’re free game for any fucking male in this gods-forsaken place.

You need to be away from them. To be on your own.

“I know.” You answer Vegha. “And I appreciate you opening your home to me, I really do. But it’s fine — I’ve made other arrangements.”

The look she gives you is dubious. She doesn’t believe you, and rightfully so — it’s total bullshit. “You have?”

“I have.” You dip your chin. “I’ll be just fine.”

“…well I’m glad to hear it. You’ll come right back here if those plans fall through, right?”

“Of course I will.” No.

She hesitates at the door. She’s been nothing but kind and accommodating to you — a real friend.

But it’s bad enough not being able to escape the males that haunt your dreams. There’s a damn good reason for you staunchly refusing to return to your father. You will not swap one monster for another.

“I’ll see you soon, then.” Vegha studies you. There’s a sadness in her brown eyes. She genuinely cares. “Take care, Y/N.”

“I will.” You force a breezing smile. “And you, also.”

She inclines her head, and then she’s slipping out of the room. The silence only gives way for your too-near dreams to dig their claws in. You scrub your hands harshly over your face and push to your feet.

You don’t know where you’ll go. It’s tempting to ignore Lord Devlon’s warning and race back to the cottage. Drama may await you there — a total mess that you somewhat made for yourself — but at least you’d be warm and safe while facing it.

You can’t — you know you can’t. You don’t want Az or Cass or Rhys to face any consequences.

So after you get yourself ready and gather what little stuff you have, you head out into the snow and hope you won’t be sleeping in it that night.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Azriel strikes at the sparring dummy as if it fucked his wife and stole his seat at the dinner table.

The damn things are supposed to be bolted to the ground, but a couple of bolts are no match against the fearsome shadowsinger.

He strikes and strikes until the object is more or less obliterated, because fuck the sparring dummy, that’s why. Fuck the sparring dummy, and fuck Lord Devlon, and fuck—

“I think you made your point.” A trilling voice cuts through his red mist of rage. “How about you set the sword down and have some water?”

Perhaps it’s just Azriel’s anger thinking for him, but he doesn’t feel that Kaeda has been particularly helpful from where she’s perched atop a smooth rock. She cleans her nails with the tip of a dagger and stretches her wings out around her.

Across the ring, Cassian watches and turns to Rhysand. “Why is she allowed to be here, but Y/N isn’t?”

Rhys shrugs his tense shoulders. He doesn’t know the answer.

The two of them step closer to where their brother is trying to breathe through his fury. He’s not coping so well.

See, Azriel has experience with missing things. He misses his mother all the time. Sometimes it’s a dull ache, manageable amongst the mundane comings and goings of life. Other times, it hurts so bad that he doesn’t think clawing his chest open would be too extreme a reaction. Missing a person is a sensation that knits itself under his skin and seeps into the marrow of his bones. It’s relentless and hideous.

Missing Y/N is a new kind of torture he never contemplated having to face.

It’s not just that he’s worried about where she is, whether or not she’s safe and well. It’s that he misses the silliest, tiniest things about her that he didn’t even know he’d ever noticed in the first damn place. The rapt determination with which she cuts the crusts off her bread because that’s a little too much bread for her. The way she gestures wildly with her hands whilst passionately talking about things. That ruined, tattered journal she carries around in which she scrawls blunt, one-sentenced, sometimes unintelligible thoughts. And her scent — gods, her scent.

It has been one week — an amount of time he’s spent away from her before. But it’s different this time. This isn’t like being away on a training exercise and knowing he’ll soon be coming home. He knows nothing. Doesn’t even know what to think, what to feel.

Other than an overt urge to murder the camp lord. Violently.

“How about we get done here and head to the mead hall?” Kaeda breaks through his warring thoughts. “I’m starved.”

Az grabs a nearby rag, wiping the sweat from his face. “Not really hungry.”

There’s a pause. And then a soft sigh leaves the female. She sheathes her blade and pushes to her feet, just as Rhys and Cassian are approaching. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, Azriel, but you can’t be visiting my father with this attitude.”

At once, this grabs the other two males’ interests, and Azriel wants to groan. Right. He’d forgotten about that.

“What’s this?” Rhys frowns, staring between Az and Kaeda. “You’re returning to Fenlaros?”

“My father invited Azriel to dine with us, that’s all.” Kaeda answers for him.

It had genuinely slipped Azriel’s mind. Amongst everything else waging war in his thoughts, a dinner with Kaeda’s family in Fenlaros had sunk right to the bottom.

But he knows immediately how it looks. That he’s being secretive.

Rhys studies Azriel closely. “And you’ve cleared this with Devlon?”

No, no he hadn’t. Quite simply, he’s not sure he can be within twenty feet of the bastard, right now, without throttling him.

He hates himself for it — he really, truly does. But for the sake of sparing himself a lecture, he shrugs. “I have.”

He does not lie to his brothers. And they can smell that lie on him right away.

Cassian stares at Kaeda for a long moment, before turning towards Az. “That is a fucking terrible idea, and you know it.”

“It’s dinner.” Kaeda shoots back.

Cass grits his teeth. “I’m talking to Azriel.”

“Listen, Cassian—”

“Excuse me—I’m sorry to interrupt.”

All four of them turn in the direction of the intrusion —and they stop short.

All three of the males know Vegha, of course. Rhys was grateful that she’d so willingly opened her home to Y/N when he’d asked. But other than that, they’ve only spoken to her in passing — she’s never had reason to seek them out before.

But what adds a slither of urgency to her rare appearance at the training rings is the even rarer appearance of the two little girls who hold her hands. They’re not supposed to be here, and Vegha knows this well.

She obviously deemed whatever this is urgent enough to bypass that rule.

“Vegha.” Azriel steps forward, studying her closely. “Is all well?”

Vegha shifts on her feet, clutching tighter onto the girls’ hands. She’s never comfortable here, around all these males, but it’s a different unwanted attention that makes her want to turn and leave.

Kaeda eyes her head to toe with a look of distaste. Of mistrust. She folds her arms and flares her wings — a gesture that has the little girls gasping.

“Settle down.” Vegha squeezes their hands. She directs her attention back to the males. Strange, that she feels more comfortable with them than she does with the only other female present. “Honestly, Azriel, I’m not at all sure.”

Rhys steps forward. “Is it Y/N?”

Cassian swears — swears — that a small sigh comes from behind him. From Kaeda.

“I know you’ve been instructed to stay away, and I don’t wish to cause you any trouble.” Vegha tells them. “It’s just…well, she was staying at my home this past week, as you asked, Rhysand. I told her she was welcome for as long as she needs — that she mustn’t return to her father’s house. But just this morning, she suddenly announced that she was leaving…that she’d found somewhere else to stay.”

“And?” The word slips from Kaeda’s lips.

Yeah, Cass definitely isn’t in the mood for this today.

“And…and I’m not sure I believe her.” Vegha shrugs slowly. “My brother wasn’t exactly making it a pleasant stay, and I think she was desperate to get out of there. But I can’t imagine where she’d go. I just…thought I should tell you. You know her better than I do.”

True — except her three closest friends can’t imagine where she’d go, either, if not back to her father’s house. And they can’t imagine her resorting to that.

She has no money for a room at an inn. She doesn’t have a long list of friends who will open their homes up to her. And she most certainly can’t go back to Rhys’s mother’s cottage.

So…where? Will she pitch up in one of the abandoned tents across the camp? Will she spend her nights shivering in doorways and wondering where her next meal is coming from?

This is fucking ridiculous.

She can’t be left to live like this.

“You did the right thing, telling us.” Rhys reassures Vegha. He offers a gentle, soft smile to the girls at her sides. “How about you take these two back into the warm? We’ll deal with it.”

Gods, he’s already a High Lord through and through. Calm in the face of turmoil. Not letting on to his inner panic.

Vegha dips her chin. “Sorry, again, for interrupting.” She tugs gently at the children’s’ hands. “Come, girls.”

Rhysand’s brow furrows. Vegha is perhaps the only other good friend Y/N has in this place. There’s no way she’s made other arrangements — Rhys knows it. Cassian knows it. Azriel knows it.

“We’ve got to do something.” Azriel voices what they’re all thinking, a feral panic colouring his tone. “We can’t just leave her to face this on her own. Fuck what Devlon says. I’m not sitting back and letting her freeze or starve to death.”

Rhys chews his lip. “…I can try to speak with my father. But I’m not hopeful where he’s concerned. This falls under Devlon’s jurisdiction.”

“All Y/N needs is a roof over her head and some food in her belly until we can work out what to do next.” Cassian crosses his arms over his chest. “There’s got to be some way we can help. Is there not any clue of where she might go?”

The two males are looking at Az expectantly. If anyone knows, it’s him.

But he’s just…he’s not had his eye on the ball recently. His thoughts are all over the place. Perhaps he’s neglected his friendships a little — because he could swear he knows Y/N inside and out, and yet his mind is blank. Utterly fucking blank.

“I—I need to think.” He runs a hand through his hair, turning — he stops at the flash of red hair that meets him. He’d forgotten Kaeda was even there.

She stares between them, saying nothing, her face pinched and arms crossed. What she’s thinking, Az isn’t sure. But a thought suddenly strikes him.

“Kaeda.” He faces her properly. “Can’t you house Y/N in Fenlaros for the time being? Until this is sorted?”

Kaeda stops short. Blinks at him. “…What?”

“It doesn’t have to be your home, or…or even anything extravagant. Just somewhere she can sleep. There are surely more options in Fenlaros than there are here.”

Kaeda does not like this one bit. A negative reaction is rippling off her in waves, and it hits Cassian like a blast of cold air. Rhys, too.

But Az seems oblivious.

“Azriel…” The female keeps her voice calm, measured. “You know it isn’t that easy. A person can’t just…defect to another camp.”

“She wouldn’t—”

“So what’s your excuse?” The words are falling from Cassian’s lips before he can stop himself. He’s not sure he cares.

Kaeda pauses. Her face is a sheet of wide-eyed innocence as she turns to him. “Pardon me?”

Cass shrugs one shoulder. “You’ve been buzzing around here for months like a fly. What’s your excuse, if that’s not allowed? Because your father may be Lord of Fenlaros, sweetheart, and he may let you do whatever you want, but look around you. This is Windhaven. His word doesn’t mean shit here.”

Azriel takes a step towards him. “Cassian—”

“Either help our friend, or stay the fuck out of it—”

“Cassian, that is enough—”

“It’s fine, Azriel.” Kaeda’s voice is so deceptively warm, you could melt butter on it. She steps towards Cassian, face open, hands held up in a placating manner. “It’s fine. You’re right. I understand you’re upset, and I…I apologise if my presence here has been burdensome. Of course I’ll help any way that I can. I’ll talk to my father right away.”

Cass doesn’t feel particularly satisfied by that. Doesn’t believe a fucking word, to be honest. His eyes communicate that as he stares the female up and down.

“Cass, I think you should apologise.” Azriel says.

He barks a laugh. “No chance.”

“Kaeda just said she’d help—”

“Enough.” Rhys finally jumps in. His tone is laced with authority — just a smidgen of an idea of what he might one day be like as High Lord. He crosses his arms and glares the three of them down as though they’re bickering younglings. “Arguing back and forth will do nothing to help Y/N. We need to act. I will speak to my father. Kaeda will speak to hers. Az, you should see if you can find out where Y/N might have gone. Cass, I want you making sure she doesn’t go anywhere near her fucking father’s house. By the end of the day, we should have at least sorted something. Understood?”

Cass doesn’t look away from Kaeda. He can see her eye twitching — the way she so desperately wants to push back against being ordered. Gods, how Az can’t see right through her, he has no clue—

“Understood.” Azriel answers without hesitation. “I’ll get right on it.”

Rhys inclines his head. “As will I.”

“And I’ll head back to Fenlaros.” Kaeda adds.

Cassian merely shrugs. “Fine.”

Without goodbyes, Azriel is shooting into the skies — probably hoping to get an aerial view of a sodden, freezing Y/N traipsing through the snow.

Rhys looks between Cassian and Kaeda for a beat longer before he disappears, winnowing — Cass assumes — straight to Velaris.

And then there were two.

Kaeda turns back to Cass. The doe-eyed look on her face is instantly gone. There’s a hint of a damn smirk.

“Whatever game you’re playing at,” Cassian clenches his jaw. “You will not win.”

A soft hiccup of a laugh escapes the redhead. “Oh, yes I will.” She steps closer. Close enough for her cotton-and-powder scent to envelop the male. “See, I always get what I want. Always.”

“Not this time. Azriel may not see you for the viper that you are, but I do.” He grits his teeth. “And I will fucking destroy you before you cause any damage.”

Green eyes glitter back at him. The female is unperturbed by the threat — and she knows he means it. There’s even a change in her scent that makes Cassian’s nostrils flare. A darker one. A muskier one.

“Oh, Cassian, I do hope so.” She says, and pushes up so her lips are at his ear. Her full breasts brush his chest. “I love a male who’s willing to punish me.”

She winnows away before the snarl has a chance to claw up Cassian’s throat.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

This is starting to feel like a bad idea.

It was easy, from the warmth and comfort of Vegha’s home, to convince yourself you’d be fine out amongst the wilds of the camp. But the old armoury is dark, dingy and cold, and within hours, you’re not sure you have the resolve for a single night there. Let alone however many you have ahead of you.

This used to be a place of mischief, when you and your friends were children. This far end of the camp has sat abandoned and unused for years, after newer, more effective training rings were installed where the hub of activity now lays. The four of you would spend days here, playing pretend with the old, wooden practice swords that were left behind. You’d make up stories of the area being haunted by the ghost of an ancient, disgruntled Camp Lord. And as you got older, it became a place to come and get drunk, to speak words and secrets that remained there, never to be carried away with you.

You won’t be bothered here, you know — nobody ventures this way. But that, and the fact that the old armoury affords you a roof over your head, are about the only positives. You’re so cold that it hurts. You’re hungry and miserable and tired in a way that has nothing to do with nightmare-filled sleeps.

And gods, you miss your friends. You miss them so much, it‘s a gnawing ache. All those nights you took for granted, tucked up warm in the cottage, Cassian making you all laugh with his antics. Those times seem so distant, now. Is this how it will be, from now on? Never did you think you’d be separated from your friends. And you don’t even know if this is a permanent thing. Will you have to wait and wait until Rhysand is High Lord and able to make decisions, before you can see them again?

These thoughts will do you no good. They’ll only make you colder and drive you to shed tears that you’re not sure you have the energy to shed.

You bundle in your blanket, squeezing your eyes shut as though that fruitless act will shield you from the cold. You were tempted to build a fire, but the last thing you want is to draw attention from anyone flying above. Being found in here will just bring you more trouble you don’t need.

You’re already hunched as it is, gloved hands buried under your armpits — but you somehow manage to tense even more when you hear the distinct sound of boots traipsing through the snow outside.

No.

You can’t do this — not right now. Nobody fucking comes here. Is the Mother laughing at you from above and sprinkling more misfortune into your already-dire existence? You can’t handle a confrontation, can’t handle being told you can’t stay here—

But the door creaks open, and it’s Azriel’s face that peers around cautiously. You almost sob with relief.

“Thank fuck.” He breathes. He’s slipping inside, shutting the door behind him. In a few great strides, he’s in front of you and dropping to his knees. “Are you alright?”

If you speak, you might crack. You risk it all the same. “How did you find me?”

“Took me a while to think of this place, I must admit. It’s been a long while since we were last here.”

But find you, he did. And fuck, his scent and natural warmth are swarming you. It feels like nothing else matters right then. Just you and him, like it’s always been. He yanks you into a hug, and you don’t stop him.

“You’re frozen.” He whispers, squeezing you. His gloved hands rub at your arms, your back, your shoulders. He pulls away to cup your face, and he studies every inch of it. You’re not sure what for.

