#made it seem she'd be easy to control

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

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[kaira-diaries]

No Rest for the Wicked:

Warnings: (SMUT!)(VIOLENCE!)

Pairing: fem!reader x frontman

Word Count: 9.7k

Summary: In-ho is a meticulous frontman who thrives on precision, discipline, and control. Every move is calculated, every moment accounted for—until she arrives. Hired out of necessity, the young woman is his complete opposite. She thrives on chaos, taking pleasure in breaking every rule and every plan he sets. Worst of all, she seems to take delight in driving him to the edge of his patience. Their partnership is a volatile clash like oil and water. She teases, taunts, and tests every boundary, while In-ho struggles to maintain his composure. But as their friction builds and the stakes rise, the dangerous line between loathing and longing begins to blur.

A/N: luv luv luvvv this one. Happy reading!!

Masterlist <-

____________________

You glanced at your wristwatch, the sleek silver face reflecting the dim overhead light. The seconds ticked away with maddening precision, each passing moment amplifying the knot of irritation in your chest. She was late—incredibly late.

Your fingers twitched, curling into tight fists as you fought to keep your composure. The air around you seemed heavier, the muffled chatter from the other side of the room doing little to distract from the growing tension. Across the table, the host offered you a reassuring nod, his attempt at easing your affliction falling painfully short.

It wasn't just her tardiness that got on your nerves. It was her audacity, her knack for stretching the limits of your patience like a bowstring ready to snap. She wasn't just inconsiderate—no, that would be too simple. She was deliberate calculated in her chaos, and she knew exactly how to press every button you had.

And that knowledge? That smug, unspoken certainty she carried? It was infuriating.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, the faintest tremor in your jaw betraying the effort it took to remain calm. The chair beside you was still empty, her absence an almost tangible presence, lingering like a challenge she'd thrown down just to see how far you'd bend before breaking.

Her very presence was a thorn lodged deep under your skin, impossible to ignore and maddening in its persistence. She never listened to you—never. If you asked her to go left, she'd veer right with a smirk that seemed designed solely to test your patience. Worse still, she didn't just disregard your requests—she actively defied them, as if rebellion were her favorite pastime.

And yet, somehow, inexplicably, the games never faltered. The flow remained seamless, like clockwork ticking away in perfect rhythm, even as she derailed every plan you meticulously crafted. It was a mystery that gnawed at the edges of your mind—a puzzle that only served to deepen your frustration.

She was impulsive, reckless to a fault, charging ahead without a second thought. Her voice carried over everyone else's, bold and unapologetically loud, as if daring the world to silence her. Every question she asked felt less like a search for understanding and more like a challenge, a way to undermine your authority with a simple raise of her brow.

But what truly stoked the fire of your irritation was the way the host looked at her—admired her.

The easy way he laughed at her quips, the way his eyes lit up when she spoke, as though she were some indispensable force of nature. It was because of him that she was here in the first place. If it were up to you, she wouldn't have lasted a single day.

Your fingers itched with suppressed rage as you watched her enter from across the room, all audacity, moving through the space like she owned it as she leaned against the wall beside you. If you had your way, you'd silence her smug grin permanently. Snap her neck in one clean motion and finally restore the order she so gleefully disrupted.

But you didn't.

You couldn't.

And that, more than anything, made you despise her all the more.

"You're late," you said, your tone clipped and icy, each word measured to convey your displeasure.

"No, you're early," she countered, her voice light and teasing. The smooth, carved white mask tilted up toward you, the faintest reflection of the room's dim light glinting off its polished surface. Her snicker followed, a soft, mocking sound that seemed to echo in the silence she'd created.

"Typical. Always trying to show off like a teacher's pet." She snapped.

"Early?" you shot back, rolling your eyes under your mask. "No, you're just late. Again. Not that I'm surprised—being on time would require you to actually care about something other than yourself."

She let out a dramatic gasp, clutching her chest like you'd mortally wounded her. "Oh no, I've disappointed the hall monitor! What ever will I do?" Her snicker was sharp, slicing through the room like a needle poking at your patience.

"Yeah, laugh it up," you muttered, crossing your arms. "You wouldn't last five minutes if someone actually called you out on your bullshit."

"And yet here I am," she countered, taking a step closer. Her voice dropped into a mock-serious whisper. "Still standing. Still better than you at literally everything. Weird how that works, huh?"

You scoffed, leaning forward slightly. "Better at what? Being an obnoxious pain in the ass."

"Careful," she interrupted, wagging a gloved finger in your direction. "Your big words might scare someone. Not me, obviously, but someone."

"Big words?" you snapped. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot I was dealing with an immature brat."

"Better an immature brat than a boring old stick-in-the-mud," she quipped, the smirk practically audible in her tone.

"Stick-in-the-mud?" you repeated, incredulous. "Says the person who can't handle basic responsibilities without making it a disaster."

"Doing something doesn't mean running around and breaking everything just because you can," you shot back, your voice rising slightly.

"And hiding behind rules doesn't make you noble," she snapped, her tone sharper now. "It just makes you boring. And scared."

"Scared?" you hissed, leaning down until your masked face was level with hers. "You don't even know what fear looks like. But keep this up, and I'll gladly show you."

"That's enough," the host calls out, his voice calm but firm. His eyes held yours for a moment, a silent command to back down. "She's here now, and that's what matters."

Your fists clenched at your sides, the urge to argue bubbling just beneath the surface. Instead, you exhaled sharply through your nose, shifting your gaze from the host back to her. She tilted her head slightly as if daring you to say more.

It took every ounce of restraint you had to stay silent as you took your seat.

As she sat down, the host cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Alright, let's get started. As you all know, the next round of games is fast approaching. We've received feedback from the VIPS, and there's been a proposal to adjust the contract terms for the contestants."

Your pen hovered over your notes as the host continued. "The new terms suggest that we raise the stakes, increasing the reward but also the risks. This is meant to incentivize more dramatic gameplay."

"Riskier how?" she interjected, her voice cutting through the room like a blade.

The host barely blinked. "Higher physical and mental demands. Greater challenges, fewer safeguards. It's meant to create... heightened tension for the VIPS."

You frowned, straightening in your seat. "That sounds reckless," you said, your tone sharp. "We're already walking a fine line. This could jeopardize the structure of the games."

"Oh, come on," she drawled, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, her mask catching the dim light. "You're always so uptight about the 'structure.' Maybe a little disarray is exactly what the games need."

Your pen pressed harder against the paper than necessary, the sound of the tip scraping echoing faintly in the room. "Disarray undermines everything we've built. The games operate on discipline and order. Anything less is unacceptable."

She let out a low laugh, a sound that made the hair on the back of your neck bristle. "Unacceptable to you, maybe. But isn't the whole point to keep the VIPS on the edge of their seats? You can't do that if everything runs like one of your precious schedules."

Your grip on the pen tightened as you shot her a glare beneath the mask. "It's that 'precious schedule' that ensures the games run smoothly. Without it, this entire operation would collapse."

She tilted her head, her fingers tapping idly on the table. "Or maybe you're just afraid of losing control. Letting things get a little messy might show you're not as indispensable as you think."

The tension in the room was strangling now, the host glancing between the two of you before raising a hand. "Alright, that's enough," he said, his voice firm but calm. "We're here to discuss the proposal, not argue over personal philosophies."

You leaned back in your chair, exhaling sharply as you forced yourself to look away from her. But even without meeting her eyes, you could feel the weight of her gaze, the amusement radiating from her like heat.

The host continued, detailing the proposed changes, but you barely heard him. Every word she'd said replayed in your mind, each one an irritating barb lodged under your skin.

By the time the meeting ended, your patience was threadbare. And as she passed by you on her way out, she murmured just loud enough for you to hear, "You should try relaxing sometime. It might save you a wrinkle or two."

The sound of her laughter lingered in the air long after she'd disappeared, mocking and maddening.

_____________________

A week had passed, and In-ho had been conspicuously absent.

You smirked to yourself, the corner of your mouth curling upward as you imagined him pacing somewhere, fuming, probably off whining to the host about how intolerable you were. The thought was almost enough to make you laugh out loud.

Let him complain. Let him stew. You couldn't care less.

You weren't about to be another one of his obedient little soldiers, marching in perfect formation at the snap of his fingers. No, you were his equal, and that fact grated on him more than anything else. You weren't some pawn on his neatly arranged chessboard, and you sure as hell weren't going to roll over like some well-trained dog every time he barked an order.

No, you'd made it your personal mission to shatter that illusion of control he clung to so tightly. To remind him that not everyone in this damn place would cower under his glare or scramble to meet his impossible standards.

