#jUST GNAWS IT WAS SUCH A GOOD ONE-SHOT MAN

[mbirnsings-71]

Guys I'm so normal about the Mighty nein one-shot I am so normal [is shaking violently]

[missarchive]

PORNSTAR ★

spencer reid

summary; struggling under the weight of student debt and barely scraping by on a minimum-wage job, Y/N is desperate for a way out. When an old college friend sends her a link to an unusual job posting—camera operator for a top-tier adult entertainment studio—she hesitates but ultimately applies. The promise of competitive pay and discretion is too good to ignore.

She’s even more surprised to meet Spencer Reid, a nervous and awkward man who she initially assumes is part of the camera crew. Spencer’s stammering and shy demeanour put her at ease, but when she learns he’s not behind the camera but the star in front of it, her world is turned upside down.

cw; 18+ mdni, pornstar!spencer, camera crew!reader, spencer is not straight (neither is the reader), face-fucking, doggy, unprotected p in v, masturbation (f), spencer is still a sweetheart, bodily fluids, cum swallowing, dom!spencer but also dom!reader, reader is not very good at her job to be honest, "good boy", unprofessional relationships, FILTHY NASTY, praise, finger sucking, sub!spencer 🤭, handjobs, "slut", overstimulation, oral (f. receiving), threesome (mmf), filming for porn, whiny spencer, oral (m. receiving), pure filth, cowgirl, cumming inside, slight aftercare, pretty much fade to black

an; lots of love from beyond the grave, im still very ill. i hope you all enjoy this, please do not mind the spelling mistakes! i tried my best to proofread in my current state 😭

wc; 8k

The sharp, acrid smell of burnt coffee weaves through your tiny apartment, clinging to the fabric of your couch and the cluttered corners of the room. It lingers in the air, an unshakable reminder of your life’s current state: stagnant, suffocating, and just a little bitter.

You sit at the wobbly kitchen table, staring at your laptop screen like it holds the secrets to the universe. Instead, it shows a spreadsheet that hasn’t changed in weeks, no matter how many times you open it, no matter how hard you will the numbers at the bottom to magically disappear. $89,563.47.

That figure is more than a debt. It’s an anvil crushing your chest, a constant shadow in the corners of your mind. It’s the dream-crusher, the thing that keeps you up at night, whispering that you’ll never escape. With your minimum-wage job barely covering rent and bills stacking higher every day, every road out seems endless and uphill.

You exhale shakily, pushing your chipped coffee mug to the side as frustration wells up in your chest. The universe, it seems, has no plans to cut you a break. You let your head fall into your hands, fingers pressing against your temples.

And then, out of nowhere, a soft ding pulls you from your spiral.

Your phone lights up on the table, screen glowing with a notification. It’s from an old college friend—a name you haven’t thought about in over a year, someone who faded from your life the moment you both graduated.

“If you’re desperate enough… this is worth a shot.”

The message is short, cryptic, and followed by a link.

You hesitate, thumb hovering above the screen as your mind races. It could be a joke. Or a scam. But the weight of your desperation gnaws at your common sense. Against better judgment, curiosity wins out.

The link opens to a job posting.

“Camera Operator Needed for Top-Tier Adult Entertainment Studio. Competitive Pay. No Experience Necessary.”

You blink at the words, half expecting the screen to vanish in a puff of smoke. It doesn’t. Your first instinct is to laugh, a sharp, incredulous sound bubbling in your throat. But then, you see the salary.

Your breath catches in your chest. The number is real. The kind of real that could actually change things. A few months, maybe a year, and you could obliterate a chunk of that debt.

You sit back in your chair, the idea burrowing into your mind like a persistent whisper. It’s insane. Ridiculous. But it’s also tempting. One word, bold and unyielding, flashes on the screen: Discreetly.

You read it again and again, the weight of it heavy in your chest. That’s the catch, isn’t it? The only thing holding you back.

By the time dawn filters through your dingy curtains, your application is sent.

The sleek office building feels completely at odds with what you imagined. Its polished floors and glass panels scream corporate professionalism, not… this. Even the receptionist greeted you like you were interviewing for a finance job, her tone cool and efficient.

Now, you sit in the waiting area, hands folded tightly in your lap. The quiet hum of productivity around you is unnerving, and your pulse drums in your ears.

When the door finally opens, you glance up.

A man approaches you, clutching a clipboard. He’s taller than you expected, with a mop of brown hair that looks like it has a mind of its own. His glasses sit slightly askew on his nose, and he exudes an awkward kind of energy—nervous but strangely endearing.

“Y/N?” he asks, voice soft and hesitant, with just the slightest upward lilt.

“That’s me,” you reply, standing and smoothing the wrinkles from your shirt.

“Great! Um, I’m Spencer Reid. I’ll be showing you around today.”

You blink at him, caught slightly off guard. This is Spencer Reid? His name had been listed in the email, but somehow, you’d pictured someone… different. More polished, more self-assured. Less professor who forgot his lecture notes.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, smiling politely.

He nods quickly, adjusting the clipboard in his hands. “Yeah, uh, you too. So, um, if you’ll just follow me, I’ll… show you around.”

Spencer leads you through the maze-like studio, his steps hurried yet deliberate. The place is a whirlwind of activity—bright lights overhead, cameras perched on sturdy tripods, people buzzing with purpose.

As you follow him, he rattles off bits of information about the space, gesturing to equipment and rattling through explanations. His sentences stumble over themselves, his words tumbling out in fits and starts like he’s rushing to get them all out before they escape him.

“So, what do you do here?” you ask, trying to break the tension.

Spencer hesitates, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Oh, um, I work… mostly in front of the camera. But I, uh, know how the equipment works too, so I can help. If you have questions. About cameras. Or lights. Or… yeah.”

You suppress a grin at his stammering, chalking it up to an attempt to make you feel at ease. He must work behind the scenes, you think.

Maybe he interviews the actors or films promotional material. He doesn’t strike you as someone who could handle the spotlight. The thought settles you. At least he’s not intimidating.

The director greets you with a curt nod as Spencer leads you to the main set. Before you can take in your surroundings, Spencer slips away for a moment, leaving you to absorb the controlled chaos around you.

When he reappears, your jaw nearly drops.

Gone are the glasses and sweater vest. Instead, he’s wearing a tailored button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled just enough to reveal toned forearms. His hair is neatly tousled, his posture more confident, though there’s still a faint awkwardness clinging to him.

You blink, struggling to reconcile this Spencer with the nervous man who had stumbled over his words minutes ago. And then it hits you like a freight train. He’s not part of the crew. He’s not here to run the cameras or adjust the lights.

He’s the talent.

Your mind scrambles to process the revelation as you watch him step onto the set, chatting easily with the director. Someone hands him a script, and he scans it with an easy familiarity before nodding in agreement.

Meanwhile, you’re standing frozen, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing.

“Y/N, you ready?”

The director’s voice snaps you back to reality. You nod stiffly, moving into position by the camera, but your gaze keeps flicking to Spencer. He glances at you once, his lips twitching into a nervous half-smile like he knows exactly what’s going through your mind. It doesn’t help. If anything, it makes everything stranger.

You grip the camera tightly, your heart pounding in your chest. You thought you were prepared for this job, but nothing could have prepared you for Spencer Reid.

You can’t believe you’re actually doing this. The scene in front of you is far more intense than you had imagined. It’s your first real day on set, and Spencer is working with one of the female talents. From this distance, all you can focus on is the way he moves—sure and confident, his hips snapping rhythmically against his co-star’s body.

You fumble with the camera settings, trying to ignore the wet, sloppy sounds of sex that fill the room. You can’t tear your gaze away from Spencer’s cock, slipping in and out of her pussy like a well-oiled machine. Her hands clawing at his back as she gasps around his cock when he pulls out to force it in her mouth.

He threads a hand through her hair, the movement almost… tender. As tender as you can be for bruising the back of someone’s throat, anyway. She looks up at him, a smile on her lips, before he presses his cock to the back of her throat and lets her work him over. His face tightening, lips curling up into a smirk as she brings a hand up to hold what she can’t fit in her mouth.

Your stomach tightens at the sight of them together. You’re not sure if you should be so… invested in this. But it’s hard to tear your eyes away when he moves like that. You can’t stop watching.

“Focus on the face,” the director’s voice rings out. “We need her face. We need reactions.”

Your head jerks up, camera lens refocusing on the woman’s expression. It takes every ounce of your control to keep it steady and ignore the fact that Spencer is still balls-deep down her throat. It’s surprisingly easy to tune out, at least, until he flips her over, pinning her face-down to the bed. His cock pummeling into the woman from behind, her head turned to the side with glossy lips and tear-stricken eyes.

Spencer leans down, then, and you watch as he murmurs something in the woman’s ear, something you can’t quite hear. Her response is immediate—she gasps, her eyes going wide before her lips stretch into a perfect O. Her fingers dig into Spencer’s back as his thrusts become more frantic, and then he’s groaning, hips slamming against hers as he fills her with his cum.

The moment he finishes, the spell is broken. The camera drops to your side, and you breathe for what feels like the first time since the scene began. The director calls cut, and Spencer pulls out slowly, being careful of the woman underneath him, a small smile on his face as he reaches down to help her stand on shaky legs. He glances over, and for just a moment, his eyes lock on yours before he turns away to clean up. It’s stupid. It shouldn’t mean anything.

But… you can’t help the fluttering in your chest at the realisation that he was looking at you, even if only for a second. You try not to think about it too much as the day goes on, focusing instead on your job and taking in the sights and sounds around you.

It’s far more fascinating than you anticipated—watching the director’s decisions play out, watching the actors navigate their roles with ease.

But then, as the afternoon wears on, Spencer appears by your side again. He’s back in the clothes from this morning, and the awkward, shy energy has returned in full force.

“So, uh, you get a lunch break. And um, I was wondering… if maybe you wanted to grab something together. If you’re not busy. I mean, it’s okay if you are. I just…” His gaze darts to the side, voice trailing off. “I figured maybe we could talk more about your job, make sure you know everything you need.”

You blink at him. “You don’t have to do that,” you tell him. “I’ll be fine.”

Spencer shifts on his feet, looking slightly disappointed. But he nods anyway, turning to leave.

“Wait.”

The word slips out of you before you can catch it. Spencer looks over, eyes brightening ever so slightly. “Yeah?”

“Lunch sounds… nice.” Your voice is soft, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him as you say it.

When you finally meet his gaze, it’s the most natural thing in the world to see his lips curve into a small, shy smile.

Spencer Reid is a walking contradiction.

On camera, he’s a vision of dominance and raw confidence—a sex god, to put it bluntly. Every movement he makes is purposeful, controlled, and exudes a confidence that seems almost unnatural. But off-screen? He’s a different person entirely. Awkward, shy, and endearing in ways you hadn’t expected. He stammers, blushes, and struggles to find the right words in nearly every conversation. But every time he does, it only makes you smile. It’s impossible not to be drawn to him.

You sit across from him in a small café just a few blocks from the studio, the warmth of your coffee mug grounding you. The café is quiet, a peaceful haven far from the chaos of the city, where the sounds of honking horns and chatter fade into the background, leaving only the soft hum of conversation and clinking cups.

“So,” Spencer begins, his voice still soft and a little unsure, “how do you like the job so far?”

“It’s… interesting,” you reply, a laugh bubbling up.

“Good interesting or bad interesting?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “It’s just… not at all what I expected. The studio, I mean. It’s so professional. Like any other office.”

Spencer nods, the nervous tension in his posture easing slightly. “Yeah, it really is. Most people think it’s all…” He pauses, searching for the right words. “They think it’s just… sex all the time, you know?”

You snort at the absurdity of it. “Definitely not.”

The thought of Spencer—the shy, uncertain man in front of you—being the confident, sexual force he is on camera is hard to reconcile. You can’t imagine him ever making the first move with anyone. It seems almost… impossible.

“We have contracts with each other,” Spencer continues. “And there are all kinds of protocols to follow for the scenes. It’s actually pretty strict.”

“That makes sense,” you reply. “I guess I never really thought about it like that.”

Spencer shrugs, a flicker of unease crossing his face. “A lot of people don’t. It’s weird, I know, but… it’s still work. And if anything goes wrong…” He trails off, his expression growing darker.

A sudden curiosity prickles in you, but you don’t push for answers. Instead, you ask, “How did you end up doing this?”

He scrunches up his nose, looking almost embarrassed. “It’s a long story, but… my friend convinced me to try out once. And then I just… liked it.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. The image of someone convincing Spencer to do something so bold is almost too perfect. It’s exactly the kind of thing you could picture him doing—reluctantly agreeing, then discovering something unexpected about himself.

“I can’t really imagine that,” you say, your laugh light and teasing. Spencer blushes, his cheeks tinting pink as he shifts uncomfortably.

“What, you think I’m too shy for something like this?”

You nod, not hesitating for a moment. “Maybe just a little bit.”

“Yeah,” he admits softly, “I guess I am. I’ve gotten pretty good at switching it off when I’m being filmed. But in my day-to-day life… it’s like I can’t move past it.”

The words linger in the air between you, a strange kind of tension rising. You can’t help but wonder what else he’s been talked into. But before you can say anything, the door of the café chimes as a new customer enters. Spencer glances at the clock, his expression shifting into a look of reluctant understanding.

“I’m sorry,” he says, standing up. “We should get back. But hey, maybe we can grab lunch again tomorrow?”

You smile up at him, your heart beating just a little faster. “Sure.”

For a moment, you think he might say something else, but instead, he simply nods and turns to leave. You watch him walk away, a quiet disappointment settling in your chest. It’s not what you wanted—not exactly—but there’s something about Spencer Reid that pulls you in, something you can’t quite place.

Maybe it’s the awkward energy he exudes, the way he fumbles over words yet still manages to be endearing. Maybe it’s the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, or the way he transforms so seamlessly into the confident, dominant figure on camera. Whatever it is, you want more.

When you get home that evening, your mind keeps wandering back to Spencer. His eyes, his smile, the way his cock had moved inside his co-star. You replay the scene in your head again and again until it feels like you can almost hear the sounds of sex, almost smell his cologne wafting in the air.

It takes you a while to realise your hand has wandered down your body, fingers slipping between your legs as you imagine Spencer touching you.

The thought sends a thrill through you. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve gotten off thinking about someone, but… this feels different. This feels real.

You press a finger to your clit, applying a little pressure. It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but it’s better than nothing. The image of Spencer’s face appears in your mind, his lips twisting into a pained expression as he comes. You imagine him over you instead of his co-star, his cock sinking into your pussy, his hands gripping your hips as he fucks you.

Your muscles clench at the thought, and a wave of desire surges through you. Your hand moves faster, fingers pressing and rubbing over your clit. You picture Spencer’s lips on yours, his breath hot against your skin as he speaks. You imagine the way his tongue would feel on you, the way his mouth would taste if he kissed you.

You come quickly, the pleasure overwhelming and swift. You barely have time to process it before the orgasm hits you, your body quaking as you climax.

When you open your eyes, your gaze falls on the ceiling. You feel dazed and far away, like you’ve left your body behind for a minute. It takes a while to come back to reality, to process what just happened.

But as you do, a sudden guilt creeps in. It’s not like this is something you’d never done before. But with Spencer Reid… it feels different.

When you wake up the next morning, you’re groggy, still caught in the afterglow of last night. It takes a few moments to remember the job, and another few to get out of bed.

As you shower, you can’t stop thinking of Spencer. The image of him on camera yesterday keeps popping up in your mind—his hips pumping between the woman’s legs, his fingers digging into her hips as he thrusts. And when he flipped her over… fuck. You can’t believe how much that got you going.

The way his cock disappeared into her, the sound of her gasps as he pounded into her.

You think of him behind you, his cock filling you, the length of him stretching your walls as he thrusts in and out of your body. The feel of his hands on your hips, holding you steady for his pleasure.

The image makes you gasp, and a wave of heat surges through you.

But as you stand there, water pouring down your body, another image pops up in your mind. Spencer across from you at the café, his cheeks flushing pink as he talks to you. His eyes brightening when you ask him a question, his smile growing ever so slightly as he answers.

You can’t help but be drawn to the contrast. Part of you wants to know more about his confidence on camera, to see what it’s like up close. Part of you just wants to pull the awkward, shy version closer and tell him that everything is okay.

There��s a lot you don’t know about Spencer Reid. But one thing is for sure.

You want more.

It takes a lot longer than usual to get ready for work, your mind wandering to all the possibilities. When you arrive, you head straight to the set, a strange mix of nerves and anticipation churning in you. It takes you a while to spot Spencer, and when you do, he’s chatting with the director.

It’s different now, somehow, seeing him in this space. He’s still awkward, still shy, but there’s an air of confidence around him that you didn’t notice before. You wonder what it would be like to be his co-star on camera. What it would be like to feel his hands on you.

The thought is a little startling, but you can’t deny it.

You watch as Spencer finishes speaking with the director, then turns towards you. His steps falter as he catches your gaze, and for a moment, it looks like he might change direction entirely. But then he pulls his glasses off, setting them down on a table near the door. Slipping his button-up over his head, leaving him in nothing but dress pants and an undershirt. He moves slowly, each action deliberate, and his gaze lingers on yours for a moment before he ducks into a nearby room.

When he comes back, his shirt is gone, and all that remains is smooth skin. You try not to stare, but your gaze tracks him anyway, watching as he makes his way to the main set. When he passes you, he catches your eyes again, giving you the tiniest smile.

You try not to wonder what that means, but it’s hard to focus on anything else.

When the director calls places, Spencer steps into position next to the female lead, and you take your spot behind the camera. As you adjust the settings, you try not to think too much of yesterday’s scene, but it’s impossible. The image of Spencer fucking his co-star from behind is still etched in your mind.

The director calls action, and Spencer launches himself at the woman, his mouth descending on hers. But as he kisses her, another man steps into view, and your gaze darts towards him.

He’s not as tall as Spencer, but his body is toned and well-defined, his cock already hard. He pushes Spencer against the woman, then starts to strip his pants off.

Your cheeks flush at the sight, and your mind struggles to make sense of what you’re watching. This isn’t how you imagined it would go, not at all.

Spencer presses his body against the woman’s, his lips moving against hers. He shifts her slightly, spreading her legs so the other man can take position between them.

You fumble with the camera for a moment before your gaze returns to the action. The sight of them all together is almost surreal. The other man slips his cock into the woman’s pussy, starting up a slow rhythm. He leans forward, and Spencer’s mouth drops to his neck, sucking a bruise onto his skin.

The woman gasps, pushing her hips back against the other man’s cock. Spencer shifts her again, and this time, he pulls away slightly, his mouth drifting lower on the other man’s chest. He sucks another mark onto his nipple, and you watch as his tongue teases over it for a moment.

Spencer pulls back then, his eyes darting towards you, before he glances down at the woman. He doesn’t need to say anything—his intention is clear. And without hesitation, the woman turns onto her hands and knees, the other man pulling out and flipping her over in one swift motion.

You shift the camera to capture the new angle, watching as Spencer moves behind the woman and slides his cock into her pussy. The other man moves with him, his hand wrapping around the woman’s neck as he slides his own cock inside her mouth.

The sight of them both fucking her is almost overwhelming. Spencer’s hand clamps down on the woman’s hip, his thrusts growing more frantic as he pounds into her from behind. The other man’s fingers dig into her hair, holding her still as he fucks her mouth. And when they both pause, you feel yourself holding your breath in anticipation.

Then Spencer’s mouth descends on the other man’s, and everything freezes. The sound of their kissing is loud and wet, and you try to remember to breathe, to remember to keep filming as they move together.

The camera shakes in your hands as you adjust it, trying to capture all three of them. You move closer, trying to take in everything at once. The sight of Spencer fucking the woman, of the other man fucking her mouth, of the three of them together. It’s almost too much to take in.

Spencer’s hand drifts down the woman’s back, then reaches up to tangle in her hair. He pulls her head back, and you can only imagine the sensation of his cock stretching her walls as he fucks into her. The other man pulls out of her mouth, then, and Spencer guides her down to take his cock instead.

The image sends a wave of lust through you. You can feel your pussy clenching at the thought of Spencer fucking her like this, at the thought of feeling him inside you. A sudden need surges in you, and before you can stop yourself, you whisper, “Fuck.”

The word is quiet, but it echoes in the room. Spencer’s eyes dart to yours, a look of surprise crossing his face. He falters for a moment, then continues, his hand reaching up to guide the woman’s head back and forth on the other man’s cock.

But his eyes remain locked on yours. And when you don’t look away, he starts to fuck the woman harder, his hips thrusting against her ass.

You’re frozen, unable to move. The camera is forgotten in your hands, your gaze fixed on Spencer as he fucks the woman in front of you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

The sound of his breathing fills the air, along with the sound of the woman’s gasps as he pumps into her. Then, without warning, he pulls out, his cock dripping with cum and precum.

He reaches for her, his mouth crashing down on hers as he pushes her back onto the mattress. The other man positions himself above her, and Spencer moves to kneel at her head. Then Spencer’s lips drop to the woman’s clit, and your gaze is drawn to the sight of him eating her out.

He sucks and licks at her pussy, his mouth moving over her clit. The other man groans, his hips starting up a slow rhythm as he fucks into her mouth. Spencer’s fingers move to her tits, playing with her nipples as he continues to eat her out with fervour.

The sounds of their fucking fill the air—the sound of the woman gasping, of Spencer moaning, of the other man’s breathing growing more rapid. You’re frozen in place, unable to tear your gaze away from Spencer as he eats her out. He pauses for a moment to pull back and look at you, then his lips drop back down between her legs.

It’s hard not to imagine him like this over you—his mouth moving between your legs, his tongue teasing over your clit.

Your pussy clenches at the thought, and you realize you’re soaked. The sound of your own breathing echoes in your ears, and you try not to look at Spencer, but you can’t help it. He glances up at you, his eyes locking on yours.

The connection between you is sudden and intense. You want to do something, to say something, but before you can, the other man groans. His hips start to pump harder, and Spencer moves back, his body positioning between the woman’s thighs.

His cock is still hard, still wet with precum from fucking her before. He positions himself against her pussy, then pushes in, his body shuddering as he sinks inside her.

The sight of him fucking the woman is almost too much. His thrusts are slow and deliberate at first, but soon he’s pounding into her, his cock moving in and out of her pussy in quick, slick thrusts. His hand reaches down to play with her clit, and her gasps grow more frantic as he rubs her towards climax.

The air is thick with tension, your breath coming in quick gasps as you watch them fuck. You can barely hold the camera still, your fingers shaking with anticipation.

The woman’s gasps turn into a cry, and she starts to come. Her pussy clenches around Spencer’s cock, and his body shudders with pleasure. The other man grunts, his cock erupting in cum as he shoots onto the woman’s chest. And Spencer fucks her through her orgasm, his cock moving faster and faster until he comes with a cry, his cum spilling into the condom.

You don’t realize you’ve stopped filming until it’s all over. The camera hangs in your hand, forgotten as your gaze lingers on Spencer.

It takes him a moment to catch his breath. When he does, his eyes flicker towards yours, Spencer smiles, then ducks into the bathroom. He emerges a few minutes later with a towel around his neck and his glasses back in place. You try not to laugh at the sight—he still looks like the same awkward nerdy boy from before. But now, when you look at him, you can’t forget the image of him fucking a woman from behind, his cock sliding in and out of her as he sucked bruises into another man’s neck.

And you can’t help but wonder how it would feel to have him do that to you.

It’s hard to get any work done for the rest of the day. Your mind keeps wandering back to Spencer, to his mouth moving on the woman, to his cock fucking her from behind.

When it’s finally time to leave, you grab your bag and head towards the door. But before you make it, a hand reaches out, tugging you into a dressing room.

You stumble as you enter, nearly crashing into the person who pulled you in. But when you turn around, you realize it’s Spencer.

His cheeks flush a deep red, and he shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, his voice barely above a whisper, “I just… wanted to talk to you.”

A small laugh escapes you, and you smile at him. “It’s okay, I didn’t mind.” Then you add, “I guess this is your dressing room?”

He nods, looking around. “Yeah,” he says, “They gave me my own room.”

It’s not hard to see why. The room is small, but there’s enough space for a bed and a bathroom, and there’s a table near the door with a couple outfits laid out on it. You move towards the bed, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress as you look around.

Spencer takes a seat next to you, his fingers picking at a loose thread on the bedspread. The silence grows thick between you, but instead of feeling uncomfortable, it feels strangely intimate.

You lean back, shifting your body slightly so your thigh is brushing against his. He looks up at the movement, his cheeks flushing again.

A smile plays across your lips. “Did you like me watching you fuck her?” you ask.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flickering towards yours for just a moment. “Yes,” he says finally, his voice low. “I really liked it.”

You lean in then, your shoulder brushing against his. “You wanted to fuck me instead, didn’t you?”

Spencer swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Yes.”

You smile at him, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. He shivers at the touch, and a little thrill of power shoots through you. “You were really hot today.”

He ducks his head at the words, but you can still hear a whisper of “thank you” from him.

You move closer, your arm winding around his shoulders and pulling him against you. His head drops to your shoulder, and you shift slightly, letting your lips brush against his ear.

“I really liked watching you,” you say, your voice soft and low. “Watching you eat her out, watching you fuck her like that. I wanted to be underneath you.”

Spencer swallows again, his breathing growing shallow. His hands move to your thighs, squeezing your legs slightly.

“I wanted to feel you inside me,” you continue, “To feel your cock stretching me open. I bet you’d fuck me hard, wouldn’t you?”

He moans at the words, his fingers tightening on your thigh. You can feel his body shudder against yours, and the knowledge that you’re turning him on like this is intoxicating.

“Do you want to fuck me?” you ask.

He groans again, and this time there’s a yes, yes, please.

You reach up, running your fingers through his hair. “I want you to touch yourself while you think of me,” you say. “While you think of me underneath you, of your cock sliding into me.”

He moans, and you can feel his cock growing hard against your thigh. “And if you’re good,” you add, “Maybe I’ll let you fuck me.”

Spencer groans, and his hips push forward slightly. You can feel him growing more aroused, and for a moment you’re tempted to give in and let him fuck you now.

But then you remember the quiet, nervous boy who took forever to approach you at the café. And the idea that he’d let you control him like this—both in front of the camera and in private—is too enticing to ignore.

You lean back, taking your hand off him. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll even let you cum inside me.”

Spencer gasps, his breath catching in his throat.

His eyes drop to yours, filled with a desire. You smile back at him, but you know this isn’t over yet.

“Tell me again,” you say. “Tell me what I want to hear.”

He swallows, and you can see the hesitation in his eyes. “Please,” he says finally. “Let me touch you. Please let me fuck you.”

The words send a rush of power through you, and you have to work to keep from smiling. “Keep begging,” you say instead.

Spencer nods, his eyes wide. “Please let me fuck you,” he says again. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

He’s growing more desperate by the second, his fingers gripping the fabric of your skirt tightly. You can hear the whine in his voice now, and you wonder how long he can hold out.

“Please,” he says again.

You watch him for a moment, studying him. He’s looking more and more desperate by the second. You wonder how much it would take to push him over the edge.

“You have to promise to do whatever I say,” you say finally. “Whenever I tell you to.”

Spencer nods so fast it’s almost funny. “Anything,” he says. “Whatever you want.”

A thrill of excitement shoots through you, and for a moment, you forget about anything other than the power he’s giving you. You could make him do anything—make him get on his hands and knees and beg for permission to touch you. Make him eat you out until you’re screaming and dripping with cum, and not let him stop until you’re satisfied. Make him fuck you until you can’t walk straight, until you’re sore and aching from taking his cock.

You shiver at the thought, your pussy growing slick with arousal. But you don’t stop, not yet. You reach for him, taking his face in your hands and making him look at you.

“You’re mine,” you say. “Do you understand?”

He nods again, his breath coming in quick pants. “Yes,” he gasps. “Whatever you want.” Then he adds, “Please.” The word is a moan, filled with desperation and need. “Please, fuck me.”

Your fingers tighten on his jaw, and you lean in closer. “Say it again,” you say.

He nods, his eyes growing desperate. “Please fuck me,” he says again, his voice a low whine. “I need it.”

A soft laugh escapes you, and you move closer to him, your lips brushing against his forehead. “I love the way you beg,” you say. “It makes me so wet.”

He shivers at the words, and you can hear the breath hitch in his throat.

“I can’t wait to feel you inside me,” he says. “To feel you fuck me until I’m raw.” He pauses, then adds, “Until I can’t take it anymore.”

The words are almost too much. You can feel your own arousal growing, your pussy aching with the need to be fucked.

“Maybe,” you say, “If you’re good enough, I’ll let you.”

Spencer whines at the words, his body shaking slightly. You lean in, your mouth moving to his neck. “Will that be enough?” you ask.

“Yes,” he gasps, his fingers clenching against your thighs. “Whatever you want. Just please let me fuck you.” The words are a moan now, filled with need.

The word sends a rush of arousal through you, and before he can say anything else, you pull back. “Good boy,” you say softly.

His fingers tighten on your leg, but he doesn’t say anything.

You smile, reaching for his glasses and pulling them off his face. “Get on your hands and knees,” you say then.

Spencer nods, moving to do what you said. You watch as he gets into position, his hands and knees on the mattress, his ass in the air. You move behind him, running your fingers over his hips, teasing his skin.

“Spread your legs,” you say. “I want to see how desperate you are for my cunt.”

Spencer does as he’s told, spreading his legs for you. And you can’t help the groan that escapes you at the sight. His cock is already leaking with precum, and you know he’s aching to be touched. To be fucked. To have your pussy wrapped around him, to feel him sink inside you until he’s balls deep.

The thought sends a rush of lust through you, and you lean forward, running your hands over his back. You move up to his shoulders, then run your fingers down his arms. When you get to his hands, you reach for the lube on the table.

“Get yourself nice and wet for me, baby,” you say, squeezing out a generous amount on his palms.

He does as he’s told. And when he looks back at you, you nod to his cock. “Touch yourself,” you say. “Show me how much you want to be inside me.”

He nods, and without hesitation, he reaches for his cock, his hand wrapping around it. You watch for a moment as he strokes himself, his movements slow at first. But it doesn’t take long for his hips to start pumping, his hand moving faster and faster as he strokes.

“Mmm,” you say, smiling at the sight. “I like that.”

Spencer moans, but he keeps going, his hand pumping his cock until he’s fucking his fist. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, and you can’t help your own arousal from growing. Your pussy is slick with need, and all it would take is one touch from his hand and you’d be cumming.

You shift closer to him, reaching out to run your fingers over the small of his back. Spencer gasps, his hips stuttering for a moment. But then he continues, his hand stroking his cock until it’s almost too much.

“Can you cum like this for me?” you ask.

The words are enough to push him over the edge. His hips thrust into his hand, and you can hear his breathing grow ragged. “Yes,” he whines. “God, yes.”

A smile plays on your lips. “Then do it,” you say. “Cum for me.”

He cries out at the words, his cock pulsing in his hand as he cums. The sound of his orgasm fills the room, and for a moment all you can do is watch him in wonder.

When he’s finished, he collapses back against you, his body relaxing against yours. You wrap your arms around him, holding him to your chest as you smile.

“Good boy,” you say. “Just like that.”

And when Spencer nods, you can’t help but feel a rush of pride at the thought of your obedient little slut. You’ll break him in slowly—letting him touch you and taste you until he’s desperate for your pussy. And then, when you’re ready, you’ll let him fuck you.

And once he has your pussy, he’ll never let go. He’ll be obsessed with it, with the feeling of being inside you. With the way your muscles clench around him, with the way your cunt grips him tight as he fucks into you. With the feeling of your thighs wrapped around his hips, with the way your pussy milks him until he cums deep inside you. With the sound of your moans as he fucks you until you’re aching and raw. With the taste of your pussy on his tongue as he eats you out until you cum on his face.

Spencer whimpers against you, and you run a hand through his hair, petting him. “Shhh,” you say. “That was good. You’re doing so well.”

He moans against you, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods, leaning back against your chest.

You smile, your fingers moving to his hair again. “There’s my good little slut,” you say.

He groans at the words, his breathing growing faster. You move your hand to his cock, running your fingers along the length. “Look how hard you are,” you say, stroking him lightly.

Spencer moans again, and you can feel him shudder against you. “Are you ready for more?” you ask.

“Yes, please,” he gasps.

You smile at the desperation in his voice. You pull back, looking down at him as you run your finger along his lips. “Open your mouth,” you say.

He does as he’s been told, and you push your finger between his lips until he sucks it into his mouth. You pull your finger away, smiling at him. Then you reach for a condom, and stand up. “Take off your clothes,” you tell him, tearing open the package.

Spencer’s eyes flicker to yours, but he moves quickly to comply, pulling off his pants and shirt until he’s naked. You take a moment to study him, to study the way his cock is hard for you, the way his chest rises and falls as he breathes.

Then you reach for him, guiding him back onto the bed. You push him down, spreading his legs as you move between them. He whimpers as you pull his thighs up, and for a moment, all you can do is look at him like this.

He’s beautiful—spread out on the bed for you, his thighs spread wide and his cock hard. His eyes are glazed with lust, and he’s breathing hard. You can see the way he’s shaking slightly, and you know how much he wants to be inside you.

A soft smile plays across your lips, and you reach for your clothes, pulling your skirt up around your waist. You can’t help the moan that escapes you as you sink down onto him, the feeling of his cock filling you almost too much to handle.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he gasps as you sink down further.

You moan at the words, your head dropping to his shoulder as you take his cock deeper. You can feel him stretching you, filling you until you’re almost too full to move. When you’re finally seated on his hips, you pause, looking down at the sight of his cock disappearing into you.

Spencer groans again, his hands moving to your thighs. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers. “Your cunt is so perfect.” His hands tighten on your thighs, and he pushes up into you, making you moan.

You nod, and then lean down, taking his mouth in a kiss. You move slowly at first, your hips shifting back and forth as you grind down on his cock. But it’s not long before you’re fucking him in earnest, your body riding him until you’re gasping with pleasure.