But you stare back. You don’t know what to do or say. That could be the cold making it difficult to think, or it could be this weird wedge between you that feels like it’s only growing.

Az leans closer, and he presses his forehead against yours. “I miss you.” His gloves brush over your cheeks. “Gods, I miss you. So much.”

“I miss you, too.” You shudder. The words are weighty and truthful, not just referring to this past week apart, but to whatever has been going on for a while, now. You didn’t mean for it to be like this. You just want to go back to how it was.

“I’ve thought about nothing else—” His nose bumps against yours, and one of his hands slides to the nape of your neck, kneading the skin there. “I just—just need you close to me, Y/N. Always.”

You attempt a breathy laugh. “I don’t think Devlon would agree with that.”

“Fuck, Devlon. We’re going to get around this. Rhys is going to talk to his father, and even if that fails, Kaeda is talking to hers. I reckon they’ll be able to offer you sanctuary in Fenlaros until this is sorted—”

You pull back to blink at him. Study him. “What?”

“I asked Kaeda to speak with her father on your behalf. To see if they can find somewhere for you to stay. I’m sure they can—”

“Azriel, I’m not going to Fenlaros.”

He pauses. “…If they’ll have you, Y/N, yes you are. It means you’ll be safe and warm and fed—”

“No.”

“What? Why?”

“Besides the fact that I’m already in enough trouble thanks to that place?” You pull away from him, easing to your feet. “I don’t know anyone there. And if Devlon were to find out—”

“Stop worrying about Devlon and start worrying about your safety.” Azriel, too, stands. “It’s the most logical thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m not going further away from you than I already am, and I’m especially not going to start playing house with your lover, Azriel, it’s odd—”

“That’s what this is about?” He cocks an eyebrow. Folds his arms. “Because you don’t want to accept help from Kaeda?”

You shrug. And just…just to give your body something to do, you begin pacing. “I’m not sure it would be very helpful at all.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You just don’t like her, do you?” He snaps. The sound is harsh, and it makes you grit your teeth. “You’re not willing to accept help that you so clearly fucking need, because you don’t like Kaeda.”

“I don’t trust Kaeda.” You whirl around to face him. “Not one fucking bit, and you shouldn’t, either.”

“Why?”

“Because none of it makes sense! Why is she here in Windhaven, Azriel? What is it she actually wants?”

It’s dangerous — the way your voices are rising in volume and echoing around the armoury. But it’s as though weeks of emotional buildup are floating to the surface, and you can’t stop them, and they’re stoking an anger that actually warms you and feels better than being cold and hungry.

Azriel shakes his head. “You’re fucking impossible sometimes, you know that? You don’t want to help yourself. It’s like you’re determined to make your life as difficult as possible, and when you’re offered help, you don’t take it. You’re impossible!”

“Yeah, Azriel, maybe I am.” You snap back. “But at least I’m not lying through my teeth like Kaeda is, and at least I don’t break my damn promises.”

Azriel stops short. Stares at you.

You and he both know you’re referring to Solstice Night. You should have confronted it before, but…but you buried it.

You’re not sure you can do that anymore.

Azriel purses his lips. And then has the nerve to state, “Things are different between you and I these days.”

“Yes.” You stare back at him. “They are.”

Your eyes are trying to communicate so much. Things are different, and it might be the boundaries you crossed, but you’re more certain than anything that it’s Kaeda’s influence. You just don’t understand why Azriel can’t see it.

You wonder what he might say yet. So much anger and pent-up frustration zips between you. Mixed with longing and missing each other. Loving each other. Wanting to scream at each other, and for each other.

And part of you wants him to spit vicious words and fight back, just for you to feel something — even though you know that’s not Azriel’s style. But you stare and stare, and neither of you speak, and then Az is shaking his head and clenching his jaw.

“I’m not arguing with you here.” He says. “It’ll only draw attention to us.”

You fold your arms. “Fine.”

“I’m going to speak to Rhys, find out what his father said. And I’ll speak to Kaeda—”

“Go right ahead. I’m still not stepping foot back in Fenlaros—”

“And I’ll bring you some blankets and food. Or Cassian will. Or…whatever.” He stops still for a second, swallowing. “But we need to fix this shit between us.”

You know that. But you’re so fucking stubborn, your own worst enemy. And right then, you want to scream. Cry. Hurt him how he hurt you.

So you say nothing. You just shrug again.

He stares, as if waiting for a better reaction. And then he shakes his head once more and turns, striding back to the door. You wonder if it’s a bad thing to let him go, like this. When will you see him again? How will things be when you see him again? You’re making it worse for yourself, for him, for both of you.

You open your mouth — to say what, you’re not sure. But you’re stopped by Az pausing with his hand on the doorknob. With his back to you, his shoulders tense. He’s frozen in place.

And then he speaks — growls — two words. “Fuck this.”

He turns, marching back over to you so fast, you don’t have time to react.

And then he’s grabbing your face, and his mouth is on yours.

azriel tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd

[verspia]

Hi I saw you’re Arda angst ff and I fucking loved it!! I wanted to request a Kenan Yildiz angst fanfic where the reader and Kenan had to get arrange married. But he hated her. He always brought other woman home and she really got sad because she never had the chance to experience real love. Not even from her parents.

He always kept her hidden from social media because he was embarrassed of her. She always went alone and done things alone. The reader is a quite person she an introvert she doesn’t really talk that much or express feelings so she always stays quiet. And she had a really bad childhood, got be@ten up and ignored. She never had a normal childhood. By the time Kenan never knew he starts to see her alone at restaurant or pic nics alone and started to feel guilty but never brought it up.

So one day the reader thought she’s alone at home and Kenan told her that he’ll be away.

So she wanted to sleep without a shirt. And that night Kenan appears there because the game got cancelled and when he approached her he saw her scars on her back that were caused by her parents. He starts to regret treating you like that and starts treating you better and spends time with you.

You can make a fluff or bad ending doesn’t really matter but I always prefer bad endings hehe I would really love for you to make this a story !!

💓💓💓

SAD GIRL • KENAN YILDIZ

( pairing ) kenan yıldız x reader

warnings - trigger warning, violence and abuse, a lot of angst. I tried my best and i hope this meets your expectations 💞

In your eyes, the marriage had been perhaps the best thing to have ever happened to you. It provided you with the opportunity to escape the clutches of your dysfunctional family, and finally find some semblance of normalcy in your life.

Knowing that it had been Kenan had made you feel exhilarated, a feeling that you weren’t quite used to.

Kenan had been reputable for being a rather charismatic gentleman, and his polite, sweet demeanour had been all the talk on your wedding day. You hadn’t met him yet, but the idea of him had made you fall in love.

You couldn’t be blamed, because to you this concept of genuity was so foreign to you, that daydreaming about it had made you feel as if you were on cloud nine.

That was until you truly got to know Kenan behind closed doors. Except you never truly got to know him.

Unlike you, Kenan found this marriage an unappealing burden that had chained him down to a person he could not care less for.

He was incredibly indifferent to your presence, and continued on about as if your marriage had never happened. After the ceremony had occurred and you’d been driven off to a fancy villa, Kenan had behaved as if you didn’t exist.

He never acknowledged your presence until absolutely necessary, and it felt as if you were a ghost living inside this empty house, begging, yearning to be noticed, but never spared a single glance.

For you this marriage had ignited a flicker of hope, of learning to love, and for building a meaningful relationship, a turnabout from the life your parents had imposed on you. You hadn’t imagined anything would hurt more than the scathing words and harsh treatment that they had inflicted upon you, until you were faced with the brutal rejection from Kenan. Atleast, at your parents house, you were never ignored, but with Kenan, you didn’t feel like a person, you felt like a soul in purgatory, suffering endlessly and without anyone to turn to.

This marriage with Kenan broke you in ways that you hadn’t thought possible. How could a rejection from the man you had been promised to have hurt so agonisingly when you didn’t even truly know him?

You couldn’t explain the stark difference in his behaviour from what you’d heard to what you’d experienced, and thus, the only person you had to blame was yourself.

Some nights, when the house is quiet and Kenan’s side of the bed is cold and empty, you lie awake and wonder what it is about you that makes you so unlovable. It’s a question that haunts you, clawing at the edges of your mind until it’s the only thing you can hear. You think back to your childhood, to the years spent trying and failing to earn your parents' love. You tried to be good, to be perfect, to be everything they wanted, but nothing was ever enough. Every cruel word, every slap, every moment of their disdain etched itself into your soul, carving out the belief that you were broken, unworthy, fundamentally flawed. You remember having gone through lengths, making sure you were academically on top, and when that wasn’t enough, pushing yourself towards sports to prove that you were capable, but despite these achievements, your parents refused to acknowledge any of it. You remember once, sitting at the edge of your room, if the tiny space could even be called that, your cheeks red from the stinging slaps and your arms littered with bruises, and not a single tear in your eyes. You felt hollow, the one question rotating over in your head, again and again and again.

“What is wrong with me?”

Your marriage with Kenan has only made this thought return full force, from when it just lingered to the back of your mind, to now always on the forefront of your thoughts, on the tip of your tongue, as if any moment you’d ask the question, say it out loud, but no matter.

Kenan never hears you anyway.

You sit in the spacious lounge of this house, Kenan is home, but you are alone. He’s with someone, another girl who doesn’t share the misfortune as you do, who’s laugh echoes around the house and to you, feels like nails on a chalkboard, pinching at your ears and leaving the heart you have in your chest aching worse as the clock ticks by.

Once again, you sit there and contemplate for perhaps the umpteenth time, the same question that oppresses you.

You see the same disappointment in Kenan’s eyes, the same coldness, the same quiet contempt that tells you what you’ve always feared, there’s something wrong with you. You’ve begun to believe it must be true because why else would Kenan treat you this way? Why else would he refuse to look at you, to touch you, to acknowledge that you’re anything more than an inconvenience he’s forced to endure? Why else would he parade other women in front of you, each of them more beautiful, more captivating, more everything than you’ll ever be?

The more Kenan pulls away, the deeper you sink into yourself, convinced that his indifference is a reflection of your worth. You’ve searched for answers in every mirror, scrutinizing your face, your body, every part of yourself that feels inadequate. You pick apart every flaw, every imperfection, as if solving the puzzle of your own ugliness might finally explain why you are so impossible to love. You try to change, to smile more, to be kinder, quieter, less of whatever it is that pushes people away. But no matter how much you give, no matter how much of yourself you twist and bend and break to fit into the shape of someone deserving, it’s never enough.

The rejection feels like a knife to the heart, twisting deeper each time Kenan walks past you as if you’re nothing. You wonder what it would feel like to be touched by him in kindness, to have him hold you like you mattered, just once. You’ve replayed it in your mind a thousand times, trying to imagine the warmth of his hand in yours, the weight of his arm around your shoulders, the sound of your name spoken with something other than disdain. But that warmth never comes. All you get is the chill of his absence, the searing pain of knowing that you are invisible, unwanted, unloved, and that’s all that you’ll ever be.

Despite all this endless questioning, you never get any closer to understanding why you’re in this predicament.

It hurts, like you’re drowning in a sea of sorrow, and every breath is a struggle against the relentless waves of the ruthless ocean. It’s the taste of salt on your lips—the bitter residue of tears that never seem to end—and the weight in your chest that sits like a stone, heavy and immovable, pressing down with a quiet, unyielding ache.

You have long since given up on hope, that maybe one day it will get better, the pain will decrease, but it never does.

Today, you don’t stay inside, the chattering of the girl twists a little deeper into your poor heart than usual, and you decide to step out.

You somehow make it to a cafe and settle down, in a spot. You’re so attuned to the feeling of loneliness that it doesn’t bother you as people glance at you, some with curiosity and most with pity, preoccupied with your heartache.

You realise just how pathetic, pitiful you must appear. Your face permanently stained with tear marks and eyes so red, your figure frail from negligence on everyone you’ve known, including yourself.

You don’t realise however, that it is enough to warrant headlines.

The next morning you’re going viral on the internet,

“Kenan Yildiz’s wife spotted, lonely and sombre. What could be the cause?”

You can’t help yourself as you look through the comments.

“lol how do we even know if she’s his wife, we’ve never seen a single photo of them together”

“oh please, she’s probably a lying attention seeking white trying to get Kenan’s attention, bet she’s never met the guy. Yawn.”

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Kenan is not married what in the fake news”

You’re not surprised by it, but still it stings. You knew Kenan never made it known that he had been married, the night of your wedding day had become news to the world, but it had been buried away by Kenan’s refusal to acknowledge it.

It wasn’t as if you ever accompanied Kenan anywhere either, you went out alone, he never invited you to his games or any award ceremonies, he ignored you just as much on the outside as he did at home.

The only people who actually acknowledge this news are your parents, they come knocking on your door while Kenan is out, not at all pleased by your act that had so perfectly tarnished their reputation, and then the very night they make it very abundantly clear to you just how much displeasure you bring to them.

The pain is sharp and jagged, like shards of glass lodged deep inside, cutting with every thought, and every word your mother hisses at you, and every hit your father directs at you tears you down further.

When they leave, you’re all by yourself on the floor, like broken china that no one cares about or ever will bother picking up.

That night you cry yourself to sleep, so incredibly tired, and you think to yourself about how much of an abomination you are, if only you didn’t ever exist at all.

You’re mentally exhausted to the point that you fall asleep right there on the floor in your mess. And for the first time, Kenan takes notice of you.

He has always been aware of your presence, but had blatantly rejected it, even though guilt had begun to seep into this facade of pretending that he was indifferent to you.

He had noticed how you were always alone, no friends to tag along with when you went out to a restaurant, and barely anyone to talk to. He noticed how you tried your very hardest to make yourself as small as you could in the home that was supposed to be both his and yours. You never spared any expense on yourself from his money, to the point that all the groceries in the house went untouched by you, never eating the food that was there, as if you felt unworthy of sharing the same stuff he did.

His conscience had fought with him a lot, but then his pertinacity had won out.

Kenan comes home late that night, the weight of his usual indifference wrapped around him like a heavy coat. The house is quiet, too quiet, but it doesn’t feel unfamiliar, because that is how you are, yet as he steps inside, he feels a strange sense of unease. The lights are dim, casting long, flickering shadows across the walls, and for a moment, he almost calls out for you, but stops himself—old habits of pride and detachment still holding him back. As he walks through the hallway, his footsteps echo softly on the wooden floor, and that’s when he sees you, crumpled in the corner, lying there as if the world itself had thrown you away.

He freezes, staring at the scene that steals the breath from his lungs. You’re curled up on the cold, hard floor, your fragile frame barely shielded by the thin shadow that frames you. The soft glow of the lamplight reveals a tapestry of dark, angry bruises spreading across your arms and face, fresh and vicious, like cruel brushstrokes on pale canvas. Your cheeks are stained with dried tears, and your breaths come in shallow, ragged bursts, as if each inhale is a battle against the pain you carry. The sight of you, so small, so vulnerable, hits him like a punch to the gut, and for the first time in a long time, something shifts in him.

Guilt seeps in, thick and suffocating, wrapping around his heart like a vice. He kneels beside you, his hands trembling as he reaches out, hesitant and unsure. He touches your shoulder, lightly at first, afraid of causing you more pain, and when you stir, blinking up at him through swollen eyes, he feels the weight of his neglect crash down on him. He’s been blind to your suffering, wrapped up in his own resentments, his own desires, never once considering the cost of his actions—or inactions—on the person he promised to protect, however unwillingly.

Your own eyes widen a little, surprised at seeing him so close to you, for the first time since your wedding, and you aim to move away, but an egregious amount of pain has you stopping, and you try to keep the groan from escaping out your mouth.

"Who did this to you?" His voice is low, and there’s a vulnerability there, breaking, a far cry from the coldness you’ve grown accustomed to. You don’t answer, still in shock from seeing him so close. That is when you notice the freckles of golden in his green eyes, or perhaps you have a concussion that’s making you see things.

