#like the wood was all cut and formed by hand

[waterdeepwife]

Nightly Squishes

Pairing: Gale x Fem! Reader

Summary: Gale fulfills your desire to be squished.

Warnings: fluffy silliness, the Reader/Tav is a small woman, Gale the heated! Weighted! blanket, mentions of the party teasing Reader/Tav, human! Reader/Tav, brief mention of Gale getting jealous, typos, I think that’s it?

A/n: Inspired by arcanearcherayz’s post

“Are you sure about this? You are rather tiny, sweetheart.”

Gale questioned from above you, his hands on either side of your head. His knees between your legs, caging you underneath him on the inn bed. His eyes on York face taking in your expression; your cheeks flushed ever so slightly, a goofy smile on your face as you gazed up at him with adoring eyes. He wasn’t an only large man like Halsin, but he considered himself a big man. At least compared to you, he felt like a large man. The wizard remembered all the times the other party members teased you about your small size; Halsin would tease you about you must have a halfling somewhere in your family tree. Lae’zel would comment about how your petite frame isn’t helpful in battle. Karlach would just toss you over her should and carry you everywhere, laughing fondly about how tiny you were. Astarion would make snarky comments about how you were merely a small snack to him, much to Gale’s jealous.

“I’m sure.”

You started between giggles, which seemed to pull Gale out of his thoughts. He smiled at you, a loving look formed in his half lidded eyes. Your laugh and giggles was the most beautiful sound he ever heard. He slightly lowered himself down onto his forearms, his body just a few inches above yours.

“I can’t explain it, I just like being squished by you.”

You finished with a shrug, making Gale chuckle and shake his head. His dark hair falling to curtain both your faces, as slowly lowered his body onto yours. Torsos pressed together as you wrapped your arms and legs sound him, keeping your wizard close to you. Gale nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling the musk he absolutely loved.

His full body weight settled against you, causing you to let out a hum of approval. Gale was so warm, something that has always helped lull you to sleep in the past. You hide your face into his shoulder, letting your eyes close as you squeezed him a bit, earning a grunt from your lover. You were well aware of the size difference between you and Gale, especially when he laid himself over you. You practically disappeared under him! The only proof you were there is your arms looped around his back, and your legs wrapped around his hips.

Unfortunately the moment was cut short by a knock at your inn door, Gale lifted his head and glared at the piece of wood. He tried to rise to go answer, but you held onto him like a small monkey, tugging him back down to lay on you.

“Hmmpfh! my love, somebody’s at the door-“

The wizard started, trying to act stern and failing miserably. A smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he kissed your cheek and temple as settled back against you. Knowing full well he wasn’t going to win this.

“They can come back later. You are all mine, magic man!”

Gale let out a bark of laughter, as he began to try an untangle himself from your limbs. Which was merely an act, as he seemed to enjoy wrestling with you a little bit.

“How are you this strong!? You are half my size! Unhanded me monkey!”

Your shared laughter could be heard through the door, causing the vampire to roll his red eyes. Astarion simply turned away, walking back the way he came with fake gagging sounds. True love could be too silly and mushy for his liking, but in truth he was secretly happy for you both.

[sttoru]

𝝑𝑒 SYNOPSIS. sukuna is shameless—not caring if anyone were to ever catch him righteously claiming ownership over his favorite concubine in the garden.

wc. 1.5k-ish

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. smut, pwp. exhibitionism. size difference. dumbification \\ objectification. has two c.ocks. hair pulling. use of spit (yeah ik i wouldnt write for it but its sukuna). breeding themes. overstimulation. reader gets called ‘little girl, slut’. sukuna’s a menace and loves to create drama between his concubines

“shut up. i don’t care if they’re here or not,” sukuna grunts, tightening his grip on your fleshy thighs as his lower cock slams in and out your sloppy cunt without much thought. the sound of pruning shears cutting off branches is easily overwhelmed by the lewd noises of skin slapping against skin.

you feel sorry for those servants who’re just doing their job tending to the garden. none of them dare to look your way. they’re sweating, eyes solely focused on the branches they’re cutting, acting like they are not hearing the sinful moans and grunts in the distance. if they look, they’re dead. that much is known.

everything is blurry to you. all you can manage to do is let out a string of pleasure filled whines. your body is easily overpowered and held up against the harsh wood of the nearby wall. your thighs are spread in an awfully painful way, your knees up to your chest. quite literally folded in half.

“i said eyes on me, y’ fuckin’ slut,” sukuna barks. he does not have the patience today. you breaking the intense eye contact with him only worsens his mood. one of his veiny hands tug at your hair. the others hold you up—not allowing you to even think of getting back on your feet until your tight cunt is done milking him for what he’s worth.

you gasp and sukuna takes the chance to grab your jaw with yet another free hand. “open y’r mouth,” his hips do not still for even a second. they roll and ground against yours, the surrounding skin near his pelvis stained with your wet juices. he could smell it. just as nasty and dirty as he wants it to be.

you part your lips and keep them like that, not wanting to piss sukuna off even more. he grins at the sight of your red tongue instinctively rolling out like the obedient little girl you are. he spits right into your mouth, “swallow.”

you do so without second thought. the warm liquid trickles down your throat. sukuna watches in satisfaction, drilling into you until your insides are complete mush. you’re drooling over yourself already—clearly having lost control over your rationality.

you sniffle and try to hold onto sukuna’s biceps. your small fingers curl around the shape of them, nails digging into his flesh. every time you think sukuna’s finally letting up, he only increases his inhuman pace. “my l-lord, ‘s too much,” you cry out. your body could only handle so much pleasure before it’d break down. your pussy is convulsing around his girthy cock, feeling his other sliding back and forth over your sensitive clit.

the king of curses shuts you up with a hiss. his bottom set of eyes is focused on the impressive scene of your tiny pussy swallowing his cock so easily. he’s feeling proud of the fact that he’s molded you into the perfect concubine for him and his carnal pleasure.

sukuna has fucked you silly enough times to know how to get you under his spell. his fingers brush over your hard nipples, grabbing the squishy flesh of your tits as they bounce with each of his thrusts. he leans his head down towards yours. his rough, raspy voice makes your body heat up, “no, no. it’s never too much for my little girl, right? she can easily take ‘nother load f’me.”

your breath hitches and sukuna realises it worked. he knows just what to say to manipulate you into giving in. so he can fuck you senseless for how long he wants. you’re a sucker for the fact that he calls you his. that’s what you are—you’re his woman. only his and no one else’s. the claim of ownership makes your pussy clench.

“y-yes, my lord. i can take another, i can,” you breathe out, head swaying from side to side, not mentally able anymore to keep up with sukuna’s intense libido. yet, your body is still active, squeezing around sukuna’s dick as he promised you more of his precious cum.

the king of curses snickers, amused by just how fast you gave in. “that’s what i thought, hah,” he’s realised that his hold on you knows no bounds. you’re his little toy. the only one he wants to ravish these days. and the only one worth of carrying his seed.

you’re still thinking about the way he’s called you ‘his little girl’. it’s driving you closer to the edge. you start to get louder, completely ignoring your inner thoughts that begged you to have some decorum; to try and hide the fact that you’re getting slutted out in the courtyard.

there’s not much hiding it anyway since the servants have a clear understanding of what’s going on behind them. “mghh, please—please need more!” you mewl and sukuna listens. his red eyes darken with desire as you get into it. he loves to experience that lust driven side of yours. a complete opposite to your usual formal and shy self.

“louder, c’mon. let them know i’m fucking you good,” sukuna sneers, enjoying the mind games he is playing with you. you’re too cockdrunk to even notice. the them in his sentence refers to his other concubines. he knows that you’re secretly craving to get revenge on them and show them just how well you get dicked down by him every single day.

unlike them, who rarely get graced by his touch. that is, when you’re unavailable.

you do as told and increase the volume of your erotic moans, letting everyone around the estate know what you’re getting up to. not like anyone could interfere. sukuna wouldn’t dare let them live a second after.

“that’s it, yeah,” the sorcerer grunts and rams his length repeatedly into you, cursing at the way you’re gripping him so tightly. you’re so dripping wet that he slips out of you for a second. he moves his hips, angling them better to slam back inside of you.

however, you’re one step ahead. your shaky hand reaches down between your legs and you quickly guide his tip to your entrance, urging him to push between your moist folds again. “nasty fuckin’ girl,” sukuna scoffs at your desperation, though secretly thrives off it. he switches cocks and shoves the upper one into your cunt.

you gasp. you’re so used to him to the point that you could sense the difference between his dicks. the upper one has more veins and is a tad bit girthier. you hiccup and nearly choke on your own moans and spit from the change of pace and dicks. “ngh, ‘tis so deep, my lord—” you whine loudly and your hands move to hold your breasts, stopping them from painfully jiggling around in every direction.

sukuna hums in content as he continues his rough thrusts. he can feel his balls twitch and clench, ready to shoot his sperm all up in your womb like you deserve. though, he doesn’t want to end this moment too quickly. he wants to extend it.

“c’mere,” sukuna grumbles and stops pounding your poor, aching cunt. he stills his dick inside you and allows you to cling onto his tall stature, lifting you away from the wall. he silently urges you to wrap your legs around his waist so he could carry you.

the robes of your kimono get left behind on the patch of grass near the wall of the main house. there’s a few droplets of white liquid that’s stained the grass, right where sukuna and you were standing at seconds ago.

you don’t think about anything anymore as you babble about how full you felt with his cock all the way in you. the fat tip brushes against your cervix with each step sukuna takes towards his next destination.

“keep talkin’ to me, doll. tell me how good it feels to take my cock,” he grins smugly as he carries your little body like a trophy into the main building—not paying mind to any maids who he passes by. they’re shocked by the sight of their lady in such a state, though are only able to bow at the two of you.

sukuna finally stops in front of the dinner table. the same table you always have dinner at with him and his other women. he places your back against the surface, big hands holding you down by your hips. “there we go,” he coos mockingly, seeing how you’re completely fucked out, yet still needing more of him.

the king of curses has his own twisted reasons of bringing you here. looking outside of the window, you notice how the sun is starting to set. that’s also the moment you realise his hidden motive.

the other concubines will sooner or later gather at the dining hall to eat supper. they’d expect a peaceful meal, though instead, they’ll be greeted by the sight of their dear lord screwing his favorite. it’ll be a painful blow to them.

which is exactly what the ruthless man wants to achieve.

sukuna licks his lips and all of his eyes focus on you solely, “gonna enjoy my dinner a bit earlier t’day, yeah?”

CR. STTORU 2024

[mothercain]

The Consequence of Audience

As I went there through the long, long wood, I felt no-thing and I was no-thing and I was at ease. The grey ash trees and their mottled plumage were as one with each other, curving and branching to form a ceiling overhead. There was wide separation between trunks, creating vast corridors stretching off in all directions before me, behind me, all around me. O, what praise I could sing of that never-ending dusk fall I spent between those oaks! None came with me, none came upon me, for I was alone and I was at ease. Yet came the day the trees broke, the corridor ended, and I was thrust upon the rocky expanse that was the Great Dark. There I saw first face and heard footstep, few and far between, but I was no longer alone. It was a shameful deed to carry these two naked hands as they clenched hotly, now in full display for all to see. I had never noticed them in the wood, for I was at ease. Here, the taut skin seemed to stretch and sweat, almost glowing, as if exasperated of their own grip. For as I wandered the Great Dark, there was not but grey, barren rock as far as any eye could see. It did make a passerby out of an observer. I saw them trudge by, fingers dipped into their open mouths desperate for wetness, the lolled tongue. There, in the wood, I was the watcher, but here I am nothing but displacing air. Yet, within the smothering toil of my apathy, I had heard the bell. Murmur of God between their slick, bent fingers ruffled the hair on the back of my neck. My muscles groaned against the weight of the skin around them, aching to be set loose. All at once, I saw, from where I stood, there rose a great dome atop a hill on the horizon before me. Yes, I saw it there with mine own two eyes! The white exterior peered at me with flat orifices obscured through the mist, barely distinguishable from the dark sky behind it, as though all the world beyond the dome was cut from the same slab, only slightly effaced. The convex roof sat atop a disk, held up by great ionic pillars circling the temple. Steps radiated out and down the slope, like ripples in a pond escaping a dropped stone. It was greater than life, greater than the wood, greater than all else which filled this dark, and my gullible delight was that it was all mine. Yes, all mine! One could follow me to it but they could not follow me in. My hands stretched outwards with an audible cracking in the bone as I crept forward there. I could not tell you the rest. I would not even attempt, for it would change no-thing. To know if I did go completely naked into the theater of the divine. If I did need for no-thing, want for no-thing. If I was then full to the brim, cylindrical pull slid through my gaping jaw into my endless throat. If I saw it there, shimmering through the veil like pearlescent oil over crystal water. If it heard me singing with every atom that formed me, through every orifice and wound I had, polytonal in my begging for it to complete me with the fifth. If it looked into me, saw how I needed to know what God knows and to be with him. If it spoke back to me in flat dissonance, “how couldn’t ye?” It would be of no good to speak these things to you. In what way I was still returned to the ground, even if beneath it, intact with my puerile need to repeat my-self and my mistakes. Who would not climb the wall for a peer over the edge? The cautionary tale is the fool’s errand, and I am no fool. I am as my hands are; twisting in on themselves and bursting at the seams. I can-not contain the ache for sensation, just as I could not contain the grief as I fell, nor the agony as I crawled my way back to this rocky countryside, and lo! I am on my way there again now. I am, I am, I am! But I will not tell you the visceral details, as you already know them. You all do.

It’s happening to every-body.

[bunnis-monsters]

A bunny breeding his pup

Commissioned by @dumbdoggygirl

Bunny Hybrid x Puppy Hybrid!Reader

warnings: breeding, knotting, pregnancy sex, pheromones, lactation, cervix kiss

summary: Bunny hybrid Momo stands up to a wolf hybrid and walks you home. The two of you become friends then start dating, but when you go into heat you’re afraid he might not be able to keep up with your puppy hybrid stamina. Little did you know, the saying “breeding like rabbits” was very accurate…

Word count: 5k words

You have had trouble trusting people lately. Male hybrids only wanted one thing, and that was mating.

The thought was always in the back of your mind when you went out into town or wandered back home a bit too late at night. If you didn’t keep yourself safe, no one would.

This was all before you met him.

It had been a long day, and all you wanted was to pick up something sweet before going home to your little cottage in the woods. It was always a bit scary coming home from work, especially when the moon wasn’t able to guide your way due to the fluffy clouds blocking it.

You were planning on plopping down on your soft, warm bed and passing out as soon as you walked in your door… but fate had something else in mind.

“Hey, pretty girl!”

An annoyed sigh left your lips as you turned to look to your left. There was a wolf hybrid approaching, his shoulders relaxed and his stride confident.

“You look like you’d appreciate someone walking you home. There’s a lotta bad guys out here, you know?”

His arm wrapped around your shoulder roughly, causing you to stumble forward before you steadied yourself.

You, politely as you could manage, pushed his arm off of your shoulder, trying to give him a smile. “Ahh, I’m okay, but thanks.”

When he kept following you, your heart began to race. You could feel his eyes on you, and knew he saw you as something to prey on, a slab of meat to a hungry predator.

“Come on, pup. You’re gonna turn down a nice guy trying to help you out. Don’t be a bitch…”

He attempted to reach for your wrist, but you wrenched it away. “I said I’m okay… please, just leave me alone…”

This only seemed to anger him, the wolf puffing out his chest as his ears pinned back. A low growl could be heard as he advanced on you.

“Leave you alone? I-“

Before he could speak any further, a figure rushed between the two of you, standing with his back to the wolf.

“Hey, sweetheart. I saw that you weren’t home yet and came to meet you halfway. All our friends are waiting for us, I said we’d be back in five minutes.”

The person in front of you was a bunny hybrid with soft, curly hair and fluffy bunny ears atop his head. He gave you a sweet smile as if he had known you his entire life and looped his arm with yours.

“Ahh, do you know this man?” the bunny hybrid asked, his eyes cutting to the wolf hybrid, his yellow orbs losing all the warmth they had when he looked at you.

The wolf spluttered, holding up his hands, obviously turned off when he heard there were people looking for you. “W-was just gonna walk her home. Never mind…”

The bunny hybrid stayed by your side, his eyes never leaving the wolf as he scurried away.

“Damn wolf hybrids think that they can scare people like that, but the second they know they could be caught they run off!”

The bunny’s foot thumped against the ground rapidly, indicating he was pissed at the situation. You smiled, reaching out to tug on his sleeve.

“Thank you for that. Most hybrids would be too scared to stand up to a wolf like you did.”

He turned back to look at you, a smile stretching across his face. When you really looked at him, your first thought was that he looked… really cute.

“No problem. Are you alright?”

His cotton tail twitched as your puppy tail perked up. “Yes, I’m okay. Just…”

You winced, and he noticed your wrist that had been grabbed was a bit swollen.

“Ahh, that asshole… if you put some ice on it when you get home, that should help with the swelling and hopefully prevent a bruise from forming.”

The bunny tilted his head as your ears lowered, your tail wagging a bit. “Can I… ask your name?”

His ears flicked as he nodded rapidly. “Yes, I’m Momo. And you?”

You smiled, offering a hand. “I’m (Name), nice to meet you.”

Momo ended up walking you home, making sure that he kept you safe from anything that dared to come close. For a bunny hybrid, he was quite tough.

And as far as males went, he was the sweetest thing you’d ever encountered. To no one’s surprise, you were quick to exchange numbers with him.

The two of you became friends rather quickly. It wasn’t until long that you found out Momo was single, just like you. He was so soft and sweet, and every morning you received a text asking how you were doing and if he could come over when you weren’t busy.

It made your heart beat faster, a fuzzy feeling taking over your body that made your tail wag uncontrollably…

Was this… what having a crush was like?

You met up with him one afternoon, wearing your favorite dress, one he had said made your eyes sparkle. Momo always knew how to make you feel shy and flattered.

“Hey, pretty pup!”

You turned at the sound of his voice, your tail wagging as soon as you caught a whiff of his scent. His own cotton tail twitched, a smile lighting up his face.

“Hi, Momo. What did you want to talk about?”

The bunny had called you a few hours ago, asking for a last minute meeting at a cafe. This was strange to you, he usually asked to come to your home or his to spend time together. You had only known him for a few months now, but you felt like you knew him enough to tell something was different about this.

Momo scratched the back of his head, his fluffy bunny ears twitching. “Well… I thought a public place would be better for the question I want to ask.”

Your curiosity was piqued, and it was obvious by the way your tail picked up speed that you were excited. “Well come on, let’s order some coffee and talk!”

After settling into a booth and some small talk, Momo suddenly became very serious, looking at you fondly.

“I’ve… really enjoyed all the time we’ve spent together.”

Your cheeks heated up, and you found yourself fidgeting with your skirt. “I have too. It’s really been the best part of my day when you call me.”

His bunny ears twitched, his hand reaching out to hold yours.

“Will… you be my girlfriend?”

Your eyes widened with surprise, your heart thundering inside of your chest as your tail wagged furiously behind you. It was obvious how you felt just by the way your tail thumped against the booth behind you.

“Y-yes!”

The two of you shared bashful smiles, and he nuzzled his nose against yours. The rest of the date was filled with giddy giggles and yummy snacks, and by the end he was ready to take you home.

For the next few months, the two of you fell in love, unable to stay apart from each other for long. He visited you often, his soft bunny ears making him easy to spot in crowds when meeting up together.

It didn’t take long for you two to kiss for the first time. It was on your third date, and seeing his cute cotton tail twitch when your lips met was the cutest thing you had ever seen.

The first bit of intimacy the two of you shared was while the two of you watched a movie together at your apartment. It was a sappy romcom, and he was feeling a bit bored… so his hand trailed down your thigh, playing with the fabric of your sleep shorts.

“Mmm, you keep watching the movie, princess…”

Your puppy tail wagged a bit as he moved to kneel in front of you, his soft nose nuzzling against your thigh. He looked up at you for permission, his teeth nibbling on your soft flesh.

This was the first time a male had ever been so close to you, but you nodded, trying to pay attention to the movie while he kissed your pussy through your panties.

It wasn’t long before you were soaking through the thin fabric, unable to concentrate on the movie anymore. The lewd sounds of him lapping up your slick and sucking on your clit through your panties was too loud, making your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“P-Please, Momo… more, I need it…”

He tilted his head, looking up at you through his soft lashes. “More..? Okay, puppy…”

Momo pushed your panties to the side, giving your bare pussy a sniff before burying his face between your thighs.

You let out a muffled moan, covering your mouth as he latched onto your clit, sucking and keeping your thighs apart so he could taste your sweet juices.

The way he looked up at you with those sweet golden, yellow eyes of his with such lust and adoration had you cumming within seconds.

He stayed between your head like that for at least 30 minutes, bringing you to orgasm several times before you were too blissed out to even think.

Momo smiled, his cotton tail wagging as he crawled onto the couch, pulling the blanket over the two of you and pulling you to his chest.

“Goodnight, puppy…”

——————————

You felt embarrassed, almost… shy. Your heat cycle was coming, and you had a date with Momo. It was going to be your 6 month anniversary, and you really didn’t want to miss it!

But…

Although Momo had saved you and was so sweet to you, there was always a voice in the back of your head saying he would never be able to handle your heat. He was just a bunny hybrid, and you were a puppy.

It made you sad, really… would you have to break up with him one day and be with someone with a similar heat cycle to you? Maybe a wolf or puppy hybrid…

As the date approached, you told yourself that you would just go… but when it was finally time to get dressed, your heat hit you like a tsunami.

You writhed on the bed, fingers doing nothing to ease the ache in your cunt. It took everything you had to text Momo that you couldn’t come. You didn’t bother to read his reply, just turning onto your belly, lifting your hips to try and shove your fingers deeper inside.

It felt like you could just burn alive, a pit in the bottom of your belly forming. It had never been so intense before, all you wanted to do was scream! Maybe your body was reacting to Momo’s scent. It was all over your apartment after all, and you buried your face into a hoodie he left behind, whimpering in absolute agony.

Your heats had never been easy, but in the past at least you had been able to deal with them without too much struggle. Now it felt impossible, you couldn’t even orgasm by yourself!

As you began to cry into his hoodie, you thought you could almost hear his voice. Your mind was a bit hazy from your heat… but it felt comforting.

You wish you would have just asked him to come over… now you were too weak to do anything besides sniffle and cry into his hoodie.

“Puppy!”

The sound of Momo’s voice became much clearer. Your puppy ear twitched, and you picked up his scent in the air. That wasn’t just some of his lingering musk…

“Puppy, I’m here! Please, let me in. I n-need you!”

You could only whimper, blabbering out a reply through your tears. “C-can’t! Can’t get up!”

It was silent for a moment, but then there was a loud BANG!

You looked on in shock to see the door beginning to splinter. Momo was breaking it down!

Momo wasn’t weak, but you had never thought he was capable of such feats of strength! Even the wolf hybrids you met in college wouldn’t be able to do that…

He kicked through, his leg breaking through the wood. He used the hole to reach his hand in and unlock the door. As soon as Momo was in, his eyes scanned the room for you.

“Baby…”

He walked over, dropping down to his knees by your bedside. His eyes scanned over your form, and you noticed how hazy those golden orbs of his were as he sniffed the air.

“You’re in heat… why didn’t you tell me?”

You struggled to speak, your pussy clenching around nothing as he stared down at you. The way he was looking at you… was he..?

“I w-was… embarrassed… and I didn’t want you to know. You’ve probably never been with a puppy hybrid before, you don’t understand how intense our heats are…”

You had heard tales from friends and family about how smaller hybrids would try and take on canines, seeing it as a challenge. They assumed they could take it, and would come out with good offspring because of the strong wombs of their mates.

But most failed to properly satisfy their mates, ending in unhappy partnerships and tears. You had been hoping to marry Momo, but you were afraid he may also be chasing some tail…

He was kind, you really liked him… but could he handle you like this? You were so desperate, you wanted to pounce and use him until his body broke! It was scary… you were losing the little control you had over your body!

Before you could speak again, you helped, feeling him pin you down with strength you would have never expected from such a small hybrid. He leaned over you, his face flushed but his eyes sharp.

“Oh, my sweet pup…”

He cooed, his pants stretching painfully over his aching cock. Precum leaked down his leg, his red cock barely contained by his pants.

“You’ve never been with a bunny hybrid, have you?”

Your eyes widened, and you were silenced when his mouth landed on yours. It was an instant connection, your tail wagging furiously as his tongue tangled around yours.

Though your cunt pulsed and ached with need and lust, your heart was soaring with love. His lips on yours always made you happy, but now you could almost feel his love and desire from you just from this kiss alone.

“Y-you’re… in rut?”

You gasped this out when he broke away, finally able to pick up his scent over your own heavy pheromones. Momo smiled, nuzzling his forehead against yours. “Yes… I am. I was hoping to spend it with you… if that’s alright.”

Your ears lowered and you tucked your puppy tail between your legs, considering his suggestion. Part of you wanted to say no, fearful that you may hurt him. You loved Momo after all, and would rather have an agonizingly painful heat cycle than lose him.

But the other part of you needed him. You could already feel his clothed cock rubbing against your fat cunt, begging to breed and mate with you. Your heat riddled mind was begging for you to say yes and mate, to be filled with cum and covered in his marks!

“Please…”

You looked up at him with hazy, teary eyes, playing with your own pussy to try and ease the searing heat in your loins. The only thing on your mind now was being bred by your lover and your belly swelling with his young. It’s all you could ever want or need.

Momo panted, his bunny ears twitching as he tugged his pants down, his fat red cock resting on your belly. He was much bigger than you expected, and your pussy yet again clenched around nothing while you imagined him inside of you.

“Gonna be inside my puppy…”

He prodded at your cunt, rubbing his precum and your slick together before pressing in. Momo hissed at how tight you were, his soft pink nose twitching as your sweet, warm pussy envelopes around him.

It was like heaven, being inside of you. Nothing could have prepared him for the utter bliss of mounting his pretty little puppy and taking your for his own.

Without much thought, be bit down on your neck and shoulders, his hips rutting into yours. You were so wet, so needy for him that he started thrusting right away. The sounds that came from your love making was lewd, loud squelching and moans filling the air.

Before long you were cumming, your cunt squeezing and milking his cock, but even as he filled you up with his seed, he didn’t stop.

After a few rounds you began to get tired, happy that he was able to last…

But Momo was far from finished.

You whined softly as he lifted your leg, continuing to fuck into your fat, warm cunt as his fingers played with your clit. Your neck was covered in hickeys, your chubby tummy protruding with his cum…

“M-Momo…”

You whimpered, your pussy swollen from abuse, but your lover only kissed along your neck, placing you on your tummy before climbing back up to mount you.

“Shh, puppy… not even close to being done…”

You yelped as he held onto your arms for leverage, his cock kissing your cervix as he fucked you deep. Your own fingers could never reach that far, and you knew Momo was trying to get you pregnant!

The only thing on his mind right now was his vision of you in a few months. You’d be waddling around, your breasts heavy with milk and belly swollen with his babies. Even since he laid eyes on you, he knew that he would be the one to breed you, to lay claim to your womb. You were his, and he’d make sure everyone in the world knew this fact.

He grabbed your tail, holding onto it as he knotted your sweet, warm pussy. You were just too cute, crying and overstimulated. Momo couldn’t wait to make you cum so much you couldn’t even think anymore!

Even after his knot swelled up inside of you, his hips continued to stutter and plap against your fat ass. He just couldn’t help it, you felt too good and he wanted to fuck you on his knot!

Your body felt so warm and exhausted, you could barely manage to lift your fluffy tail to give him access to your abused cunt so he could continue to pump you full of his cum.

Momo was too far into his rut to notice your exhaustion. His body was reacting to your pheromones and he was driven by pure instinct to knock you up.

He bit down on your neck, holding onto your hips as his knot deflated. The second he was able to properly fuck you again, Momo slammed his cock into you, kissing your cervix.

The night of mating was filled with tears, whines, and so, so much cum. You had never as tired as you were the next morning, your body covered in love bites and stuffed full of cum.

Momo was already awake, his cotton tail wagging as he played with your soft puppy ears. “Good morning, princess…”

He looked down at you, his cheeks pink and his eyes darting from your face to the side then back to you. With the way he had fucked you until you saw stars and cried, he was a bit embarrassed with how fat he had gone.

The bunny could remember knotting you several times, just to continue fucking you the second it deflated enough so he could move.

You whined as you turned to snuggle into your mate, burying your face into his neck. “Mmph… you really wanna give me a litter?”

His heart thumped against his chest so hard you were sure you could feel it. “Yes… I… I love you, (Name). I want to be with you, and make you a mother…”

You touched your nose to his, both of you letting off soft purrs and happy sounds as you spent the morning tangled together in an intimate embrace.

From a young age you had been taught that bunny hybrids were quite fertile. Even when mating with other species, it was almost guaranteed that with just one sexual encounter, pregnancy would be in your future.

And that information had been completely correct.

Momo was absolutely thrilled when he began smelling pregnancy hormones on you, and from then on he became insanely protective and touchy.

Watching your belly begin to grow made him… feel many things. It was physical evidence of the love you two shared, the intimacy and touch that created life within his beloved mate.

As your pregnancy progressed, he caught himself getting hard and horny every time he watched you go up a size in your pants or shirts, or when you had to stop wearing bras because your tits were too heavy and full of milk.

Getting to witness you in the morning when you leaked through your shirt and seeing your cute flustered face as he lifted the soiled fabric and lapped at your darkened nipples… it was pure bliss for him.

Sucking and nipping softly at your sensitive buds allowed the milk to flow, filling his mouth with that tasty, creamy liquid he had come to crave.

Momo could feel his cock hardening, and he felt almost shy. Just as your own body had been becoming sensitive and needy through your pregnancy, his was responding to yours.

When you whined and tugged at his pants, he sighed. “Puppy, I’m not sure if it’s safe for us to mate when you’re this far along… your belly is heavy and swollen, I don’t wanna hurt our kits…”

You pouted at him, puffing out your chubby cheeks at his hesitation. While he was so close, you could feel your body aching to mate with him. Momo’s scent made you feel so hot and bothered, if he didn’t fuck you soon you’d go crazy!

That’s when an idea came to your mind. Momo wasn’t exactly hard to seduce. In fact, he was usually more horny than you most days, much needier as well. If you played your cards right, he might not be able to help himself.

“Baby…”

You opened your legs a little, letting him get a whiff of your arousal. The mix of that and your pregnancy pheromones made his body tremble.

“Yes, my love..?”

You leaned forward, pouting as you nuzzled your face into his neck, rubbing your scent on him. “Can you please take care of me? I need you…”

That was his tipping point. How in the hell was he supposed to just sit by when his beloved mate was desperate for release?

‘Just have to be gentle…’ he thought as he lowered you onto the bed and rubbed his throbbing bulge against your clothed cunt.

The feeling of your soaked panties pressing against his hard on was enough to make him hiss out in a mix of pleasure and need. Momo wanted to be inside of his mate more than anything.