He’s so good, you realize. He feels so good inside you, better than anyone you’ve ever had. His cock is thick and full, and you can feel the way it’s stretching you until you’re aching. The knowledge that he wants you—wants to fuck you and fill you with his cum—only makes it better.

You move faster, your body grinding down on his cock as you fuck him. Spencer is moaning now, his breath hot against your ear as he groans. His hand moves to your ass, his fingers gripping tightly as he pulls you down onto him.

“Yes,” he moans. “Like that. Fuck me like that.”

You nod, your hips picking up the pace until you’re bouncing on his cock. You can feel yourself building, the pleasure growing with each thrust until it’s almost overwhelming. You cry out as you cum, your body shaking with pleasure as your pussy clenches around him.

Spencer cries out with you, his hips bucking up into you as he cums. You collapse against him as he finishes, his cock throbbing deep inside you. You stay there for a few moments, until the last tremor of pleasure fades away. Then you pull off him, reaching for a cloth to clean yourself with.

When you look back at him, he’s watching you with wide eyes. “Was that…good?” he asks finally.

You smile at him. “It was amazing,” you say, and you mean it.

Spencer smiles back at you, then nods. You can see a little blush on his cheeks, and you can tell how pleased he is with himself.

You reach for his hand, taking it in yours as you smile again. “You were perfect,” you add. “Just like I knew you’d be.”

He flushes a little more at that, but you can see how happy he is. You squeeze his hand once more, then let go. “Come on,” you say. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

You help him up, then reach for his clothes. He watches as you hand them to him, and you can still see how aroused he is.

He moves to put his pants on, but pauses when you stop him with a hand on his shoulder. “Not those,” you say. You point to the corner of the room, where you can see his boxers. “Those.”

Spencer pauses for a moment, his eyes flickering to yours. “Okay,” he says softly, and he moves to do as he’s told.

You can’t help the smile that comes to your face at the sight, at the way he obediently puts on the boxers you tell him to.

“Come here,” you say when he’s done.

He moves to you, and you take his face in your hand. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” you say.

His eyes widen at the words, but he nods. “Yes,” he says, his voice soft.

You pull him closer, your lips moving to his ear. “And what do I want?” you ask.

“To fuck me,” he whispers.

You smile at that. “And you’ll do anything I want,” you say.

“Yes,” he agrees.

You run your thumb along his jaw, smiling at the sight of him standing there in boxers and a tee-shirt, waiting to do your bidding. “Good,” you say. “My good boy.”

Spencer moans at the words, leaning into your touch. “What do you want?” he asks.

You study him for a moment, then smile again. “For now?” you say. “Nothing. Just you.” You lean in, taking his mouth in a soft kiss. “I’m so lucky to have you,” you whisper against his lips.

Spencer makes a soft noise, then kisses you back. “I’m the lucky one,” he whispers against your mouth.

You smile at that, then pull back and take his hand. You lead him to the bed, then guide him onto it. “Stay,” you tell him as you pull the covers back.

He nods, watching you as you climb in next to him. You reach for his hand, then settle back against the headboard.

“I don’t have to leave?” he asks.

“No, baby, of course not, ” you reply. “You can stay.”

You watch as a smile spreads across his face, and he leans into you, his head resting on your shoulder. You can feel his fingers tighten on yours, and the knowledge that he wants to stay with you like this—that he wants to curl up in your arms and let you comfort him—is so sweet it almost hurts.

You wrap an arm around him, then move to pull him close. “Sleep,” you tell him softly.

“You deserve it.”

He doesn’t reply, but you can feel him relaxing against you, the tension in his body easing as you hold him. He’s warm against your side, and you can smell the scent of soap and lube on him. You hold him for a moment more, then reach to turn off the light.

“Rest now,” you say. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Spencer nods, his fingers tightening on yours one more time. Then he drifts off to sleep, and you stay with him until you fall asleep too. You dream of the next time you’ll fuck him, of the things you’ll do to him until he’s begging for your mercy.

★

[reignpage]

Basketball Captain!Toji

Indiana Pacers: faking left

Contents: 18+ minors and ageless blogs dni, bts of a modern au!smau, cursing, mixed content (f/a/s), time reader and Toji spent as roommates, not proofread

Dear Diary,

Who would have thought that you’d be welcoming Toji into your apartment as a roommate for an indefinite amount of time?

It was weird to watch him eye your place and throw his duffel bag onto the couch before plopping himself down with a grunt. He’d been kicked out and you were both to blame. Having just gone on a run, he was surprised, and impressed he admitted to you, that Sukuna had managed to change the locks whilst he was gone. 

At least, the man had enough love in his cold, dead heart to leave a bag full of clothes — even if those clothes were mostly pyjama shirts, all the boxers in Toji’s drawer, one pair of sock (it had Gojo’s face on it and Toji explained it was a birthday gift that he has no plans of ever using), and one singular shoe.

It’d been five days since you’ve both been punished simultaneously and you’ve compiled your observations, none you’re allowed to publish, however, since apparently being made excommunicado from your own apartment is ‘humiliating’. 

So, here is a summary:

Roommate!Toji is surprisingly clean. He's insistent on certain things. Certainly not OCD about it, but he washes his plates, and yours, straight away, reasoning that since you cooked, it’s only right that he tidies up. He leaves them in the sink to soak before diligently scrubbing and drying. It’s common sense, of course, yet so shocking you just had to write it down.

But he's also messy. He leaves his gym bag, half opened, dirty towel just wallowing in sweat, on the floor. You've tripped over it so many times you've considered burning the damn bag. And his socks, oh god, his socks. He bought more since Sukuna wouldn't answer his messages and they've been scattered all over your place. Sock on the kitchen counter, sock in the crevices of the sofa, sock under the bed, sock on your desk, sock by the front door. It's like you're eat, sleep and breathing socks.

And if you have to say sock one more time you might just...

Let's leave it at that.

Roommate!Toji doesn’t like horror movies. He hates the romcoms you suggest and would much rather watch things like Transformers and Fast and Furious. Classic guy stuff. It’s been a constant battle for the remote, but if you offer something up, then you’ve found he’s a lot more receptive to your choices. 

This leads to your next observation. 

Roommate!Toji is hyper-sexual. If you want to watch 10 Things I Hate About You, then you’ll have to let him throatfuck you until you’re teary eyed and speechless. On the flip side, if he really wants to watch a basketball game, then he’s lifting you onto his lap, sliding your shorts off and pushing your panties to the side to wring orgasms out of you. One for every shot his favourite team makes. This sometimes means you’re left wet, gasping and gaping at nothing. And the other times, you’re being forced to cum and cum and cum until you’re so sure you’ve came as much as the universe could possibly allow anyone in one lifetime. 

He proves you wrong. 

Roommate!Toji isn't the only one who's got sex on their mind. That became abundantly clear on the first night when he promised to 'behave' to show his gratitude for your act of kindness. You replied with a 'good' and left it at that. However, it quickly started to gnaw at you. The way you were cuddled next to him on the sofa, all warm under the blanket, eating popcorn, watching some show you can't even remember now, and he wasn't squeezing your tit or kneading your ass like he used to before.

So, whilst he was into the show, you snuck your hand underneath, rubbing it against the bulge of his sweats and ignoring his amused huff. You felt him harden in your palm, and the promise of the stretch made your mouth and your pussy moisten. You whispered in his ear, 'can I just sit on it, please?'

He almost choked on a popcorn.

There were no other words exchanged, he just shoved his stupidly big hand down your panties and stretched you out on his fingers, taking all the time in the world, as he always did, knowing the kind of damage his even more stupidly big cock could do.

And then you were sinking down, back to his chest, as you continued to watch the show.

Despite turning out to be almost just as horny as he is, ultimately, it was the captain who just struggled to control himself. This brings you to your next point.

Roommate!Toji can’t keep his hands off of you. When you’re cooking, he comes up behinds you, grinds his already half-hard dick into your ass, groping your hip, stomach and tits like they owe him money. Then he’ll whisper ‘smell so good, ma’ or ‘am fucking starved, doll’ into your ear, and you find that dinner has to be pushed back an hour. Even if you’re passing by him to get a glass of water, he’s gripping your hip to still you, just so he can land a harsh smack that leaves your ass burning and jiggling for his viewing pleasure.

Roommate!Toji must be restrained at night. Even completely knackered from a whole day’s practice, he still finds the energy to wrestle you into his favourite position: face down, ass up. He’ll plow into you at an unforgiving pace, seeking out the shrieks of complete and utter pleasure from you, wanting to see his cock coated in your wetness. Or when you arrive late, having had an assignment to finish off in the library, and he’s already fallen asleep, you’ll lay beside him and doze off. 

And then…

Roommate!Toji has a somno kink! You figured that out a while back, when you first started sleeping together. Often waking up, with his hands on you, sucking a hickey on your neck. He never went farther, seemingly just enjoying the feel of your soft skin. Your ex was never so passionate, rarely ever even cuddled. Toji, on the other hand, seemed to seek you out even in his sleep. 

It makes your heart blush.

Roommate!Toji brings out hidden desires in you. Turns out, you also like somnophilia. You like waking up to his head between your legs, or his cock rubbing against that rubbery part of you that has you seeing stars. And you like, just as much, creeping under covers, pulling down his boxers, and waking him up with his cock down your throat. 

Of course, all that being said, it hasn’t just been pure sex. 

Roommate!Toji is a surprisingly good cook. You had expected him to be the type to order takeout, or eat ready made meals. But, and now that you think about it, you really shouldn’t have been so shocked, he’s quite rigid with his meal plans. He knows just how much protein and calories he’s taking in, he’s always snacking on fruit salads which he’ll share with you, and he shakes his head with a playful disappointment when you pop a candy instead in your mouth. 

Roommate!Toji is a great help around the apartment. He’ll grumble and call you a pussy when you shriek over a spider, cupping it in his hands and throwing it out without another word. It’s really nice not to have to do gymnastics or parkour to reach the cups at the top shelves, just have to beckon him over and he’s grabbing it for you with a lopsided grin, taking the opportunity to pin you against the counter and imposing his intimidating height, almost like a toll.

It gets you so wet when he helps you out. 

Roommate!Toji, despite being an athlete who has to wake up early for practice, is not a morning person. Sure, he’ll get up and do whatever he has to. But he won’t like it. And he makes it known. In the mornings when he needs to train or go for a run, he’s muttering curses and stretching with annoyance. But, when he’s got nothing on and his body still rouses from the routine, he’ll just lie there, sometimes on his phone, waiting for you. And other times, when he simply just cannot wait a second longer, he’ll play with your hair, enjoying the scent of your conditioner. 

You’ve caught him, a couple times, scanning your features with a small smile he didn’t realise he had. 

Roommate!Toji is shit at getting groceries. He always forgets something, whether that’s toothpaste, bread, eggs, milk, tissues and so on and so forth. It’s hilarious to think he can remember so many strategies, game plans, NBA stats, but when it comes to simple household items, he has not a clue. 

Roommate!Toji is ticklish. This is the best observation. Despite being all big and strong and oh so tough, the man squirms when your dancing fingers go anywhere near his waist or neck. He'll push you away with a string of curses, rolling his eyes at your giggles. And when you step closer for another attack, he'll twist you into a headlock. The man loves his headlocks. Says he does it all the time to his brother. In the midst of a full nelson, a 'punishment' of his, he made you promise not to do it again.

And when he's bullying his fat cock head inside your gummy walls, kissing your cervix with every thrust, it's just too hard to keep your wits about you. Which he knows very well. What he doesn't know, however, is that you had your fingers crossed.

You'll pull out your killing blow some other time, that's for sure.

Roommate!Toji doesn’t care what people think. Not really. Even though you’re a nobody and there are girls always cheering for him and waiting for him outside his classes or the court, his eyes find yours through the crowd. During an exhilarating game that converted you into a basketball tolerant (not a fan just quite yet), every time he scored, yours meet his. 

It doesn’t mean anything. 

He was merely looking to see if you had seen how impressive it was. 

Or maybe there was someone behind you that caught his eye, perhaps someone flashed him. 

You don’t want to know. 

You can’t know. 

Roommate!Toji is moving back out today. He’s taken the basketball that laid around in the corner of the living room, the varsity jacket hanging on the door, and green toothbrush that stood next to your baby blue one. He’s packing up as you write this and neither of you are saying anything. 

There really isn’t anything to say. 

You both knew this would have to end eventually, in fact, you had been complaining every time he left the toilet seat up or left water marks on your coffee table or every time he wouldn’t let you get up from bed to use the toilet because he’s ‘too comfortable’ or because ‘you’re so warm’. 

Roommate!Toji points to a gift bag pushed behind some textbooks on your desk. You pause. He asks you what it is and you have nothing to say. He wasn’t supposed to ask, he should have pretended he didn’t see it, just as he had been since he first walked into your room with his bag.

The answer’s already hanging in the air, like a ball skirting around the edge of the hoop, waiting to drop, either in or out. 

Neither of you are willing to bet. 

So, you kiss Roommate!Toji goodbye, slapping his wandering hands away and he’s telling you he’ll text. 

And whether he will or will not, doesn’t really matter, because you’ve got some papers to write. 

But you hope he does. 

[thesecondhandwoman]

A CLOSE CALL

Sevika x f!reader

Synopsis: Sevika was always used to being the saver, never the one saved. But when she went on a mission with you, and it suddenly went south, she experienced opposite roles for the first time.

Request: @veasvka 🤍

Sevika was used to danger. She’d built her life on it, thrived in it, and learned to fight her way out of any corner. Missions for Silco were usually straightforward: go in, get what he wanted, leave a mess behind. This time should have been no different.

It wasn’t.

The stolen shimmer was in their hands, but the ambush had been waiting. Fists, blades, and bullets tore through the warehouse as the fight escalated far beyond what Sevika anticipated.

And, for the first time in years, she hadn’t seen it coming.

It happened so fast that she didn’t realize at first. Her mechanical arm swung forward, pulverizing the face of some unfortunate bastard. Blood sprayed, her eyes locked on the next threat. But she didn’t see the man behind her, moving silently, blade raised high, aimed for the base of her neck.

She heard a shout—your voice—cutting through the chaos.

“Sevika!”

A split second later, she felt the impact. Not the blade piercing her skin, but the weight of your body hitting hers, followed by the sickening sound of steel cutting into flesh.

Her stomach dropped.

She spun just in time to catch you as you fell, the blade slipping free from your side. Blood poured from the wound, staining her gloves as she cradled you against her. “No,” she breathed, her voice shaking with fury and panic. “No, no, no.”

Your face twisted in pain, your hand clutching weakly at her vest. “Got you… covered,” you gasped, trying to smile.

“You idiot!” she barked, though her voice cracked. Her heart pounded as she pressed her hand against the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding. “You didn’t need to do that!”

The attackers were retreating now, frightened by her rage as her mechanical arm lit up with a menacing hum. But none of that mattered. Only you mattered.

“I couldn’t let them…” you choked, coughing weakly. “You’re too important.”

Sevika froze at your words, the weight of them crashing down on her like a tidal wave. “Stop talking,” she snapped, though her voice softened, her tone desperate. “Save your strength.”

You didn’t argue, but your hand found hers, squeezing weakly before your eyes fluttered closed.

The trip back to the Last Drop was a blur. Sevika carried you, her teeth gritted against the rising panic in her chest. Vander’s medics worked quickly, but they couldn’t hide the grim expressions on their faces as they fought to stabilize you.

She stayed by your side the entire time.

Hours passed, and the night crept on. Sevika sat in the corner of the room, her head in her hands, replaying the moment over and over. The sight of you falling, the sound of your pained gasp—it all gnawed at her. She’d faced death countless times, but the idea of your death? That was unbearable.

She should’ve protected you. That was her job, wasn’t it? She was the shield, the one who took the hits. But now? You’d taken one for her, and it made her feel hollow. Weak.

She glanced up at you, lying still in the bed, your breaths shallow but steady.

“You’re not allowed to leave me,” she muttered, her voice barely audible.

The next morning, you woke slowly, your body heavy and your side burning with pain. You blinked against the dim light, your head turning to see Sevika slouched in a chair beside you, her metal arm resting on the table, her flesh hand holding yours.

“Sevika?” you rasped.

Her head shot up, her eyes wide with a mixture of relief and anger. She leaned forward, gripping your hand tighter. “You’re awake,” she said, her voice rough with emotion.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice weak. “Hurts like hell, though.”

“Good,” she snapped, though the corners of her mouth twitched. “Serves you right for pulling a stupid stunt like that.”

You smiled faintly, your gaze softening as you looked at her. “You would’ve done the same for me.”

“That’s different,” she growled, pulling her hand away to rake it through her hair. “I’m supposed to protect you, not the other way around.”

“Sevika…” Your voice was gentle, but firm. “You’re not invincible. I wasn’t going to let you die.”

Her jaw clenched, her gaze dropping to the floor. “You don’t get it,” she said quietly. “I can’t…” She stopped, exhaling sharply. “I can’t lose you. Do you know what that would do to me?”

You reached out, your fingers brushing against her metal arm. “You didn’t,” you said softly.

Her shoulders sagged, her usual confidence stripped away. “This can’t happen again,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “I don’t care what happens to me, but you? I can’t—”

You squeezed her arm, silencing her. “We take care of each other,” you said firmly. “That’s what this is. That’s what we are.”

Sevika stared at you for a long moment before sighing heavily. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the edge of your bed. “You’re too damn stubborn,” she muttered.

“Look who’s talking,” you teased, earning a small, shaky laugh from her.

She lifted her head, her expression softer now. “Just… promise me something,” she said. “No more heroics. Let me take the hits, okay?”

You hesitated before nodding. “Deal, but only in understandable circumstances .”

Slightly satisfied, Sevika leaned back in her chair, the tension in her body easing slightly. She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with surprising tenderness.

“Get some rest,” she murmured. “I’ll be here.”

You gently smiled, giving a final nod before slowly closing your eyes and sinking back into slumber. And the only thing that was truly letting you rest was the fact that you knew she would be there when you woke up, like always.

[usagii-bun]

PART 2|| ⭑.ᐟ 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌| 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗋 ! 𝖺𝗅𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗆 𝗑 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 — 𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗐 𝟣𝟪+

PART 1 , PART 2

— (𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝗒 𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗂𝗆𝗒𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝗑.)

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒...in which you are a cam girl and he is your favorite viewer OR in which you are a final year college student and he is your new professor.

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌... smut, rough sex, oral sex (f and m),possessive sex, hair-pulling, vaginal fingering, spanking, masturbating( f and m), doggy style, mating press, language (these warnings are for all 3 parts)

this is extra long cause i combined chapters 2 and 3 together from ao3 <3

word count: 12.3k

also, please do like, reblog, and comment. i love to hear your thoughts about this <33

Alhaitham stumbled back into the apartment, the faint buzz of alcohol still lingering in his system. He was slightly tipsy, though not as far gone as his roommate Kaveh, who was practically hanging off his shoulder, muttering nonsense.

"Man, you’re so uptight, even when you're drinking," Kaveh slurred, squinting at Alhaitham as though he were the most complex puzzle in existence. "I swear, you could be at a rave and still look like you’re solving a theorem." He laughed, his voice echoing through the empty hallway.

Alhaitham rolled his eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Maybe I just have better things to think about than your drunken rambling," he shot back, guiding Kaveh to the couch before retreating towards his study. He'd had enough of Kaveh's inebriated philosophies for one night.

But Kaveh, as persistent as ever, wasn't finished. "Why don't you ever just… loosen up? You're going to get wrinkles from frowning so much." He waved a lazy hand in the air. "You should find a cam girl or something. It'd do you some good."

Alhaitham stopped in his tracks, turning to glare at his roommate. "That's not exactly my thing, Kaveh."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Kaveh mumbled something else, but by then, Alhaitham had already shut the door to his study, the noise fading behind him. Sitting down at his desk, he stared at the open books in front of him, trying to push the absurd conversation out of his mind. But Kaveh’s words lingered—annoyingly so. Loosen up, huh?

He huffed, running a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of Kaveh’s drunken comment gnaw at him. It was ridiculous, really. Alhaitham didn’t need to "loosen up" in the way Kaveh suggested. He was perfectly content with his routine. Yet, for some reason, his mind kept circling back to Kaveh’s joke.

Cam girls.

Without much thought, and more out of curiosity than anything else, Alhaitham pulled his laptop closer, typing out a quick search. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just mindlessly scrolling through the thumbnails of various profiles. None of them really caught his interest. It all seemed so superficial, so far from anything that would actually intrigue him.

Until he accidentally clicked on a profile.

He almost clicked out of it immediately, but something made him pause. The girl on screen—her features were soft, her expression carefully masked, but there was something in her eyes. Pain, discomfort, maybe? She shifted, and he could see she was trying to hide it, to maintain the performance, but she was clearly not okay.

Before he realized what he was doing, his fingers flew across the keyboard, tipping her to stop. He wasn’t sure why he did it. Perhaps it was the urge to help, or just the fact that he couldn’t stand to see someone in obvious pain without intervening.

A notification popped up on her screen, and she blinked, pausing in the middle of whatever she was doing. Alhaitham watched as she read his message, a look of surprise briefly crossing her face before she stopped, offering a small, grateful smile in return.

He could have left it at that. He should have. But something kept him there, his hand hovering over the request for a private session. It wasn’t about pleasure—not in the way Kaveh had implied. No, this was different. He was curious, intrigued by her reaction, her vulnerability. Before he could second-guess himself, he sent the request.

When the private session began, her demeanour was noticeably more relaxed. She wasn’t putting on the same kind of show for him as she might for others, and that suited him just fine. They didn’t talk much. He asked her if she was okay, she reassured him that she was, and for the most part, he just watched. Not in a voyeuristic way, but as if observing something—someone—he didn’t quite understand.

And when it was over, he left.

He hadn’t planned on returning. Alhaitham chalked the whole thing up to an odd impulse, one brought on by Kaveh’s careless words. Yet, as the days passed, he found his mind drifting back to her. To the softness of her features, the way her smile had changed once she knew he wasn’t there to demand anything from her. The way she had looked so at ease, even in that strange, intimate setting.

It didn’t take long before he found himself on the site again. And again.

This time, he didn’t stop at curiosity. He began to indulge, slowly, cautiously, but undeniably drawn to her. There was something about her presence—her calmness, her smile—that tugged at him in ways he didn’t fully comprehend. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, or maybe it was the contrast between her work and the moments where she let her guard down. Whatever it was, it kept pulling him back.

As the days slipped by, Alhaitham found himself returning to the site more often than he expected. It had started innocently enough, just curiosity, but now something deeper tugged at him. He’d try to focus on his work, bury himself in books, but she was always there, lingering in the back of his mind.

One night, after yet another exhausting day, he found himself logging in again, the familiar tension rising in his chest. He clicked onto her profile, waiting for the livestream to start. When she appeared on screen, his breath caught. She was wearing soft, black lingerie, the delicate lace hugging her body in a way that made his pulse quicken. There was something about the way she carried herself tonight—subtle, alluring, but also personal. Intimate, almost as if this performance wasn’t for the masses but for him alone.

Alhaitham leaned back in his chair, the screen casting a soft glow over his face as he watched her. She was teasing, slow and deliberate with her movements, but what really held him captive was the way she seemed… comfortable. Confident. It wasn’t just a performance anymore, and that realization stirred something in him.

When she shifted, her fingers trailing over her skin, he felt a heat pool low in his stomach. His gaze was fixed, his mind lost in the rhythm of her motions. He tried to keep himself detached, like he had before, but this time it was different. This time, he couldn’t stop the slow, building desire creeping through him.

She began to interact with her chat, answering questions with a soft, teasing smile, but it felt like her attention was elsewhere—on something more personal. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Alhaitham couldn’t shake the feeling that she was aware of him watching, that she knew he was there. As if the connection they had in that first private session hadn’t been fleeting.

And when she finally glanced at the camera, eyes half-lidded, her fingers trailing lower over the soft fabric of her lingerie, something snapped in him.

Before he could stop himself, he sent a request for a private session. The notification appeared on her screen, and her lips curled into a small, knowing smile. She accepted immediately, and the screen shifted, blocking out the rest of the audience until it was just the two of them.

The atmosphere was different this time—heavier, charged with an unspoken tension. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries, her fingers moving with more intent, a soft hum escaping her lips as she settled into the space they now shared. Alhaitham’s eyes followed every movement, the heat building inside him impossible to ignore now.

“Enjoying yourself tonight?” she asked, her voice low and sultry, though there was a flicker of genuine curiosity behind her words.

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry as his nimble fingers typed a response.

User1102: You could say that.

Her lips parted in a slow smile as her hands continued their path across her body, teasing the lace of her lingerie aside just enough to reveal more of her soft skin. “You seem… different tonight.”

Alhaitham's fingers tightened around the edge of his desk. He wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but she wasn’t wrong. There was something about tonight, about her, that had shifted. Maybe it was the soft glow of her room, or the way the pink fabric contrasted against her skin. Maybe it was the knowledge that this moment was private, just between the two of them, that made everything feel more… intimate. More real.

He watched, entranced, as she slipped her hand lower, her breath hitching slightly. His pulse quickened, the tension in his body almost unbearable now. He could feel his own restraint slipping, the lines he had drawn for himself blurring.

This wasn’t just curiosity anymore. This was something else entirely.

His fingers quickly typed up a response, his breath already shallow as his eyes lingered at the top of her supple breasts.

Alhaitham didn't know what to feel but the feeling of his cock already straining against his pants, he's about to get his money's worth.

He was shirtless already due to the warm summer but he was already racking

up a cold sweat, he unbuttons his pants and pulls out his cock, hissing as it throbs at the sight of her in lingerie.

User1102: why don't you surprise me today, take control.

Her eyes glistened at his reply as she giggled. Her hand reaching out behind her as Alhaitham’s eyes widen.

"Fuck" He groans out, body shuddering at the large dildo she had in her hand. Her eyes flickering from the camera to the dildo as her lips trailed along the length of it sensual.

He watched with keen eyes as she brought the dildo down to her puffy pussy, juice already leaking from the hole— so much that she didn't even need lube to lubricate the dildo.

Alhaitham’s fist wrapped loosely around his hard cock, the veins pulsating against his hand as his brain became foggy.

He watched as she slowly pushed the tip inside of her, her pussy clenching tightly at the tip a high pitch moan escapes passed her parted gloss lips. Alhaitham's hand glided up his cock and to the tip as he squeezed it, imagining it was his big cock pushing through her tiny pussy.

He mimicked her pussy with his hand, imagining how tight she must be as she slowly pushed the dildo inside of her. Her thighs shaking, sweating glistening on them as she quickly reached down with her other hand to play with her puffy clit.

Alhaitham reached out with his one hand to type in a response as his cock was pulsating in his fist.

She was waiting for his next command even though he gave her the green light to do her own things.

User1102: such a good bunny. Such a good girl for me. Your pussy looks so stuffed, wished it was my cock in their instead.

Her eyes skimmed through the message, a messy moan leaves her mouth as she moves the dildo in her , a sloppy sound being her.

"I w-wish it was your cock. F-feels so good, would feel so much better if it was your thick cock in me-ahh" her words came out in a moan at the end as Alhaitham started moving his fist tightly on his cock to match the rhythm of her moving the dildo in her.

If he was there, he would move much faster. Pound her tight pussy until she was overflowing with his cum.

you’re so pretty, cheeks flushed and lips parting into the perfect orgasm face as your shaking arm reaches for your clit, eyes so hooded that you can barely see the screen in front of you.

Alhaitham’s hand pumps his cock a little faster, following the rough and fast circles you’re subjecting your aching clit to. He allows himself to groan loudly, gripping the arm of the chair as he thrusts up into his hand, pre-cum spilling over his shaft.

your high pitched moans are music to his ears and the twitching of your legs are proof of the pleasure that he’s indirectly causing.

your head’s thrown back, exposing your neck as your hips roll against the dildo, juices from your cunt sliding down your ass as it drenches the sheets below you.

“s-sir please! can i cum? please let me cum! i’ve been a good girl!”

tingles run down Alhaitham's spine as he hears your whiny voice beg.

His hand reaches out to type a quick response as his other furiously jerks his pulsating cock.

User1102: cum for me.

The chair creaking as he fucks his hand and your eyes scan the chat, you pinch your clit and scream, body convulsing as you cum all over the dildo.

“f-fuck, fuck, fuck! i’m cumming !” you wail, back arching off the bed. your body stiffens at the uncomfortable position as a stream of clear liquid shoots out of your pussy, drenching your soiled sheets even more.

Alhaitham follows suit, moaning as white spurts of cum shoot out of his cock, staining his thighs and abs. eyes dark and mind hazy from his orgasm, your eyes are heavy and lidded when you sit up, chest heaving and nipples aching as the toy slowly leaves your pussy, whining as you feel your juices slide down your ass.

Alhaitham's eyes widen when you fumble around the dildo and pulled the toy that’s shining and glistening with your essence.

you put the wet and warm toy in your mouth, sucking and licking like you would on a real cock. Alhaitham groans, closing his eyes as he hears you moan, tasting yourself on the toy.

The sound going straight to his cock again as images start to form in his mind, imagining you doing that to him, choking on his cock before he grabs your hips, giving ut a squeeze and slaps your ass, entering your needy pussy in one hard thrust.

you practically crawl towards the laptop, eyes sultry and inviting before you pull the toy out of your mouth with a wet pop and throw a dazzling smile at the camera, as if you didn’t get ruined by a silicone cock a few moments before.

“i hope you enjoyed the show, sir. but i wish it was your real cock that made me cum and squirt like that.”

with one last wink to the camera, you end the stream.

Alhaitham body slumped on his chair, eyes staring at the blank laptop screen as his gaze fell above him on his ceiling. His breathing erratic as his gazes falls on his cock that had harden once again.

'Fuck'

'Fuck'

Alhaitham stood at the entrance of the lecture hall, his usual calm exterior masking the storm of disbelief swirling inside him. His eyes scanned the room, moving over the rows of students until they landed on you. There you was—sitting in the back, casually leaning over your desk, looking as though you was about to drift off to sleep. You looked so different from the confident, alluring woman he'd been captivated by just last night, completely unaware of the private session that now hung heavy between them.

The sudden images of you sucking on the dildo flashed in his mind, your moan echoing in his head as he swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep moving, though his steps felt heavier. His thoughts raced. How could this happen? Out of all the people who could have been sitting in his classroom, it had to be you—the woman who had unknowingly shaken him to his core.

Clearing his throat, he stood at the front of the room, addressing the class. “There will be a pop quiz today, ” he announced, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of tension. The class erupted into groans as he forced himself not to roll his eyes "you would know this if you saw the email last night and prepared."

“Old-fashioned, on paper.” Alhaitham also stated as he began handing out the papers, his focus was everywhere but where it should be. He moved down each row, handing out the sheets with mechanical precision, his gaze subtly darting toward the back where you sat, unbothered by the sudden quiz.

Reaching your row, he slowed. You was sitting at the end, your usual nonchalance etched on your face as you glanced at the blank paper. He handed the quiz to the student beside you, who passed it down until it reached you. But something within him made him pause.

He took a deep breath and stepped forward, holding the next sheet in his hand. As he approached you, your hands brushed—just for a moment, just enough to send a jolt of awareness through his entire body. Your skin was warm against his, and the contact sent an unexpected tingle up his arm. It was as if time froze, the casual touch sparking something deep inside him.

He pulled his hand back quickly, almost too quickly, and felt the weight of your gaze lift to him. He could feel the heat rise to his neck, but he kept moving, walking down the next row as if nothing had happened.

But something had changed.

Alhaitham sat at his desk, attempting to focus on the papers in front of him, but all he could think about was the feel of your skin brushing against his. His fingers still tingled, the sensation lingering in his mind far longer than it should have. He glanced up, watching as you lazily scribbled answers on your quiz, unaware of the storm brewing inside him.

He shook his head, mentally chastising himself.

' You’re her professor. This cannot happen.'

His gaze falls back on his laptop, an email from the Dean of the university had popped up. His eyes furrow to see that she would like to talk to him after his current lecture. An annoyed sigh escaping past his lips.

'Great. They problem want me to do something for them.'

And he was right.

Alhaitham leaned against the wall of the dean’s office, arms crossed, his mind a tumultuous storm of conflicting thoughts. Rukkhadevata sat across from him, a knowing look in her eyes as she shuffled through a few papers on her desk. The room was adorned with academic awards and a bookshelf brimming with scholarly texts, giving it an air of seriousness and authority.

“Alhaitham, I appreciate you coming by on such short notice,” she began, her voice calm and inviting. “I wanted to discuss an opportunity for a student who’s expressed a keen interest in linguistics and academia.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued yet wary. “Who is it?” he asked, though he already felt the shadows of doubt creeping in.

“Her name is [Your Name]. She’s in her fourth year, and I believe she could greatly benefit from shadowing you during your afternoon lectures with the first-year students.” Rukkhadevata paused, observing his reaction.

Alhaitham's brows scrunched in thought, he had heard the name a few times from other professors and also knows he has someone named that in his class but he don’t know how that person looks.

“I see,” he replied,, dryly. “But does she have the necessary background to assist? I teach advanced concepts that require a solid foundation.”

Rukkhadevata nodded, her expression resolute. “She’s demonstrated exceptional aptitude in her studies, particularly in linguistics. This experience could be pivotal for her. You know as well as I do that sometimes, a little guidance can ignite a passion for research and teaching in a student.”

Alhaitham contemplated her words, it would be a good learning ground for him to. Understanding the mind of a student and how they think when teaching a lecture but also it means his personal time in his office will be cut short as the student will need to shadow him.

“What if I’m not comfortable with the arrangement? There are other professors who can take her on,” he suggested, his tone more curt than intended.

“Alhaitham,” she replied, her voice steady and reassuring. “I understand your reservations, but I truly believe this is a unique opportunity for both of you. If you don’t take her on, there’s another professor, Tighnari, who would be more than willing to open the spot for her. He already has a student named Collei shadowing him but I don’t want her to miss out on this chance as you're qualified in the linguistics department.”