Pissing In-ho off wasn't just a habit—it was an art form. A beautifully destructive symphony of defiance, played out in every smirk, every pointed question, every subtle act of rebellion. And with every crack in his composure, every flash of irritation you coaxed out of him, you felt a flicker of satisfaction.

If In-ho couldn't handle you, that was his problem.

Fresh from the shower, you felt the lingering warmth of the water still clinging to your skin as you moved to the mirror. The steam hung in the air, curling in soft tendrils around you, but your focus was sharp. You reached for your outfit—a pair of pristine white trousers tailored to perfection, sliding them on with ease. The fabric was smooth and cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the flush of heat still fading from your body.

Next came the matching top, its clean lines and minimalist design fitting like a tight second skin, a hint of cleavage showing. The mirror reflected the symmetry of your ensemble, stark and crisp, a blank slate ready for the chaos to come.

Today marked the start of the games, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't buzzing with anticipation. Excitement simmered beneath the surface, an energy you couldn't suppress even if you wanted to. The stillness of the off-season always wore on you, like an endless monotony threatening to smother. But this—this was different. The games brought life, unpredictability, and tension to this place. They brought purpose.

Your fingers worked through your hair with practiced precision, brushing out the loose curls that tumbled just past your shoulders. Each strand gleamed under the soft light, catching faint golden hues as they settled into place. You reached for your mask—the final touch.

The smooth, flawless surface was cold in your hands as you raised it to your face, adjusting the fit until it sat perfectly. Its pale white sheen concealed everything, leaving only your sharp gaze visible through the narrow slits.

The games were about to begin, and with them, the thrilling chaos you craved. The air seemed to vibrate with possibility as you turned away from the mirror, your footsteps light but purposeful into the hallway. You grabbed your heels, throwing them on when the elevator slid open, and out stepped In-ho.

You rolled your eyes beneath your mask, the gesture hidden but no less satisfying, as you leaned back against the cool wall. Sliding one foot into a sleek white heel, then the other, you caught the distinct sound of heavy, deliberate footsteps echoing down the hallway. Your head tilted, curiosity piqued as you glanced up. His walk was brisk, almost aggressive, his movements radiating irritation with every stomp.

A grin tugged at the corner of your lips. Perfect opportunity.

Straightening, you smoothed your trousers with exaggerated calm and crossed your arms, planting yourself squarely in his path. "What's your deal?" you asked, your tone dripping with feigned innocence, though the amusement was hard to miss.

He didn't so much as slow down, brushing past you like you were an irritating fly buzzing too close to his ear. His silence only made your grin widen. You turned to watch him stride into the lounge, catching the moment he ripped off his mask with an almost violent flourish and tossed it onto the sofa.

Without missing a beat, he stalked to the nearby bar, pulling out a pristine glass and filling it halfway with whiskey in one smooth motion. His hand tightened around the bottle for a moment before he set it down with a sharp clink.

"I don't have the energy for you right now," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, as he raised the glass to his lips.

You clutched your chest dramatically, letting out a mock gasp. "Too bad." Pushing off the wall, you strolled into the room after him, your heels clicking against the floor with an infuriating rhythm.

"You know me, In-ho. I thrive on inconvenient timing."

He shot you a sidelong glare, but it only spurred you on. You leaned against the edge of the bar, propping your chin on your hand as you stared up at him, unbothered by his simmering irritation.

"What's got you so grumpy, hmm?" you teased, your voice lilting like you were speaking to a child throwing a tantrum. "Did someone spill coffee on one of your precious schedules? Or maybe a player wasn't sufficiently terrified yet?"

His jaw tightened, the muscles working as he downed another sip of whiskey, refusing to look at you.

You couldn't help but smirk. "Silent treatment? Really? Come on, In-ho, you can do better than that. Don't tell me I've already worn you out."

He set the glass down with a deliberate thud, finally turning to face you, his eyes dark and sharp. "Do you ever stop talking?"

"Not when I'm having this much fun," you quipped, batting your lashes beneath the mask. "And you, my friend, are very entertaining right now."

His exasperated sigh only made you grin wider.

In-ho's hand hovered over his glass, his fingers tightening briefly before releasing. He stared at you for a long moment, his jaw ticking as if he were debating whether to engage or ignore you entirely.

"You know," he began, his tone flat and dripping with mock thoughtfulness, "if you put half as much effort into your job as you do into being a nuisance, this place might actually run smoother."

You let out a soft laugh, pushing off the bar to stand closer, just enough to invade his space.

"Oh, but where's the fun in that? Besides," you said, tilting your head, "I'm pretty sure this place would collapse under the weight of your ego without me around to balance it out."

His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought he might actually snap back. Instead, he grabbed his glass and took another slow sip, his eyes narrowing over the rim as he watched you.

"And here I thought you were just here to waste my time," he muttered, his voice low and edged with sarcasm.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," you shot back, circling him with deliberate steps, your heels clicking against the floor in a rhythm that mirrored your teasing tone. "Wasting your time implies you have something better to do."

"I do," he said, his voice sharper now as he turned to follow your movements, his eyes tracking you like a predator.

You stopped just behind him, leaning in close enough that your breath brushed against his ear. "If you say it's running the games, I might actually die of boredom."

He spun to face you, stepping closer, and suddenly, the space between you felt almost too small. His dark eyes bore into yours through the slits of your mask, the tension crackling. Before you could register his movement, he grabbed the edges of your mask with one swift motion. His fingers were rough, impatient, as he yanked it off your face, throwing it on the couch with a force that made you stumble back slightly.

"Is this all just a joke to you?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

You met his gaze evenly, your grin fading just slightly as the weight of his intensity pressed against you. "Of course not," you said, your tone softer but still laced with defiance. "But I'm not going to let this place suck the life out of me, either. Someone has to keep things interesting."

"Interesting," he repeated, the word almost a growl. "Is that what you call constantly testing my patience?"

"Mm-hmm," you hummed, a smirk returning to your lips as you took a deliberate step closer. Now, the two of you were nearly chest to chest, and the air between you was thick with something unstated.

But then—chime.

The sound of your wristwatch ringing out broke the silence, cutting through the tension. You glanced down at the sleek, minimalist face, the chime reminding you of the ever-pressing duties waiting for you. The games were about to begin, and you had no time to waste.

"Looks like playtime's over," you said with a small sigh. You could see the frustration in In-ho's face, the way his jaw tightened with each passing second, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction.

"Don't worry," you added, voice sweet with irony, "you'll have plenty of time to stew while I'm running the show."

As you reached your mask on the couch beside his, you paused, then turned back to face him. You could almost see the annoyance simmering in his eyes, his grip tightening around the whiskey glass.

"Just a word of advice, In-ho," you said, stepping a little closer, your tone suddenly shifting to something colder, sharper. "Next time you decide to rip off my mask…" You took a slow, deliberate step toward him, your voice low, "Make sure you're ready for what comes after. Because I promise you, you won't like it."

For a moment, the two of you locked eyes, the silent tension thick enough to strangle the air between you.

You gave him a final, knowing smile—this one devoid of the usual amusement. "Don't test me again."

The air between you and In-ho crackled with a challenge, but just as you turned to leave, In-ho's voice stopped you.

"Is that supposed to scare me?" he asked, his tone colder than before, the edge in his voice unmistakable.

You paused mid-step, a smirk curling at the corner of your lips as you slowly turned back to face him. His eyes were narrowed, but there was something new in them—a flicker of defiance, something that suggested he wasn't backing down so easily.

"You seem awfully confident for someone who doesn't know what they're up against," he continued, his words slow and deliberate, each one measured, like he was trying to work out the exact right thing to say. "You think I'm fearful of a tiny little bitch like you?"

You raised an eyebrow, stepping a fraction closer, the space between you now charged with a dangerous sort of energy. "Oh, In-ho," you said, voice light and airy, but there was something deadly lurking behind it. "I'm not trying to scare you. I'm just threatening you. There's a difference."

You took another step forward, the space between you both shrinking, until you were standing far too close—close enough to feel the heat of his body radiating against yours. His eyes locked on yours, dark and simmering with something raw, something dangerous. Without warning, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist with a force that made you gasp, yanking you forward into him.

The suddenness of his movement left you breathless, and before you could process it, you found yourself pressed against him, chest to chest. The strength of his hold on you was unwavering, his fingers digging into your skin as if he was holding you there, forcing you to feel every ounce of his power.

"You think I won't do what it takes to put you in your place?" In-ho growled, his voice low, rough with barely contained fury. His breath, tinged with the sharp scent of whiskey, brushed against your lips, making your pulse quicken in spite of yourself. "Because I will."