“Momo… please!”

You struggled to move your hips against his with your baby bump in the way. His hand settled over your swollen belly, keeping you in place. It made his heart and sick throb thinking about how he had put kits into that round belly of yours.

“Don’t worry, puppy. I’m gonna take care of you, I promise…”

He pulled your panties off before lifting your shirt, his eyes on those perky, darkened nipples of yours. Once you were bare, his hands explored your body in a reverent way.

The changes you were going through were because of him. He had bred his sweet pup, leaving you pregnant and heavy with his kits.

“You’re beautiful…”

His fat cock rubbed against your clit, and he lined up his lips with your nipple. Milk was already beading at your perky bud. Your breasts were heavy and swollen, something you had been complaining about earlier.

Momo was going to kill two birds with one stone. He would satisfy you sexually and milk your fat tits.

His cock pressed into you, almost agonizingly slow. Momo was being as gentle as possible, sinking into his gravid little mate while his tongue lapped up the milk bearding to the surface of your nipple.

“So good… like honey…”

You arched your back, whining and struggling to take his cock while you were so heavily pregnant. You felt stuffed full… in the best way.

“M-Momo… faster…”

His bunny ears flicked, his eyes half lidded as he struggled to keep himself from pounding you into the mattress.

Your puppy cunt was just so tight and you were begging for him… Momo wanted to go faster, to feel your spongy walls tighten around his knot.

But he continued to fuck you at an agonizing pace, making your puppy tail wag. He loves you so much, he didn’t want to hurt his precious mate!

It was when your milk spurted into his mouth when he hit that special spot that he lost a bit of control. His cotton tail began to wag with yours as his thrusts sped up, his hips rutting against you.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

You let out a whine as Momo lifted your leg, pressing it against your pregnant belly so he fuck you deeper. Every time his cock hit your g-spot your milk spurted out again. His hand squeezed and teased your other breast.

The sight of your milk spraying out of your nipple in little streams made him go crazy. He began fucking you like an animal, his mind gone. All that he could think was that he wanted to breed you, to stuff you full of his cum again.

He couldn’t remember you were already pregnant, he was trying to knock you up again!

“Momo, g-gonna-!”

Your puppy cunt clenched around him, causing Momo to grunt and grab hold of your fat hips. He was frustrated, it was already hard enough to fuck you with your pregnant belly in the way, now you were clenching around him and preventing him from being able to move.

Suddenly you were on your side, a pillow propping up your belly as your mate crawled behind you. His arm snakes under your side, grabbing onto your fat tit and groping it as his cock sunk into your again.

“F-fuck, you’re perfect…”

He lifted your leg, now able to fuck into you as deep as he wanted, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix.

Now he could properly please his mate and satisfy his need to breed you and unleash his seed into your womb.

Momo nipped at your neck, your tail brushing against his chest as he milked you. You felt sticky and warm, milk running down your chest and pregnant belly.

He could feel his knot beginning to swell, he was going to cum soon!

“Puppy… fuck, I love you so much…”

The feeling of your fat pussy being stretched so his knot could fit had you cumming again, and his cum spurted into your puppy cunt.

The two of you were left a panting mess, tails wagging and ears twitching as you came down from your respective highs.

Momo looked at his mate, his cheeks red and heart full of love. You looked beautiful like this, flushed from sex and pregnant with his kits.

He kissed the top of your head, nuzzling his face against your hair as the two of you waited for his knot to deflate.

“Did I satisfy you, pup? Seems like you’re pretty happy to me…”

You smiled, your body heavy with exhaustion. It took great effort to lift your arm and cup his cheek.

“You always do… my mate always takes care of me.”

You both shared a kiss, tails wagging in sync.

Two months later, Momo held your hand as you gave birth. It was a difficult process, but in the end you were able to give birth to 5 happy babies. Some had fluffy little bunny ears and cotton tails like their father, while others looked like you.

“Mmm, it seems like they like you.”

You smiled, watching as your mate helped you hold onto your little ones. He was easily able to soothe them as they fussed, it was clear they already knew who their father was.

Momo sat at your bedside, his cotton tail wagging excitedly while he watched you breastfeed the kits ans pups for the first time.

“They’re hungry little things…”

His mouth was watering, and once all of them were fed, you lifted your shirt up and smiled. “C’mon, it’s Papa’s turn.”

He nearly knocked over his chair rushing to join you in the hospital bed, making sure to keep his weight off of you as he settled and latched onto your breast.

Momo looked up at you with those golden eyes, and you gently scratched behind his fluffy ears. “Mmm, my big baby.”

He yelped and turned red when you slipped your hand into his pants, jerking him off. You knew that he got hard while drinking your milk, and you just loved toying with your cute mate.

“P-puppy, what if the nurse comes in-“

You continued you pump his cock, making him moan against your breast. “Shh… just lemme make you feel good…”

He stared up at you, nipping on your perky bud. “I’m going to get you back your this, pup.”

“Mmm, I know…”

It didn’t take much to make him knot your hand, his hips bucking as he groaned, cum staining his pants. “Maybe I wanna rile you up for later…”

Momo gave you a lazy smile, his eyes hazy from pleasure. “Someone wants me to knock her up again…”

“As soon as I’m recovered… I’m all yours. Promise you’ll take care of me during my next heat?”

“And every single one after that. We’re bonded, pup. I’m yours… forever.”

[ceilidho]

sundog

prompt: Simon comes across a girl when she's recently been evicted and takes her back to his place, despite her reservations (nsfw, 8.5k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

-

The circumstances of your life change so abruptly that you lose sight of it for a moment. 

Then, you’re out on the streets with the clothes on your back and a suitcase packed so full that a sweater sleeve sticks out where the zippers meet. The locks to your apartment have already been changed. You know because you tried them anyway, desperately hoping that the eviction notice taped to your door might have been misplaced.

Evidently not. The keys don’t work. You contemplate chucking them on the walk out, but instead you keep them close like a talisman of protection, though it’s failed to live up to its purpose so far. 

You’ve got it under control for a day. If by ‘under control’, you mean experiencing a full body panic attack in the locker room of the twenty-four hour gym down the street from your old apartment. The staff gives you uncomfortable looks when you come in on the verge of tears with your suitcase rolling behind you, but they let you in because your membership is up to date. If you can count on anything in life, it’s consumerism. 

That doesn’t last long though, mainly because a locker and a wood bench won’t cut it in the long term. You sleep in the back of the local library until a stern-faced, if pitying, librarian threatens to call the cops on you. Pity isn’t sympathy, evidently. 

Gym management threatens to cut the lock on the locker you’ve been using as temporary storage space. Matter of fact, they say, you can’t be using the locker room as your quasi apartment between the hours of nine P.M. and seven A.M. just because everything else in the city is closed. Go home, they say. 

What home, you don’t say, before packing up your things and heading out on your way. 

If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s capitalism. 

You didn’t think this kind of thing could happen to someone like you. Someone like you being an ordinary person. Homelessness always felt like a far away concept. But the world is cruel and life is brutal. What you didn’t realize before was that, at any moment in time, you’ve been closer to poverty than wealth, and here you are now, sitting in the park with your suitcase between your legs, the sun rapidly setting behind you, your phone at ten percent battery, and nowhere to go because your family is, frankly, nonexistent, and your friends, for lack of a better word, have almost entirely washed their hands of you.

Sorry, they’d say, the frown emoji expressing something like pity at a distance. We don’t have a couch to spare. 

I can sleep on the floor, you’d texted back. They’d gotten cagey after that. People like to be wanted only to a certain extent.

You can feel the panic rise up in you, too big to contain. It comes out in the form of blubbering tears and snot running from your nose. Big, hiccuping sobs. It’s not pretty. Passersby avert their eyes for the most part, save for the ones that eye you with something bordering on perverse delight and that’s what finally makes you get up and speed walk away, lest they feel compelled to approach you. 

But even in the tailwinds of summer, it gets cold outside at night. Worst of all, as the evening grows dark, the streets empty out until you can’t help but feel like a beacon with your little rolling suitcase. It clatters against the sidewalk as you try to hoof it down the street, looking for any shop still open to loiter in. Most close after nine though. You’ve googled homeless shelters, but the sheer anxiety keeps you floundering around up and down the streets instead.

It feels beyond helpless. You’re in a state like you’ve never been before, crying under a streetlamp because you needed a moment just to get your bearings. 

What you know now is that this world is a house of false bottoms. You thought the circumstances of your life could never change. You were never well to do, but you were doing well. The sight of the unhoused sitting with their backs to the brick and mortar stores on your walk home or congregated in a park in the middle of the city with their tents and shopping carts used to fill you with immeasurable pity, maybe even a quiet moment’s reflection; now, you see them as kin. 

Easy, isn’t it? To slip between states. To go from solid to liquid to gaseous. Easier than you ever could have expected. 

When it starts to rain, you almost close your eyes in relief. Anyone could’ve predicted this. 

You almost don’t respond to him at first, keeping your eyes trained on the sidewalk to avoid any bumps. Also, it never pays to look up at a man barking at you, especially not when he’s barking something like, Girl or Bird, turn around. 

Then he says it again, closer this time, and you’re forced to look up, if only to see who’s approaching you. Your suspicion melts away to distrust at the sight of the man stalking towards you. Distrust with a touch of trepidation—maybe outright alarm. Surely no man his size wearing a balaclava tucked into a hoodie straining around his arms would have innocent designs on you. 

He’s one of the bigger men you’ve ever come across. You look across the street to see if there’s a bar missing its bouncer, but all the shop fronts are dark like the ones on your side. 

You don’t bolt at the sight of him, but it’s a near thing. He appears from nowhere, and yet there’s nowhere for him to hide. Not with the size and breadth of him damn near taking up the whole sidewalk. His demeanour and stride evoke such a sense of authority that at first you mistake him for a plainclothes man, and wouldn’t that be just the icing on the shit cake of a week you’ve been experiencing. But something about him says otherwise. 

“Plan on catchin’ your death out here?” he asks, and you shiver. Not from the cold, but from the sound of his voice. 

You’re not used to talking to strangers. A month ago, you would’ve ignored the man lambasting you for being out in the rain; maybe crossed the street and hailed a cab instead. You don’t have those kinds of options anymore. The only thing left in your repertoire is to shout back. 

“I’ve got mace!” you yell out, your voice a hoarse rattle carved out from hours spent crying. 

“That’ll do ya fuck all out here,” he says, a touch condescendingly. “You lost or somethin’?”

“I’m not lost,” you sniff, rubbing the snot away from your nose with the end of your sleeve.

“Then get home instead of roamin’ the streets. You’re askin’ to get snatched up, bird.”

The threat of that has been lingering in your head these past few days, even stretching back to the very first moment that you noticed the sign on your door, but now it has its intended effect. You shake. 

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Bloody hell,” he sighs. “Why the fuck not? Need someone to call you a cab?”

“I got evicted. I don’t have a home,” you say, and sniffle when your nose leaks again. Saying it outloud brings tears to your eyes again, a pressure building behind your orbital sockets and down to the tip of your nose. 

You must look like the saddest thing in the world standing there in the rain under the dim light of the streetlamp, the pole looped with graffiti and old gum. When the man berating you for being out in it takes a step forward, coming into the light, you can finally make out the bored depths of his eyes. A deep brown. Entirely unimpressed with the picture in front of him, maybe even a bit peeved. 

Your socks are wet and your shoes squelch when you take a step back. You pull the sheer sweater tighter around your frame, but it does nothing to protect you from the damp, frigid air. 

“You been out here long?” he asks, taking another step closer. Not tentatively either. His gaze sweeps over you proprietarily, taking stock; his arrogance comes as an afterthought. He’s not rubbing it in your face that he can do whatever he likes—he just does. 

You wheel your suitcase around in front of you to put something between the two of you. “…Just today. The gym kicked me out.”

You sound petulant, words chewed between your lips and teeth; begrudgingly admitting to the various pitfalls of your existence. All the bad luck. It’s shameful to admit to losing complete control of your life. 

“Haven’t ya got any family, girl? Friends? What’re they letting a girl like you stay out on the streets for?”

You could be sick on the pavement. “…That’s none of your business.”

His eyes go flat at that, unimpressed. “You always this nasty to people tryin’ to help?”

And you’re not. That’s the part that grates the most. You’re all soft underbelly; no bark, no bite. It’s inconceivable that this could’ve happened to you—inconceivable because your head is filled with false promises and mythologies. The myth of exceptionalism. This happens to other people. Not good girls that go to college and get their degrees and find a stable job. 

They’ve pulled the rug out from under you so fast that you haven’t even toppled over yet. That’s how quick it all happened. 

“What help are you?” The bite comes out of nowhere, fueled by bitter humiliation and resentment for the predicament you’ve found yourself in. “Are you gonna put me up in a hotel?”

“Think I’m made of money, bird?” he asks rhetorically. 

“You’ve probably got more than I have.” 

Now you’re weepy again at the thought. Down to your last hundred dollars and you’re in between jobs at the moment. It might’ve been easier to haul yourself out of poverty if applying for jobs didn’t require a mailing address. That’ll be your first priority once you find a place to live. But conversely, how are you meant to find housing with no proof of income? Landlords laugh in your face before slamming the door shut. The conversations are circular, but they always come to a grinding halt; that’s the only thing you’ve learned to expect. 

The worst part of this whole conversation is that it doesn’t follow any of the scripts you’ve previously memorized. When have you ever had to deal with a man interrogating you about your place of residence? It makes no sense. 

It’s inconceivable to imagine that this is happening to you, but it is. Life comes at you hard, with a razor’s edge. Sharp enough to cut, to lacerate. 

“You need a place to stay,” he states bluntly. 

“It’s fine. I’ll—I’ll find something.” 

“You could come home with me.” He says it so bluntly that for a moment all you can do is blink. Surely you misheard him. Surely a man of his size and breadth, dark mask obscuring his face, wouldn’t be daft enough to ask a woman he found on the street to come home with him.

The offer, as well-intentioned as you hope it is, puts you on edge. “No, that’s…that’s alright. I don’t want to…put you out. I was going to look up nearby shelters.”

“Shelters’ll all be full this time of night,” he says. “Never been on the streets?”

You clenched your teeth, nerves starting to get the better of you. 

“I can go to a church,” you say, voice terse now, frayed with nerves. 

He snorts. “Haven’t been to one in a long time, but pretty sure those close too, pet. It’s late.”

You sway on your feet, the suitcase at your side the only thing keeping your knees from buckling. Dead ends everywhere you turn. You’ve always thought of yourself as resourceful; that if push came to shove, you’d figure your way out of any sticky situation. That smacks of arrogance now. All your suppositions are dissolving right in front of you, your own self-image along with it. 

A heavy foot stepping into a puddle brings you back to focus. The masked man is closer now, within arm’s reach. Your heart jumps into your throat. He towers over you, monolith man; big as a sequoia, or other deadland creatures that vanish out of sight when you catch a shadow out of the corner of your eye and whirl around to look it dead on. 

“I can’t go home with a stranger.”

You know you’re not supposed to put your faith in strange men. Bad things happen to girls that go around trusting any man that offers up their help. 

The fist in your chest loosens infinitesimally when the man reaches up to pull the mask off his head. He’s every inch the brute you imagined in your head—blunt chin and crooked nose, a nasty scar running up his lip. There are scars all over his face, in fact—bisecting his left eyebrow and down his cheek. The blond hair on his head is slightly grown out, like he’s used to keeping it neat and tight but it’s been awhile since his head has seen a razor. His beard grows in a bit patchy, the burnish gold of a five o’clock shadow.

You frown. “Is that supposed to make me trust you?”

“Well, now we’re not strangers, are we?”

“That doesn’t—that doesn’t change anything! I still don’t know you.”

He shrugs. Takes a step back. “Suit yourself then. No skin off my ass.”

Your stomach roils, anxiety coming back with a vengeance. You hadn’t noticed it recede since the man started talking to you, but you notice its return. When he makes a move to turn back around, you lurch forward, your hand extending out and fisting in the side of his shirt. He pauses, then looks down at you. 

“…Where else am I supposed to go?” you whisper.

He tilts his head. “Could sleep on a bench in the park.”

You glare at him through tear-soaked eyes. “That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be. You’re shit out of other options at this time of night.”

“So, what? Now it’s-it’s my fault or something?”  

His eyes don’t exactly soften, but they lose their hard edge. 

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says. Not cautioning you, just stating a fact. “You coming or not?”

Disaster seems like a given at this point. At least you could pick your poison. 

Words are beyond you though, so you just bite your lip and nod, eyes downcast now. 

What else is there for you to do but follow him after that? You trail along after him like a sad, wet cat left out in the rain. 

He finds her wandering the streets with her pretty little suitcase rolling over every bump and crack in the sidewalk and there’s no fighting the urge to drag her home. 

She doesn’t look like a runaway. Just a poor thing down on her luck. Her cheeks practically glisten with her tears when she looks up at him with her big, pathetic eyes, and it makes his cock plump up against his thigh. 

That’s not what this is about though. Simon presses his hand against his dick to rub out some of the ache while she flutters around the bedroom and reminds himself of that again. He didn’t take her home to maul her like a dog. He dragged her back to his flat because she looked wounded and scared out of her wits. 

He can be good every now and then. 

“Sit down, will ya?” he grunts, tugging her down onto the couch when she flits across the room to grab more of her shit out of her suitcase, glancing down at him apprehensively on her way by. She yelps when he sends her sprawling onto the couch. 

His flat isn’t much. A one-bedroom above a laundromat; eggshell walls and torn up baseboards because he hasn’t gotten around to fixing the place up. It’s better than sleeping on the streets though, he knows that much. 

Simon’s no stranger to that; if being in the military taught him anything, it was how to survive regardless of circumstances. In the weeks after his medical discharge—his knees beyond busted, basically bone on bone, and even these days, though he works more to have something to do than to earn a living, they still scream at him when he puts too much weight on them—he wandered aimlessly for a bit, crashing on Gaz’s couch for a bit and sleeping on benches for a spell after that before finding his footing again. 

Simon ignores the way that she yaps at him though, used to tuning people out. He flicks on the television and flips to a show that looks vaguely entertaining before getting up and ambling over to the kitchen. 

“D-do you want me to help?” she asks from the kitchen, tripping over her words in her haste to get them out. 

She reeks of the need to please. Desperate; cloying, sickly sweet like flowering dracaena. It clings to her like a perfume, silk-wrapped and packaged just for him. It could give a man like him indecent thoughts. His thoughts already tend towards the impure. 

He must eye her like a ravenous animal because she flinches suddenly under his gaze, eyes flicking away nervously before meeting his again. Good girl, Simon wants to say. Eyes on me. 

“Sit down,” he barks instead, and relishes in the way she sits back down with her hands tucked under her thighs. 

She’s really a pretty little thing. A shame that he found her out wandering in the rain, out where any man with worse intentions could have stumbled across her. The thought alone could drive him to violence. Again he stares at the back of her head and the slope of her shoulders, evaluating. His bloodlust dulls to a simmer. It pounds in his ears like a dull drum, but at least now he can hear again. 

Anyone else could have found her first, but they didn’t. He did. That tempers the homicidal impulse thrumming in his blood. She’s in his flat now, freshly showered and skin still damp. When she looks over her shoulder, it’s him she sees. 

Poor bird with her clipped wings. She’s not in danger of flying off anytime soon. The thought placates him. Tucked away in his cage, he doesn’t have to rend anyone limb from limb.

It’s been years since he traded in his fatigues for a hi vis jumpsuit, but some days he misses it so acutely that his hands shake and his vision fades in and out. This is one of those days. He toys with the idea of reaching out to Price in the morning to learn more about her, but then discards the idea. Better if it comes straight from her.

Besides, he doesn’t like asking for favours anyway.

“Name’s Simon, by the way,” he grunts, nostrils flaring when he sees her flinch at the sound of his voice. “Riley.”

“Oh,” is all she says. He waits a beat.

“Gonna give me your name, bird?”

She does, voice squeaky like it’s said under duress. That pisses him off more. 

He's not much of a cook, but he can whip up something quick, so he tosses one of his frozen meals into the microwave and sits her in front of the TV while she shivers and shakes on the couch.

They eat in silence, the TV on in the background. It’s the only noise besides the soft sound of her chewing. Simon can tell she’s gone hungry in recent days by the voracious way she eats, unable to keep herself from shovelling the food into her mouth. She seems almost embarrassed by it after swallowing her last bite, looking over at him from the corner of her eye like a guilty dog. He ignores it, keeping his eyes on the TV instead.

He can tell she wants to say something. A shit childhood and two decades in the military have left him with the ability to sniff out tension, and it comes off her in waves. After putting her plate on the coffee table, she sits back against the couch and squeezes her fists over her lap. Gnaws her lip and casts furtive glances in his direction. When the tears build up on her waterline, his cock twitches. 

“What?” he barks after the umpteenth sniffle, twisting to face her. 

“I—um—I just wanted to say thank you,” she whispers, her head still tilted downward, trying to make herself small enough to go unnoticed. 

Simon stares down at her, unblinking. He half wishes she’d cry a little more, just a few tears to soothe the beast in his chest. It’s better for her that her eyes remain dry. He doesn’t think he could hold himself back if one slipped down her cheek right now. He’d have to grab her by the nape of her neck and twist her over the side of the couch, shove down both their drawers and feed his cock into the warm, wet slot between her legs. Pummel her little cunt until his spend leaks out in thick, viscous globs, until her thighs shake so violently that only his hands on her shoulders and his shaft shoved deep in her pussy keeps her upright. 

He can almost smell it from between her legs, throbbing with gratefulness. He stares down unabashedly at the spot between her legs. Let her say something about it. 

“Don’t mention it,” he says instead, tilting his head when her tongue peeks out to wet her lips. “‘Was nothing.”

“No, it was really nice of you,” she insists, speaking more forcefully after gathering up some of her courage. “What if I…—you took a stranger into your house.”

That gets the blood pumping. “Gonna gut me while I sleep, pet?”

It’s half deranged that his cock chubs up in his jeans at the thought of his little bird with a knife in her hands, hands dripping with wet, dark blood. He shifts, readjusting himself so the metal teeth of his zipper don’t bite into his dick. 

She frowns. Endearing. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Not really good at looking after yourself, are you?”

“I am—it’s just…” tears build up on her waterline again, “it was one thing after another. I couldn’t get it all together.”

Pity isn’t an emotion he’s accustomed to feeling. Simon’s not even sure if that’s what he’s feeling now. It’s more like the bastard child of pity. 

He lets her off to bed with a warning not to fuck with anything in his room. She skitters off quickly after that. Her cute little ass follows her into the room until she shuts the door behind her, hiding it from view. He huffs. Being good never gets him anywhere.

He lets her run away though because he can’t tarnish everything he touches. Some things deserve to stay polished. 

Instead, he brushes his teeth and washes the last of the dishes before turning in as well, getting a clean sheet out of the linen closet to drape over himself. The couch isn’t nearly long enough for him to stretch out on, not like the king sized bed in his room; there’s already a spring poking him right in the middle of his back.

Sleep won’t come easy tonight. 

Simon wakes up on the couch with a kink in his neck. He lays there for several minutes gritting his teeth until the worst of it passes. When he sits up, his back cracks and pops, joints loosening only reluctantly. His age is getting away from him again; the wear and tear on his body finally starting to catch up. There’s only so much abuse he can put himself through. 

The morning races on outside his front door and he has work to get to, but his body orients towards the closed door of his bedroom almost without his say. It creaks as it swings open. 

In the slowly dimming haze of sleep, he must have subconsciously thought he dreamt the night before because seeing the girl from yesterday curled up in his bed halts him in his tracks. Her suitcase is open on the floor beside the bed. She must have changed into her pyjamas after slinking away last night because he doesn’t recognize the little cotton shorts hugging the swell of her ass and the shirt riding up over her belly button. 

Despite the perfunctory morning jerk he gave himself just ten minutes prior, his cock twitches in his work pants, gaze locked on the underside of her ass, the flesh peeking out from beneath her sleep shorts. 

The hunger ebbs out of a deep, cavernous hole in him. A heavy, oppressive heat; lust so gnarled and twisted that he hardly recognizes it. He can see it play out in his mind—crawling over the bird’s prone form and turning her over onto her belly, his knees on either side of her legs, cloaking her. Tugging down the zipper of his pants and wrenching those slutty shorts down to mid-thigh before burying his shaft in her hole. Little bird that followed him home, sleeping in his bed. She should thank him for his help with a wet hole. 

Simon takes a step into the room and then stops. He won’t—can’t—

His teeth grind together from how hard he clenches his jaw. 

He stands in the doorway and watches her sleep in his bed for longer than he should. Only when he feels something ugly well up in his chest does he finally bark out her name, snorting softly when she jumps and nearly falls right off the side of the bed. 

“Get up,” Simon grunts. “And make yourself something to eat. I’ve gotta head out.”

He walks away before the befuddled look on her face makes him crack a smile. 

She tiptoes out a few minutes later, still in her PJs. Her wary glances tick him off. For the effort it’s taken him to keep his hands to himself, he deserves more than her shifty looks, scoring him like he split her little peach open in her sleep.  

Breakfast is an uncomfortable affair. It’s partly his fault, but he doesn’t apologize for it. They eat in tense silence until it’s time for him to head to work. 

“Don't think about leaving—any of my shit gets nicked and it's your ass.”

He leaves her with that warning, slamming the door behind him.

Your heart goes quiet at the dawning of your new life. 

Adjusting to your new reality takes a bit of effort. The first few days with Simon feel tenuous at best. You worry constantly about doing something wrong and finding yourself back out on the streets. You’re thankful to the point of pandering, apologizing for any sudden move or sound that you make. You can tell it annoys him. 

The real work is recontextualizing your perception of yourself. The world feels strange now that you’re outside of it; alien somehow. You used to think of yourself as somehow inextricably woven into the fabric of society. The thought of losing everything never even occurred to you. It never even presented itself as a possibility. You worried about homelessness the way people worry about quicksand—in some nebulous way touching on the real without being absorbed by it. 

And now you are cut from another cloth altogether; abruptly, without any warning. You used to feel like one with the rest of the world, a kind of kinship based less on parentage or ancestry and more on inner nature. Weren’t you the same as any of them? But now the drapery has been pulled down and you know—you are not the same. 

Your future used to shimmer under the surface like a bioluminescent fish, but now it’s just a ghost.

He tells you to stay put when he goes to work so you do, spending the days puttering around the apartment, watching TV, and cleaning. There’s not much else to do. It’s almost a relief, to be honest. You’ve spent so much time without a place to call home that the second someone offered you one, the outside world became anathema in your head. You couldn’t step foot out of the front door even if you wanted to. 

Tears well up at the smallest thing. You blubber over not being able to work the coffee machine in the kitchen. When the sound goes out on the TV, you cry so hard that it leaves you woozy. You’re lachrymose, downtrodden. Soul a startling verdigris; your waterlines might as well be white with encrustations of salt. 

He must notice the dark cloud following you from room to room, but he doesn’t bring it up. You’d find it tactful, but you know him a bit better than that. 

Then Simon brings home a cat after his shift one day and you don’t know what to say to that.

Thank you doesn’t seem to suffice. I love it doesn’t cut it close. The truth of the matter is that words only ever approximate the feeling; they can get close enough to give you a glimmer of what’s stashed inside, but you can’t pry them all the way open. So you take the off-white cat from him when he practically tosses the poor thing into your arms, and stare up at him wide-eyed, eyes already watering for reasons once again unbeknownst to you. 

“Thank you for taking him home,” you say, already on the verge of tears.

He stares down at you, unblinking. You’re learning to read into his silences though. 

“Don’t expect me to take care of it,” he says instead of accepting your thanks. “If you can’t handle it, it’s going back outside.” 

You hold the cat tight to your chest, staring up at him with horror until the little beast nearly scratches your eye out in an effort to squirm out of your arms. 

At first, you’re not sure what to make of it. It can’t be a peace offering because, apart from the rare occasions where you manage to get on his nerves (not wholly impossible, but you’re learning how to stay on his good side for the most part), you and Simon get along pretty well. You coexist, at least. He cooks, you clean. 

It’s likely a distraction, you finally realize, something to keep you from moping around the apartment all the time, listless and directionless. Despite the fact that you’re no longer in any immediate danger now that you have a roof over your head, misery still clings to you like a second skin. The relative safety of Simon’s flat has actually only given you a chance to really properly mourn the loss of your former life. 

Training the cat to wear a harness without tipping over (the little drama king) and taking him on his first walk outside (just a little turn around the block, though you half jump out of your skin whenever you cross paths with another person) gives you enough of a sense of purpose to propel you through the next week. 

You can tell that Simon thinks the cat is more trouble than it’s worth, especially when it decides to fixate on the one person in the flat that doesn’t pay it a lick of attention, but still it makes your heart melt to see it curled up by his side when you watch TV together at the end of the night. 

“Is this normal for you?” you ask, hands folded in your lap.

His gaze doesn’t move from the television screen. “Is what normal?”

“Taking in strays.”

He snorts, then takes a second to answer. “No.”

You wonder if he intends to sound as caustic as he comes across. The truth is self-evident though. Words only mask the real, and the real in this case is that Simon Riley is a man that feeds and takes home strays. He can grumble about it all he wants. It’s a bit demeaning to think of yourself that way, but once again, the truth is what it is. 

You study him from the corner of your eye until bedtime rolls around again. He’s become the most interesting thing in the world to you, through every fault of his own.

If he didn’t want you to fixate on him, he wouldn’t have left you home alone with nothing else to do. 

“Bird!” Simon roars from the other room. “The cat’s pissed on the floor again.”

You spring out of bed before Simon has a chance to toss it out onto the balcony. 

It feels temporary up until the first time you use Simon’s address on a job application. It stands out stark on your phone screen, black on glowing white. You’ve always preferred it to dark mode, though that preference has fluctuated in recent weeks as you’ve spent more and more time on your phone. 

This is the first time staring at the screen without blinking for a prolonged period of time that hasn’t left you with a throbbing migraine. 

He tells you to stop bothering him with stupid shit when you ask him if it’s alright to use his address. That answers that. Guilt lingers on the periphery of your mind the first time that you do, but then the application is submitted. An innocuous grey box that redefines your whole world in a way that [Thanks for applying!] doesn’t seem to encapsulate. 

Your old friends come next. They come back one by one, guilty, furtive looks aplenty. You Facetime the one who wouldn’t let you sleep on her couch while sitting on Simon’s bed. When she asks you about your living situation, all you tell her is that you found a roommate. It doesn’t feel right to give her more information than that. What has she done to deserve your honesty? 

You manage pleasantries and a half decent conversation, but truth again lingers at the back of your mind. The unspoken reality that this person—someone you trusted—could’ve been there for you in your time of need but chose to look the other way instead. Like taking you in would’ve been some big, terrible thing. 

The body forgets everything except what hurts it. The body remembers nothing except what helps it survive. 

Gratefulness lodges into your heart like an arrow shot from a castle’s ramparts intent on your demise. You could pull it out from the other side and succumb to blood loss, or you could push forward, lay siege to the man hidden inside its walls. 