With a sigh, Alhaitham pushed himself off the wall “Very well,” he conceded, the words slipping out before he could fully process them. “I’ll take her on.”

“Great! I’ll inform her immediately. You’ll meet with her after her morning lectures, and we can discuss the schedule,” Rukkhadevata said, a pleased smile gracing her features.

As Alhaitham left her office, his mind drifted back to you. His mind in a turmoil not knowing what to do. How is going to lecture in a class knowing that he gets off to one of his students ?

The next day, Alhaitham sat at his desk, his eyes fixed on the clock as the minutes ticked by. Ten minutes late. His jaw clenched slightly. He didn’t tolerate lateness, especially not from someone who was supposed to shadow him. He hated wasted time, and this student had already made a poor impression.

Just as he was about to rise from his chair to leave the office to attend to other matters, the door creaked open. His irritation sharpened, but as the door swung wide, his thoughts ground to a halt.

His eyes widened as he realized you were standing in the doorway.

You walked into the room, slightly out of breath, looking a bit flustered. At first, it was just shock. Of all the students, of all the people—it was you, the cam girl he'd been watching for a month, the same girl who had held his attention in ways he couldn’t quite understand. Seeing you here, in front of him, outside of the screen and now close up, was a jarring collision of his two worlds.

For a moment, he was silent, his gaze trailing over you. You looked different in person, softer maybe, but still just as striking. His eyes flicked to the way your hair framed your face, the way you nervously shifted from foot to foot. But then reality hit him like a cold wave. You were here, standing in his office, his student.

He quickly masked his shock, his expression hardening. “You’re late,” he said, his voice colder than he intended, almost biting. “Ten minutes late.”

You blinked, clearly not expecting the harsh tone. “I’m sorry—I got a little lost.”

He let out a small, frustrated breath, trying to gather himself. “Being lost isn’t an excuse. If you’re going to shadow me, I expect punctuality. I don’t tolerate tardiness.”

You nodded, looking slightly out of place, like you weren’t sure where to stand or what to do with your hands. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

He glanced at you again, his mind still whirling. He couldn’t believe it. The girl he had been watching from behind the safety of a screen, whose cam sessions had been a guilty distraction late at night, was standing right in front of him. And you had no idea who he was other than being your professor.

“Your name is Y/N, correct?” He forced his voice to remain steady, trying to push aside the surreal nature of this situation.

“Yes,” you answered, shifting under his gaze.

“Good,” he muttered, his hand tightening around the edge of his desk. He had to regain control of this conversation—this situation. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by you, not now, not ever. “We’ll start tomorrow. You’ll shadow me throughout the day. I’ll send you your schedule later.”

You nodded again, still looking somewhat nervous, and something about it tugged at him, though he immediately pushed the thought away.

He cleared his throat, trying to regain some normalcy in the moment. But the tension lingered, thick in the air. You noticed, of course, the subtle way he shifted, his eyes darting away from yours as if trying to hide something.

“Are you alright?” you asked softly, your concern genuine, though you had no idea why he was acting this way.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, but then, catching himself, he softened his tone. “I’m fine. That will be all.”

You looked like you were about to say something more, but instead, you simply nodded and turned to leave.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, Alhaitham leaned back in his chair, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. His mind raced. He had thought about assigning you to someone else—maybe Tighnari—but now that idea seemed impossible. The thought of someone else mentoring you made him feel… unsettled. No, he would have to handle this himself, regardless of how difficult it might become.

He closed his eyes, letting the quiet of the room wash over him. Tomorrow, he would have to keep his distance, keep things professional. But even now, your face lingered in his mind, and he knew it wouldn’t be as simple as he hoped.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

It was the first day, and you were already regretting being assigned to shadow Professor Alhaitham. After how he had embarrassed you for being late for class and yesterday, you dreaded the idea of spending more time with him. He was a sharp-tongued, cold-hearted ass, but you couldn’t afford to pass up this opportunity. Shadowing him would be invaluable for your studies, even if his attitude grated on your nerves.

You glanced at your watch. It was almost 1 p.m., the time for Alhaitham’s first-year lecture. With a sigh, you reached into your bag and pulled out a compact mirror and lipstick, deciding to retouch it before the lecture started. As you carefully applied the soft shade to your lips, the reflection in the mirror shifted, and you caught sight of him standing at the doorway, staring at you.

Heat rushed to your face, and your hand paused mid-swipe. You could feel his gaze burning into you, intense and unwavering. His eyes flicked from your lips to your eyes in the mirror, and you quickly snapped the compact shut, turning around to face him with a flustered expression.

Alhaitham didn’t miss a beat. “I’m not sure why you’re putting on lipstick right before a lecture,” he remarked, his voice smooth but laced with the kind of dry sarcasm that left you unsure whether it was meant to insult or simply observe. “It’s not like that will help you retain the content better.”

Your blush deepened at the jab, but there was no real malice in his tone. It was just his way. You pursed your lips slightly, resisting the urge to snap back, instead choosing to stay silent. He crossed the room with that same calm, collected air he always had, handing you a stack of papers.

“You’ll need these,” he said, his tone shifting back to business. “I’m giving them a quiz—similar to what I did with your class the other day. After the lecture, you’ll stay back and mark them with me.”

You stared at the stack of papers in your hand, feeling the weight of both the physical and mental load. The thought of sitting with him after school, going through these quizzes together, made you groan under your breath, though not loud enough for him to hear clearly. The last thing you wanted was to spend more time than necessary with him, especially after his cold remarks the day before.

He raised an eyebrow at your reaction but didn’t comment, his expression unreadable. “Complaining won’t make the work go away,” he said mildly, as if already expecting your frustration. “Better get used to it.”

You forced a small smile and nodded, begrudgingly accepting your fate. There was no point arguing. You had signed up for this, after all.

As you followed Alhaitham into the lecture hall, the low hum of students settling into their seats filled the room. You tried not to think about how you’d have to sit with him for hours after school, marking these quizzes. The thought was frustrating, but you kept reminding yourself it was just part of the process. You could handle this.

You settled yourself at the front of the room, laying the stack of quizzes on the desk. Alhaitham began the lecture with his usual confidence, pacing in front of the first-years as he spoke. His voice was steady and sure, effortlessly commanding the room’s attention. It was infuriating how composed he always seemed, never faltering, never showing the slightest hint of emotion beyond his cool detachment.

You found yourself staring at him again, and it annoyed you. How could someone be so frustratingly perfect? His words flowed perfectly, understandable yet his aloofness made it difficult to even like him. It didn’t help that his eyes flickered in your direction occasionally, almost as if he was checking to see if you were paying attention.

Halfway through the lecture, he handed you the quizzes to distribute. You moved through the rows of students, handing them out with a forced smile. Some students gave you sympathetic looks, clearly sensing you were stuck with the task of marking them all later.

As the lecture ended, the bustling sounds of students leaving the hall began to die down. You stood at the back, waiting for the right moment to catch up to Alhaitham. Your fingers drummed nervously on the edge of your notebook, replaying the conversation from earlier in the day. You are stuck with him for the rest of the semester, shadowing his every move as part of the research assistantship you needed for your degree.

He’d embarrassed you once already, calling you out in front of the class on the first day for being late. Now, even though you couldn’t stand his arrogance, you couldn’t afford to let this opportunity go. The problem was, he knew that too. You saw it in his eyes when he handed you those quizzes earlier. There was something so self-assured about him, a smugness that made your blood boil. But still, he had that quiet, undeniable intelligence about him that, annoyingly enough, you found yourself drawn to.

By the time you reached his office, the sun had begun its descent, casting the room in a warm golden hue. Alhaitham's office exudes elegance and order. A polished mahogany table sits at the center, topped with a laptop, a pen, and leather-bound notebooks. Behind it, a high-backed leather chair adds authority and another simpler chair was seat across his table. Floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books and files line the walls, matching the table’s dark wood. Soft light filters through a large window, highlighting a plush Persian rug beneath. A corner features two leather armchairs and a small coffee table, perfect for meetings, while subtle luxuries and framed art complete the space’s refined atmosphere.

Alhaitham's office mirrors his sharp, organized mind—sophisticated, orderly, and rich with knowledge.

 He motioned for you to sit down, his gaze lingering on you as you did.

“here is the quizzes for you to mark. Atleast today you start off with something light.” he said, handing you a fresh stack of papers, his fingers brushing yours again as they had earlier. A small, unintentional jolt of electricity ran up your arm from the brief contact, and you quickly withdrew your hand, focusing on the task in front of you. You tried to ignore the way his presence loomed across the desk, calm but somehow intense.

As you started marking, the silence between you grew thicker. It wasn’t the kind of silence that brought comfort—it felt like there was something unspoken, hanging heavy in the air between you. Every once in a while, you could feel his gaze shift toward you, studying you before returning to his own stack of papers. You nibbled on your bottom lip absentmindedly, concentrating on the quiz in front of you, when you felt it again—his eyes on you.

You looked up, catching him staring at you. His expression was unreadable, but there was a moment, a flicker of something in his eyes, before he quickly looked away. Your heart skipped a beat, your lips parting in surprise. What was going on with him?

After a few moments, he broke the silence. "Grab that book for me, will you?" He pointed to a high shelf behind you, his voice cool and even as ever.

You stood, walking over to the shelf and craning your neck to reach the book he’d indicated. It was too high, and as you stretched up on your tiptoes, your skirt began to lift slightly. You felt a twinge of annoyance as your fingers just barely grazed the edge of the book.

Behind you, Alhaitham remained silent, but unbeknownst to you, his eyes were locked on your figure. He couldn’t help but notice the way your skirt rode up slightly, revealing the plump of your tighs, those exact same thighs that were squeezed into tight sheer stockings, with liquid from your greedy pussy soaking them. He clenched his jaw, his thoughts racing despite himself. His mind wandering just how soft those thighs would feel arpund his head, squeezing him as he gets to feast on your pussy.  

He had to keep it together.

Finally, you gave up with a sigh, your arm dropping back to your side. Without a word, Alhaitham stood up and walked over to you, his tall frame easily reaching the book that had eluded you. 

"If you’re going to struggle, at least do it more efficiently," he muttered, the words laced with a faint edge of amusement.

You scowled at him. "You could have just taken the book yourself," you replied, trying to mask your irritation. His words weren’t exactly harsh, but there was always that intellectual superiority in his tone that grated on you.

He had a subtle smirk graced upon his lips "from what I've heard, my mentee should be hands down and do anything I ask." His voice putting more emphasis on 'anything I ask' his light turquoise eyes stare at you, something hidden behind the light glaze in them. You quickly look away, a red coat of blush on your cheeks as you walked back to the desk.

After you both settled back into marking the quizzes, the soft scratching of pens filled the small office space. It was quiet, but the air between you still buzzed with unspoken tension. You tried to focus on grading the papers, but your mind kept wandering to him—his presence just across the desk, the way his gaze sometimes lingered a little too long.

You were halfway through another quiz when a shadow loomed over you. Alhaitham had stood up and moved around the desk, coming to stand right behind you. His tall frame towered over your seated position, and you froze, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. The subtle scent of his cologne—clean, earthy, with a hint of something spicy—washed over you, clouding your mind and making it difficult to focus on the paper in front of you.

"Why do you think this answer is wrong?" he asked, leaning down slightly, his voice low and calm but close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath near your ear.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a second, you forgot how to speak. You glanced at the paper, trying to recall what you had marked incorrectly, but the heat radiating from his body and the soft scent of his skin distracted you completely. The closeness of him was overwhelming—his presence, his scent—it all clouded your thoughts until you had to force yourself to snap back into the present.

"Uh… they got the concept of phonetics mixed up with phonology," you stammered, swallowing nervously. "Phonetics is about the sounds themselves, while phonology is about how those sounds function in particular languages."

Alhaitham said nothing for a moment, just staying there, hovering behind you. His proximity made your pulse race, and you could feel the warmth of his body just inches from yours. He leaned in a little more, his fingers tracing the lines of the quiz. Your heart was hammering now, and you cursed yourself for letting your mind wander so much.

"Good," he finally said, straightening back up and, to your surprise, gently patting your head.

The simple, unexpected gesture sent a rush of warmth straight to your cheeks. Your heart fluttered, and you were sure your face had gone bright red. You bit your lip, willing yourself to stay composed, but your thoughts betrayed you. The small pat—so casual, almost paternal—made your mind spin in ways you didn’t expect.

As he moved back to his seat, you sat there for a moment, frozen in place. You couldn’t help but think about how his hand had felt, the gentle pressure on your head, and the surprising warmth it brought. You shook your head, forcing yourself to focus again, but the thought lingered. What if he patted your head every time you gave the right answer?

The idea was ridiculous, but it made your heart race anyway. You could feel the heat rising to your face again, and you had to fight the urge to look at him. You wondered if he noticed how flustered you were, but when you glanced over at him, he was already back to grading, his expression unreadable, as always.

Keep it together, you scolded yourself. This was your professor, and you had to maintain some level of professionalism. But a tiny part of you—the part that was growing more curious about him by the minute—couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he had noticed your blush.

After the marking, Alhaitham stood up again, gesturing for you to follow him as he headed to his bookshelf. You were still dazed from earlier, but you followed him. He asked you to grab a specific book from the top shelf, but again, it was just out of your reach. You stretched as far as you could, the hem of your skirt lifting slightly as you did. You could feel his eyes on you again, a little more intense this time.

He stepped forward, his presence suddenly looming behind you once more. His hand brushed yours as he reached up easily to retrieve the book. He didn’t say anything at first, but as he handed it to you, his lips quirked into a small, barely-there smirk.

"Struggling again, I see," he muttered, the words laced with that same intellectual superiority you’d come to expect from him. It wasn’t exactly mean, but it stung enough to make your cheeks burn.

You huffed quietly, taking the book from him and returning to your seat. You could feel his gaze lingering on you as he walked back to his desk, but you refused to meet his eyes, determined to ignore the strange tension that had only grown stronger between you.

The marking continued, but your focus was slipping. You kept sneaking glances at him, noticing the small things—how his fingers moved deftly over the papers, how his jaw tensed slightly when he was deep in thought. And then, there were those moments when his eyes would flick to your lips, just for a second, before he quickly looked away.

You absentmindedly nibbled on your bottom lip, a nervous habit you’d had for years, but this time, when you caught him staring at you, his gaze lingered a little too long. His eyes traced the movement of your lips, and for a brief second, something flickered in his expression. He quickly shook his head, as if clearing his mind, and returned to his work.

By the time you finished, the sun had set completely, and the warm glow from the office lamps cast a soft light over the room. Alhaitham glanced at the clock, his usual calm demeanor slipping back into place.

"It’s nearly past 5," he said, standing up and gathering his papers. "You’re dismissed."

You exhaled a sigh of relief, standing and grabbing your bag. As much as you had been dreading this day, it had passed more smoothly than you expected, though it had left you with far more questions than answers. There was something about him, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You just couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you.

As you both stepped outside, the cool evening air hit you, much cooler than you had anticipated. You rubbed your arms, feeling the chill sink in, and muttered under your breath, "Strange how chilly it’s gotten, even though it’s still summer."

Alhaitham paused, glancing over at you before shrugging off his coat. He held it out to you, his expression unreadable.

"Here," he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

You blinked in surprise. "I’m fine, really. I don’t need—"

"Take it," he interrupted, his gaze steady.

After a moment’s hesitation, you took the coat, wrapping it around yourself. It was far too big on you, but it was warm, and the subtle scent of him clung to the fabric. The same scent that had distracted you earlier in his office now enveloped you completely, and it made your heart race all over again.

"Thanks," you mumbled, adjusting the coat around your shoulders.

He simply nodded, and the two of you continued walking in silence. The tension between you had shifted, but it was still there, just beneath the surface, and as you parted ways at the end of the path, you couldn’t help but wonder—was he thinking about you the way you were thinking about him? Did he know?

As you watched him walk away, the weight of his coat on your shoulders felt heavier than it should, like it carried with it all the unspoken words and lingering tension between you.

As you walk home, the weight of Alhaitham's coat feels heavier than it should, not just physically, but emotionally. The warmth still clings to you, along with that subtle, distinct scent that belongs to him—earthy, clean, and with just a hint of spice. It feels oddly intimate, like a lingering piece of him you hadn't expected to carry home with you. Each step you take, wrapped in his coat, makes you more aware of its significance. It’s just a piece of fabric, but the way it rests on your shoulders, warm and protective, makes it feel like more than that.

When you finally reach your apartment, you sigh, pulling the keys from your bag. Inside, you place the bag of takeout on the table with little care, too tired and too distracted to do anything but collapse for a moment. You peel off the coat, draping it on the couch, and immediately feel the loss of warmth as it leaves your shoulders. For a brief moment, you consider folding it neatly, but instead, you leave it there, trying to detach yourself from the way your thoughts kept wandering to him—your arrogant, handsome professor.

You settle at the table, opening the takeout container as your mind drifts back to the way he had looked at you earlier in his office. That gaze of his—intense, intelligent, and just a little too observant—had lingered far too long. You shake your head, trying to focus on eating, but it’s impossible. His voice, his presence, the feeling of his hand patting your head—it all keeps pulling you back.

You finish eating faster than usual, your thoughts occupied with him the entire time. As you pick up the coat from the couch to take it to your room, you catch a whiff of his scent again. You freeze, the familiar scent sending your mind spiraling into thoughts you shouldn’t be having. Images flash through your mind—his tall, strong build, the way he had stood so close behind you, his fingers brushing yours when you reached for that book. The fog of those inappropriate thoughts clouds your mind, and for a brief moment, you can’t stop wondering what it would feel like to be closer to him, how he looked under that dress shirt he wore today.

Shaking your head quickly, you scold yourself, forcing those thoughts away as you hang the coat in your cupboard, making a mental note not to forget it tomorrow. You won’t let it cloud your judgment any further. You take a deep breath, pushing those thoughts out of your head as you begin getting ready for your cam session.

As you're about to log in, your phone buzzes, pulling your attention away from the screen. You grab it, expecting some usual notification, but your eyes widen slightly when you see the message is from Alhaitham. You hadn’t even realized he had your number—until now.

Alhaitham: I got your number from the system. You’ll need to make a vocabulary list for the first-year lecture tomorrow. I’ve attached some resources to help. Be sure to finish this before class.

You groan, dropping your phone onto the bed. Of course, he’d send you more work just when you were about to start your cam session. You sigh deeply, throwing yourself back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. There’s no avoiding it—he's your professor, and as much as he irritates you with his superior attitude, you can't ignore his requests.

Sitting up, you rub your temples and switch gears, deciding to get the task done first. As much as you’d rather jump into your session, you can’t afford to leave it undone. You spend the next hour or so compiling the list, working through the vocabulary terms as your mind buzzes with thoughts of how annoyingly persistent Alhaitham is. He always seems to know just when to give you extra work, like he's testing your patience on purpose.

By the time you finally finish, it’s much later than you'd planned. 

You noticed something different as you scrolled through your cam site, a sinking feeling settling in your chest. User1102 didn’t show up tonight. In fact, he hadn’t for the past few nights. A wave of disappointment washed over you, though you weren’t sure why it bothered you so much. It wasn’t like you knew who he was. But still, he had always been there, watching, engaging, giving you a sense of consistency. Now, his absence felt louder than the other users’ presence, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange sadness.

Shaking off the thought, you closed your laptop and leaned back. It was just a coincidence, right? People came and went all the time on these sites. But as you prepared for bed, you found your mind wandering to him—wondering why he wasn’t there, wondering who he really was. Little did you know, Alhaitham had been avoiding the site ever since the first lecture.

It has now been nearly two weeks. From those two weeks you only spent about 6 days after lessons in his office helping with filling forms. You had gotten used to your routine with your professor, he gives you work to do, you do it and if he feels 'generous' he gives you a thick stack of papers to mark, now handing you long essays that make your brain ache. 

You noted that there was still an awkward tension between the two of you, he seemed to want to avoid you as much as possible. When you are alone with him, he would sit far from you but you could feel his sharp eyes on you from time to time. 

One of the days you wore a short skirt, the skirt was going to shorten Alhaitham's life. It showed your supple thighs, a pen fell. Cliché but you of course had to bend down to pick the pen in front of your poor professor who caught sight of your pure white cotton underwear.

 This lead to him dismissing you harshly to go home early. Poor little you thought you did something wrong, so the next day you went to apologize to him for anything you had done to annoy him, this caused the arrogant professor's heart to skip a beat, from that day on he started to talk to you in a calm tone. Alhaitham noticed you thrived on praises.

He once slipped and had called you a 'good girl' and gave your head a gentle pat, when you had completed a whole pile of essays, each one checked properly. Your face turned a pretty shade of pink. 

The words "t-thank you professor" stumbling out of your plump lips, this left Alhaitham's imagination to go wild that night, jerking off to his sweet student, who has such an innocent facade when she is fully clothed but when she is bathed in the LED lights of her room and wearing a sheer outfit..the innocence long gone.

 Alhaitham however, did stop watching her session as much as it pained him but he felt guilty to watch you now, knowing that you're his student and he is your professor..however the idea of bending you on the very desk the both of you shared always crosses his mind. 

It was the end of another long day, and you were packing up the last of your things in Alhaitham's office when you noticed the rain pouring outside, drumming steadily against the windows. The thought of walking home in that downpour made you shiver, and to make matters worse, you had forgotten your jacket. Again.

As you stood there, awkwardly rubbing your arms for warmth, Alhaitham appeared in the doorway. His expression was, as usual, unreadable, but his sharp eyes quickly assessed the situation.

“You forgot your jacket again,” he observed, his voice low and calm.

You gave a sheepish nod, not bothering to deny it. “Yeah, seems to be a habit at this point.”

Without a word, he slipped off his coat—the one he always wore that made him seem so imposing—and handed it to you. The fabric was still warm from his body, the faint smell of his cologne lingering on it. You hesitated for a moment, but the cold air persuaded you to accept it gratefully.

“Thanks,” you murmured, slipping the jacket over your shoulders. It was far too big, enveloping you in its warmth.

He stepped back slightly, his eyes lingering on you, though his face remained stoic. “You shouldn’t walk in the rain like this. I’ll drive you home.”

You blinked in surprise. “You don’t have to—”

“I insist,” he interrupted, already making his way towards the door.You reluctantly, following him, it was clear he wasn’t letting you walk in the rain tonight.

Outside, the rain had picked up, and you were more than a little relieved that Alhaitham had offered a ride. But what you hadn’t expected was the sleek black sports car waiting for you in the lot. Your eyes widened as he unlocked the doors with a soft click.

“This is your car?” you asked, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice.

“Yes,” he replied simply, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

You slid into the passenger seat, feeling slightly out of place in such an expensive, low-riding car. The leather seats were cool against your skin, and the interior was immaculate. Alhaitham climbed in beside you, starting the engine with a soft purr. The sound sent a shiver through you, though you weren’t sure if it was the car or just the fact that you were sitting so close to him.

As he drove, you couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he handled the car. His hands gripped the steering wheel with a practiced ease, and his posture was relaxed, but there was a certain control in every movement. You found yourself stealing glances at him, your heart fluttering in a way that felt all too unfamiliar. The rain blurred the world outside, making the inside of the car feel small, intimate.

Your thoughts began to wander, and before you could stop them, you found yourself admiring the way his hair fell slightly over his forehead, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his eyes stayed focused on the road with that quiet intensity he always had. Everything about him seemed so… controlled, so perfect.

You bit your lip, trying to push the thoughts away. This was your professor, after all. But it was hard to ignore the way your heart sped up each time you caught a glimpse of him.

As if sensing your gaze, he cleared his throat, his eyes never leaving the road. “You’re quiet.”

You blinked, feeling caught. “Oh, sorry. Just… thinking.”

“About?” he asked, though his tone didn’t push for an answer.

“Nothing important,” you mumbled, feeling your face grow warm.

The silence returned, heavy with tension, and you found yourself growing more aware of how small you felt in his car. Every bump in the road seemed to jolt your heart, especially with the way he drove—smooth, fast, and with a precision that made you feel oddly vulnerable.

Finally, he pulled up outside your apartment building. T.he downpour was relentless, heavy raindrops hammering against the sleek black car as you sat next to Alhaitham. The windscreen wipers were moving fast, but it was as if the rain refused to let up, trapping you both in the warmth of the vehicle.

You glanced outside, watching the rain blur the streetlights into hazy orbs of light. "I guess I should go," you murmured, though you didn’t make any move to open the door.

Alhaitham's hand remained on the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the rain. "Wait," he said, his voice calm but firm. "It's coming down too hard. You’ll be drenched in seconds."

You looked at him, startled by his concern. His expression was unreadable as always, but there was something about the way his gaze softened as it shifted from the rain to you. The inside of the car felt too small suddenly, the air charged with something more than just the weather outside.

"You're right," you agreed quietly, settling back into the seat, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. The silence stretched between you, the sound of rain enveloping the car in a bubble of quiet tension.

After a few moments, Alhaitham spoke, his voice breaking through the soft patter of the storm. "You don’t mind waiting, do you?"

You shook your head. "No… not at all."

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he looked out at the rain again. "I’ve never really liked storms," he confessed. "Too unpredictable. But I guess that’s what makes them interesting, isn’t it?"

The unexpected admission surprised you. Alhaitham was always so composed, always so in control. Hearing him speak of unpredictability was strange, almost like he was revealing a part of himself he usually kept hidden.

"I suppose," you replied, your voice softer now, feeling the undercurrent of something deeper. "But sometimes, unpredictability can be… exciting."

His eyes flicked to yours, something unreadable passing through them. "Exciting?"

You swallowed hard, feeling the intensity of his gaze. "Yeah. It keeps things from becoming too… predictable."

The corners of his lips lifted slightly, a barely-there smile, but it sent a rush of warmth through you. His hand shifted on the gearstick, fingers brushing lightly against yours as you moved to rest your hand on your lap. The touch was so fleeting, so subtle, yet it made your pulse quicken.

"What about you?" he asked, his voice low. "Do you like storms?"

You hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement, every breath. "I… don’t mind them. I think they can be beautiful. Powerful."

He nodded, his eyes not leaving yours. "Powerful, yes."

There was a pause, and then he added, "But dangerous too."

You felt the weight of his words, the way they seemed to carry a deeper meaning, one that made your heart pound in your chest. The rain continued to pour, but the world outside felt distant, irrelevant. All that mattered was the man sitting beside you, his voice, his presence.

"I guess," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, "there’s beauty in danger too."

His eyes darkened slightly, his jaw tightening as if your words struck something within him. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, the air between you charged with an almost unbearable tension.

"You have a unique way of looking at things," he said finally, his voice so low it sent a shiver down your spine. "I’ve noticed that about you."

You blinked, feeling your cheeks heat up at the compliment. "Oh… I—thank you."

The rain began to lighten, the heavy downpour turning into a soft drizzle. Alhaitham shifted in his seat, but he didn’t start the car. Instead, his eyes remained on you, as if searching for something in your expression.

"Why are you always walking in the rain without a coat?" he asked, his tone almost teasing now. "You’ll catch a cold one day."

He was referring to the few mornings you entered lectures soaking like a drowned rat, either the coat your wore just got soaked completely through or you were rushing and forgot half of yourself back at home.

You let out a small laugh, though your heart was still pounding. "I… don’t know. I guess I never really think about it. Besides, it’s not that bad."

He raised an eyebrow. "Not that bad? You’re soaked every time."

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but the way he was looking at you made your mind fuzzy. "Maybe I like the rain."

His lips quirked again, and he reached for the coat you he let you borrow before. "Keep it," he said, draping it over your lap again, the fabric warm from his touch. "I’d rather not see you walking around soaked again."

You stared at the coat, your throat tightening. His jacket smelled faintly of him, a comforting, subtle scent. Your fingers gripped the edges of the fabric, feeling overwhelmed by the simple act of kindness.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the soft patter of rain.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, watching you for a moment longer before speaking again, his voice soft but filled with an intensity that made your heart race.

"You look good in it," he said, his eyes lingering on you in a way that made your cheeks flush.

Your breath caught, heat flooding your face. You tried to laugh it off, but the way he was looking at you made it impossible to think straight. "I—uh, thanks."

The rain had slowed to a light drizzle now, but neither of you moved to leave the car. The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating, yet you didn’t want it to end. The closeness, the warmth—it was too intoxicating.

Finally, you cleared your throat, trying to break the spell. "I guess… I should go."

Alhaitham nodded, but before you could open the door, his voice stopped you. "Goodnight," he said, his tone softer than you had ever heard it. "And… be careful."

That did it. You felt your face heat up instantly, the blush spreading like wildfire across your cheeks. You couldn’t even look at him, your fingers clutching the coat tighter as you fumbled for the door handle but you sucked in a breath and turned to look at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "Goodnight… Alhaitham," you whispered, using his name for the first time.

The way his eyes flickered at the sound of his name on your lips made your stomach flip, but you quickly slipped out of the car before you could lose your nerve and correct yourself. You hurried towards your apartment, the drizzle cooling your flushed cheeks, but your thoughts were spinning.

 As you walked toward your apartment, your heart pounded in your chest, every step making you more flustered. You could feel his eyes on you still, even with your back turned. When you finally reached the stairs, you hesitated, glancing back. His car was still there, the engine quietly humming, headlights cutting through the rain.

He was waiting.

You quickly turned back around, your blush intensifying as you hurried up the stairs, fumbling with your keys. Once inside, you shut the door and leaned against it, breathless and heart racing.

He waited.

The thought made your head spin. Alhaitham—the cold, composed, seemingly distant professor—had waited to make sure you got inside safely. Your mind was racing, overwhelmed by the sudden realization that had been building for days, weeks even.

You had a massive crush on him.

Without even thinking, you peeped through the curtains, just in time to see him drive off into the night, his sleek car disappearing into the rain. You slid down to the floor, your face burning as you pressed your hands against your cheeks, trying to calm the dizzying flurry of emotions swirling inside you.

He’s so… You bit your lip, a small, giddy smile breaking through despite yourself. He’s such a gentleman.

Sitting there in the quiet of your apartment, wrapped in his coat, you couldn’t stop thinking about him—how impossibly perfect he seemed. You had no idea what this all meant, but one thing was certain: you were in deep.

Two days had passed since Alhaitham had dropped you off after that nerve-wracking yet thrilling encounter. Your heart still fluttered at the thought of him—both your professor and the enigmatic man who had captivated your attention in ways you never anticipated.

As you wrapped up your work in the office, the late afternoon sun cast a golden glow through the windows. You sorted through your notes, the soft rustle of paper providing a comforting background noise. Just as you were about to leave, you caught sight of Alhaitham leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a relaxed smile on his face that sent a flutter through your stomach.

“[your name]” he called, his voice smooth and inviting, laced with an undertone of warmth. “Are you ready to head home? I can drop you off”

You glanced up, feeling your cheeks heat slightly. “No need, sir. I can manage on my own.”

His expression shifted, the corners of his mouth curving into a faint frown. “I’ve kept you late too often lately. It’s only fair that I take you home.”

A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, each one clouding your judgment. He’s your professor, you reminded yourself, a few years older than you and incredibly accomplished. Why would he want to spend time with someone like you? Surely he could find someone more suitable—someone his age, someone more… refined. But his persistence won out, and you found yourself nodding.

As you both stepped outside, the evening air was refreshingly cool. The slight breeze played with your hair as you walked side by side to his car, your hearts beating faster with the thrill of being alone together. The tension hung thick in the air, each shared glance igniting sparks between you.

“You’ve been a great help lately,” he began once the both of you entered the car, his tone light yet earnest. “I thought it would be nice to treat you to dinner. There’s a little place nearby that I think you’d enjoy.”

Your heart skipped at the thought. “You didn’t have to do that, Professor.”

He looked at you with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I wanted to.”

The two of you arrived at the quaint little restaurant, a cozy atmosphere that felt intimate despite its bustling clientele. Alhaitham held the door open for you, and you slipped inside, feeling like a whirlwind of emotions. The soft chatter around you was comforting, but your focus remained on him.

Seated across from each other, you took a moment to appreciate how he looked in the warm light—his hair perfectly tousled, his sharp jawline accentuated by the soft glow. He was undeniably handsome, and it made you feel small in the best way possible. As he ordered a drink, you noticed the way his hands moved—confident, graceful, and somehow incredibly alluring.

When the server brought out your meals, Alhaitham’s knee brushed against yours, sending a shiver up your spine. You tried to play it cool, but you could feel the heat radiating from where your legs met. “Here,” he said, nudging a plate toward you. “You have to try this. It’s my favorite.”

You took a bite, and your eyes widened in surprise. “This is amazing!” you exclaimed, not realizing how close you were leaning over the table.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replied, a small smile playing on his lips. “What about this? Have you tried it before?” He gestured to the dish in front of him, inviting you to share in the moment.

You both ended up sharing food, your hands brushing together as you reached for the same dish, an electric charge buzzing in the air between you. Every fleeting touch felt like a promise, igniting your heart and muddling your thoughts. As you took a sip of his beer, you grimaced at the bitter taste, wrinkling your nose in displeasure.

“This is horrible!” you laughed, unable to contain your reaction. “How do people drink this stuff?”

Alhaitham chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent butterflies flitting through your stomach. “Not everyone has your refined palate, apparently.” He raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from the same glass, unbothered by the lipstick stains you left behind.

Your heart raced at the implication, and for a moment, the world around you faded. Was this an indirect kiss? You felt dizzy, the beer mixing with the heat of the moment, leaving you in a haze. The air crackled with tension, and you found yourself leaning closer, your pinkies almost touching on the table.

As the evening progressed, you became more aware of the way you bumped shoulders while walking out of the restaurant, how his hand would occasionally brush against yours. You couldn’t help but think about how Alhaitham would make the perfect boyfriend. A man who was intelligent, considerate, and undeniably charming.

But you shook those thoughts away, reminding yourself of the reality: he was your professor, an accomplished linguist, and you were just a cam girl with secrets. Still, the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the room—made your heart flutter, and you found it harder to resist the allure of what could be. 