"Don't ever threaten. Me. Again," he said, his voice laced with cold venom, each word deliberate, each syllable a promise of something darker to come if you crossed him again. He pushed you off him and turned back to his bar for another drink.

_________________

The first game was successful.

You stood tall in the control room, ordering the guards with ease as players began to drop like flies, unveiling the victors of Red Light, Green Light.

Shifting your weight between your heels, you couldn't help but replay the confrontation with In-ho earlier. His threat still lingered in your mind, but there was no real fear. You knew exactly what would happen if he laid a hand on you—the host would have his ass, and that made you untouchable. It was almost amusing, the way he thought he could assert dominance over you, but you knew better.

As the game room emptied and the familiar hum of quiet descended, you decided to retire for the night—until your walkie-talkie rung to life, pulling you back into the present.

You answered immediately, the sound of your voice cutting through the tension in the air.

"What."

"There's an intruder somewhere in the facility."

A rush of adrenaline shot through you, the word intruder sparking something dangerous in the pit of your stomach. Your body went rigid, anticipation flooding your veins like wildfire. This wasn't just any ordinary situation—this was chaos, and you thrived on it.

"We found a police ID on the south side of the island," the voice continued, the urgency clear, "and a dead guard on the lower level."

You bit your lip, a wicked smile curving at the corners of your mouth as anger mixed with something else—a thrilling excitement. This was exactly what you'd been waiting for. The tension, the unknown—everything about this screamed hunt.

"I'll meet you on the lower level," you responded, your tone sharp, like a knife waiting to strike.

"No need; the boss is down here with us, he's handling it."

A scoff escaped you before you could stop it, and you rolled your eyes as you muttered, "Is he, though?" The idea of In-ho trying to handle this alone, trying to assert his control—it was almost laughable. This was the kind of mess you relished, and there was no way you were going to let him take all the fun.

Your pulse quickened, the thrill of the chase making your heart beat faster. You couldn't help it—the thought of an intruder, someone bold enough to cause trouble on your island, made every cell in your body buzz with energy. You were practically vibrating with anticipation.

Without missing a beat, you ordered three guards to accompany you to the lower levels. Your voice was steady, but there was an undeniable edge to it now, sharp with the excitement of what was to come.

You didn't turn away from the path you'd set. In-ho could sulk all he wanted—he'd never keep you from what you wanted. This wasn't just an intrusion; it was the chaos you craved. And there was no way you were going to sit back and let him deal with it.

"Let's see how this goes," you muttered under your breath, a grin spreading across your face as you turned toward the elevator, the sound of your heels echoing with purpose. You couldn't wait to dive into the chaos, and you were going to enjoy every second of it.

With your mask snug against your face, you stood in the elevator, the steady hum of the descent filling the silence around you. The weight of the moment settled in, a charged anticipation hanging in the air as you glanced over at your three guards. They were tense, waiting for your command, ready for anything, but you could tell there was hesitation in behind their masks.

"There's an intruder in the facility," you stated flatly, your voice cutting through the air like a knife. Your tone brooked no argument, no questions. You were in control now, and they knew it.

You met their gazes one by one, masks hard and unwavering. "I want you to find him. Immediately."

You didn't wait for a response, your hand instinctively moving to your belt. You drew your pistol with a fluid, practiced motion, the weight of the gun in your hand grounding you further in the moment. You turned slowly, locking eyes with each of your men, the tension thickening with every passing second.

"Your other boss," you continued, your voice taking on a dangerous edge, "will try to shut me down on this. But you listen to me." You paused, letting the words settle, watching their masks carefully for any sign of doubt. "You listen to me, and only me."

"You understand?" you asked, your tone low but commanding, making it clear that any refusal wasn't an option.

The guards nodded in unison, their resolve solidifying, and you felt a quiet thrill run through you. They were on your side now. It wasn't just about finding the intruder anymore; it was about asserting your control, staking your claim over this situation, and making sure no one—especially In-ho—could stand in your way.

As the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, the guards quickly split off, and you stalked down the hallway with a purposeful stride. Your heels clicked sharply against the floor, the rhythmic sound echoing down the corridor, as if marking the arrival of something—or someone—undeniable. Your mask kept your expression hidden, but the challenge was clear in the way you held yourself.

You could feel In-ho's presence before you saw him. The moment you laid eyes on him crouched over the body, surrounded by six of his ever-loyal guards, a familiar irritation stirred in you. His stoic figure, his posture always so composed and controlled, was as irritating as ever.

The guards parted with military precision, saluting you as you approached, but you didn't spare them a glance. Your focus was entirely on him—the one who always thought he had it all figured out, the one who couldn't stand the fact that you didn't take his orders lying down.

"Really?" you said, your voice cutting through the tension, dripping with sarcasm. Your mask didn't soften the bite of your words, and you could sense the flicker of frustration in his eyes. "Trying to send your message through an underling to keep me out of this?"

In-ho's eyes narrowed, and the way his hands tightened into fists at his sides was enough to show how much your words were riling him up. His mask didn't hide the intensity of his gaze—if anything, it only made his irritation more palpable, the way his body seemed to vibrate with barely contained annoyance.

He stood slowly, his movements precise, and as he straightened to his full height, the weight of his glare bore down on you.

"Get back upstairs," he said, his voice low and sharp, like a blade barely missing its mark. The command in his tone was unmistakable, but you didn't flinch. If anything, you leaned in closer, making the air between you thick with challenge.

Without hesitation, you crossed your arms over your chest, your mask hiding the smirk that played at your lips. "Are you forgetting something?" you asked, your voice dripping with the kind of defiance that made it clear this was no ordinary confrontation. "I'm your equal. I'm just as capable, if not more, of handling this shit."

You let the words hang in the air, the quiet simmering tension growing as In-ho's grip on his composure seemed to loosen. His jaw clenched harder, and you could almost feel the heat radiating off him as he fought to keep his cool. But that slight shift—just a crack in his carefully maintained mask—was everything to you.

Without a word, he raised a hand, signaling the guards to step back. They hesitated for a split second before following his command, moving to the sides of the hallway, leaving you two alone in the tense silence.

In-ho's mask never left yours as the guards disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.

He exhaled sharply, as if trying to steady himself, but his irritation was practically crackling in the air. "You think you can handle this better than me?" His voice was a low growl, now tinged with genuine annoyance, his mask never leaving yours. "Do you even know what you're dealing with?"

The thrill of it made your pulse quicken, the mask hiding the grin that was now fully on your face. You had him exactly where you wanted him—flustered, irritated, and not in control.

"Guess I'll find out," you said with an almost playful tilt of your head, taking a step closer, relishing in how much he wanted to throw you out of this.

In-ho took a slow, deliberate step forward, closing the distance between you both. His posture was rigid, every muscle taut, his mask a barrier that did little to hide the fury brewing beneath the surface. You didn't step back; if anything, you stood taller, a deliberate challenge in your stance, as if daring him to take it further. He reached, gripping your wrist like earlier, but the strength of it nearly took your breath away this time.

"You think you can just do whatever you want, don't you?" His voice was lower now, more dangerous. The frustration in his tone was almost palpable, every word clipped and sharp. "You think you're above this, above me?"

You tilted your head, your mask hiding the satisfaction curling at the corner of your lips. The sight of him like this—the normally composed, always in control In-ho, now visibly rattled—was just the reaction you wanted.

"You're not above me," you countered, your voice calm, but there was a taunting edge to it. "If you think I'm going to bow down just because you're playing boss in front of your little army, you're sorely mistaken."

The air between you was thick with anger and something else—something raw. In-ho's grip on your wrist was unrelenting, his fingers like iron around your skin, but you weren't backing down. You matched his intensity, glaring up at him through your mask, your heart pounding with adrenaline and the thrill of the confrontation.

"You think I'll just bow down because you tell me to?" you repeated, your voice cutting through the tension.

In-ho's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing with growing frustration. "You don't have a choice," he hissed, pulling you forward.

Your free hand shot out before you even thought, slapping his hand away, pushing him back with a force that surprised even you. He stumbled slightly but didn't give up. He was quick—too quick. His fist shot out, grazing your cheek just enough to leave a sting. You stumbled back. The impact fired something inside of you, a spark of rage and something deeper, something darker.

Slipping your mask off, you dropped it to the ground and wiped your cheek with a gloved hand, feeling the heat of his blow still linger on your skin, but the anger that burned through you now was far more potent than any pain.

"Is that how it's going to be?" you asked, your voice dangerously calm, a wicked grin pulling at your lips. "You want to hit me, In-ho?"

Without waiting for a response, you lunged forward, swinging a fist of your own aimed at his chest. He sidestepped just in time, but you were already moving again, quicker than before, aiming for his midsection this time. The force of your punch collided with his ribs, and you felt the sharp crack of contact. He grunted but didn't falter.