And you do. You want to show him every grateful inch of you. Even when it only results in more upset. Simon comes home to the smoke alarm blaring and a small fire in the microwave before he bans you from the kitchen altogether. You only cry for an hour in the bedroom with the door shut before he drags you out to takeout on the table in the living room. It’s an improvement. 

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle into your veggie burger, on the verge of tears again when you glance into the kitchen to see most of the mess still there. 

“It’s fine.”

“I just want to—I wanted to make it up to you…for taking me in.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” he says brusquely, dismissing you. His tone tells you to drop it, but that seems as likely as you growing wings and flying away. 

“Yes, I do. You let me stay here when I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“If you want to make it up to me, take care of the cat and stop leaving your shit all over the bathroom. Found your knickers on the floor after you showered yesterday.”

Your face goes hot at that. You have nothing else to say. 

Your attraction is a banal consequence of living under the same roof as him. There are only so many times he can come up behind you while you’re making your morning cup of coffee and swipe your mug before taking a sip from over your shoulder, barricading you against the counter. Acutely aware of the size of him with the way he’s pressed up against you. 

You lose your train of thought whenever Simon wanders into a room. He lumbers in like a beast, steel-toed boots covered in mud and dust, ignoring the way you scold him for walking around the apartment in his shoes. Just cocks an eyebrow and stares down at you knowingly, like he can see right through you, knows that you’re only squawking and flitting around to hide the way your thighs rub together. 

“It’s my fuckin’ flat,” he says instead of pointing out that your pussy’s wet because she knows there’s a man in the house that could take care of her proper. You know it too. 

“I live here too, you know,” you huff. “I can’t wash the floors every time you come home.”

“Thought I was doing you a favour letting you live here.”

His words would fill you with righteous indignation, but they don’t because his actions don’t line up. You study him like a moth under glass, enthralled by the parts of him that used to frighten you. 

It’s more than that though. He’s wedged himself into the hurt place in your heart, holding it up like Atlas. 

You really do think that there’s something so special about him that you’ll never be able to articulate. Simon is everything you didn’t know you desperately wanted. The longer you live with him, the harder it is to deny how much you need him. 

You will show your gratitude though. Every tender, aching morsel of it. 

The little peach she grinds on his thigh is wet and ripe. Simon doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t need her gratitude; if he wanted it, he would’ve taken it already. But he doesn’t shove her out of his lap either. It’s not his problem if she thinks it’s necessary or not.

Maybe it’s not solely for his benefit, he concedes when she winds both arms around his neck and pushes her supple tits into his chest, climbing over his lap until her pussy is pressed right up against the cock fattening up in his jeans. She whimpers like she’s in pain. 

Must not come a lot; he knows she at least hasn’t in recent days. Simon’s always been a light sleeper—he’s sure he would’ve heard any desperate attempts to get herself off in his bed, the springs creaking under her weight, her hushed, bitten off moans leaking out from under the doorframe. The thought riles him up more than he thought it would. 

Still, Simon doesn’t lift a hand to help the poor bird in his lap as she grinds down on his length. His arms stay stretched across the back of the couch, hips canted just enough to give her a perch and nothing more. 

She gasps every word into his ear, voice all pitched and breathy. “Ah, ah, ah—thank you, thank you, I…—can I please have it? Please, please let me, Simon, pleasepleaseplease—”

It feels like everything they’ve been through so far has been leading to this. He’d smelt it coming like blood in the water. 

All week, his bird has been sitting on her hands and trying not to give herself away. Cloaked in a nervous, frenetic energy. Anticipatory. She’d doe-eyed him the night before and begged him to sleep in the bed with her instead of wrecking his back on the couch, but he’d ignored her in favour of watching Argentina decimate Croatia in the semi-finals. It must have not sat right with her though because she’d been broody from the moment he left for work until he got home, steering him into the kitchen and practically hand feeding him before coaxing him into the living room to watch a movie while she cuddled up beside him.

That hadn’t lasted long. 

“What’s gotten into you, pet?” Simon asks, hardly dissuading her when she presses petal soft lips to his jaw and nuzzles, breathing heavily. His heart swells. Desperate little slut. 

“Took care of me,” she mumbles, almost slurring her words. “Always taking care of me, Simon.”

There’s no denying how hard it makes him to think about being her protector. The littlest things make her smile. Even the bloody cat had her trailing after him for a week straight after the fact, eternally underfoot. Always trying to curry favour. Eager to please. 

Her worship leaves him unbalanced. Unstable even. A train careening off its track, the massive weight of catastrophe right behind it. The sense that life will never be the same after this. His surface level indifference is underscored by steeled self-control. He keeps his arms on the couch because he knows the second he puts them on her, it’s over. There’ll be no holding him back anymore, no possibility of him ever letting her go back out into the real world. Lock jawed, teeth sunk into her tender underbelly. 

“Told you, you don’t owe me nothing,” Simon murmurs, curling his hands under her ass. 

“Then—then…—I don’t know, pretend it’s just for me.” It’s a joke because they both know it’s not just for her. When her eyes sparkle with amusement, his cock throbs.

He lets her ruck the shirt over his head and struggle with his belt until she manages to unbuckle it like he has no say in the matter. She’s far less considerate with her own clothes, shucking them off and nearly ripping her knickers in the process, which almost prompts him to take her by the wrists and slow her down. He likes the lace and frills. 

It’s a fight to fit his cock into her hole, as slick as she is. Coin slot tight; he almost breaks and tells her to take it easy when she reaches behind her to line his shaft up with her entrance and sits down, just barely stretching around the mushroomed head of his dick before wincing, tears springing into her eyes. 

Simon does break when she tries to sink down another inch, thighs shaking violently. “Right, get off—you ain’t ready for this.”

“I am!” she insists, face screwed up in a scowl and a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. “Just—I can do it, Simon—”

“No, you can’t. You’re rushing and hurting yourself—”

“Wait, okay, wait, I can…just give me a minute, okay?” she begs, and he doesn’t tell her that he’d give her all the time in the world. Stay on this couch until the flesh fell off his bones. He’s waited so long; what’s a little longer? 

Besides, the sight of her stretching herself out with her fingers is reward enough. She whines into his shoulder and shudders when she has to force another finger in before she’s ready. Too eager. It could give a man a complex. His blood is already scorching him from the inside out, too hot for his veins.  

He considers helping her out, but watching her writhe and struggle in his lap is far more enjoyable. 

He stopped paying attention awhile back, too focused on cupping her tits and running his tongue around the budded areola, sucking her pert nipple into his mouth, but she couldn’t have gotten to more than three fingers before running out of patience and lining him up again. This time, she sinks a bit deeper on the first stroke, still choking on her breath but forcing herself to take a bit more. 

“You’re alright—you’re alright,” Simon murmurs, stroking a hand up and down her back while she impales herself on his length. She’s still too tight to take him comfortably, sweats and shakes over him. He pinches her nipple to distract her from the pain and smiles when she yelps. 

She melts all over him, slick drenching his shaft and lap, her tongue lapping at the sweaty skin of his neck. Honeysuckle fragrant; the sweetest thing he’s ever known. Silken, tight. Fits like a glove around him. 

He could lose himself in her. Piston into her until the thought of where he begins and where he ends dissolves into the tight warmth between her legs.

His bird is a greedy girl. She uses him like a toy to get herself off, bouncing in his lap and mewling into his ear everytime his cockhead nudges against her cervix. Too big to fit all the way in. 

“You do this a lot, pet? Fuck every man that lends you a hand?” he pants, taunting her.

“No!” she snarls in his ear, feisty and sharp-toothed. Her nails dig into his back, scoring white lines into his skin. The shiver that wracks him is so violent that his arms tighten around her waist reflexively, making her gasp. 

It doesn’t matter whether she does this often or not; the only thing that matters is that he’s the only man that gets to fuck her from here on out. Still, winding her up is half the fun. 

“Perfect girl,” Simon chuckles, breathless. “Made for me. Got m’self a pet right off the street.”

And he did, didn’t he? Went wandering out into the night and came home with a bird fluttering her wet little wings. 

His conscience is clean. He could’ve tied her down, kept her right where he wanted her (in his bed, his flat, the yawning cavity of his chest—) but his self-control remains unparalleled. Tough as nails. Strong as steel. And now look at what he has as a reward for his patience—a fever-hot cunt around his cock and delicate fingernails scratching the base of his skull. 

A pretty bird that’s made his chest a cage. 

The world goes vertical, horizontal. Fluid; sliding away from him. Something crashes in the background, so far off in the distance that he can hardly make out the sound. 

He opens his eyes to find the ceiling staring back down at him, and then her face, hovering over him on the carpeted floor, her hands kneading the muscle of his chest. Her brows are drawn tight now, pinched. She stares down at him, past him, gaze like a transparent veil. 

“Gi’me…gi’me…” she pants, barely able to pull herself off his cock. 

He has to dig his fingers into her ass and pull her off, ignoring the way she whines and begs him to fill her back up. Ignores it because he knows what’s best for her; knows how to take care of what he owns. 

When he bucks up into her, she chokes, fingers nearly yanking his chest hair out. 

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s pretty,” he breathes. Snaps his hips up into hers again, relishing in the way she squeezes tight around him, almost to the point of pain. 

His pleasure always comes jagged though. Whether the ache of his joints or nails tearing up the skin of his back and chest. Vicious and messy—how he likes it. She gives him everything he could want and more. The hand dug into his chest right above his heart could pierce right through the flesh and tear it out.

He pulls her all the way off his cock just for the pleasure of hearing her beg him again, then pulls her up his chest and eats her out until the beast in his belly calms down. 

He yields to her whining only after a good few minutes. Soft bastard. Drags her back down until her soaked hole mouths at the head of his cock and he thrusts back up inside. Home. It’s his now, whether she likes it or not. Simon guesses he’s lucky that she wants it too; if he had to convince her, he would, but her desperation is just another gift for him to savour. 

“Squeeze me good, bird. Say thank you—” thank you for taking me home, thank you for keeping me– almost spills off his tongue, but he reigns it in. She knows what to be thankful for. 

“Nngh, Simon,” she sings, fucking herself on his cock. The sweetest sound he’s ever heard. 

Simon’s never felt bigger than under his sweet bird. Thighs spread so wide around him that he knows she’ll ache in the morning. Brutish hands groping her thighs and waist and tits, rough against the softness of her skin. Stuffed full of a big cock, not even to the root; she bites right through her bottom lip when Simon pets at the thin skin stretched around his cock, her gaze wounded, overwhelmed. 

Nearly blacks out at the thought of cramming a finger up there too. Only faint concern for her well-being tamps down the urge. 

“Come on, fuck—that good, pet?”

“R-right there, oh god, ohgodohgod—”

He lets her ride him until she comes, until he comes, until his spend is blistering hot in her cunt, drooling down the length of his cock, frothy white with her cream and his come. 

It’s a sight to look at. Gets him right in the chest. Nothing like times of yore; this is something with meaning, with feeling. When he lifts her off, his seed trickles out of her soft hole in white globs and makes his chest ache. It doesn’t matter whether it takes root or not. All that he needs is already here. 

Beautiful and rare as a sundog; haloed by light. All this time, he dared not think this could be it. 

He thinks he’ll love her with the same ferocity Icarus had on his descent.

She shivers when he traces his fingers up her spine. “N’more. M’tired.”

“Wasn’t gonna, pet.”

The bedroom then. She twitches in his arms when Simon carries her to bed and pats his chest approvingly when he slides in beside her. 

He could’ve told her that it’d end up this way. He smiles indulgently when she shifts and splays over his chest, her nose nudging his nipple. Already fast asleep. 

In the morning, you sit across from him, half a grapefruit in a bowl in front of you and a mug of coffee, black. 

“I think I want to go back to school,” you say, apropos of nothing. The spoon clinks against the inside of the bowl. 

“Yeah?” he says, only half-listening. 

“I can always get a part time job on the days when I don’t have class. I never liked my old job anyway.”

“Do whatever you want,” Simon grunts. “Not my problem.”

Under the table, your cat’s tail curls around your ankle while he waits for you to sneak him the scraps. 

You smile.

[seosracha]

──── Room 69 , sim jaeyun

⸻ Room Sixty-Nine, where love is made

SYNOPSIS ⸻ As your parents' company fails to outperform others, you find yourself in the midst of a new financial situation and on the search for a new apartment. The roommate you stumble upon has no intentions of getting to know you better and well- you wonder how long it'll take until he fucks you.

PAIRING ⸻ roommate!jake x fem!reader

GENRE ⸻ strangers to lovers, smut

TAGS ⸻ smoking, foul language/cursing, jake is weird and stalkerish?, making out, dom!jake, oral sex (m. receiving), degrading, unprotected sex, creampie

WC ⸻ 7k

⸻ NSFW CONTENT UNDER CUT, MINORS DNI. this is purely fiction made for entertainment purposes only. do not like= don't read.

You were broke. Triple digits that usually decorated your bank account slowly turned into double digits, as you tried to endure the new reality. It was hard to let go of your usual habits, spending money like it had absolutely no value, living a lavish life and going out every Friday. Now, you had to count every penny. Instead of purchasing a basket load of expensive fruit and drinks, you were forced to reach for the cheapest bread and milk in order to survive. 

Maybe you were exaggerating. Your parents' company hadn't gone completely bankrupt, yet. The technology department, which brought in the most profit, had endured a sudden decline due to a new company, which had stolen all their clients. Maybe they were exaggerating too, the other four departments running just fine. 

Even with that, they had decided it would be best if you gave up your expensive apartment and spending mania. You would live without spending such amounts monthly, but you definitely wouldn't survive without your city view apartment. 

Since you were little you dreamt of moving out, and living in one of those high up buildings only the richest could afford. And upon viewing the apartment for the first time it was everything you had imagined. Down to the spruce wood kitchen and bottle green tiles in the bathroom. 

But here you were, intensely searching through apartment listings, hoping to find something equally nice for a good price. 

You had hoped your best-friend, Minjeong would offer you to move in with her, knowing she had a spare room in her apartment not far away from your own, but her boyfriend's move in had crushed that desire to the ground. 

You didn't want to let the thought sink in, but you knew you’d have to get a roommate. You knew that was the only solution for your poor financial situation. Unfortunately for you, any of your friends that were potential roommate material, either lived with their parents still or weren't looking to share a place with anyone. 

You had honestly put off the search for a long time, hoping you’d soon get a call from your parents saying they had finally given up on this stupid idea of cutting your monthly budget in half, but it never happened. 

One offer caught your attention, the monthly rent wasn't too bad, allowing you to still live comfortably, the deposit was also doable, and the room was just fine. 

With a few clicks, a message chain between you and your hopefully new leasing agent had formed. You prayed the offer was still available, slowly warming up to the place, analyzing every detail about the apartment through the numerous pictures attached to the advert. 

Soon enough, the generous and kind Mister Choi Jaeyoung had responded with a short confirmation and a list of information regarding his availability and precise location of the complex. You had agreed on a short tour of the apartment, but by now you had already memorized every corner. You’d probably give him a better tour of that place at this point than he could. 

“This would be your room” he pointed with his hand, gesturing you to enter the space to look around. 

It was even better in real life, the sun shined brightly through the large window, and the closet was bigger than you expected. Obviously, it was nothing compared to your high ceiling bedroom that included a bathroom and medium sized wardrobe, but still it satisfied you enough to sign all the papers your new leasing agent threw at you. 

“That room, right there” he said looking up to the closed door “-is your roommate's, Jake’s, room” he said, and you nodded. 

“Is he here?” you asked, hoping to meet him. 

You wondered why the boy hadn't come out by now in order to introduce himself to you. I mean, you two were going to be living with each other for a long time, it would be nice to at least see what kind of man he was. 

“I don't think so. Even if he is, I wouldn't recommend bothering him” he answered, and you tilted your head, confused. 

“Why? Don’t tell me he’s like fucked in the head or something” you cursed yourself for the choice of words. 

The older man laughed “No, Jake is a nice guy, but I reckon he’s just a little more on the introverted side. He treasures his peace more than anything, let’s say it like that” 

“I think I can respect that,” you smiled. 

“There was someone here before you, but he was definitely a talkative person, and I guess he didn't like the fact that Jake wasn't,” Jaeyoung added, and you nodded. 

“That really isn't a good enough reason to move out” you laughed lightly and so did the man beside you. 

You felt a bit uneasy at his words. Was Jake really that bad? Obviously your leasing agent, who was too nice for his own good, wouldn't admit to Jake being a complete lunatic with a fucked up sleep schedule, or something even worse than that. But the place was pretty tidy, it calmed your mind a little bit. 

“With that being said, you can move in as soon as you’d like. If you need any help with moving your belongings, I’d be more than happy to help you find a nice moving company. You really can't trust people with your stuff these days” he smiled kindly and you thanked him for the tour. 

You guessed you’d have to figure out your mysterious roommate on your own. 

_____ 

It had been a week since you moved in. A whole seven days had passed, and you haven't even seen his face. 

You hoped that maybe he’d offer you a helping hand with all the moving boxes, and furniture, but Jake didn't even bother to come out of his room the day of your move in. 

You knew he was there. You had passed by his room, hearing a quiet melody coming from his room or an indecipherable chatter. You considered knocking, introducing yourself, but the words of your landlord kept ringing in your ears, keeping you away from that door. 

“Isn't he going to like, help us?” Minjeong mumbled, wiping a bead of sweat off her forehead. 

She had been helping you move everything in since 9AM, and Jake hadn't even budged. You were debating asking him instead of Minjeong, finally getting a chance to let yourself be known to him, but then again you knew he’d decline, or worse, not give you an answer at all. 

“Doesn’t he need to use the toilet? Or eat?” Minjeong asked, sitting down on your bed, the two of you struggled to build. “A real man should have made an initiative to help, and build this furniture” she added, looking around at the still boxed up closet and desk. 

Sizing down your living space also meant getting rid of your ridiculously large furniture, that had absolutely no right fitting into this small room. Then again, it was great to use some of the pieces as bribery, you knew Minjeong would never agree to do this for free. 

“I don’t care, but it is kinda creepy” you said, sitting down on the chair next to your dresser. 

You weren’t alone, but that’s what it felt like. You wondered what he looked like. You had looked him up on Instagram, Tiktok, even Facebook, but none of the profiles under his name matched the information you had about him. 

“It is! What if he’s like a 40 year old creep that lurks in these areas of town cause he knows this is where most students live” she inquired, and it made you feel uneasy. The story sounded plausible, and that’s when you felt like going into his room ‘by accident’ just to see him would be the best idea. 

“Don’t say that, you’re freaking me out” you said, and she laughed lightly. It was unlikely, to be completely realistic, but you could never truly know until you saw him. 

“If he turns out to be weird, you can always stay with me” she reassured, walking over to the mirror. 

“And listen to Heeseung getting his dick wet all night long? Yeah, no thank you” you half smiled, and she laughed. 

“Better than a 40 year old pervert” she pointed out, and you were forced to agree with the girl. 

Minjeong sighed turning to you “I swear I’m going to knock on his door myself if you don’t do it” 

You shook your head. You’d rather torture yourself with all the things that were yet to be done, than reach out to Jake. 

“You know what my landlord said, he could kill me in my sleep if I bother him” you warned, and she sighed once again, her gaze falling on the numerous boxes. 

“I have to leave soon, are you seriously going to do all this by yourself?” she asked, and you nodded with a sad expression on your face “You should ask Jay to help you” she grinned evilly. 

You chuckled “We’re not that close” 

“Oh c’mon, I’m not telling you to have sex with him on your precious newly built bed, just ask him for a little help. Have you seen his muscles, he can take all these boxes at once” she said, and you hid your face in your hands, smiling “And stop acting like you don’t want him. You can’t hide anything from me” 

Jay was hot. Really fucking hot. He was tall, well proportioned with long legs and a muscular torso. He carried himself so well, with a style that was so different, and a captivating face. He was also a well known frat boy and stoner, but you didn’t mind, it wasn’t anything unusual. One of the things Jay liked about you is that you weren’t naive- he knew he wasn’t the only one you were fucking around with, and you knew you weren’t his only girl. 

“I can handle it, don’t worry” 

Minjeong had left, leaving you alone with all the unmade furniture, unpacked boxes and thoughts regarding your roommate. 

What if he truly was a 40 year old, unemployed man who earns all his money from his parents? 

Or a discord mod, who has awful posture, and a dent in his head from the constant use of headphones? 

But then again, you saw the food in the fridge, he had already cleared up two shelves for you, but his own contained a healthy variety of food, which calmed your mind in some way. The same went for the bathroom, it was clean, all his things were organized, and the products he used seemed to be those a rather younger person would use. 

His music taste also contradicted all your suspicions and theories. You noted that he listened to a lot of RnB, and from time to time he’d play some rap or hip hop. 

That’s how your first week went by, analyzing every detail, and attempting to listen in on any conversations he’d have, just to finally get an idea of who your secretive roommate was. 

On friday you came back from your pilates class, something you refused to give up, crying in front of your parents to let you have at least one thing. They were reluctant, but gave in sooner than you thought they would. 

You were extremely spoiled, and there was no point in denying it. You were raised that way, and you found peace in using that as an excuse for your behavior. 

Some part of you was expecting to catch Jake in the bathroom or kitchen, hoping you’d finally get to speak to him but the only thing of his that you came home to was a handwritten note with numerous household rules. 

It made you laugh. It’s not like he was paying more than you, but still he thought he had any right to boss you around in your own place. And his handwriting- it was awful. No matter how serious you tried to take the note, it felt like you were trying to decipher ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. 

Some of them were reasonable, cleaning up after yourself in the kitchen, keeping the bathroom tidy, and doing your own laundry- all of it was understandable and something you already had been doing. 

No smoking was something you could agree to, you didn’t really do it anyways so it didn’t bother you much. The same went for no music after 11PM. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at the “no having friends over” point on his long list. It was insane, especially since he had a friend over just two nights ago. You had no idea why you were the only one not allowed to bring friends over, wondering if maybe you had to ‘earn it’, or if it was because you were a girl. 

There was absolutely no way you were going to comply with any of these. 

_______ 

On a Tuesday morning you woke up later than usual. The only reason for that was a previous cancellation of your anatomy class. 

No matter how spoiled and entitled you felt, you’d never allow yourself to miss class or fail an assignment or exam. Being a model student was something your father engraved in you from a young age, sending you to expensive boarding schools and making sure you get into a good university. 

You wondered if Jake had left for class already, or for work. Not like you knew what he was doing in life anyway. 

You opened your phone to an excited text message chain from Minjeong who expressed her excitement after a steamy and long night with Heeseung. A small smile surfaced on your face as you texted back her with a simple reply. 

You were afraid to leave your room. It was stupid, this was your place and you had every right in the world to go and make yourself fucking breakfast. But the impression Jake made on you was holding you back. You wondered how he managed to avoid you every single time, how you never were able to catch him leaving the bathroom or making a dish in the kitchen. That definitely took a lot of skill and starving on his side. 

It was pathetic, the more you thought about it. You were his roomate for fucks sake, not a serial killer who was just waiting to slash his head off. You two didn't have to be friends, you never expected that of him or anyone else you were going to move in with. But a short greeting would be nice. 

After a short call with Minjeong who pulled you back to reality, with a stern voice convincing you that Jake probably wasn't in the apartment anyway. 

“If you're going to behave like this, you should start looking for a new apartment” Minjeong said, and you thought about it for a second. 

Maybe she was right, but the thought of him scared you so much to the point that you would rather starve yourself than leave the room. 

The first week you purposely did things to catch him in action, get him to finally talk to you, and that slowly faded into you not even wanting to pass by him in the hallway. 

“Fuck Y/n, seriously he’s probably some incel loser who’s afraid to look a woman in the eye” you laughed at her comment, silently agreeing “I can come over and make food with you if that’s going to make you feel safer” she said, and you instantly were reminded of his set of rules and regulations. 

“Can’t. He doesn't allow friends over” you answered and she scoffed loudly. 

“So you did speak to him?” she said, still in disbelief. 

“No, not at all. This stupid prick left a note on my desk when I was out, 30 fucking rules and most of them seemingly only apply to me. He had a friend over just 4 nights ago!” you answered angrily, and she sighed. 

“You should move out of there, seriously. If not that, then purposely piss him off until he moves out” she inquired, and it birthed a whole bundle of ideas in your head. 

Maybe that was your solution. Purposely pissing him off and going against his crazy rules, forcing him to move out before you were forced to do it. 

“That’s a good idea, I like it” you answered, and she cooed excitedly. 

“Invite Jay and fuck so loud he’ll be slamming doors” she said, and you were quick to hush her, embarrassed by her ideas. 

“I gotta go make a mess in the kitchen then” you remembered one of the early points on the list, bidding her a quick farwell and ending the call. 

She had already convinced you that Jake wasn't in the apartment, so you didn't even bother getting dressed, just slightly adjusting your underwear and strapless top. 

It really felt like you were living alone most of the time so none of the habits you picked up on while living alone had the chance to vanish. 

You slowly open the door with a quiet creek to the floor boards and leave the room, your face in your phone as you checked all the notifications that bundled up overnight. 

You weren't expecting your first meeting with Jake to look like this, but there he was in all his glory. 

He must've thought the same thing- you shouldn't be here at this hour- a single pair of boxers keeping him away from standing fully nude in front of you. 

You didn't even know the man's last name but here you were standing practically naked in front of each other. Maybe you’d be more frightened if he wasn't so fucking hot. 

His skin was slightly tanned, shoulders broad with toned forearms. He had a tiny, slutty waist- if you knew he wanted it too you’d probably fuck him right there in that kitchen. His face was even better, big doe eyes and a shaped jawline. His black hair slightly covered his face, but you could still make out all of his features. 

All the fears you had completely vanished, a new disgusting arrangement of thoughts taking over your mind as you tried to speak to the man in front of you. 

“I’m s-sorry” you quickly said, covering your eyes. 

It had only been a couple seconds since your eyes met him in this awkward situation, but it felt like you’ve been staring at him much longer. 

He didn't even bother to reply, closing the fridge with a protein drink in hand, he passed by you like you weren't even there. You watched him enter his room and close the door with a thud. 

Was this seriously all of it? You had hoped he was just a little shy, waiting for an opportunity to greet you properly whenever you had the chance to pass by each other, but he obviously wasn't interested in getting to know you. 

But how could you possibly not want to get to know him when he was so breathtakingly hot. How could you possibly stay sane knowing you're living with a David reincarnate. 

You no longer planned on playing the ‘how long until he finally speaks to me’ game, preferring to see how long it’ll take for him to fuck you. 

______________

After that day you hadn't seen Jake at all. 

You heard him occasionally laugh with his friend who seemingly had the right to come over every day, or rage at a game but that was it. He once again opted to ignore you. 

You wondered if he was thinking about you too. You couldn't possibly get him out of your head, spending a little more time in the common rooms, hoping he would finally walk out of his room. 

Was he playing hard to get or was he just a fucking sick antisocial weirdo with no interest in real life women at all. 

You had spoken to Minjeong, the girl convincing you to do something that’ll rile him up. She had finally persuaded you to invite someone over, specifically Jay, in hopes that it will piss off Jake enough to get him to speak. 

“I know him from university, he’s an engineering major” Jay said, taking a hit from the freshly rolled blunt. 

The smell of weed spread across the area, and you secretly hoped Jake could feel it seeping in through the cracks of his door. 

“What’s he like?” you asked, inhaling the smoke as he held out the blunt for you in his fingers. 

He smiled “Fucking weird. Like he doesn't talk or anything, he just hangs out around the same people all the time” 

Jay pulled you closer, blowing the smoke into your mouth, and you obeyed, inhaling the rest. He gave you a sly smile, and finally put out what was left of the blunt. 

You didn't know what was between you and Jay, but until you get Jake to notice your true intentions towards him or even speak to you, he was a good option 

“That checks out” you chuckled, shaking your head “Look at this” you opened your drawer, pulling out the paper your roommate had left you. 

You handed it to him, as he read through all the rules. He laughed and with wide eyes kept looking through it. 

“Fuck, I need Sunghoon to see this” he laughed, taking a picture of it “Already broke two rules” he smirked and handed the list back to you. 

“Not stopping there, trust me” you smiled and put it back in your desk drawer. 

He smiled evilly, and pulled you back over to sit on his lap. You complied with a sly smile, and pressed your face against his chest, Jay softly caressing your back. 

“You should move far away from this freak, seriously” he says, and you can’t help but hum in agreement. 

If you chose to disagree, Jay would start asking too many unnecessary questions you truly had no answer to. You couldn't even tell yourself why after seeing him only once, you wanted the man to dick you down so bad. 

“And live on the street? No thank you” you replied, your voice muffled by the material of Jay’s sweater. 

He chuckled “You can move in with me” 

“The streets sound much better than living with 4 sweaty frat boys in one room” you replied, and he huffed. 

“We’re not frat boys, c’mon” you scoffed at his words. 

“Stoners, frat boys, fuckboys, whatever, same thing” you count and he just rolls his eyes playfully. 

Jay’s delicate touch and sweet voice almost stopped you from hearing Jake’s angry footsteps in the hallway. 

The chance had finally come, and you were forced to ignore it. 

The sound of his footsteps kept ringing in your ears as Jay told you something about having to leave soon to do a drop. You barely listened to him, wondering what Jake was thinking about, probably already noticing you were not alone. 

The vibrating sound of Jay’s phone knocked you out of your trance, forcing you to rise from his embrace, passing him the device. 

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be there in a minute. I’m around the area” he replied, and lazily standing up with a stumble to his feet, he stretched and turned to you “Sorry, pretty thing. Gotta go” he gave you a half smile, and you nodded your head, trying to refocus on what’s going on behind your closed door. 

You walked him downstairs to the door, and with a chaste kiss to your forehead, he sprinted towards the subway station. You smiled, your eyes chasing his figure until he finally disappeared around the corner. 

Opening the door to your apartment once again you hoped that Jake would still be rummaging around the hallways. 

And you were right, he fell right into your trap. He was waiting there for you. 

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, and his voice was deep. It was a little raspy, probably from the way he’s screaming his lungs out playing games all night. 

His face was dark, and figure was lean. He looked a little creepy, his back blocking all the light, his body casting a shadow onto your figure. 

You wanted to smile, but decided to keep it cool “No hello, or goodmorning?” you asked, tilting your head with a sly smile. 

He looked like he was about to explode, and you liked it more than you thought you would. 

“Oh you wanna be like that? I fucking told you, loud and clear, that there were no guests allowed around here. Didn’t get through your head the first time, did it?” he groaned. 

“I’ve been here for 2 fucking weeks, and you haven’t even bothered to introduce yourself to me. You can seriously fuck off, and shove those rules up your ass while your at it” you replied, turning your back to him, heading towards your room. 

He grabbed your wrist, pushing you to the wall “You listen to me, yeah? So don’t fucking try to invite anyone over again” he said, harshly letting go off you, and without letting you finish, walked back to his room with a slam to his door. 