The drive to your apartment was a light hearted one as you reached your apartment building, Alhaitham paused, turning to face you. “Thank you for your help today, [Your name]. I appreciate it,” he said, his voice low and sincere.

“Thank you, Professor Alhaitham,” you replied, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you.

“Alhaitham is just fine,” he corrected softly, his gaze lingering on you.

With a nervous smile, you nodded, feeling like you were crossing some invisible line. “Alright, Alhaitham.”

“Goodnight,” he said, his eyes holding yours for a moment longer than necessary.

“Goodnight,” you echoed, stepping back as you watched him turn to leave.

But as you climbed the stairs to your apartment, your heart raced, and your thoughts swirled with excitement and confusion. You peeked through the curtains and saw him still parked there, and your cheeks flushed at the thought of his caring presence as you watched the car start to leave and fade away into the distance.

With a heavy sigh, you sank to the floor, your back against the wall, your mind racing as you realized you had developed a big fat crush on your handsome linguistic professor.

That dinner had been a whirlwind of emotions, and just when you thought the evening would settle, reality hit you like a wave.

You glanced around your apartment, noticing the bills piled on your desk and the ever-present worry about your finances creeping back in. You sighed, frustration bubbling inside you. Money was running low, and you knew what that meant. You had to do a cam session tonight.

Reluctantly, you shuffled to your room and changed into your outfit. You picked out a set of teal lingerie, the fabric soft against your skin, accentuating your curves in a way that made you feel both confident and exposed. As you slipped into the delicate pieces, you caught your reflection in the mirror. The bold colour brought out the warmth in your skin, and for a moment, you felt beautiful.

You quickly set up your camera and adjusted the lighting, trying to create the perfect ambiance. The familiar rush of excitement and nerves tingled in your stomach as you prepared to go live. With one last deep breath, you clicked the button to start the stream, greeting your audience with a sultry smile.

Minutes passed, and you fell into your routine, losing yourself in the performance. You teased and interacted with your viewers, each comment igniting a spark within you. You knew the thrill of being seen, desired, and appreciated, even if it felt like a secret life hidden from everyone else.

Just as you started to really get into it, a notification popped up. You glanced at the screen, and your heart dropped. 

User1102 has joined the stream.

You felt a familiar flutter of nerves in your stomach but brushed it aside, focusing on your performance. 

You just wanted to do something simple tonight, quickly. You pushed the small fabric that covered your mound, your fingers immediately went below, rubbing slow circles along your clit as your other hand groped at your covered chest. You let your eyes flutter, the image of Alhaitham's half-lidded gaze falls on you, a soft moan leaving past your parted lips. Your mind remembering every detail of his fingers. Strong and thick. You inserted two fingers into your soaking cunt, imagining your professor's fingers sinking within you feeling your walls flutter against him. Your mind remembering the smell of him, the warmth he radiated, his fleeting touches and the way he stared at you. A sob mixed with a moan leaves past your lips, your back aching off the bed adding more to your pleasure. 

His beautiful face came into view, you wondered how his tongue will feel agaisnt your neck, his large hands roaming your body, corrupting your body. The sudden image of you sprawled on his office desk came to mind, your fingers moving even faster, your sleek dripping onto the sheets, clit twitch as you squeezed your left breast Alhaitham's big hand squeezing it instead.

Then, without thinking, you let slip the words you never thought you’d say. “Ah, Pr-professor!” Your heart dropped as you realized what you had just said but your hand seemed to move faster, your toes curling in pleasure.

On the other side of the screen, Alhaitham’s eyes widened, shock and disbelief washing over him. He said he wasn't going to join your sessions again but tonight he was so allured by you, he missed you and wanted to see you again and just by luck you were live, but now hearing you call out his title made him groan, a mix of arousal and confusion coursing through him, his hand gripping tightly onto his cock as he starts to move his hand up and down fast, imagining that your tight hole was his hand instead. 

The sight of you in that teal lingerie, completely lost in your own world, only fueled his desires. He had thought about you too many times since that dinner, and now, knowing you were unknowingly calling out to him while you were so vulnerable, his mind raced with conflicting emotions.

Your voice continued, unaware of the effect you were having on him. “I-I can’t help it… I need more.” You cried out, your thighs trembling from pleasure. 

Alhaitham clenched his jaw, the tension building within him. The line between your two worlds had just blurred, and he found himself caught in a whirlwind of emotions he never anticipated. Did you really see him as a professor, or was there something more there?

You finally looked up at the camera, your eyes making contact with his teal ones as if you knew he was watching you a shaky sob escapes past your lips.

"Alha-AHH" the words that wanted to leave your mouth got cut short as your screamed from the suddenly immense of pleasure your brought yourself, you squirted. The clear fluid drenching your sheets and thighs as your fingers still moved in you to ride off your high.

Alhaitham's eyes widen at the words that wanted to leave his mouth. Was you about to say his name ? This caused his red tip to explode with cum, his release coming down in thick blobs as it ran down his hand that still moved up and down his overstimulated dick, his eyes blurry, body sweating from the intensity of his orgasm, a lazy smile itched on his face. His hand slowly coming to a still, his eyes darken as he watches you pull your fingers out and lick them. Your breathing erratic as your mind was jumbled as you thought that you had came just at the mere thought of your professor—your feelings for him swirling panic coursing through your veins as you registered the thin line that now separated your real life from your hidden desires for him. 

 Alhaitham tapped in 1000$ and sent it to you, closing the stream with a final click. His eyes remained shadowed, and his heart pounded erratically.

Oh he can't wait to see you tomorrow. 

Part 3

[jesuistrestriste]

Art having a crush on Patricks gf (painfully obviously) so Patrick asks her to cuck him w art ♡

what the hell i totally never saw this…..

but god yess. and art’s more than willing to fuck your pretty body while his best friend watches from the corner of the room ! as long as he gets to push his cock into you, he’ll do just about anything to get there :D

at least, that’s what he thinks he feels until he’s actually in your + pat’s bedroom and his friend’s dark eyes are locked onto him as he stands next to the side of the bed.

he’s got that stupid smirk on his face, and one of his calloused hands is gliding right over art’s lower back; right over the dimples that come before his soft ass. it makes art shiver, and he can’t tell if it’s in a good way or a ‘what the fuck is going on’ way. maybe a bit of both. or maybe it’s the shot of raspberry vodka that he took to loosen up before all of this.

“c’mon man, just give it to her,” pat says to him, “you’ve been pining like a fuckin’ loser for so long, and she’s already wet.”

before art can really form a protest, pat’s hand is pushing his lower body forward and his cock is then enveloped in the tight warmth of your cunt. you moan, your body clenching around his length.

“fuck!” art barks out, his jaw slacking and his legs trembling immediately afterwards.

his bestfriend just laughs lowly, shaking his head, “don’t be a quickshot now, artie… not when she’s treating you so well… feel her pussy squeezin’ you? god, she’s always so good..”

art’s eyes are rolling back, his body starting to rock into the back of yours instinctively as he seeks his release. his hands find your hips and he whimpers when he bounces you against his pelvis.

“good boy, art,” you gasp, nodding, “fuck me harder— ah!— give my boyfriend something worth watching..”

while art’s hips speed up to hump you greedily from behind, patrick steps back as his eyelids start to droop and he can’t help but shove his hand down into his shorts to pull out his dick; spitting into his palm before bringing it back down to stroke wetly and quickly over his twitching inches.

“oh god, oh fuck, oh god—“ art’s whining, his thrusts growing sloppy, “can’t-… shit-! i’m cl— cumming, i’m cumming—“

the whole room suddenly feels like it’s shaking under the weight of all three of your abruptly pulled orgasms, moans and cries and squeals echoing out. art’s slamming into your hole and curling over your back as he convulses, you’re shuddering and falling face-down into the sheets as you squirt and wring him of every drop he’s got, and patrick’s gnawing on his bottom lip as he groans and covers his fingers in a slimy mess of white.

definitely a good time, but art is beyond embarrassed afterwards..

patrick and you, on the other hand, want round two.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

let the band play

one-shot

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: This is the last straw. While out on recon with Butcher and Hughie, Ben went into your bedroom and used your favourite shirt to clean himself off. You're going to let the smug idiot know exactly what you think about him. Trouble is? He likes it.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben being his own warning again, language, creative insults, smut (panty-sucking, p in v, clitoral stimulation, cum on face, biting, sucking, licking, kissing, throttling, rough sex, slapping), misogyny, dirty talk, degradation, I may have missed some.

Word Count: 3,930

A/N: OKAYYYY, I got another one written and I lowkey (very, very highkey, actually) love nasty, mean, rough Ben more than I can ever put into words. Can you even imagine the pure hate-fucking this man is capable of? Ungh. <3 This one was inspired by a song... if you wanna give it a listen, then please do: "Let The Band Play" by Badflower. It's dark and gritty and just delicious for the tense vibes of this one-shot. As always, please give me feedback, if y'all feel like it. Until the next one! All the love.

"Oh, you lazy, no good, deadbeat Lying, woman-hating, piece of vile fucking scum You fucking downright piece of shit I'll spit on your grave, I'll make you suffer I'll massacre you, you fucking bastard You vile piece of shit, I'm coming for you You hear me? I'm coming for you! I'm coming for you! Ah!

And let the band play" 

Let The Band Play - Badflower 

The rhythmic slosh of the washing machine filled the cramped space, a dull, ceaseless churn that did nothing to tamp down the blistering heat rising in your chest. Your arms were folded tight, foot tapping against the scuffed linoleum, jaw clenched hard enough to make your teeth ache. The faint smell of detergent curled in your nose, too clean, too artificial, grating against the raw fury pressing like a hot coal against your ribs.

You weren’t even supposed to be here right now. You should’ve been upstairs, knocking back whatever cheap whiskey was left in the cabinet, decompressing after another long recon run. Instead, you were here, waiting for your shirt—your favourite black shirt—to be scrubbed of his fucking filth.

Because Ben had gone into your room. Again. He’d slithered his way into your space while you were out with Butcher and Hughie, ransacking your drawers, shifting your weapons, mixing your bullets in the wrong order—his usual bullshit. But this time, he’d taken it further. This time, you’d picked up your shirt and felt it, the crusted, stiff stain scraping against your fingers before your brain even caught up with what it was.

That fucking bastard.

The worst part? You weren’t even surprised. You’d known for a while now—panties disappearing, small things out of place, the gnawing suspicion sitting ugly in your gut. He’d been toying with you. Pushing, needling, waiting for you to catch on. And now you definitely had.

The door creaked behind you, and you didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. The air changed when Ben walked into a room—went heavy, charged, dangerous. That insufferable, lazy swagger, the barely-there drag of his boots, the scent of cologne and gunpowder and sheer, unrepentant arrogance.

“You’re stompin’ those pretty little feet like you got somethin’ to say, sweetheart.”

Your teeth snapped together so hard your molars screamed. His voice was dripping in amusement, thick with condescension, his usual cocktail of shit-eating smugness and predatory glee. He’d been waiting for this. Fucking waiting for it.

Slowly, you turned, arms still crossed, eyes slicing up to meet his with a glare sharp enough to slit his throat. He was leaning against the doorway like he had all the time in the world, watching you, his gaze hungry, expectant.

“I’m going to kill you.”

The words were calm, measured. Deadly. They only made him grin wider.

“Yeah?” He took a step forward, slow and deliberate. “What’s got your panties in a twist this time?”

Your nails dug into your palms. “You know exactly what.”

Ben hummed, tilting his head like he had to think about it, like he wasn’t fully aware of what he’d done, like he wasn’t thrilled about it. Then—mock surprise, all wide eyes and fake innocence.

“Ohhh,” he drawled, lips curling. “You mean your little t-shirt?”

The rage that slammed through your system nearly made your vision white out. He knew. He fucking knew.

“Are you—are you fucking serious?” Your voice came out strangled, barely contained. “You—you used my shirt? You went into my fucking room and—“

“Oh, come on,” he cut you off, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like you were wearin’ it.”

“That’s not the fucking point!”

Ben chuckled, a low, dark thing, rich with enjoyment. He took another step closer, and you barely stopped yourself from stepping back. You wouldn’t give him that.

“You’re gettin’ all worked up over a little mess,” he mused, voice syrup-thick with mockery. “What, you never had a guy come on your clothes before?”

Something inside you snapped.

The next thing you knew, you were shoving him—hard. He barely moved, but it didn’t matter. You wanted him to feel it. You wanted him to know that if you had a knife in your hand right now, you’d be planting it between his ribs.

Ben laughed.

A deep, rich, obnoxious fucking sound, like you were the funniest thing he'd seen all day. Like your rage was a fucking delight to him. His grin stretched wider, slow and deliberate, his eyes glinting with something sharp and dangerous.

“Aw, c’mon now,” he drawled, brushing nonexistent dust off his sleeve. “That all you got?”

Your hands curled into fists. “You are a scummy, vile, dirty old man,” you spat. “You’re just an old fucking dog, and I shouldn’t be surprised that you can’t be trained, because you can’t teach old dogs new tricks.”

Ben preened. Actually fucking preened. His broad shoulders straightened, his smirk turned smugger, his eyes burned with excitement.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, faux concern dripping from his tone. “Keep twitchin’ that little eye of yours like that and you’re gonna pop a blood vessel. Then what? No man’s gonna wanna fuck you.”

Your nostrils flared. Your pulse roared in your ears. Oh, fuck this.

Your hand snapped out, grabbing the first thing within reach—the bottle of fabric softener sitting beside the washing machine—and hurled it at him.

It hit him in the chest with a solid thud, and the bastard laughed.

“You’re real fuckin’ feisty, you know that?” He taunted, shaking his head. “Maybe if you weren’t such a mouthy little fuckin’ bitch, you’d actually get laid.”

Your vision blurred with rage. “And maybe if you weren’t such a festering, antiquated, deadbeat, woman-hating piece of shit, Payback wouldn’t have sold you out to the fucking Russians!”

His expression flickered. Just for a second. Just for a fucking second. And then his grin turned razor-sharp. His entire body shifted, and before you could register it, he moved.

He was on you in a breath.

One second, the space between you still existed—thin, crackling, electric. The next, gone. Ben stepped into it, filled it, drowned you in it, his body crowding yours until there was nowhere left to go. He was all heat, size, weight, a walking, talking fucking menace with that razor-blade smirk cutting across his face.

“Say it again,” he murmured, low and lethal, a dark, dangerous purr that slithered up your spine and coiled in your gut.

Oh, he was furious. You could see it in the taut set of his jaw, in the slight twitch of his fingers, in the barely restrained tension vibrating under his skin. But it wasn’t just anger. No, it was something else, something filthy, something that made his nostrils flare and his chest rise just a little too quickly.

He liked it. He fucking liked it.

So you gave it to him.

“You’re a no-good, perverted, misogynistic, chauvinist fucking cunt.” Your voice was steady, vicious, every word sharper than the last. “And if you ever step foot in my fucking room again, I’ll kill you. For real.”

His smirk twitched. Something flickered.

You weren’t done.

“You’re not a fucking war hero, Ben. You never stormed a goddamn thing in your life. Your entire legacy is bullshit—a propaganda piece for a country that doesn’t even fucking remember you. You’re just a relic of Vought’s past, and even they didn’t want you anymore.”

The groan that rumbled out of him was filthy. Deep, appreciative, dragging through his throat like smoke and sex and something far, far worse.

His hand slid down his front, blatant as all hell, and he palmed at the hard line of his cock through his jeans—adjusted it, made a whole goddamn show of it, a smirk creeping across his mouth as he let his head tip back just a little.

“Fuck, you’re really gettin’ me going now, sweetheart.”

Your stomach turned. Your lip curled into a vicious scowl, disgust and rage flooding through you all at once. You swung for him. Fast. Hard. Unforgiving.

He caught your wrist mid-air. Effortless. And then he moved.

A sharp yank, a forceful shove, and you were bent backwards over the still-rumbling washing machine, your spine curving against the vibrating metal, heat searing across your back from the sheer force of it. The room tilted, the whir of the machine filling your ears.

Ben’s weight pressed down, locked you in place.

One huge, brutal hand wrapped around your throat, pinning you down, thumb digging against your pulse, while the other clamped down on your hip—heavy, immovable, possessive.

A slow exhale ghosted across your cheek, the warmth of it infuriating, unbearable, suffocating.

His voice was a murmur, low and deep and satisfied as all fucking hell.

“Now we’re talkin’.”

“Get the hell off me.”

Your voice was sharp, but the angle was all wrong, your body bent backward, pinned at an unnatural curve against the still-running washing machine, his hand locked around your throat, fingers flexing just enough to remind you he could tighten his grip whenever the fuck he wanted.

And he laughed. Again.

That deep, gravel-rough chuckle, smug and entirely too entertained, rolling through his chest like you’d just told the funniest joke of his goddamn life.

“Sweetheart, I could pop your fuckin’ head off right now if I wanted to.”

Your teeth bared, rage coiling tight and vicious in your gut. With a sharp growl, you surged up, trying to fight against his hold, trying to push through the weight of him—

He used it against you.

Fast. Effortless. Completely, infuriatingly controlled.

His grip tightened around your throat, his other hand locked down hard on your hip, and suddenly, you were being lifted, hauled up like you weighed nothing. The room tilted, the washing machine’s hum shaking through your spine as he set you down on the edge—your thighs now spread around his waist, your body trapped between the vibrating machine and the sheer, unrelenting weight of him.

One of his hands clamped down on your hip, fingers curling in deep, holding you in place while his other shifted, the grip around your neck moving—repositioning—until his forearm was suddenly braced against your throat, keeping you folded against the machine, against the wall, against him.

And fuck.

Your breath hitched—not just from anger.

He felt it. He heard it.

That small, involuntary whimper that spilled from your lips the second he shifted, the hard, thick length of him dragging against you through your clothes—through nothing but layers of fabric.

His grin sharpened.

Head tilted, eyes dropping low, slow, deliberate—watching exactly where his hips were pressed up tight against yours. Then, back up to you. Those green eyes burned—mocking, amused, completely, utterly in control.

“You wanna get fuckin’ spread open, doll?”

You clenched your jaw, forcing down the humiliation pooling hot and unbearable in your gut. Your body was betraying you.

Every slow, deliberate grind of his hips sent a fresh wave of heat rippling through you, the thick, heavy length of him dragging against the growing dampness between your thighs—and he knew it.

Of course he fucking knew it.

Your fingers curled against the vibrating metal beneath you, desperate to keep some grip on your sanity, your dignity, your fucking composure. You still had fight in you. You weren’t going to let him see you fold.

Your lips curled, voice dripping in mockery, even as your breath hitched.

“Surprised you can even still get it up, Grandpa.”

His grin was wicked.

Then—pressure. A sharp, sudden grind, his hips pressing hard into yours, forcing the full, thick line of his cock against you, pinning you in place with nothing but pure weight and heat and dominance.

Your breath punched out of you in a soft, humiliating whimper.

Ben just grinned wider.

“That feel like I got any performance issues, sweetheart?”

His voice was thick, syrupy and dark, the rasp curling at the edges, drenched in amusement. His forearm pressed harder against your throat, not cutting off your air, but reminding you—reminding you exactly who was in control.

Your hands twitched, nails biting into the fabric of his jacket, unsure whether you wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

Then, his mouth dipped lower, his voice dropping into something slower, heavier, more dangerous.

“I know you wanna get fucked by me.”

Your stomach flipped. Your body went rigid, your breath caught hard in your throat.

His smirk stretched wider, all sharp teeth and victorious smugness.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he murmured, tilting his head, his hips rolling slow and steady, rubbing deliberately, cruelly against your aching core. “When you think I’m not watchin’. When you think you’re bein’ real fuckin’ subtle.”

Your brain screamed denial, denial, denial, but fuck, fuck, fuck—

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Your mind flickered back—to the safe house gym, to the few times you’d ended up in the same room, both of you training, ignoring each other, keeping your distance.

Except you hadn’t really been ignoring him.

You remembered it too well—the way your gaze would drift, the way your teeth would sink into your bottom lip without thinking, watching the sheer power of him, all raw, solid muscle, all sweat-slicked, feral fucking strength, the way he moved, like a goddamn beast barely caged.

You had watched him.

And he’d fucking seen it.

“Shouldn’t feel too bad,” Ben continued, his voice low and thick, that tone dripping with mock sympathy. His hips rolled forward again, slow, deliberate, grinding his cock hard against you, dragging that pressure right over your aching, humiliatingly wet core.

“I watch you too, doll.”

Your breath hitched.

Oh, fuck.

“Barely hold myself back from comin’ over n bitin’ your fuckin' ass when you’re doin’ squats in those stupid little shorts.” His voice went rough, nearly gravelled, all hot and smug. “Y’know the ones, sweetheart—the ones that look like they’re painted the fuck on.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Because your eyes had flickered down—without thinking, without meaning to—and suddenly, you realised you were wearing those shorts right now.

Your body went rigid, heat flaring over your cheeks, over your chest, a full-body flush of anger, humiliation, something else.

Ben’s smirk widened. His forearm pressed harder into your throat, cutting off just enough space to make you feel the pressure, to make your breath catch.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips nearly brushing your jaw. “I noticed.”

Your stomach flipped.

His hips ground into you again, the full, thick line of his cock pressing exactly where he wanted you to feel it.

Then—his voice dropped into something low, dark, final.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time. Real nice.” His smirk twitched. “Do you wanna get fuckin’ split open—” another sharp grind, your body jerking at the friction, your mouth parting in a whimper—“or are you gonna keep pretendin’ to be the little modern feminist pussy we both know you ain't?”

The word tore from your lips before you could even think.

“Once.”

The second it was out of your mouth, he moved. His lips slammed into yours, all teeth and heat and hunger, a brutal, ravenous collision, his tongue licking into your mouth like he was trying to devour you from the inside out.

He growled into the kiss, biting, sucking, wrecking your lips like he had every intention of leaving them swollen and bruised for days. His hand snapped up, tangling roughly in your hair, tugging, tilting your head exactly how he wanted.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your mouth. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

You scrambled for purchase, hands grasping, clawing at his hair, his jacket, trying to pull him closer, tighter, anything—but your angle was still off, your back still pressed at that awkward arch against the washing machine, still trapped by his weight.

You barely had time to process before he grabbed the neckline of your shirt and—

Ripped.

The fabric tore in half with one sharp pull, the pieces hanging uselessly off your arms, baring your heated, flushed skin to the cool air of the laundry room.

Your eyes snapped up, scowling.

“You’re a dick.”

Ben grinned, chest heaving, thrilled.

Then you fisted his own shirt, fingers curling in tight, and ripped it straight down the middle—just like he had done to you.

He laughed, a deep, rasping sound that sent heat pulsing between your thighs. Then he hooked both hands into your shorts, yanked hard—

Riiiip.

The material shredded apart, leaving you in nothing but your soaked underwear.

Ben hummed, voice all mock innocence, the barest smirk curling his lips.

“Oops.”

Before you could snap back, before you could snarl and shove and cuss him out, he shoved you down, pushing you flat against the washing machine, his hands pressing down heavy on your thighs to keep them spread.

And then—his mouth was on you.

Right over your slick, soaked underwear, latching on, sucking hard, loud, obscene, the heat of his tongue pressing hot and wet through the fabric.

A sharp, wrecked sound tore from your throat, your hands flying out to grab for anything—his hair, the edges of the washing machine, the crumpled remains of your shirt.

Ben moaned against you, soaking in your reaction like it was the best thing he’d ever fucking heard.

And then—he did it again.

Ben’s groan vibrated straight into your core, deep and��wrecked, as he sucked hard, his mouth sealing over your underwear, dragging the fabric and your aching cunt into his mouth. The heat of his tongue pressed, the wet suction pushing through, and your hips jerked, a sharp, unbidden gasp ripping from your throat.

Then he pulled back, lips slick, breath ragged, eyes burning as he flicked them up to yours.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dark and guttural, half-taunt, half-worship. “Real fuckin' sweet.”

Before you could fire back, before you could even breathe, his hand snapped up and—

Smack.

A sharp, stinging slap right over the spot where his mouth had just been.

A startled yelp tore from your lips, your body tensing against the vibrating metal beneath you, and Ben just grinned, eyes gleaming with something hungry, predatory, insatiable.

You barely had a second to recover before he was shoving his jeans down, just enough to free himself, his cock thick, flushed, hard as fuck, and you were already struggling, fingers shaking as you tried to yank your underwear down.

You got one leg free—

Then he was back on you. His hand slammed against your chest, pinning you back down, your underwear still clinging to your other leg, tangled just above your knee.

“Nah, sweetheart,” he rasped, gripping himself, lining up. “You don’t need to worry ‘bout that.”

And then—

He sank in.

One, long, achingly slow stroke, stretching you open, shoving in deep, until he was buried to the fucking hilt.

Your mouth parted, a wrecked, breathless moan spilling past your lips, your hands clawing for something, anything, nails scraping over the metal of the machine, the bare skin of his biceps, the solid muscle of his stomach.

Ben let out a rough, punched-out breath, his head tilting forward, his forearm tightening where it pinned your throat again.

Through gritted teeth, voice low and shattered, he muttered, “Holy shit, sweetheart—way fuckin’ tighter than I thought you’d be.”

You barely registered the words.

Your mind was already white noise, your body blissed out, wrecked from the stretch, from the sheer, impossibly full feeling of him seated so deep inside you, from the unrelenting weight of him pressing you down.

Then he pulled back.

And slammed home again.

Your head hit the wall, a strangled moan punching out of you as the pressure built, his hand still wrapped tight around your throat, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, keeping you open and helpless and fucking ruined beneath him.

Ben was ruthless.

The hand not wrapped around your throat dropped, his fingers sliding down, knuckles dragging over the plane of your stomach, the sweaty dip of your navel—before they pressed, rubbed, circled your aching clit just right as he kept slamming into you, rough and unrelenting, shoving you higher, higher, higher—

And then he laughed. Low, dark, mean as all fucking hell.

"What happened, sweetheart?" He rasped, his breath hot against your jaw, grinning as your back arched. "Ain't you supposed to be some big, bad feminist? All that moral high ground, all that virtue-signalling bullshit—" he gave a brutal, punishing thrust, making you gasp, your hands scrambling against his shoulders—"melting right the fuck outta your pretty head now, ain't it?"

You shook, legs trembling, your body betraying you, the heat coiling tight and hot and fucking unbearable.

"C'mon, use that big mouth of yours." His fingers rubbed harder, faster, pushing you closer to the edge, his cock hitting deep, hitting perfect with every driving snap of his hips. "Tell me how much you fuckin' hate me, sweetheart. Tell me how I'm a misogynistic piece of shit while you're soakin' my cock."

Your breath hitched, a sharp, wrecked whimper slipping from your lips.

His smirk deepened.

"That's what I fuckin' thought."

He was so fucking smug. So fucking cocky. He was growling into your skin, sneering at your unraveling, at the way your nails bit into his skin, at the way you tightened around him, nearly choking his cock, your thighs clenching, your entire body locking up—

And then you cried out, pleasure ripping through you, your body shaking, spasming, your orgasm hitting so fucking hard it knocked the breath out of you.

Ben groaned, biting hard against your collarbone, his tongue lapping over the mark immediately after. "Yeah, that's it," he gritted out, his cock still pounding into you, working you through it, keeping you locked down, shaking, helpless. "All you fuckin’ needed was a good, hard fuck to get that attitude outta you, huh?"

Your mind barely processed it—not when he was licking and sucking, his mouth everywhere, his teeth scraping rough along your throat, biting at your face, dragging his tongue over your cheek before kissing you filthy and deep—

And then—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The washing machine. Your shirt was done.

Ben stilled for a half-second. Then he fucking laughed.

The second his laughter faded, he was right back at it—pounding into you, all force and greed, using your wrecked, overstimulated body to chase his own high, the smug, cocky bastard making sure you felt it.

His hand dug into your hip, his grip on your throat tightened, pulling you into every brutal thrust, forcing you to take him, take it, take all of it.

“You better hurry up, sweetheart,” he mocked, voice raspy, strained, dragging his teeth along your jaw, pressing a wet, biting kiss just beneath your ear. “You wanna come again, you better fuckin’ keep up.”

His fingers found your clit again, but his movements were deliberate, lazy, cruel—not giving you enough, not letting you have it until he wanted you to.

“Such a good little fuckdoll,” he groaned, his lips brushing against your damp, overheated skin. “So fuckin’ sweet when you’re just takin’ it, huh? That’s what you needed. Just needed to get fucked stupid, yeah?”

You whined, barely coherent, barely able to even snap back at him.

Ben groaned, tension knotting in his stomach, his pace turning desperate, erratic.

“Where d’you want it, sweetheart?” He rasped, voice thick and hungry, hips snapping into you harder. “Inside you? All fuckin’ deep, fillin’ you up, yeah?”

Your brain kicked back online real fucking fast.

“Under no circumstances can you fucking come inside me.”

Ben snarled, gritting his teeth as his pace stuttered, his grip tightening in irritation.

“No fuckin’ fun.” His sneer was vicious. “Fine. You want it on your fuckin’ face, then?”

Before you could even breathe, his grip on your throat yanked you forward, pulling you off the washing machine. Your knees hit the floor, legs still shaking, useless, your mind still spinning as he fisted his cock, his other hand gripping your hair, holding you right in place.

“Fuck, sweetheart—"

With a low, guttural groan, he spilled across your face, his breath ragged, loud, unrestrained, groaning deep and shameless, his entire body tensing as he pumped himself dry, streaking hot, thick ropes over your cheeks, lips, chin.

And then—

"Oh, for fuck’s sake."

Your blood turned to ice. Your entire body locked up.

"Pair of fuckin' animals."

You whipped your head toward the door—and there stood Butcher. One hand on his hip, the other rubbing his temples, shaking his head like he'd just walked in on two stray dogs humping on the sidewalk.

And then?

He turned and walked right the fuck back out.

Mortification. Pure, searing, full-body mortification. You were still on your knees, still panting, wrecked, still covered in Ben’s cum.

And when you turned back?

Oh, he was grinning. That shit-eating, cocky, bastard grin.

Your stomach sank. Because in one hand, Ben was holding—your shirt.

Your freshly washed, still-warm shirt that he’d clearly grabbed right out of the machine while you’d been frozen in horror, looking at Butcher.

And now? Now he was wiping himself off with it. Casual. Smug. Completely unbothered. Once he was done, he tossed it at your face.

“Go on, sweetheart.” His smirk was lethal. “Get cleaned up.”

@mostlymarvelgirl @lunaleah @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @itshellfire @nevercameraready @suckitands33 <3

[goodeapple]

pedal to the metal (cregan s. modern hotd pwp o.s.)

pairing : Cregan x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : MDNI PWP, hate sex babyyy! cunnilingus (creg's a munch, let's talk about it), p-in-the-v, doggystyle, sex in a public place, misogynistic language/illusions, brat taming, general yummy stuff

word count : 3,500+

note : two updates? in less than two weeks? who is sheeee. but actually, i have a nasty sinus infection and i feel like a hot air balloon so any love from ya'll would cure me. all my love, always xx

.

.

.

"How much do I owe you?"

"Your money's no good here." Cregan rumbles, letting his eyes roam leisurely down the enchanting bends and blooms of Ysilla's body. 

The dress she's slid into is nothing short of obscene- the silky caramel color a twin shade of her soft, supple skin. The entirety of her chest may be covered to the base of her throat courtesy of the halter neckline, but that doesn't account for the backless design that bares her down to the bounce of her ass. She's all leg and sky high heels, the hemline stopping short just below her cheeks. Her midnight hair is twisted up and off her shoulders, displaying the huge fucking diamonds decorating her earlobes. 

She's a showroom car in the middle of his dingy garage. Untouchable. Unattainable.

Ysilla eyes him with a healthy sprinkling of mistrust, giving him a very unimpressed once over. Every speck of grease on his jeans seems to grow darker, the dirt under his nails thickening into a damning paste. Cregan grits his teeth, recognizing the look for exactly what it is- he's shit under her shoes. 

"Just do me a favor, alright?" He goes on before she can't stop him, the perk of her eyebrow haughty and aching to rebuff him. "Lay offa Jace. Man's been through the ringer, he doesn't need you piling on all the time."

The look of gobsmacked shock on her pretty face is priceless. Cregan bets no one's ever talked to her like that before.

"You don't tell me what to do, Stark."

"Not telling you, I'm askin' you." He bites back, rolling his eyes. She picks Jace up sometimes, pulling up in her candy apple red Corvette- no doubt thanks to mummy's money- and doesn't even bother to get out and set foot inside of Stark & Son's Body Shop. She'll lay on the horn, harping at Jace to get a move on and stop wasting my fucking time. 

Real classy gal. 

"It's my brother's own goddamn problem that he wrapped his Ferrari 'round a tree while he was pissed. Now Mum's making him work off his house arrest in this shit shop, and I have to take time out of my day to pick him up from daycare? Bite me." Such vitriol seems unlikely to come from sparkly glossed lips but it pours like oil, easy and thick off her tongue. She's crossed her arms, cocked a hip, and is glaring at him something serious. 

'Shit shop' eh? Cregan snarls, Northern pride burning through the tips of his ears. He stands, kicking away the rolling stool, all six feet and more of him swallowing up the Targaryen daughter in his shadow. Even with her heels, she still has to look up at him to give him her nastiest look. 

"And where are your priorities exactly, Princess?" Cregan doesn't make a habit of talking to women like this but Ysilla gnaws at him like frostbite. Plus, he's got nothing to lose. His uncle is the one doing the favor for Jace's mum. Cregan doesn't owe anyone shit. 

"You off to another club? Didn't I just see your photo splashed over every mag from here to Rook's Rest last week? Partying and gettin' sloshed, stumbling into limos face first and ass up." He chuckles, enjoying a little too much how her bronzed cheeks bloom rosy, the whites of her eyes growing frosty. She's positively fuming- he's surprised steam hasn't shot out of her ears yet. Cregan decides to push his luck, tucking a stubborn curl behind her ear, tracing the shell of it in faux tenderness. 