He responded almost instantly, his body lunging at yours with the full force of his weight, knocking you back into the metal wall with a sharp thud. Pain shot through your body, but you were too filled with adrenaline to let it slow you down. You twisted, slipping from his grasp with a quick maneuver, spinning around to land another kick to his side.

In-ho grunted in surprise, his mask knocked off from the fall, but he was on his feet in an instant, his eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and something else—something you couldn't quite place. He grabbed you by the shoulders, slamming you back against the wall again, his grip tightening with a force that made your breath catch in your throat.

"You think I'm going to let you walk all over me?" he growled, his face dangerously close to yours. His body was pressed against yours, and you could feel every muscle in his frame, the heat radiating off him like fire.

"You think I'm going to let you control me?" you growled back, your breath quick and uneven from the physicality of the fight.

"Maybe," he growled, leaning in just slightly, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "Maybe it's time someone did."

You didn't let him finish. Your free hand shot up, grabbing the back of his neck, pulling him down to you with force. And then, without warning, your lips met in a clash of heat and need. The kiss was urgent, desperate—his mouth pressed against yours with the same force that had defined the entire fight, as though he was trying to prove something, to break something.

For a moment, you were both just fire—raw and uncontrolled. His lips moved against yours with hunger, and you responded in kind, your hand sliding into his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as your bodies collided again. The air between you crackled, the tension from the fight now blending with something far more electric.

His grip on your wrist loosened as his arm slid around your waist, pulling you in tighter. His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing your jaw, opening you up to his intensity as his tongue slipped in. You felt like you were burning, like the storm between you both had finally reached its crescendo, consuming you entirely.

And then it came. A sharp, static-filled crack from the walkie-talkie clipped to your belt, followed by a voice.

"Boss," the voice buzzed through, loud and jarring. "We've found the intruder. West sector, lower levels. Do you copy?"

The words broke through the haze like a bucket of cold water. You stiffened, your grip in his hair faltering as reality came crashing back.

His lips hovered a fraction of an inch from yours, his breathing ragged, his eyes burning with an intensity that matched your own. For a second, he didn't move, his hand still cradling your jaw, his arm still holding you close, as though refusing to let go of the moment you'd just shared.

The walkie buzzed again, more insistent this time. "Boss? Are you there? We need confirmation."

With a frustrated sigh, you pulled back, breaking the connection between you. Your hand dropped from his hair, and you took a step away, trying to catch your breath and steady your racing heart.

"Of course," you muttered under your breath, your fingers fumbling for the walkie at your side. You didn't look at him, couldn't, not yet. Not when the heat of the kiss was still burning on your lips.

"Copy that," you said into the device, your voice sharper than intended.

"Hold position. I'm on my way."

The walkie crackled one last time with an acknowledgment, and you clipped it back to your belt. The silence between you and him was deafening now, the air still charged but different—strained, unresolved.

When you finally dared to glance up, his eyes were locked on you, dark and unreadable. His lips parted as though he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself, his jaw tightening instead.

"We'll finish this later," you said, your tone steadier than you felt. Without waiting for his response, you turned on your heel, grabbed your mask, and strode toward the door, forcing yourself not to look back.

You fully expected him to pull you back, bark at you to leave it, to stay and deal with whatever this was between you. But he didn't.

He stayed silent, his hands falling away from you as you turned to leave. The absence of his touch was jarring, a stark contrast to the way he'd just held you—like he couldn't let go. But now, he stood rooted in place, his breathing heavy in the quiet room.

It threw you off. You'd been ready for the fight, for the inevitable argument, for him to try and stop you. But this? This unnerved you more than anything he could have said.

You paused just before the door and glanced back at him. He hadn't moved, his head tilted slightly downward, his expression unreadable.

"You're not going to stop me?" you asked, your voice quieter than you intended, but still cutting through the charged air between you.

For a moment, he didn't respond. Then, slowly, he raised his head, his dark eyes meeting yours. There was something there—something raw, simmering just beneath the surface.

"No," he said finally, his voice low and steady, though it carried a weight that made your chest tighten. "You want to deal with it? Go. But don't expect me to chase after you when it all goes to hell."

His words hit harder than you expected, the finality of them slicing through you. You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off, taking a step closer, his tone dark and biting.

"And it will go to hell," he added. "Because that's what always happens when you rush into things without thinking."

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "I don't need you to save me."

"Good," he shot back, his voice sharp as a whip. "Because I'm not going to."

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, the tension between you stretching tighter and tighter. Then you turned away slipping through the hallway past the guards.

"Prick," you muttered as your heels clicked down the hall.

___________________

The intruder was good; you'd give him that much.

He'd slipped into the facility undetected, maneuvering through the complicated halls with unnerving precision. Evidently, he'd been here for a while—long enough to collect a damning amount of evidence. His phone, now in your hand, held a treasure trove of incriminating photos and notes. The glow of its cracked screen illuminated your face as you scrolled through files, each one a threat to everything you'd built.

Your lips pressed into a hard line as you let the device dangle from your fingertips. Then, with a flick of your wrist, you tossed it to the floor. The loud crack of glass shattering beneath your heel as you ground it into the tiles sent a satisfying echo through the room. No one would ever see what was on that phone.

The intruder was gone now. Permanently. You'd made sure of it. There had been no interrogation, no attempt to extract information. You didn't need to. You knew how this worked. Getting into this place was hard enough; leaving it required either your permission or In-ho's. The man had known what he was walking into—a one-way trip. And you weren't in the mood to waste time entertaining his courage or stupidity.

With the mess handled, you stepped away from the remnants of the phone, brushing your hands together as if physically ridding yourself of the situation. Your eyes drifted to the wine bottle sitting on the sleek marble countertop, its deep red label almost matching the liquid within. The temptation was too strong to resist. You reached for the bottle, the cold glass a welcome contrast to the heat still simmering beneath your skin.

Pouring a generous glass, you watched as the dark wine swirled, the rich aroma wafting up to meet you. You raised it to your lips and drank deeply, the warmth of the alcohol sliding down your throat and settling in your chest. You left the bottle on the counter, an unspoken promise to return for more.

The kitchen was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator. You hadn't checked the time, but you knew it was late. That alone brought some relief. The night hours always felt safer, quieter—a time to think without the weight of others' gazes on you.

Still, your thoughts weren't entirely your own tonight.

They were tethered to him.

In-ho.

The memory of what happened earlier flared to life, unbidden but vivid. The fight had been vicious, brutal. Every punch, every shout, every glare had been like a spark thrown onto dry kindling. And then... the kiss. It had been as fiery as the fight itself, urgent and unrelenting. The taste of him still lingered on your lips, a ghost that refused to leave.

You exhaled sharply, frustrated with yourself. The memory shouldn't have this much power over you, but it did. It wasn't just the kiss—it was everything. The heat of the confrontation, the way he challenged you, pushed you, matched you in a way no one else dared. Your fingers twitched at your side, itching with a restless energy that made your skin buzz. You wanted—no, needed—to exorcise this feeling, to take control of it before it consumed you.

Scoffing, you tossed back the rest of the wine, the empty glass clinking against the countertop as you set it down. The alcohol burned, but it wasn't enough to dull the flame still smoldering inside you.

In the silence that followed, you ran a hand through your hair, your fingers catching on the tangles left from the day's chaos. The nervous edge crept back in, settling at the base of your spine. Seeing him again—soon, inevitably—wasn't something you were sure you were ready for. You knew it would happen. It always did. But this time, you weren't sure what would happen when it did.

The faint creaking of the door was all the warning you had. The sound of it opening and closing, followed by the unmistakable rhythm of his footsteps, sent a ripple through the stillness of the room. Each step grew louder, closer, until they stopped just outside the doorway.

Your hand moved instinctively, fingers curling around the neck of the wine bottle. You poured another glass, the liquid glugging softly against the still air. You didn't look up, but you knew it was him—his presence was unmistakable, a gravity that pulled every nerve in your body taut.

When he turned the corner, his dark eyes locked on you immediately. He stopped just inside the room, his shoulders set, his expression unreadable except for the slight downturn of his lips—a quiet, simmering disappointment that made your chest tighten for reasons you didn't care to analyze.

"Oh, don't be so disappointed," you said, raising the glass to your lips without breaking eye contact. The wine slid down your throat, smooth and warming, though it did little to calm the buzzing tension. "Last I checked, this is a shared space."

He exhaled sharply, not quite a sigh, but close enough to make his displeasure clear. His head tilted slightly, his eyes scanning you, taking in every detail of your stance, your expression, the faint stain of red wine on your lips.