You were left there stunned in the hallway. Although you knew Jake wasn’t normal, you never expected him to be this fucked up. 

And you also didn’t expect it to turn you on so much. 

_______________ 

Once again, you haven’t seen Jake around. 

He must have been extra cautious to ignore you especially after your previous incident. 

You hadn’t even heard him play his usual loud and obnoxious music anymore or him raging at his games. No one has come over since then either. You couldn’t understand why Jay coming over bothered him so much to the point where he changed up his whole routine, choosing to take on a rather silent stance. 

But he wasn’t here today. 

For the first time in 3 weeks, you were there for his absence in the apartment, and you knew exactly what you wanted to do. 

You wanted to finally see what his own space looked like. 

Maybe in the slightest way it would help you figure out the type of person he is, maybe you’d find something that’d help you understand why he is the way he is. 

You double checked, making sure that psycho wasn’t hiding somewhere, hoping he’d catch you in the act. But when you checked every possible spot, you quietly and slowly opened the door to his room, steadily taking in the space that was unveiled in front of you. 

Cream walls, gray curtains, a cheap wooden bed frame, no posters, pictures or plants, you truly expected something more, but there was no personality to the boys room. 

In some way that answered a handful of your questions about him; he just had nothing to himself. He was just a simple boy with a fucked up character and greasy keyboard. 

His desk was messy, a mixture of textbooks, used up tissues and a half-empty lotion, crumpled up pieces of paper and cables. Yet through the mess you managed to notice a note, your name written in capitals on the top of it. 

And well, a scrunched up, stained pair of your light pink, lacy panties. They were abandoned in the middle of all the tissues he disgustingly didn’t get rid of yet. 

Just when you thought he couldn’t get weirder, he somehow did. 

“There is no fucking way” you whispered to yourself, your mouth parted and eyes wide. 

You looked back and forth between the paper and your underwear, eventually grabbing at the note, narrowing your eyes as you began to read the contents. 

You skimmed through the bullet points; your full schedule written down on the paper with almost exact numbers as to when you leave and when you come back. These were the things you didn’t even know yourself. 

“You think about me a lot don’t you, Jakey” you murmured with an evil grin, not forgetting to snap a picture of it and send it to Minjeong. 

You decide to leave the now useless fabric where you found it, also deciding to leave it out of the conversation with your best friend. She had already freaked out over the schedule and if she found out your crazy roommate is also jerking off using your dirty laundry, she wouldn't waste a second moving all your things into her apartment personally. 

She replied swiftly, an arrangement of emojis decorating your home screen and a “WHAT THE FUCK, CALL ME ASAP?”. You smiled and put all his things back in place, leaving the horrid space Jake created for himself. 

“Hello? Y/n?” Minjeongs voice ringed in your ears as you called the girl. 

You decided to spend some time in the living room, waiting for Jake’s return. Your eyes were constantly plastered on the door in the end of the hallway, ears listening in for a turn of the key. 

“Yeah, I’m here” you laughed lightly, and that’s when Minjeong got her confirmation to start her full on blowout. 

“Move out of there as soon as possible, girl. That man is dangerous, I swear to god” she half screamed, and you just chuckled “You’re laughing? This doesn’t scare you, like at all?” she asked, and you thought about a reasonable reply, cause ‘He’s hot’ was definitely not going to make the cut for your best friend. 

“I can’t afford anything else Minjeong, you know that. He doesn’t bother me that much, it’s okay” you said in an attempt to calm the girl down. 

“I told you, you can come stay with me” she said calmly, and you let a stray breath out. 

“Min you know I love you, but I already told you I do not want to hear you banging Heeseung every other night” you smiled even though she couldn’t see you. 

“Personally, I’d rather listen to pornhub recreations than live under the same roof with a potential stalker” she said, and you laughed. At least she knew about her problem. 

“He’s not a stalker Min, he’s just weird. That’s all” you replied and she sighed. 

“You can’t fix him, Y/n” she said, and you scoffed playfully. 

“You can wait and see” you told her and she just hummed. 

“Before that happens, you'll be six feet under” she said, and you couldn’t help but laugh at her overprotectiveness

The topic slowly faded when the seriousness turned into playful banter, the two of you discussing random topics and gossiping about every possible person that ever graced your campus. 

You didn’t leave the living room, not once, because according to Jake's precious and impressive schedule, you should be out now. Normally that would be true if not for the cancellation of your pilates class. Self-cancellation. 

As the keys turning and metal hitting the wooden door sound through the apartment, you hang up without further explanation, quietly running off to your room. 

If you stayed in the living room, upon noticing you, he'd practically bolt to his room, locking the door, once again, avoiding you. You were smarter than that. 

As soon as you heard him settle down, the sound of your old fridge being opened, and his quiet footsteps pacing around the kitchen, you pulled out your phone, the picture of his note staring back at you. You smile mischievously, phone in hand as you open the door, heading straight towards the kitchen, 

He looks slightly taken-aback and you know damn well why. He wasn't expecting you. You shouldn't be here for another 30 minutes- the perfect amount of time for him to shower and make dinner. He had precisely calculated all of this just so he could avoid useless encounters with you. 

“What is this?” your voice is taunting as he realizes what's displayed on your screen. 

All the blood drained from his face as he realized you entered his room and looked through all his things, possibly even read all the perverted thoughts he had about you that were scattered across his desk in the form of crumpled pieces of paper. He remembers exactly what he took from your dirty laundry basket and how much he enjoyed having the fabric wrapped around his thick shaft. 

“You went through my things ?” he asks, voice laced with anger as the reality of the situation comes down on him.   

You bark out a laugh, amused by his attempts to shift the blame on you “Oh and my panties, you can keep those. Hope they milk your short dick good” you smirk, leaning against the wall with arms crossed, the look of confidence on your face. 

Jake's expression darkens, a cruel grin twisting his lips as he moves closer to you, his face inches away from yours “You think you're so fucking clever, don't you? Going through my things, catching me in a little indiscretion and using it against me. Impressive” his voice is low as he laughs in your face. 

One of his hands moves to grip your chin, the look on his face menacing as he forces you to maintain eye contact “You're nothing but an entitled brat. I'm not some fucking pushover and you should know that by now. Weren't those rules enough? You just had to go and invade my privacy to feed your little ego. You knew what you’d find, didn't you?” he stares down at you intensely, his grip on your chin tightening, his thumb slowly brushing over your lower lip, his smile growing as he notices your silence. 

“Here's what will happen, okay? You’ll apologize for breaking my rules, send all your guests packing as soon as they show up on this doorstep, and we’ll never have this conversation again. You'll be a good little girl and listen to me from now on” he murmurs, his voice low as he trails his fingers along your jawline. 

“You look so hot when you get mad like this, Jakey” he looks caught off guard for a moment, before the low and seductive laugh parts his lips. 

“You think so?” he leans in closer, his breath hot on your skin, his voice down to a whisper as he continues “Then maybe we should put that dumb fucking mouth of yours to use and I'll show you just how hot I can get” 

A smirk spreads across Jake's face as his hands move down to grope your behind, giving it a firm squeeze, chuckling at your reaction. 

He moves to settle down at the edge of the couch, stripping off his shirt, presenting you with the view you’ve missed way more than you thought you did. His chiseled torso glistens under the lights, his belt buckle clinking as he undoes his pants, pushing them down. The fabric falls down to the floor almost instantly. 

He watches you intently as you smile up at him, his fingers toying with the waistband of his boxers, his movements slow and tantalizing. 

You’re enjoying this and he knows it too, watching from the way you slide down to your knees in front of him. 

“I knew you'd like this. Is this what you wanted?” he teases, his gaze never leaving yours as he watches your desperate pleas. 

When you nod, he laughs softly, finally pushing down his boxers, freeing his rigid erection “Show me how much you wanted it” 

He grips the base of his shaft, giving it a few slow strokes as he watches you, waiting for you to take him into your mouth. 

You grin at his heat and hardness, your fingers wrapping around his length. He pulses in your grasp, begging to fill your throat. You lean in, your gaze locked on his, running your tongue from base to tip, savoring the bitter taste of his precum. 

You slowly take him into your mouth, your lips stretching as you push his length further down your throat. You bob your head, the determination to bring him pleasure coursing through your veins. 

As your wet mouth accommodates his thick cock, a strangled groan escapes his lips “Yeah, fuck, don’t stop” 

His fingers thread through your hair, pushing you further down his shaft. He guides you as the sensation of your tongue around his sensitive tip brings him over the edge, his knees weak as he shakes with pleasure. 

“Keep going, suck me off good” he moans, his mouth parted as he continues to guide your head down his throbbing cock. 

As you pick up speed, your movements harder and faster, he can feel his body begging for release, the orgasm building in his stomach. 

He can barely keep his eyes open as he speaks, his voice strained “Fuck, I’m close" his heartbeat quickens "Gonna cum so hard down your throat you’ll never want to go against me again” 

His hips buck, as he tries to savor the last moments before his awaited release. With a hoarse cry, he loses himself in the feeling, spilling himself deep into your throat. 

His grip on your hair loosens, his eyes rolling back with pleasure “Swallow” he commands, his body shaking as he rides out his climax. 

With a contented hum, you comply, lapping up the last drops of his seed, the salty flavour coating your mouth. The rest of his release, mixed with your spit, coats your glistening lips, as you remove yourself off him. 

Jake watches you lick your lips before pulling you into a bruising kiss, tasting himself on your tongue. His tongue moves along your mouth, his hands sliding up your shirt, his fingers stroking the smooth skin of your stomach. 

“Strip” he says, pulling away, watching you with an evil grin. 

As he watches you slowly and teasingly remove your thin shirt and shorts, his hand begins to slowly stroke his cock back to hardness, smearing the ramints of his own release and your saliva along his thick shaft. 

He sits down on plush comforters of the couch, tapping his lap for you. His body presses against you as you straddle his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“So pretty” he whispers, locking his eyes on you as he watches you subtly grind your hips on top of him. 

He pulls your head back, exposing you bare throat, his lips leaving a trail of bites and bruises on his way down to your collarbone. 

A soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel his wet lips on you “I need more” 

He smiles at your words “I’ll fuck you so good the only rule you’ll remember is how nice it is when you submit to me” 

Jake swiftly moves you down onto the cushions, his body looming over you as his hungry eyes wander over your body. His lips meet yours again, his hardness grinding against your wet core. 

He uses your wet slick as a lubricant, his cock sliding against your folds as he hisses at the sensation. 

“I fucked myself to the thought of you every night” his voice is rough with barley restrained lust as he notches himself at your entrance “Wanted to bury myself in this little cunt for so long” 

With a powerful thrust of his hips, Jake sheathes himself fully inside you, groaning as your tight heat elopes him. You breath out in ecstasy as he fills you completely, your inner walls clenching tightly around his thick length. 

Your back arches off the couch, as you hold onto his forearm, your nails digging into his skin “Shit, Jake. So fucking good” 

You start rolling your hips, meeting his every stroke, the sound of skin slapping against skin and loud gasps fill the once quiet apartment. 

Encouraged by your wanton pleas, his thrusts become erratic, hitting deep and hard. He pounds into you with a wild force, pressing you down in place, taking the pleasure from your willing body. 

“That’s right, take it all” he holds onto your hips, slamming you onto his length. 

You can’t even bother to reply to his comments, writhing beneath him as he uses your body for his own gratification. Each of his brutal movements sends you further over the edge, his pace almost demonic as your nails dig into his back, leaving red scratches along the surface. 

Jake feeling your trembling thighs and the way you clench around him, smiles evilly, slamming into you with precision, grinding his pelvis against your clit. 

“Cum on my cock” he speaks, his voice dark “Milk me for all I’m worth” 

With a piercing whine, you come undone under his dripping body, the orgasm crashing down on you. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as with heavy pants, you ride out your intense climax. 

The feeling of your release and the sound of your name falling breathlessly from your lips, proves too much for him to handle “Gonna cum so fucking deep inside you” 

With a low, guttural moan Jake presses himself deep inside you one last time, and finds his own release, pumping his hot, thick cum directly into you. 

He finally collapses on top of you, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he comes down from his own, intense orgasm. Jake lies down next to you, your damp body sticking to his, as he threads his fingers through your hair. 

“Don’t go through my shit again, Y/n” he whispers, biting down on your earlobe. 

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 18th. mattheo — hate fucking / enemies.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: “at least her favourite form of foreplay isn’t an argument…” “or being a bitch her kink..”

warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon(meh), ex bf/gf trope, toxic behaviour, mutual manipulation, these two are chaotic as fuck, mentions of blood, gagging, degradation, rough sex PIV, hate fucking, spitting, spanking, uhhh i think that covers it. this one is a ride. can you tell this is my fav trope?

"I'm so fucking sick of you.”

"Get well soon, princess."

"Get fucked, Riddle."

Three sentences, three venomous insults that cut the room in half—heavy enough in their intensity to make you want to tear through dungeon walls, splintering stone and mortar with bare hands if it means sparing yourself another second in this blasted room, with him.

Detention at midnight—on a Friday, no fucking less—is unheard of. But leave it to your dickhead ex to make the impossible a reality. His fault, of course. Like always.

Snape had turned a blind eye for months. It was only a matter of time before something had to give. An hour unsupervised was as good as you'll get.

Sulking defeat, you sink back in your chair, rough wood digging into your spine as you eye Mattheo with a glare that could rival a bullet. He looks like hell, and it's infuriating how even in that state he manages to look so nonchalant, so maddeningly unbothered—like even exhaustion makes a home on him and he's comfortable with it. Bags under his eyes, scar cutting across the bridge of his nose, those dark curls falling messily over his forehead, white dress shirt wrinkled and open at the collar.

You roll your eyes, a gesture that feels like your only act of rebellion left.

And he notices. Of course he does.

"You haven't changed a bit," he spits, and you know it's an insult. You scowl as he swipes the blood off his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. "Always a bitch to me over something."

Bitch. The name strikes you, but you won't let him see it, won't let him know that it lands. You've bled too many times at his feet for him to draw blood again tonight.

"Am I not allowed to be pissed off that you dragged us into detention? We should be at the party, Mattheo. We should be anywhere but here." You hear the frustration rising in your voice, like it's boiling up from somewhere deep, somewhere you can't quite reach. It's hard not to let it slip, especially when he looks at you like that. "This is so fucking typical of you. You mess up, and somehow I'm the one who pays for it."

For a moment, there's silence, and it almost feels like a victory until you realize he's only biding his time, waiting to strike back.

"You really want to get back there? To that party?" He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. You long for the chair to break from under him. "After what your new man was caught doing with Lovegood?"

You snort before you can stop yourself, the sound slipping out like a reflex. You hadn't expected that. And quite frankly, it's amusing—no, downright hilarious—that he's clearly been keeping tabs on you and "new man", and now here he is, trying to play it off like he doesn't care. Like it's nothing.

"I'll spare you the insults this once," you mutter, fingers loosening the tie around your neck with a tug. "Because, clearly, you're ignorant to the truth, even if you think you know every goddamn thing." You pause, ripping out your earrings. "He's not my man, so I don't give a shit what he does with who. He ended it last week. Good fuck, sure—but other than that..."

You trail off, making a mocking noise with your lips, a derisive puff of air, as if you could blow away the memory of him as easily as dust off an old book. A Ravenclaw. Brilliant in all the wrong ways—sharp mind, yes, but utterly thrill-less, like he saw you as just another page to flip through, a textbook he was annotating.

It is what it is.

A moment passes and then Mattheo grins—slow at first, but spreading across his face like fire, destructive in its consummation. It unsettles you. He looks more intrigued than he's been in months.

"A good fuck, huh?"

"That's what I said," you reply, clipped, your tone offering no room for him to crawl inside.

"And why didn't it work out? Too good for you?" He says, twisting the knife just because he can. "Too clean, maybe?"

Your eyes scan the room, searching for something within reach to throw at him, anything to break this unbearable tension. Insufferable. Every inch of him, insufferable.

You find nothing, so you throw words instead. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

He nods, as if that's the truest thing either of you have said all night. Of course he knows.

You barely suppress a dry laugh at his idiocy. "Like I told you—he ended it. If you're so fucking interested in why it didn't work out, then why don't you go ask him?"

There's a pause—he's chewing the inside of his cheek as he stares at you. You imagine chewing his head off as you stare at him.

"I'm sure you gave that bookworm the ride of his life," he says, voice half-dry, half-sarcastic, as if he's already bored of the conversation. As if he knew all of this information already. "Everyone knew that was temporary. Your first rebound, congrats."

And just like that, your blood is boiling. He knows how to needle you, how to get under your skin with the slightest flick of his stupid fucking tongue. Your eyes trace the cold stone of the dungeon walls, desperately trying to find something—anything—to distract yourself.

But it's no use. Mattheo's an asshole. He's always been an asshole. That's why you left. All the two of you did was fight and fuck, a chaotic spiral that was as thrilling as it was destructive. Now, he's easily your enemy—dragging you into his messes, never letting you get too far without ruining your life somehow.

And yet—

If you said you didn't miss the sex sometimes, that'd be a lie. Or at least a half-truth. The kind that slips out when you've had one too many glasses of firewhiskey, the kind you'd regret in the morning.

"What about you, dickhead?" You cut through the silence, ignoring his obvious attempt to rile you up. "That Hufflepuff you were seeing—why'd I see her all over Theo tonight?"

He answers far too fast. "They're friends."

You snort, disbelieving. "Right."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room to the bookcase as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The books feel safer somehow, less volatile.

"You're bored of her, aren't you?" You don't care to look at him. You can imagine the way his jaw tenses at the question.

The silence is telling. He doesn't answer right away. You know him well enough to understand what that means. Then, finally, he speaks, a half-answer that doesn't really answer the fucking question at all.

"At least her favourite form of foreplay isn't a fucking argument." He stands, slow, pushing his hair back from his forehead with one battered hand. You glance at him, pulse quickening. "Or being a bitch her kink."

"Does she even have kinks?" It slips out, a knife thrown without aiming. "Sounds like you're bored, Matty."

You watch as he blinks, his eyes darken. That nickname—you know you don't have the right to say it anymore, and that's exactly why you do. It's an insult wrapped in familiarity, and it hits its mark by the way his shoulders tense, jaw tight.

He steps toward you, one calculated step, and you feel it—that chaotic pull, the gravity that's always drawn you both in, no matter how far you try to stay away. A smile pulls at your lips, a cruel thing.

"How cute." He tilts his head just enough to inspect you, eyes dragging over you like he's searching for something to confirm what he already suspects. "Looks like you're jealous."

Your hand grips the bookshelf, eyes locked on him over your shoulder. Jealous? There's not a soul on this planet who could make you jealous. She may be the hero of this story, the girl that gets the guy, might even be everything you're not—

"Looks like you're learning the hard way," you're inspecting him now, too. Every piece of him you once touched. "When it comes too easy it's never gonna' hit as hard, babe."

Another pause from him—something dancing in his eyes. Anger? Maybe. Or something more, something twisted that you don't care to name. You've already lit the match, and now you're just watching him burn.

"You're so clever, huh? So full of advice," he sneers, ripping off his tie and chucking it on a desk. "Go on then, tell me more about how I feel, professor. Since you know everything about me."

You can't help the smirk that curls on your lips. Oh, he's pissed. And that means you're winning.

"What? You don't like hearing the truth? Too much for your delicate ego?" You take a step toward him, savouring every second of this. He hurt you, over and over, the scars from those days still fresh, still bleeding beneath your skin. This has been a long time coming. "You think I care about your new girl, Matty? The one you let your boys fawn over in the common room?...she kissed Theo tonight." You pause, letting that linger. "You think you're doing something, but I see right through you. You don't give a fuck about her. If you did, no one would dare touch her like that. So don't sit here, accusing me of jealousy, like I'm the one hung up on you. You're projecting. And it's pathetic."

He doesn't waste a goddamn beat—his laugh is bitter, sickeningly so—and he advances again, his shadow moving behind him, the space between you now barely there.

"That's amazing, truly. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a goddamn oracle. All-knowing, all-seeing." His voice is infuriating. The look on his face more-so. "What's your verdict then, my lord? You think this is all an act? That everything I'm doing is just to spite you?"

Your heart races, breath catching in your throat as he steps closer. This is a dance you both know too well, the kind where neither of you win.

"I know how you operate." Your chest heaves, anger rising with every breath. "It's all a game to you, Matt. A sick, twisted game to keep yourself entertained."

"That's rich, coming from someone who played it just as well." He takes another step forward. You could reach out and touch him now he's that close. His grin grows. "Too bad your Ravenclaw figured it out before you could sink your teeth in too deep. Next time you see him, make sure to tell him I said you're welcome."

Your brows pinch—the blood in your veins screeching to a halt, backing up like New York traffic at a standstill. You feel it, hot and furious, rushing toward a place it can't go, clogged behind the wall of rage building up inside you—

"You're welcome?" You spit, a sharp snarl caught between clenched teeth. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He's watching you, his eyes darting over your shoulder, fingers brushing over his lips like he's trying to dull that familiar smirk, that cruel little game he's always played.

Your stomach sinks, drops to your feet.

"Mattheo—" you snap, cutting him off just as he opens his mouth, before he can throw another snide word. "Spare me the cryptic bullshit for once in your life—“

His eyebrows lift at that, but there's a nod, a hint of something deeper in it. You taste the smugness in the air between you, can almost feel it slithering through his silence.

"Looks like you don't know everything after all. Isn't that ironic?" He straightens up, letting the moment breathe before his face hardens into something almost serious. "Your rebound came to me in the courtyard about two weeks ago. Had some questions about you."

"What?" Your nerves are vibrating, every cell in your body on edge. Your blood is so clogged, you swear you're seeing red. "What questions?"

"The usual sort of normal stuff. Your birthday. Your favorite colour. Childhood traumas. Our downfall. You know."

The casualty in the way he says it makes you sick, bile rising in your throat, a bitter burn at the back of your mouth. It's all starting to come together now. This stupid motherfucker—

"You're lying." The words feel weak, frail. He wouldn't—no, he couldn't. "You're fucking lying."

"Am I?" His fingers brush your cheek, but your skin's gone numb, your blood too frozen to feel anything but the cold burn of your fury. "Or, is the truth just…too much for your delicate ego to handle?"

Oh, fuck off—

Your wand is in your hand before you even realize you've grabbed it, instinct, pure reflex. There's barely a second of rational thought before you're casting, the spell hitting him square in the chest, sending him flying back into the chair he once sat in. His eyes flash, anger igniting there, and he scrambles for his wand—but you're faster.

"Expelliarmus."

One word and you're across the room before you even know you've moved, chest tight as you slam the tip of your wand against his throat. There's a cut on his lip, blood trickling down his chin for a second time tonight, but that stupid fucking smirk is still there, showcasing rubies for teeth and carved into his face like it belongs.

"Tell me what you did." Your voice cracks, but not from fear—it's fury, burgling through you, burning hot enough to make your whole body shake. You half want to cut him open just to bury your rage inside him, let him feel it. "If what you're saying is true, he ended things just days later. Tell me what the fuck you said to him."

Mattheo’s leaning back, hands raised in mock surrender, eyes glinting with the same smug amusement that's always haunted him. He's daring you, taunting you. He knows you never cared about that guy, not really.

You both know it. He was boring, easy.

This—this is something else.

His tongue swipes at the blood on his lip. "He didn't tell you—"

"Don't." Your wand digs deeper into his skin, cutting off whatever he was about to say. The pressure makes his breath hitch, but not enough. Not nearly enough. "I said tell me."

"Merlin—okay—I told him nothing, nothing really," his voice makes your grip tighten on your wand. He stares at you for a long, hard minute before he adds; "except that he should show me some fucking gratitude."

Your jaw slips, confusion rushing in like a flood. But before you can even question him—

"I told him he should be thanking me." Another pause. "When he's fucking you."

He laps at the blood seeping from the cut on his lip for the second time in only a minute and you barely notice the movement—the words hit you like a brick, but it's deeper than that, something visceral that crawls under your skin and settles in your bones. It's sharp, raw, cutting through the wall of rage so fast it leaves you breathless. You don't know how to explain it, this feeling that twists through you, something far too complicated to be named.

And then, you become aware of everything at once.

His legs, spread wide on either side of yours, the space between you so small, your chest just close enough to his face that his breath feels like it's fogging your skin. You're towering over him, wand pressed hard into his throat, your heart hammering in your chest like you're ready to ruin him—but his eyes, the way he looks up at you, says he'd let you.

"I may have even added that although you're with him, you'll always think of me. Both you and him know it’s true.“ That stupid smirk is gone, replaced with something you've never quite seen before. He pauses, before he continues. "You miss it. Us." Another pause. There’s something victorious in his tone, something that's almost breaking you. "And no matter how many times you try to forget, you never do, do you?"

Salazar save you—you should hex him. You should fucking hex him. Every nerve in your body is screaming for it, begging for it, but you can't. You can't fucking move. Your wand is still pressed to his skin, but it feels like you're the one pinned down.

"Shut up," you finally manage, but your voice is meek, thin, nothing like the fury you want to feel. "You...you're being—"

"I'll shut up," his hand finds your wrist, pressing your wand tip against his neck with more force—enough to make himself wince. "If you make me."

You blink, stunned, and you can feel your anger slipping, slipping faster than you can catch it. You don't know what's happening to you—it’s just him—his sick twisted insanity that disarms you. Time and time again. An endless fucking cycle.

"I could ruin you," you whisper, but it sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself than him. You press the wand deeper, just enough to draw a grunt from him, but the look on his face—he's not afraid. No, he's enjoying it. "I have more reasons than most to leave you here bloodied for Snape to find in the morning."

You say the words but the conviction is gone, swept away in the flood of heat between you—the dizzying proximity, the way his lips curl, almost smiling but not quite—

"What are you so afraid of?" He whispers, and there's something fragile in his voice now. "That you might actually want this?"

"I don't want this." You force the words out immediately, hoping they will make it real. Hoping they'll stop this spiral. "I regret ever wanting this."

He’s silent for a moment as he lowers his hands, dark eyes falling to trace your lips—

"I know you hate me, the feelings mutual...but I know. I know I'll always be your favourite regret," those chocolate curls shift, his head tilts closer, too close. Not close enough. "You're still my weapon of choosing."

Merlin. Merlin bloody forgive you—

"…to hurt yourself with?” It's half a question, but you already know the answer.

He nods, and that does it.

Your lips are on his, fast and hard and bruising—and the reaction is immediate, visceral. All that backed-up blood—all that rage frozen in your veins rushes forward in a single, scorching wave. It crashes low, between your thighs, a heat so sharp it aches. The shame comes with it. So does the disgust. A sick knot of self-hatred pulsing through you as you taste his blood on your tongue while his hands are under your skirt, grabbing you like he owns you, pulling you into him. It's only a moment before your wand clatters to the ground, and your hands are tangled in his hair, yanking hard, hard enough to hurt.

You want it to hurt. God, you want it to hurt.

He growls at the sting on his scalp—and then, everything flips.

His fingers tug at something, and you realize it's his own wand, the one you tucked into the back of your skirt—and before you can even think, he's got it, casting a spell that sends you flying back onto the desk behind you. You groan—the world spins, but you don't even have a second to gather yourself before he's advancing toward you, casting another spell on his tie.

Within seconds it's slithering across your lips and tying itself around your head, gagging you.

He steps between your legs, parts them with the ease of someone who's done it a thousand times before—rough hands gliding up your thighs, eyes wild. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, through your slit, and you try to hold on to any shred of control, but it's gone. You can feel it. The way you forget everything except the way he leans down, breath hot in your ear.

"Look how fucking wet you are," he spits through a sneering grin. "You're goddamn shameless, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes, but your thoughts scatter the moment his fingers shove inside you, curling hard—so hard you gasp into the tie, your back arching violently off the desk.

"He ever get you this wet?" His voice is like gravel, each word grinding into your bones. "Nod your head if he did."

Your body reacts before your mind does, arching against him, but you don't move your head. As much as it hurts your pride to give him that win. You dig your fingers into his hair and pull—hard enough to make him grunt, hard enough to hurt.

His hand comes down hard on your thigh in response, a sharp smack that stings, a warning. You squeal, and his fingers start pumping faster, deeper.

He huffs. "That's what I thought."

His fingers make quick work of you, relentless, and his thumb presses to your clit, rolling circles in a rhythm that has your blood on fire, shame licking at the edges of your vision, but it only makes you burn hotter. This is all wrong. Everything about this is wrong, something you'll regret with every fiber of your being tomorrow, but right now, it's an ache you need.

It's the wound you keep reopening, the pain you crave because it's the only thing that ever feels real.

"Fuck, you're close, aren't you?" He sounds almost shocked, like he can't believe how easily your body betrays you, but you feel it too, the disbelief crashing through you as fast as the pleasure does. Too fast. Far too fast. "Did he ever make you cum? Huh? When's the last time you fucking came?"

You can't answer, just groan, yanking at his hair again. His response is immediate, another stinging slap to your inner thigh, sharp enough to make fluid prick your eyes. Your orgasm is right there, teetering on the edge, ready to tip over—but then he slows his pace, dragging it out, torturing you.

You whine. A pitiful, desperate sound you hate yourself for.

"Look at me." His voice cuts through the haze, and begrudgingly, you do. "He didn't make you cum, did he?"

Your face burns, not from his breath or his fingers or even the astronomical amount of shame you feel—but from the truth of it. You shake your head.

"How long?" His voice shatters the air between you. "A week?"

You shake your head again, biting into the fabric of his tie as his fingers curl deeper inside you.

"Two weeks?"

Another shake. He curses under his breath.

"You poor little thing." His words are venom, but the second they spill from his lips, he pumps his fingers into you again, massaging at your walls, and your vision goes white. "Can't even cum without me."

You would've slapped him if you could, would've torn him apart, but the orgasm hits you like a freight train, ripping through you with violent force. You clench around his digits, thighs trembling as you ride the wave of pleasure, convulsing, moaning into the tie as he watches you like he's won.

"So fucking easy." He withdraws his fingers, and immediately, his hands go to his belt. "We'll make up for lost time."

Everything about this feels like a rerun. The same scene playing out on loop, again and again—a cycle of self-destruction you know too well, like running headfirst into a burning building, certain you can handle the smoke only to choke on it.

He's taking off his belt, ready to fuck you stupid, and by morning you'll be back to the same familiar hatred, tearing each other apart in new, inventive ways. Your hands move sluggishly to rip the tie from your mouth, but you're slow, too slow, still dizzy from the release that blindsided you, one that you haven't felt in so long—the fabric barely grazes your fingers before Mattheo catches your wrists, yanking them back, dragging you to your feet in one rough motion.

The spin disorients you—arms pinned behind your back, his cock sliding between your thighs.

"You've done enough talking today," he hisses at your ear as he drags along your slit. "You want this, don't you?"

Your mind screams for you to shake your head, to end this here and now. You know he'd stop—he's an asshole, but not that kind of an asshole. You know it. You almost do it, almost say the word that would shatter this madness. But then he drags his tip against your clit and you moan before you can stop yourself.

Your head nods with a wanton moan, and it's so full of shame your eyes sting with tears.