"What're you searching for at the bottom of all those bottles? Who are ya looking for in the ones that end up in your bed?" 

He expects the smack because that last bit was a little too far. Shit stings, he'll give it to her, waggling his jaw to dissipate the pain. He rubs at the skin of his cheek, the stubbled flesh hot under his hand. 

"Struck a nerve, did I?" He laughs darkly, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. It's a valiant effort, one made in vain as another manicured paw sails through the air and attempts to get familiar with his face. Cregan catches Ysilla's hand, yanking her into him if only to limit how much destruction she can cause. 

"You get one Princess, you don't get another." 

Cregan watches the narrowing of her captivating indigo eyes, her little angry breaths hot along his chest. Maybe he'd laugh at the fact that her pissed off face is about as menacing as a pouting puppy if he didn't realize all of her is pressed into the entire front of him. He refuses to focus on the softness of her breasts pillowed against his ribs. Blocks out the rosemary of her shampoo drifting up his nose from the strands swaying under his chin. 

He lets a traitorous thought drift into his head, a whisper of how fucking perfect she feels against him, how deliciously right she is in his arms. 

"What dumb slag told you that you were hot shit enough to talk to a girl this way?" Ysilla spits, trying to yank free her wrists he still has locked in his meaty fists. 

Cregan scoffs, releasing her and taking a step back- for his sake or hers, he won't answer, not even in his head. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

She rubs at the tender skin under her Cartier bracelets, and Cregan argues with himself to not feel too bad. Considering his face still hurts like a bitch, he doesn't take much convincing. 

"Maybe I would."

He almost misses it, Ysilla's voice dimmed down to a near whisper. But it's just the two of them this late at night, so she may as well've screamed it at the top of her lungs. 

Of fucking course. 

"Oh, I see. Does that turn you on? Guys treating you like shit?" It's his turn to cross his arms and look down the tip of his nose at her. "Or do you just want a man that won't bow down to you because of your last name?" 

"Easy, big boy." Ysilla sneers. She spins on her heel, sauntering away from him and Cregan certainly does not stare at the beguiling jiggle of her ass.  

She finds a seat, reclining on the hood of her Corvette, the same one he was doing a solid for Jace fixing up, faulty fuel sensor and a shitty transmission hidden under the shiny red hood. She may be a bit of a twat but she's still my sister. Can't have her skiddin' off the Long Bridge, Mum would have my ass. 

"I've had enough night-outs to last a lifetime. Maybe… I should try out something different." She crosses her long legs at the ankle and the shop lights might be severely unflattering on most people, but of course that doesn't apply to her. The white glow bounces off her polished skin, illuminating her in a showcase display, enticing anyone who may spare a glance. Fuck, he wants to take a bite out of her. 

"What? Wanna slum it?" Cregan can't believe this shit- maybe Ysilla knocked a screw loose when she swatted at him earlier and he's hallucinating like a bad fucking mushroom trip. 

She giggles, an evil little sound that would probably make a baby cry. "Your words, not mine." Her fingers dance at the edge of her dress, dipping below the hem, raising it just so. She's got thick thighs, creamy and unblemished, and Cregan thinks of how easily they'd spread apart for his shoulders when he'd go face first between them. His silence stretches on and Ysilla takes it as an unspoken answer. 

"No? Your loss." She shrugs, pushing to her feet. 

"Bend over the hood. Keep your heels on."

He's somewhat proud his voice doesn't shake. He's no blushing bride but this is pretty ballsy. The shop door isn't even locked- he'd opened it for her once she arrived and expected her to walk right back out of it in a matter of minutes. His guys are all long gone for the night, probably already a few pints deep at the pub, but this isn't the best part of King's Landing. Anyone could try the door and walk into the porno he's apparently shooting in his garage. 

He expects a fight, at least a snide remark or two but Ysilla is full of surprises. She gives him a sexy little smirk, staring him down like she's expecting him to back out. When all he does is raise an impatient eyebrow, she bites her lip in anticipation and spins around. She walks her hands up the hood of her car, positioning herself in the most alluring display of come take me now Cregan's ever seen. 

He doesn't make his feet move but suddenly, somehow, he's behind her, nearly flush with the back of her thighs. He wedges his steel toe in between her stilettos and knocks them apart. Ysilla gasps as her legs spread, goosebumps peppering over the naked skin of her back. 

He lets himself enjoy this, running his palms from the bare slope of her shoulders, down the sides of her covered breasts, and over the small of her back. She feels fantastic, all woman, and his cock pulses thickly behind his fly. He sees her fingers flex along the gleaming red metal she clings to before the sight drops away as he squats behind her, his face level now with her delicious derriere. 

Ysilla peers at him from under her arm, a surprised little laugh escaping her. "Thought you'd be the kind to just shove it in." 

Cregan shimmies the expensive silk of her dress over the swell of her hips, exposing the globes of her ass to the tepid night air. He smiles, the softest look he's aimed at her so far tonight. "Ye of little faith, milady." 

She's beautiful, every inch of her. He suckles a string of bruises from the back of her knee to the swell of her cheek, stamping down the urge to sink his teeth into the lavish bounty of her body. 

"Gonna kiss my ass, Stark- oh! Damn se Sīkuda, fuckkk."

He indulges a dip of his tongue into where her thong blooms a dark dot, her honey soaking through the delicate material. He sucks on it like a man starved, pulling the sweetness out and onto his ravenous taste buds. A treat before the main course, he shucks them out of his way roughly, before burying his tongue inside of her cunt with no finesse. 

Ysilla startles forward, shouting out another curse but it falls on deaf ears, Cregan a man drowning in lust. Bitter she may be inside but between her legs is fucking sugar, the feminine musk of her arousal coating his mouth in a saccharin syrup. His eyes slip closed, losing himself in her decadent tang. He winds his arms around the front of her thighs and hugs her to his face, keeping her stuck against his insatiable tongue. He leaves her hole only to dip forward to wrap his lips around the pretty little pearl of her clit, enjoying how her legs quiver like jelly when he sucks too hard.

She's gonna have beard burn, he just knows it- he didn't have time to shave this morning. But he thinks of her tomorrow, sitting at the mile long dinner table he's sure they have at Dragonstone Manor, and how she'll wiggle and whine as the butlers pour her tea, working herself up as she rubs her tender thighs together. He yanks her impossibly closer, smothering his face in her pretty pussy. He feels her tighten, her hips arching backwards to ride his face, her moans echoing off the high ceilings and crashing down around them. He groans, mouth full, and the vibrations roll through her like a thundering bass.

Ysilla screams before she slaps a hand over her mouth, her orgasm sending a wave of sweet slick down his chin. He spears her on his tongue, dragging her on and off it, making sure to draw out her aftershocks until her legs kick. Cregan finally tears himself away, albeit unhappily, to gulp down air to fill his burning lungs. 

"Don't tease, Stark." She whines, reaching blindly behind her to push at his head.

"Don't tell me what to do, Targaryen." He parrots back, his speech slurred, drunk from his feast. He relents though, rocking onto his feet, going to flick open the button of his jeans. 

"Rubber." Ysilla commands, breathy and impatient, laid across the hood like a fucking Playboy spread. Her fingers have snuck between her legs and she rubs between her slick lips with unhurried small strokes.

Cregan pulls his wallet from his pocket, shifting through the bills before pulling out the foil packet (he keeps one handy, in case of emergencies and all). He tears open the edge and rolls it on, pumping himself once for assurity before lining himself up with her entrance. He snatches Ysilla's hand away from fondling herself, and he holds her sultry stare as he brings her wet fingers up to his mouth. He sucks them clean, her French-tipped nails curling loosely over his tongue. 

"You're filthy." Long gone is her previous acrid tone, in its place a needy, erotic purr. He winks at her, releasing her hand. She lets it flop bonelessly to her side, weak with satisfaction. He takes a hold of her hips, raising her up so that she teeters on heels. 

He catches her eye, raising a brow in an unspoken question. You good?

She answers with an annoyed miff of her mouth. Just get on with it. 

Cregan's never claimed to be the smartest guy around but shit, he doesn't need to be told twice. He slides forward, his spit and her slick letting him in with no resistance. 

"Fuck, that's good pussy." And he almost wishes he were lying- her ego could use a good adjustment- but he's currently sliding into the wettest, silkiest, hottest cunt he's ever had the privilege of being invited into. 

He takes a moment to focus on not being a minute man but as soon as the temptation to cum in under thirty fades, he gives her just what she needs. Hard, fast, and rough. He's sure she'll bruise- he's a big guy, plus the way he's squeezing at her hips and the start of her thighs is anything but tender. 

"Fuck it like you own it, Stark, come on." Ysilla slaps at the hood, meeting him thrust for thrust. Even with dick in her, she still thinks she's the one calling the shots. 

"Do you ever not talk?" He bites back, fisting his grip into the roots of her hair. She flutters around him as he pulls, hard. 

"Only when there's something in my mouth." Cheeky thing. She wants filthy? He shoves two fingers down her throat, bumping cruelly at the crowns of her teeth and scraping at the back of her tongue. She doesn't even gag, just hums and sucks on them like his work worn hands are a popsicle in July. 

"Pampered little rich bitch. Fucken desperate for some Northern cock, eh?"

Cregan thinks that she tries to whine out something, thinks he might hear prick, but the digits shoved in her mouth and the drool slipping down his wrist stunt that. Her nails burrow into his foreman, Ysilla clinging to him as he fucks her like a beast. He's not gentle, pistoning in and out of her so harshly that the Corvette rocks beneath them, the tires squeaking. 

She whimpers, her throat spasming around his fingers. A thought, unbidden, worms its way into his thoughts. What if she fakes it? And that pisses him the fuck off. Nah, if she wants to get down and dirty, she'll remember how hard she came when she was pinned underneath him. He rips his fingers free and only gives her a chance to cough once before gripping her jaw tightly.

"Tell me you like it." He rumbles into her ear, his Northern flourish thicker when he's turned on.

Ysilla moans, a broken, lovely sound that makes him grin like a fool.

"I fuckin' love it, oh my Gods." That's even better.

Cregan kisses her on instinct, planting one just below her ear, over the thrumming string of her pulse. She vibrates in a shiver, curling into him, the curve of her spine accepting the beating of his hips. Southern girls must not be used to good dick because Ysilla is fucking gagging for it. Her hood's gonna look like it just got a fresh wax from the way her wetness dribbles down her thighs. 

"Fuck yeah, take it take it take it take it." His hand wraps around her throat, a mind of its own, and hauls her to his chest. She's shaking, wild gasps for air whistling from her lips. Her hand dives down her belly, her fingertips searching for the sensitive slip of skin that'll bring them closer to the end of their fucked up little union. And Cregan may not enjoy her company but he's certainly enjoying this. He catches her wrist, trapping her against her own beautiful body as he winds both arms around her. 

"Un uh, you cum when I tell you to. Should make you beg for it. Should put you on your knees, with your pretty kitty aching still, teetering on the edge, and paint your face with my spunk. Think you're too good for me? When your pussy is squeezing the absolute life outta me?" Cregan thinks of putting a collar on her. Leading her around on a leash, tugging her forward to have her lap at his cock. "Cregan's Bitch" inscribed on a dangling gold charm that'd rest between her tits. She'd look good in pink- it'd make the rosiness of her lips glow lusciously.

Fuck, he's close. And for all the shit he may talk, he's not pulling out of her A1 snatch now. 

"So do it. Beg me, Princess. Beg me to let you cum."

Seemingly past the point of acting blasé, the plea tumbles from Ysilla's mouth before he's even done talking. "Yes yes yes, please baby, let me cum. Let me cum all over your cock. Break me in half on it, unnfff. Cregan!"

There it is. "Only because you asked so nicely." And his callous raised fingertips glide down to strum at her clit until she sobs, her legs going out, the only thing keeping her up Cregan's thick arms around her. She shivers and shakes for ages, guiding him through his own release as he cums into the condom. 

He presses his forehead to the center of her back, taking his time so that his knees don't buckle when he stands up. Pulling out of her sucks, leaving her warmth the last thing he wants to do but his back is screaming at him to straighten out and he's sure her legs must be at least half asleep by now. He ties off the rubber, tossing it into the bin behind them before he tucks himself back in his boxers. 

He snags a clean rag out of a drawer- it comes with a few oil stains sure, but it's been washed a thousand times. He wipes Ysilla clean, gentle around the raw skin of her inner thighs and the swollen lips of her center. She sighs softly, whispering a soft thank you into her arm pillowed beneath her chin. He kisses the side of her hip in acknowledgement, sliding her sodden panties back to cover her up. He helps her roll onto her back and she squints up at the track lights glaring down at them. 

He doesn't say much and neither does she, the afterglow fading until all that's left is the sweat sticky on their skin.  

"Can I take you out to dinner? I'm fucking starved." It's not a proposal or anything, just good manners in Cregan's opinion.

Ysilla looks down at her dress, wrinkled from him rucking it up and spotted from where she'd sweated through parts of it. She looks at him pointedly, less attitudey than before but still with her signature sharpness. He laughs, unperturbed and lighter than fucking air. That's the best orgasm he's had in… shit, probably ever. 

"I have a long sleeve you can throw on. Some sweats too." He ducks into the office and riffles through his gym bag, returning with the clothes that he'll sure will swamp her from head to toe. He tosses them onto the hood beside her.

"Couture, no doubt." She grumbles but she's already undoing the button at the nape of her neck that keeps the straps in place. It falls away like a bow off a present, revealing the one part of her he hasn't seen. 

He'll need a few before he can go another round but even so, his dick twitches in interest. He may be an ass man but Cregan's positive now there's no piece of her body he doesn't want to lick. Ysilla notices his shameless staring, forgetting his shirt she'd started to shrug on in her lap. She smirks, cupping her tits, her thumbs and forefingers pinching the dusky rose nipples into stiff peaks. 

"Like what you see?"

Cregan doesn't answer, not aloud anyway. He sweeps forward, coming to stand in between her lax legs. He cradles her face and that cocksure smugness melts like butter from her eyes, and she blinks big and wide up at him. Her lashes flutter, petals in a breeze, and Cregan takes his chance. He seals his lips over hers and swallows down the sigh she breathes into his mouth.

It's chaste, paling in comparison to the railing he just gave her but it doesn't make it any less nice. It's really nice actually, nicer than it has any right being. Ysilla wraps her legs around his hips, dragging him into glue to her front. Her breasts squeeze against his chest, her tongue demure as it traces his bottom lip. The scratch of her nipples against his work shirt sends her whimpering, and she clutches onto his biceps for purchase. 

The growl of his stomach wins out over the tightening in his jeans, and with enough willpower to win a war, he pulls away. He gives her another peck, enjoying the way her face goes soft when she's not frowning. 

He traces the beauty mark at the edge of her cheekbone, waiting for her eyes to slip shut before he yanks the long sleeve over her head. She pops through the shirt's opening like a bushy little groundhog, and Cregan smirks at the glare she daggers him with. 

"So, kebabs or fish and chips?"

.

.

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Damn se Sīkuda . Damn the Seven

[verstappensrealwife]

Cellophane - Charles Leclerc x Reader

[charles leclerc masterlist  / f1 masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... charles won't defend reader online due to hate she's receiving. ʚɞ angst, fluff  ⋆⭒˚.⋆ 1000 words ʚɞ warnings: I wanted to do a pure angst but i just couldn’t, reader falls over, breakup (beginning) ¿happy? ending I guess. Use of Y/N, Y/L/N.

-୨♡୧-

— September, 2023

The hate online isn’t nearly what made your heart into a thousand pieces, it was the lack of support from the one man you wanted support from.

“Why won’t you do this for me?” You asked Charles, a hushed tone of voice. “I- You can’t just ask them to stop?” You were almost begging for him to just… care.

“I can’t!” He shouted back- a harsh contrast to your own tone- “Fuck- You know this! They’re my fans!”

“And them telling me to die is what? Fan behaviour?”

He sat in agonizing silence, every word you spoke cutting deep because he knew you were right. But the thought of admitting it, of crumbling under the weight of his own mistakes, was unbearable. 

So, he clung desperately to his fragile pride, refusing to apologize, even as guilt gnawed at him.

“If you can’t handle it anymore, you…” His voice faltered, the words catching in his throat like shards of glass.

He couldn’t finish, and you could see the unspoken truth hanging between you, heavy and inevitable.

“I should what, Charles?” You demanded, your voice sharp and trembling. “Say it.”

His breath hitched as he forced the words out, each one laced with regret. “We… we shouldn’t be together.”

The confirmation of your darkest suspicions sent a wave of anguish crashing over you. Tears welled in your eyes, and you tipped your head back, desperately fighting them off before regaining just enough composure to meet his gaze.

“You’re a coward, Charles,” you spat, the accusation dripping with bitterness. Without waiting for a response, you spun on your heel, snatching your keys from the table by the door. The slam of the door echoed through the apartment, a final, resounding note to the shattered remains of what once was.

— April, 2024

“Come onnnn, it’ll be fun!” Lily exclaimed dramatically, waving the tickets in your face with a mischievous grin.

“Lily… he’ll be there,” you murmured, the hesitation clear in your voice.

Lily Muni He, your best friend and eternal partner in crime, rolled her eyes playfully. “And so will like ten other single drivers,” she shot back with a smirk, “Plus, a ton of rich, single men,” she added, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

You couldn’t help but laugh, giving her a gentle shove. “Fine, fine, I’ll come,” you groaned, snatching the paddock pass from her hand.

“For you, Lily— not the men!”

Saturday, 25th May 2024

Monte Carlo, Monaco.

The first few days had passed without a glimpse of him, and for that, you were grateful. Today felt promising, the crisp morning air in Monaco filling you with a rare sense of optimism. You decided to start your day with a leisurely walk through the city, a few good hours before qualifying, giving you plenty of time to grab breakfast and soak in the peaceful atmosphere.

But, of course, fate had other plans.

“Leo!” a familiar voice called out, breaking through your thoughts. You turned just in time to see Charles sprinting around the corner, chasing after his little dog, the leash flapping uselessly behind him as Leo seized the opportunity to dart away.

And then, before you could react, Charles collided with you, sending you sprawling onto the pavement with a startled yelp. The impact knocked the breath out of you, and before you could fully process what had happened, you felt a warm, wet tongue eagerly licking your ear and jaw. You couldn’t help but huff out a laugh as you sat up, only to find Leo wagging his tail furiously, clearly pleased with himself.

“I—I am so sorry,” Charles stammered, thrusting his hand out toward you. That’s when you looked up and met his eyes, and the surprise and awkwardness on his face softened a little. “Y/N?”

You hesitated for a moment, then chose to stand up on your own, brushing off the lingering embarrassment. “Charles,” you greeted, your voice tinged with awkwardness.

“S-sorry—he—he just ran off…” Charles fumbled, pointing to Leo, who was still beaming up at you, his tongue lolling out in delight. You noticed the slight stutter in Charles’ voice—something he never did in front of anyone. Then again, you weren’t just anyone.

“It’s fine,” you said, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Not the first time you’ve embarrassed me.” You teased, watching as Charles forced a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m joking,” you added quickly. “How’ve you been?”

“Good, good!” Charles responded a little too quickly. “I got a dog!” he announced proudly, then blushed as he realized how obvious that was. “But, uh, you can see that.” He laughed, a little sheepish.

“How about you? Boyfriend?” he asked suddenly, the question tumbling out before he could stop it. It was a little inappropriate, but the curiosity—no, the longing—was clear in his eyes.

You offered a shy smile, shaking your head. “No… I did, but we broke up.”

“Oh?” Charles tried to sound casual, though he already knew about your ex—he might have checked your Instagram a few times. “How come?”

You sighed softly, glancing away before quietly admitting, “He wasn’t you…”

A slow, hopeful smile spread across Charles’ face. It might have been a little insensitive to feel happy about your breakup, but he didn’t care. Maybe, just maybe, you still loved him.

“I can be better,” he blurted out, his voice tinged with desperation. “I—please…” He sighed, the words hanging in the air between you.

You looked at him, your heart caught between old memories and new possibilities. “Qualify P1, and I’ll take you up on your offer,” you said, a small smile playing on your lips.

Charles grinned, hope flickering in his eyes. Maybe this time, things could be different.

[naffeclipse]

Hopefully this hasn’t been asked quite yet

But what if orca eclipse was more like the canon dca as in-

He was an animatronic instead of a fish man?

*rubs my filthy mitts together*

The setting becomes a Seaworld-esque theme park (not good) called Freddy Fazbear's Boundless Sea.

Y/N is still a photographer. You have been personally invited by the corporation to take stunning candid photographs of everything within the park so they may use the photos in future marketing endeavors. The pay is more than convincing. You're thrilled to get an inside peak into a notable establishment and discover what you can capture with your camera.

You're allowed almost everywhere. You get to see shows with oceanic-themed animatronics that perform stunning water tricks and can morph from their landform to their sea form in the blink of an eye—legs are replaced with fins, and vice versa. The areas have their themes from the warm and relaxed Caribbean-themed shallow pools on the east end to the excited and tidal-wave high pools on the west side to a swampy and green lily pad-dotted south.

Funny enough, you remember a small blurb on a news website about Freddy Fazbear's Boundless Sea shutting down a section of the park. No big deal. It probably just needs to be renovated, but you keep passing maps that have one certain section on the north side of the park either covered up with a big sticker, crossed out with a black marker, or outright torn off. Strange. They did say you could go almost everywhere.

You find the north section, but it's all covered up in tape and looks to have an Arctic theme. There are polar bears and narwhals painted on the icy-faux walls. The entrance is locked up tight. You keep photographing everything else, everywhere, but the north area keeps gnawing at the back of your brain. Any efforts to find out more information are met with standard explanations of the work required in the area. It is closed until further notice.

Which you sit with for a few days before you discover a back area. The excuse of needing a better angle to take pictures of the animatronics performing their great stunt show gets you through, but while wandering through a cluttered and stacked high mess of merchandise, you find a poster.

The poster features an animatronic you have never seen before. One painted in black and white, and in his seaform, he possesses a great dorsal fin and flukes on his mechanical tail. The background is frosty and pale blue.

You tuck the poster into your camera bag and go about the rest of the day. It triggers a faint memory of an old commercial from a few years back you watched about the park, where there was, indeed, an orca-themed animatronic who had his very own show. In fact, after a quick internet search, you find he was really, really popular. He had shows twice daily—even more than the main cast. He was powerful and stunning, and he would splash people in the audience. Everyone ate it up.

His name was Eclipse.

But then, a few months back, he seemingly vanished. The area was closed down. Complaints are wondering when it will open back up. No one mentions the animatronic.

You don't get it. Why shut down a money-maker like that? Something's going on. Frankly, you want pictures of such a powerful performer. Wouldn't the corporation want you to get good shots of him?

Then you find a little article. A blurb about an incident at the beloved Freddy Fazbear's Boundless Sea. The animatronic was acting strange. Onlookers repeated that there was an agitation to the show, a tension that permitted the water and air. A staff member was pulled into the pool. Immediately, guests were ushered out while help swarmed the water. Then, the entire park was shut down for the day.

What happened?

You try to find more. Yielding nothing, you return to work tomorrow with a plan. You've been studying the layout, mostly to find better vantage points to snap a shot, but now, you realize there are maintenance tunnels below the entire park. You slip into one while a show is happening, keeping most staff members above ground. You wander for a bit before you find a marker pointing to "Eclipse's Arctic Sea."

A door finally opens into the closed section of the park. Most of it is sheltered under a pale, gray colored roof painted to appear like an Arctic sky. The dimness leads you towards an open section. A few aquariums are dimly lit but empty. The walls are painted with facts about polar bears and seals.

Strangely, you hear a faint scrapping. It pricks your ears as you follow the noise. Through a hallway that opens into a view alongside a great tank of water with the surrounding walls plastered with Eclipse's face all over them, you find another maintenance door and slip inside. The scrapping becomes a sawing, loud and sharp, through the metallic hallway, accompanied by violent splashes of water. The shrill noise becomes almost unbearable. Then you step into a narrow room filled with a single, shallow pool no longer than 10 feet.

The sawing ceases as something darts below the surface. The water sloshes until it calms into a deathly silence.

You ask softly who's there. You grip your camera tighter. Is the flash on? You can't remember. You step forward once, then twice. The opposite end of the pool bears great rakes through the flooring like claws dragging repeatedly over and over, shredding it into pieces. The edge glistens wetly by the toes of your shoes. The blue water looks empty until you peer directly over the ledge—

A sharp tooth smile greets you below the wavering surface before a hand flies out and snatches your ankle. The force of the grip rips you to the wet floor, knocking your head. Your vision swims. All senses within you only think to clutch your camera protectively as something rises from the pool. Dripping wet, the animatronic—one eye red, one yellow—grins down at you with utter detest.

"Hello, bird-eye. Come to get a look at the great killer whale?"

[dem1verse]

﹏ ❛ la vie en rose.⠀⠀⠀alucard/adrian tepes.

˖⁺ ⊹୨ ★⠀the one where he falls in love with you all over again.

content disclaimers ╱╱ suggestive fluff. romantic relationship. fem!reader. wc: 523.

YOU HAVE (1) MESSAGE UNREAD !⠀⠀♡⠀⠀“HAPPY VALENTINES DAY MY POOKIES I HOPE YOU GET LOTS OF LOVE FROM YOUR SHAYLAS <3333 (ps i imagined reader wearing this. hope it helps with imagery n shit)”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀NO ONE EVER CLAIMED THAT DATING A DHAMPIR WAS EASY. Alucard loved you deeply, that was clear to see. His heart belonged to you completely. But recently, he had been so busy working that you both struggled to find time to spend together. The special day of love was approaching fast, and you felt a wave of urgency wash over you. In your search for ideas to bring excitement back into your relationship, you turned to Sypha, your trusted friend and confidante, hoping she could help.

                                       ｡ ˚ ︶︶𖤐︶︶‌ ₊ ˚

"And you're sure this will work?"

“Absolutely! I bought it on a whim, and now Trevor won’t leave me alone,” Sypha giggled on the phone.

The suggestion? Fucking pheromone perfume. Initially, you were hesitant due to Alucard's heightened sense of smell, but after some convincing from Sypha, you decided to give it a shot and ordered the product online.

A few days later, the perfume arrived, and you seized the opportunity while Alucard was still at work. With a mischievous grin, you headed to your room to prepare your surprise.

                                       ｡ ˚ ︶︶𖤐︶︶‌ ₊ ˚

"Love, I'm home!" Alucard called out, expecting your usual enthusiastic greeting of tight hugging and suffocating kisses.

Silence.

His brow furrowed in confusion. You were usually there to greet him eagerly at the door. Worry gnawed at him as he made his way upstairs to your shared bedroom, his heart racing with concern.

He opened the door slowly and stopped dead in his tracks. Oh.

You were dressed in a pink see-through nightgown, sitting on your vanity as you sprayed yourself with the sensual mist. Looking in the mirror, you noticed him, his eyes wide like saucers. His jaw was slack, his face reddening with each passing second. You froze on the spot, opting to cover yourself futilely.

"No."

"H-huh?" you asked.

“Don’t do that.” His voice was breathless, almost a pant. A smile crept across your face as you silently thanked Sypha for her idea. Feigning innocence, you replied, “Don’t do what, love?”

Alucard bared his teeth, his fangs glinting. Just what the hell did you do? Not only did you look ravishing, you smelled so good, it drove him mad. He grabbed your wrist, ignoring your protests of ruining your dress.

"You little vixen. You know exactly what I mean." he sneered. "You’re driving me mad." His nose was buried in the crook of your neck, he teased your nape with his tongue. “You like seeing me like this, don’t you?” His eyes bore into yours. “Wrapped around your pretty little finger. It turns you on, doesn’t it?” he whispered. He already knew the answer.

And yet his insides burned with passion. All because of you.

You looked at him. His blonde, luscious hair stuck to his face as he sweated. You always knew Alucard's nose was sensitive, but you never expected to look as whipped as he did now. "I've noticed that I haven't been giving my partner much love," he admitted. "Surely, you'd let me make up for that now?" he begged, his cold hand slowly inching up under your dress.

Oh, you were fucked for sure.

DEMI'S POST-IT⠀❞⠀i wrote this and finished it today bc i wanted to have smth out in time for valentines day (i just noticed its midnight wtf man) but ANYWHORE :D enjoy! i leave the way this ends to your imagination LMFAO

taglist: @seneon @sabrinass @pinkmirth

[doumadono]

A toast to the past - Dabi x Reader

Warnings: a lot of sadness, grieving

Synopsis: some bonds and moments never truly die, no matter how much time passes. This is what you've learned not only from the League of Villains, but mostly from Dabi himself

A/N: as we say goodbye to 2024, I want to take a moment to wish you all a very Happy New Year, filled with good health and an abundance of positive energy. A huge thank you to everyone who has taken the time to visit my blog, read my stories, or offer the support - your kindness means the world to me. I’m looking forward to welcoming the new year and sharing even more with all of you. Here's to more adventures together in 2025!

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The icy wind gnawed at the edges of the dilapidated bar, rattling loose boards and curling under the gap at the door. The League of Villains’ ramshackle hideout wasn’t exactly the place one might expect to find themselves celebrating. It wasn’t often the League found a reason to celebrate, but tonight was an exception. New Year’s Eve was as good a reason as any to drag out the stolen liquor, laugh a little too loudly, and forget - if only for a few hours - about the vain world of heroes that loomed outside.

Yet, the hideout was alive with chaos. 

Spinner had begrudgingly joined Twice and Toga in their frantic attempts to decorate, though the results were predictably awful - streamers dangled half-heartedly from the ceiling, and a mismatched assortment of paper lanterns cast flickering light across the room.

Mr. Compress sipped his drink, attempting to draw Giran into the conversation.

Shigaraki, for once, seemed to tolerate the festive atmosphere, though he sat hunched in his chair, lazily swirling a glass of a cheap champagne, scratching idly at his neck and glaring at anyone who came too close, his Switch laying on his lap.

Kurogiri had been busy behind the scenes, thoughtfully preparing colorful drinks for everyone. He made sure to mix several non-alcoholic ones, particularly for Toga, knowing she would enjoy them without the risk of getting drunk.  He'd always kept an eye on her, knowing well that she could easily lose control if left unchecked, just like Tomura. At the same time, he carefully prepared extra shots for Shigaraki, who had openly mentioned earlier that he wanted to get wasted to dull the unbearable itching sensation crawling beneath his skin. Kurogiri had always been attentive, and tonight, he was doing what he could to ease the discomfort of his comrades, in his own quiet, efficient way.

And then there was Dabi.

The black-haired man, as usual, lingered on the outskirts of the noise, a silent observer. He stood by the window, cigarette in hand, eyes half-lidded as the faint orange glow reflected off the sharp planes of his face. The scarred corners of his lips twitched occasionally as he watched the others, though whether in amusement or annoyance, it was hard to tell.

It was a strange thing, this party. A group like yours wasn’t exactly built for celebrations. You were all too fractured, too worn by the world to embrace something as frivolous as joy. And yet, here you all were, crammed into this shabby room with mismatched streamers hanging crookedly from the ceiling.

"Five minutes to midnight!" Toga announced, clapping her hands together with a giddy grin. She darted to Twice, who was balancing a precarious tower of plastic cups, and immediately knocked it over in her excitement.

"You little menace!" Twice cried, his tone swinging wildly between indignant and adoring.

It was impossible not to laugh. Even Shigaraki's lips twitched in the ghost of a smirk before he buried his face back in his hands.

You glanced at Dabi, who hadn't moved from his spot by the window. Smoke curled lazily around his head, his expression unreadable. Something about his stillness drew you in like gravity, and before you realized it, you were walking toward him.

"You're missing the party," you teased, stopping just short of leaning against the same wall.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze flicking to you. "Looks like I'm not the only one."

"Fair," you admitted with a small smile. “But you’re really going to sulk through New Year’s?” You leaned your hip against the wall, tilting your head as you studied him.

“Sulking implies I care,” Dabi shot back, but the retort lacked its usual venom.

The countdown began, Toga’s voice leading the charge. “Ten! Nine!”

As the countdown began, the League’s mismatched voices filled the air, a cacophony of excitement and half-hearted participation.

Dabi didn’t move. He didn’t turn to the others, didn’t even glance at the clock. His gaze remained on you, sharp and heavy.

“Eight! Seven!”

“You’re staring,” you said softly, though your tone lacked any real accusation.

His lips twitched into something that might have been a smirk. “So are you.”

“Six! Five!”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he took a step closer. He stopped just a breath away, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him despite the chill that crept through the cracks in the walls. His hand came up to cup your cheek, rough fingers brushing against your skin with a surprising gentleness that made your breath hitch.

“Four! Three!”

The noise around you faded into nothing, the room dissolving into a blur as his thumb traced along your lower lip.

“Two! One! Happy New Year!”

The room erupted into cheers, Toga’s high-pitched squeal cutting through the din as the others toasted and clapped, but none of it reached you. 

Dabi leaned in, his lips crashed against yours. It wasn’t soft or tentative - he wasn’t the kind of man for that. Dabi’s lips were firm, his touch possessive, the kiss rough and consuming. The heat of him, the faint taste of smoke on his lips, made your knees weak, and you clung to him as though letting go wasn’t an option.

The world seemed to pause, time itself holding its breath as the moment stretched. 

Dabi pulled back, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. His breath ghosted over your lips as he muttered, “Happy New Year, doll.”

Before you could respond, Toga’s delighted giggles shattered the moment. “Dabi kissed Y/N! I knew he would!” she crowed, clapping her hands in glee.

Twice let out a loud, exaggerated whistle. “Didn’t see that coming. Well, maybe I did. No, I definitely didn’t!”

Even Shigaraki seemed momentarily stunned, though he quickly muttered something about idiots and looked away.

Spinner groaned, muttering something about how he couldn’t believe he was spending his New Year with these people.

Compress raised a toast to the unexpected romance, and Twice fumbled with the camera app on his phone to snap a blurry picture. 