Kenan’s eyes run over your body, the bruises tell a story he can’t ignore, and for the first time, he sees you—not as the burden he’s resented, but as someone who’s been hurt far too many times, someone he’s failed in the worst possible way.

Kenan helps you up, his touch gentler than it has ever been. He wraps his arms around you, careful not to press against your bruises, and for the first time, you feel his warmth—real, unguarded, like he’s trying to shield you from the world that’s been so unkind. He guides you to the bedroom, the one he’s kept so meticulously separate from you, and tucks you into the bed as if you’re something precious. He sits beside you that night, eyes never leaving your face, and vows silently to himself that he will be different, that he will be better. For you, it all feels as if you’re on an alien planet, an alternative reality where everything feels so foreign, unaccustomed to having anyone, not just Kenan, actually look at you beyond the same gaze of disdain that you’ve known your whole life.

In the days that follow, Kenan is not the man you remember. He wakes early to make you breakfast, though he’s clumsy in the kitchen, burning toast and fumbling with the coffee machine. You watch him from the table, wrapped in a blanket, still wary, but there’s something different in his eyes—softer, almost pleading. He sits with you as you eat, quiet but present, as if his mere company might patch over the wounds he’s spent so long ignoring.

He starts to notice the little things—the way you flinch when someone speaks too loudly, the way you keep your head down as if expecting another blow. He learns how sometimes you don’t answer, assuming that he isn’t speaking to you, and it fills him with regret. He learns to be gentle, careful with his words, speaking to you with a softness that feels foreign on his tongue. He doesn’t bring anyone home anymore; the house is yours, a sanctuary he’s determined to protect. Slowly, he starts to open up, telling you about his own struggles, his own fears, the reasons he’s built walls so high around his heart. It’s not an excuse, but it’s a start, and you find yourself listening, inching closer with each shared truth.

Kenan begins to take you out on walks in the park, away from the stifling walls of the house that holds too many memories. He holds your hand, tentatively at first, but when you don’t pull away, he squeezes a little tighter, as if to say he’s here now, and he’s not going anywhere. He surprises you with small gestures—your favorite flowers on the table, a book you mentioned once, a soft touch on your shoulder when you seem lost in thought. It’s awkward and unsure, but it’s real, and each day, the distance between you shrinks just a little more.

One evening, as the sun sets and paints the room in hues of gold, Kenan sits beside you on the couch, holding your hand. He’s nervous, you can tell, but his eyes are earnest. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice cracking under the weight of everything he’s kept buried. “For all of it. For not seeing you, for not being what you needed. I know I’ve hurt you, and I can’t take that back, but I want to try. I want to be better—for you.”

For a moment, you say nothing, the words catching in your throat. But when you look at him, really look at him, you see someone trying, someone who’s finally willing to let you in. You nod, squeezing his hand back, and though the road ahead is uncertain, for the first time, it feels like it’s yours to walk together.

fin

[spicyicetea]

So I got the new Pokemon DLC for Christmas and I’m on a big Pokemon kick currently so I’m going to give a gift to my fellow Pokémon lovers. Now I’m more well known for Yandere work but I also do love doing more soft romantic stuff. It heals my traumatised self. So I’ve decided to go through all Pokémon games I’ve played and write romantic and yandere sfw+slight Nsfw headcannons for every character I personally like. [No DLC content because I haven’t played any of them yet]. If there are any characters I haven’t done that anyone wants, either comment or request and I can add it onto this post. Merry late Christmas!

As mentioned before, these posts will contain NSFW topics like violence and sexual references, so if you’re triggered by these topic please be careful. The reader in this is also a Fem reader, I can redo this post for a Masc or GN reader if wanted but I’m writing it as Fem currently is just easiest for me. I don’t describe appearance like skin colour or hair but I do write the Y/N with a curvy figure in mind (I can’t help myself, I love thick thighs IM SORRY-)

Kanto

Red

Ah the original silent protagonist. I love this man so much, even more after his cameo is Sun and Moon. I’m not sure what it is about him but he has this strange allure to him, although I doubt that’s a unique opinion on silent characters. Anyway, onto the headcannons.

This is almost a given with the silent types but I feel like he is an amazing listener, only ever nodding to show he’s still listening or giving small “mhms”

You’re probably the only one he comfortably talks to other than Blue.

In public he likes holding your hand, he often communicates through squeezing your hand or fiddling with your fingers.

Psychic boyfriend No.1

This man can just tell what you need, when you need it. Whether it’s comfort cuddles after a bad day of for period troubles.

Speaking of period troubles, this man not only will buy you whatever you need, he’ll wash the sheets, run you a bath and let you use him as a personal heater.

Yandere + NSFW

This man doesn’t open up to people easily yet you made him fall apart.

You made him stutter, drop things and slip up in battles when you cheered for him, he’s whipped.

You were the only woman that’s ever caught his attention and you aren’t leaving him anytime soon.

So get used to him possessively having a hand on you at all times, glaring daggers at any other person you pay attention to.

He’s a very private person so isn’t one to leave marks on you openly, but he does take great pleasure in leaving dark marks on your thighs.

Speaking of thighs… he’s a giver, do what you want with that.

Blue

Ah the smug bastard rival, and I promise you… he’s still insufferable, but in a loving way.

Bullies you playfully. A day doesn’t go by where he doesn’t mess up your hair and trip you up.

But he loves you truly.

You could not have asked for a more cuddly man, I didn’t expect to have this headcannon but I imagine this man is very eager to stay cuddled up to you as much as possible.

Although he talks a lot and loves it when you compliment him, I also think he’s a good listener, but like I’m a hype man way.

He’ll sit by the bathroom door while you’re in the bath letting you vent about anything you want just egging you on. “Wow she sounds like a bitch-“

A man who loves PDA, it’s his favourite way of staking his claim on your beautiful self.

Yandere + NSFW

Has dated his fair share of girls, but he wants you so bad.

He will fight for you, no matter what. This man will abuse whatever position he has to impress you. A relative of the professor’s, ex Champion, and a gym leader. He will do whatever he can to have you.

He is incredibly touchy, the moment other people aren’t looking, his hands are under your shirt. Nibbling your neck and kissing your earlobes. Actually he’d do that even with people watching,

Although he’d be mighty mad if someone watched your gorgeous body, he might even hurt someone.

Brock

This man is underrated.

The most loveable family man you’ll ever meet.

He loves to cook for you. Everyday. Please let this man make you breakfast in bed.

In fact no, he wants you to cook with him. All romantic. His chest to your back, whispering sweet nothings in your ears while you chop up vegetables.

If you get along with his siblings, he will propose to you on the spot.

Very openly affectionate, but never goes further than a hug in public… ok maybe you can get a kiss on the cheek.

Yandere + NSFW

This man has a breeding kink… you can’t change my mind.

He wants a nice big family and the idea of you, heavy and round with his baby. Not to mention how your… other assets will change.

Will happily suffocate in your tits, and if you’re pregnant, he will help relieve any discomfort you have.

If another man hurt you in any way, he’s going to go… missing. He’d break a man in half over his knee for you, and his Onix is very strong.

Lance

Am I the only one who would smash? Yes? No? Alrighty-

He’s always hits me as a someone who likes spending time with his lover in silence.

Not opposed to PDA but gets worried about his fans potentially harassing you, let’s you borrow his dragonite to escort you between towns.

Away from the public and just with his friends (elite four mainly) he loves to have you by his side, often whispering things about his day to you, information he only shares with you.

Also a man who is very hot, like he’s warm constantly, will be the best snuggler when it’s cold.

Yandere + NSFW

Originally I thought this man would be rather… vanilla but I feel like he’d be into wax play. I can’t explain it, but I can picture him loving to spill wax all over your tits.

For the more yandere side of things, he’s the strongest dragon trainer in Kanto. He will use his influence to make himself your only option, not that you’d realise, he’s not an idiot.

Giovanni

BARK BARK BARK GRRR MAFIA DADDY-

Your relationship is hidden very well from most people, you don’t get to villain status with a clean record and no enemies.

Despite that, you love a life of luxury baby.

He loves nothing more than to pamper you. His beautiful girl sat on his lap, with her hair all done up and nails all pretty. Now that’s the life.

Yandere + NSFW

I think he has great Yandere potential.

You sat comfortably on his lap in his office, his hands trailing comfortably under your skirt.

He loves watching you squirm as his fingers traces tight circles- well that’s all you get for now.

As I mentioned before, I believe he’d default to yandere to be honest.

He would not hesitate to kidnap but I like the idea that he’d try and woo you first. Dinner dates… wine… murdering his competitors.

Yeah, he’d be a yandere.

Johto

(I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never played these ones so I have no significant opinion on any of the characters)

Hoenn

Steven

This is just a crow in a human form, mr I love shiny rocks (me fr fr)

His love language is most definitely gift giving. Your shared house is littered with crystals and shiny things he’s found over his travels.

He loves to press kisses all over your fingers, buying you as many rings as possible for you and him to match. If he buys himself a new ring you’re getting one too.

Loves showing you off to the elite four, and begs that his dad approves. Not that he needs his approval but it’d be awkward if he didn’t.

Yandere + NSFW

Possessive as fuck.

You ain’t getting away from him easily. He will track you down as long as he needs to before you calm down and quit running away.

Loves pampering you once you behave though.

He kisses up your legs to your thighs, such passionate loving words followed by the mantra of “dirty girl” and “slut”

Maxie

Ok all the villains just radiate Yandere energy- so they’re all gonna be pure yandere + NSFW warning

This man doesn’t have it in him to kidnap someone… oh wait that’s a lie.

When he met you that all changed

He needs you, he would hurt anyone to get you to himself.

He’d leave dark bites on your neck, massaging your hips to tangle you together.

Another man I think would be into wax play, also a corruption kink. (No I won’t elaborate)

Archie

Big brute of a man… he’s going to make you beg for his mercy.

He loves holding you in his lap, cradling you delicately while he peppers kisses along your neck.

Will bite you, this man is a shark and will leave slightly bloody bite marks all over your body.

This man eats pussy for breakfast, you will never not cum first, a truly good man.

He is far more eager to kill a man to prove his love for you than he should be.

Sinnoh

I’ll be honest I tried to but I’m tired and I’m just going to be writing Yandere and NSFW headcannons. I’m sorry people-

Barry

This boy is so happy to finally have met someone who loves him… you’re not allowed to leave, he’ll cry.

For some reason I see this mans as wanting a family… he wants to be a more present father than his own.

Not one to leave marks on you but will beg you to stay home so he can cuddle and pamper you all day.

When he eventually takes over the battle frontier (he so would you can’t tell em otherwise) he will use that position to “protect you”.

Cyrus

Ah yes, the cold emotionless man who falls for a sweet woman and kills all competition… I approve!

PDA? Who is that? The most you’ll get from him is his hand on your shoulder moment before he orders team galactic to handle someone who was making moves on you.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. You’re the only woman he could ever love.

He lays awkwardly in bed but melts when your head rests on his chest, that was when the yandere switch flipped and he locked you in his apartment.

At least the man lays some good pipe, also this man has a bondage kink cause I said so.

Unova

Elesa

You think that the world won’t notice the famous model and gym leader with a girl on her arm. You’re going to end up centre of the Unova news for the next month.

She loves this though, now everyone knows you belong to her, and anyone who ignores that will just get zapped.

Prepare to share clothes, and prepare for her to watch you undress, she can’t help herself.

The woman loves to zap you, just lightly though, you’ll live… and probably cum.

Emmett + Ingo

Yes you get both, these two are a package deal ok?

Now… prepare to never leave their sight.

They want you at every battle, cheering them on, cuddling with the Joltiks or napping in their office using their coats as blankets.

Now… ok these two are kinky. They just are-

Ingo is 100% a family man, big breeding kink.

I think Emmett is more, adventurous, bondage and impact play seems right in my opinion.

Love to… “threaten” to throw people on the tracks when they flirt with you.

N

Aww what a sweet little thing, come and give me a hug- now time to hide you away where no one can ever see you again!

Honestly, he probably fell for you after seeing your relationship with your Pokemon. Almost every Pokemon you see likes you.

He’s very possessive over you. It’s no secret that he was raised in an incredibly unhealthy way, so he can’t exactly discern between inappropriate and appropriate behaviour in pursuing his courtship with you.

Now onto more NSFW art themes, he 100% praises you constantly and makes sure you’re tended to first. Often ends up super pent up because he wants to take care of you but sometimes go so far and overstimulates you. Don’t worry, the aftercare is amazing though.

Ghetsis

. . . Bastard

I’m only including this mother fucker because he’s so evil he’d be one of the most extreme Yanderes out of all of them. And because if still smash because I’m sinful-

The moment he sees you and falls for you, you can bet you’re getting kidnapped, sorry you just are.

I would bet money that he is the most possessive out of all of them but, and hear me out, would also be kinda attentive?

I can totally picture him being cold and accidentally upsetting you only to spend the rest of the next day showering you on gifts.

You’d also be seen as a god to the rest of team plasma, so enjoy being worshipped.

Oh and NSFW… spanking, degrading and tying you up, enjoy

Colress

Ah yes, my adorable scientist that I think is a kinky motherfucker-

He would make a collar to track you when you leave his side, he isn’t too keen on the idea of locking you insider after all.

Wouldn’t kidnap you but would murder the competitors.

Anyway onto the kinks I think would suit him…

He’d 100% make different types of vibrators so he can cuff you to the bed and watch you squirm. Considered making you a ball gag but he gets off on your moans, that does mean he ends up edging you before fucking you himself.

Kalos

Lysandre

Sugar daddy

I could leave that like that but fine fine I’ll feed you horny bastards.

He parades you around more than any of the others, always making sure you’re wearing the finest clothes. Usually also wearing his jacket, he can’t stand gawkers staring. Admiring your beauty he can handle, but staring at his woman is punishable by a flamethrower.

You live the luxury life. Fancy bath soaps and massages. Cafe trips daily so he can make sure you’re eating well. Sex in the back of his car in secluded car parks when you’ve been misbehaving at dinner.

He’s a rough lover but amazing with aftercare, so there’s that.

Alola

Nanu

Dilf energy… and I’m hungry for it I’ll be honest.

So tired, but you give him energy. Energy to do crime to keep you to himself but still energy. But hey why argue, you get to cuddle his cats all day.

Also, if you’re a trainer that has cat Pokemon… he’d probably marry you. Proposal on sight. Already on one knee.

He isn’t very openly affectionate but as long as no one is around he’ll always have an arm around your waist. You’re well protected.

Another man that I believe would make sure you cum first every time. Just make sure you have a warm bath after for your back, he hits me as a rough lover.

Guzma

Oh you poor girl… not because he’s going to treat you bad but he’s obsessed.

You’re probably kidnapped by team skull but you had no idea it was a kidnapping, it was more of a scooby-doo chase.

Yeah you now have like 50 babies to care for but don’t worry, big sis Plumeria and your new husband will help you. What you don’t remember getting married? Oh silly, you belonged to him the moment your eyes met.

He’s very inexperienced with relationships so give him a little time to learn. He’s a fast learner in bed so he won’t leave you unsatisfied. Will pamper you anyway he can.

Oh and have mercy on this man… don’t wear his clothes, he can’t handle it.

Hisui

Volo

Little shit… he’s going to try and use anything he can to claim you.

Whether that be advances in front of people to scare them off and stake his claim over you.

He does have a decently good reputation so no one would expect him to be dangerous, so you’re kinda fucked, Cyllene would protect you if she needed to though.

He talks down to you all the time, you’re not his equal, you are his property in his eyes.

Adaman

This man is smitten. No more smooth and confident Adaman, this man is a stuttering mess.

He wants to marry you so badly, please let this man marry you… and then put a baby in you but marriage first.

This man gives you jewellery, clothes, helps you befriend Pokémon or catch them depending on which method you prefer.