"Yeah, I know, baby." He's taunting you, every syllable smug, condescending. "This pussy missed me so much, huh?" His hand tightens on your wrists until your skin burns, the other hand finding its way around your thigh, pulling you closer to him. "Fuckin' lost without me. S'all it's good for, isn't it? Taking my cock."

You groan, shaking your head in defiance, but even that feels like a lie. You hate him. You want him. You hate yourself for wanting him.

"No?" His fingers inch toward your clit, ghosting over it—you squeal, hips jerking for more. "Maybe we should call this off then?"

You blink once and his fingers are gone—wrenching a whine out of you, pathetic as you push your ass back against him, shame burning through you as you shake your head. Fuck him. Curse him. But you need him inside you, need him to fill the aching void that gnaws at you.

"That's my slut," he growls, and before you can process the words, he's inside you—one long, brutal thrust that spears you open, the stretch burning deep. The sting mixes with shock of his fingers returning to your clit, rubbing circles that make your knees buckle. "You know you're the only girl I've fucked raw? This pussy will always be mine."

He's fucking insane. Completely insane. And the worst part is, you're just as insane for wanting him. For needing him. You can't fight it. You don't even want to. Not now. Not when his voice drips like poison and he's tearing you apart in the only way you understand.

"Mmmf—" you groan into the tie and he's matching you, his teeth grazing your shoulder, marking you in ways that will last for days.

"I hope it hurts," he grumbles against your skin, his breath ragged. He's lying, you can feel it in the way his fingers are moving, coaxing you to cum, even as he pretends to wish you pain. "I hope it fucking stings."

Your hands ball into fists, trapped in his grip, and you imagine clawing at his back until you draw blood, sinking your nails in until he feels every ounce of your anger.

"I want you to feel it—fuck—I want you to remember this," he pants, his voice barely more than a growl as your climax crashes toward you, unstoppable now. "Remember how weak I make you. How much of a slut you are for me."

Another harsh thrust and then, you're there—falling into the void—pleasure is so strong it bleeds out of you, forcing your cunt to clamp tight around him, legs trembling, barely able to support you through it. Mattheo’s curses slip through clenched teeth, but this only fuels him—his rhythm picks up, brutal, hips slamming against your ass with a pace that borders on unhinged.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck." The words are barely audible, grunted against the shell of your ear. You're whining, still twitching with aftershocks, but he doesn't care. His hands are on your hips now, fingers digging deep as he thrusts you forward, slamming you over the desk. The wood bites into your palms as you try to brace yourself, but his anger is palpable, drilling into you— "you wanna bitch at me now?"

The moan you release is automatic, instinctual. You can't stop it. Can't control it. His fingers curl around your throat, shifting the tie down to shove two into your mouth.

"Hhhhh—" you're trying to form words around his fingers, but it's impossible. The garbled sound is pathetic, but he knows exactly what you're trying to say.

"You hate me. I know." It’s smug, punctuated by a sharp smack to your ass, the sting of it making you yelp. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, wiping the spit across your cheek before he grips your jaw, forcing your head to turn, to meet his eyes. "Open your mouth."

There's no time to process the demand. His eyes are molten, crazed, filled with something raw and uncontainable. His next thrust is punishing, slamming into your cervix, making you sob—your mouth parting just enough—

He leans in close, and then he spits into your mouth.

"Swallow it." His fingers dig into your cheeks, pressing the order into your bones. "Be a good girl for once."

You choke out a laugh, even as you're panting, even as he's splitting you stupid.

"Never." The word barely leaves your lips before you’re spitting back at him—your entwined saliva landing across his chin and lips.

For a second, you expect the worst—you brace yourself for the retaliation—the slap, the insult, the way he'll tighten his grip and take back control. But to your surprise, instead of anger, there's a grin—wide and feral, big and crazed enough to reach his eyes.

You smile back. His cock twitches inside you.

"Fuck me," he mutters, then crashes his mouth to yours.

You taste the salt and bitterness of mingled spit, a mess of his and yours, and it pulls a moan from somewhere deep inside you. He devours it, greedy, his hips growing erratic, sloppy as his high nears.

His hand drops to your clit, fingers pressing with a precision that obliterates every last shred of sanity—and it takes only moments before the pressure builds again, fast and furious. Your third orgasm rips you apart, your body clenching tight, muscles seizing as you're lost in it. You're not sure where you end and he begins—your breath congealing with his, your moans swallowed in the space between you.

His release follows right after, crashing over him as he buries himself deep, spilling into you with a groan that reverberates through your bones. You hate the way it feels. You hate the way he fills you. But you also can't deny the twisted satisfaction of it—the way you sought this punishment, needed it. The shame consumes you, but it's comforting in its familiarity.

He pulls out, and the silence between you is easy, broken only by your ragged breathing. The room feels impossibly small now, your body still thrumming with the aftermath, but the moment is over. You both start to move—piecing yourselves back together, pulling clothes into place, avoiding the weight of what just happened.

You don't understand how it came to this, how it always does, but you're not surprised. Not anymore.

After a long, silent moment, he looks at you. “I don’t regret what I did.”

You know he doesn’t.

“I know.”

He blinks. “I won’t apologize for it.”

You know he won’t.

“I know.”

He nods, now, a smirk on his lips as he watches you fix your skirt. You note the hair sticking to his forehead, how he’s still catching his breath even though he’s pretending he isn’t.

“You aren’t mad.” An observation.

“I’m not.” You reply. You know you should be, but the relief you felt when that Ravenclaw ended things tells you everything you need to know. “Just, never do it again.”

He nods again. “Sure.”

You’re pretty sure he doesn’t mean that—but, at least now, as you glance over at him, there's a small comfort in knowing you no longer want to kill him.

[kizzer55555]

Do You Feel That?

Idea. So imagine the bats are going to Amity (or a place nearby) to investigate something. A building that had very strange readings, maybe even investigating a case. Probbaly starting in a forest. So this place is haunted naturally, and the ghosts can’t be perceived by the human eye. In this universe, Danny can technically become visible in his ghost form if he concentrates, along with many powerful ghosts, but their default is intangibility and invisibility and it’s just inefficient to use a that much power just to be seen. So most things that happen in Amity are not seen by normal people. Those infected by ectoplasm (the pits and ectoplasm being two separate things in this) are able to see ghosts after enough exposure. So if a hero were to come to Amity, they would see the destruction happening but it would look like some kind of invisible force, and then if they ask why others aren’t panicking, they just say Phantom is taking care of it.

Anyways, so the bats do not know about ghosts and are investigating this house and basically every kind of malevolent spirit you can think of is there and trying to mess with them. After all, even if they can’t see a ghost, that ghost can still affect them. And Phantom sees these idiots getting closer to one of the designated danger zones in his territory. (Or he was visiting a nearby haunted area due to the rising danger level and sees the bats right in the middle of it) The place all natives know to avoid at all costs. So the bats go anyways, completly oblivious to the danger. Danny arrives just in time to stop a ghost who was inches away from digging their claws into Red Robin.

And it goes on with Danny desperately keeping the ghosts back, tackling them, shooting them, growling and hissing and doing everything in his power to shield the oblivious heroes and keep them safe. He can’t even warn them because he’s spending too much power just keeping them alive in the woods. Because of course they decide to investigate the most haunted woods near Amity. Most of these spirits are old, angry, and wild.

And the bats are just casually going about their buisness, discussing the case and the evidence they found.

Danny tackles a ghost wolf to keep them from biting their fangs into Red Hood’s neck.

They follow some tracks.

Danny grabbing the shadowing tendrils attempting to strangle Nightwing.

They even joke around and push each other.

Someone temporarily possessed Red Robin and he starts reaching for a batarang with bloodlust in his eyes, before Danny digs his hands into the bat’s chest and rips out the foreign entity.

There is screaming, snarling, screeches, and lots of punches thrown, all unheard by the bats.

By the end, Danny is panting as they finally made it out of the forest. The bats are tracking a signal, and heading towards an abandoned house. Danny looks up and sees the place absolutly overflowing with spirits. They are crawling up the sides, eyes and teeth and tentacles moving through the wooden boards. Banshees and wraiths, eyeing them through the windows. Skinny limbs with barely any form creaking as their claws try to escape the house and reach towards the group below. Hundreds upon hundreds of spirits all confined to this small hut and ready to tear apart any who enter.

Danny takes one look at them, overhears the bats say that they have to head inside, and decide that he’s not dealing with this today. So he shoots a small laser to cut their power. No signal? No lights? No search.

He can hear the bats complaining but eventually, they have to turn back as they lost the signal and they are unable to continue. And hears them talk about how the place was so weird. Almost like something was watching them.

Phantom sags in relief once they are finally gone.

While they leave, Danny squares his shoulders because he needs to deal with all these ghosts before they get back.

Later, after not finding anything strange about the house or forest or the cause of their case (possibly a death? Or maybe just trying to find information connecting to something else?) and all the previous evidence and traces were gone. So they call in the magic users to use a spell to show the past and figure out what happened. And they can see the group in a sort of 3D holographic image as they investigated. But the spell doesn’t just show them, it shows every being from that time….so the group gets to see just exactly how close they all came to dying.

[shouyuus]

very 18+, vi-shaped, modern underground fighter!au tw: in which vi uses a vibrating strap d1ldo and also fucks ur throat

popular underground fighter vi! x reader in which vi "soft launches" your relationship with this photo posted on instagram with clear red nail marks down her back and just the caption "post fight ritual 💋" and it's obvious that her knuckles are still bruised, but someone else made those marks on her back and they're definitely not from any fight she's ever been in.

and it's not like she's a stranger to people thirsting over her posts -- she kinda knows she's hot. or at least, she's been told enough times to know it empirically, but it still stuns her a little when she catches you staring, or when she sees the way your pupils literally dilate in her presence; it's not something that she grew up hearing, always being told that she's too tomboy or that she's not feminine enough, even though her own family never cared, and they've always supported her no matter how she wanted to dress or what she wanted to do.

you, though. she doesn't know how she got so lucky with you.

she might call it a chance meeting, but later on, you'd admit that you'd had your eye on her for weeks, thought she was so, so pretty, even with all her black eyeliner and her choppily cut hair (she does it herself; oh, you could tell? why? what gave it away? the weirdly uneven buzz or the fact that she totally missed a patch at the back of her head?), and you'd put yourself squarely in the line of her sight and hoped (prayed, really) that she'd notice you.

and notice you she did.

wearing that pretty little sundress of yours, leaning up against the bar of her favorite lesbian haunt, the one she goes to nine times outta ten after her fights, the adrenaline's still high, eating through her veins, the tattoo of her pulse pressing against her ribcage.

she'd pushed off the far wall and caged you in against the dark wood of the bar, turning her charm up to eleven and hoping against hope that she wasn't just imagining things when she saw your gaze run up and down the length of her body (she wasn't).

"hey pretty. thought you might wanna take a closer look."

you'd grinned then, caught someplace between bashful and triumphant.

"but... it's so dark and so... loud," you say, letting your hand linger on her shoulder even as you put up the very convincing front of uncertainty, the blatant tease of your words the only thing cueing her off that you were picking up what she was putting down.

"yeah? then... wanna go somewhere quiet where you can... take a better look in peace?"

vi's apartment, despite all the winnings from her fights, was a modest place, a small studio in the heart of the city, though the floor the ceiling windows are really what caught your eye that first time she brought you over.

that, and the giant mirror that covered the length of an entire wall opposite the windows.

"so i can check my form," vi says when you ask, running a tall glass under the tap water, holding it out to you afterwards.

and she'd be lying if she said she hadn't been expecting a hookup. and honestly, so had you. but somehow, the pair of you had just ended up curled on the couch, sitting face to face, sharing stories and laughing. the next you looked up, the pink of dawn was teasing across the far skyline and vi was frowning at the dying phone in her hand, her eyebrows hitched.

"holy shit... it's 6am."

you bury your face in the cushions of the couch, your hands still wrapped around a half-empty cup of spiked apple cider (a bottle of martinelli's at the back of her fridge, along with a half-empty thing of grey goose she'd found, tugging the cap out with her teeth), feeling the tiredness drag at your eyelids.

"oops... sorry," you grin sheepishly at her, "usually, when i keep people up all night, it's not like this."

vi laughs at your tired little innuendo, but her eyes soften when she catches you watching her. and for some stupid, unfathomable reason, she feels her cheeks heating up.

"yeah peaches. i figured. but... i don't mind being kept up like this."

your brows furrow even as a grin threatens your lips as she nudges you with her hand. you shift back, making room for her as she sits down in front of you, close enough for you to feel the heat rolling off her skin.

beyond the windows, a brilliant sunrise is peering out over the city, and the sharp, shard-drawn light of it pierces vi's studio as she reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her thumb and forefinger trailing the line of your cheek till she's coaxing your chin up towards her.

"peaches?" you ask, your breath a bit short.

"yeah," her eyes flicker towards the tiny little stud earrings you'd put in, truly miniscule peach-emojis that you'd picked to match the shade of your dress. and you laugh, the tiredness making the air around you both effervescent.

and that was the first of many nights you'd proceed to spend at vi's, though eventually, she does drag you forward to kiss you, her lips insistent against yours, with you pulling back to gasp -- "took you long enough --" against her only for her to sink her teeth into the bared skin of your neck, letting her fingers curl around the delicate pulse-point nestled there as she says --

"they say good things come to those who wait."

neither of you can truly pinpoint the moment where this... thing became something more. something that neither of you had the words or will to deny any longer.

it might've come up the first time vi pressed three fingers into your sopping cunt, her eyes fixed on the way your expression goes slack, how your hips kicked up at every curl of her expert fingers. or perhaps the first time you'd pushed her back and kissed a line down her front, lavished her body with your lips, teasing and nipping at her tits before making your slow, arduous way down to her clenching cunt, licking up the wet slit before latching your mouth around her clit and sucking hard enough for her eyes to roll out of her eye-sockets.

or maybe the first time she'd pulled out her bright pink strap, the base equipped with a vibrating function and an opposing dildo that hooked into vi's pussy as she rucked her hips into yours, fucking into you so hard that tears had creased in your lashes after she was done with you.

"fuck peaches -- you just look so good cumming on my cock, don't you?"

and that's all it takes these days, a smirk, a slap on the ass, and her voice saying peaches for you to feel your body clench over nothing, for your stomach to curl with heat, even if she's just coming over to press a kiss to your cheek or murmur against your skin, asking how your day went, though sometimes, you'd get shy and your voice would get a bit too quiet.

"c'mon, speak up, doll. and look at me when i'm talking to you, yeah?"

her fingers squeezing your jaw, just tight enough to make you gasp.

and no one questions it; bc why would they? her coach is ecstatic -- not like vi's ever been an unfocused fighter, but these days, she's in such tip-top form that he's not got much feedback for her after her long training sessions.

"whoever she is," vander says, grinning even as vi flushes and sighs (she knows it's useless to lie, vander's known her for way, way too long), "she's good for you."

he presses a hand to her shoulder, shaking her slightly, "and my advice? when you find a girl like that -- you grab on with both hands and you don't let go."

so that's what she does, and what she's still doing now. it's been months -- almost a full year since you've made it all "official", though neither of you have posted much about it online (her fans have been speculating for a while though, specially the hardcore ones, the ones who have been with her long enough to know her, to spot how she scans the crowd before and after every right, how her smile's just a bit different these days, how there seems to be one particular girl she's always winking at, always hidden in the shadows but she's always swiveling around the first thing after a fight, win or lose).

"f-fuck -- that's a good girl --" vi groans, her hips jerking against yours as she fucks you through your third orgasm of the night (she'd wone her fight that night -- as she does most nights -- and you'd come over to celebrate), your nails biting into the skin of her back, dragging down the expansive tattoo there.

she feels the burn in her own thighs, her arms flexing, the veins popping blue as she drags you down the length of the bed by your hips, fucking into you, her eyes trained on the sticky white ring at the base of her pink strap, the sight in and of itself enough to send her over the edge.

"c'mere -- open your mouth, peaches," she says, guiding you towards her even as she pulls out of you, a thick string of cum slicking off the head of her strap as she inches up the bed to position herself over your chest and shoulders.

you let your jaw fall slack, moaning thick as she presses the tip of her strap to your tongue. you blink up at her, lashes fluttering as she sinks her fingers into your hair, hissing out a long breath as you swallow around her length.

"sweet fuck that's hot..."

she pulls you over her cock in shallow thrusts, her breath growing quick as she watches the way you eagerly clean your own cum off of her with your tongue, the completely fucked out, blissed out look in your eyes as you look up at her, so utterly besotted and at her mercy.

her feels the coils twist in her gut seconds before she shoves you down over her, the combined sound of your gagging and the pinpoint vibrations of the dildo sending her right over the edge.

"shit, shit -- shit oh -- fuck... mm..."

her fingers fist in your hair as she jerks around the dildo end of the strap, tugging out of your mouth with a lazy, lopsided smile.

"such a good girl for me, hm?" she says, tugging you up for an open-mouthed kiss. you mewl against her lips, so soft, absolutely melting into her arms as she shifts the both of you into the center of the bed.

it's not till she goes to shower later, with you sound asleep in her mussed up blankets, that she sees the marks -- red and raised on her back, scratched over her tattoo. a soft smile lifts her lips as she stares at her own reflection in the mirror, her neck twisting over her shoulder to get a good look.

and before she knows it, she's grabbing her phone and turning around to snap a pic, with the full intent of keeping it just to show you in the morning but... well, she thinks as she stares down at the photo with a dopey sort of grin, her heart thudding dangerously close to her mouth.

maybe the best gift she could give you on your one-year anniversary is this -- telling the world that she's yours.

[virginreprise]

. ・. ゜. -: ✧ :- INDEBTED TO ✧ YOU

jackson!joel miller x reader ・゜゜・．

° : ⋆ₓ ₒ slight ddlg dynamics, smut, age gap, dirty talk, daddy kink, joel's perverted inner monologue, just pure filth whilst i try and get junky pride pt3 finished lmao

2.7k words ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✧

˚ · • . ° . AO3 ˚ ·. • . ° .

Brief murmurs of Tommy’s chastising fumbled in the back of his mind, the harsh way he’d shook his head—told him you were far too young; that a man like Joel had no business talking to someone like you. Someone hardened and vulnerable, despairing and mutilated by life and every tribulation that had befallen you. 

“She was a child when all this happened,” he’d informed, almost caring as they shared a beer in the empty bar: the usual intensity and hubbub of Jackson’s population had dwindled to the few who dared venture into the snow when the moon hung high and the lanterns flickered off. Footsteps covered by the ever-falling white—lost to the prairie. “You had a child-“ 

Joel had cut him off with a stare, heat forming in his stomach that bubbled and raged—hard to keep down as he gripped the bottle, hand wet with condensation, and grabbed his jacket. Ready to take his leave. Tommy had known he’d gone too far and they’d never spoken of you again, Just Joel’s quiet, mumbled monologue and his little brother’s lingering disproval that seemed so irrational when you’d sunk on his lap and called him daddy. 

Surely it was natural: when denied something, there’d be an overwhelming intensity to have it. That when he was told “No,” he’d ignore every obstacle that conjured in his space. 

Maybe Joel was just stubborn. Or maybe you were just so sweet he couldn’t take his brother's advice and leave you alone. 

But you’d ended up in his bed, writhing underneath him whilst he held your wrists above your head and stretched you wide open—cooing at your pretty little whimpers as he nestled between your thighs. 

“There you go, baby.” He stroked the hair away from your forehead, eyes flickering down to gaze at the space between your legs—the way he disappeared inside of you as his balls pressed against your ass, slick dribbling down onto his bedsheets that he’d changed just hours before you’d come to him. He didn’t care, though. God, he’d be able to smell you all day, have the sweetness of you permeating throughout the room until the scent carried its way into his everyday life. 

Patrolling the surrounding area, you’d be there—dancing along his nose. In his workshop, as he sanded away the rough wood, making something for you as a Christmas present, he’d be able to feel you around him, taste you on his lips and hear the remnants of those staccato moans as you came around his fingers. 

“Daddy’s got you,” he mumbled as he breathed out a soft moan, the tightness of you around him causing him to pause—to contemplate his words that came so sinfully from his already tainted lips. 

Jackson should’ve been a new start, a new beginning where he could leave the horrors and the terror behind. But you: pretty little thing that barely spoke, who responded to every question with a quiet nod or a shake of your head and hoped that someone else would verbalise every feeling for you, had ruined those hopes for him—had shattered the image he’d created whilst hammering a nail into the wall, ready to hang his paintings on. 

You were sweet. So damn sweet. 

With a harshness in your eyes that hinted at similar pasts, at losses that neither of you could overcome. Why Tommy didn’t think you were fucking perfect for each other, Joel would never know. 

“Daddy’s here, darlin’, all for you.”

They were incoherent blabbers, things that Joel would never say if he wasn’t so drunk off pussy and the look on your pretty little face as he began slowly moving his hips. 

“D-daddy?” 

God, you sounded so fucking pretty. All glassy-eyes and fucked out with a little bit of drool pooling at the corner of your mouth. He lapped it up with a solid kiss, an arm wrapped around your waist as he tugged you close to him—wanting to feel every part of you, every soft piece of flesh, pressed against him. 

“Shhh, it’s okay.” Another kiss to your forehead, grinding his pubic bone into your clit—wanting to stay wrapped up like this forever; hoping that you’d stay with and warm his bed after all was said and done. Keep moaning that name of his, that filthy little name that would give Tommy an aneurysm if he heard it, until you came and cried all over his cock. 

“Hurts,” you managed to get out. “S’too big.” 

The pride that seized him was unlike any other, the light chuckle he let out unable to be prevented as he pressed another kiss to your forehead, one to both cheeks, your nose and then lips. 

“I know, honey.” His fingers found their way between your thighs, stroking circles into your clit—attempting to appease the ache as he rolled his hips into you. “Deep breaths.” 

Kisses fell from your lips to your jaw, trailing to your neck where he sucked, smiling as you keened and bucked your hips. 

You took it so well. Took everything he gave with no complaints, writhing around in his bed, messing his covers and calling his name. 

Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. 

It fell from your lips so perversely, but so pretty that he didn’t have it in him to tell you no. 

He’d be your daddy if that’s what you wanted. He was the right fucking age, silver in his hair—in his goddamn pubes too. His bones ached, knees cracking as he stood from the couch, back completely giving up on him after that one time a year ago when he’d held too much firewood in his arms and he’d gone tumbling down with the logs, crashing to the floor and having to crawl back inside his house. He hadn’t gone on patrol for a good few weeks after and he’d been careful with the damn fragile thing ever since. 

He was fragile. Fragile and old with a pudge to his tummy that never seemed to go away no matter how much he tried, wrinkles spidering near the corners of his eyes, and a pretty young thing in his bed that clenched around his dick whilst the adrenaline pumped around his body in seismic waves and made him forget all about the backache as he hovered over you. 

“You feel good?’ he asked softly, fingers still rubbing at your clit as you wrapped your legs around his hips. 

You nodded, nonverbal, unable to bring your thoughts to fruition as you mumbled incoherent things into the space between your lips. 

“C’mon baby, tell daddy how you feel.”

You whined, gripping his shoulders and digging your nails into the taut muscle. 

“S-s-s-so good, daddy.

God, he felt so fucking filthy, so depraved, so perverted. But, amongst all of that, he felt good. He felt undeniably euphoric with you wrapped around him, name echoing in the darkest corners of his mind and slipping from his throat so naturally it was like he was born to do this for you. To take care of you. Your sole vocation was to be his pretty baby for the rest of his life—not lift a goddamn finger as he did everything you asked him to. 

Get home after a long day patrolling to you in the kitchen, waiting for him eagerly and throwing yourself into his arms to give him a kiss. Tell him how much you missed him. That you’d been needing him all day. 

Joel just wanted someone to look after. And if that meant being labelled as a pervert by his brother and possibly by the entirety of Jackson, so what? 

“Yeah, I’ll make you feel good,” he murmured to himself, the words soft and delicate as he closed his eyes for a brief second, savouring the feeling of your heat around him and pulling you as tight to him as he possibly could. Breasts pressed against his chest, the softness of them against the wiry hairs: a contrast so delightful and thrilling. 

He brought his lips down to yours, tongue pressing into you—wanting to consume. To taste every single part of you. 

Hips began their movement, your mouth hanging open as he continued to lick at you; he pressed down on your stomach with intention, hand moving from your clit to the soft space above it and felt himself inside you, moving softly, scraping against every spot that had you shaking and twitching.

You gripped him tighter, whimpers and moans gracing the air, nuzzling into his touch when he stroked a hand down your cheek to admire the unmistakable and overwhelming beauty of you: all drunk off his cock and losing yourself to the feeling of him sinking deep inside you. 

“You like Daddy’s cock in you, huh?” His voice was strained with lust, dick jerking inside you when you clamped down on him—his words the biggest effect. He loved it: the way you’d start squirming and gaze at your shoes every time he spoke out of turn, every time something filthy fell from his lips. You loved hearing him talk, whisper dirty words that he daredn’t bring outside the four walls of his room. 

The left side of the bed that had been empty for so long, just waiting for you to warm it, to have your scent sink into the mattress and stay there for eternity. 

Understandably, you struggled to answer his question, just nodding slightly, almost imperceptible: the tiny little head jerk. 

“C’mon, baby, use your words.” 

You whined, digging your heels into his back, gripping tighter onto his shoulders; he was sure you’d leave marks, big long scratches down the expanse of already scarred skin. Decorating him with an ardent display of passion and desire—marking him as yours. 

He would be yours. 

Every breath, every cry, every laugh: yours alone.

In turn, he would get to keep you, locked away in his house, safe from every danger that crept outside the walls. 

“Love Daddy’s cock,” you mumbled, face heating in embarrassment at the crudeness, pressing your face as best you could into the pillows. Joel refused. He would not deny himself the pleasure of staring down at you as you took him, lips parted, eyes screwed up in pleasure with tears dripping to your temple. 

Fingers found your jaw, turning you to face him, enamoured by the way you clung and bucked—wishing for all of him. 

“Daddy,” you moaned, lips turned into a pout, a cry escaping you as his hips sped up—thrusts coming quicker. The arm around your waist tightened, tugging you upwards so he could reach deeper. Balls fucking deep. 

“There you go,” he encouraged, kissing softly at your collarbone, nipping slightly as he moved to your shoulder. “That feels good, don’t it, sweetheart?” 

This time, he didn’t mind when you didn’t reply, too focused on you gushing around him. Practically drooling from that tight little pussy as he snapped his hips upward and felt his head go funny—mind clouded by the heat of you. He was fucking burning up, everything on his mind spewing from his lips as he leant over you; ignoring the ache in his hips that served as a gentle reminder that he was old. That this was still wrong and that if anyone ever found out about what he did to you and what he let you call him, they’d exile him from Jackson and look back on the days of the pervert next door: Joel Miller. 

“Tommy says I’m too old for you,” he grunted, hand grabbing at your wrists when they fell from his back—too cock-drunk to keep them on him. “Says that I’ll ruin you.” The monologuing had been unintentional, the sentences that formed something that he was desperate to keep to himself. Too late now. All restraint had been lost as soon as you’d coaxed his fingers into your panties and shown him just how much you wanted him. “You like it, though, don’t you? You’d do whatever—fuck—whatever I tell you like a good little girl. Wouldn’t you, baby?”

You nodded enthusiastically. 

“Whatever you want, daddy.” 

He chuckled, eyes full of mirth as he kissed you softly, slipping his hands into yours and pushing them down into the pillows. He couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving, some part of him still thinking that this was all just a sick joke, that you didn’t actually want an old man like him and were going to run away the first chance you got. But, you called his name again, that fateful moniker that had his dick twitching in his pants, all doubts were lost. 

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, darlin’,” he said, pressing his pelvis purposefully against you, grinding down on your clit and watching your mouth hang open in ecstasy—eyes squeezed shut as you mumbled a high-pitched, whiny “Daddy.” The best one yet, as far as Joel was concerned. “You almost there, baby? You gonna cum all over Daddy’s cock? Gonna let all of them hear how much you want me? Huh?” 

You nodded vigorously, sharp gasps falling from your lips, body writhing underneath his as it built itself tall inside your stomach. Growing and growing until you were clamping down on him so tight he thought his dick would fall off. 

“C’mon, babydoll, let it out,” Joel coaxed, kissing all over your face, all down your chest and took a nipple in his mouth, sucked and grazed harshly until he felt you gushing—breath held as you soaked it in, and then a sharp cry falling from your lips as it washed over you. “There you go,” he murmured against your skin, hips slowing to guide you through, throat hoarse as he felt his own impending orgasm. 

Your head fell back onto the pillows, mouth dropped open as you tried to breathe through the sharp stabs of pleasure, Joel’s licentiousness overpowering his restraint as he pummeled into you as fast as his old bones would let him. He pushed his way through your stomach, almost coming apart right there when he looked down and saw the bulge. 

A choked groan forced its way out his throat, stomach tensing as his ears began ringing, not registering your soft whimpers and small sobs—the small daddy’s that you struggled to project above the beginning of Joel’s release. 

He outright moaned when he finally spilt inside you, cock twitching, arms shaking as he tried with all his might to keep himself balanced on his palms. 

“Daddy?” you were coming back into focus now, his bleary eyes regaining their vision and his chest heaving as he managed to breathe again—now able to fully take in the sight of you. Sweat on your brow, tears streaming from your eyes and lips full: evidence of his bruising kisses. 

“I’m here, baby,” he breathed out, indulging in your soft moan as he pulled out of you and collapsed onto the mattress beside you. He brought you with him, tugging at your waist and manoeuvring you so you lay close—warm body tucked under his arm. 

A soft kiss to your forehead, a repeated slew of “I’m here,” and “Daddy’s not goin’ anywhere,” leaving his lips as he held you as close as possible. 

Fuck Tommy, fuck Maria, fuck anyone who dared share their opinions of his choice in relations. You were his now, cum seeping from your legs—marking you. Claiming you. 

All he wanted was to take care of you, feed you, clothe you, bathe you, keep you happy, safe and warm and pray to God that you would never come to your senses one day and run far away. That you’d realise what you two had was…different. Not wrong, just different. 

He wouldn’t let you go. 

No, he’d keep you. 

Tucked into his side, a mumbled “G’night, daddy,” on your pretty lips, and the feel of you against him as your body grew heavy with sleep. 

He would stay up for hours after you’d finally fallen into slumber, watching the soft rise and fall of your chest, listening to the snores that he found overwhelmingly endearing. Kiss you a couple more times and breathe in your scent. Make sure that you wouldn’t escape in the middle of the night and go tell everyone what a disgusting, sleazy old man Joel Miller really was. 

Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.

That word rested heavily on his shoulders, all night lying awake and waiting to hear it again. 

God, he was in fucking deep; he wouldn’t be letting you go for as long as you were still wet and willing.