"Funny. You treat it like it's yours half the time."

You turned to face him fully, setting the wine glass down with a deliberate clink. "I wasn't aware we were keeping score. Should I start tallying how often you leave your messes for someone else to clean up?"

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, his boots clicking softly against the polished floor. His presence filled the room, the air around you thickening as the distance between you shrank. "If you're going to keep tabs, at least be honest about it," he said, his voice dropping slightly, each word deliberate and weighted. "You're just mad I'm here. Admit it."

"Mad?" You scoffed, crossing your arms as you leaned casually against the counter. "Hardly. If anything, I'm amused. I didn't realize I had you so pressed that you'd come stalking in here to… what? Scold me? Intimidate me?"

Something flickered in his eyes, a spark of challenge, of something darker and more dangerous. He took another step closer, close enough now that you could feel the faint heat of him even with the air between you.

"I'm not here to scold you," he said, his voice quieter now but no less intense. "If I wanted to intimidate you, you'd already be shaking."

Your heart skipped, but you kept your expression cool, your body still leaning against the counter as though his proximity didn't send a thrill racing down your spine. "You think I scare that easily?" you shot back, your tone sharper now, daring him to push further.

His lips curved, not quite a smile, but something far more dangerous. "No," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "I think you like the game too much to ever back down."

He was close now, so close that you could see the tension in his jaw, the slight flare of his nostrils as he breathed. His eyes burned into yours, the unspoken challenge between you crackling like static electricity. You tilted your head, a devious smile flashing, "Ain't no rest for the wicked, hmm?" Raising your glass, you toasted to it.

For a moment, the room felt like it was teetering on the edge of something—risky, thrilling, inevitable. His eyes flicked to your lips, just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough to send a pulse of heat through you.

"Careful," he murmured his voice barely above a whisper, the words brushing against your skin like a caress. "You're pushing me to see just how far you'll go."

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening, but you didn't flinch, didn't falter. Instead, you held his gaze, your voice steady despite the thunderous racing of your heart. "Try me."

He didn't respond—not with words. Instead, his hand came up, fingers brushing against the edge of your jaw, his touch impossibly light but searing all the same. He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin, his eyes searching yours for just a moment longer.

And then his lips were on yours, claiming them with a fierce, unrelenting intensity that stole the air from your lungs. The kiss wasn't gentle—it was raw, consuming, a continuation of every unspoken argument and unresolved tension between you. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his grip firm, possessive.

You responded in kind, your fingers tangling in his shirt as you pulled him closer, the taste of wine still lingering on your tongue. The fire between you burned hotter, brighter, threatening to consume you both as the room around you seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you in its wake.

With a sudden, forceful grip on the back of your thighs, he lifted you effortlessly onto the counter. You gasped in shock, the quick motion catching you off guard, your glass slipping from your hand and spilling behind you. The red wine spread across the smooth marble like blood—dark, rich, and staining the space between you both.

You didn't have time to think, not when you were already nudging him closer, your legs urging him forward with a quiet insistence. He obeyed immediately, his body pressing against yours with a low grunt of approval. His hands slid beneath your blouse, the fabric brushing against your skin as his fingers traced slow, deliberate paths up your back.

The sensation was overwhelming, sending a sharp tingle through every nerve as his calloused hands scraped lightly against the soft, sensitive skin of your lower back. Each touch, each rough movement, stoked a growing heat inside you, the slight sting of his touch mingling with the electric thrill of it. The pain was sweet, almost intoxicating, and you couldn't help but arch into him, chasing that delicious burn.

His hand shot up to your hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands. His grip possessive. The sudden pressure at the base of your neck sent a shiver down your spine as he tilted your head to expose the sensitive skin. You didn't resist. Instead, you leaned into him, the invitation clear. He nuzzled into your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he inhaled deeply, pulling in your scent like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

He moaned low in his chest, the sound dark and desperate. "You drive me fucking crazy," he murmured, his voice rough with need. His lips brushed against the curve of your neck as his hands gripped your shoulders, pulling you impossibly closer. Your hands found their way to the solid muscle of his back, digging into him, desperate to feel him press even harder into you.

"Always pushing my buttons," he whispered against your skin, his lips grazing the spot behind your ear. The kiss was brief but hot, his breath leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

His fingers traced down the curve of your collarbone, each touch a slow burn. Then he pressed a kiss to the birthmark just beneath your neck, the softness of his lips sending a wave of heat through you.

A smile tugged at your lips, your voice breathless but teasing. "Kee—keep it interesting," you murmured, the words barely escaping as you leaned into him, your body alive with the need for him, the intensity of the moment.

The smile that curled at the corner of his lips was dark, knowing. "You always make it interesting," he breathed, his grip tightening as his lips found the curve of your jaw, kissing, nipping, tasting, as if he were unable to get enough of you.

"In-ho," you whispered, your voice trembling with need, each syllable thick with desire as his hands worked deftly to unbutton your shirt.

He paused for a moment, his breath heavy against the tension in the air, his voice a low, guttural murmur that sent shivers down your spine. "What do you need?" he asked, the words slipping from his lips with a quiet, possessive urgency. "Tell me."

The soft fabric of your white blouse fell to the floor with a soft rustle, and the moment it did, he took a step back, his eyes scanning your body as though he were a starving man and you were the feast.

His gaze lingered on the red lace beneath, the intricate pattern teasing, daring him to reveal more. The heat in his eyes was palpable, intense, and it made your pulse race, your skin burning under the weight of his stare.

You looked up at him, your chest rising and falling with each labored breath, your body aching, yearning for him. The intensity between you was suffocating, the hunger in both of you undeniable.

You didn't need to speak it, but the words slipped from your mouth anyway, low and filled with need, each one wrapped in a desperate ache. "Fuck me," you whispered, the plea slipping out with a rawness that left no room for doubt.

His room was tidy, the faint scent of wood and something rich lingering in the air, but you barely registered the details as he tossed you onto the soft sheets of his bed. The coolness of the fabric met your back, but it was quickly forgotten when he moved to pin you exactly where he wanted you.

Before he could settle into the position, however, you swiftly hooked your leg around his, using the momentum to flip him onto his back. You wasted no time, straddling him with a predatory smirk as you climbed on top, the feeling of power surging through you.

In an instant, you tore his shirt from his body, the fabric ripping free with a satisfying sound. You didn't care where it landed—only that it was gone, leaving him exposed beneath you. His chest rose and fell with quickened breath as you dragged your hands up and down his muscles. He shot you a look that was a mixture of surprise and challenge.

Protesting, he sat up quickly, attempting to regain control, but you were already wrestling him back down, your hands gripping his shoulders, pressing him firmly into the mattress. You could feel his strength beneath you, the tension in his body as he fought for dominance—but you weren't letting him win this time.

Your finger trailed slowly across the sharp line of his jaw, the motion deliberate and teasing, a soft caress that contradicted the fire of the moment. You leaned down, your lips just a whisper away from his ear as you purred, "I'm in control, though."

The words hung in the air, a follow-up to your plea in the kitchen. It wasn't a request—it was a declaration. You were taking the reins now, and he could either follow, or feel the consequences.

You worked at his pants, undoing the leather belt and pulling it free. He rested an arm behind his head, propping up to watch with a sly smirk.

You ignored it; Ignored him with only one goal in mind.

As his pants found their place on the floor, followed by yours, your hand slipped beneath the remaining black fabric that hugged his waist to grab him in your hand. The soft touch of your hand released a moan from him, making your gaze snap to his.

You sneered with an idea, crawling up to him, your hair dangling.

After how many times he's pissed you off today, the least you could do is make him beg.

Make him plead for you to suck his cock.

Before you could get a word out, he grabbed at your waist, throwing you beside him on the bed, finding his place between your thighs with a strong grip on your jaw.

"I don't think so." He expressed with a firm tone, catching onto your intended vision of him.

You huffed, "You suck the joy out of everything, I-" Three fingers pushed into you before you could finish. They were thick and felt delectable as they curled into that perfect spot, making you mewl. "God, you're wet." He praised as you threw your head back against the silk pillow, his hand finding a home around your neck, squeezing gently. He rested his head on your collarbone as he worked into you with purpose.

Everything about this was savory; everything.

But you wanted that command, that control, for the right reasons.

Not to stir the pot. Not to spite him.

No, tonight, you only wanted to be the reason for his release.

You pushed against him with all your might, your hands pressing against his chest, trying to create the space you needed. But he wasn't budging, not an inch—his body like stone, solid and unyielding. You could feel the tension in every muscle of his frame, the resistance in his eyes, as though he knew exactly what you were trying to do, knew that if he gave you even a small amount of control, you'd take far more.