But none of it mattered. 

All that existed in that moment was the way Dabi looked at you as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

“Alright, show’s over,” the black-haired man groaned, shooting a pointed glare at Toga before grabbing your wrist and tugging you toward the door, leading you straight to his bedroom.

The night passed in a blur of heated whispers and shared warmth, his body a steady presence against yours as you made love for hours. The two of you stayed wrapped around each other long after the world outside went quiet. Dabi’s arm draped over your waist, his breath steady and warm against your shoulder. Neither of you spoke, content to exist in the stillness, in the rare, fragile peace of the moment.

The memory still lived in your heart, as vivid and searing as if it had happened yesterday. The hideout filled with laughter and chaos, Toga’s delighted clapping, Twice’s off-key singing, and the way Dabi’s lips pressed against yours at the stroke of midnight - it was a fleeting moment of happiness in a world that had given you so little.

But that was last year. That New Year’s Eve was the last you all spent together.

Everything changed after that night. The war came, tearing through your lives like a storm, leaving devastation in its wake. Too many lives were claimed, too many futures snuffed out. The League, the world, you - it all fractured, irreparably changed by the battles fought and the losses endured.

Now, you sat cross-legged in the grass, the late afternoon sun warm against your shoulders. A simple summer dress clung to your frame, and a gentle breeze whispered through the trees, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers. In your lap was a handmade bowl of soba, steam curling lazily into the air.

“I started a job last week,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “It’s nothing glamorous, just working in the back of a diner. Washing dishes, peeling vegetables, that sort of thing. It’s hard, y’know? People don’t exactly trust someone with a past like mine.” You picked at the soba with your chopsticks, twirling the noodles idly. “People stare. They always do. Even when they don’t recognize me, they can tell there’s something off, like they can smell the smoke that clings to me. I can’t blame them. It’s not like I’ll ever really blend in.” You laughed softly, though the sound was hollow. “It’s funny,” you continued, wiping your cheek where a tear had fallen unnoticed. “The normal life we used to joke about… it’s so much harder than I thought it’d be. People don’t smile much, not really. And some days, it’s like I’m invisible. Maybe it’s better that way.” 

You held the bowl tighter, your knuckles white against the handmade ceramic. “I brought this for you,” you offered, shifting slightly to place the bowl in the grass. “You probably would’ve made some snarky comment about how it’s not your style, but I thought… I thought you might like it anyway.”

The words caught in your throat, and before you could stop them, the tears came - hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks as though the dam you’d built over the past year had finally broken. You didn’t bother wiping them away. What was the point?

It took everything in you to get here. Reaching out to the Todoroki family - people you’d once thought of as enemies - had been harder than you could have imagined. But you needed to know where he was, where they’d laid him to rest. You couldn’t keep carrying the weight of his absence without a place to grieve.

The breeze shifted, and for a moment, it seemed to carry a faint, fleeting scent of fire - charcoal and smoke. It wrapped around you like an embrace, stirring the strands of your hair. It was fleeting, barely there, but it made you pause. Slowly, your lips curved into a small, trembling smile. “You’re listening, aren’t you?” you whispered, wiping at your face. “You always were good at pretending not to care.”

What you didn’t know - what you couldn’t know - was that he was sitting right there, just as you’d imagined. His spirit leaned against the gravestone, one knee drawn up, his chin resting lazily on it. He was watching you, his pale eyes filled with a mixture of longing and sorrow. He reached out, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, aching to wipe away your tears. But it was futile, of course. You were here, in the world of the living, and he was there, trapped in the world of the dead. Dabi whispered, “Stop crying, doll. You’ll ruin your pretty face.” But the words faded into the breeze, unheard and unspoken.

He watched you carefully: the way your hands trembled slightly as you set the bowl down, the way your lips quivered as you spoke his name, the way your tears reflected the light of the setting sun.

You couldn’t see the way his jaw clenched, the frustration in his eyes as his hand passed through you like mist. The space between your worlds was too vast, and all he could do was sit and observe.

You didn’t know he was there, couldn’t feel the weight of his gaze or the ghostly touch of his hand. “I miss you,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you rested a hand on the cold stone. “Every day, Touya.”

He closed his eyes, his head tilting back against the gravestone as if to steady himself. The scars on his face softened in the glow of the afternoon sun, and for a moment, he looked almost at peace. “I miss you too,” he whispered, though the words were meant only for himself.

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the cemetery. Your fingers brushed over the gravestone, tracing the letters carved into the cold stone: Touya Todoroki. The breeze swirled again, wrapping around you like an embrace. It felt warm, comforting, almost like him.

“I miss all of you. Toga, Tomura… even Twice and his constant grumbling.” You laughed weakly, but the sound was hollow. “The world’s quieter now, but it doesn’t feel better. It feels empty.” And with that, you sobbed more. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, your voice trembling. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. I’m sorry I couldn’t save any of you. I’m so fucking sorry…”

When you finally stood  and brushed the grass from your dress, you glanced back at the tombstone one last time. “I’ll keep going,” you whispered, your voice shaky but resolute. “For you. For all of you. I promise. I promise I won’t let go. I’ll never forget you. And you guys will always live in my heart.”

He watched you turn to leave, his gaze lingering on you as if memorizing every detail - the way the sunlight caught the strands of your hair, the way your shoulders straightened even under the weight of your grief, and a faint smile crossed his lips as his scarred hand rested on the top of the tombstone. “We all know that, doll,” he murmured, his voice soft and low. “Live the life we weren’t destined to have. And don’t forget - I’ll love you forever.”

As the wind swept through the graveyard once more, Dabi’s spirit winnowed like mist under the light of a chilly morning, fading into the air that surrounded you. And a promise, carried on the breeze, was as eternal as the love he left behind.

tagging: @pixelcafe-network

[classyhoeeee]

BEST MAN :: Rafe Cameron

WARNING! :: kissing, oral, unprotected sex, teasing, forbidden love, Dom!Rafe, romance, Rafe Cameron x Reader, soft!rafe, cheating, Topper Thorton x Reader (mentioned), public sex, aftercare, slow dancing.

SUMMARY! :: The reader is marrying Topper Thorton, but Rafe doesn’t care in the slightest. As far as he’s concerned, you were his long before the vows, the dress, and the ring. On your wedding day, he’s determined to make you see it—even if it means crossing every line. Including hurting his best friend, Topper.

A/N:: I know I always say this, but this one is my favorite. It’s the perfect combination of filth and fluff. Please read it.

…………………………………………………………………………………

The air in the bridal suite felt heavy, like even the sunlight streaming through the windows couldn’t cut through the weight pressing down on you. The music outside swelled faintly, the distant laughter of guests drifting in through the open window. It should’ve felt like a fairytale, standing there in your white gown, the lace veil framing your face perfectly, but it didn’t.

You smoothed your hands down the front of your dress, trying to steady your breathing. This was the right thing. Topper was a good man…to some—loyal, patient, safe. He’d been everything you’d needed him to be. But as much as you wanted to believe in the words “happily ever after,” something gnawed at you deep inside, something you didn’t want to name.

A loud knock shattered your thoughts, making you jump.

“Hey, open up.”

You froze, your heart dropping. That voice—low, rough, and unmistakable. Rafe.

“Rafe, go home,” you called out, forcing your voice to stay steady. “You don’t need to be here.”

The door creaked open anyway, and when you turned, he was already inside, closing the door behind him.

“Do you even know how to listen?” you snapped, but it came out more exasperated than anything else.

Rafe just leaned against the door, his arms crossed, looking at you with that familiar mix of cocky and dangerous. His dress shirt was half-buttoned, his sleeves rolled up, his jaw clenched like he was barely holding himself together. His eyes swept over you, slow and deliberate, and the way they lingered made your soft brown skin prickle.

“You’re really doing this?” he asked, his voice low and sharp.

You turned back to the mirror, refusing to meet his gaze. “Yes, Rafe. I’m really doing this. So if you’re here to cause a scene, please get the fuck out.”

He laughed, but it was humorless. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”

You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. “Why are you in here? Why today, Rafe? Why now?”

“Because someone’s gotta stop you from fucking up your life,” he said, his voice harsh and unapologetic.

You spun around to face him, your anger bubbling to the surface. “What the hell is wrong with you? This is not your decision to make! You don’t get to just barge in here and act like—”

“Like what?” he interrupted, his voice rising. “Like I give a fuck about you? Like I’ve been sitting around watching you play house with Top, knowing damn well he’ll never give you what you really need?”

You flinched, his words hitting too close to home. “Don’t do this shit, Rafe. Don’t make this about you.”

“It’s not just about me, and you know it,” he said, stepping closer. His eyes bore into yours, unrelenting. “This? You and him? It’s bullshit, and we both know it. You’re just too scared to admit it.”

“Scared of what?” you shot back, your voice shaking.

“Of me,” he said, his voice dropping. “Of us. Of what you really want.”

You shook your head, backing away until you hit the edge of the vanity. “Stop doing that. Stop acting like you know me. You don’t know what I want, Rafe.”

He closed the distance between you in two strides, his hands bracing on either side of you, trapping you in. “The fuck I don’t,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I don’t see it? The way you look at me when you think no one’s watching? The way you can’t even say his name without hesitating? You don’t love him. Not the way you’re supposed to.”

Your chest tightened, and you swallowed hard, your throat thick with emotion. “You don’t understand,” you whispered. “Topper—he’s good to me. He’s… safe. I can’t hurt him like this. I’m not that girl.”

Rafe’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “Safe?” he spat. “That’s what you want? Someone who’s ‘safe’? I think you’re full of shit, and you know it.”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice cracking. “Why on my wedding day, Rafe? You’re supposed to be his best friend!”

His jaw clenched, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your face. “Because I don’t give a fuck about being his best friend. I don’t give a fuck about anyone when it comes to you. You’re mine.”

Your breath caught, and tears welled in your brown eyes. “You can’t just… You can’t keep saying shit like that and expect me to—”

“To what?” he cut you off, his voice rising again. “To ignore it? To go play house with Topper and pretend like this—us—doesn’t exist?”

You shook your head, the tears spilling over. “You’re gonna ruin everything,” you whispered.

“Good,” he said, his voice harsh. “I’ll ruin it all if it means you don’t marry him.”

“Rafe—”

He didn’t let you finish. His lips crashed into yours, cutting off whatever protest you were about to make. The kiss was rough, desperate, and overwhelming. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you against him like he was afraid you’d slip away.

For a moment, you froze, your mind screaming at you to stop, to push him away, to think of Topper. But then his lips moved against yours, and something in you broke. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you kissed him back, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as you melted into him.

It was like the rest of the world fell away—no wedding, no guests, no consequences. Just you and Rafe, tangled in something you couldn’t deny any longer.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard. His hands stayed on your waist, holding you in place, and his blue eyes burned into your soft brown ones, searching, waiting.

You stared back at him, your mind racing, your heart pounding.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved.

The muffled sound of the wedding music drifted in through the window, a stark reminder of the life waiting for you outside that door. But in that moment, with Rafe’s hands on you and his lips still tingling on yours, you weren’t sure if you could walk away.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to.

——

Topper tugged at the collar of his perfectly tailored suit, sweat pooling at the base of his neck despite the ocean breeze rolling in over the estate. The music playing softly in the background only added to his growing unease.

"Where the hell are they?" he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his neatly combed hair.

"Relax," Kelce said beside him, nudging him in the ribs. "She's probably just, you know, fixing her hair or some shit. Girls take forever to get ready. It's her wedding day, man. She's gotta look perfect."

"She's already perfect," Topper said with a nervous smile, though his voice betrayed the doubt creeping in. "But where's Rafe? He was supposed to be here by now."

Kelce shrugged. "Probably running late like always. Dude's not exactly known for his punctuality."

Topper nodded, forcing himself to believe it.

He told himself there was no reason to worry.

You'd been so calm this morning, so sure about everything. Rafe was probably off doing... well, whatever Rafe did.

In the front row, Sarah fidgeted with the hem of her light blue dress. She leaned over to Kiara, who sat beside her with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"You don't think something happened, do you?" Sarah whispered.

Kiara shot her a look. "I think this whole thing's a disaster waiting to happen," she muttered. "But what do I know?"

Sarah sighed, ignoring Kiara's usual bluntness. She glanced back toward the house, a flicker of worry crossing her face.

If only they knew.

——

Inside the bridal suite, you weren't fixing your veil.

You were on the edge of the vanity, your dress pushed up to your hips, your thighs trembling as Rafe Cameron brought you to the brink of insanity.

"Fuck," Rafe groaned, pulling back just enough to look at you. His lips were slick, his chin wet from his work. His buzzed head pressed between your thighs, and the rough contrast of his stubble against your soft brown skin only added to the fire coursing through your veins. "You taste so fucking good."

Your head fell back against the mirror, your breath ragged as you tried-and failed -to suppress the sounds spilling from your lips.

"Rafe," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smirked, that signature, cocky grin that made you weak even when you wanted to hate him. "What, baby? You want me to stop?"

"Hell no. Keep going," you shot back, surprising even yourself with the urgency in your voice.

His laugh was low and dangerous, vibrating against your skin. "That's what I thought," he murmured before diving back in, his tongue flicking against you in a way that had you arching off the vanity.

"Oh my God," you whimpered, your hands gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles turned white.

Rafe glanced up at you, his blue eyes dark and hungry. "What do you want, huh?" he taunted, his voice thick with desire. "Tell me, baby. I'll give it to you."

You bit down on your lip, every ounce of shame and guilt battling against the heat flooding your body. You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. But when his tongue circled you again, the words spilled out before you could stop them.

"Spit on it."

Rafe froze for half a second, his smirk deepening as a dangerous gleam flickered in his eyes. "Say it again," he demanded, his voice rough and commanding.

You looked down at him, your chest heaving. “Spit on my pussy,” you repeated more vulgarly, your voice trembling.

He let out a low, satisfied chuckle, gripping your thighs tighter as he leaned back. "Atta girl," he muttered before spitting on your clit, his tongue immediately following, his movements slow and deliberate as he worked you over like it was his favorite thing to do.

"Fuck, Rafe," you whimpered, your hands flying to his head. The sensation of his buzzed hair against your palms only heightened the intensity, and when his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking in just the right way, your vision blurred.

"Yeah, that's it," he muttered against you, his voice vibrating through your core. "I told you, baby. No one knows this pussy like I do. Not Topper. Not anyone. Just me."

The mention of Topper's name jolted something in you, but it was fleeting, gone the second Rafe slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right. "Oh my god," you choked out, your thighs clenching around his head.

You couldn't reply. Couldn't speak. All you could do was grip his shirt, your nails digging into his shoulders as his thumb pressed harder, sending you hurtling toward the edge.

"Say it," he demanded, his tone commanding as he slowed his pace just enough to drive you insane. "Say it’s mine."

You shook your head weakly, your lips trembling.

"Say it," he repeated, his voice a growl as his fingers pumped into you harder, his free hand gripping your jaw and forcing you to meet his gaze. "Fucking say it."

Your body betrayed you before your mouth did, your climax ripping through you with a force that left you trembling, broken, and utterly at his mercy around his dick.

Rafe didn't let up, his movements slowing only slightly as he worked you through the high. His eyes never left yours, his smirk widening as he watched you fall apart beneath him.

“It’s yours, Rafe.” You finally say it and he groans with a deep chuckle, the sound muffled as he pressed his tongue against you again, his pace quickening until your body was trembling uncontrollably.

"Fuck y/n," he gritted, his voice low and filthy. "Your pussy tastes so fucking good. I’d kill for it."

Your hand flew to your mouth, muffling the scream that tore from your throat as the pleasure ripped through you, wave after wave until you were nothing but a trembling, incoherent mess.

Rafe pulled back slowly, his lips glistening, his eyes filled with nothing but satisfaction.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with pride as he rose to his feet.

You couldn't move, couldn't speak, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath.

He leaned in, his hands braced on either side of you, his lips brushing against your ear.

"You're not walking down that fucking aisle," he murmured, his voice low and deadly. "Not after this. Hell no."

Before you could catch your breath, before you could even think to argue, Rafe's fingers slid inside you again, slow and deliberate, curling just enough to make you gasp. "You hear me?" he continued, his voice thick and dripping with venom. "You think I'm just gonna stand there, watching you let him have what's mine, huh?"

Your lips parted, but nothing came out, your body too overwhelmed to form words.

Rafe smirked at your silence, his other hand gripping your thigh possessively. "That's what I thought. You can't even defend him, can you? Because deep down, you know he's not man enough for you. Not like I am."

"Rafe," you whispered, but it came out shaky, weak, barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

"Shut up," he growled, his tone sharp as his fingers pumped into you faster, hitting a spot that had your eyes rolling back. "You don't get to talk. You don't get to tell me I'm wrong—not when you're dripping all over my fingers like this. Not when you're fucking clenching around me like your pussy knows who it belongs to."

A broken moan escaped your lips, your hands gripping the vanity as your thighs tried to close around him. Rafe just pushed them wider, his strength overpowering you easily.

"You think I'd let you marry him?" he hissed, his mouth so close to your ear that his breath sent chills down your spine. "You think I'd just stand there, watching you let that fucking pussy put a ring on your finger? I'd drag you out of there so fast it'd make his head spin. Hell, maybe l'd do it in front of everyone-make sure they all know who you really belong to."

Your chest heaved, your mind spinning, but you couldn't stop the way your body responded to him. Every word, every movement of his hand, every filthy promise he made—it was wrong, it was insane, but it made your legs tremble and your resolve crumble.

"I could eat your pussy every fucking day," he muttered, his lips brushing against your neck as he fucked you with his fingers, his thumb pressing circles against you that had your hips bucking against his hand. "I bet he's never even made you cum, has he? All that talk, all that money, and he's useless when it counts."

You whimpered, shaking your head slightly, but it wasn't a defense of Topper-it was denial of the truth he was dragging out of you.

Rafe chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "That's what I thought," he said. "He's too soft. Too fucking weak. He doesn't know what to do with you, doesn't know how to make you scream, how to make you fucking crave him."

His hand tightened on your thigh, pulling you closer, his fingers curling inside you in a way that had you gasping for air. "But me?" he continued, his voice low and rough. "I could make you cum every goddamn day for the rest of your life, and it still wouldn't be enough. I'd ruin you for anyone else. Shit, I already have.”

Tears pricked your eyes, not from sadness or fear, but from the overwhelming, unbearable mix of emotions flooding your chest. He was insane. He was cruel. And he was right.

"You know what l'd do to him if you walked down that aisle?" Rafe asked, his tone shifting into something even darker, more dangerous. His fingers didn't stop, didn't falter, as he spoke. "I'd beat his fucking face in, right there in front of everyone. I'd make him bleed for even thinking he could have you. And then l'd take you, just like this, while everyone fucking watched."

A strangled gasp tore from your lips, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself as your body threatened to collapse under the weight of his words and the intensity of his touch.

"You think that's crazy?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost mocking. "You think I care? Baby, l've been crazy for you since the day I laid eyes on you. And you love it. Don't fucking lie to me-you love this shit.”

You couldn’t even deny it. He was right. You loved when he got all crazy. You couldn’t help it.

——

The ceremony was falling apart before it had even begun.

Topper stood at the altar, his jaw tight and his hands fidgeting with his cufflinks as the whispers from the crowd grew louder. The once-perfect day was starting to unravel, and he could feel the weight of every set of eyes on him.

"She's probably just running late," Kelce offered, clapping a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You know how these things go, man. It's all part of the drama."

But even Kelce didn't sound convinced.

Topper's smile was tight, forced, as he glanced toward the house. The bridal suite was quiet, no sign of movement. Still no sign of her. And still no sign of Rafe.

"Where is he?" Topper muttered under his breath, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Sarah stepped forward, her light blue dress fluttering slightly in the breeze as she gave Topper a comforting smile. "She's okay, Topper," she said softly. "Maybe something came up-an issue with her dress or makeup. You know how important this day is to her. She wouldn't just..." She trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought.

Topper nodded quickly, clinging to her words like a lifeline. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. She just wants everything to be perfect."

Sarah gave him a soft pat on the arm before stepping back toward Kiara, who stood farther away from the crowd, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"Something's up," Kiara muttered as soon as Sarah was close enough to hear.

Sarah frowned. "What do you mean?"

Kiara glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention before leaning in closer.

"Where's Rafe?" she asked quietly.

Sarah's face tightened at the mention of her brother, her brows furrowing. "I don't know. He was supposed to be here with Topper. He disappeared like twenty minutes ago."

Kiara huffed, shaking her head. "You don't think..."

"What?" Sarah asked, confused.

Kiara bit her lip, her eyes narrowing as memories flooded back to her. Back when they were all Kooks-her, Sarah, Rafe, and the reader. Back when their group had been a tangled web of drama and tension.

"Rafe always had a thing for her," Kiara said slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You remember that, right?"

Sarah's frown deepened. "Yeah, but... Rafe had a thing for everyone, including you. That doesn't mean anything."

Kiara gave her a pointed look. "No, Sarah. It was different with her. He actually wanted her, and it wasn't just some fling to him. I saw it. Hell, I think we all saw it."

Sarah's eyes widened slightly as realization dawned on her, but she shook her head quickly. "No. No way. He wouldn't-"

Kiara cut her off. "Wouldn't he?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

The weight of the question hung in the air between them, and Sarah's stomach twisted uncomfortably.

"Where do you think they are, Sarah?" Kiara asked, her voice low and sharp.

——

Out on the balcony, the world seemed to disappear. The ocean stretched endlessly in front of you, the salty breeze cool against your overheated skin. But none of it mattered—not the crashing waves, not the golden glow of the sun setting over Figure 8-because Rafe Cameron had you pinned against the railing, your white dress hiked up around your hips, and his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

His large hands gripped your brown thighs, rough and insistent, the pale contrast against your smooth, glowing skin only making the moment feel more forbidden. His movements were relentless, his hips slamming into yours, the sound of your bodies colliding drowned out by your broken moans.

Your curls that were once perfectly styled in an updo were now cascaded over your shoulders, blowing in the wind as Rafe gave you the most delicious backshots you have ever experienced in your life.

"Harder," you begged, your voice shaky but clear, every ounce of shame long forgotten. "Please, Rafe. Harder."

He groaned at your words, a dark, satisfied sound that sent shivers down your spine.

"Fuck," he muttered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "You love this, don't you? Being out here where anyone could see. My dick so deep inside you, you can't even think about anything else."

You nodded frantically, your hands gripping the railing for support as your legs trembled beneath you. "Don't stop," you whispered, your voice breathless and desperate.

He chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing the back of your neck as he slammed into you harder, deeper. "Stop?" he taunted, his voice low and mocking. "I’m just getting started."

His hands slid down your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh as he leaned back slightly to watch the way your body moved for him.

"Goddamn," he muttered, his blue eyes locked on the way your skin glistened in the golden hour light. "Look at you. So fucking perfect. Top doesn't deserve to even look at you, let alone touch you."

You whimpered, unable to argue, unable to say anything but his name.

"Yeah," he said, his voice filled with smug satisfaction. "That's right. Say my name, baby. Let the whole fucking world know who's making you feel this good."

"Rafe," you gasped, your head falling back as his pace quickened, each thrust hitting your g-spot so deep you could barely breathe.

"That's my girl," he growled, his grip tightening on your hips. "You hear them down there?" he asked, his tone mocking as he gestured with his chin toward the crowd below. "All those people waiting for you to walk down that aisle like the perfect little bride. But they don't know, do they? They don't know you're up here getting fucked so good you can't even think straight."

Your nails dug into the wood of the railing, your body trembling as you struggled to hold yourself together. But he wasn't done.

"I bet Topper thinks you're just late," he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "Bet he's down there sweating, thinking you're still fixing your makeup or some stupid shit. Meanwhile, you're up here, dripping all over my cock, begging me for more."

Your eyes rolled back as he hit a spot so perfect, so devastatingly good, it ripped a broken cry from your throat.

"Yeah," Rafe muttered, his voice rough and raw. "That's it, baby. Let go. Don't think about him. Don't think about anything but me. Just me."

His pink lips pressed against your shoulder, his teeth scraping your soft skin as his hand moved between your thighs, his fingers working you over until your legs threatened to give out.

"Look at this pretty pussy," he growled, his tone almost reverent. "So wet for me. So fucking tight. You think Topper could ever make you feel like this? You think he even knows how?"

You shook your head frantically, your voice a broken whisper. "No. He can't. He doesn't."

Rafe grinned against your skin, his ego swelling at your admission. "That's right," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Only me. Always me."

The pleasure built to an unbearable high, your body clenching around him as his name tore from your lips in a broken scream.

"Fuck," Rafe groaned, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside you, his grip on your hips bruising. "You're mine," he said, his voice low and deadly as he kissed the curve of your shoulder. "You've always been mine."

As your body trembled in the aftermath, your head fell forward, your chest heaving. The sound of the ocean filled your ears, but all you could feel was Rafe-his hands on your skin, his breath against your neck, his words still echoing in your mind.

He stayed inside you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed a soft kiss to the back of your neck. "You're not walking down that aisle," he murmured, his voice softer now but no less certain. "Not today. Not ever."

And as much as you wanted to argue, to fight, to tell him he was wrong, you couldn't.

Because deep down, you knew he was right.

——

Rafe didn't stop. He didn't even slow down.

The wind whipped around you, carrying the sound of footsteps from below as wedding guests wandered outside, looking for glimpses of the bride they thought was just running late. But you weren't running late— you were pinned against the balcony railing, your dress still hiked up, and Rafe Cameron was fucking you like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment.

Your body trembled as he thrust into you, each movement deliberate, precise, like he knew exactly how to make you lose yourself.

Your moans spilled out uncontrollably, and you desperately tried to muffle them with your hand.

"Uh-uh," Rafe growled, his voice thick and commanding. He grabbed both of your wrists with one hand, pulling them behind your back and pinning them there easily. "Don't you fucking hide from me."

"Rafe," you gasped, your voice breaking as he held you in place, his grip unrelenting.

"Let them hear you," he said, his teeth gritting as he pounded into your pussy harder, deeper. "Let them fucking know who you belong to."

Tears spilled down your cheeks as the pleasure overwhelmed you, your body shaking violently with each thrust. You could feel him everywhere-his hand gripping your wrists, his chest pressed against your back, his cock hitting that perfect spot that had your legs trembling and your mind unraveling.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, his voice raw as his eyes locked on the way your body rippled with every movement. "You're so fucking sexy. You feel that? Feel how perfect you are for me?"

You couldn't respond-not with words. All you could do was push back against him, your body moving instinctively, meeting his every thrust with desperation.

"Yeah," Rafe muttered, his free hand sliding down to grab a handful of your ass. "That's it. Fuck me back, baby. Show me how much you want it."

His palm came down hard on your cheek, the sharp sound of the smack echoing in the air, and you cried out, your head falling forward as the sting radiated through your skin.

"That's my girl," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he rubbed the red mark he'd left. "You take it so fucking good. Better than I ever imagined."

Your knees buckled, but Rafe didn't let you collapse. His hand slid around your waist, holding you up effortlessly as he pounded into you with a rhythm that made your vision blur.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his teeth gritting as his pace quickened. "Topper could never have you weak like this. That little bitch wouldn't even know what to do with you."

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, the forbidden thrill of it all making your body tremble uncontrollably. The tears streamed down your cheeks now, not from sadness but from the overwhelming intensity of it all.

"Rafe," you whimpered, your voice breaking as your body clenched around him.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he taunted, his hand tightening on your hip as he angled his thrusts to hit deeper. "Come on. Show me who this pussy belongs to."

Your release hit you like a tidal wave, ripping through you with a force that left you gasping for air. Your legs shook violently, and your cries filled the air, no longer muffled, no longer restrained.

"Fuck, yes," Rafe growled, his hand leaving another stinging smack on your ass as your body convulsed around him. "That's my fucking girl."

He buried himself deep inside you with a final thrust, his body tensing as he came in your pussy, his warmth spilling into you and claiming you in the most primal way possible. His grip on you didn't loosen, even as his movements slowed, his breathing heavy against your neck.

He pulled out slowly, his hand releasing your wrists as he turned you around to face him.

His blue eyes were wild, his lips parted as he stared at you with an intensity that made your knees weak.

"You're so fucking pretty," he said, his voice low and deadly as he cupped your face in his hands.

His lips crashed against yours in a possessive, hungry kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as he pulled you closer.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

"Run away with me," he said, his voice soft but firm, his eyes searching yours.

You stared at him, your chest heaving as the reality of what he was asking sank in. "Rafe, I can't," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Yes, you can," he said, his grip on your face tightening slightly. "No one can fuck with you if you're with me. No one. You know that."

"I..." Your voice broke, the weight of it all crashing down on you.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours again, softer this time, but no less insistent.

"You're mine," he whispered. "Say yes. Say you'll come with me."

Your heart pounded in your chest, every instinct screaming at you to say no, to run, to do the right thing. But when you looked into his eyes, saw the fire, the conviction, the obsession burning there, you knew there was no going back.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Rafe's lips curved into a dangerous, triumphant smirk, and he kissed you again, harder this time, his hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let you go.

"Let's go," he said, pulling you toward the door.

The two of you slipped back inside the house, your heart racing as he led you through the empty halls. You didn't look back, didn't think about the ceremony still waiting, the guests still wondering, the man you'd left at the altar.

Because none of it mattered now.

You weren't the bride anymore.

You were running away from your own wedding with your fiancè’s best man.

——

Your hand was in his, his grip firm and unrelenting as he pulled you away from the estate, away from the ceremony, away from the life you'd just left behind. The sound of your heels clicking against the stone path was drowned out by the pounding of your heart as you glanced back at the estate, at the guests you could no longer face.

"I can't believe I just did that," you whispered, your voice trembling with disbelief.

Rafe turned to you, his blue eyes blazing with intensity as he pulled you closer. "You didn't do anything," he said firmly, his hand cupping your cheek. "You made the only choice that matters. You chose me."

Your chest tightened, doubt flickering in your mind despite the heat coursing through your veins. "Rafe, this isn’t right I-"

He cut you off with a kiss, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that left you breathless. His hands framed your face, his touch grounding you as his mouth claimed yours. The world around you blurred, the sounds of the wedding fading into nothing as his kiss silenced your doubts, your fears, your guilt.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, his voice was a low whisper. "No one can touch you if you're with me. No one can fucking hurt you. You're okay now."

You stared into his eyes, the truth of his words sinking in as your chest heaved with uneven breaths. And in that moment, the world didn't matter. Nothing mattered except him.

"Let's go," he said, his voice commanding but soft.

You nodded, your fingers tightening around his as he pulled you forward, the two of you breaking into a run. The contrast between you-his pale, tanned skin against your glowing brown complexion-made the moment feel like a painting, a picture of chaos and beauty all at once.

——

Back near the ceremony, Sarah's hand flew to her mouth as she watched you and Rafe disappear down the path. "Oh my God," she whispered. "They're running away."

Kiara stood frozen for a moment before shaking her head and letting out a bitter laugh. "This is insane. What the hell is she thinking?"

Sarah bit her lip, her expression softening. "I mean... it's kind of romantic, don't you think?"

Kiara shot her a sharp look. "Romantic?

Sarah, that's your brother we're talking about. Your psycho brother who ruins everything he touches. And now he's got her."

Sarah's face fell slightly, her eyes flickering back toward the path you'd disappeared down. "You're right," she admitted softly. "I just... I hope he doesn't hurt her."

Kiara sighed, crossing her arms. "Let's just hope she knows what she's doing."

The two of them exchanged a glance before stepping back from the crowd. There was no point in staying anymore-not without you. Without a word, they slipped away from the ceremony, leaving Topper to figure out the truth on his own.

And as they disappeared into the shadows, so did you and Rafe, hand in hand, running toward whatever future waited for you.

——

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you came to a stop, your heels skidding slightly on the stone path. Rafe’s hand remained tightly clasped around yours, his grip firm and possessive, grounding you as both of you struggled to catch your breath. The distant sounds of the Figure 8 estate were gone now, replaced by a serene stillness broken only by the faint bubbling of water.

“Rafe,” you panted, glancing around, trying to make sense of where he’d brought you. “Where are we?”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on you as he stepped closer. The golden glow of the setting sun cast a halo around your curls, and the soft veil still draped over your face gave you an ethereal quality that made his breath hitch. The pale ivory of your wedding dress clung to your glowing brown skin, the delicate lace catching the light in a way that was almost otherworldly.

Rafe, in his rumpled white linen shirt and unbuttoned collar, was the perfect foil to your pristine elegance. His sun-kissed skin and sharp blue eyes were wild, untamed, while you looked like a dream—soft, radiant, and untouchable. Together, you were chaos and beauty incarnate, a contrast so stark it was almost painful to look at.

You turned your gaze forward, and your breath caught again—not from the run this time, but from the scene unfolding in front of you.

A rose garden stretched out before you, its blooms a riot of pinks and whites, climbing over trellises and spilling across the stone paths. The scent of roses filled the air, sweet and intoxicating, mingling with the faint notes of a soft melody drifting through the garden. In the center stood a small fountain, its crystal-clear water sparkling as it trickled gently into the basin below.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your eyes swept over the scene.

“I knew you’d like it,” Rafe said softly, his voice lower now, steady despite the lingering adrenaline in his system.

You turned to him, tears brimming in your eyes as your chest tightened. “You planned this,” you said, your voice trembling. “You planned all of this.”

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing a stray curl from your face. “Of course I did,” he murmured. “You think I’d let you walk down that aisle? Let you choose him?” His hand slid to your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin, a stark contrast between his roughness and your softness. “I’ve been waiting for this moment, baby. Waiting for you to finally see what you were always meant to have.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, and you shook your head slightly, your emotions threatening to overwhelm you. “This is crazy, Rafe,” you said, your voice breaking. “I left him. I left everyone. What am I doing?”

His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush, his blue eyes burning into yours. “You’re doing exactly what you were always meant to do,” he said, his voice firm, his words cutting through your spiraling thoughts. “You’re choosing yourself. For once in your life, you’re not doing what’s safe or expected. You’re doing what feels right.”