© virginreprise

thanks for reading ! i wrote this whilst thinking of that one guy who was perfect for me. i hope you can feel my longing and desire projected through joel's thoughts. if anyone's wondering about junky pride, i hope to get it out soon. i really really just love jackson joel more than anything and want him in me so bad.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Hero and Hope

Based off a world where everyone gets a Destiny they must fulfill. Bakers and Demon Kings (x) and Villagers (X). You? You are a Hero.

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

You are a Hero.

Nobody at the orphanage knows. The mark sets during the worst winter in three decades, when the windows have to be barred to prevent snow spirits from ripping them to shreds and the Director takes half the reserves and runs in the middle of the night.

Sarah, the only caregiver left in the rickety building, holds as many of the kids as she can while the snow spirits scream outside. You’d love to be in the circle of her arms, but you’re holding the door shut with as much strength as your eight-year-old arms allow.

She doesn’t tell you to get away from the door.

“It’s alright,” she says, voice trembling. Her brown hair, matted from the months indoors, hides her eyes. She croons to the younger kids like a bird, so softly and gently that you have to strain to hear it over the howling demons and roaring winds. “We’ll be okay. Our land’s Lord will send a Hero, you’ll see. We’ll be okay then.”

Your arms burn as intensely as your eyes. A Hero. Your stomach aches from hunger and your fingers sting from the cold. You aren’t sure how much good you’re doing keeping the door closed, but there’s something deep inside of you that tells you you must do something. The blows from the snow spirits outside vibrate up your arms, nearly throwing you back.

Heroes, you think, only matter if they show up.

Hope is traumatic. Eight-years-old and you’ve been returned from potential families twice. Three days ago, you found the beginnings of greenery in the woods behind the orphanage. When you excitedly raced back to tell the others that winter was ending, it was only to find the Director and most of the caregivers gone with a significant portion of the rations.

Then the storm clouds rolled in.

So that long, dangerous night, you don’t hope. You shut your ears to Sarah’s gentle comforts and the snow spirits’ shrieks. You focus on the burning in your arms, the blisters forming on your heels, the cold nipping at your fingers.

Hope is traumatic but trying is something you can do. You put your small body between all of the horrors outside the door and the other kids. You try to stand firm.

You don’t notice when the burning in your arms hides the arrival of a telling mark on your left bicep.

---------------------.

You are fourteen years old, one year shy of coming into your power, when a couple visits the orphanage intending to adopt.

Sarah is now the Director of the orphanage, awarded the position by the land’s Lord after that terrible winter six years ago. She’s different than she was then. You lost three kids to hunger before spring finally came and she held each one in their last moments.

You and Sarah never develop the close relationship she has with the other kids. But she always makes sure you have more meat in your meals than most and, when you hunt in the woods, you always let her decide how the food will be divided between dinner and winter stores.

“We’re Knights,” the potential adopters tell the Director. They’re a couple, a man and a woman with dark hair and muscular bodies. “Retired. We’re settling just north of here for good and are looking for a suitable child who can follow in our footsteps.”

Director Sarah looks at them coldly, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands over her stomach. If she notices you and two of the younger kids peeking through the crack in the door, she doesn’t say anything. “I apologize, Mr. and Mrs. Bahr, but it seems there’s a misunderstanding. We do not pair children with families based on their Destiny.”

“We’re not saying you do,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her gaze is cutting though her shoulders are relaxed. “Our Lord explained before we came. However, there is no rule against asking the children their Destiny, is there?”

Loophole. You pull away from the crack in the door, letting Hera and Josiah take your spot. You lean against the wall with your eyes closed. Orphanages aren’t allowed to disclose Destinies, but that’s where the protection ends. If someone sees a child’s Destiny or learns of it through some other means, that’s alright.

These people aren’t here to adopt because they want a child. They’re here to adopt for a guarantee. A guarantee of what remains to be seen. An heir like they claim? A prodigy for status? Or a weapon for them to control?

You listen for any other clues behind their motives, but the Bahrs don’t push the issue of Destiny again. They accept Director Sarah’s schedule for meeting the kids, even offering to host a picnic day at their estate as a treat. The couple wants to gain trust, you can tell, and by the end of the meeting it’s working.

Director Sarah sees them off to the door herself.

“We’ll wait for the invitation,” she says. She’s older now, her thin brown hair showing the beginning signs of going grey. But her handshake looks strong when she shakes Mrs. Bahr’s in farewell. “I’m sure the children will be thrilled.”

“I hope so,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her husband nods to the Director gravely, but Mrs. Bahr lingers. “I’m sorry if we came off a little…forward when we mentioned Destinies. Please believe me when I say that my husband and I aren’t so shallow. We are looking for a child – one we can call our own.”

“I see,” Director Sarah says. There’s a hint of warmth in her voice. “As I said, we look forward to your invitation.”

Mrs. Bahr nods and joins her husband in their carriage. They set off down the road without once having asked to meet one of the children on the first day of their introduction.

You can tell Sarah likes them.

“What do you think?” Sarah asks. She doesn’t turn from the road, even though the Bahr’s carriage is out of sight. “Isla?”

You don’t ask how she knows it’s you lurking in the shadows of the orphanage. Director Sarah is a Guardian. Her senses are elevated when it comes to those under her charge.

“I don’t think anything,” you say. You step out from around the corner with a sigh. No use hiding now. “They’re influential people if they were recommended here by the Lord himself. We’re fortunate.”

“You’re the right age for a Knight’s apprenticeship,” Sarah says.

“Hera hasn’t shown me her Destiny, but it’s probably something suitable,” you say. Hera is ten, one of the older kids at the orphanage. Last summer she lifted Josiah, only a year younger than her and already a head taller, out of the well before he could drown. “You should talk to her about what being part of a Knight family could mean.”

Sarah looks at you over her shoulder. The setting sun catches in her eyes, turning the warm brown into an unearthly amber. “I hope you can accept the possibility they might choose you.”

They won’t. “Aren’t I needed here?” you ask.

Sarah’s expression softens. “You are, Isla,” she says. She weighs her next words carefully. “But I am the one who’s responsible for all of you. I can take care of everyone. If the Bahr family is a good fit…”

“Sure,” you say flippantly. You shove your hands in your pockets and slink back into the orphanage. You don’t dare hope. “I’m going to help Josiah.” He’s on dinner duty tonight. He always cuts the onions too roughly. “See you later.”

You feel Sarah’s eyes on your back like a physical warmth.

-----------.

Being a Hero doesn’t change anything about you. You expected it to when you first noticed the mark but, even six years later, nothing’s different.

You aren’t kinder. When Josiah asks for your dessert, you steal a bit of his as punishment for even asking. When Hera asks for a bedtime story, you tell her one so scary that she has to sleep with one of the other girls. When Sarah asks you to fix the fence around the chickens, you whine and complain that you’re the only one who does anything around the orphanage.

“The curse of being the oldest,” Sarah says dryly. She hands you a hammer and a bucketful of nails. “Some posts were dropped off at the end of the lane. Make sure you’re back by sunset.”

Maybe you’re a little stronger than others. You can drag three posts at once and could probably drag more if you wanted. But another curse of being a Hero is that you’re very aware.

It’s not until you’re nailing a third rail to the fence that Mr. Bahr makes his presence known. You don’t turn even when he makes his steps purposefully heavy to avoid scaring you.

“You’re very strong,” Mr. Bahr says.

His shadow is long and thin, just like him. You observe it from your peripherals, unable to speak with the two nails you’re holding between your lips. You take your time pounding them into the wood. He’s arms, a sword at his hip, but his hands are loose at his sides.

“Good thing I am,” you say at last. You stand and turn in the same motion. He waited for you to finish without chastising you for not speaking right away. You perch the hammer on your shoulder. “Otherwise, the chickens would take over.”

Mr. Bahr laughs. Unlike when he was meeting Director Sarah, his face is relaxed and open. His blue eyes sparkle. “We couldn’t have that now, could we? I suppose we all owe you our thanks for preventing the coop’s coup.”

You want to laugh. You don’t. “Director Sarah won’t like you being here uninvited.”

“I just came to drop off an invitation,” Mr. Bahr says. He studies you for a moment and then smiles. “I hope you’ll accept, Isla.”

A chill races down your spine. How does he know your name? You wipe the sweat from your brow with a scowl. “Maybe I don’t want to be adopted.”

To your surprise, Mr. Bahr nods. “I can understand that,” he says. He looks up at the sky. The light is sliding from the sky, catching on the clouds and turning them a brilliant orange. When he looks back at you, he almost looks…sad. “Think of our invitation as a party, hm? No strings attached.”

For some reason your tongue feels heavy. It takes two tries before you can say, “I need to fix this part of the fence before dark.”

“Want some help?” Mr. Bahr asks.

“I couldn’t ask—”

“You didn’t ask, I offered,” Mr. Bahr says. He rolls up his sleeves and nimbly plucks the hammer from your grip. “I may be a Knight, but I’ve done my fair share of carpentry. Let me show you a few tricks.”

You listen quietly as Mr. Bahr shows you how to twist the nails to avoid splitting the wood. What would have taken you an hour to finish, he accomplishes in a quarter of one, talking to you the entire time.

It’s…odd to have an adult’s attention on you for such a long time. He’s careful not to get too close, always offering you the hammer to practice by setting it on the grass between you rather than handing it to you directly. When you manage to replicate his technique on your second try, Mr. Bahr is more excited than you are.

“Wonderful,” he compliments. He glances up at the sky. The first stars are twinkling. “I’ll be going now and you should too. Have a good night, Isla.”

Unlike the first time he said your name, it feels pleasant now. You mutter a goodbye and leave before he does, scurrying towards the orphanage with your bucket of nails clutched to your chest.

He’s gone when you think to check the road for his carriage. Did he walk here? Ride a horse?

You close and lock the orphanage’s doors behind you.

----------------.

The picnic isn’t scheduled until the middle of summer and it’s spring now. Still, it’s all anyone can talk about.

“We have plenty of time to get ready,” Director Sarah tells them. “The Bahrs will be dropping in from time to time until then. I expect everyone to be on their best behavior when they’re here.”

Josiah raises his hand. “I hear they live in a castle!”

“A manor,” Sarah corrects. “Given to them by our Lord for their years of service.”

“The Guard in town says they worked for the King once!” Hera says, wiggling in her seat. “Is that true?”

“You can ask them yourself,” Sarah says. She claps her hands together and starts urging the kids up. “It’s time for chores. Your assignment is posted by the kitchen…”

You stay seated at the breakfast table. You haven’t eaten your third egg or your last slice of toast. Your stomach feels queasy. You keep thinking about Mr. Bahr saying wonderful when you worked on the fence together.

You aren’t supposed to want to be adopted. You’ve had your chance and you ruined it both times. It’s not fair of you to imagine what it would be like learning swordsmanship from Mr. Bahr and what it’d be like to hear him praise you when you got the next move right. One of the other kids deserve that chance.

You can only do what you can do.

---------------.

Mrs. Bahr is alone the next visit.

No one recognizes her at first. She’s wearing a gown like a noble and her hair is gently flowing down her back rather than tightly pinned behind her head.

“I’ve received the Director’s permission to hold a lesson on writing,” she tells the children. She gestures to the bag she’s set on the table. “Come get a slate and a piece of chalk. We will work all together.”

The kids have never had slate and chalk before, not the real ones anyway. Sometimes you find a nice, flat rock they can draw on with charcoal, but it’s not as entertaining as what Mrs. Bahr brings. She watches everyone in amusement as they immediately start drawing instead of starting the lesson, flower and trees and swords.

“Look, Isla,” Hera says, tugging at your sleeve. You’re seated on the spare chair by the wall, away from the table. She twists from her spot to show you she’s drawn a shaky stick figure. “It’s you!”

Your eyes flick up to Mrs. Bahr. She’s not irritated by the distractions yet. You point with your bit of chalk at the drawing. “Which part of it is me?”

Hera points at a blob in the stick figure’s hand. “That’s the horned rabbit you brought home yesterday!”

You snort. The horned rabbit you’d killed yesterday wasn’t half the size of your body. “Are you sure that’s a horned rabbit? Looks like a turtle to me.”

Hera points to the stick figure’s face. “You can also tell it’s you ‘cause you’re frowning.”

“Hey!”

Mrs. Bahr claps her hands together. Instantly, she has the room’s attention. “I’m glad you all like my present. However, it’s time to get started.”

“Present?” Josiah asks.

“If you work hard today, you will be allowed to keep the slate and chalk as a present,” Mrs. Bahr says. She takes care to make eye contact with every kid. “Only those who work hard.”

It’s generous. You watch Mrs. Bahr from under your lashes as she talks everyone through writing the alphabet. It’s too generous not to be genuine. Try as you might, you can’t figure out any ulterior motive to spending so much on the kids. To look good? For who? For Director Sarah?

Director Sarah won’t be swayed by gifts like this even if the kids could be.

Mrs. Bahr stops well away from you, observing your slate from afar. “Very good, Isla. Do you know how to write?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Read?”

“Only a little.”

Mrs. Bahr hums. She doesn’t look disgusted by your stupidity or put off by your clipped tone. Your first family returned you when you told them. Mrs. Bahr’s lips curve. “Your letters are wonderfully steady. I can tell you will be a very good student.”

She turns before she can see you flush.

---------.

Over the next few months, there isn’t a week that goes by without at least one of the Bahrs visiting. They become a regularity around the orphanage to the point that even Director Sarah stops worrying about the state of their rooms with every visit.

“Kids will be kids,” Mrs. Bahr says when you ask her to wait while you tidy the toys in the parlor. “It’s alright, Isla.”

Your head spins. Sometimes, when one of them says something particularly bizarre, you feel like you’re outside your body. There was a time when they didn’t have toys to leave out in the visiting area. Thanks to the Bahrs, every child has a doll, a slate, a new set of shoes, and an abacus. You are still waiting for the strings that come with these presents.

There haven’t been any yet.

The kids love the Bahrs. Hera insists on baking fresh strawberry tarts for them after a day of gathering. Josiah carefully sounds out passages from their new books to show them that he’s still practicing his letters. Annie and a group of the younger kids spend all day weaving a flower crown for Mrs. Bahr that you have to confiscate before they can put it on her head.

“Go wash your hands,” you scold. Despite your tone, your hands are gentle as you push Annie to the schoolhouse. “Don’t touch your eyes.”

Annie blinks rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “I didn’t know it was poison, lady, I swear.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Bahr says, hand fluttering over her heart. She steps towards Annie. “Dear one—”

You give full body flinch when Mrs. Bahr stoops to hug Annie, but you don’t get between them. The Bahrs have won your trust in this. They won’t hurt the kids.

You sigh to hide your flinch when Mrs. Bahr stands. “Now Mrs. Bahr needs to wash. Poison ivy is no joke.”

“It is not,” Mrs. Bahr agrees. She ruffles Annie’s hair. “Go on, do as Isla says. Wash up.”

“We can go together,” Annie says with her big, blue eyes. She reaches for Mrs. Bahr’s hand and then thinks better of it. She tucks her hands behind her back and kicks at the ground. “If you want.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Mrs. Bahr says, smiling.

Annie nods and races to follow her friends.

“I’m sorry,” you say as soon as Annie is out of ear shot. You busy yourself picking up the fallen flower crown and the various trimmings of poison ivy they’d used for foliage throughout it. You feel flustered. “They really didn’t know any better—”

“I know,” Mrs. Bahr says so gently that you have to look up at her. She’s frowning at your hands. “I’m more concerned about you. Should you be holding onto it like that?’

“I’m immune,” you say. You’re not worried that she’ll guess your Destiny from that. Lots of Villagers are immune to poison ivy, particularly the ones in this region who rely on gathering and hunting. “Since I’m in the woods so much.”

“Knights are immune too,” Mrs. Bahr says. She follows you away from the orphanage and to the tree line. “You’re quite the hunter, aren’t you? I remember Hera saying you slayed a horned rabbit.”

Heat comes to your face. You stomp ahead of her to deposit the flower crown in some denser foliage where the kids won’t be able to get it. “I get lucky.”

“I’d consider it unlucky to run across a horned rabbit,” Mrs. Bahr says. She examines the forest with interest. “A demon is a demon. Even adults have difficulty with horned rabbits.”

It hadn’t been difficult. You’d been armed with a sharpened branch and, when the rabbit leapt for you, you knew right when to stab. You clear your throat. “It was difficult.” Then when Mrs. Bahr doesn’t say anything, you add, “It was frightening.”

She believes you. She lays a gentle hand on your shoulder to get you to look her in the face. “The orphanage budget is enough that you don’t need to hunt, Isla,” Mrs. Bahr says. “I know I don’t like the idea of a fourteen-year-old out here alone and unarmed.”

“Almost fifteen,” you say, “and I had a sharp stick.”

“A sharp sti—” Mrs. Bahr cuts herself off with a deep breath. “Regardless of your…aptitude, Isla, it’s dangerous. I’ve spoken to the Director and she agrees with me. You aren’t to go hunting anymore.”

The forest suddenly feels too hot. The leaves overhead rustle, but you can barely hear it over the roaring of your blood. “Excuse me?”

Mrs. Bahr steps closer. “You’re a very strong girl, Isla, but it’s dangerous. If you want to go out with me or Mr. Bahr—”

You shake off her hand. “The Director agreed with you? She said I’m not allowed to go hunting anymore?”

“Out of concern for your safety.” Mrs. Bahr looks like she regrets saying anything. “Once Mr. Bahr and I explained to her what a risk a horned rabbit poses—”

You run away. Mrs. Bahr calls out after you, but you don’t stop. Beyond the sting of Mr. and Mrs. Bahr not thinking you strong enough to hunt, there’s a deeper hurt. The Director agrees. Really? Really?

“Isla? What’s wrong? I thought you were with Mrs. Bahr,” Director Sarah says when you burst into her office. She sets the papers she’d been reading down and frowns. “You look—”

“I’m not supposed to go hunting anymore?” you ask.

Sarah’s face blooms in understanding. “After what Mr. and Mrs. Bahr said about the increase in demons in the area, I agreed—”

“It’s summer,” you interrupt. You stalk up to her desk, your fists balled at your side. “It’s time to hunt.”

“The Bahrs have agreed to accompany you—”

“They only come once a week,” you say. You’re being so incredibly rude to the Director, but you don’t care. “I need to hunt three times that at least. The game has been moving deeper into the forest—”

“Where you are not allowed to go,” Director Sarah says, this time interrupting you. She steeples her hands in front of her. “I should have curtailed this activity long before this point, but I thought you needed it.”

“We need it,” you say. You can’t believe what you are hearing. “We need to store up rations, you know that.”

“Our budget allows us to purchase rations in town.”

“But what if that’s not enough? It’s better to have our own supply—”

“It will be enough.”

“It still doesn’t hurt to have some extra jerky—”

“The store we have will be enough.”

“But what if it’s not?!” You’ve raised your voice without realizing it, fists shaking at your sides. “The other kids are too young to remember o-or too new, but you and I do. That winter, we didn’t have enough. Why are you trying to stop me?” To your horror, your voice cracks. “I thought you understood.”

There’s silence in the room except for your panting breath.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah finally says. The sudden apology is enough to close your mouth against what you might have said. She meets your eyes. “You’ve always been so strong that I…Isla, you were a child. I will always be grateful for what you did that winter and for every winter since. I relied on you, a child, because I didn’t have any other option. We didn’t have another option. But now we do. We’re okay now, Isla. You don’t have to work so hard to protect us.”

“Yes, I do, I’m—” the Hero “—I can do it.” There is something inside of you telling you that that is what you must do. You think that it’s part of being a Hero.

((You’re worried that it’s because you’re scared.))

“My decision is final,” Sarah says. She picks up her documents and straightens them. “You are only to go hunting with an adult from now on. If I find out you went to the woods without one, there will be consequences.”

She’s using the same tone she uses on the other kids when they’re misbehaving. I mean business. You stare at her for a long, breathless moment. You jerkily turn to go.

Mrs. Bahr is hovering in the doorway. She looks guiltily between you and Director Sarah. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop…”

You shove past her and run to your room.

-------------.

Somewhat counterintuitively, as an orphan you’re never alone. You throw yourself face down on your bed.

A shocked silence swallows the occupants on the other bed.

“Is she okay?” Josiah asks Hera.

“It’s Isla,” Hera answers. There’s the rustling of bedsheets as Hera climbs out of bed and then the soft sound of socks on hardwood as she comes over. “You okay?”

You are not okay. There’s an intense war of emotions in your chest. Anger that none of the adults seem to think you’re capable. Betrayal that Sarah isn’t on your side. A sick fear at the thought of being unprepared for winter. And, now that you’ve run away so spectacularly, shame. They probably think you’re overreacting, but they’re wrong. They’re the ones who are being naïve. They’re the ones who—

A gentle hand on the back of your head freezes the thought. Hera pets your short, black hairs in an attempt at comfort. “It’s okay, Isla. You can just sleep. Sleep makes everything better.”

That’s what you tell the younger kids. The difference between you and Hera saying it? When Hera falls asleep, you work to fix the problem. If you fall asleep, no one is going to fix the problem for you.

You flip over, dislodging Hera’s hand. You look up at her as if seeing her for the first time. She’s ten, two years older than you were when the winter happened. She was four then. You want to ask her if she remembers, but instead you ask, “Do you think Sarah hates me?”

“What?” Hera’s eyes are wide. “No! What makes you think that?”

“Nothing,” you say. “It’s stupid. Forget I asked.” You turn on your side, your back to them.

“I know she’s worried about you,” Josiah says. He offers the information tentatively. “I overheard her and the Bahrs talking. Did they ban you from the woods?”

You don’t move. “What else did they say?” You’re afraid that he’s going to say they called you weak. Or, worse, a nuisance. “Did they say anything else about me?”

“Not really.”

Nobody hears anything useful around here. You close your eyes. “I just want to be alone for a little while. I—”

There’s a knock on the door. “Isla? It’s me, Marie. Can I come in?”

Marie? Too late you remember that that’s Mrs. Bahr’s name. She’s been trying to get the kids to call her be her first name. So far no one’s taken her up on it and she hasn’t pushed.

Hera opens the door. “Hi, Mrs. Bahr. Isla is being moody.”

You sit up with a squawk. “I am not!”

“If it’s alright, I’d like to talk to Isla for a moment,” Mrs. Bahr says to Josiah and Hera. “Alone.”

“Don’t let her yell at you,” Hera says as she passes Mrs. Bahr. “She never means it.”

You are going to strangle her. “I don’t yell!”

“That’s not an inside voice,” Josiah says. He dodges the pillow you throw at him, pulling the door closed behind him and Hera.

You are suddenly alone in the room with Mrs. Bahr.

You sit up further, pressing your back against the headboard. Mrs. Bahr doesn’t look mad. Her hands are clasped in front of her and she’s looking down at the floor. It almost looks like she’s the nervous one. You hug your pillow to your chest. “You can sit down if you’d like.”

Mrs. Bahr looks up at you. Her lips twitch. “Thank you, Isla.” She sits down on Hera’s bed gingerly as if afraid it wouldn’t be able to take her wait. When she’s settled, she says, “I wanted to apologize to you.”

Your arms tighten around your pillow. “Why?”

“Not for saying you shouldn’t hunt alone,” Mrs. Bahr says. She’s not a mind reader but sometimes it seems like she is. “For not understanding what hunting means to you. I would have approached things differently if I’d known.”

“Known what?”

“About what you’ve been through.”

The winter. That’s the only thing Mrs. Bahr could be talking about. She must have heard more of your conversation (argument) with the Director than you thought. “It was a long time ago,” you say. You really don’t want to talk about this with Mrs. Bahr. Not when you can still feel that winter’s desperation in your molars like a memory. “I’m fine.”

Mrs. Bahr is quiet for a moment. She studies you much like Mr. Bahr did all those weeks ago mending the fence. “I was a knight for 30 years, you know. I supposed it’s not weird that a Knight worked as a knight for so long. As soon as I came into my power at 15, I was compelled to hold a sword. To seek out evils and defeat them. To follow my Lord into battle no matter the cause.” She looks up at the ceiling. “I’ve had a lot of adventures and helped many, many people. But there was a time when I wanted to quit.”

You start. “You did?”

“I wanted to work in a flower shop,” Mrs. Bahr says. She leans back on her hands. “What a life it could have been! Waking up before the sun and hiking to the flower fields…I had my new house all picked out. It’d have a koi pond and a row of red rocks from the Harrow River. That’s where I met Ivan.”

Mr. Bahr. He’s been trying to get you to call him by his first name too. Unlike Mrs. Bahr, he’s much pushier about it. “What made you want to quit?”

“Exhaustion,” Mrs. Bahr says. She closes her eyes. “It seemed that there was a new threat to my Lord every day. An assassination attempt from a branch family. A territorial dispute. A new influx of demon beasts. It got to the point that I hardly left my Lord’s side for fear of returning to find him dead. He was the first Lord I swore my loyalty to. I always felt like I was failing those days. So I wanted to quit.”

You’ve felt like that before. Sometimes it seems like you never catch enough while hunting, that you’re never kind enough, that you’re never strong enough. You’ve never thought about working in a flower shop though. “Why didn’t you?”

“I did.” Mrs. Bahr laughs at your shocked expression. “I was in my twenties. They tell you things calm down after your teen years, but that’s not true. I handed in my resignation and fled for the nearest town.” Her smile softens. “Ivan followed me.”

“He was there?”

Mrs. Bahr nods. “We were sworn to the same Lord. He came galloping up with my resignation clutched in his hand. His face was so red!” She laughs. “’What does this mean, Marie? He was crying! You can’t quit! I haven’t beaten you yet!’”

“And that’s what convinced you to stay a knight?” you ask. That doesn’t help you. You don’t have a significant other to come racing after you.

“No,” Mrs. Bahr said. “Ivan didn’t know why I wanted to quit. I can’t do it, I said. I can’t keep the Lord safe. I’m not enough. You know what he said?”

You shake your head.

“He said, Of course, you’re not enough,” Mrs. Bahr says. She’s lowering her voice in imitation of Ivan’s. “You were never going to be enough.” You’re gaping at his harsh words, but Mrs. Bahr looks amused. “That’s why we have a squadron. The job is too big for one person. All you need to do is your part.”

You stare at her, not understanding.

“The world isn’t carried by one person,” Mrs. Bahr says. “I was so convinced that everything was up to me – the Lord’s safety, the next campaign’s success, or defense from monsters – that I buckled under the pressure. What I didn’t see that it wasn’t all my responsibility. I was part of a team. All I had to do was one part.”

You think of the winter night and holding the door shut. There hadn’t been anyone to help you then. Someone needed to comfort the younger kids. Someone needed to try and protect them. “What if there isn’t anyone else?”

“Then we do our best,” Mrs. Bahr says immediately. She meets your eyes. “But are you by yourself now, Isla?”

Yes. You open your mouth to tell her that, but the word won’t come out. Are you? Director Sarah looked so defeated when you accused her of not understanding. But didn’t she understand better than anyone else. You swallow. “No. There’s Director Sarah.”

“What does she do?”

“She takes care of us,” you say. “She makes sure the money we get goes to the right things.”

Mrs. Bahr smiles warmly. “That’s right. Who else?”

“…Hera,” you say. You remember she pulled Josiah from the well before Annie even had the chance to tell you what had happened. “She watches the younger kids.”

“She’s very good with them,” Mrs. Bahr says. “Who else?”

Your mind blanks. Who else? “Josiah. He helps us study.”

“And?”

And? “T-the Lord. He makes sure we have the funds for what we need.”

“Including winter provisions,” Mrs. Bahr agrees.

You frown. You suddenly see where this is going. “The amount of winter provisions he thinks we need.”

Mrs. Bahr hums. “What happens if he’s wrong?”

“That’s why I hunt,” you say. Maybe now she’ll understand. “So that we’ll be okay if he’s wrong.”

“What if you don’t hunt enough?” Mrs. Bahr asks.

Your chest is tight. You rub at your sternum and try to breathe deeply. “We starve,” you say. You wheeze and then clear your throat. “We’d starve, but that’s not going to happen. Because I always hunt enough.” I have to.

“This year,” Mrs. Bahr says, voice gentle and soothing, “say you don’t hunt anymore. The winter is harsher than expected and the orphanage’s stores are depleted. What do you think will happen?”

You laugh and gasp at the same time. “They’d all starve,” you say again. What doesn’t she get about that? “First the little ones then—”

Mrs. Bahr is shaking her head. “No, Isla, that’s not what would happen.”

Your temper flares. “That’s what always—”

“What would happen,” Mrs. Bahr says in her even tone, “is that Mr. Bahr and I would come deliver extra provisions to you.”

All the air is chased from your lungs. You feel eight again, small and vulnerable and cold. You’re shivering as you stare at her. “You would?”

“We would.” Gently, as if afraid she might scare you, Mrs. Bahr moves from Hera’s bed to yours. She puts a warm hand on your knee. “We’re a fortress. The Lord gives us part of the emergency fund in order to keep our stores and grounds ready for refugees. Mr. Bahr keeps fifteen percent more than the most generous estimate out of an abundance of caution. We would come and make sure nobody starved.”

For some reason, that makes you want to cry. You blink against the sudden heat behind your eyes. “Oh.”

“That’s why we don’t want you to go hunting,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her thumb rubs over your knee. “It was worth the risk before. You worked hard to keep everyone here alive. You are incredible, for that, Isla. I can’t tell you how much I admire your strength and your bravery. But things are different now. You don’t need to do as much as you did before. There are other people on your squad.”

But I’m the Hero, you want to say. Heroes are supposed to save the day, aren’t they?

Knights help save the day too.

You let Mrs. Bahr pat your knee for a long time. She seems content to let you think, her energy a pleasant hum next to you. A knot is untying in your chest. If you don’t hunt, it’s not the end of everyone. There will still be the funds from the Lord. Sarah’s always been excellent at stretching those as far as they need to go. And, if they aren’t enough, there’s something different this year. The Bahrs are here.

“You’d help us even if you’re only going to adopt one of us?” you ask.

Mrs. Bahr’s lips thin. She looks sad, but hides it quickly. “We’re Knights,” she says. “Even if we are retired. We’ll be here the moment you need us.”

You don’t hope. Hope is traumatic. But…

You believe her.

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(Part 2) (part 3)

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Thanks for reading! There will be a new part of Hope and the Hero every Friday!

If you'd like to read the whole story now, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)!

There's also a new story up there, a sequel to my Dandelion villain story (X)

Summary: You are free of mind control for the first time in a year. The only things standing between you and your revenge are the heroes.

[robo-writing]

Kinktober Day Nine: Origins! Logan - Face Sitting | Kinktober Masterlist |

The moment Logan walked through the door, smelling like a forest and just as dirty, you could tell you were in for it. Work boots heavy against the wood flooring, his footsteps your only warning before he grabs you from behind, pulling you close as he mumbles into your hair.

“Had a hard day at work?” You ask, and your answer is given by the groan he lets out, your fingers tangling into his.

“You’ve got no fuckin’ clue,” he sighs, turning you around. It’s now you can truly see the exhaustion on his face, soon overtaken by the lovesick look in his eyes. 

“Okay, how about I cook you dinner?”