Confusion then flickers in his eyes, as he goes still from the look you give him.

You held a genuine countenance, alluding that you weren't playing your provoking games anymore.

You were sincere in your efforts.

With that, the tension leaves his body. You take the opportunity, sitting up to resume your original position, and his hands slide around your hips, ripping the lace from your body, following suit with your bra, leaving you completely bare before him. Leaving you vulnerable above him.

His palms cup your breasts, squeezing and tugging as you line yourself up to him, sinking down in one move. He filled you with ease as your moans sounded in perfect harmony together.

His lips were parted, eyes closed as you began to move, setting a snappy pace. You whined at the feeling as he slipped in and out. "God you feel good," He taunted with a huff, "If only we'd fought each other earlier." You gasped as he hit the sweet spot inside you, making you writhe. Noticing your reaction, his hands guided you in perfect sync as he hit that spot again and again.

"Fuck, I-I thin-" He shot up, wrapping his right arm around you, his other steadying him on the bed, He hissed, "fuck, me too". He attached his lips to one of your breasts, "Cum for me," he whispered, a palm flat against your lower back, pulling you in more, as your releases shattered through the two of you. Crying out, you held him there as he practically whined against you. Your grip on him was like iron, as your release left you breathless.

Remaining as you were, he pulled back slightly, his gaze lifting to meet yours. There was something softer now, something that had shifted in the quiet space between breaths.

Your hands instinctively cradled his cheeks, the touch tender. Your nose brushed against his, a gentle graze. The warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, the quiet, steady rhythm of his breath—this was the calm after the storm.

Neither of you spoke, the silence hanging in the air like a promise, like an unspoken understanding that everything had changed.

Time had slowed. It was just the two of you, the world outside forgotten, lost in the quiet intimacy of the space you'd created. No more tension, no more walls. Just the softness of the moment, the closeness, and the link that had been forged between you.

[ubeb0nes]

hiiii could you also do pitfighter reader with sevika next?? i loveee your writing!

HECK YEA, i was lowkey pulling for this one to win on the poll anyway (i'm definitely invested in bar owner!reader now that i've written for her, though!)

Silco goes through henchmen like water through a grater. And of course- like everything else- it falls on Sevika to keep his forces topped up.

She gets a lot of the dumb bruiser types from the Pit Ring. Easy to come by and even easier to hire once you wave just a little bit of money and status in their faces.

The higher in the rankings you are though, the less likely you are to take Silco's second's deals. Life as a Pit fighter is never easy, but the top percent definitely make more than they would as lackeys.

You were one such. Sevika had seen you a few times in the ring when she'd come down to pick up new blood.

You swung like somebody had taught you with intention. There was the charming roughness of Zaun ingrained in your style, but you had clear skill. Every time Sevika came back, your name was a little higher in the rankings.

She always got good seats due to her social standing. Close enough to see the look in your eyes. Controlled, if a bit empty.

You'd made eye contact with her once, right after toppling the second-ranked fighter. You'd given her a once-over that nearly offended her, like you wanted to get in the ring with her. Sevika scoffed at the very notion.

She couldn't lie though, even she felt the buzz of excitement permeating the crowd leading up to your face-off for the champion seat. This time, she was just here to watch.

It was the first time she'd seen you struggle. First time anyone had. She could tell from the moment you walked into the Pit, something was wrong.

The champion is killing you. Literally. It stirs something in Sevika as she watches him pin your head to the gritty ground with one hand, and beat on your skull with the other.

She jumps in before she even realizes what she's doing. What the hell was she doing?

The whole arena held its breath as someone who wasn't nameless, wasn't just some violent nobody presented themself.

Sevika knew what it looked like. She knew that word would get back to Silco and he'd ask her what the hell she was doing in the very center of a place like the Pit. But all she could do was spit on the ground, and square herself to the champion as if to say "Come try it with me, I dare you."

And he was about to, until he saw the whirring glow of her metal arm beneath her cape. The champ shrugged her off, taking his own leave while Sevika slung one of your arms over her shoulder.

It's not like he had anything to gain from fighting her. You were the only one he needed to beat.

"Why the hell did you do that?" You muttered out of a broken jaw.

"Yeah, it was no problem, don't mention it."

She starts to help you towards the locker room, until you tell her to take you to your apartment since it's only a little walk away.

It was definitely nicer than a lot of other units in Zaun. It looked untouched though, like you barely spent any time in there. She… lets you kinda crumple on the couch, before rummaging a bottle of alcohol from your pantry and removing a vial of Shimmer from her holster belt.

"Get that shit the fuck away from me."

"You done it in the past?"

"Hell no!"

"It's not gonna trap you after one dose. Trust me, you need it. You look like shit."

You give her some more shit, but eventually take the vial and the shot of vodka. Something about her is undeniably warm. Honest. You had no reason to give your trust out freely, but she seemed to have gained it without your knowing consent.

A part of your heart clung to it, the authenticity and honor she possessed that hadn't existed in so much as a whisper in the Pits.

Even as your entire nervous system seized the moment the Shimmer touched your throat, you were wholly conscious of her hand gripping the back of your neck with gentle, grounding firmness.

Her thumb subconsciously massaged into your trap muscle, and you heard her smoky voice urging you to "breathe, it'll be over soon". When had someone last touched you without the intention to hurt?

Still, after the Shimmer had passed through and you were feeling much better, you gave her a similar once-over to the one you once had before.

"Bet I could beat your ass."

"And I bet you'd die. Actually, this time." Yeah, that shut you up.

"So… what do I owe you for this?"

"Hm?"

"I still get a share even though I lost. C'mon, what percent's your cut?"

"I don't need your prize money. Or consolation, I guess."

"Rub it in, why don't you?"

She's ignoring you now though, electing to peruse the not so short row of books on your wall. "A well-read Pit fighter, huh? Well, you're number one in something in the Pits."

"Okay, what the hell do you want? Why'd you step in to help me?"

Her silence says she doesn't know, but you don't know that. You just think she's being an ass. Before you can tell her such though, she speaks up. "You know who I am, right?"

"Everybody in the Pit knows who you are. I saw the champ almost shit his pants."

"Then you know why I come to the Pits at all?"

"To play superhero, apparently."

"No. To recruit."

[littlelovelunette]

Ambessa X a tiny reader?

I don’t just mean they’re shorter than her because everyone is, I mean they’re shorter than most adults. It’s common to see reader be mistaken for a much younger age. This doesn’t stop them from being a menace with a long fuse that nukes whoever has earned their wrath. I don’t mean short-fuse, easy to anger stereotype, I mean it takes a while to truly anger them and when they blow, Ambessa has to hold back her feral honey badger of a partner because they almost killed whoever was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Late Twenties

Contains aggressive!r, short!r, anger issues!r, mild violence, sweet Ambessa

You might have been shorter than Ambessa, but that never made her love you any less. If anything, she grew attached to your short height struggles.

“Is that a little girl you're dating?”

People often asked and Ambessa had to hold your hand firmly, finger rubbing circles over the back of your hand as she reassured you silently that she'd take care of the misunderstanding bastard.

“It's okay, my sweet,” Ambessa whispered as she pulled you behind herself, worrying you might lash out and bite the Councilor who dared question your age. Ambessa cleared her throat before saying, “She's my wife, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't comment on her age, for it is not your place to judge,” she said and crossed her arms causing the Councilor to raise a brow.

But of course, the Noxian warlord’s reputation was known for her… ruthlessness. So, ultimately, the Councilor thought against the idea of angering her.

You watched the man leave before turning to Ambessa, “I hate how short I am.” You complained and huffed like a child, foot stomping and everything.

“You're just… fun-sized,” Ambessa tried to reason, arms locking around your waist as she brought you closer to herself. “You're adorable, dear, please don't let these ‘elite’ people make you think otherwise.”

You smiled at her words and nodded, “I love you, ‘Bessa…”

Ambessa smiled back and pressed a kiss on your forehead, her lips lingering a moment longer than necessary before she pulled apart, “I love you too, sweet thing.”

Ambessa had a hard day the day she introduced you to the people as her wife, they didn't take it too well. Perhaps, it was your height that made them wonder about your age. And of course, nobody seemed to want to believe you were in your late twenties.

“I'm 28, goddamnit! Why does everyone think otherwise?” you asked infuriated and Ambessa had to place a hand on your shoulder to calm you down,

“Sweetheart, it is alright, I will speak to them and ensu—”

“No, it's not!” you said before exhaling sharply through the nose, “I'll show them, I'll—” you made a speed walk towards the door but Ambessa grabbed your arm and pulled you around, spinning you to face her.

“No, you're not.” she brought you closer and kissed your lips causing you to stutter but kiss back aggressively.