Cuddler, he will snuggle and cuddle as long as you want, so what he has duties? His pretty little wife wants his attention and you will get it.

Irida

Had noooo idea how to handle her feelings. Probably started as a childish crush at first but it developed into something much more.

She wants to spend the rest of her life with you by her side.

Glares at everyone who speaks to you, even people from her clan. She’s very jealous very easily.

But she loves you, and will let you spend unsupervised time with some people she trusts… only her Wardens, although she doesn’t trust Ingo as much as she doesn’t know him as well, not with you at least.

Warden Ingo

Dilf energy again

His memory may be strange and shaky but he remembers how to treat a woman he loves. Remembers things Elesa told him and Emmet, although to him it’s more echos of voices he thinks he knows.

He loves cuddling up to you while watching the newly hatched sneasels learn how to live. Although this does awaken a want for family he forgot he had.

He isn’t the most trusting person, but he is a good judge of character… and has gotten into a fistfight with Volo when he hit on you. Blood was drawn.

He throws a good punch, but would never hurt you, he adores you, you make him feel good in a familiar way.

Anyway you freaks want NSFW- this man lives up in the mountains, them rough hands can do wonders. And he loves making you feel good, people pleaser but only for you.

Paldea

Arven

Aw what a sweet boy, who will strangle anyone who tries to take you from him.

This boy lost both his parents and nearly lost his best friend/dog… he is terrified he’ll lose you too.

He cooks he cleans and then makes sure to rub your back and give you love so you’ll love him back

Please give this boy some affection or the boys around you will pay the price of you don’t.

Professor Sada

Mommy?

This woman is feral, not only did she basically throw you over her shoulder when she met you but you never don’t have bite marks all over your skin. It’s her way of telling everyone your hers.

I feel she’d give more freedom than Turo, only if Robo Sada was with you for safety… and to break the arms of whoever looked at you the way she did.

Also this woman is a mosterous pussy devouring fiend, don’t argue, you know I’m right.

Professor Turo

Oh daddy Turo- criminally underrated daddy let alone Yandere daddy.

I feel like Turo most definitely would have kept you locked down in his lab with him, convincing you that you help him with his research. I mean… he isn’t wrong, you motivate him to keep going.

However girl has needs and he often get consumed by his work. It wasn’t until he caught you handling problems yourself on your shared bed that he decided robo Turo should take over his research a little bit more.

It’d be a shame if you fell in love with a toy he so kindly made for you than him himself.

Larry

Ah my favourite ordinary business man… I’m so normal about him.

He is very normal about you too, except the fact that he has pocketed any handkerchief you’ve used while eating with him.

Oh and many dates that are just trying new food, oh and bird watching.

Again, call me weird but I think this man wants a family, total breeding kink.

Also I feel like he likes a rather feminine woman, not in the frilly skirt way but in the way of “I don’t N E E D a man but I like you”. You like him, right?

Rika

M m mommy?

Dominatrix… owns a whip… bondage. ANYWAY-

Not above using their position as elite four to scare off competition and keeping you in line.

Oh don’t cry, you won’t escape anyways.

She only uses PDA to send a message to other women or men, “hands off”

Jacq

Teach me about biology bb-

ANYWAY… loves to discover new Pokémon with you.

Will happily teach you about your favourite Pokémon for your attention.

Please don’t look away, he’ll have a breakdown.

Miriam

Ah cute little nurse… she has access to so many dangerous drugs.

She will scream and cry if you choose someone else, don’t do it, she’s an ugly cryer.

She loves to give you “check ups” when no one is looking.

On a side note, don’t you know that orgasms are good for your health? You didn’t? Oh silly let Miriam help you out, her fingers can work wonders.

THIS TOOK FOREVER…

But it was worth it enjoy animals. I want to get more serious with Pokemon x reader writing so I hope some people enjoy this… I’m never doing this big of a post again… this was meant to be a Christmas post- way to many bloody tags to add :,)

[atyourmerci]

† Salvation †

Read pt.1 and pt.2

†

Summary: finale of repent series! Drabble of abby and readers life after abby comes to terms with her sexuality. Happy ever after lesbos<3

Warnings: smut, MDNI, switch!abby, switch!reader, religion play of course, strap usage, refers to strap as cock, cunnilingus, overstimulation, bondage, smnophilia, dirty talk yurrrr, some fluff

A/N: thank you so much for all of the love on this series!! Religious guilt/trauma is a tricky subject and I’m glad that I was able to portray it in a light that most of you could relate or sympathize with. And yall im so bad at writing fluff that’s why this is so short lmao that’s why I only write smut. I’m so excited to write through more niche experiences and topics. Love you like always<3

†

That night was nothing like the first. Your God showed mercy, wrapping your cold, shaky body with cloth and carrying you to where it all started.

This time she held you and never left, she was there was the sun came beaming down, drying out your soaked hair. While you were asleep she had removed her cross and strung it along your neck. Maybe there was no need hold a token of a god she had already met, maybe she wanted everyone else to know- you never cared to question her antics.

After your mission had ended she immediately broke things off with Owen, reclaimed herself within the community. And she for one took no shit with the commentary from anyone about the two of you. Her life mission was to protect you at all costs now, you were all she knew. She wouldn’t leave your side anymore. Anything you did she made sure she was there to protect you, she wouldn’t put your life in anyone else’s hands but her own.

There was a lot of things you had to teach Abby, and by teach, that meant showing her with your legs wide open. On a mission you both were sent out on to look for resources you ran across a run down sex shop. You found a girthy dildo with black leather straps, it was bigger than anything you’d ever taken but with the look of excitement on Abby’s face you couldn’t say no to her. You told her you could use it on her but she insisted on fucking you right there over the counter at the dusty sex shop. She wasted no time dragging your pants down to your ankles and ripping your panties seams to get inside, ”I’d tell you to suck my cock first but you’re so fucking wet already, how bad have you wanted this,hmmm?” She promised she’d go slow, walking you through it, “fuck you’re doing so good, taking me so well for your first time.” After your pain had been replaced with sheer pleasure she couldn’t hold back anymore, pumping into you so hard there was sure to be bruises all over your hips. After abusing your hole for an hour for her own amusement she finally let you cum while drawing circles around your swollen clit as she pounded deep and slow thrust into you. you were so cockdrunk she had to carry you back to the truck and finish the mission herself, it went by quickly as she imagined things she could do to you next with her cock.

She loved showering with you at night, she never let you lift a finger, washing your body gently after sneaking in the strap into the showers. Maybe it was because she learned how to fuck you in the showers that it made her so dominant in that environment. She wouldn’t let you touch her in there even after you begged her while she pinned your arms against the wall, overstimulating your clit over and over again until she was done with you. After she’d run you a bath and hold your fragile body as she ran soapy strips up and down your bruised skin, making sure to kiss every inch so that never missed an atom of your being.

Abby only regressed back into her old ways when she let you take complete control. She’d let you tie her to the bed you shared edging her till she was in tears, babbling prayers to climax. You’d tie her cross necklace around her clit and tug on it while you used your tongue to fuck her dripping hole. You’d only let her cum after she got on her knees like a whore eating away at your cunt while you shamed her for her sins.

Your life with abby wasn’t like anything you’d ever experienced before, but there was no before her, or after her. There was only your god, and hers.

Maybe she had still repented for her sins, maybe she had reached salvation at the mercy of your own sins.

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson2 @lanafresitas @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed

[mostlysignssomeportents]

When the app tries to make you robo-scab

When we talk about the abusive nature of gig work, there’s some obvious targets, like algorithmic wage discrimination, where two workers are paid different rates for the same job, in order to trick occasional gig-workers to give up their other sources of income and become entirely dependent on the app:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Then there’s the opacity — imagine if your boss refused to tell you how much you’ll get paid for a job until after you’ve completed it, claimed that this was done in order to “protect privacy” — and then threatened anyone who helped you figure out the true wage on offer:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/07/hr-4193/#boss-app

Opacity is wage theft’s handmaiden: every gig worker producing content for a social media algorithm is subject to having their reach — and hence their pay — cut based on the unaccountable, inscrutable decisions of a content moderation system:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/10/e2e/#the-censors-pen

Making content for an algorithm is like having a boss that docks every paycheck because you broke rules that you are not allowed to know, because if you knew the rules, you’d figure out how to cheat without your boss catching you. Content moderation is the last place where security through obscurity is considered good practice:

https://doctorow.medium.com/como-is-infosec-307f87004563

When workers seize the means of computation, amazing things happen. In Indonesia, gig workers create and trade tuyul apps that let them unilaterally modify the way that their bosses’ systems see them — everything from GPS spoofing to accessibility mods:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/08/tuyul-apps/#gojek

So the tech and labor story isn’t wholly grim: there are lots of ways that tech can enhance labor struggles, letting workers collaborate and coordinate. Without digital systems, we wouldn’t have the Hot Strike Summer:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/02/not-what-it-does/#who-it-does-it-to

As the historic writer/actor strike shows us, the resurgent labor movement and the senescent forces of crapulent capitalism are locked in a death-struggle over not just what digital tools do, but who they do it for and who they do it to:

https://locusmag.com/2022/01/cory-doctorow-science-fiction-is-a-luddite-literature/

When it comes to the epic fight over who technology acts for and against, we need a diversity of tactics, backstopped by tech operated by and for its users — and by laws that protect workers and the public. That dynamic is in sharp focus in UNITE Here Local 11’s strike against Orange County’s Laguna Cliffs Marriott Resort & Spa.

The UNITE Here strike turns on the usual issues like a living wage (hotel staff are paid so little they have to rent rooming-house beds by the shift, paying for the right to sleep in a room for a few hours at a time, without any permanent accommodation). They’re also seeking health-care and pensions, so they can be healthy at work and retire after long service. Finally, they’re seeking their employer’s support for LA’s Responsible Hotels Ordinance, which would levy a tax on hotel rooms to help pay for hotel workers’ housing costs (a hotel worker who can’t afford a bed is the equivalent of a fast food worker who has to apply for food stamps):

https://www.unitehere11.org/responsible-hotels-ordinance/

But the Marriott — which is owned by the University of California and managed by Aimbridge Hospitality — has refused to bargain, walking out negotiations.

But the employer didn’t walk out over wages, benefits or support for a housing subsidy. They walked out when workers demanded that the scabs that the company was trying to hire to break the strike be given full time, union jobs.

These aren’t just any scabs, either. They’re predominantly Black workers who rely on the $700m Instawork app for gigs. These workers are being dispatched to cross the picket line without any warning that they’re being contracted as strikebreakers. When workers refuse the cross the picket and join the strike, Instawork cancels all their shifts and permanently blocks them from new jobs.

This is a new, technologically supercharged form of illegal strikebreaking. It’s one thing for a single boss to punish a worker who refuses to scab, but Instawork acts as a plausible-deniability filter for all the major employers in the region. Like the landlord apps that allow landlords to illegally fix rents by coordinating hikes, Instawork lets bosses illegally collude to rig wages by coordinating a blocklist of workers who refuse to scab:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2022/10/company-that-makes-rent-setting-software-for-landlords-sued-for-collusion/?comments=1

The racial dimension is really important here: the Marriott has a longstanding de facto policy of refusing to hire Black workers, and whenever they are confronted with this, they insist that there are no qualified Black workers in the labor pool. But as soon as the predominantly Latino workforce struck, Marriott discovered a vast Black workforce that it could coerce into scabbing, in collusion with Instawork.

Now, all of this isn’t just sleazy, it’s illegal, a violation of Section 7 of the NLRB Act. Historically, that wouldn’t have mattered, because a string of presidents, R and D, have appointed useless do-nothing ghouls to run the NLRB. But the Biden admin, pushed by the party’s left wing, made a string of historic, excellent appointments, including NLRB General Counsel Jennifer Abruzzo, who has set her sights on punishing gig work companies for flouting labor law:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/10/see-you-in-the-funny-papers/#bidens-legacy

UNITE HERE 11 has brought a case to the NLRB, charging the Instawork, the UC system, Marriott, and Aimbridge with violating labor law by blackmailing gig workers into crossing the picket line. The union is also asking the NLRB to punish the companies for failing to protect workers from violent retaliation from the wealthy hotel guests who have punched them and screamed epithets at them. The hotel has refused to identify these thug guests so that the workers they assaulted can swear out complaints against them.

Writing about the strike for Jacobin, Alex N Press tells the story of Thomas Bradley, a Black worker who was struck off all Instawork shifts for refusing to cross the picket line and joining it instead:

https://jacobin.com/2023/07/southern-california-hotel-workers-strike-automated-management-unite-here

Bradley’s case is exhibit A in the UNITE HERE 11 case before the NLRB. He has a degree in culinary arts, but racial discrimination in the industry has kept him stuck in gig and temp jobs ever since he graduated, nearly a quarter century ago. Bradley lived out of his car, but that was repossessed while he slept in a hotel room that UNITE HERE 11 fundraised for him, leaving him homeless and bereft of all his worldly possessions.

With UNITE HERE 11’s help, Bradley’s secured a job at the downtown LA Westin Bonaventure Hotel & Suites, a hotel that has bargained with the workers. Bradley is using his newfound secure position to campaign among other Instawork workers to convince them not to cross picket lines. In these group chats, Jacobin saw workers worrying “that joining the strike would jeopardize their standing on the app.”

Today (July 30) at 1530h, I’m appearing on a panel at Midsummer Scream in Long Beach, CA, to discuss the wonderful, award-winning “Ghost Post” Haunted Mansion project I worked on for Disney Imagineering.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/30/computer-says-scab/#instawork

[Image ID: An old photo of strikers before a struck factory, with tear-gas plumes rising above them. The image has been modified to add a Marriott sign to the factory, and the menacing red eye of HAL9000 from Stanley Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey' to the sky over the factory. The workers have been colorized to a yellow-green shade and the factory has been colorized to a sepia tone.]

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[moody-alcoholic]

These Violent Delights

Chapter 16 - My Dark Disquiet

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe 8.7k words. Things are getting better slowly.

CW: a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes, hurt with some comfort, depression, mental health, descriptions of weapons, vomit, language, angst, nightmares, talks of death, alcohol, drugging/ sedation, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of past abuse.

Previous - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

The pain is still there. Every morning that you wake up, you think it will be better. It never is. Dr. Piper is still dead. 

Maybe it was better when you were in the bunker the first time you thought she had died. Professor Hale kept you so busy you didn’t get much time to think. He blamed you for her death. She tried to get you out, but you got caught and then he killed her. At least that’s what he had told you. 

John should have done the swap. Then she would be alive. This is as much your fault as it is his. He said he would save her but really it was your job. 

Your heart aches. It’s a deep throbbing pain that feels like it’s never going away. The pain reminds you you’re alive. Maybe one day you’ll just get used to it.

You slept through the night for the first time last night. You didn’t dream, but you didn’t have nightmares either. Maybe you are healing. You don’t know if you want to heal. Healing means moving on, and you can’t imagine moving on without Dr. Piper.

Johnny comes in with a cup of tea. You sit up in bed making space for him. 

“We’re going to be leaving tomorrow, late tomorrow around 10pm,” he says. Your stomach suddenly turns as you take in the news. You don’t want to leave. You want to keep the only connection with Dr. Piper you know is left. 

“I don’t want to leave,” you say quietly, squeezing your hands round the mug. 

“You’ll like the UK. You’ll love Scotland, and there's so much land. You can spend as much time as you want outside,” he says, nudging you. You sigh. Being outside sounds nice. It’s been too long since you’ve seen greenery. 

When the Professor told you she was dead, you had mourned for months, and you still had to endure his abuse. At least now you have a pack around you. Your pack. Except it doesn’t matter though because it's your pack's fault she's dead. 

You hand your mug back to Johnny. You’re not hungry or thirsty. You don’t want anything, you just want to sleep.