“Nah, not what I’m really hungry for right now.”

Your giggle is infectious, a smile spreading across his face while he sheds himself of his vest. “Yeah? You liked that one?”

You nod, pulling him to your shared bedroom. “I did. So what exactly are you hungry for?”

A rhetorical question of course, because in the time it takes you to ask he’s already lifting you off the ground, carrying you to the bedroom with a renewed energy.

“Oh, you weren’t joking,” you gasp, falling to the bed unceremoniously. Logan stands before you, torso bare for your viewing pleasure, humming when your hand reaches to stroke his exposed abs, enjoying the scratch of your nails against his skin—until he pulls your hand away.

You’re confused, until he crawls over you and takes up residence between your legs. Inch by inch, his lips kiss a trail from your navel, lower and lower until he’s nosing at your cloth-covered pussy.

“Sorry baby, not in the mood to play with my food right now,” he says, pulling your underwear from your body. “Been thinking about you the entire car ride home.”

He looks like it too—from the lost expression in his face to how he shudders when his eyes lock onto your bare cunt, he’s practically drooling for a taste. And yet, he hasn’t moved yet.

Your anticipation is slowly turning to impatience, ready to ask him what’s wrong before his voice cuts into the silence, low and defined.

“Baby, do you think we could try something?”

You lean forward a bit, a bit curious. “Something new?”

“New position,” he mutters. “Something I’ve been thinking about for a while.”

Curiosity piqued, you nod your head and suddenly you’re being manhandled, lifted to sit on his torso while he makes himself comfortable below you.

He’s excited, you’re still confused. “Logan, what’s going on?”

His smile is all teeth, hands pulling you to his face with a yelp. “I want you to sit on my face.”

You and your husband are no strangers to an adventurous sex life, you’d be a fool not to take him up on any of his ideas involving sex, but this is certainly a new one.

You’re hovering over his face—hovering, because reality is setting in and your nerves are building. Logan looks up at you like he always does, just dying to taste you, tongue peeking through his lips, but you’re getting further and further into your head and he knows it.

His hands rub up and down your legs, palms engulfing the meat of your thighs. “Relax baby, I’ve got you.”

“Are you sure about this?” You ask, looking down at him nervously. “I don’t wanna hurt you—“

“You won’t, promise,” he answers, kissing at the bare skin of your thighs. 

“But this should be fine, right?” You nod towards your still-hovering form. “What if I crush you?”

“That’s not happening.”

“Yeah, but what if?”

He shakes his head, looking up into your eyes.“Oh no, don’t get shy on me now, sit on my face doll. I can handle the weight.”

The words are said with a smile, but you know that mischievous look anywhere, instinctively rising your hips at the same time he anchors his hands into them.

“Baby, hold on—“ You’re ready to argue but before you can get a word in his grip on your thighs tighten. 

“How many times I gotta tell you doll, when I say sit on my face—“ 

You’re dragged down suddenly, a yelp escaping you as he plants you where he wants you to be.

“—I mean sit on my fucking face.”

His super strength forces you still as he speaks into your cunt. His lips move as he speaks, tongue flat against your labia as he revels in the taste, groaning obscenely with each lick. Your shaky hands lock onto his for purchase and he fucking laughs into your pussy, the vibrations only serving to make you even more aroused.

“That’s more like it,” he says, voice muffled between your thighs. His tongue laps frantically, far too engrossed in you to pay attention to his cock standing at attention—you can tell he’s still talking, but none of it is legible between your moans and the sound of your pussy being eaten like Sunday dinner. 

You beg him for a break but he’s not listening—not when you taste like heaven and you’re moaning like a bitch in heat. The advantage is in his favor, unable to squirm away from him while he gorges himself on your cunt. At some point you give up trying to reason with him, bury your fingers in his dark hair and grind against him until his beard leaves your thighs raw.

A shake of his head, his fingers tightening on your thighs—his lips latching onto your sensitive clit and holding you still as you thrash in his hold. Your orgasm takes you by surprise, a scream ripping from your throat before lethargy takes over, almost falling if not for your husband holding you up.

It’s only now he dares to lift his head from between your thighs, face red and soaked from his chin down. He kisses at your legs, your pussy, anywhere he can reach—whether it’s in apology or worship, you can’t tell, but you know that when his thumb spreads open your poor, abused cunt that he’s not finished.

[yikes-aemond]

I love you. It's ruining my life.

pairing: Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!fem!reader (no descriptions of reader except that she wears a dress and has "flowing hair")

warnings: canon typical violence, cursing 

summary: You meet Benjicot Blackwood in the woods and continue to pine after him for years. 

word count: 2.9k

part II can be found here. part III can be found here. part iv can be found here.

You were bleeding the first time you saw Benjicot Blackwood. 

At the age of three and ten you had thought yourself invincible. So careless in your disregard for your father’s rules about minding the boundary stones that you crossed into Blackwood territory. So careless that you sought to climb a ravine that was nearly impassable. So careless that you lost your footing, scrambled to find purchase, cutting your hands and tearing your dress. So careless that you twisted your ankle and cried out in pain, alerting all those in the surrounding area to your presence. 

Face down in the dirt and sobbing, you did not hear him approach. But when you felt his touch at your shoulder, you jerked in response and tried to roll away. 

Through your tears, you saw a figure crouching before you. His face was almost entirely blank except for the furrow of his brow. Dark, messy hair that had likely never seen a comb. Stormy eyes that flitted across your person, assessing and calculating. A slight tremble to his fingers, fidgeting with the dagger at his waist. A black and red cloak, with a raven sigil pinned at the shoulder. No mistaking a Blackwood. And not just any Blackwood—Benjicot Blackwood, heir to Raventree Hall. 

You screamed, whether from the pain or fright, you could not be sure. You tried to push yourself up to flee, but your ankle would not bear any weight. 

You fell back to the dirt, spitting a curse that you had heard your cousin Aeron use when he thought you were not around. 

Benjicot raised to his feet. “I would not recommend that, my lady.”  

You were sure that he knew who you were. Your gold dress might have been torn and dirty, but the red stallion detail was clear as day. You sat up and tried to brush the tears from your face, but there was no hiding your fear. You were trapped on Blackwood land, in violation of the assize and without any way to escape. 

Benjicot’s gaze had not left your face. From your Septa’s lessons, you knew that he was not much older than you. Maybe only a year or two. But even at five and ten his presence was imposing. He walked with a confidence of someone years older, so clearly comfortable in his own skin. 

Panting, you managed to gulp down enough air to make out, “If you’re going to kill me, then get on with it.”

Benjicot’s expression did not change, except for the almost unpercetable raise of his eyebrows. Unsheathing his dagger, Benjicot slowly circled your form before lowering and stopping right in front of you. He was so close that you could feel his hot breath. Smell his leathers and the soap he had likely used to wash that morning. Bringing his dagger to just under your chin, he forced your head to raise and meet his eyes. 

The cold sting of the blade made your breath hitch. Your body trembled, but you dared not look away. 

Leaning further into your personal space and pressing the dagger into your skin, Benjicot asked, “Are you so eager for death, my lady?” 

You pressed yourself into the dagger, feeling the bite of the blade cut into your skin. Warm blood trickled down your neck and soaked into the front of your gown. You watched Benjicot trace the path of the blood. Saw his breath catch ever so slightly at your actions. 

But he did not withdraw the blade and you did not move away. “There are fates worse than death, my lord.” 

An emotion flashed across Benjicot’s face, but it was gone before you could place it. Removing the blade from your neck, he leaned away from you and sat back on the ground. “One could say that a quick death is too good for a Bracken.”

You could hear the smile and jest in his voice. For the first time since falling in the ravine, you felt like you could breathe. Whatever had just passed between you and Benjicot, you were now sure that he wasn’t going to harm you. 

“And one could also say that being killed by a Blackwood is likely to bring shame upon my entire family.” You flopped onto your back, giving up on any attempt to stand. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Benjicot twirl the dagger between his fingers. When his hand stilled, you shifted your gaze fully back onto him. “What do you plan on doing with me, my lord?” Your voice did not come out as strong as you would like, but you felt a shift in Benjicot’s disposition. You could tell that he had reached some kind of decision. 

Benjicot leaned back into your space, his face directly above yours. Your heart started beating faster. Your stomach clenched and dipped. And for one fleeting moment, you thought that he might kiss you. 

His face drew closer and closer, but instead of your lips, he sought your ear. “Remember this well, my lady. This land is not for Brackens.” You tried to keep your breathing even, but with his body so close and his voice so raspy, you felt bewitched. You, the helpless prey to his predator. 

“Should you wander into these woods again, I cannot guarantee that you will meet the same fate.” His lips brushed the side of your face, whether intentionally or not, you did not know. “Sleep well, my lady.” And before you could react, Benjicot brought the hilt of his dagger against your temple, sending you into darkness. 

Six years had passed since that fateful day. You will never forget waking on Bracken soil, cold and alone and in pain. But other than the injuries you sustained because of your own stupidity, you were unharmed. Benjicot had knocked you unconscious and carried you home. 

You lied through your teeth when your father and Aeron questioned you about what happened. You claimed to have suffered a hit to the head (not untrue) and could not recall how you made it home. When your story did not change, they eventually gave up asking. 

You had seen Benjicot sparingly over the years and only ever in passing or from across a crowded room. But you watched him—oh, how you watched him. 

Each year you begged your father to allow you to attend the Riverrun assize just for the chance to see him. From afar, you watched him grow taller and more handsome. A lean build and broad shoulders developed from years of sparring and training. His reputation for violence and ruthlessness made all Bracken guards nervous. Bloody Ben, indeed.

And at the last assize you knew he was watching you, too. Each time you entered a room, you felt his eyes track you and linger. Felt his gaze sweep across you; your skin flushing and hot at the thought he might find you as desirable as you found him. 

On the last night of the assize, Lord Tully held a feast to celebrate a successful negotiation of the boundary stones. You were passing tables upon tables of lords, knights, and squires, trying to make it to your seat without being crushed. 

But then you saw Benjicot. Walking in your direction. 

Your eyes caught, and what you would have given to be anywhere else in that moment. Alone with him. 

To outsiders, Benjicot’s face was indifferent, blank. But you knew his eyes were mirrors of your own—an intoxicating mix of intrigue and longing. As you passed each other, you felt the hairs breath of space between your hands. You had not touched, but your hand flinched as if burned. Propriety demanded that you keep your gaze forward, so you fought the urge to watch Benjicot walk away, but only just barely. 

That was almost a year ago. No matter how many times you walked the tree line separating the Bracken and Blackwood lands, you never saw him. You thought of writing him a letter but feared interception and rejection. And what could you possibly say? Thank you, Lord Blackwood, for saving me six years ago. In case you were curious, I have been infatuated with you ever since. Surely not.

So, imagine your surprise that on an otherwise unremarkable day, when you were merely walking the pastures with Aeron, that you were finally granted the opportunity to see him. 

Aeron and the other young men walking with you had stopped just short of the boundary stones. The day was relatively cool, and the fields were still damp from last night’s rain. You stood a short distance away from the others, preferring to settle against a rock formation and wait for the men to finish their work.

“Can you even get that thing up?” 

You heard Aeron unsheathe his sword. “Well enough for killing Blackwoods.” The others laughed at Aeron’s joke while you rolled your eyes at their arrogance. 

“Bracken!” A voice rang out from across the field. 

Your heart leapt to your throat as you swung your head around to see Benjicot approach with a host of Blackwood men. You heard a roaring in your ears as your focus narrowed on the scene before you. 

Aeron and the others had turned toward the direction of the Blackwood lands. From where you stood, you could see the tension line their bodies. Their laughter dying in the wind. 

Walking with purpose and determination, Benjicot demand, “Put the boundary stones back.”

Aeron hesitated briefly before approaching, “We didn’t move them—”

“Oh, so they just moved themselves, then?” Benjicot cut off. “Just rolled their way over so Bracken cows could fill their bellies on Blackwood grass.”

Aeron tried to argue, “The assize at Riverrun—”

But Benjicot wasn’t having it. “Fuck the assize,” he paused before adding, “and fuck you. This is our land.”

You were paralyzed. You did not know if Benjicot had spotted you yet, but even if he had, you were not sure your presence would matter. Blackwoods and Brackens never needed an excuse to shed each other’s blood. 

You watched unease flicker across Aeron’s face before resolving into determination. “It’s Bracken land.”

Benjicot’s face clouded over. And when Aeron mumbled “Babe-killer,” you saw rage and anger bubble to the surface.

“What did you say?”

Aeron turned back toward the Blackwoods, disgust marring his features. “Your false Queen Rhaenyra is a kinslayer,” Aeron accused.  

Never mind that Aemond Targaryen drew first blood in this conflict by killing Rhaenyra’s son. Not that Aeron bothered listening to you when you pointed this out. 

Benjicot grimaced before asking, “Your uncle declared for Aegon, did he?” But he knew the answer. No matter that your father had sworn fealty to Queen Rhaenyra nearly two decades ago. No matter that rumors spread wild about Aegon’s drunken, lecherous ways. No matter that this conflict was sure to result in war and death and famine and fire. 

Benjicot had reached his limit. “Well then, let me tell you. Aegon Targaryen is no true king,” he paused before continuing, “just as you are no true knight.” 

With each word, Benjicot advanced until he stood chest to chest Aeron. “You’re both craven”—shove—“little”—another shove—“cunts!” With a final shove, Benjicot pushed Aeron into another Bracken man, sending him to the ground. 

But Aeron had reached his limit too. Unsheathing his sword, Aeron pointed the blade at Benjicot’s chest. 

And Benjicot could not have been more delighted. A crazed look came over this face—Bloody Ben rising to the surface to meet battle. Smirking and laughing, he advanced toward Aeron’s sword and said, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Stop!” You shrieked, finally finding your voice and your legs. You sprinted to the both of them, shoving the Bracken men out of the way when they tried to hold you back. 

You stood between the two of them, wrenching Aeron’s sword away from Benjicot’s chest so that it pointed at your own. You faced toward Aeron, eyes pleading to back down from this challenge. “That is enough.”

You missed the look of panic on Benjicot’s face as you stepped in front of the sword. Missed the way he nearly lunged for you to pull you out of the way. Missed how his eyes settled and softened at the edges when taking in the sight of you. Your golden dress and flowing hair. Gods, how he wanted you.

And if Aeron did not move that fucking sword away from you in five seconds, Benjicot was going to kill him. Consequences be damned. 

Your interference seemed to strike Aeron dumb. He did not know what to do, but when he finally realized that his sword was directed toward you, he sheathed the blade. He made to grab you but you resisted, flinging your hands out to both sides in a bid to stop the two of them. 

Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, betraying your panic and fear. But when you spoke, your voice was strong. “There is no need for violence.” 

Turning toward Benjicot, your breath caught in your throat. His attention was on you. His eyes glued to your form. You were not even sure he was blinking. You fought the heat that threatened to crawl across your cheeks and expose your feelings. 

For the first time in six years, you spoke to Benjicot. “We will move the boundary stones back.” Out of all the things you had imagined saying to him, boundary stones had never once crossed your mind. But such is your luck in this life. 

Aeron stiffened and started, “We will do no such—”

You did not see Benjicot move, but suddenly he was in front of Aeron again. “Are you going to defy an order from your lady, you craven cunt?” 

You did not bother pointing out as your father’s heir, Aeron ranked higher than you in House Bracken. 

No, instead you watched Aeron pull back his arm to swing at Benjicot. You were not sure what possessed you—love, most likely—but you found yourself shoving Benjicot aside and stepping into the line of Aeron’s fist. By the time Aeron and Benjicot realized what happened, Aeron had already struck you across the face. 

Your face whipped to the side from the force of Aeron’s punch, causing you to lose your balance and fall to the ground. You were stunned from the hit. And when you gingerly touched the side of your mouth, your hand revealed blood. 

When you looked up to Benjicot and Aeron, you were not sure who was more shocked. Aeron looked sick with himself, but Benjicot—oh, Benjicot was enraged. How dare anyone strike you?  How dare anyone make you bleed? 

Benjicot unleashed his fury. You could hear bone snap from the force of Benjicot’s punches and strikes. Aeron tried to block, but Benjicot was too fast and too angry to be slowed. 

“You call yourself a knight?” Benjicot spat at Aeron. “Hiding behind your lady and letting her fight your battles? You fucking worthless excuse for a man. I should cut off your godsdamn balls and hang you with them.”

When Benjicot drew his dagger, you knew you had to put an end to this. Picking yourself up off the ground, you approached the fight. Of all the foolish and ill-thought plans you had ever had in your life, interrupting a fight between a Blackwood and Bracken may have been the stupidest. 

Just as Benjicot was about to strike, you placed your hand on his back. He was hot and hard and you felt a shock surge up your arm where the two of you connected. Instantly, Benjicot lowered his weapon and turned toward you. 

He was breathing heavily, but the crazed look in his eye faded when he beheld you. He could see the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. See the shallow cut on your mouth. See the fear and hurt and longing in your gaze. His knees threatened to buckle. 

Keeping your hand on his back, you whispered, “Please, stop.” 

You forgot about the men surrounding you. Forgot about propriety. Forgot about the boundary stones. Forgot about your feuding families. Forgot about everything except for the man in front of you. The man you loved.

Quick as lightening, Benjicot sheathed his dagger. He longed to grab your hand and pull you into his arms and assess your injuries. But unlike you, Benjicot did not forget himself. Not when there were those here who could still harm you, whether by word or deed. 

So he simply said, “As you wish, my lady.”

My lady. Oh, your heart squeezed at the sound of that. 

Holding your gaze, Benjicot returned to his men. In the distance, you heard the Bracken men help Aeron stand, hurling insults to the Blackwoods as if Benjicot had not just thoroughly bested their lord. 

Clearing your throat, you repeated, “We will return the boundary stones. Let that be the end of this matter.” 

As you turned away from Benjicot and crossed back onto Bracken land, you let a sob escape. Hoping that the others would blame it on your injuries, you avoided their looks of concern and confusion. You ignored Aeron’s apologies. You wanted to get as far away as possible. But with each step you took, you felt your heart break just a little bit more, realizing that your love was an impossible dream. 

--I hope you enjoyed! Let me know if I should do a part two.

[littlestickfish]

I did not have enough space in the tags to fully elaborate, but I believe that free will is a thing, and it is a thing that is distinct from the influence of divine spark, or what one might otherwise describe as divine will, and these things can and should exist together.

And it isn't exclusive to people who are put in your path for spiritual growth either, like the examples in my tags, sometimes it's just to empower you to bring something helpful to someone else.

1. Act of will (my dad): texts me asking to grab lunch

2. Act of will (me): yes

3. Act of will (my dad): tells me in a random conversation about coffee* about kittytowncoffee.com, which sells coffee benefiting rescue cats

4. Act of will (somebody on tumblr): posts bongo.cat

5. Act of will (somebody I follow): reblogs bongo.cat

6. Act of will (my brother): texts me to let me know his kitty of several years has died

7. Relevant helpful acts of will now available to me: commiserate, buy him a bag of coffee that just so happens to be titled after a cat with the same name** as a memorial, text him bongo.cat

*(bonus hidden act of will: my participation in the Starbucks boycott, prompting me to learn how to make coffee my own damn self)

**(bonus bonus hidden act of will: somebody at Kittytown Coffee deciding Sydney was a cat name worthy of its own coffee blend)

The divine confluence of these myriad decisions has no bearing on our capacity to make them by ourselves. Rather, it serves to maximize their effect. This function, this influence, and the direction of it - a loving, growing direction - is divine love in action.

please do elaborate in the tags

[heizlut]

Closing the Distance

ꕀ cw: mention of blood/injury (nonsexual related)

ꕀ tags: fem!reader, inexperienced and possibly ooc!calcharo, oral f!receiving, first-time sex, breeding kink, creampie, mostly proofread

ꕀ nsfw under the cut

ꕀ m!list here

Calcharo didn't expect this at all. He only agreed to help you find and fight against the tacet discords that had sprung up from a particularly strong tacet field. But here you were, laying underneath him and looking up at him with big eyes, your chest heaving with heavy breaths and your lips looking quite inviting.

All he was trying to do was get you out of harm's way by practically tackling you to the ground and caging you in with his own body as the final tacet discord emitted an explosive energy as it was struck down. It wasn't anything special, he swears it's not.

You clear your throat awkwardly, blush evident on your cheeks, "You can uh... get off me now..." You avert your gaze, unable to properly look him in the eyes, not now, and not since you felt something particularly...hard brush against your stomach. Your words snap Calcharo out of his daze, heat rising to his own pale features, "Ah, y-yes. I apologize..." He moves off of you and stands up, extending his hand towards you to help you up as well.

You take it, pulling yourself up and let go abruptly, "Thanks for your help today." Calcharo looks down at his hand where the warmth of your touch still lingered, then curls it into a fist, "It was no problem." The air felt heavy and awkward. There was something bubbling up inside of him that felt wholly unfamiliar. He rolls his eyes at himself and he turns away from you. Why was he acting like this? As if he's never seen a pretty girl before... How pathetic.

He peeks over at you as you absorb the echoes, taking in your strong but soft form. Calcharo could at least admit he found you to be a strong fighter, you were part of the Ghost Hounds after all. He was familiar with you, so why was he feeling like this now. He's never had time to form a romantic relationship with anyone nor has he ever felt the need to. He had more important things to worry about than getting his dick wet and being all soft with someone.

You meet he gaze, noticing that he's staring at you again with his intense blue-grey eyes. You raise a brow as you walk back over to him, "What's the matter with you today? You seem off." Calcharo huffs, looking annoyed as he turns his face away from you and crosses his arms, his voice deep and monotone as usual, "I'm fine." You study him for a moment and then shrug, "Whatever you say. Let's get going." As you move past him, Calcharo notices your gait, "You're limping."

You freeze in your tracks, having hoped that whatever was bothering him would keep him distracted enough to not notice. He already did so much for you today, you wanted to handle your injury yourself. You feel his large hand on your shoulder as he stops beside you, "Why didn't you say anything?" You want to shrug off his hand, but you don't; instead you sigh, "It's not a big deal. Let's just-" "No", Calcharo cuts you off quickly, moving in front of you, "At least let me take a look."

"I don't think that's such a good idea...", you say a little softer than you had liked. Remaining stern and stoic as ever, Calcharo crosses his arms as he looks down at you, "And why would that be?" His question sounds icy and he must've realized it because he tone softens when he speaks again, "You're injured and I wouldn't be a very good leader if I didn't look out for another member." Thunder rumbles in the distance, a sure sign that a storm was on its way. You look down and then grab his arm, surprising him, "Fine. But let's not be out in the open..."

⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁

If you hadn't been injured and limping, the two of you wouldn't be soaked from the rain you had gotten caught in. Slamming the wooden door shut of the run-down cabin you found in the woods, you immediately sink down onto the floor. "How did you know this place was...", Calcharo's voice trails off as his blue-grey eyes find the growing patch of blood on your upper thigh, immediately crouching down to your level.

His intense eyes take in your features, your face flushed red from a slight fever and a couple droplets of water run down your face to your neck. Calcharo's hand reaches for your wounded thigh before pausing, hovering right over the wound, "May I?" You grit your teeth and nod. With uncharacteristically shaky hands, he undoes your pants and helps you lift your hips off the ground as he lowers them. In his head, he repeats over and over that this is just to treat you. That's it!

But he can't help glancing at your cotton panties... There was nothing particularly special about them, but the way they hugged your hips, pressing close against your pussy underneath; it had him inadvertently licking his lips. Calcharo shakes his head and looks to the open cut on your thigh. He does his best to make sure his voice comes out even as he speaks, "It's not too deep. There's just a lot of blood from straining yourself." You point to your bag, "There's a first aid kit in there..."

With a single nod, he grabs the bag and rummages through it til his fingers brush against the small first aid box. He grabs it and mentally prepares himself to give you stitches while also trying so damn hard to stop from popping a boner at the sight of you.

You were injured, for fucks sake! Now wasn't the time to suddenly sprout inappropriate thoughts that he had never had an issue with before. Sensing his hesitation, you practically snatch the kit from his hands, making him blink in shock.

Though flushed with a bit of a fever, drenched from the rain, and injured, you still have the nerve to narrow your eyes at him, "I can do it myself." His jaw hangs open for a moment but he quickly shuts it, returning to his usual cold demeanor, "Fine." He sits back, watching as you thread the curved needle and piece your own flesh as you stitch yourself up. Mentally he cringes on your behalf, but you barely react as your skin closes with the thread.

If anything, seeing just how strong you are, not just physically, but mentally, it makes things even harder for him, quite literally. His cock throbs in his pants and he presses down on it, willing it to just go the fuck away. After tying up the thread and cleaning off the remaining blood, you look his way, noticing his hands pressing down in his lap and you raise a brow, a weak smirk playing on your lips, "Are you seriously hard right now?"

Calcharo's eyes flick to yours, all wide-eyed as he looks at you, then he frowns and looks away, "No, I'm not." You breathe out a laugh that does nothing to help the ache in his pants, "Really? Then move your hands." Calcharo grimaces, his nose scrunched in what looks similar to a snarling dog, "I don't want to." You just shrug, looking amused albeit still a bit weak from your condition, "Suit yourself then. It just looks like you're having a bit of a rough time."

He turns his body away from you, not wanting to listen to anymore of your teasing. "It wouldn't be very nice of me to not show my gratitude to my leader for helping me so much today...", you trail off with a teasing lilt in your voice. Calcharo straightens up and peeks at your over his shoulder, "What do you mean...'show your gratitude'?" Hook, line, and sinker. You put on a more nonchalant look and sigh heavily, "I'm simply saying that since you helped me out..." You look into his eyes again, "I could help you out as well."

Too many thoughts race through Calcharo's mind. How could he even take you up on that offer, especially when you're injured. Especially since he shouldn't be having thoughts like this. Especially because you were special to him. Wait... You were... special to him? When did he feel this way towards you? I mean, sure he always went with you whenever you were itching for a fight and he did talk with you a little more frequently than the others, albeit not too much.

You can tell his mind is racing, so you lean forward, ignoring the bit of pain in your wounded thigh, and place your hand on his shoulder, "Just quit thinking, Calcharo." Your hushed voice and hot breath fan across his ear, sending tingles straight down to his cock. Fuck it. He turns around and faces you once more, his face close to yours as he speaks low and deep, "I don't want to hurt you." His eyes are on yours, but yours are on his lips as you speak again, "You won't."

Before he can protest again, your lips are on his in a soft, but demanding kiss. Calcharo is frozen for a moment, having never done this before. Hell, he's never done anything romantic or sexual in the past. But the plush softness of your lips on his has him beginning to melt. He returns the kiss hesitantly at first, but once he finds the right rhythm with you, he finds himself leaning into you more. His hands are on your flushed cheeks and your heat radiates into his palms.

Your tongue prods his lower lip, begging for entrance to which he allows, parting his lips as you tongue slips in and moves against his. It's a slippery feeling, but you taste so sweet.

Without having realized it, Calcharo has you caged in underneath him yet again, although this time is was special. Your legs are spread to accommodate his body between your legs and your fingers are tangled in his wet, but long silver hair.

Your lips brush against his, "As much as I'd like to help and take things over, my injury-" Calcharo cuts you off with a kiss, "I know. Tell me what to do and I'll do it." His voice sounds husky and breathless, needy for more of you. You grab his hand and place it on your breast, making his breath hitch, "You can touch me."

He looks down at where his hand rests on your breast, taking in the way it fills his palm so perfectly, and he squeezes lightly. Truthfully, he wants your shirt off so he can feel the soft skin against his own calloused hands.

Calcharo's eyes go to yours and his fingers hover over the buttons of your shirt, "May I?" You chuckle a little at his formality, "Please do." With your affirmation, he unbuttons your shirt, tugging the material gently down your shoulders. He takes in the sight of you under him in just a bra and panties. You truly were a sight to see. Without asking for permission again, he fumbles with the clasp of your bra before eventually unhooking it and sliding it off.

Calcharo licks his lips again when he finally sees your bare breasts, so round and perfect. His hand makes its way back to your breasts, gently palming them. His thumb flicks over your nipple, making you draw in a breath. His gaze break away from your chest and back up to your face in alarm, "Did I hurt you?" You smile tiredly at him and shake your head, "No, it felt good." Calcharo visibly relaxes and returns his attention back to your chest.

Leaning down, he captures one of your nipples in his mouth, his tongue sliding over the pert bud as you let out a soft sounding moan. His eyes flit up to watch your reactions as he continues with his ministrations. All he wants is for you to feel good even if he's not entirely sure what he's doing. But from the look on your face, your lips parted and brows knitted together, he can tell he's doing well so far and that's all he needs to know to keep going.

Calcharo presses little kisses from your breasts, to your stomach, then pauses above your covered cunt. Without a word, you shakily raise your hips, signalling him to remove your panties and continue on. He bites his lip, nervous as hell, but he didn't know when he would get an opportunity like this again. So he slides your panties down, ever so careful to not have the material rub against your wound on it's way down your legs.

With you panties off and your pussy now exposed to him, Calcharo feels like he's in a daze. You raise your hips yet again with a raised brow, "Well? Haven't you done this before?" Calcharo looks away from you, not wanting to confirm nor deny, feeling too embarrassed to say you were his first everything.

Your sweet voice pulls him back in, "You're so unlike yourself right now. Where'd my confident leader go, huh?" You were only half teasing as you spoke, just wanting him to move on from your first quip.

Hearing you call him your leader stirs something inside of him. Calcharo feels like he has something to prove. You were right, he did everything with a cold confidence, so he could certainly do this. Calcharo lowers himself to your pussy, his lips so close to touching. With a quick look back up to you, he lightly licks at your clit. It's experimental at first, just small little licks to test out your reaction. But once he sees how turned on you are, he dives right in.

It's sloppy and wet, but Calcharo has no intention of stopping now. His tongue prods and licks at your entrance, lapping up your arousal as it coats his tongue. His cock twitches as he mindlessly grinds against the floor. Your beautiful moans and shaky breaths only spur him on and make him feel even more brave. His calloused thumb rubs at your clit in time with his tongue lashing between your folds.

Your hands fly to his hair, pressing his mouth further into your pussy as you cry out his name, "C-calcharo! 'm cumming-ngh!" The taste of you flooded his senses and he simply could not get enough. He grips your hips, keeping his mouth latched onto your soaked cunt as though it was his first and last meal he'd ever have, groaning as if he were the one on the receiving end. You try to push his face away, "S-stop! Too much-ngh!- 'm sensitive!"

Calcharo knew he should stop, but your moans and the way your arousal flowed from you was way too delicious. His tongue flicks over you clit once more, making your legs shake as you moan loudly, releasing on his tongue once more. Finally being merciful, Calcharo removes his mouth from your pussy, your juices and his own saliva glisten on his lips and chin, but he doesn't have a care in the world right in this moment.

Your breasts move in time with your heavy breathing and you narrow your eyes up at him, "You're so lucky I'm injured right now..." Calcharo's eyebrows furrow, cocking his head to the side slightly, "But you liked it." You can't keep your glare when he's looking at you like some confused puppy, although quite the scary looking puppy... You look down, spotting the wet patch on his pants, "Just take your pants off. It looks like your cock is ready to burst."