Your lips parted, a fresh wave of tears spilling as the weight of his words sank in. For so long, you’d chased the life everyone thought you should have, choosing stability over passion, security over risk. But now, standing in front of Rafe, his wildness calling to you like a siren’s song, you felt alive in a way you never had before.

The music swelled, wrapping around you like the petals scattered at your feet, and Rafe’s hand slid down to take yours. “Dance with me,” he said softly, his voice low and inviting.

You blinked up at him, startled. “Dance?”

His smirk returned, softer this time, as he pulled you closer. “Yeah. Dance.”

Your protest died in your throat as his arms circled your waist, his grip firm yet gentle, guiding you into a slow sway. The difference between you was striking—his sharp angles and commanding presence against your delicate curves and hesitant grace. His hand rested on the small of your back, steadying you as you let yourself fall into the rhythm of the moment.

As the melody wrapped around you both, Rafe leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with something unspoken. “I don’t deserve you, but I’m never letting you go.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, his lips found yours. The kiss was slow, deliberate, and all-consuming, his hand sliding up your back to cradle your head as he deepened it. His other hand gripped your waist, pulling you closer, as though he could fuse your bodies together if he tried hard enough.

Your hands found his chest, your fingers curling into his shirt as you gave in completely. The heat of him, the weight of his presence, the taste of him—it all melted the doubt from your mind.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice low and steady. “No one can touch you now. No one can take you from me. You’re belong with me.”

Your chest tightened, your tears falling freely now as you whispered, “I’m scared.”

“I know,” he said softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “But you don’t have to be. Not with me.”

The music played on, the roses swayed gently in the breeze, and the fountain bubbled softly as the two of you stood there, lost in each other. For the first time, you weren’t running from the fire. You were standing in the heart of it, and it didn’t scare you anymore.

“Rafe…I love you.” You mumbled softly, hoping it’d get lost in the soft music, but it didn’t. He’d heard you.

“I know…” he replies with a smile, resting his head on top of your delicate curls. “I’d kill for you.” The words sent shivers down your spine, but you understood it was his way of him letting you know he loves you too.

The End.

[anamina0]

Echoes

Part I , Part II , Part III , Part IV, Part V , Part VI, Part VII , Part VIII

Summary: By not telling Vi, you are betraying her. By telling Vi, you are betraying best friend. There is no winning here.

Warnings/themes : angst , trauma , mentions of death , smut , nsfw (+18) , face riding, fingering, swearing

Word count: 6.1k

You’d been obsessing over it for days now. The thought clawed at the back of your mind, refusing to leave you in peace. No matter how much you tried to push it aside, Vi’s story gnawed at you, whispering echoes of something you didn’t want to face. It was too familiar—too eerily close to what Faye had once told you. You tried convincing yourself it was just coincidence, that your imagination was running wild, but deep down, you knew you were lying to yourself. Not because you were paranoid, but because facing the truth meant making choices you weren’t ready for. You didn’t want to betray Vi. Whatever was growing between you two—it felt fragile, precious, and you didn’t want to lose it. But this… this discovery could destroy everything. It terrified you. Still, pretending everything was fine felt even worse. Every time you looked at Vi, guilt twisted in your gut. You couldn’t lie to her, not while the questions burned in your chest like a wildfire. You had to find out the truth about her sister, no matter how dangerous it was or what it might cost you.

But asking Vi outright? That wasn’t an option. She’d see through you in a heartbeat, and if your suspicions were wrong, it would shatter her trust. No, you had to do this alone. Someone in Zaun had the answers, and you’d find them—no matter how long it took. And so, you started to pull away from her. Slowly. Carefully. You told yourself it was better this way, that creating some distance would make things easier for both of you. But the ache of it nearly broke you. Ignoring Vi wasn’t just an emotional wound—it felt like a physical one, gnawing at you from the inside out. Every glance you avoided, every touch you refused—it all hurt like hell. Yet you couldn’t let yourself face her, not when everything about her presence reminded you of the truth you didn’t yet have.

The bar became your hunting ground. The smoky, dim-lit room was alive with murmurs and clinking glasses, the perfect cover for your search. You paced behind the counter, ears straining for any snippet of conversation that might lead you to what you needed. Every so often, you’d grab a tray and wander between the tables, serving drinks and feigning indifference. This was Zaun. Someone always talked too much if you gave them the chance.

It wasn’t until you set down a round of cheap whiskey at table five that you caught something promising.

“Now she’s acting all high and mighty, like she’s too good for us,” a burly man grumbled, puffing out a cigar.

“Bullshit,” his friend shot back. “She’s still one of us. Always will be.”

“She used to be everywhere, you know? Drinking, fighting, playing cards at every dive in Zaun. Now she’s just… gone,” the first man spat, as though the thought physically disgusted him.

The name stopped you cold. Sevika. You’d heard whispers about her before.

“She’s still a regular at Bordelle,” the second man added, smirking. “You think she’s really gone straight? Nah, she’s just playing a bigger game now.”

“From Silco’s muscle to some fancy council member. Talk about an upgrade,” a third man muttered, taking a swig from his glass.

“More like a downgrade, if you ask me,” the first guy grunted. His eyes flicked to you then, sharp and suspicious. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Forget something?”

You froze for a moment, but quickly plastered on a smile. “Oh, no,” you lied smoothly, tilting your head like you didn’t have a care in the world. “I’m just new around here, and I’ve heard that name—Sevika. She seems important. Thought I’d ask who she is.” Your voice was light, your smile flirtatious, and it worked.

The man chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Important’s one word for it. She’s a legend ‘round here. Used to be Silco’s enforcer, now she’s on the council. If there’s something going on in Zaun, Sevika knows about it. Hell, she probably started it.”

Bingo. If Sevika was as well-connected as he said, she’d know who Vi’s sister was—and maybe more.

“Thanks for the tip,” you said sweetly, flashing a quick smile before retreating to the bar.

Your mind was racing. Bordelle. That was your next move. If Sevika was still a regular there, you’d find her. But the thought made your stomach twist. Bordelle wasn’t just any bar—it was an underground den of vice, a place where no one asked questions and everyone had something to hide. How the hell were you supposed to find someone like Sevika in a place like that, especially when you didn’t even know what she looked like?

It didn’t matter. You had to try. For Vi. For what you had with her. For yourself.

No turning back now.

Just like that, an hour later, you found yourself standing outside the bordello. Your heart pounded in your chest, hands clammy from nerves. You had no plan—no strategy—just a goal that led you straight to this place. With a shaky exhale, you pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room swallowed you whole. It was dark, like walking through shadows, with thin strands of colored light spilling from the cracks of half-closed doors. The air itself felt heavy, thick with whispers and quiet laughter, distant moans blending with muffled music. It was quiet and loud all at once, a contradiction that somehow made sense here.You kept moving, your footsteps soft on the velvet-carpeted floor as you passed by room after room. For a moment, it felt like you were trespassing—each door you passed hid lives you weren’t supposed to see. But you couldn’t turn back. There was no other way.

“Need some help, pretty girl?”

The voice behind you made you freeze. You turned, heartbeat skipping as a figure approached. She was tall—almost unsettlingly so—her dark purple hair cascading down her back in soft waves. She wore a sleek black dress, the kind that hugged her frame and split high up her thigh, showing just enough to tease. Her blue eyes were striking, almost mischievous, as they roamed over you, taking you in. She didn’t stop until she was impossibly close, the scent of her perfume enveloping you.

“I do need help,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You leaned in just enough for your lips to brush her ear.

Her mouth curled into a smile, slow and knowing. “Whatever you need,” she purred, placing a hand lightly on your shoulder before trailing it down, the touch searing and deliberate. Then she dipped closer to whisper back. The low rasp of her voice sent chills down your spine.

“Not that kind of help, though,” you said with a sly smile, not breaking eye contact as her face hovered near yours. “I’m looking for someone.”

Her gaze sharpened, but her smirk remained. “Oh, darling,” she teased, “everyone’s looking for someone. That’s how they end up here.” She didn’t back away, didn’t make this easy.

“I’m looking for Sevika,” you pressed.

Something flickered behind those bright blue eyes. She recovered quickly, forcing herself into nonchalance, but you didn’t miss the pause.

“Oh,” she muttered softly before pulling back with another smile—still playful, though not as confident as before. “She is a regular of ours.”

Your chest tightened at her casual tone, as if Sevika was just another client rather than the person you were desperate to find. The woman tilted her head, inspecting you again, as though weighing her options.

“So,” she purred, circling you like a predator, “if I tell you where to find her, what’s in it for me?”

Your face fell. You didn’t have anything to offer—nothing valuable, anyway. Her expression said as much. For a second, you swore she enjoyed watching you flounder. Then, gathering what little boldness you had left, you took a half step closer.

“Come on,” you said smoothly, biting your lip just enough to sell the flirtation. “It wouldn’t kill you to help a pretty girl like me, would it?”The line usually worked on men—easy, predictable men—but her? Women were always harder to charm. Still, you watched her carefully as she exhaled, her shoulders dropping slightly, a wry smirk creeping across her lips as she rolled her eyes.

“You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood tonight,” she finally said, her tone edged with mock irritation. She leaned in, her lips barely brushing your ear as she whispered, “Room sixteen.”

You shivered despite yourself.

Before she pulled away, she glanced around cautiously, checking the corridor for prying eyes or ears. Her voice dipped low, warning. “Be quick. And careful. Sevika could crush you with one hand if she feels like it.” She grinned, her chuckle both amused and taunting. “Wouldn’t want that, would you, pretty girl?”

You flashed a nervous smile, already turning toward the hall leading deeper into the building. “Thanks,” you whispered over your shoulder before heading straight for room sixteen. Each step you took felt heavier, anticipation thick in your throat. You didn’t know what to expect when you got there, but one thing was certain: Sevika was close.

You hovered outside the door, your heart hammering against your ribcage as if it were trying to escape. The hallway was dead silent, save for the faint hum of voices bleeding in through the walls around you. This was it. You’d come all this way, and there was no turning back.Steeling yourself, you lifted your hand and gave the door a light knock. Polite. Measured. Anything but hesitant. You swallowed thickly, fingers brushing your thigh to keep yourself steady.

"Come in.”

The voice on the other side made you freeze. Low, commanding, and as cold as steel. Shivers ran up your spine, and for the briefest moment, you considered walking away. But no—you couldn’t. Not now. You pushed the door open slowly, careful not to make it creak, and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, shadows lingering in the corners like silent sentinels. A faint curl of smoke filled the air, stinging your nose. Your gaze snapped forward—and there she was.

Sevika. She sat on the edge of the bed, her forearms resting casually on her knees, one hand holding a lit cigar. The smoke wafted lazily into the air, curling around her like it belonged there. She was everything people whispered about—towering, dangerous. Her short, dark hair framed a sharp jawline, and her piercing grey eyes locked onto yours the second you entered. Those eyes were unrelenting, like they could see right through you, dissecting you without her having to say a word. Her presence hit you like a physical thing, weighty and impossible to ignore. The door clicked shut behind you, and though the sound was soft, you still flinched. She noticed that. Of course, she did.

“Never seen you before,” Sevika said, her deep voice slow and deliberate, dripping with calculation. She leaned back slightly, but her gaze didn’t waver. “Must be new.”

New? Of course. What else would she think, seeing you standing there in this place? Her tone was laced with an unspoken assumption that made the back of your neck prickle.You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Sevika shifted. She stood up—slowly, unhurried, like she had all the time in the world—and suddenly, she was there. The space between the two of you disappeared too quickly. Your instincts screamed at you to step back, but you couldn’t—not when your back was already pressed against the door.

Sevika loomed over you now, taller than you’d anticipated. The heat of her presence washed over you, oppressive and heavy, and you had to tilt your head up just to meet her eyes. Grey steel stared back, as sharp and unfeeling as a blade. You could barely breathe, though you forced yourself to hold her gaze. It wasn’t easy; nothing about this woman was easy. And then, her fingers brushed under your chin, catching it easily and tilting your face up farther. Her touch was surprisingly controlled—not rough or forceful—but there was no mistaking how dangerous it was. She was toying with you. Testing you.

And then she said it.

“Undress.”

The word hit you like a slap. Your stomach dropped, and every nerve in your body lit up at once. She couldn’t be serious—right? But Sevika wasn’t someone who joked. The look in her eyes was steady and expectant.

Your heart raced, panic nipping at your composure, but you swallowed it down, forcing your face into something neutral.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass,” you said, your voice quieter than you’d like but steady enough to count as controlled. You forced a small, tight smile onto your lips. “That’s not why I’m here.”

For a moment, Sevika didn’t say anything. She didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stared down at you in that suffocating silence, those sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if to cut right through you. Your pulse roared in your ears, your breath stuck somewhere between calm and barely calm. And then she exhaled. A soft sound escaped her lips—not quite a laugh, but close. Amused.

“Oh?” she drawled, pulling back just slightly, her fingers falling away from your chin. That smirk of hers tugged faintly at her lips, something dangerous dancing behind her gaze. “You’ve got some nerve,” she continued, and her voice was softer now, like she was teasing you—mocking you. “Acting so confident when you look ready to bolt.”

“Fake it ‘til you make it,” you shot back before you could stop yourself, your chin instinctively rising just a fraction. It wasn’t the smartest thing to say, but you couldn’t let her corner you any further. Even if the confidence you threw out was nothing more than a bluff. She regarded you carefully then, the faint smirk lingering at the edges of her lips, like she was trying to decide if she found you amusing or just stupid. Those grey eyes swept over you again, trailing slowly from head to toe and back up. Every second under that stare felt like walking barefoot on glass.

“You don’t look like you have much to fake,” Sevika muttered finally, amusement tinging her tone again as she stepped back. Her gaze lingered for a moment longer before she turned away, strolling lazily across the room like she hadn’t just rattled your composure to its core. She stopped near the edge of the bed, arms crossing over her chest, her back half-turned toward you as she spoke.

“You’ve got guts.” Her voice dipped lower, colder now, a warning curling around every word. “But guts don’t mean shit unless you back them up. So tell me—what makes this so important?”

It was an opening. Not much of one, but it was enough. You took a steady breath, forcing the last of your fake confidence to stick, even though your nerves still hummed under your skin like live wire. Sevika might have been testing you, sizing you up like an opponent in a fight. But this wasn’t a game you could afford to lose—not now, not with her.

“Talk fast,” her voice rang out, sharper this time. The message was clear—your time was running out.

“What do you know about Vi’s sister?” you asked, deciding it was best to cut to the chase. There wasn’t time to dance around the subject.

Sevika chuckled, her voice rough and amused, like you’d just dragged up someone from her past she’d rather forget—or maybe couldn’t. There was something bitter in that laugh, like the taste of smoke lingering too long.

“She’s dead,” she said sharply. No hesitation. No room for argument.

You shifted awkwardly, glancing around the dimly lit room. A chair in the corner caught your eye. You didn’t know why, but something told you to sit, so you did. Maybe it was her tone, maybe it was the weight of the topic. Either way, you settled in.

“Right.” You nodded as if that simple confirmation would somehow carry the weight of the dead. “Anything else?”

Sevika arched a brow, leaning back with an air of importance. “One more question, and then you’re out of here.”

Her words made it clear—she wasn’t in the mood for small talk. You hesitated but knew this was your chance.

“How did she look?” you finally asked.

Sevika tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “You sound real suspicious, you know that? What kind of question is that? You don’t know what Jinx looked like? What, were you living under a rock? Her face was plastered all over Zaun back in the day—wanted posters, graffiti. Hell, there’s even a damn memorial for her. People still dye their hair blue because of her supposed ‘heroic’ crap,” she scoffed, her lip curling. “‘Hero’ my ass.”

Blue hair. That was no small coincidence. You felt your heart start to hammer in your chest. Panic rose unbidden, and you shifted in your seat. Sevika noticed.

Her sharp eyes bore into you as she leaned forward, her voice laced with suspicion. “Why are you asking all this? What’s your deal?”

“I just moved here,” you said quickly, fumbling for the words.

“Moved here?” she repeated, leaning back with a laugh that had no humor in it. “Who moves to Zaun? You know there are better places out there, right?”

“It’s… complicated,” you murmured. “My friend is from here, so I decided to move after…” You trailed off, realizing the less you said, the better.

“Who’s your friend?” she pressed, her voice turning sharp again, demanding answers.

“Vi.”

It slipped out. You didn’t mean to say it. It was a stupid move, and the moment it left your mouth, you regretted it. Sevika’s expression twisted into something unreadable, a mix of disbelief and anger.

“If that’s true, why don’t you just ask her how her sister looked, huh? Why come here, of all places, bothering me with your sketchy little investigation?”

She was angry now, and you knew you’d worn out your welcome. Rising from the chair, you headed toward the door, your pulse pounding. You’d blown it.

“It’s hard for her to talk about it,” you mumbled, fumbling for an excuse. “Didn’t want to bring up old wounds.”

It was weak, unconvincing, but it was all you could muster as you reached for the handle. Before you could leave, her voice stopped you cold.

“She had blue flame tattoos all over her body.”

You froze, hand still on the doorknob, not daring to turn around.

“Thanks, Sevika,” you said softly, glancing over your shoulder before slipping out the door. Her eyes followed you until you disappeared down the hall. Blue hair. Blue flame tattoos. Your chest tightened, and your mind raced. Faye had blue hair. Faye had blue flame tattoos. Faye lost her parents. Faye had a sister.The parallels were too sharp, too specific to be coincidence. Vi thought her sister was gone—dead for good. Everyone thought Jinx was gone. But she wasn’t.

And now, you were the only one who knew.

Pacing through the dark streets of Zaun, your thoughts were eating you alive. The silence felt loud, your footsteps echoing as you walked in circles. You couldn’t think straight, couldn’t gather a single clear idea of what to do. Every time you tried to make sense of it, the weight of your choice crushed you all over again. It was impossible—completely impossible—to choose. Faye made it clear. She was alive, but she didn’t want anyone to know. Especially not Vi—the one person she used to love most. Faye had looked you dead in the eyes when she said it: “Promise me.” It wasn’t a request. It was a demand, and you’d sworn to keep her secret, no matter what. You made that promise. You gave her your word.

And yet… Vi.

Vi, who had lost everyone. Vi, who carried the weight of every loss on her shoulders, burying her grief so deep you were surprised she could even walk upright. Her parents were gone. Her sister was gone. Her home, her life, everything had been taken from her, piece by piece, until all she had left was herself—and whatever scraps of hope she could hold onto. Vi never said it out loud, but you knew. You saw it. You could see how she still carried Jinx with her, like a ghost chained to her heart. How could you do this to her? How could you look her in the eyes knowing what you knew and not tell her? Keeping this secret was a betrayal in itself, wasn’t it? How could you watch her mourn someone who wasn’t dead? How could you let her suffer for no reason?

But on the other hand—

Faye trusted you. She was alive, but the only thing she wanted to do was walk away. To disappear completely. If you told Vi, everything would fall apart. Vi would go after her, of course she would. It didn’t matter what she wanted. Vi would never stop looking if she found out the truth, and God only knew what would happen when she found her sister again. Because Faye wasn’t the same person anymore. You knew that much. And you couldn’t predict what a reunion would look like—if it would heal them or shatter everything into even smaller pieces. Faye would see it as a betrayal. She’d hate you forever. Each step you took felt heavier than the last, like the streets of Zaun themselves were pulling you down, feeding off the storm of guilt inside you. Your heart raced; your mind screamed. You were in too deep. There was no clean way out. No matter what you did, someone would get hurt.

By not telling Vi, you were betraying her.

By telling Vi, you were betraying Faye—Jinx—your best friend. There was no winning here.

Somehow, while lost in your own thoughts, you realized you’d stopped moving. You were standing in front of your apartment door, blinking at it like you didn’t remember how you got there. Your hands shook as you reached into your pocket, your fingers fumbling against the keys. You just needed to get inside. To shut yourself in. To sit down and—

“Hello there, stranger.”

The voice hit you like a punch to the gut. Not now.

Your heart stopped in your chest. Slowly, you turned, and there she was—Vi—leaning lazily against the wall in the faint glow of the streetlight. Her crimson hair caught the dim light like fire, and that crooked smirk played on her lips, like she had just caught you sneaking out past curfew.

“Vi…” you barely managed to say.

She pushed off the wall, taking a step closer. “Out late, huh?” she said casually, but her voice lingered just a little too long. Her eyes—those sharp, piercing eyes—studied you carefully, probably noticing the way your shoulders tensed up or the way your hand shook just slightly against the keys.Your heart dropped like a stone, heavy and unrelenting. You could barely breathe. You couldn’t deal with this. Not now. Her standing here, looking at you like that, made everything feel so much worse.

“Could say the same for you,” you muttered quickly, trying to sound normal.

She tilted her head, her brows furrowing slightly. That was the thing about Vi—she always knew when something was off. “You good?” she asked, a hint of concern slipping into her voice.

The question nearly broke you. Were you good? No. Not even close. The world felt like it was closing in on you, squeezing every ounce of air from your lungs.

“Yeah. Just tired,” you said. It was a lie, but it was all you could give her without falling apart.

Vi didn’t look convinced. She stayed there, watching you too carefully, too silently, like she could peel you open just by staring long enough. You couldn’t take it—you couldn’t take the way she looked at you like she trusted you. You turned back to the door, shaking the keys in your hand until they finally slid into the lock. Your pulse thundered in your ears as you turned the knob, every movement heavy with guilt.

“Night, Vi,” you mumbled, pushing through the door.

“Wait, what?” Vi mumbled, confused, as her hand shot out to catch the door before you could close it. There was a crack in her voice, frustration creeping in. “You can’t be serious.”

“Vi, I’m tired,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You swallowed hard, trying to choke back the tears building in your throat. “We can talk tomorrow, okay?”

Her jaw tightened. “That’s bullshit,” she said sharply. Her voice cracked just enough to make it clear how much this hurt her. “We both know that.”

Your chest ached as her words hit you like a blow. You couldn’t look her in the eye. You couldn’t even speak. “Vi…” you mumbled weakly, taking a step inside the apartment, your hand still on the door. You couldn’t shut her out, but you couldn’t let her in either. All you could do was stand there, torn apart, staring at her like the words you needed were caught somewhere unreachable.

Her brows furrowed, her frustration sharpening as her voice grew louder. “I’m not stupid, you know that, right?” she snapped. “Since that night. Since I told you about my past, you’ve been—” She exhaled sharply, cutting herself off. “You’ve been different. Like a completely different person.”

She was stepping closer now, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the Vi you’d met at first—the Vi who was angry at the world because the world had taken everything from her. But there was something else now. Beneath the edge, there was a raw sadness that hurt even more to hear.

“Everything was going great,” she continued, her voice breaking slightly, “and then suddenly, you pull away. You go cold. Distant. Ignoring me.”

She paused, searching your face, desperate for something—anything. It wasn’t just anger anymore. It was hurt. And that was what cut the deepest. Your silence only fueled her emotions, swirling wild and untamed. She took another step closer, and this time her words weren’t sharp; they were pleading.

“What the hell happened?” she asked again, softer this time, her voice trembling as she tried to hold back whatever storm was threatening to break. “Is it me? Did I say something wrong?”

You bit your lip so hard it nearly bled. Your head screamed at you to say something—anything—but you were frozen, unable to move, unable to speak. Every part of you was screaming to reach out to her, to close the distance, to show her somehow that you still cared, that this wasn’t her fault. That none of this was because of her. But how could you? How could you explain something she wasn’t ready to know? That she couldn’t know?

Her voice wavered, sadness bleeding into every word. “Is it something from my past? Is that it?” she pressed. “Does knowing what I’ve done make you think different of me now?”

The air felt heavy—too heavy to breathe. She was breaking right in front of you, and still, you couldn’t say a damn thing.

Her frustration boiled over again, her voice rising, desperate now. “Just tell me!” she shouted, her fists clenching at her sides before her shoulders dropped, exhaustion taking over. “Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me that you don’t want me anymore and—” She cut herself off, her breathing uneven as she wiped at her face. Then, quietly, heartbreakingly, she whispered, “And I’ll be gone. You won’t have to deal with me anymore. You’ll never see me again. Just… say it.”

And then it happened.

You saw it.

The tear you’d been so afraid to see, sliding down her cheek, clinging there for just a second before falling. The Vi who never let her guard down, who carried herself with strength and stubborn pride no matter what life threw at her—she was standing in front of you, breaking.

And you’d done it.

You’d broken her.

That single tear felt like it had taken a piece of your soul with it. Your chest constricted painfully, like every breath you took now was something you didn’t deserve. Your silence wasn’t protecting her. It wasn’t sparing her pain. It was tearing her apart. YOU were tearing her apart. Vi wasn’t just angry. She wasn’t just sad. She was devastated. And somehow, in all the mess of trying to protect her, you had done the exact thing you’d been terrified of from the start.

You were hurting her.

Your hands shook as they clung to the doorframe, your throat closing up tighter with every passing second. You were doing exactly what you feared most—letting her get too close only to rip her apart in the end.

But as much as you wanted to give in, to tell her the truth, there was still something holding you back. You couldn’t let her go now. Not ever.

Instead of speaking, instead of giving her the answers she so desperately wanted, you acted-your body moving before your mind could catch up. You crashed into her, pressing your lips against hers with a fire that had been bottled up for too long. The kiss was deep, desperate, and hungry, every bit of unspoken emotion spilling into it like a wave breaking over a cliff. Your hands flew to her face, holding her as if you were terrified she might slip away, as if this kiss was the only way to tell her that she mattered, that you couldn't let her go.

Vi didn't hesitate. She didn't hold back.

Her lips pressed into yours just as hard, just as greedy, as her rough hands roamed across your back and over your waist, clutching at you like you were the last thing keeping her tethered to this world. You melted into her, letting her take you, kiss you, own you in a way only she could. You broke apart for air, breathless and dizzy, but before you could blink, her lips moved lower, trailing their way across your jawline and then down to your neck. Each kiss she placed was slow but burning, leaving soft marks as if to claim every inch of you.

You shivered as her hands gripped you tighter, holding you close as if afraid you might slip through her fingers. She pressed her body closer to yours, and in an instant, her leg shifted between your thighs, pressing her knee into you just enough to send shocks of pleasure racing through you.

A small moan escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you felt her smirk against your skin. Her lips trailed back to your mouth, and this time, when she kissed you, her tongue slipped past your lips, exploring, tasting you, and making you all the more breathless. She was relentless-hungry-and you matched her, pulling her even closer as if trying to mold yourself into her. Before you could register what was happening, Vi's strong arms lifted you effortlessly, pulling you up against her as she began moving toward the bedroom. Your legs wrapped

instinctively around her waist, her neck becoming your next target as you kissed her with the same hungry desperation she gave you. Your lips nipped at her skin, leaving marks-a trail of red marks along her neck and collarbone.

"Fuck," she groaned softly, the word dripping with lust as she stumbled into the bedroom, her control breaking piece by piece. She threw you onto the bed with a mix of strength and tenderness, her body hovering over yours, her chest rising and falling as she stared down at you.

For a second, there was a pause-Vi's gaze burning into yours. Her expression softened as she took you in. In that moment, it was painfully clear how much she missed you, how much this moment meant. The corner of her mouth twitched into the faintest smile before she got to work, her fingers trailing to the hem of your pants.

Without breaking eye contact, she started unbuttoning them, taking her time, teasing you, making every second feel like torture. You couldn't wait. Your fingers went to the bottom of your top, tugging it off and throwing it somewhere forgotten. The cool air made you shiver y ther eyes on you set your skin atlame. Her gaze lingered on your chest for just a moment before she smirked, pulling your pants off with ease, leaving you exposed before her. Without missing a beat, you grabbed the her top, lifting it up and over her head. Vi grinned, clearly enjoying this just as much as you were, before stepping back just enough to slip off her own pants.

The moment fabric was no longer between you, the world seemed to fall away. Skin to skin, inch to inch, you could feel everything. Her warmth, her breath, her strength-it consumed you completely. She wasted no time, her lips pressing back to your neck, kissing, biting softly as she trailed down toward your chest. Vi cupped one of your breasts, her fingers rough but her touch tender. When her tongue met your nipple, you gasped, arching into her. She teased you-circling, flicking, sucking-sending sparks of pleasure through every nerve in your body. You moaned, unable to stop yourself as she grinned against your skin.

You wanted her just as much, and you didn't plan to let her take control of everything. Shifting slightly, you moved your knee up between her legs, feeling just how wet she was for you. The sound that left her lips-a deep groan, filled with need-made your stomach tighten.

"Fuck," she breathed out, pressing herself harder against your leg as her hand slipped between your thighs.

"You're making me crazy."

Her fingers traced up your folds slowly, teasing you, spreading your wetness everywhere. A low whine escaped your throat, your hips tilting into her touch instinctively. She pressed down on your clit, circling it with care, her pace slow at first, almost tormenting. You moaned louder as pleasure coiled in your stomach, tilting your head back. Vi noticed, and that playful glint flashed in her eyes. Her fingers trailed lower, slipping inside you, cool against your heat. The way she moved was both gentle and rough, curling her fingers with precision, hitting every spot that made you gasp and squirm beneath her. Your body burned as she worked you up, her pace growing faster and rougher with each passing second. You could't take it anymore, digging your nails in her shoulders, desperate to hold on to something as you lost yourself completely to her touch. She suddenly pulled away, sitting back on her knees as she stared down at you-naked, flushed, and completely hers.

Her gaze was smoldering, and before you could move, she slipped her two fingers into her mouth, sucking them clean, tasting you. "You taste so fucking good," she muttered, voice heavy with want.

You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Vi held out her hand, guiding you gently until you understood what she wanted. Seconds later, you were on top of her, her hands gripping your thighs, pulling you upward, and settling you over her mouth. The strength in her hands-the sheer need in her grip-made you dizzy. You didn't hesitate, spreading your legs and letting yourself settle against her lips. Her mouth was hot, her tongue pressing into you slowly at first, teasing you. You tilted your head back, gasping as she buried herself deeper, her tongue working fast and rough as her nose pressed perfectly against your clit.

"Vi," you whimpered, your voice barely more than a breath. She groaned against you, holding you in place as you began to move, grinding slowly against her mouth. Your pace grew frantic as her tongue slipped deeper, her hands pulling you down harder, her groans vibrating against you.

It was too much.

"Fuck, fuck," you nearly screamed, your fingers tangling into her hair as your body tensed, pleasure hitting you so hard you nearly fell apart. You collapsed onto the bed beside her, your body spent, the room spinning around you. Neither of you said a word, breathing heavy and hearts racing as she wrapped her strong arms around you, pulling you close. She smiled, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes, but there was something more there. It wasn’t just playful teasing or a flirtatious look—it was deeper, raw, and real. Her smile, though teasing, didn’t quite reach the heaviness in her gaze, like there were unspoken words lingering between you two, words you both knew but hadn’t said aloud yet. You knew exactly what it was. You’d felt it too, though you hadn’t dared to admit it until now. The unspoken bond between you two wasn’t just desire—it was something deeper, something more complicated. It was connection, raw and undeniable.

Author's note : okaaaay this is a long chapter. What do you think about it? I have been thinking about this chapter for so long, it has been a hard one to write. Do you like how's everything turning out? Please let me know! Don't hesitate to dm me if you have something to say, I would love to listen to you. I love torturing lesbians lol

[bluesunss]

Hairless cat Choi Su-bong x F!Reader

summary: you come home to a surprise you hadn’t expected for Valentine’s (I know it’s super late read a/n)

warnings: absolutely none pure fluff

a/n: this comes from my fanfiction The final act of love posted on wattpad, it was the Valentine Day’s special ♡ you can consider it a one-shot, and I admit it’s a month late for Valentine’s but the fandom needs some fluff so here it is :) Su-bong is a softie here because reader and he were past friends, a while before he even got into substances

anyways enjoy!

The moment you take off your shoes, you sense that something is off. "Su-bong?..."

Silence. You carefully place your heels by the entrance, step inside, and search for your husband and your cat.

"Su-bong!"

Still nothing. A silence far too deliberate. Feeling your way forward, you move toward the bathroom - ground zero for most domestic disasters. The door is slightly ajar, and a sliver of light escapes from within.

"Strawbie! Come here! Please, your mother is going to kill me if she finds out-"

"If I find out what?" You push the door open, and a small gasp escapes your lips.

In the bathtub, Strawberry is vigorously gnawing on Su-bong's frog-shaped wallet, and... she's nearly bald. Then, your gaze shifts to Su-bong. His hair is a vibrant shade of pink, wet, clinging to his forehead.

"My cat! Oh, heavens, what have you done!"

Pushing him aside, you leap toward Strawberry, only to notice the scattered paintbrushes, smears of dye, an overturned paint can, and loose coins spilling from the open wallet all in the messy bathtub.

Your husband sits on a small stool, looking utterly embarrassed, carefully avoiding your gaze.

"Su-bong?" You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for him to acknowledge you.

"Yes?" He grins sheepishly, finally lifting his head.

"What have you done?"

He fidgets with the ring on his left hand.

"Well... Since it's Valentine's Day, I thought I'd give Strawberry a little makeover. She really likes the neighbor's cat, so I figured if I dyed her pink, she'd look like a big, fluffy cotton candy, and he would immediately fall in love. I mean, she would be so cute! But... her fur is too fine, and..."

He gestures toward his own hair, then toward your now nearly furless cat.

"So, on human hair, it works fine. But on her... well, I might have shaved off a good three centimeters of fur. Ahem."

You try to hold back, but laughter wells up inside you. The memory of all his past antics rushes back.

"HAHAHAHA!" You burst out laughing, clutching your sides. "Oh Lord, you kill me."

Letting go of your handbag, you collapse onto the floor in fits of laughter. Curious, Strawberry hops out of the tub and into your arms.

"Oh, my sweet girl. Your father ruined you for your poor Valentine's date, didn't he? What am I going to do with him?"