“Do you want any pain killers?” he asks. “You might want some. We’re going to be travelling for a while.” You shake your head looking up at him. He sighs, squeezing your thigh then getting up. 

“Let me know if you change your mind,” he says as he heads for the door.

“Johnny,” you call. He turns looking back at you.

“Can I go for a shower later?” you ask, looking up at him. He smiles back at you.

“There’s a bath here too. Maybe that would be better?” You nod. A long hot bath does sound good. 

John puts the vial on the table. It’s a sedative. He picked it up from the hospital while you were there. It’s a last resort. He thought maybe you would have been feeling better by now, or at least not so deep in your depressive state. 

He’s worried about how you’re going to react to being in an unusual space with unusual people, strangers. Or maybe being in a confined space with him is worse. Travelling for so long is hard on anyone, let alone you right now. 

“What do you think?” John asks as he looks round the room. 

“I don’t think drugging her is going to get you back in her good graces,” Kyle says. 

“It’s 2 flights, almost 12 hours not including another few hours’ drive,” John says. Johnny sighs looking at the others. 

“What would Dr. Montgomery do if she was here?” Johnny asks. 

“We wouldn’t be having this discussion if she was here,” Simon’s voice comes back harshly.  

“Me and Gaz can keep her calm, she seems to be fine around us,” Johnny says. 

“I’m worried about her distressing. We’re going to be in a stuffy cargo plane for hours surrounded by strangers,” John explains. The closest you’d come was when you ran from them in the forest. John looks round them all. He remembers how distressed you were when you woke up in the hospital. Your eyes, blown wide, screaming for him. For your alpha. It only stopped when they sedated you, and it seems you don’t even remember.

There's a collective sigh in the room. They were all there too. They all witnessed it.

“She hasn’t yet, maybe she won’t,” Kyle shrugs.

“One causes more harm than the other,” John says coldly. “Last time was close, too close and there’s no Dr. Montgomery to save her. It would be down to us.” 

“If we decide, how do we get her to take it? She won't even take her pain meds. She’s definitely not going to take a sedative,” Johnny says. 

“There are other options.” John looks round them all. Simon even looks up to meet his eye line. “She doesn’t have to know.” 

Simon tuts shaking his head then walks past John over to the bedrooms. John sighs as he hears the door slam. 

“I guess you both feel the same,” he sighs.

“Well she can't hate you more than she already does,” Johnny says, crossing his arms.

“She doesn't eat, she doesn't sleep. It's almost a day's worth of travel. Maybe it's for the best. Price’s right, if anything happens, we’re stuck in the air,” Kyle says. At least he has Kyle on his side. Johnny lets out a long breath looking over at your room. 

“Let me talk to her. Maybe she'll understand and be more willing to take it?” Johnny suggests. Price nods, picking the vial back up. 

It’s just afternoon when you sulk out of your bedroom to the bathroom. Johnny said he would prepare the bath for you after dinner. You were kind of regretting it now, you would much rather just take a quick shower. When you leave you look into the living room. Kyle and John are on the sofa watching the TV.  You don’t see Simon anywhere. 

You walk into the bathroom and Johnny looks up at you. The tub is still filling up. You walk past him feeling the towels on the shelf. They’re soft and fluffy. You pick one out.

“I can leave if you want?” he asks. You turn to look at him. He’s pouring what looks like salt into the water. The smell of rose hits your nose. You haven’t had much privacy over the last few days, over at least a week. You don’t know how many days you’d been in hospital for. Maybe it’s been longer than you think. 

You don’t really want to be alone. It feels weird, but you can’t describe it. Maybe it’s because they’re betas but you don’t mind Kyle or Johnny being around. You’ve even gotten used to Simon too. He looks less intimidating without his mask.

“Stay,” you say. He nods and you start to pull your clothes off.

You’re used to Johnny seeing you naked by this point. He’s helped you through 2 heats. Still he averts his eyes from you, watching your face as he finishes preparing the bath. It smells good. He keeps pouring products in making the room smell of lavender, rose and other scents you can’t quite place. 

You’re sitting on the toilet watching as he stands back with his hands on his hips. He smiles as you get up walking over to the bath. It’s filled with bubbles. You let the towel drop from your shoulders and dip your hand in feeling the temperature of the water.

“What do you think?” He asks. You nod, stepping into the water. Johnny helps you in as you sit down letting the water rise up above your shoulders. It’s hot but it feels good. You close your eyes for a few seconds letting the water heat through to your bones.

You let out a sigh resting back. You open your eyes looking over at him. He smiles at you.

“That's the smile I love to see,” he says. You didn’t even realise you were smiling. You tip your head to the side letting your hand run over the scar on your neck. The one Dr. Piper left. It’s all you have left from her, the scars she left on your body.

They’ll be healed in a few months, and then you’ll have nothing to remind you, just memories. Right now all the happy memories are tainted. It’s hard to imagine her happy. It's hard to imagine anything other than her suffering. You let out another long sigh watching the bubbles pop on the water. 

“I can wash your hair if you want?” he offers, raising an eyebrow. You nod, smiling at him. You sit up leaning forward in the tub. He kneels down beside you pulling the shower head over and some bottles. 

You let him work. He takes his time wetting your hair through. His movements are gentle as he works his hands up to massage your scalp. It feels good. He opens bottles of shampoo and conditioner. They smell sweet, like you. Strawberries and cream. 

You hug your knees, closing your eyes as Johnny makes sure to get each inch of your hair soapy. It smells good, and it feels good. You hum as his fingers brush through your hair. 

“Johnny, why do people call you Soap?” you ask, opening your eyes and turning to look at him.

“I ate a bar of soap in basic,” he says, chuckling. 

“Really?” you ask, frowning. 

He shakes his head. 

“I’m good at my job, I clear rooms quickly,” he says, bringing up the shower head and washing the soap out of your hair. 

“Like with enemies and stuff?” you ask, turning your head back and resting your chin on your knees. 

“Yeah, or hostages, whatever there is.” 

You close your eyes letting out another sigh as you hear another bottle open. Johnny squirts some in his hands before lathering a thick layer on your hair. You feel sad all of a sudden. 

Dr. Piper used to do this after your heats. You would be locked in a room naked with a hose. She would bring soaps and scrub your body clean, wash your hair then braid it after. You always looked forward to that, a light in the never ending darkness of your heats.

You miss her so much. You squeeze your eyes closed. You don’t want to cry. Your eyes are so raw from tears. You didn’t think it was possible to cry so much. You didn’t think it would be possible to miss someone so much. You loved her.

The water feels good as Johnny washes the conditioner out of your hair, his hands are soft, gentle. He’s taking his time keeping the warm water flowing over you. It’s relaxing. The steam builds up in the room. It's almost lulling you to sleep.

“Johnny, Do you know how to braid hair?” you ask. It’s a long shot. You don’t expect him to know. 

“Yeah,” he replies. You turn to look at him, sniffling. Tears come, but you hope he can’t see them with the water already running down your face. 

“Could you braid my hair?” you ask. 

He nods, smiling. His hand comes up to brush wet hair out your face. He moves round to the back of the tub. He gathers your hair up and starts to braid it.

“How did you learn?” you ask him.

“I have cousins,” he chuckles. You let out a sigh. You don’t have any family anymore. Dr. Piper is dead, the Professor is dead. Your biological parents—who knows where they are or if they’re still alive. You drop your shoulders as Johnny finishes tying the end of the braid off. 

He puts it over your shoulder and you pull it in your hands. He’s done a good job. You run your fingers over it. You feel a chill on the back of your neck. It will be exposed to him. He’ll be able to see John’s mark. Your fingers move around to it. You feel the indents in the skin. 

It will never heal, the skin is too sensitive, or special or something. Dr. Piper explained it better. You always thought you would end up with the Professor's mark. Instead you have John’s mark. You let your hand fall as Johnny stands up walking to the side of the tub. 

“C’mon, you look like you could use a cup of tea.” He holds the towel out. You nod at him, stepping up out of the bath and into the towel he wraps around you. You can’t keep your hands off the braid. It makes you smile. Maybe you’re healing. Johnny and Kyle have been so kind to you. They have been there for you.

“Thank you,” you say, turning to look at Johnny. He kisses your forehead just like John used to, his thumb coming up to rub your cheek. 

“Not a problem.” He smiles. 

It feels like it’s never going to be the same again. Maybe you need a change. Maybe going to the UK is going to be a good thing. You don’t like the thought of being stuck on a plane in close quarters with John. It’s going to be a long trip, to a strange place. 

At least everything Johnny has told you about the house in the highlands seems nice. 

“Did Dr. Montgomery braid your hair for you?” he asks as he opens the door. You nod, tightening the towel around you. When you step out into the main flat goosebumps rise on your body.

John and Kyle are still sat on the sofa as they look over at you. You stare at them for a few seconds. Something inside you burns. You miss John. You miss your alpha. He’s the one who is supposed to be comforting you, telling you everything is going to be okay. 

It’s not going to be okay though and you remember why. The burn gets replaced with anger, sadness and you want nothing to do with him. It’s not healthy for you to be away from your alpha for so long. You need to keep the pack threads tight, and right now you’re barely holding on to John’s. Johnny guides you into your room. 

He closes the door going over to the pile of clothes they bought you. It’s mostly pyjamas, but you don’t mind. You pick some out Johnny comes over helping you dry. You really don’t need the help but you’re too tired to care. 

You change sitting down on the bed as Johnny moves round the room collecting the dirty clothes and towel. 

“After my heat. Professor would lock me in a room. It was this dark concrete room with a one way window and a hose. I always hated that room. It was cold and I was always in pain.” You look up at Johnny who comes over to sit next to you. “Dr. Piper would be there. She would wash me with these soaps that always smelled so good. Then she would braid my hair.” You pull on the braid.  Johnny’s arm wraps round your back, the other resting on your thigh.

“She took good care of you,” he says. You nod, picking at the skin around your fingers. He sighs, placing his hand on yours. You stop picking and look up at him. 

“She loved you, all the way to the end,” he says, his voice low. You feel a lump rising in your chest, and your lip quivers. His hand moves up to your chin, he tips it up so you’re looking directly in his eyes. He has beautiful blue eyes, and a lovely smile. 

“All those good memories you have, the good ones with her. That's what you hold on to. She’ll always be with you,” he says. You sniffle, the tears rolling down your face. 

“John let her die,” you say, the words sounding foreign coming out your mouth. 

“They were both trying to keep you safe. He would never hurt you on purpose.” 

“I miss her,” you sob. 

“I know. It’s okay,” he says, pulling you into his arms. You cry into his chest while he rubs your back, kissing your head. You can smell his calming scent, and you let yourself breathe it in. Maybe this is healing, maybe this is what healing feels like. 

Maybe this is what you need. 

“Johnny, will you stay?” you say pulling your face off his chest. 

“Course love.” Johnny smiles. 

…

Simon sits down next to John on the sofa. He's been avoiding him. Bar following orders, he’s been keeping his distance. He was planning on spending the night in your room again but when he stuck his head in he saw Johnny in your bed. At least you’re not alone. He hates the thought of you being alone.

He’s distracted, going over what happened again and again in his head. John left Piper to die like there was no other way, like they didn’t have a choice. They could have gone back and made another plan to blow the place. They could have dealt with Shadow Company, they could have given Johnny time.

No, John was right during the debrief. Shadow Company were closing in on them, it was the best way to cover their tracks. Piper knew the sacrifice she was making. She would do it every time, she was more like John than she knew. Simon can’t spend his energy worrying about that now. He’s too worried about you. 

There's something about the thought of you being alone that makes his blood run cold. You're safe here. No one other than Laswell knows where they are. John sighs, reaching over and filling the glasses sat on the coffee table with whisky. 

He pushes one towards Simon.

Truce?

Simon reaches over and picks it up.

Yeah.

John smiles and does the same. The news is playing on the TV, anything to drown out the quiet that hangs over the flat. 

“Still mad at me?” he asks before drinking the whole glass. Simon lets out a sigh, taking a sip of the whisky. He doesn’t say anything. He wants to stay mad at John for a long time. He liked Dr. Montgomery, and he doesn’t like seeing you suffer. Who would that help though? No point in causing more rifts in the pack.

He understands the decisions John made, even before the debrief, when they were stuck in the hospital waiting for you to recover and hoping you wouldn’t distress. It was like walking on a knife's edge. John insisted you were kept sedated, at least until your wounds had healed. 

Simon remembers you screaming. It was horrible, like nails down a chalkboard. You were crying out for John like you couldn’t see him, even though he was with you the whole time. Maybe it was the strangers, maybe it was the pain, the miscarriage. It could have been a number of things. It felt like they were losing you. But John always knows when to make the tough decisions. 

For the greater good.

“Hale is dead, the chemical gone. Graves and Shepherd are off our backs.” Simon finishes his drink. “I know why you did it.”

“But I should have done it differently,” John says as a matter of fact. 

Simon sighs. He looks at John. He looks sad. He can see the strain in his face as he pinches the bride of his nose.

“Do you regret it? When you told the omega you should have saved her, did you mean it?” Simon asks as he refills their glasses.

“Yeah, I meant it,” he says. Simon can smell his sincerity in the air. John reaches forward picking up his drink. Simon does the same. 

“How long do you think they’ll stay away?” Simon asks. John lets out a sigh letting the glass rest on his knee. 

“Who knows. We could be arrested when we step off the plane in the UK,” he sighs. 

“That's not going to happen,” Simon scoffs. 

“The last few weeks haven’t exactly gone according to plan,” he sighs. Simon can hear the guilt in his voice. He really does feel bad about this. 

“Not your fault,” Simon sighs. No need for John to spiral further. “You did what you thought was best.”

“Would you have made the same decision?” John asks him. He looks over at John. He liked Dr. Montgomery, he likes you. 

“Yeah I would have,” he admits, looking down. He’s no better than John. “I liked Piper.” 

He finishes his drink, putting the glass down.

“Christ Si. I didn’t know.” 

“Not like that,” Simon tuts, crossing his arms. Something burns in him though. He doesn’t believe the words coming out his mouth. “Would it have changed your decision?” 

“No,” John says, Simon smiles, looking at him. That’s why he’s captain. He made the right choice. Now he’s beating himself up about it. Simon sighs. He shouldn’t push John away; he doesn't deserve it.

For the greater good.

Johnny comes out of your room. Simon looks over before turning back to the TV. He can feel the tension in the air as he moves over to the sofa. He offers him his glass.

Johnny accepts it, Simon can see the gloomy disquiet on his face, not the Johnny Simon is used to seeing.

“I’ll give it to her. You’re her alpha, you're supposed to protect her.” Johnny drinks the whiskey and sits down in one of the chairs putting the glass back down on the coffee table. “If there is any chance of you fixing your relationship with her she needs to trust you again.” 

Simon lets out a sigh looking over at John. He can see the pain in his face. He can smell the guilt in the air. He’s doing the right thing, everything to protect the omega. They’re going to be leaving tomorrow, back to the UK, Scotland, somewhere remote and safe. 

That's where they can fix the relationships. That's where they can repair the damage done to the pack. 

Your scream pierces the silence in the flat. Johnny is on his feet in an instant. John stands up too. The hairs stand up on the back of Simon's neck, his fingers digging into the sofa arm.

Johnny flys through your door with Gaz following behind him, pulling a shirt on. When he sees Johnny’s got you, he closes your door, turning to look at them on the sofa. He smiles. Simon can see the sleep on his face as he heads back to his room.

John sits down letting out a shaky breath rubbing the back of his neck. Simon puts his hand on John's thigh, squeezing it.

“She’ll get better John. She’s got the best people around her. Even Piper knew that.” 

“I let her down, I let the pack down,” he says. 

“You did what you had to do to protect her. Hale is dead, she��s safe,” Simon says. He reaches over, pouring more whisky into the glasses. 