“I'll kill them.” You mumbled against her lips.

“No, you won't, they're my people.” Ambessa took your hands, “And now that you're married to me… they're our people.”

Ambessa never minded that you might have had some anger issues, she told herself to be patient with you because it was probably hard for you too. People jabbing at something you really couldn't control even if you wanted to.

Ambessa wanted to coddle you all the time, even in the public when people did what they did. But she didn't dare do something that would potentially tarnish her reputation. She always held your hand though, no matter how formal the event would've been.

One particular night, it was worse than how it usually seemed to be. Some drunken soldier thought it would've been funny if he made a comment on the fact you barely even reached Ambessa's bicep with how short you were. And that was it.

You flung the glass of wine you had, shattering it against the wall right behind the soldier, a bit too close to the face. A little to the right and he would've had glass shards stuck to his face and probably needs surgery. Your breath hitched. Ambessa didn't say anything right after, she let your fuming calm down before she placed a hand on your shoulder, “I'm not upset.” She said before you could overthink. “You did great.” She whispered.

You would've said something if the tears wouldn't have choked your voice. Instead, this time you threaded your fingers with hers and leaned your face against Ambessa's shoulder (you were both sitting down, otherwise you actually don't reach her bicep even.)

“You're all dismissed.” Ambessa said firmly before getting up.

Ambessa led you out of the hall, and back to the private chambers. The moment the ceiling high doors closed behind her with a dull thud, she allowed you into the tightest hug she'd ever given you. “It's all okay, now,” she whispered as she held you close to herself.

And at that moment, you finally didn't care you were short and made peace with it.

[wileys-russo]

she loves control II f.rolfö (18+)

part of the colourblind universe, warnings for dom/sub dynamics and smut, minors DNI. i still feel a little conflicted about writing smut for real people so this might suddenly disappear, we'll see! she loves control II f.rolfö (18+)

it hadn't taken long once you started properly going out with your now fiance that despite her soft and loving tendencies as a partner, frido not only needed but craved and relished being in control.

in control over you, your behaviour, your body, your routine, your orgasms. and it was even more of a surprise that you didn't mind, in fact you shamelessly lapped it up, finding it shockingly easy to let her take the lead over things.

you learned very quickly just how far she would go to put you back into place if you dared forget it, never to take her kindness for a weakness as in the blink of an eye she could go from ridiculously soft to domineeringly stern so fast it made your head spin and between your legs ache.

as much as it was very much a power shift to have her be so in control, fridolina never made you feel less than or like you had no choice in anything you did, and you knew if she did you were expected to communicate this to her and she'd go above and beyond to rectify it.

because as much as the defender swore up and down that she wouldn't, you knew she'd also do anything and go anywhere you asked at the drop of a hat, both of you just as much head over heels for one another and unable to imagine a life without the other in it.

you really started to get a taste for this side of your swedish lover on only your fifth date. up until then you'd gone out together to do things, having met through mutual friends at an engagement party and hit it off right away.

the first time you went out with one another you hadn't quite realised it was a date, fridolina so effortlessly charming and friendly with everyone you found yourself unsure if it was all in your head that she was being more flirty than friendly with you.

but she was quick to assure it wasn't in your head, rather teasing it seemed you'd occupied a space in hers and she hadn't been able to get you off her mind for the last week and a half since the two of you had initially been introduced.

but tonight was another step forward, frido having asked you over to her apartment for dinner, something seemingly more private and intimate than any of your dates had been before.

it would be the first time the two of you had spent any time together that wasn't in a public setting and it had you nervously excited as you double checked the address and exhaled, knocking on her door.

barely a few seconds passed before you heard a lock turn and the door swung open, a pearly white smile and bright water colour eyes greeting you.

"hallå kärlek." the girl greeted excitedly, tugging you inside and into a hug, the two of you melting into one another as she kicked the door closed behind you.

picking up on the slightly nervous energy radiating off of you frido was quick to press a soft and reassuring kiss to your lips, smiling warmly as the two of you unwrapped from one another and her hand interlocked with yours.

"let me give you the grand tour!"

"-and this is my bedroom." the blonde pushed open the door to the final room, hand still linked with yours as you smiled fondly, running a finger over a series of jade statues on her dresser.

"its very you." you laughed taking it all in. "i hope that is a compliment." the older girl playfully glared as you nodded and promised it was, your hands breaking apart as she took seat on the corner of her bed.

"i love this." you complimented, nodding to a bright orange armchair in the corner near her window and bathed in sunlight, a chunky knit blanket draped over its back. "my little reading nook." frido smiled fondly right as you started to look through her extensive bookshelf.

"did you know i also have the softest mattress in all of sweden?" the footballer wiggled her eyebrows as you caught her eye. "oh really?" you challenged taking a few steps toward her until you were stood between her legs.

"mmm really, here see for yourself." you squealed as she pulled on the belt loops of your pants sending you tumbling forward onto her bed.

"fridolina!" you laughed, kicking her playfully as she laid down right beside you with a cheeky grin. "what? see, softest mattress in sweden." the girl tutted, her hand reaching out to push a loose strand of hair out of your face as you shook your head with a smile.

"you have a staring problem." you teased as she shifted a little closer, propping her head up on her hand to look down at you. "not staring, admiring." frido corrected, revelling in the pink blush which coated your cheeks.

"du är så söt." the taller girl smiled and indeed to her you were very cute, leaning down to press her lips to yours again though a little more passionately than how she'd greeted you at the door earlier.

you pushed at her shoulders, her back now flat to the mattress as you hovered over her, her hand coming to clutch at the back of your neck pressing the two of you even closer together.

her spare hand ghosted your hip where your shirt rode up slightly, fingers ice cold in comparison to your warm skin and you felt a smile tug at her lips as you squirmed ever so slightly.

after what felt like an eternity but wasn't more than ten or so minutes you both pulled away, frido chasing after your mouth with a few more stolen kisses and a teasing tug on your bottom lip with her teeth.

"is asking girls over to make them dinner just a cheap excuse to get them into bed with you rolfö?" you teased with a grin as the blonde playfully huffed and rolled her eyes.

"no it is an expensive one, the softest mattress in sweden is not cheap!"

~

"what happened to 'come over and i'll cook you dinner'?" you teased as the blonde grabbed out a variety of vegetables from the crisper, rinsing them and lining them up neatly on a tea towel draped over the counter in front of you.

"i am cooking, and you are prepping!" the girl bonked you softly on the nose with a carrot as you rolled your eyes in amusement. "snälla, don't roll your eyes at me." the words sounded soft as she paired them with a kiss, but they had your stomach twisting ever so slightly.

an early sign if you'd been paying enough attention at the time.

"please dice these and these finely, and then you can chop these a little rougher." frido explained pointing to different items as you nodded, rewarded with another kiss for your agreement as frido handed you a knife and grabbed her phone from her pocket.

"the song!" you laughed as she clicked play and the familiar tune sounded from the speaker atop her fridge, frido grinning with a nod and placing her phone down on the benchtop.

"may i have this dance...again?" the blonde asked with a cheeky smile, extending her hands toward you as you shook your head but took them none the less.

the song had been one the dj had easily played ten times at the engagement party where the two of you had met, becoming an ongoing joke with the pair of you that night to dance together every time it did, though a little drunker and with a little less balance as time dragged on.

"you are much more stable on your feet when you've had one glass of wine and not a few bottles!" you teased as she drew your body into hers, humming along and swaying the two of you side to side. "hey!" the footballer gasped pinching your hip gently.

"it was not a few bottles." the taller girl pouted as you smiled, craning your neck up to steal a few kisses, frido glancing over your shoulder every now and then checking on the meat which was slowly browning in the pan.

"no no you're right, it was a lot more." you patted her shoulder sympathetically as she gasped again and you let out a squeal as your body was dipped and almost hit the floor before she pulled you back up with a twirl.

"frido don't do that!" you hit her chest lightly, the smirk not dropping from her cherry red lips at all. "do what? this?" you squealed again as she dipped you once more even lower this time, bending down to hover her mouth above yours.

"you know if i did not pursue football i could have been a ballroom dancer." frido sighed dramatically with a small shrug, pulling you back up before you could kiss her, twirling you around and gently pushing you back toward the counter where the vegetable prep was waiting.

"really?" you questioned both in amusement and disbelief, taking your seat again, quirking an eyebrow at her as she nodded enthusiastically. "really. watch!" she grabbed her phone and changed songs, quickly tossing the meat about in the pan and flicking it down to a low heat.

"it is all about the counting and the steps, the key is to control your movements and have patience with the timing." frido explained, moving into position in the middle of her kitchen. "for example, the waltz-" she gestured for you to start cutting as you smiled but did so, picking up the knife.