Calcharo's eyes widen at your straightforwardness, but he immediately schools his expression, "...Right." He undoes his belt harness, letting it drop to the floor with a soft clank of the metal. Next, he pops open the button of his pants and lowers the zipper, tugging his pants and briefs down just enough to free his cock. His cock springs forward, large and veiny, twitching and leaking profusely.

You're in awe of his size and if you had known he was packing that much down there, you would've intentionally tried to get yourself in this situation much sooner. With one hand, he holds his aching cock and covers his face with the other, "Why are you staring so intensely?" Seeing the state he's in makes you laugh. The sound of it makes his length twitch and he peeks at you through his fingers, sounding a bit annoyed, "What's so amusing to you?"

You give him a genuine, yet cheeky smile, "I just... Never thought I'd see such an intimidating guy like yourself get so flustered." Calcharo groans at your teasing remark and lowers his hand from his face, his other hand absentmindedly stroking his cock, "Enough of your teasing."

You spread your legs a little more, careful not to strain your injury, "By all means, please continue. I promise I won't tease you anymore." "Hmph...", Calcharo does his best to look displeased, but there's too much longing and desperation in his eyes for it to be even remotely convincing.

He lines his leaking tip up with your awaiting entrance, but pauses, "Just tell me if it's too much, alright?" With a nod from you, pressure begins to build as he pushes his length slowly inside of your tight, wet cunt.

Cacharo's face scrunches with pleasure and he sucks in a breath, the feeling of being inside of you, inside of anyone for the first time has him struggling not to cum right then and there. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you, speaking softly, "It's okay. You can move now."

He whines at the affirmation and begins to thrust slowly, trying to keep himself calm so as to not cum immediately or hurt you from going too hard too fast. His muscular arms cage you in and his silver hair cascades over his shoulders.

His blue-grey eyes lock on yours as he keeps his steady pace. Calcharo's voice is strained when he speaks through gritted teeth, "This feels too good..." He groans as his hips make contact with yours, his cock pressing deep inside of you.

You press a kiss to the corner of his lips, whispering against them, "Then keep going." Calcharo's cock jumps inside of you and he starts thrusting a little faster, a little harder, "F-fuck..." He kisses you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours as his cock fucks into you. All you both can do is whimper and moan between relentless kisses as he comes closer and closer to orgasm.

His thoughts are only on how fucking good you tight pussy feels squeezing around his cock and how badly he wants to breed you with his cum. Gods, what he wouldn't do to see your stomach growing round with his kids.

Fuck, what the hell is even thinking right now. He can't even own a dog, let alone raise a kid, it was too dangerous. But your pussy and your hold on him was way more dangerous to him. He had to keep going.

Calcharo growls out a low groan, "I'm gonna cum -fuck- take it all. Please, please take it -ngh- all!" With a harsh, deep thrust, he releases his warm seed inside of you. His cock throbbing as his cum pours from his tip and the excess drips down to the floor.

He presses his sweaty forehead against yours, the heat from your fever seeping into his skin. Fuck, you had a fever and were injured... He pulls out of you, making you whimper at the feeling of emptiness.

His eyes flick over to your stitched wound, eyes wide as he sees some of the stitches had popped open and fresh blood was trickling down the side of your thigh, "I-I apologize. I shouldn't have-mmph!" Your lips on his shuts him up and when you pull away, you only smile tiredly at him, "I'm fine. Quit worrying about me." Calcharo's expression shows just how much he's struggling with all of this. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you or make anything worse.

You tug a strand of his long, silver hair, bringing his attention back to you, "If you really feel that bad then I guess you'll have to make it up to me another time." Calcharo's eyebrows furrow, but then his expression softens slightly, "Of course. As your leader, I-" You cut him off quickly, "No, not so much as my leader. But as my partner. How does that sound?"

He's stunned for a moment but then clears his throat, trying to keep his typical brooding expression, "We can't. I don't want you to get hurt." You roll your eyes and look up at him, speaking in a resolute tone, "This is different. I'm not just some civilian, I'm part of the Ghost Hounds just like you. I can handle whatever danger comes my way or else I wouldn't be here right now." Calcharo processes your words for a second, then sighs, "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Your expression brightens, "I'm pretty sure that's similar to what you said to me when I first joined." Calcharo rolls his eyes as he gathers your clothes and his, "Whatever. I meant it as much then as I do now." You just breathe a small laugh, "Of course. I think we'll be just fine."

⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁⌁ϟ

a/n: calcharo is a cutie patootie under that tough exterior, i just know it🥺

[hencheri]

make you mine

18+ mdni.

You've never suspected the evil would have taken the form of Jay, a hot guy from your college, but when he takes interest in you, you rapidly discover the secret he's been hiding.

pairing: jock!jay x fem!reader

wc: 5.7k

warnings: graphic description of gore (mention of blood & injuries), dubcon, implied inexperienced!reader, unprotected sex, jay's kinda mean but hey he's evil so ain't my fault lol.

a.n.: jennifer's body au cause why not. old fic from an old blog, but it's still my fav of all time <3

Jay thinks he never felt that much pain in his whole entire life. It’s like his soul is screaming from the inside out, as if someone stabbed him in the stomach, tearing his guts apart. 

Oh, but that’s what actually happened…

How can he still be alive? He swears he was dead seconds ago, losing liters of blood through the cut in his stomach. But he’s very much conscious right now, getting out of the woods he was brutally murdered in. 

Well, is it still even murder if he survived? 

It doesn’t matter anymore anyway. All he can think about at this moment is how hungry he is. He would devour anything he can put his hand on, and god, why does the person on the other side of the street look so… edible? 

He feels the dried blood that dripped from his mouth stick to his skin as his hands are stained in the same red substance, holding his stomach where, surprisingly, he is no longer bleeding from.The pain is atrocious, but he needs to fucking eat, and so he approaches the person faster. 

The moment they notice him, their eyes grow bigger and they let out a strident scream, but Jay gives them no time to leave.

He doesn’t know what in the hell possesses him to jump on that poor human, his teeth becoming sharper than they ever were, shredding their neck in pieces, their screams slowly dying down as he eats like a starved animal.

The fresh blood is coating the dried layer on his chin. He feels like an uncontrollable beast, and he’s literally acting like one right now. No one with a right mind would have ever done this… but it’s like he isn’t a human. 

He was revived from the dead, there’s nothing human about him anymore. Nothing.

He has an idea as to why this happened. 

Those girls — that girl band who he seemed so enthralled by — sacrificed him, and for what…? For fame? For money? Whatever it is, they killed the wrong person because obviously the sacrifice didn’t fucking work. He’s still very much alive. 

He’s cursed now, that’s for sure. Or whatever the hell is happening to him. 

He looks down at his victim; it’s a man. 

He suddenly feels nauseous, vomiting what he had so far swallowed. A dark liquid comes out of his mouth, and god, it’s even more painful than the cut in his stomach. 

He feels disgusted by himself — why isn’t he full? Eating felt so good, considering how starved he was, but it’s like he ate something … expired. 

What’s wrong with him… He ate someone’s guts, of course it doesn’t taste like a 5 stars meal. Then why did his instinct tell him to do that? 

That’s fucked up. 

The next few days are horrible for Jay. 

After that night, he doesn’t eat anything except for raw chicken and other types of meat that are just not enough to satiate him. It doesn't taste good either. 

He lays in bed most of the time, having no energy, skipping the gym and his practices, which he usually never does. He gets texts from his friends, but he doesn’t bother to check his phone. 

It’s on Sunday night that he decides to leave his bed, going to look at himself in the mirror. He has big dark circles under his eyes — not particularly flattering. He’s still very hungry, but none of the food in his fridge makes him want to eat. 

There’s one thing he’d want, though… 

It’s when he receives a text from a specific person that he knows what to do. 

iseul: hey, jay. wanna study together for the finals?

—-

“Hey, man,” Jay’s teammate, Jungwon, greets him. “Heard about Hana? That’s fucked up,” he says, walking beside his friend. “And right after Iseul… My parents refuse my sister to go out alone now.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Jay replies, not really caring, but still listening. 

It’s not like anybody liked Hana before, he doesn’t understand why everybody suddenly cares now that she’s dead. She needed to die to finally have some importance. How sad. 

She wasn’t that good of a laid either, so really, what’s the matter? Sure, it’s tragic, but who’s going to miss her besides her family. 

“Can’t be an animal at this point,” his teammate says under his breath, “Do you wanna know what I’m thinking?”

Not really…

“What?”

“I’m thinking it’s gotta be some ‘Jack the Ripper’ kinda guy. You know those freaks who wanna be the modern this or that.”

Kind of offensive… 

Jay rolls his eyes without Jungwon noticing, snickering at his words.

“The police’s saying it’s a bear or some shit,” Jay explains, reaching his class. “That’s more believable than your ‘modern Jack the Ripper’.” He mimics quotes with his fingers, stopping in front of the classroom. 

Jungwon still doesn’t seem convinced, but it’s not Jay’s job to make him less stupid. He can believe what he wants, he’s not an investigator even though he thinks he is. 

“See you at practice, alright?”

“Yeah, later, man.”

Jay has never been very attentive in class. He doesn’t care about a lot of things and college is one of them. He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for his parents and their high expectations of him. 

He’s looking outside the windows, noticing the grey clouds, heavy rain pouring from the sky. A flash of lighting breaks through the sky, hearing the thunder a second after. 

Nobody seems attentive either, all interested in the thunderstorm that’s starting. It might be the strongest they’ve seen in a couple of years. 

“Crap,” the teacher says as the electricity is cut off, surely because of the thunder. 

Girls are gasping, some of them whispering to each other about how creepy the situation is while the professor waits for the power to get back on.

Jay’s phone lights up as he gets a new notification. He takes a look, reading the text he just received. 

jungwon: practice’s canceled.. 

Great, Jay thinks. He really needed to get some steam off, but it won’t happen today. 

“Sir!” A girl raises her hand, catching the attention of the professor. “All classes got canceled. Can we leave? Apparently the power isn’t coming back for a few hours.”

The professor seems quite disappointed, but he lets everyone go back home, seeing no point in staying if he can’t teach. 

While exiting the classroom, Jay gets bumped into by someone. He doesn’t move much, but the person drops their books on the floor, bending down to pick them up hurriedly. 

“Shit… Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you apologize, standing back up when you have all of your books in your arms.

“It’s fine,” Jay mumbles and you give him a straight smile.

He recognizes you from highschool, a girl he never talked to, but who he knew the name of. Then, he watches you walking away for a short moment, eyeing the curves of your silhouette, memorizing it. 

—-

You’re in the cafeteria, sitting with your friends, waiting for about a good 30 minutes now. The storm from yesterday is still ongoing, and the power is very unstable, cutting off every now and then.

The finals are scheduled for today and the administration told the students to come regardless of the storm, thinking it would stop during the night. So you’re waiting to be sent to the gym where the exams are usually taking place, but seeing the electricity goes off and comes back every second, it isn’t the best time to start an exam. 

People are free to go, it’s college after all, but most of the students are staying in case a decision is made. You know you wouldn’t want to skip your exam, that’s why you’re staying, even though it’s starting to get really long. 

No murder has happened since the beginning of the storm, confirming the police suspicions that it might be a wild animal doing this. A bear wouldn’t come out during a thunderstorm, hence why no bodies have been found or anyone going missing. 

You don’t really know what to think of the whole thing. You never really experienced anything of the sort before, only ever seen it in the news, taking place in a far away city. Now, it’s really different to be a witness of it.

You don’t understand how an animal would do such a thing, especially since they aren’t known to attack humans, or… eat them. But everybody is kind of desperate to find a culprit. 

As you’re looking through your notes, you notice that you’re missing a piece of information that you absolutely need to know for your test. You would ask your friends, but none of them are in this class with you. Plus, you forgot your book so the only solution would be to go to the library. 

The place is lit up by candles and oil lamps. The power doesn’t seem to have come back here either. 

The librarian isn’t even here, so you can’t ask her for directions, which would be really useful, but you’ll do without. You go to the biology section and start searching for the book you need. It takes you some time, carefully looking through the shelves until you notice an older edition of the book. You hope what you need is in there.

You start flipping the pages to the right chapter, but you jump out of surprise and drop the book to the floor at the sound of someone else’s voice. 

“Aren’t you supposed to attend your exam?”

It’s the guy you bumped into yesterday; Jay. 

What’s weird is that you didn’t hear him at all, you could have sworn you were alone in the library. You suppose he’s a really quiet walker.

“Uh, y-yeah,” you stammer out, furrowing your brows. You bend down to pick up the book, his eyes following your movements closely. “Just had to come here for this,” you say and show the object in question in your hand. “What about you?”

He leans on the shelves beside him. 

“Didn’t feel like wasting my time back there,” he explains and you nod, not really sure what he wants exactly… It’s not like you’re friends or anything.

You can’t see much of him with the low lighting in the library, but you still catch on the way he’s looking at you intently. It makes you slightly uncomfortable, considering he’s towering over you with all his height. And Jay is very tall compared to you. 

“Is- Is there something else you wanted to ask me…?” You manage to let out, voice a bit shaky and uneasy. 

“Are you scared?” he asks casually.

He steps closer to you, and you don’t understand why you don’t step back. It’s like you don’t dare.

“What?”

“The storm. Pretty intense, right?”

Is he really interested to know if you’re scared of storms or is he playing with you? Why would he even play with you in the first place, that’s what you wonder. 

His behaviour really confuses you. It’s true that you don’t know him, but he isn’t the type of guy to just… creep girls out. Maybe it’s not his intention though?

“Oh, yeah… it’s nothing I've ever seen before,” you confess in a small voice. 

“Me neither,” Jay replies. 

You hold the book against you tighter like it’s some sort of protection, or just as emotional support. You don’t know what’s up with him, but it has you feeling some type of way… 

You feel the knot in your stomach getting tighter as he gets even closer, trapping you between him and the bookshelves. 

Yes, you’re scared, but not of the storm… of him.

And… there’s a part of you that likes it — likes the attention he gives you, the way his dark eyes look at your body. His gaze makes you think of a carnivore, a predator. 

You’re the food he was looking for. 

“It’s really loud, isn’t it?” he observes. “I wonder… if you had to scream, would anybody hear you?”

That startles you right away. 

“Jay-” Saying his name seems to catch his attention, his eyes looking directly into yours. “Stop it.”

He doesn’t break eye contact, and you’re destabilized by how long he can hold your gaze, a shiver running down your spine, making the hair on your arms stand up. 

It’s only to whisper in your ear that his eyes leave yours. 

“Stop what exactly?”

His hot breath hits the side of your neck, hearing your heart pounding in your chest, the knot in your stomach becoming heavier and heavier. Your hands clasp around your book, holding onto it for dear life as you gulp down the excess of saliva in your mouth. 

You scrunch your eyes shut when you feel his hands on your hips, fingers sneaking under the hem of your top. Your core heats up, blood rushing to your cheeks.

“What do you want?” You breathe out, opening your eyes when Jay faces you again. 

He takes the book from you, putting it back onto the shelves, not caring if it’s the wrong placement. 

“Just a little bit of fun,” he answers, “wouldn’t you like that, hm?” He slips his index finger under the band of your skirt then, pulling you closer to him, his lips only centimetres away from yours. “I know girls like you are too shy to ask for it… So I’m making the first move.” 

“No, I-” You begin, but don’t have the time to finish your sentence. 

“It’s fine, I’m gonna take the lead. You don’t have to worry about anything, pretty,” he tells you, tilting his head and pressing a light kiss to your lips. Surprisingly, you reciprocate it. He pulls his hand away from your skirt, putting it around your neck instead. “I knew you’d be into it, you’re a little freak, aren’t you?” 

You don’t know what to answer. Is there even anything you can say back to him? What’s the point of lying when he has you trapped between his large body and the bookshelves, his slender fingers gripping your neck, his lips brushing over your face. 

But would that be really a lie saying he’s wrong about you? He doesn’t know you…

He kisses you again, this time sloppier, his tongue dominating yours easily. He nudges your legs open with his knee, his other hand swiftly diving under the hem of your skirt, groping your flesh in a lewd way that keeps you out of breath — apart from the fact that his tongue is currently exploring your mouth. 

He graces the bump of your pussy with his knuckles, making your knees buckle at the unexpected contact. He rubs the pad of his middle finger over your clit, a whine escaping your throat, muffled by his mouth on yours. The moment is brief until he slips his hand into your underwear. 

You try to make him stop by grabbing his wrist, pulling away from his lips to pathetically whisper a ‘please’ that makes him chuckle. 

“Already begging for me, sweetheart?” He softly laughs, smirking at you. “Excited by the idea of a guy’s fingers in your little cunt instead of yours? Is that it?”

You frown because that wasn’t the reason why you begged him, but now that he said this… your thoughts are going into a completely different way. What’s wrong with you?

“Do you wanna know how it feels, baby? How it’s like to have your pussy stuffed by someone else’s fingers…” 

He’s not waiting for an answer as he starts stroking your bud of nerves in slow circular motions, applying some pressure to really make you feel it. You let out another whine, this time of pleasure. 

Jay then shifts down to your entrance, circling it with a lot of delicacy, but this gentleness of his doesn’t go on for long as he pushes a finger into you. You bite down on your bottom lip — the size of his fingers are in no comparison to yours. Your eyes well up in tears, little cries escaping your mouth when he adds a second digit. 

“I know, I know,” he whispers, “must be uncomfortable, hm?” You nod your head, confirming his words. “It’ll feel good soon, I promise. You’re used to the feel of your tiny fingers, it’s normal…”

When he says this, you have a hard time believing him. How could it feel good when you weren’t at all prepared for this — when it’s not what you wanted. 

He begins to move his fingers inside of you, slow and long strokes at first, circling your clit with his thumb at the same time. He curls his fingers, making a little hook, patting your sweet spot. The intrusion is uncomfortable, but it progressively gets so much more pleasurable as he thrusts into you at a regular pace. 

Tears are still falling down from your eyes, eyelashes wet and sticky, but they aren’t the result of your pain… 

“You’re pretty when you cry,” Jay murmurs beside your ear, butterflies in your stomach when he tells you this. 

He unwraps his hand from your throat to instead grab your thigh, placing your leg around his hip. You now feel his fingers way deeper inside of you, gently and deliciously stimulating your g-spot. You dare to look down where his left hand is operating between your thighs, sliding in until he’s knuckles deep into your pussy. This makes you breathless, head rolling back on your shoulders and hitting the shelves behind you. 

“Oh, my god-!” You exclaim when Jay’s ministrations bring you so close to your orgasm. Your legs are twitching, your body warning you of your approaching high.

You’d probably be more aware of his hard cock trapped in his baggy jeans, but you literally cannot focus on anything else other than Jay fingering you, hitting your sensitive spot each time he thrusts in. 

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages, moving faster. “You feel it? Huh?” He asks and you croak out a weak ‘yes’. “Tell me how it feels.”

You hate his questions — you hate them so much. He knows how you feel, but he wants you to say it, he wants you to say that you enjoy it, and… your body really does. 

“G-Good.”

“Yeah?” he breathes out, fucking your cunt with his fingers, enthralled by the little moans you let out.

“Yes,” you confirm, closing your eyes and nodding your head. “Fuck!” You curse out when you finally reach your high, grasping onto his forearm as you ride out your orgasm, your entire body shaking. 

Jay helps you by slowly rubbing your puffy clit in circles, telling you more dirty words in your ear, all said in the sweetest voice, as if what he’s doing can be described as anything sweet. 

“Good girl,” he praises, “see, I told you it’d feel great.”

He still has his head in the crook of your neck, and you frown at the feeling of sharp teeth against your skin. It’s barely there, just brushing over it, as if hesitating to act… but Jay retrieves back, looking into your reddened eyes. 

He could stop there, but he won’t — though he got what he wanted, he needs more… 

He pulls his hand out of your panties, fingers glistening in your arousal. “Open wide for me, baby,” he instructs. 

You glance at his hand, a little repulsed. You’ve never thought of tasting yourself and it’s surely nothing you’d have ever done if not for Jay. 

You then reluctantly open your mouth and he enters his wet fingers in. 

“Suck,” he adds on, expecting you to follow his orders, and you do without a second thought. 

He stares down at you while you lick his fingers clean and he slides them a bit deeper, pushing down on your tongue. The taste of yourself isn’t what you thought it’d be… It doesn’t taste much, in fact. 

He removes his fingers from your mouth only to put them in his own after. “As sweet as you are,” he grins. “Turn around.”

You hesitate for a moment, looking at him credulously, before doing what he asked you to do on trembling legs. 

“Are you…?” You say under your breath, looking over your shoulder and seeing Jay pulling the zipper of his pants down. 

“Going to put my cock into you?” he finishes your question, “yeah, I am.”

You stop breathing at his answer, sensing his deft fingers touching your thighs and hips, going under your skirt to drag your panties down. 

He soon gets his cock out of his briefs, pumping himself a couple of times before aligning his head with your dripping entrance. His right hand keeps your skirt crumpled up over your ass, laying the other one on your hip. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” he says softly beside your ear, “because this might sting a little bit more than two fingers.” He swipes the head of his cock through your sticky folds and all you can do is moan pathetically at the feeling, lewd, wet noises echoing in the big library. 

You can’t see his length even with the way you contort your head to look over your shoulder, but you’re still able to see his chest and hips moving as he pushes his cock into your pussy. Though you have no idea what he looks like, the painful feeling of your cunt getting stretched out to his size tells you he’s really big. 

And he was right. This hurts way more than his fingers, the two feelings are not comparable at all. 

“Jay-,” you cry out, holding onto the shelves in front of you till there’s no more blood in your knuckles. 

He hears you, loving the sounds you’re making because of him and the way you say his name with eyes full of tears. When he bottoms out inside of you, his pelvis flushed against your ass, he lets out a low grunt and throws his head back, closing his eyes to savour the pleasure entirely. 

You involuntarily clench around him, making him tighten his grip on your hip. He then starts thrusting into you, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy at a slow but harsh pace. Each time he bottoms out, Jay makes sure the skin of his thighs slap against your ass, the sounds almost as loud as your little moans and whimpers. 

But the storm is so intense and noisy that he’s pretty sure nobody else in the library could hear you — if there was anyone else here apart from the two of you anyway. 

Your wetness allows him to fuck his cock into your pussy back and forth, welcoming him so perfectly without any restraint. It’s almost impossible for him to not hit your sweet spot, and he reaches so much deeper when he lifts up your thigh with the hand that was previously placed on your hip. 

You don’t know how long you can stay in this position, especially when Jay’s drilling his cock into you like nothing else matters. It’s like he needs it from you, and as the pleasure only builds up in you, you start thinking you need it desperately, too. 

You’re breathing heavily, and so is he, feeling his hot breath on your neck when he tilts his head down closer to yours. You can clearly hear his breathing now as well as his deep grunts that leave his mouth every time your walls close tightly around his girth, literally sucking him in. 

“Shit,” he curses out as he pushes lightly on your back, deepening the arch of it so your ass is flushed against his pelvis. “How could I have ever missed out on you… You’re so- fuck,” Jay chokes out, not finishing his sentence, but you have a guess on what he wanted to say. 

He then kisses your neck pretty messily, but it only raises the temperature of your body, your skin boiling hot under his soft lips. He leaves a wet trail behind, going up to your ear, down to your shoulder. 

Telling him to stop isn’t even possible anymore, it wouldn’t make any sense… would be absolutely stupid when you’re so close to your second orgasm. 

As he thrusts into you, his balls slap your pussy, and the sounds are just too vulgar, but it’s honestly arousing you so much. Jay lets go of your thigh to take a hold of your jaw, turning it around so he can look at your face. 

Your mouth is ajar to let out big puffs of air, and it’s the same for him, his breathing being irregular and heavy. He didn’t think he would ever need something that badly, which is making you his, surprisingly enough. 

Making you his in whatever way possible; whether it’s by fucking you or eating you — or both. Jay doesn’t care, he just wants it. 

It doesn’t take long for your second orgasm to pass through you, arms and legs shaking as the knot at the pit of your stomach snaps. Jay feels it very clearly, your walls hugging his cock terribly tightly, bringing him closer to his own orgasm as well.

“Holy fuck,” he hisses, his hip thrusts accelerating, literally burying his cock in your cunt until he slips out. He rapidly strokes himself and cums on your ass, strings of white cum falling on you. “Oh, god…”

He stays in this position for a couple of seconds, catching his breath. He then slightly backs away, making sure to keep your skirt crumpled up over your butt, looking at the mess he made of you. 

Suddenly, you both catch on the voices entering the library, making you rush to dress up and clean yourselves. 

—-

You’re in your bedroom, studying and writing down in your notebook while lying on your bed. It’s relatively quiet in your house, hearing the TV downstairs playing and the ceiling fan above your head running. 

The ringtone of your cell phone breaks the silence, buzzing on top of your bedsheets. It’s a number that you don’t recognize, but the first digitals show that it’s a number from your area, so you pick it up. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, pretty.”

“Uh, who is this?” You ask the person on the other side of the line because you have no idea who would call you like this. They must know you.

“Take a guess,” they say, and their tone is oddly flirty. 

You frown, starting to remember where you heard this voice for the last time… And in which situation exactly. 

“... Jay?” 

He laughs at that and you can imagine the cheeky smile he’s sporting right now. 

“You got it,” he replies, “see, I knew you’d remember me.” 

You immediately feel uneasy despite the fact you’re just talking through the phone, but things have happened since your encounter with Jay.

Things such as more dead girls, all brutally murdered by this supposed ‘animal’. 

You suspected nothing until you noticed how tired looking Jay was a day or two after what happened in the library. Normally, you wouldn’t have looked at him, but you literally couldn’t get him out of your head after how intimate the both of you had been. 

Every time he was in the same hallway as you, you’d give him a glance and nothing more as you were too shy to talk to him or even look at him for too long. 

But sometimes you dared to watch him a little longer when he didn’t know you were there. 

And you saw the dark circles, the bad attitude he had with his friends, and the disdain look he seemed to give to everybody. You also saw him get in his car with a girl. You were jealous for a second, but you felt totally different the next day when that same girl went missing and that Jay was doing fine again. 

At first, it was just silly thoughts, but it was too strong of a coincidence, you couldn’t think about anything else. 

Jay’s an incubus.

“Yeah…” You say back, shoulders tense as you sit up on your bed. “How did you get my number?” 

“Asked Jungwon for it,” he simply explains. “You did a project back in highschool together. Remember?”

You do remember. You were so stressed out about it. Paired with a popular jock? You believed the teacher was against you, but it turned out that Jungwon was way nicer than you thought.

“Luckily, you didn’t change numbers.”

Lucky for who?

“Right,” you huff out, looking through your window, a shiver passing through you at the thought of Jay hiding somewhere.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Uhm, just studying… Why?” 

“Wanna go out with me?” Jay proposes after a few seconds of silence. 

You look through your window again. It’s dark outside. This would be such a bad idea… 

“It’s 9 p.m. on a Thursday night,” you begin, sounding way too bitchy for his liking, “where would we go? And why would I even go out with you…”

“The park’s always open,” he adds.

“What-”

“Relax. Nothing bad gonna happen, alright?" his voice resonates through the phone, hearing a slight laugh after. "I miss you, that's all."

You bite down on your lip, shaking your head to get all of your stupid thoughts away. As much as you hate to admit it, you love hearing that from Jay. That’s all you wanted him to say since he left you in the library… tell you he needs you as much as you need him. 

But this isn’t the time for that — there won’t ever be another time anyway. 

You respond nothing and so he takes it as a yes. “Send me your address, I’ll come pick you up in 10 minutes. Put something pretty on,” he chuckles, hanging up. 

—-

The park isn’t an open space with benches and a fountain. It’s basically the woods where you go for hiking. There are paths you can follow that will all lead you to the same place at the end. 

You could have thought of something smarter, or less dangerous, but you didn’t have any time. Jay showed up at your entrance precisely 10 minutes after he hung up and you weren’t exactly ready to see him just yet. 

You had to get in his car anyway, the whole ride being quiet until you arrived at your destination. Your stomach churned up the moment you entered the woods, Jay behind you. 

Your heart is still beating super fast right now, whether it’s because you’re absolutely scared or because Jay is kissing you feverishly, it doesn’t matter. You can’t do this, and you don’t know how it might end for you if you let yourself be distracted by him. 

“Jay,” you manage to say between kisses. You push harder on his chest, making him stop from putting his tongue in your mouth. “We need to talk,” you say firmly. 

“About what?” he chuckles, diving back down to the crook of your neck where he plants wet kisses, his hand sneaking up under your dress while the other holds your hip. 

You squirm, fighting hard to not let yourself give in to his touch. 

“I saw… I saw Kazuha and you getting into your car the other day,” you confess and he backs away from your neck when he hears that, looking intently at your face. 

“And? You were jealous, is that it?” He questions, lifting one eyebrow. 

“No! I mean-,” you answer right after, thinking about what to say and how to say it. “She went missing the day after you saw her, and-”

Jay gets visibly annoyed, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth. He lets go of you, still looking at you, but not with lustful eyes anymore. 

“What? What are you trying to say, huh?” He huffs out. “That I killed her? Fucking crazy.”

Is he really guilty? He has to be. You know he is. 

“Back in the library,” you begin to say, “were you… did you intend to kill me?” You eventually say it all, breath caught in your throat as you watch Jay registering your words. 

He sighs, “why would it matter?” You frown at that, about to respond, but he steps closer to you, trapping you between him and the tree again. “Just let me take care of you, gonna make you feel so good, baby…” 

He slips his hands under your dress so rapidly that you don’t have any time to react, immediately overwhelmed by his groping and his lips all over you. 

But you get back to your senses, using all your force to push him away. You succeed to have a safe distance between the two of you.

“So you’re admitting it!? You wanted to- to do the same thing to me!”

“No,” he disagrees, his voice harsh, sounding quite annoyed. “I just wanted- Fuck!” he exclaims angrily, but it’s like he doesn’t know what to say. 

“You could have had everybody you wanted, Jay,” you state, looking him into the eyes, “why me?”

He looks back at you and you wonder how you couldn’t have seen it before… The evil. 

“Why not? You’re hot, kinda stuck-up, but I had to try it, you know,” he chuckles. “For a nerdy girl, you sure know how to take dick.”

This angers you to a point… 

“Fuck you!”

And without thinking twice, you reach down to pick up the pocket knife you hid in your boot before. 

You open it and you rush toward Jay, stabbing him in his lower stomach. You retrieve the knife a bit too hastily, resulting in you dropping it and falling down on your butt to the ground. 

Jay also falls down, holding onto his stomach, red blood dripping out of his cut onto his hands. He yells out many curses, sucking air through his teeth to appease the pain as much as he can. 

You watch him, startled and out of breath, eventually turning around and searching for your knife through the dirt and dead leaves. When you find it, you get back up and to Jay, but he isn’t there anymore.

He has completely disappeared.