“Soap said we should get something for her,” Gaz says as they get out of the car at the store. Simon hums, locking the car. They’re only supposed to be here for a few things. Things for the flight, things for the next 24 hours.

“Like what?” Simon asks as he pulls the black surgical mask up over his nose. 

“I don’t know, maybe a nice blanket or something she could use on the flight.” 

“She’ll be knocked out,” Simon says, a little harsher than he means. He’s not happy with it. It is going to be a long trip, though. You’re in pain. At least if you’re sleeping you won’t be in pain. 

Simon follows Gaz through the store as he picks up stuff for dinner. Looks like stir fry from what Gaz is putting in the trolley. Simon leaves him in the produce section and heads over to homegoods. He follows the aisle until he comes across pillows and blankets. Simon runs his hands over them. He’s not sure what he’s looking for. The most colourful, fluffiest one. 

He picks out a baby blue one and a fluffy matching pillow. He keeps looking, scanning round for something else. One blanket and one pillow doesn’t feel like enough. Gaz sticks his head round the aisle coming up to Simon. 

“Think she’ll like it?” he asks as Simon places the pillow and blanket in the shopping basket. Simon just hums picking up a thinner cream one and putting it in too. The hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He looks at Gaz who looks past him for a second, eyes focused on something distant before flicking his eyes back to Simon.

Something's wrong. 

“We should get some bottled water,” Gaz says. Simon nods following him out the aisle. “See the man on our 6 with the grey puffer jacket.” 

Ghost turns Gaz down an aisle to his right so he can sneak a look. He doesn’t see anything. Maybe he’s turned down a different aisle.

“Split up, let's see who he follows,” Ghost says as they make it to the end of the aisle. His weapon suddenly feels heavy, tucked in his waistband against his back. Gaz nods, splitting left with the trolly down the main middle aisle. Ghost works his way forward.

He doesn’t need to worry too long though as he turns at the end of the aisle he sees the man out the corner of his eye. Ghost takes a sharp left looping back to the middle aisle. His hairs stand up on the back of his neck again. He is being followed. He spies Gaz and nods at him. He turns left, and Ghost follows him.

He can hear the steps behind him. He's still being followed. There’s a staff-only door at the end of the aisle. Gaz turns to the right out of his view. Ghost speeds up, turning to the left. He spies across to see Gaz waiting there. 

Ghost waits until the stranger is in view before pouncing on him. He grips his wrist pulling his arm up to the top of his back. Before he has time to react Ghost pushes him through the staff only door and up against the wall. Gaz hits the lock on the door coming over to help Ghost wrestling with the man.  

“Fucking hell!” he calls, gritting his teeth as Gaz pats him down. He pulls a pistol off his hip unloading it. 

“You a cop?” Gaz asks. He doesn’t reply, just grunts uncomfortably as Ghost keeps him pressed up against the wall. 

“Concealed carry, pretty illegal. What are you doing following us?” Gaz asks, pocketing the mag. Ghost lets out a sigh. This guy’s not going to talk, or not easily at least. 

“American?” Ghost asks him looking for a reaction on his face. He presses his lips together. 

“Shit, he’s a fucking Shadow,” Gaz says holding a badge up. Ghost sighs. Price had intel from Laswell that Shadows had crossed the border. Price said it wasn’t a problem, Graves would have no idea where the safehouse was, it’s a Canadian special force’s house. At least that was the theory. Guess he was wrong.

“Bit far from home. Did Graves send you up here?” Ghost asks. The man scoffs. Ghost tuts. They don’t need to get anymore info from him. They need to get back to Price and leave. Get out of Canada and up to Scotland where it’s safe. They have clearly outstayed their welcome. 

Gaz goes over to a room labelled maintenance, he comes back out almost as quickly as he disappeared. He holds the black zipties up so Ghost can see. He nods pulling the man off the wall and over to the room. 

It’s a small maintenance cupboard filled with cleaning supplies and various tools. Ghost holds him as Gaz ties his ankles and wrists. 

“You know they’re not after you right?” he says eventually.

“Talking’s not going to get you anywhere,” Ghost says through gritted teeth as he kicks the black of his knees forcing him to yelp in pain and drop to the floor. 

“Didn’t take long for Graves to team up with Shepherd again,” Gaz scoffs under his breath as he ties the guy up to a pipe running up the wall. 

“Match made in heaven,” Ghost says, finally letting go and standing up straight.

“She’s worth more dead than she is alive now that Professor Hale is dead,” he calls as Ghost goes to open the door to leave.

“How’d you figure that?” Gaz asks. Ghost almost wants to turn around and tell him to ignore what he’s saying. He’s most likely just doing this to mess with them, or worse, to stall. They need to leave. 

“That’s what the brief said,” he says.

Shit. There’s a hit out for you, that’s why there’s only one Shadow here.

“What brief?” Gaz asks.

“Gaz, let’s go,” Ghost orders opening the door. Gaz nods, following him, picking up a wet floor sign before closing the door behind him. Ghost leads him out back into the store in silence.

“Clean up in aisle 9?” Gaz chuckles as he puts the sign down in the middle of the aisle.

“Christ you’re worse than Johnny,”  Simon sighs, shaking his head. “C’mon we need to get out of here.” 

You hear commotion in the flat. Something feels wrong, the energy is different. You can hear low murmurs, hushed voices. Hairs stand up on the back of your neck and you sit up in bed. 

Johnny walks through the door. You freeze. He seems tense as he walks over to you. You pull your legs up to your chest as he strides over, sitting down on the bed. He reaches over and turns the light on, but it just makes the expression on his face look darker. 

You can smell his worry in the air. There’s something else too. Fear? Anger? You can’t tell. 

“Hey,” he says, putting something down on the bedside table. It’s a little bottle with clear liquid in it. You don’t know what it is. You look back at him frowning.   

“We’re leaving now,” he says. Panic rises in you. You don’t want to leave. 

“You said we were leaving later tonight.” You’re trying not to get upset, but a lump forms in your throat. It doesn’t go away as tears threaten to spill over. 

“I know but something came up so we’re leaving now,” he says. You blink at him letting the first few drops roll down your cheeks. 

“I don’t want to go,” you let out the cry that’s been stuck in your throat. 

“I know.” 

“It’s like I'm leaving her behind,” you sob, wiping your tears. His hand comes to your chin pulling your head up to look at him. He smiles at you, his head tipped to the side. 

His hand falls down to the centre of your chest and he presses gently. “She’ll always be here with you. The memories you have of her will never go away.” You can smell his sincerity in the air. It’s not helping though. You let out a little smile, sniffling, you look over at the vial on the bedside table.

“What is it?” you ask.

Johnny leans over taking it in his hand. 

“It’s a sedative. We’ve got a long trip. Thought maybe it would be easier. It’s a lot of travelling in confined spaces. I know you’re still in pain,” he says, rolling the vial round in his hand. 

“I don’t want—” You look up at him, the sentence catching in your throat. 

“I know but I think it will help. You won’t have to worry about anything. You just fall asleep and wake up in the UK, skip the whole 11 hour plane ride,” Johnny says. 11 hours on a plane sounds horrible right now. 11 hours on a plane confined in a small space with John sounds even worse. 

Maybe it would be better for all of them if they just leave you behind. 

“Will it hurt?” you ask. You already ache. You’re sick of being in pain. He shakes his head. Maybe a good long nap would be nice. A long nap where you’ll wake up thousands of miles away and still surrounded by people who let you down. 

“Will you be there?” you ask, looking in Johnny’s eyes. He smiles nodding at you pressing his forehead against yours. 

“Every second,” he says. You let out another breath, closing your eyes. 

“What would Dr. Piper do?” you whisper to yourself. Johnny pulls his head back, his hand coming to your face, his thumb rubbing your cheek. You really don’t want to leave, but maybe this way it would be less painful this way. 

Johnny gets up, and the room suddenly feels cold. You can hear more voices now. Simon and Kyle must be back. John’s voice is low, you can hear him giving commands. There’s a knock at the door, and Johnny goes over to take it. You don’t listen to their conversation looking down at your hands and picking at the worn skin.

It’s becoming a bad habit, your fingertips rough with hard and worn skin. You don’t bother listening to who it is. It's probably John. Johnny comes back to the room. It feels like he’s coming to give you the worst news ever. Worse than Dr. Piper being dead. 

Johnny smiles at you, as he comes to sit back down on the bed. You reach over taking Dr. Pipers scarf in your hands. She’d want you to be safe, she would want you to be happy. 

She’d want you to be brave. You have to be brave.

“Where are we going?” you ask, your words slurred as Johnny carries you into the back of a car placing you against Kyle who pulls your seatbelt on. 

“We’re going on holiday,” he says, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, and getting in beside you.

“It’s going to be okay,” Kyle says, pulling your head down onto his shoulder. John closes the door walking over to the front passenger seat. Simon is driving, his focus stuck on the road ahead. John looks back at you as Kyle rubs your thigh. You’re feeling really sleepy, your body heavy as Simon starts to drive. You try to stay awake for as long as you can, but the motion of the car and the smell of beta in the air lulls you to sleep. 

“I think she’s out,” Kyle says a few minutes later. Simon sighs looking over at John. 

“How long will it last?” Johnny asks. 

“A few hours. It should be worn off by the time we land in the UK,” John says. His voice is level as he looks over at Simon. The short drive to the airport goes in silence with John’s eyes constantly looking up in the rearview mirror. You're sleeping up against Kyle. He can smell their scent strongly in the air. Yours too. Strawberries, and mint.

He’s come to associate mint with sadness.  

When they make it to the airport they drive straight through to the waiting military cargo plane. John had to pull an unbelievable amount of strings to get on this transport without anyone asking questions. Not to mention having to bully the commander into leaving early. He was going to owe him big time. 

He managed to get another General in the UK to sign off on their leave for a month at least. The plan was to lay low and see what came out of the investigation in America. Last he had heard from Laswell there wasn’t much they could do since technically the omega doesn’t exist. They were going over the rubble of the ruined mansion. It could take weeks. The DOD have taken a step back not wanting to be affiliated with Professor Hale and the crimes he’s being accused of.  

But now Shadow Company is after you. Laswell managed to find the bounty. As far as they’re aware though, Shepherd knows nothing about it and Hale is dead. Maybe there’s someone new after you, people who want to take over Hale’s work. Dr. Montgomery didn’t round up every person who used to work for him. There are still others out there.

They managed to track them down to Canada, they could easily track them to the UK. Johnny’s house is safe, and they can defend it if they need to. Johnny keeps enough of an arsenal to supply a small army in the basement. They’re going to be fine. Hopefully when they get there he can let his guard down a little, try and relax. 

The car drives up into the back of the plane. There are a few soldiers mulling around, some of whom will be travelling back with them. John doesn’t trust any of them. He barely trusts the commander who chartered the flight in the first place. 

“In the boot there’s some blankets,” John says, turning back to look at you still with your face pressed up against Kyle’s shoulder. Johnny is reaching over into the back pulling them up. Simon and John get out of the car. Simon comes round opening the door for Johnny who scoots out. Kyle moves you into Johnny’s arms and he lifts you up. 

Simon reaches over, taking the blankets and draping them over you. He looks at Johnny as he pulls the blankets right up under your chin. Your head rests against his chest as you’re carried through to the extra jump seats. Johnny lowers you down into the middle seat as Kyle and Simon wrap the blankets around you.  

Johnny gets in first taking the window seat and Kyle sits on the other side of you. You slump against Kyle as Johnny moves over you, re-adjusting the blankets and placing the pillow under your head. John walks through the doors last. He stops in the aisle looking over at you as Johnny attaches your seatbelt. 

It hurts him he had to do this. You look so peaceful leaning against Kyle. He wishes it was different. He has no idea if or when you’ll forgive him but he’ll keep trying. He wants to reach out and hold you, pull you against him and tell you everything is going to be okay.

That's supposed to be his job, to take care of you and the pack. Things are going to be different now. He’s going to step up. Things are going to change.

He can’t stand seeing you like this and knowing that he was the one who hurt you. 

“She’s making progress, Cap, she just needs time. We all do,” Kyle says. John smiles at him. He knows he’s trying to make him feel better. He puts his hand on his shoulder and squeezes it nodding at him. He lets out a sigh going to sit in the adjacent aisle with Simon. 

Simon hands him a tablet. More paperwork, more news from Laswell. Probably nothing good. He can’t help looking back over at you. He can just about see your body pressed up against Kyle as the betas fuss over you. 

The door opens and soldiers funnel in, they take seats, some of them clocking you as they do, muttering under their breath like school boys. It makes John uncomfortable. He closes the tablet down, putting it in the pocket of the seat in front of him. 

“Who's the chick?” John hears one of them chuckle. He ignores it, sighing and attaching his seatbelt. He can’t let them get to him, he closes his eyes. 9 hours couldn’t go any slower.

“Hey!” an unfamiliar American voice calls angrily. 

“Keep yer comments to yourself, yeah?” That’s Soap. 

“MacTavish,” John says, looking over at them. One of the soldiers is looking back over the seats at Soap gripping the chair. 

“He started it, Cap,” Soap protests. 

“I don’t care,” he says, sighing. The other soldier sits back down. You murmur, scooting up closer to Kyle, pulling your legs up onto the chair. John moves his eyes over to you as Kyle moves so you’re more comfortable. 

John sighs, he wants to be with you so badly it hurts, every fibre in his body is screaming for him to be near you. You’re knocked out, you wouldn’t know. He stops himself. He needs to respect your space. He needs to let you come to him when you’re ready. 

From now on he’s going to do a better job at protecting you and taking care of the pack.

“Want me to move her?” Simon asks. John shakes his head. 

“I’m going to take a nap, wake me up if we’re crashing or Soap’s trying to rip someone's head off.” He leans back, pulling his hat over his face. It was going to be a long flight. 

Simon didn’t wake him until they were about to land. You were already starting to stir. You started mumbling and drooling over Kyle as he tried to keep you calm. The scent of both the betas filled up the small space they’re confined in. 

You grumbled as they tried moving you when the plane landed. 

“C’mon lass,” Johnny encouraged you to lean against Kyle so he could rearrange your blankets. John watched them almost fighting with you, your eyes fluttering open now and then. It looks like you’re searching for something. The other soldiers leave first before John stands up heading out to the cargo hold with Simon following behind him.

He needs to clear his head. Simon should have woken him earlier. 

“You good?” Simon asks him as they make it to the car. He nods, getting in the front passenger seat. It’s not long before he sees Kyle coming with you in his arms. You have a sick bag in your hands. It makes him tense as they open the car door. 

“She threw up,” Johnny says as he gets in first. John sighs. This is his fault. Now you’re sick and they still have another flight, plus a few hours drive. You whine as Kyle places you up against Johnny. 

“Alpha?” You whimper, reaching out and gripping onto Johnny. It makes the hairs stand up on the back of John’s neck. You’re crying for him. He grips his seatbelt. 

“Got any water?” Johnny asks. Kyle passes him his canteen. Johnny presses it up to your lips but you moan turning your head away. 

“C’mon love you’ve got to drink something. It will make you feel better,” Johnny says, chasing your lips. You sigh, opening your eyes and taking sips from the canteen. “Good girl, there ya go.” 

“Maybe we should just drive up?” Simon asks as he starts the engine. 

“It’s a 10 hour drive. Even when we land in Edinburgh, it’s another 4 hours on the road,” John sighs. The car backs out of the plane as they make the quick drive to another cargo plane. John looks back at you, your eyes closed again leaning up against Johnny. 

…

You don’t wake again until they’ve landed in Scotland. Even then it's a slur of murmuring and quiet sobs.

Maybe this was a bad idea, John thinks after a stop off at a petrol station where you vomit again. This time it brings tears and shaking. 

“Cold,” you whisper, your lip quivering as Kyle is trying to get you to drink some more water. He gives up in the end, sighing as you sleepily blink up at him. He hums, pulling the fluffy blue blanket up and around you tighter, shushing you.