You cradle her against your chest as she nibbles at your collar before hopping down and strutting into the living room. Standing up, you dust off your skirt, then sit cross-legged, smiling at your man.

"Pink suits you."

At that, Su-bong dramatically falls off his stool and pulls you into his arms.

"Argh. I think I might have a love attack," he faints jokingly. "You're too perfect."

Laughing, you try to push his face away, but he holds you tight.

"Oh, darling, this doesn't mean I'm not upset. Our cat is about to meet her suitor without her glorious coat."

His grip tightens, and he kisses you sloppily.

"I'd love you even if you were bald."

You push him away again, but he only kisses you harder.

"We need to get out of the bathroom!" you scold. "I just got home, and I want to shower."

"I have to help. You can't wash your shoulders without me."

"Ah, ah, ah. Hands off, mister. You'll have to make up for this tonight."

Feigning deep sorrow, he sighs dramatically, then gives up, leaving the bathroom with one last pitiful glance. But you shake your head.

"Nope. Out. And fix my beautiful cat before her date."

"Your wish is my command, señorita."

He vanishes, and you finally step into the shower. Once clean, you head to the bedroom, slipping into a short, flowing pink dress before drying your hair. Su-bong knocks, and when you let him in, he's holding Strawberry, who is desperately trying to claw her way free. She leaps to the floor, landing gracefully despite her extra weight, then proudly struts around in a tiny pink robe of questionable fabric, complete with a feathered scarf. You chuckle.

"She's adorable."

But Su-bong has completely forgotten about the cat. His eyes are fixed on you - your long, bare legs, the way pink complements your skin, the hairdryer still in your hand. He strides to the bed, already undoing the buttons of his shirt.

"Hey, you- I just got home from work, I-"

He doesn't listen. He steps toward you, nudging you onto the plush burgundy bedspread, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist.

"May I claim my Valentine's gift early?"

"Impatient boy!" You attempt to push his face away but he grins and bites your fingers. "And what about my gift?"

"I have many for you. And the first one... needs to be given now."

Strawberry grimaces, lets out an indignant meow, and scurries away.

ʚɞ

Later, as you and Su-bong sit at the dinner table, wrapping paper strewn everywhere - a year-long nail salon voucher, a necklace and flowers for you - a hair salon voucher, new rings and a watch for him, you hear distant meowing. Curious, you both move to the terrace, the source of the sound.

And there, in the moonlit grass, is Strawberry, rolling playfully with the neighbor's cat. At one point, she purrs, and he curls around her, letting her snuggle into his embrace. You watch them drift off to sleep together.

But the funniest part? Strawberry's ridiculous outfit has vanished. The neighbor's cat loved her just the way she was.

Su-bong squeezes your hand, brings it to his mouth and presses a kiss on it, before resting his head on your shoulder.

"The moon is beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

The moonlight casts a silver glow over the freshly cut grass. The air is crisp yet gentle.

"Really beautiful."

Hope you enjoyed ;)

[not-neverland06]

𝙵𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚢

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

A/N: I've been working on this for a few weeks, debating if I should post it or not. I've been getting an influx of attention on my other Arthur work so I figure now's the best time to try my hand at another series. (Following the timeline of the game but is rarely canon-compliant with how certain events take place.)

Summary: Cold, alone, and abandoned by your poor excuse of a husband. You see lights coming down the path and know you can't stay in your desolate estate any longer. It doesn't matter how far you go, though, the O'Driscolls will always find you.

Fighting for your life after they're through with you, it's another outlaw that decides whether you see tomorrow morning or not.

You hunker further into your blankets and huddle as close as you can get to the fire. Your husband had said he would be back soon with more food and firewood, but that had been three days ago. The wolves had either gotten him or he’d finally decided to try his luck on his own. Neither end would surprise you, but you’d just wished he’d chosen to abandon you in spring instead. 

The wind howls as it rages against the walls of your homestead. It hasn't always been such a bad life up here. This was once a beautiful, sprawling estate. Horses, cattle, and fauna roamed the grounds and your husband had an army of employees dedicated to his family home. Then, he started laying heavy into the liquor and all of a sudden your gorgeous home had wood rot slowly seeping into the skin of your marriage and poisoning you both.

Honestly, if the sorry bastard got his throat ripped out by a wolf, you’d call it divine justice- payback for all the scars you carry from him. 

You hiss as the tips of your fingers tingle painfully. Any closer to the hearth and you’ll set yourself on fire. Still, you push your luck, as you always do. Your stomach is burning from the pangs of hunger, but you’ll take whatever warmth you can get at this point. 

You haven’t seen a blizzard this bad in the years since you moved up to these cursed mountains. If this is truly the one that’s going to finally take you out, it better have gotten the man who dragged you here, as well. 

You struggle to think of ways to fill your belly, to prolong your life for just a few more days. There’s no point in hunting. Any tracks you find will be buried by soft, white snow in seconds. And only a few employees remain on the grounds, Sadie and her husband. But they’ve got their own store of food. As hungry as you are, you won’t steal from them. 

“-You see this?”

Your brows furrow in confusion as noises manage to seep through the thick walls of your home. It sounds like voices, men’s voices. There’s a gnawing feeling in your gut, beyond the familiarity of hunger. This is something else. 

Forcing your aching bones up, you duck down and rush towards the window. Five men, all on horseback and each of them armed, ride up the grounds of your home. Their silhouettes are illuminated against the snowfall by the lanterns they hold. 

They could very well be innocent travelers simply looking for an escape from the storm. But you know better than that. You didn’t make it this far in your life by naively trusting every man you meet. You’ve only made that mistake once, now he’s buried in the snow and you’re about to be killed by raiders. 

You don’t see much of a way out of this. You’ve never been a good shot, certainly not good enough to take on five men on your own. For a moment you think of just making a run for it. Or even shooting yourself before they can get to you. Doing that would probably save you a lot of unnecessary pain. You doubt they’ve got much respect for the women they encounter. 

Then, you remember the family sleeping peacefully on your property. Sadie and Jake deserve fair warning, you can’t just abandon them to the mercies of whoever these men might be. You push away from the window and grab your rifle from above the fireplace. 

Your home isn’t as big as some of those fancier estates you’ve seen visiting the city. But it’s large enough for you to have a back way to crawl out of. You slip through the door quietly, immediately being shoved back into the wood from the force of the snow. You tug your shawl around your face, ignoring the bite of ice crystals nipping at your cheeks. 

The snow is up to your knees as you trudge through it. You can see, on the other side of the house, the glow of lamplight steadily growing closer. As much as you try to rush, you can barely lift your feet. Your heart beats against your chest with panic as you squint across the way at Sadie’s home. 

You see light coming from their windows and you know it’s only making the place a bigger target. Your toes are already going numb as sleet leaks into the tops. You tumble forward slightly, hands sinking past two feet of snow to a frozen ground beneath. “God dammit,” you mutter, tugging yourself up and practically throwing yourself forward. 

This feels like you’re fighting a losing battle. Mother Nature herself seems to be telling you to just give up and turn your ass right back around. But you refuse, you’ve always been stubborn. You’re not abandoning people who entrusted themselves to you and your husband. If warning them is the last thing you do, then so be it. 

After a few minutes and hearing your home get ransacked behind you, you finally manage to stumble onto their front stoop. Your teeth are rattling together so hard you can’t even hear yourself knock. You certainly don’t feel it, half your arm having lost feeling after your stumble in the snow. 

Jake opens the door, hair mussed and face pinched like he’d just been dragged out of a deep sleep. Sadie ambles up behind him, tugging a scarf around her shoulders. Jake gasps out your name, tugging you inside quickly. “What are you doing running around out there? Mr. Rowe will kill me if I let his wife freeze on my watch.”

Sadie glares at him and directs you in front of the fire. “Ignore him,” she hisses. “But, what were you doing?” She sounds more suspicious than concerned. You rub your hands together, letting out heavy puffs of air as you try to get your jaw to unlock. 

“M-men,” the word is a hassle to get out and you can tell from the look on their face they don’t have half a clue what you said. You curse under your breath and pinch at the fat of your cheeks, trying to bring some feeling back to them. “Raiders,” you finally manage to get out. 

Jake’s teasing nature immediately drops. He takes the rifle off your shoulder and Sadie gives him an astonished look. “What the hell do you think you’re gonna do with that?”

“Get in the cellar,” he commands and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him tell her what to do. Not once since they’d joined your staff. Sadie opens her mouth to argue, scoffing at him. “Get in the goddamn cellar, Sadie, and don’t come out!” He shouts at her, running to the window and cussing when he sees whatever’s waiting outside. 

You stand from the chair, taking Sadie’s hand in your shaking ones and leading her to the cellar. She fights you on it, digging her heels in and pleading with Jake. “Just hide out with us, you ain’t know how to use that damn rifle, Jake.”

He turns away from the window with a resigned smile. “Would you, for once in your damn life, just listen to me?” You release her, just long enough for him to embrace her in what you know will be their last touch. You don’t interrupt, just struggle with the latch on their cellar. Sadie comes up behind you, hands covering your own and helping you with it. She urges you inside first and you drop onto the damp ground, her following quickly after. 

Jake stares down at you both, the light of the fire making him look bigger than life as he gives you a reassuring smile. “Won’t be long,” he promises. He leans down, closing the cellar door and plunging you both in such intense darkness you can no longer tell if your eyes are open or closed. 

It’s cold under the house, the harsh weather seeping in through the ground. Sadie crawls away from you as you hear Jake push the rug over the cellar door, hiding you both away. There’s a slight click, like the sound of a match against a boot, and light blooms before you. Sadie holds an oil lamp, crawling back towards you and placing it between the both of you. You open your shawl silently and you both huddle under it, trying to keep each other warm. 

It’s not long before you hear voices join Jake’s. The door slams open, boots rattle the floor above you and dust rains down on you both. You keep your face tucked to your chest, but Sadie’s eyes are glued to one spot. The same spot that you know, instinctually, is where Jake stands. 

It isn’t long before the guns go off. Too many rounds for just one man. You hear the laughter and feel as Sadie sucks in a breath so deep you’re surprised her chest doesn’t cave. You tighten your arm around her and ignore the warmth that seeps through the cracks of the wood. Something red drips against your arm and you just drag Sadie closer. 

You’re in there for most of the night, legs going numb as you and Sadie remain glued to each other. You probably could have survived the men were it not for them finding the whiskey. It only takes one drunken stumble and the rug is lifted off the cellar door. It takes one bullet to break the lock and suddenly the door’s being thrown up. Light burns at your eyes as a man leers down at you. “Well, ain’t this a nice surprise?”

“Even robbing a train doesn’t seem like a good reason for being out here. Not for O’Driscolls,” Dutch stares down at his boots, that look on his face that always spells trouble. Arthur glances back at the barn where the dead O’Driscoll boy lay. 

Of course, up here in the middle of a blizzard surrounded by nothing but snow, they manage to stumble upon an O'Driscoll camp. “We should bring the women up here, it might be a good place for ‘em.” Arthur loads up what little supplies he managed to find on the horses and glances up towards the big house at the top of the hill. 

No fires or noises come from it. He can’t imagine why the O’Driscolls would choose a run-down house to camp out in rather than that fancy estate. 

Dutch shakes his head, “I’m not comfortable separating everyone.” Arthur opens his mouth to argue when a shrill scream rips through the quiet of the night. 

“You stay away from us!” It’s a woman, screaming bloody murder as Micah cackles. 

Dutch lets out a rough sigh, glaring up at the door and rushing towards it. “Micah!” He shouts his name, barreling through the door, “What have you done now?”

Arthur follows after him, nearly getting his face bashed in by a flying kitchen chair. He ducks out of the way as a blond woman circles the table, trying to keep away from Micah. “Look what I found in the cellar,” he taunts, lunging at her. She jumps back, kitchen knife pointed out as she hovers near a cellar door. 

“Leave ‘er alone!” Arthur barks, peering around her legs and trying to get a look in the cellar. She notices him and jumps in front of it, glaring at him. She’d yelled ‘us,’ he wonders if she’s got a kid in there. 

As always, Micah doesn’t listen. He lunges at her again and flips the table over, sending an oil lamp flying onto the rug. The glass shatters, fire spreading quickly over the old wood. Arthur curses, shoving at Micah’s shoulder and forcing him away from the terrified woman. Micah’s still laughing at the look on her face, even as Arthur forces him out of the house. 

“It’s alright, Ma’am. I promise we’re not going to hurt you,” Dutch approaches her slowly, gently pushing the knife away and leading her towards the door. His eyes dart towards the quickly spreading fire, trying to get her out before the house comes down on them all. 

“No, I can’t leave her,” she looks back at the cellar but Dutch keeps pushing forward. She’s growing smaller by the second, muttering to herself and struggling along weakly. 

“Arthur,” Dutch snaps quickly, barely glancing over his shoulder at the cellar. He finally manages to push her out the door and Arthur moves quickly. He follows Dutch’s unspoken order, rushing over to the cellar and peering down. A woman lay curled up inside, a sickly sheen over her damp skin. The tips of her fingers are odd colors, from death or cold, he can’t tell. He drops down, dragging her closer and trying to listen for a breath. 

With the wood creaking dangerously above him, he can’t waste time on her. He throws her over his shoulder with a grunt, crawling back out of the cellar and hoping there’s some life in her yet. “They came three days ago.” The woman tells them as Arthur walks out of the house. Her face slacks with relief when she sees her friend over Arthur’s shoulder. “They killed my husband.”

“It’s alright now, ma’am,” Dutch tells her. And Arthur doubts she believes a second of it. After her encounter with the O’Driscolls and then Micah, he doubts she thinks anyone will ever be safe again. Not as she watches her home burn down. Still, she doesn’t have much choice as Dutch helps her onto his horse. 

“We’re bad men,” Arthur tells her bluntly, “but we ain’t them,” he mutters glaring at the O’Driscoll corpses littering the ground. The blood has already been covered by snow, bodies frosting over to become feasts for whatever starving predator lurks by the trees. 

She watches as he loads her friend’s body on the back of his horse and shakes her head, “Don’t have much of a choice do I?”

Dutch shares a look with Arthur, diverting her attention from everything that’s happened. “What’s your name ma’am?”

“Adler, Mrs. Sadie Adler.” She glances at the other woman and whispers her name with a pained look. Arthur keeps one hand on the chilled body, trying to make sure they don’t lose it in the snow. He’s sure she’s just going to be another corpse to bury. 

Every morning, Sadie sneaks into his room. She somehow manages to do it without him waking up, which is worrying enough. And every morning, he sees her standing over the woman lying by his fire. 

To almost everyone’s surprise, you didn’t die when he brought you back to the camp. You were barely holding onto life, nearly in worse shape than Davey had been in. But still, you kept on breathing. Even if every inhale sounded like the rattle of death, you didn’t let go. 

Sadie refuses to leave your side. Spending most of the day tending to you. It drives Miss Grimshaw insane because Arthur won’t let her bother Sadie into helping out around camp. Arthur’s a fool, but he’s not blind. He knows how uncomfortable all the men make Sadie. She was alone with her husband and you up in these mountains. Suddenly being surrounded by a camp full of the same type of men who killed her husband probably isn’t doing her any good. 

Still, maybe he should try and force her around Abigail and Jack. She can’t keep hiding out in his room. Dutch doesn’t like carrying around dead weight. She’s going to need to start contributing around here, eventually. 

He sits up in bed, running a hand over his ragged face and overgrown beard. Sadie’s already kneeling by the fire, taking a shawl from around her shoulders and putting it over you. You suck in another struggling breath and Arthur frowns. 

“How’d she get like this?” Her shoulders tense at the sound of his voice. He’s been curious about it for a little while. It didn’t make sense how she could be in perfect health and you were barely holding onto life. 

Sadie’s quiet for a moment, staring down at you before looking into the fire. “I mouthed off to one of them bastards. I don’t know what they were gonna do to me, shoot me or somethin’ worse, but she stopped ‘em.” Sadie chuckles slightly, getting to her feet and grabbing another shawl for herself. 

“She grabbed a knife and nearly took one of their eyes out.” The proud look on her face drops as she stares down at her feet. There’s something like shame in her voice, “They took her outside and tossed me back in the cellar. I don’t know what happened but when they finally brought her back in she was barely breathing.”

“You know,” Arthur starts, unsure of where he's going with this as he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not your-”

Sadie’s head snaps up and she glares at him, “It’s my fault. I don’t need you lyin’ to me to make me feel better. It’s not gonna do anyone any good.” 

Arthur lets out a low breath and shakes his head. “Didn’t mean any harm. But you can’t blame yourself for stuff like that. She wanted to help ya, there’s nothing else to it.”

Sadie shoots him a glare but she doesn’t argue further with him. He knows she wants to, but he can also see the exhaustion weighing heavily upon her shoulder. The guilt’s eating away at her. Maybe letting her stay cooped up in this small room with you all day had been a mistake. 

“Alright,” he gets to his feet, grabbing his hat from the table by the door and nodding her forward. “I need you out of here today,” she opens her mouth to protest but he holds up a hand and stops her. “Got business to discuss with Dutch, you can’t be here.” 

He opens the door and waves her forward, “Come on, out with ya.” She huffs, loudly stomping past him and muttering something wicked under her breath. Arthur follows slowly behind her, chuckling slightly to himself. He throws you one last look before letting the door close. 

The world is slow to shift into place as your limbs slowly tingle back to life. Your eyes are crusted with a week’s worth of sleep as you try and pry them open. A low whine of pain brews in your throat, but your tongue is heavy with weakness. 

You remember nothing past those men opening the cellar door and you’re sure you’re better for it. Bit by bit, you test which parts of yourself are still alive. You flex your stiff fingers and toes, roll your ankles, and let your neck flop around. 

You seem to have all your faculties in order, but the second you try and sit up, sharp pains shoot through your spine and legs. It's as though someone is dragging razor blades through every layer of skin and muscle. 

An animalistic sound of pain rips out of your chest as you flip back down onto the hard ground. Whatever waning energy you’d tried to conjure has been beaten out of you. 

There’s a creak of old wood behind you and the familiar sound of men’s boots. Your slow stutter of a heartbeat kicks into the pattering melody of hummingbird wings. Your blood rushes painfully through your skin as you pathetically crane your neck. 

Try as you might, you can’t get a glimpse behind you. You’re so close to a fireplace that the cinders and heat burn out your eyes. 

In the amount of time you’ve spent trying to collect yourself, you haven’t even considered that those men could still be around. It doesn’t make sense, though, this place doesn’t look like Sadie’s home. You suppose that they could have moved you both, but you don’t understand why they would want you so badly. 

While you theorize, the man has only gotten closer. You can make out his pants from the corner of your eye as he rounds the corner. Every part of you wants to jump up and run. But even breathing is an aching chore. What chance do you have fighting a man twice your size off?

“Damn, you’re awake.” The man sounds awed. He doesn’t carry the cadence of someone who's only been waiting to hurt you. He kneels beside you and tries, as much as he can, to gently help you up. 

Your teeth grit together and the thought of danger is long gone from your mind as screaming pain shoots through you. Everywhere he touches is like fire licking at your skin. There’s a worrying coldness buried deep in your veins waking up at the pain. 

You can’t help the pathetic noises that slip from your mouth as he eases you up. “Alright, come on, you’re okay now. ‘M not gonna hurt you.” It’s easy enough to believe him when you’re completely at his mercy. It’s not like you have any other choice but to trust him and hope for the best. 

Through watering eyes, you’ve got a good look at him now. He’s got sweet blue eyes with little bits of emerald swimming through them. The rest of him is scraggly. His beard is unkept, his face is dirtied, and his clothes smell too heavily of gunpowder. But if you just keep looking at those pretty eyes of his, you have no trouble believing him. 

You nod your head as much as you can and open your mouth to ask him something. What- you can’t remember. Your tongue is so parched and throat so cracked that nothing more than a wheeze comes out. 

“Hold on,” he mutters under his breath and leans over to the right a little. He takes you with him, contorting your body painfully as he grabs a small cup of water off an overturned bucket. There’s also a rag beside it and a few other things that look like they were used to care for you. 

He straightens you again and nudges your head back with the tip of his finger. You don’t have much warning before he places the cup to your lips and simply pours. It rushes down your throat in an overwhelming wave of half relief and half fear of drowning in this man’s lap. You swallow it down as quickly as you can, the aches and pains slowly ebbing away. Your tongue just about twitches back to life as he removes the cup and you flex your jaw. 

“You nearly killed me,” you accuse, voice still weak and cracking. 

He gives you a disbelieving look before laughing, jostling you slightly with the movements. “Really? That’s the first thing you say when you wake up. You’ve been in a coma on my floor for a week, and all the times I wondered what you would sound like when you woke up, I’ve been expecting ‘thank you.’”

You have just enough energy to narrow your eyes at him, throat still recovering from the onslaught of water. “Thank you,” you say slowly, still working out the kinks in your voice, “for nearly drowning me.” The slightly smug look drops for one of bewildered amusement. You’ve barely been awake for ten minutes and you’re already pushing your luck with someone who looks like a feral mountain man. 

“Oh, you’re just full of surprises, ain’t ya?” You can’t do much more than nod, already feeling the pull of sleep calling you back. He shakes you gently, hand slipping down your back slightly. It’s enough to make you jolt forward, skin stinging like he’s just whipped you. “What was that?” He demands, voice rough with something akin to worry. 

You can’t imagine why this stranger would be concerned for you. Why does he even care enough about you to help keep you alive?

“Back,” you croak out, shivers racking through from the pain. 

He skates his fingers over the thin cloth of your night shift, careful not to put too much pressure on your skin. There’s the quiet click of a blade unsheathing that has you tensing up before cool metal is placed against the back of your neck. 

“Hold still for a minute,” he warns and you can’t tell if you hear a threat lying in wait. Like butter, your tattered shift parts readily around his blade. The cold brisk air from outside combined with the warmth of the fire makes the skin of your back pinch painfully. You bite your tongue, suppressing a wince and trying not to whine. 

His silence speaks louder than his gruff words. Whatever he sees must be disturbing. He runs a finger over your shoulder blade and whistles lowly. “I see why we couldn’t get you better now.” His tone is clipped, disgust laying thickly on the edge of his words. 

“What is it?” You try and feel worried for yourself but it’s taking all of your efforts just to stay awake. Your words slur together slightly as your tongue laves lazily over your teeth. Your head teeters forward slightly and he just barely manages to catch you before you tip over. 

“Just hold on here for a minute, alright?” He crouches before you, tipping your head up and waiting for confirmation before he leaves. Your eyes remain closed while you nod your head. He hesitates for a moment before standing and walking towards the door. “Don’t,” he snaps, “fall asleep again.”

You don’t have enough energy for a response as he slips back out the door. The second he’s gone you let yourself crumple to the floor. Huddled under the blankets and stuck next to a small fire, you can almost lie and say the dusty hardwood is comfortable. Your eyes remain shut, but try as you might, you can’t fall asleep. Every time you think you might be lulled a little closer to the abyss, a sharp jolt of pain forces you back awake. 

You’re nearly convulsing by the time he comes back. The door blows open, and the wind gusts through, carrying with it snow and the smell of camp food. You hear the noises of people outside and wonder just where you’ve found yourself. 

“Oh, Mrs. Rowe!” Sadie’s voice nearly cripples you with relief. You feel warmth build in your throat, something burns at the back of your eyes as she rushes towards you. You don’t remember how you got here. You certainly didn’t remember whether or not Sadie even made it out with you. Seeing her kneeling before you is beyond comforting. 

Not only is she alive and safe, she’s obviously been fed well. Her cheeks have the rosy glow of staying next to a fire for too long, and the clothes she’s wearing are clearly donated but well taken care of. If nothing else, at least you might have managed to prolong her survival a little longer. You’re not sure you can say the same for yourself. 

Still, despite all the pain and the grief and fear you’ve both gone through, you correct her on your name. You chide her playfully, telling her to call you by your first name. “I’m not Mrs. Rowe any longer,” you laugh bitterly, wincing when it pulls the skin of your back taut. She clicks her tongue at you, taking both of your hands in hers and pulling you up straight. 

You can feel the man hovering awkwardly behind you both, not quite sure how to help, or if he should. “Bastard went and left us all,” you gripe. You keep talking, cursing out your hopefully dead husband. You blabber to try and distract you from the way you can feel something festering under your skin. 

Venomous pain crawls through your veins and rips at your strength. You lean heavily on Sadie to keep yourself upright. The cut-open back of your night shift slips open and Sadie catches your sleeve before it can fall. Her head shoots up, a hateful glare shooting straight toward the man. 

He throws his hands up, “Now, Mrs. Adler-”

“You thought you could just have some fun with her, huh? Oh, you son of a bitch!” You can feel how desperately she wants to leap up and have a go at him. She’s practically trembling with anger. You squeeze her hands with as much strength as you can muster, trying to keep her grounded with you. 

He scrambles to explain, taking a step towards you both and immediately retreating when Sadie curses at him again. “Now, that ain’t what happened-”

She cuts him off again and he huffs with exasperation. “You think I’ll believe anything you outlaws say? I should have known you were no better than the bastards that stole my husband from me.”

“Sadie,” you croak, “let the man speak, dammit.” She shoots you an affronted look, like she might try and yell at you next. The sickly sheen over your skin and your overall pathetic countenance are the only things that stop her. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he mutters, walking over to you both slowly. He approaches Sadie like one would a wild cat, trying to keep her temper from flaring up again. The only reason she and her husband ever managed to stay so long in your employ was because you always vouched for her. One day soon, though, that temper is going to get her into some serious trouble. 

“I think they did something to ‘er.” He starts speaking in hushed whispers, talking about you as if Sadie isn’t holding you between them. Your eyes start to flutter as you listen to their quiet conversation, words fading in and out as you grapple with keeping a hold of your consciousness. 

“Jesus Christ,” Sadie hisses, peering over your shoulder at something you’re probably going to be grateful not to see. “They whip her?” 

“I think so. And it don’t look right, all green around the edges.” He pokes a rough finger against the center of your back and you cry out, jerking away from the touch. Sadie swats sharply at his hand and he glares at her. 

“Don’t touch it you fool! We need medicine for her. It’s infected.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed Mrs. Adler but we’re currently stuck in the middle of a blizzard,” he deadpans. He motions towards the window of the small shack and the wind that whistles loudly behind it. The snow does its best to try and seep in. It pools in one corner of the room, melting into the floorboards below. You can’t feel the chill of it being so close to the fire, though. Or perhaps that’s a fever keeping you warm. You can’t feel much of anything, actually. 

Sadie eases you off of her and he helps lay you on your side. They get to their feet, sneaking away from you as if you didn’t just hear them talking about you like you’re lying on death’s door. “We need something,” Sadie hisses, but you can barely hear it above the rushing in your ears. 

Arthur mutters something back to her but you’re already falling back into the peaceful embrace of sleep. Body going limp as you try and escape the pain. 

“Goddammit!” 

“Quit whining, I’m almost done.” Charles has a gentle enough hand as he puts a salve over your back, but it still hurts worse than a lick of fire. It’s been a few days since you woke up in Arthur’s room. You were more cognisant the next day, more aware of the fact that if you went another moment without treating the wounds on your back, you’d most likely die. 

You’re lucky you’ve made it this long without anything. You suppose you’re just stubborn enough to not let those bastards kill you from an infection. God, that would be an embarrassing way to go. It’s how your husband’s father died and clearly, that had been the worst thing to happen to the family in generations. It left your husband in charge to destroy their reputation and their livelihood. 

You grit your teeth together as Charles’ calloused hand roves over the open wounds. They’re starting to feel a little better. They burn less now, more just ache when you extend your arms too far or cough too hard. You figure Charles has probably saved your life with this herbal concoction of his. Him and Hosea. It had been Hosea’s suggestion of using herbs for treatment that prompted Charles to go hunting for them. 

You never imagined owing your life to a bunch of outlaws but you suppose that no one knows what direction fate is planning on taking them. “You’re not a real sweet nurse, you know that?” You grouse, talking to distract yourself from the discomfort. 

Charles sighs behind you but you swear that it’s almost a laugh. “You complain a lot for someone who owes me their life.” You know he’s only teasing you. As shocking as that is. You didn’t think the man had a funny bone in his body when you first met him. Lo and behold he’s got just as much bite as you do. Still, you do feel a little guilty for giving him so much grief. 

He starts wrapping the bandages around your chest. You help him around the front, being mindful of the still-present burn on his hand. “Thank you,” you whisper as he ties it off. You can’t bring yourself to say it much louder, still not used to being in someone’s debt like this. 

Hell, you’re getting used to a whole lot of new things. You’d never dressed a deer before either but you didn’t have much choice but pull your weight here. You’re pretty sure Mrs. Grimshaw would skin you if you just lazed about like a prissy lady. 

Charles pauses, he’s quiet for a moment before backing off and turning around so you can put your shirt back on. You expect him not to respond, to just slip out quietly. He doesn’t seem the type to indulge too much in a woman’s emotions. “I’m glad you’re better,” he tells you. You don’t get a chance to respond before the door closes again. 

Sighing, you grab your jacket from the bed and tug it on. Your movements are still stilted, your body still stiff from spending so long in the cold. You now struggle to get your fingers to curl the right way. But you’re alive, and that’s got to count for something. 

You slip outside, prepared for the biting cold, and still surprised as your boots sink into the muddy snow. You owe the women for collecting some clothes for you, even altering them so they might fit better. They don’t have the time as they tend to the camp, but they still help. For a group full of murderers and gunslingers, they’re possibly some of the nicest people you’ve ever met. 

“Howdy, Mrs. Rowe, lookin’ might fine this morning.”

Besides, of course, Micah. He leers at you, licking his maw and tugging at his belt. You roll your eyes, ignoring him and trudging past. You hear him laugh behind you and wish you could kick his teeth in. Always gotta be one bad apple, doesn’t there? 

Arthur isn’t too far ahead of you, loading something up on his horse. You speed up a little, hoping to catch him before he leaves. “Arthur!” You call out, his head shoots towards you and you wave a little. He gives you a small smile, leaning against the hitching post as you approach. 

He tips his hat towards you, “How are you this morning, Mrs. Rowe?”

You let out an annoyed huff but there’s a slight smile playing on your lips. “How many times do I need to tell you to stop calling me that?”

He chuckles, turning back towards his horse and adjusting the saddle. “Apologies,” he acquiesces, but the tone of his voice tells you he knows exactly how much it irritates you. His gaze drifts to someone behind you and the amusement dips from his tone. “Charles help you out this mornin'?’” 

He always approaches the subject with more grace than you would have thought him capable of. He must know how odd it is for you to have a man see you nearly half-naked every morning. You were raised as a proper lady, groomed to be a perfect, virtuous wife. It’s a shock to see how brazen some of the women here are. Not necessarily a bad thing, you can appreciate the freedom it provides. 

You no longer feel the suffocating need to think over every word that leaves your lips. You’re not constantly walking around eggshells and fighting to be heard. But being bare before someone other than your husband has been difficult to stomach, even if it is Charles. Arthur seems to realize how hard it must be for you. Which is odd, you didn’t think someone like him would know much about proper women. You wonder if he’s ever had a woman of his own. 

“Yes, he says it’s looking better. I shouldn’t be at risk of dropping dead now, at least,” you laugh, but there was true fear you might not wake up. You know some of the members in camp argued to just toss you to the cold, let the wolves feed on you. They didn’t think you were worth sparing the supplies for. 

“That’s good ain’t it?”

“I suppose so. But, well,” you wonder if you should even be having this conversation. Maybe bringing up this worry will just put an idea in his head he hadn’t had before. 

“Well,” he prompts, not impatiently.

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask, hands dropping to your sides with a heavy sigh. 

“Whaddya mean?” His brows furrow in confusion and you curse yourself mentally. You’ve probably just royally screwed yourself. 

“Well, when I’m healed. When I’m not relying on you or Charles everyday. Where am I meant to go? My husband's dead and my house has been ransacked completely. I’ve got nothing to my name.” Voicing aloud the fears you’ve been carrying for the past few days is like a weight off your shoulders. You’ve been fretting about this forever, losing sleep over it. As much as you fear his answer, at least you finally said it. 

Arthur’s lips quirk up and you huff. There is nothing funny about what you just said. In fact, it’s incredibly worrying. Still, that doesn’t stop him from cracking up, laughing at your expense like you’re some foolish girl. “Arthur Morgan,” you chide, swatting weakly at his arm, “I’m being serious.”

“I know,” he sighs with a smile and you can’t help but return it. “We ain’t gonna throw you to the curb, Mrs-” he cuts himself off when you glare at him. Instead, he says your name with a comforting tone and reaches out, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “If you’re okay with it, you can travel with us or we can drop you off in whatever town we stay at.”

Your heart skips a few beats, hope filling your stomach with warmth. “Really?”

“‘Course, what'd ya think we were just gonna leave you up here in the snow?”

“Well, I know Micah wanted to,” his face falls at the mention of the man. 

His brows furrow and his jaw sets with something akin to anger. He does that every time you mention the man. He just seems to put Arthur in a foul mood. “I ain’t Micah and I ain’t in the business of just abandoning pretty ladies up in the mountains.”

Perhaps you’re a fool, but about the only thing you caught from that was him calling you a pretty lady. Before you can continue your conversation, someone rides up behind you both. “Mrs. Rowe, Mr. Morgan,” Dutch greets you with a gravelly call of your name and a suave smile. You roll your eyes at the mention of your husband's name but bow your head in greeting nonetheless. “Excuse me ma’am, but I need Arthur this morning.”

“Oh,” you flush, not realizing just how much of his time you’ve stolen with your silly worries. “Of course, sorry.” You give Arthur one last smile, watching as he mounts his horse and backing up so his leg doesn’t swing out at you. “Where are you going, anyway?” You ask, peering behind them both to see other men in camp riding up behind them. 

“Why,” Dutch grins, “we’re off to rob a train.” He kicks off and you’re left standing in the snow with a gaping jaw. Arthur gives you one last look before he rides behind him, the others quickly following. 

So, this is the life of an outlaw.

Next Part

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.