John gets out of the car looking in the building where Johnny and Simon are paying for the petrol. It’s cold, it's late. He wants nothing more than to just crawl into bed with you in his arms. He breathes in the frigid Scottish air as he sees Johnny and Simon walk over to the car. 

Johnny’s beaming as he walks over with a coffee in his hands. Of course he is; he’s home. He gets in the back as Simon walks over to him. 

“Get some rest, I can drive,” John says. 

“I’m good,” Simon says. John scoffs.

“I know you are but I slept on the plane, let me drive.” 

“It’s not a problem,” Simon says and before John can stop him he’s walking back around the car to the driver's seat. John sighs getting in the car. 

“Half way then we switch,” he says as he puts his seatbelt on. He looks in the back. Your eyes are glossy, your cheeks wet. You meet his eyes. It’s the first time you’ve really looked at him in what feels like forever. A smile tugs on his lips. You’re looking at him with your unfocused gaze. 

You smile at him, a soft smile, the type that makes his heart flutter and goosebumps rise up the back of his neck. It’s bittersweet since you’re still zoned out. Before he knows it your smile is gone and your eyes are drooping closed again. He sighs, turning back to look out down the road, the thick foliage of the Scottish highlands coming into view.

For the greater good. 

You don’t remember much of the drive. Every time you opened your eyes it made your head spin. All you could see was the bright headlights of the car against the trees. It reminded you of trying to run from your pack. 

Kyle’s arm around you is warm, his grip soft as he holds you against him. It feels like you’re driving for hours. Sometimes you try to focus on the conversation between Simon and John but you end up drowning them out. The winding roads sway you to sleep as you dribble over Kyle’s shoulder. He doesn’t seem to mind though.

“Hey, we’re here,” Kyle says as he gently shakes your shoulder. You sit up, stiff as you stretch looking round the car. You’re tired, cold and shivering as Kyle opens the door getting out. You unclip your belt scooting across to the open door. 

“Simon’s going to get the fire started,” he says as he leads you inside. The house is old, but big you walk in looking down the hall that has indoor windows looking through to the dining room. The lights are low. The whole place has a cosy feel to it. You just wish it wasn’t so cold.

You let Kyle lead you through to the living room. There’s a plush sofa, a TV, record player and a book shelf. You see Simon bent down in front of the fire. You don’t see John or Johnny anywhere. The place smells like damp wood, but you can smell the embers of the fire starting as you look round the room. 

“This wood’s wet. It’s not gonna take,” Simon says, standing back up. You look over at smoke coming out into the room.

“It's fine, it's late anyway. I think we could all use a good night's rest,” Kyle says. You nod as he heads out the room back into the hallway. You turn back to look at Simon taking gloves off and throwing them into the pile of logs. You can see John and Johnny in the kitchen. 

“C’mon you can have the first pick of the rooms,” Kyle says, wrapping his arm around you as he leads you upstairs. Upstairs feels warmer but not by much. You stand in the hall looking around. All the doors are cracked open and you walk up to one. There’s two beds inside. You move to the room next to it, the same. 

“What about here?” Kyle asks, smiling pushing a door open. You go over to see what you assume is the master bedroom. It’s beautiful with a four poster bed, a fireplace and a chaise longue. It’s dark but you can see the windows look out towards the woods. You smile stepping inside. It’s lovely. You feel guilt rise in you.

“It’s John’s room,” you say, turning to leave. Kyle shrugs from the doorway.

“It’s no one’s room,” he replies. 

John gets the biggest room because he’s the Captain. Or maybe Johnny will take it, it’s his house after all. You walk over to another door, this room is smaller than the rest only big enough for a single bed and a rocking chair. You go in and look out the window. 

It looks out over the front of the house and you can see Simon and Johnny bringing bags out of the car. The latches on the window look old, brass and heavy as you click it open. Cold air immediately blows into the room. You can open the windows as wide as you want, not like the windows on the base. 

You take in a deep breath and go to sit down on the bed. There's a small bedside table with a lamp but the only light coming in the room right now is from the outdoor lights. 

“Like it?” Kyle asks from the doorway. You look up at him nodding. He moves out the way as you hear commotion in the hall. Johnny walks in the room hitting the main light as he comes in. 

“Hey lass, how are you feeling?” he asks, putting a bag down. 

“Tired,” you say. You’re not really in the mood for a whole conversation. He hums, coming over to run his hand over your head, and you look up at him. 

“It’s been a long day. You should sleep, you'll feel better tomorrow,” he says, his thumb brushing your cheek. You feel bad. You’ve been sleeping the whole way, you don’t understand why you’re so tired. Johnny turns around closing the window. “You can put it on a latch if you want some fresh air,” he says, moving out of the way so you can see. 

“Thank you,” you nod at him. He smiles, leaving the room.

“If you need anything you know where to find us,” Kyle says, pulling the door closed, but not fully. They always leave a gap. You look over at the window, and you can see your reflection. Your braid is almost completely pulled out. You run your hands over it pulling on the hair tie at the bottom letting it fall apart. 

You run your fingers through it pulling it apart before walking over to your bag unzipping it. It’s your clothes, mostly PJ’s. Dr. Piper's scarf is sitting on the top. You take it out, bringing it up to your nose. The scent is fading. It will eventually be gone. Scents don’t last forever. 

You stand up taking the deepest breath you can. You can smell beta, soap, clean sheets straight out of the dryer. It’s a comforting smell, you miss it. You get up rubbing the back of your neck. You turn the light off pulling your clothes off so you’re in your underwear and climb into the bed. 

It’s cold and you find yourself pulling your legs up to your chest. You look out the open window. You hear a door close and the outdoor lights are turned off. You let your eyes adjust to the dark. You look up. You can see the moon. It’s big and full, lighting up the room. You can’t remember the last time you saw the moon, never mind this full. 

You smile bringing her scarf up to your nose. Dr. Piper would love to see this. A star filled sky. Maybe if there is a heaven, she’s there looking down at you. You don’t think you believe in heaven, it makes you think of the house on the hill, with the pies and the lake. The smell of caramelised apples and cinnamon in the air. The summer breeze and the sky burnt orange and red, the whole place surrounded by trees. That's your heaven. That’s where Dr. Piper is waiting for you. 

It’s still your happy place. You can still go there when you need to, and Dr. Piper is there. She’ll always be there.

Next

Dividers by Plum98 & gild-ui Beta reader and editor - rememberwren

[clownery-and-fuckery]

The fact that Harry is canonically FEARED by people in Jamrock really surprises me. Like, I know he's the "human can-opener" and that has boosted his reputation and name among the people, but learning what he was like pre-amnesia is a whirlwind of an experience. Why don't more people talk about it?

This is coming from the wiki page so some things might be a lil inaccurate (I honestly don't know how well I can trust that source just yet) but it says he was on drugs/drunk for the majority of his service (even pre Dora), I imagine this got worse especially during those six years after Dora left him. By that time, he had already partnered with Jean, and had probably rejected his promotion number one.

After Dora left, the substance abuse got worse, but his work got better. It was hard to discourage their best detective, I guess. Even though he was actively funding the thing he was trying to shut down. It's a conflict of interest, he shouldnt have kept his job.

Also, during "THE UNSOLVABLE CASE" its said he left a man unable to walk, held a woman hostage, and shot wildly at a man.

That's just one case. You don't get a reputation like Harry's from one case. You don't make someone run at the mention of your name in the area. Ruby didn't run because of that one case.

Harry was a scary man. An ex gym teacher, off his rocker on an amount of drugs he couldn't count on two hands. He was talking to the tie before he lost his memory. The skills probably weren't a new thing. I like Harry, too, but his routinely "the women are the bourgeoisie" bit isn't just a post-amnesia thing, that's a cemented belief that's hung around his head long enough to become a foundation of every belief, even if you're an ultra-liberal. I don't think he was that popular with anyone he met.

The public were honestly right to be afraid of him.

But the RCM promoted him again. Or they tried. Because, what, Jean somehow managed to cover up everything Harry had done? What else has he done? How bad did things get, if beating a man with a ledger isn't anything more than a footnote in a case file?

Speaking of Jean, he confuses me a little. I mean, he respects Harry enough to cover up everything he did/does, but when it comes to talking about/to him, he puts him down, chews him out, makes it sound like he thinks Harry's actions are unacceptable (which I'm inclined to agree, at least pre-amnesia) but he also actively tries to make this narrative of Harry being crazy and wild and dangerous a thing, to everyone. Even Kim. Especially Kim, at the end. Look at this dialogue:

Those are the words of someone hurt over and over, watching a cycle repeat in another. But Jean still, when he doesn't really need to, decides to cover up Harry's missing gun and badge, and hears him and Kim out at the end of the game. He tears Harry down out of habit, but he also helps him out of that same habit.

He uses the word bewitched. That interested me, because it's infinitely more affectionate than manipulated, or tricked or just lied to. Jean uses it in a sympathetic manner, because he, like the RCM, like Dora, had been drawn in by Harry, and forced to stay until they left, like Dora, or became too bitter to go, like Jean.

It set up an interesting narrative for an aftermath. Would Kim, too, be driven away? Or would he get so sucked into the endless torment of being Harry's favourite, that like Jean, even if he wanted to, Kim wouldn't know anything else? Or had Harry actually changed? Does he get better, or does he get worse?

I would love to see more exploration on Harry after the events of Disco Elysium. I want to know how his reputation shapes how he acts after, I want to know how people interact with him. Its so interesting to me. It's all a bit of a jumbled ramble but yeah!!! :D

[cherienymphe]

When The Party’s Over XXV (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, mentions of DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, forced pregnancy, breastfeeding kink, toxic relationship, violence, jealousy, stalking, underage drinking, drug use, manipulation, public sex, innocent reader, Heyward!reader

This is it! My longest Rafe series is complete and I had a lot of fun writing this for you all. Enjoy!

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @silkholland​​

➥ series masterlist

summary: Manipulated into a secret relationship with Rafe Cameron, you’re finding it much easier said than done to do the right thing and walk away…especially when he refuses to let you.

~

You were rocking him to sleep, soft hums leaving your lips as you did so. He still seemed so small in your hands, something that was hard to believe. It was a nice day out, and you’d taken advantage of the sun and light breeze, opting to sit outside for a while. It was good for him, for both of you really. Rose’s paranoia about the one-year-old getting sick had more influence than either of you wanted to admit.

You looked down at him in your arms, hair simple and pulled back out of your face. Your lashes fluttered as you gazed down at him, a look on your face like he was your favorite thing in the whole world. It was a sight, like you two were the only ones in the whole house…the whole island to be exact. The dress that Rose had bought you clung to you, some baby weight lingering, the top of it straining across breasts that were much fuller than they used to be.

Rafe had done that.

The glow in your face, the extra softness in your frame, and the mewling baby in your arms was all because of him. He knew that if you’d had it your way, your son wouldn’t be here, at all, anger bubbling up in his chest at the memory of what became of his first child. He tried not to linger on that or think about it at all if he could help it because it would send him into a blind rage all over again. He was trying to be better. He was trying.

He'd told you that, and he meant it.

…but you had a way of getting underneath his skin.

You always had.

From the first moment he came across you on the side of the road like some hapless prey ripe for the picking, the sight of you had stirred something in his chest. You’d looked so unsure, so nervous, and what had started out as a ploy to get a pretty girl into bed had turned into something more the second he realized who you were.

To say that he and Pope had an ugly history would be an understatement. They’d left their mark on each other more than a few times, and staring into the face of the Pogue’s sister, having you completely at his mercy, had him smiling in a way that was less than friendly. He’d wanted you then because it would be fun and would eat at Pope better than any punch could.

…but then…

He’d wanted you because he didn’t want anyone else to have you.

You were sweet—too sweet—and kind—too kind—and where Rafe would normally have the desire to squash someone like you, all he’d wanted was to have you all to himself. You were just too trusting, letting Rafe touch you and talk to you in ways that he could tell you’d written off as nothing. You were too naïve…and too caring.

He hadn’t lied when he found himself at your window all those months ago, knuckles bruised from the force behind his punch. The concern in your eyes was almost enough to make Rafe feel bad, a genuine fear for him in there that he’d never seen in anyone’s eyes before. It had almost been enough to make him turn around, or at the very least, just leave you alone after that night.

However…

The thought of you looking at anyone else like that had made his chest tighten. Rafe didn’t want to imagine you letting anyone else climb through your window. He hadn’t wanted to think about you sitting on your bed like some rapt student, listening to some other asshole go on about whatever dull family problems weighed him down. He didn’t want to think of some other guy being on the receiving end of that soft voice and those expressive eyes and gentle hands.

No one had ever apologized for the relationship between him and his father before. The most Kelce or Topper had offered up was a halfhearted ‘that sucks’, and Rafe got it. They dealt with the same thing from uptight parents who expected too much, so what else could they really say? Sarah had only ever given him smug looks accompanied by some variation of ‘I told you so’, but you?

You’d been genuinely sorry. You’d looked at Rafe like being at odds with Ward was the worst thing you could imagine. You’d been so bothered by the thought of the older man making Rafe so angry to the point where he needed to take it out on a wall, hurting himself. You’d listened to him, comforted him and actually tried to make him feel better.

…and that was the moment that Rafe decided he had to have you.

You were just too good to be true, too good to pass up, and he hadn’t cared how he achieved it, only that he knew he was going to have you…for good. The slight guilt that he’d felt at taking advantage of your drunken state was quickly swallowed down by the feel of you underneath him, so tight and so warm. It was almost like he just didn’t deserve something as sweet as you, but if that were the case, you would’ve never been in his arms to begin with.

“Where are you going?”

The sight of you coming back inside pulled him from his reverie, and Rafe evenly gazed at you as you came up short at the sound of his voice. He hated the apprehension that seemed to live in your eyes now, knowing that he’d done that, but what was the alternative? Let you get comfortable enough to try and leave him again? Let you get bold enough to actually fight him off? Rafe was happy with your fear of him if it meant staying by his side.

“He’s been asleep for a while, now. So, I’m just going to put him down,” you told him, a look in your eyes like you wanted to mockingly ask him if that was okay.

He felt his lips quirk up into a small smirk, and he waved you off.

His eyes followed your every move as you breezed past him, gaze lingering on the way your dress hugged you as you climbed the stairs. There was a time where Rafe didn’t have to corner you and hold you down to have sex with him. There was a time when you initiated it just as much, happy to roll around in his bed and sneak around behind Pope’s back, and even though you were at a place where you could barely stand the sight of him, Rafe knew you’d get back to that once again.

It was only a matter of time.

You’d be raising a kid together for the next eighteen years. Not to mention however many more Rafe planned on having with you. Your only other option was to be completely miserable, and you were a lot of things, but stubborn wasn’t really one of them. It was solely your fear that drove you to keep your relationship with him a secret for so long. Not stubbornness.

He wouldn’t lie.

Rafe did feel a little bad about how it all came out, but in the end, it didn’t matter how everyone found out really. All that mattered was that the whole island knew you were his. This whole island would look at you and that baby in your arms and know that you both belonged to Rafe Cameron. He wouldn’t have to deal with assholes—both rich and low-class alike—hitting on you, and he wouldn’t have to keep arguing with you about it.

That was one aspect of your former relationship that he didn’t miss.

The secrecy was fun at first, so much so that Rafe could ignore how much it bothered him to keep you a secret and be a secret. Rafe was nobody’s secret, but it got old fast, and it was solely because of the horny fuckers that couldn’t put their tongues back in their mouth to hear you turn them down. He hated having to watch them run their eyes over you, tracing every inch if you with no effort to hide what they were thinking.

It was enough to drive him crazy, and he had let it.

What drove him crazier was your inability to see it. You’d treated him like he was silly, and all he’d wanted was to not have to sit back and swallow it down as countless guys approached you with every intention of doing to you what Rafe did every night. That was the only thing that kept him from losing it completely.

Knowing that when the party was over, it was his bed you were climbing into and his cock you were wrapping your lips around.

Not theirs.

Looking back, that was really all that mattered, and maybe he should’ve done a better job of remembering that. Hell, he’d even allowed his mind to run wild with the possibilities of you and Topper. It couldn’t be helped. Despite Topper’s own history with Bunny, Rafe saw the way the other blond looked at you sometimes, and even without Rafe in the picture, you weren’t the type to cavort with your friend’s sloppy seconds. That still didn’t stop Top from imagining what it’d be like though, and his fear as Rafe had confronted him only confirmed what Rafe knew he’d been thinking.

He recalled the way his best friend had seemed to trip over himself, stuttering to deny what they both knew was true. After all, if Rafe was threatening him over some girl, then it was serious and he’d been close to crossing a line he couldn’t uncross. Rafe knew you would never, but you’d been angry with him that night, and when he came back to the party to find you gone, only to track your phone, his mind had jumped to the worst.

You weren’t the vengeful type, that was more Rafe’s style, but he hadn’t been able to stop his imagination from getting the better of him.

He’d fucked up.

Bad.

He knew that that same night when it was just the two of you on the water, and you’d been trembling underneath him. He’d been determined to right his wrong, to apologize and beg for your forgiveness. You had to see how messed up he was. You had to see how stupid he’d been to let his paranoia get to him. He hadn’t meant it, and he thought that he’d made you see that.

He thought you understood how sorry he was for that mistake he’d never be able to undo.

He hadn’t anticipated you leaving him. Not really, anyway. After all, Rafe loved you, and he was shit at showing it properly yeah, but did that really matter? He knew he loved you, and he thought you knew too. If he didn’t, would he really have gone through so much trouble just to keep you? To protect you from assholes that’d had the same intentions he’d had?

Rafe had gone above and beyond to keep you at his side, and as he leaned against the doorway, staring at you as you peered down into your son’s crib, none the wiser to his gaze, he wondered if you really knew just how much you meant to him even if he sucked at showing it.

“If you’re going then I’m going.”

Rafe heard you huff, a tired sound that clued him in to the fact that he was going to get what he wanted either way.

“Rafe…”

He didn’t respond, lightly bouncing his son and smiling back at the cherubic infant as he tried to grab at his face.

“Pope’s home for the weekend, and I just want to spend some time with my family. I want them to play with him and bond with him-.”

“…and you can’t do that with me there?”

“I don’t want you there!”

The rise in your voice gave the infant pause, and Rafe cooed at him before his face had time to scrunch up in preparation of a wail.

“I just want it to be us,” you continued.

“Not happening,” he replied with no room for argument.

There was a brief pause, one thick and filled with tension. He could feel your eyes on him, and Rafe was unbothered, only lazily looking towards you after some time. You were sitting on the bed, as beautiful as ever, face pinched into a frown. He took great care to ignore the tears in your eyes.

“You have to know that I’m not going anywhere by now,” you told him, voice cracking. “I can’t just want a few days away from you?”

“That’s not very healthy,” he sarcastically told you, slowly walking around the room. “We have a family, now, beautiful.”

“You’re insufferable,” you mumbled.

The insult merely rolled over Rafe’s back.

“You can go wherever you want, you know that, but you’ve lost it if you think I’m not going with you,” he said, sitting next to you.

You both watched as your son reached for you, and Rafe happily handed him over. He couldn’t swallow down his smile as the infant made himself comfortable in your arms, a happy sound leaving his tiny lips at the sight of you. Rafe loved how much he loved you, and he loved how much you loved him in return. The sight made him happy, and you only gave him a scathing look when he reached out to gently touch your face.

“You tried to run from me before…and you tried to take him with you…”

His voice was soft as he reminded you of this.

“I’ll never put it past you to do that again.”

He watched you lick your lips, tongue darting between them as your eyes flashed, memories of that night going through your mind.

“You didn’t really give me much choice, Rafe,” you whispered. “How could I not want to be away from you?”

Rafe looked away at that, hating how much that affected him. He knew it was his own fault, he recognized that, but how could he right his wrongs when you didn’t give him the chance?

“I…messed up,” he said, catching himself after a glance at his son. “I know that…okay? But I love you and-.”

“You can’t really believe that, Rafe,” you whispered, not looking at him. “You don’t treat someone the way you’ve treated me if you love them.”

“I’m shit at showing it, alright?” he spat. “You don’t…you don’t need to tell me that. I know.”

He looked towards the empty crib, swallowing.

“You don’t…”

He trailed off, letting his words die in the air. How could he explain it to you? How could he make you understand that he was so terrified of losing you that it made him go overboard to make sure he didn’t?

“I just can’t lose you,” he finally murmured. “…and…it just makes me so desperate to do anything to make sure I don’t.”

Your scoff had him looking at you.

“Do you hear how messed up that is, Rafe?”

You blinked at him, looking at him like he was crazy, and of everything that happened, he hated that the most. Unlike everyone else, you’d never look at him like he was crazy or horrible or the problem.

“I should be able to leave if I want to,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t be trapped into a relationship, threatened into staying with you. That’s not right-.”

“I know it’s not right,” he spat, breathing through his nose as he looked between your eyes. “I know that. I know that it’s wrong and doesn’t make sense and every other bad thing in the book. I know that, okay?”

He pushed himself off of the bed, taking a deep breath.

“…but I’d rather that than not have you, at all.”

When he looked at you, he couldn’t place the look in your eyes, but you were staring up at him with parted lips. His son squirmed in your arms, and it was almost like you didn’t notice.

“I’d rather you be dead than not with me.”

You flinched, and he watched the way a lone tear escaped, skipping down your cheek. You shakily exhaled, looking away from him with a shake of your head. As Rafe said it, he realized that it was the truth. He’d set out to have you, he got you, and he wasn’t going to settle for losing you. It didn’t make sense for both of you to exist and not be together. It didn’t make sense for you to be alive and well and not with him.

Let alone with someone else.

He watched you look down at the infant in your arms, his son much quieter now.

“You terrify me, Rafe,” you finally said.

When your eyes met his again, he could see how true that was, and his own gaze found the floor.

“You’re not who I thought you were, and you terrify me,” you went on. “…and even if I was some dumb broad who wanted to just pretend like nothing happened and forgive you for everything you’ve done to me, you terrify me.”

When his eyes met yours again, you were glaring at him.

“You’ve hurt me more than anyone ever has. You hurt me in ways I never thought I would be, and I can’t be around you without wondering when you’re going to hit me again or hold my head under water or-.”

“I told you that I’m trying!”

Your words were getting to him, making his chest tighten and his jaw clench. His son squirmed and made a small noise of protest, and you held him closer. Rafe forced himself to take a deep breath, running his hand through his hair as you just…stared at him.

“I’m trying my best.”

“Well, your best sucks,” you whispered, swallowing. “They’ve put men in jail for less.”

Rafe didn’t really have anything to say to that other than an apology.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “You’ve said that before, Rafe. Some things you just can’t fix with an apology.”

You told him that in a tone filled with finality, and even though it wasn’t the first time you’d said it, it was still something he didn’t want to hear. Rafe knew that he’d wear you down eventually, even if it took years, but as long as you’d wake up next to him with a smile on your face, it didn’t matter how long it took.

Your nails pressed into his shoulder, and Rafe hissed. The sting added to the heat that was already coursing through him, and he tightened his free hand around your wrist. The other was digging into your thigh, his mouth buried between your legs, tongue laving at your folds. Rafe was sure that he’d never get enough of you.

Truth be told, Rafe never liked going down on any girl much. He much preferred them going down on him, but his ego was too big to resist a chance at hearing some faceless bimbo moaning his name and clinging to him like her life depended on it. It was always a means to an end.

…but with you…Rafe loved the taste of you.

He loved swiping his tongue over you, sliding it between your folds, thrusting it into you as best as he could. He loved the way your breath would catch, and the way your thighs would press into his head, almost suffocating him. He liked to look up and see your parted lips, eyes wide and on the ceiling or half-closed and lashes fluttering.

Rafe had once thought that he could stay between your legs forever if it was possible.

He pressed his hand into your stomach when you came on his mouth, letting your leg go and reveling in the feel of your thighs tightening around his head. You were twisting your arm, trying to get him to let go, but Rafe was having none of that. You were still fighting to catch your breath when he kissed his way up your body.

Your bundle of joy was sleeping in Ward and Rose’s room tonight, something Rose was happy to agree to when Rafe had brought it up. You seemed to be just on the precipice of sleep when he’d made his way into the bed, his lips on yours before you had an understanding of what was happening.

Despite your verbal protests, and the hands pushing against him, your body greedily clung to his when he pushed himself into you. You were so wet, a simple and smooth intrusion, and Rafe groaned at the feel. He heard your sharp intake of breath and felt your nails press into his skin. His forehead lightly rested against yours as he just held himself there, basking in the feel of you wrapped tightly around his cock.

It was a feel he’d never get tired of.

He pressed his forearm into the pillow beside your head, leaning over you as he pulled his hips back. The action made you gasp again, and your chest arched up into his when he pushed into you to the hilt. His thrusts were slow at first, taking his time, and Rafe pressed his lips to your neck.

Rafe did love you.

At least, he thought he did.

He knew that the thought of never being with you drove him crazy, drove him to terrifying lengths. He knew that you were the first thing he thought about when he woke up and the last thing before he went to bed. When he wasn’t with you, all he wondered was what you were doing. Your smile alone was enough to calm him down from any violent high, and sometimes when he thought about how badly he hurt you, it hurt him.

He would think about the frown on your face when he held you too tight or the fear in your eyes that day on the yacht. He remembered the way you shrunk in on yourself in his truck that night, clutching your cheek and wanting to be as far away from him as possible. It hurt Rafe to think about those things, some of them necessary, some of them not.

Sometimes you just made him so angry that he lost control, and while he never cared in the moment, the aftermath always had him feeling bad. He always wanted to hold you and tell you how sorry he was. Always wanted to kiss it better and beg for your forgiveness. Rafe had never wanted to lose control with you, and he’d failed at that so many times.

Your sharp moan brought him back to the present, and he curved his hips into yours, plunging into you without abandon. Your nails were drawing blood, but he didn’t care. He welcomed the feel, the pain, and his teeth grazed along your shoulder before his lips traveled to meet yours. You jerked your head away, but Rafe followed, covering your lips with his own.

He deeply inhaled, breathing you in and tasting the inside of your mouth. Every thrust had you shuddering beneath him, and Rafe felt like he wasn’t going to last for much longer. Against what you probably wanted, you clung to him, wrapping your arms around him and lifting your hips to meet his every thrust. Under the cover of darkness, you seemed to lose yourself, and it reminded Rafe of the early days in your relationship.

He missed waking up to the feel of your lips wrapped around him or your hand sliding along his bare skin in the middle of the night. No matter how much you might’ve wanted to erase it all, your body would never forget, and it was so evident in the way Rafe played you like an instrument, knowing exactly what to pull and what to stroke to make the sound he loved.

“I miss you,” he whispered into your mouth. “I miss you so much.”

You didn’t respond, pausing for half a second, and Rafe kissed you again.

“God, I miss you.”

Being with you was the only time Rafe felt…heard. Seen. You had never dismissed his problems because of however much money he had. You had never just placated him. You’d always genuinely felt bad for him and had always been open to listening to him and trying to make him feel better—whether that be with your words or your body.

In truth, you’d been way more understanding than he deserved at times.

…and that was how he knew you’d come around one day.

You had to.

There was no other choice.

When you came around him, he held you down, still pushing into you and fucking you through it. Your head was thrown back, and one leg was hooked along his waist, and Rafe didn’t want to look away. You were fighting to right your breathing, and Rafe took the time to kiss along your chest. His son was the greatest thing you’d given him, and despite your silence on the matter, Rafe could tell that you weren’t all that comfortable with the changes in your frame.

Rafe had never been happier, to be honest.

The fullness of your breasts were addicting to look at, even more addicting to feel, and knowing that it was to nurture his pride and joy turned him on so much. His teeth grazed over the rounded flesh, and his palm pressed over one, massaging it and squeezing it, and Rafe didn’t miss the mewl you let out. Nursing him before bed was something you hadn’t done today, and he both felt and heard your sigh of relief when he wrapped his lips around a hardened bud.

The pressure from his hand and mouth eased the pressure in your chest, making a mess on your skin and eventually the sheets. Rafe wondered what it felt like, that relief combined with the feel of him inside of you. When it was Rafe’s turn to come, he did so inside of you, jerking against you and rutting into you until he was spent.

You yourself were completely spent when he pulled away from you, resting on his back beside you. The only sound in the room was that of your combined breathing, and this was the part where you beat yourself up and allowed guilt to force you into more isolation. Rafe refused to let you, reaching over and pulling you closer. You didn’t react, and he’d take that over a fight any day.

“I love you,” he whispered after a while.

When you didn’t respond, Rafe continued.

“I know you don’t believe that, but I do. I-.”

“You’re obsessed with me,” you tearfully mumbled. “That’s not the same.”

Rafe swallowed, frowning.

“You want to possess me. You only care that I’m with you, never mind if I’m happy or not-.”

“You were happy with me before-.”

“…and that was before!”

You pulled away from Rafe, sitting up and wrapping the covers around you.

“That was before I knew what you were really like and before you tried to drown me and before…”

You trailed off, hurrying to your feet and quickly looking for something to put on. Rafe watched you with a frown, huffing to himself.

“Where are you going?”

“To be with my son,” you spat out.

You were moving out of the room before Rafe had time to respond, and he only stared after you.

Rafe knew that getting to where he wanted with you wasn’t going to happen overnight. Hell, it might not even happen in two years, but Rafe was patient when he knew what he wanted. He was patient the morning after you had sex with him, calm as he told you he wanted more from you, knowing the kind of girl you were and the pressure you’d feel to be in a relationship with him.

He’d been patient before that, content to orbit himself around you until he was a regular part of your routine. Patient until he’d made the decision that he wanted you all to himself. He was patient when he’d tampered with your birth control, knowing it was only a matter of time before your worry drove you to seek out a pregnancy test.

He had not anticipated the abortion.

That had shocked him, and it was only then did it click for him just how badly you wanted to cut ties with him.

Rafe had been patient that day he and Ward pulled into your yard, relaxing in your living room as his father talked to your parents and he waited for you to arrive. Rafe was impulsive, this was true, but he was patient when he needed to be. He’d been patient in tracking you down, following your every move until he had you right where he wanted you, alone on the side of the road and at his mercy.

…and Rafe could be patient with this too.

He fingered a familiar box in his hand, taking it from its place in the nightstand. The ring was ostentatious and shiny and perfect—fit for a Cameron woman. Fit for the wife of Rafe Cameron. He was unsurprised to find you in the other guest room, leaning against the headboard with his son in your arms as you nodded off.

It was a sight that warmed Rafe’s heart with pride, and he gently sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake either of you. You looked so peaceful in your sleep, a contrast to how you looked whenever you were looking at him these days. You were beautiful and the kindest person he ever knew, and you’d given him a healthy baby boy.

How on earth was he expected to just let you go?

He grabbed your free hand, your left one, brushing his own fingers over your own. You hated him, now, but you wouldn’t forever. You were afraid of him, now, but you wouldn’t be forever. Rafe was confident that a day would come where he’d hear the sound of your laughter mixed in with his son’s, and when you’d look up at him, it wouldn’t disappear.

He knew you’d probably scream at him in the morning and probably hurl it at him, but that didn’t stop Rafe from slipping the heavy ring onto your finger. It looked like it belonged, and Rafe brushed his finger over the solitaire. It wouldn’t be tomorrow, and it probably wouldn’t even be next year, but a day would come where you wouldn’t take this ring off, and while that day couldn’t come fast enough…

Rafe loved you just enough to wait.

Fin.