"you go forward on your left foot, then to the side with your right foot but so it stays in line with the left, then you move your left to meet your right. and then you step backwards with your right foot, then to the side with your left foot but again always in line, then move the right to meet the left and repeat!" the defender demonstrated as she spoke and you had to admit she did not miss a single step.

"tack så mycket!" the blonde bowed and gestured her hands about dramatically as you clapped and whistled your approval, frido sending you a wink before quickly turning back to the meat.

satisfied with how it was browning she moved it aside to a bowl and tossed in an onion she'd already diced to caramelise. then for a moment she glanced behind her, eyebrows furrowing slightly at your own dicing technique.

"nej." you looked up at her voice, pausing your movements with a confused frown. "nej nej nej nej." the taller girl tutted with a shake of her head, quickly rounding the counter and moving in behind you.

her arms snuck around your torso, taller more muscular body pressing into the back of yours and caging you against the cold marble countertop. her slender fingers decorated with a few chunky rings tapped at the top of your hand and you dropped the knife on instinct, tensing a little as her nose brushed against the crook of your neck.

"not like that." frido tutted softly, grabbing the knife and your hand having you hold it as her own hands sat atop yours. "more like this. slower, finer, neater." frido murmured, breath warm against your ear as her hands moved yours much like a puppeteer, doing the movements for you and guiding them as if they were her own.

"understand?" the blonde asked quietly stilling your hands in hers and you nodded. "use your words, please." her tone just slightly more firm you again felt a strange feeling in your stomach. "i understand." you confirmed, feeling her smile into your shoulder.

"good, show me." she encouraged, a kiss pressed to the base of your neck as her hands moved instead to settle on your hips, pushing them ever so slowly into the counter as more of her body weight bore into you from behind.

"is this okay?" she asked before you could move, clearly referring to your current position as you nodded, frido opening her mouth before you realised your error and quickly corrected it.

"yes, it's nice." you confirmed verbally, earning you a proud smile and another kiss to your cheek. "good, now show me." she repeated, chin hooking over your shoulder as you resisted temptation to melt entirely into the warmth of her hold.

"very good, very very good." the defender praised at how quickly you picked up the change, dicing exactly as she'd shown you. once again at the praise this time your stomach flipped and something clicked, you wanted to please her, wanted her to be happy with you.

"you are a quick learner and a good listener kärlek." frido complimented, your head turning and chin tilting upward as reading your mind fridos own ducked and her lips rewarded you with a few proper kisses this time.

satisfied with your technique now it matched hers she left you to it, quickly moving back toward the stove top as you tried to pretend you didn't miss the way it felt having her pressed against you.

normal conversation flowed between you as sure enough you prepped and she cooked, rewarded for each task completed with a soft thank you, gentle praise and a kiss from the blonde, and you'd be lying if you said it wasn't affecting you just a little.

"please let me help!" you offered yet again, dinner done and your date about to wash everything up, frido shaking her head. "no, you just sit there and look pretty." the girl winked, another blush coating your cheeks at her words.

"you are quite the charmer." you smiled, resting your chin on your hand and trying not to focus on the way her arms rippled as she scrubbed, her hoodie sleeves pulled up to her elbows.

"well when the soft mattress trick does not work i need to use the rest of my tool belt to get pretty girls in bed." frido teased as you gasped softly and shook your head.

"so am i just one of your girls then?" you tutted playfully as she winked, wiping her hands on a tea towel as the water drained from the sink and she appeared now in front of you.

your breath caught a little in your throat as her hands cupped your face, bright eyes boring down into you with a smile so sweet it could rot a tooth, her thumbs tenderly tracing your jaw.

"no, you are one very special girl."

your face heating up your eyes moved to avoid hers on instinct, her pointer finger tapping your cheek with a small hum to capture your attention again.

"eyes on me when i speak to you." her tone sharpened slightly, eyebrows creased ever so slightly as her eyes searched yours for any sign of discomfort at the fact but to her pleasure she found none.

"they are so lovely, you should not hide them." her voice softened again, lips curling into a smile as yours did the same. "you're one to talk, your eyes are like a water colour painting." you quipped back, a chuckle leaving her mouth.

"well well well, whose the charmer now?"

from that day forward the two of you continued to see one another until eventually dates bled into seeing her near daily and you both realised this was becoming something more serious.

not a doubt in her mind that you really were a special girl frido was quick to ask you to be hers, officially, and without a pause at all you said yes.

as more time passed the blondes need for control became less and less subtle, as did your blatantly obvious response to it, one which pleased your girlfriend very very greatly.

as much as fridolina might have needed control, you needed her to take it just as much and gave it over more than willingly. you found the way she doted on you and made sure to correct any small behaviour or habit to her liking only made you fall for her more.

but again despite the way she could often switch so easily between soft and stern, you never ever felt mistreated or manipulated. she wanted you to do as she asked and you wanted to be told what was required of you.

“baby its big, bigger than what i’ve taken before.” you chewed your bottom lip nervously, sizing it up where it sat in the tall blondes hand. 

“I know, but you can do it. I know you can.” your girlfriend encouraged with a soft coo, nodding and caressing your cheek with her spare hand, using her thumb to tug your lip out from between your teeth with a small pop. 

“It’s not going to be easy, i’m going to choke on it.” you sighed with a small shake of your head. 

“no you will not kärlek, you just drink some water first and breathe in and out through your nose as you take it, like we practised.” the blonde reminded with another nod of encouragement. “okay.” you gave in, smile curling into frido’s features.

“give it to me.” you gave your own nod, looking more determined than you actually felt. “good, very good.” the blonde praised and you melted, readying yourself with a deep inhale.

then doing as she suggested you took a large mouthful of water, swallowing and extending your palm as your girlfriend placed the huge multivitamin into it, kissing your cheek as you popped the pill into your mouth and with a small struggle managed to get it down.

“see? easy. so dramatic for nothing!” frido teased, stealing a kiss and swallowing the crude remark back which sat on the tip of your tongue. “your health is important älska, you have to look after your body and your mind.” she smiled, lightly tapping your forehead with her pointer finger making you smile.

never much of a possessive woman, knowing that just as much as she was obsessed with you, you were just as much enamoured with her, it didn't stop your blonde lover from asserting herself just a little bit more when the two of you were out with friends.

"ready?" your girlfriend asked with a smile, car engine dying off as she twisted the key and you nodded. "you look beautiful raring." the blonde sighed, eyes raking over the outfit and accessories she'd carefully and lovingly picked by hand for you to wear.

"and you look gorgeous." you complimented back, fixing a slight smudge of her lipstick where you'd kissed her as the two of you got ready earlier. "i only look so good because i have you on my arm." the taller girl flirted with a wink as you rolled your eyes and pushed her lightly.

"hej. don't roll your eyes at me baby." a large hand grabbed your jaw, the slight pressure of how it squeezed a stark contrast to the way her finger ever so gently traced beneath your bottom lip.

"jag ber om ursäkt." you apologised sincerely, a happy smile in her features at how quickly you did so. "good girl." the defender breathed out, smile turning to a smirk at the slight pink tint in your cheeks.

that was another newer discovery, the way that two seemingly simple words could have you just as flustered as anything, your girlfriend figuring out early on that much as she adored you doing what she asked, you flourished in the praise she gave you after doing so.

“are you nervous?” frido picked up on the slight waver in your normally confident demeanour right away, eyes raking over you with concern. “a little, i want to make a good impression on your friends älskling.” you admitted, not having met this particular group just yet but they were old friends your girlfriend had gone to school with and you knew they meant a lot to her.

“min kärlek, they will love you, in fact they would be crazy not to. i am very very happy with you, they will see that because i make no move to hide it, this is the happiest i have been in a long time.” the taller girl promised, softly and sincerely as butterflies fluttered around your stomach.

“tack så mycket.” you thanked her, leaning over the dash to kiss her but her hand stopped you, your breath hitching as it wrapped gently around your neck, not applying any pressure but effectively stopping you in your tracks.

“later. i do not want you to smudge your lipstick that colour is just so perfect on you, my pretty girl.” the blonde complimented, grinning at the blush which followed. “matches these eh?” she teased, poking your cheek with her finger and letting go of your neck as you backed up.

you exhaled and took a second to collect your thoughts as your girlfriend stepped out of the car, quickly appearing at your door and pulling it open, extending a hand to help you out.

you murmured a soft thanks, the door closing and car locked as the pair of you headed across the parking lot toward the restaurant you were headed to meet with some of the blonde’s friends.

your girlfriends large hand sat flush against the small of your back, guiding you across the asphalt and toward the sound of glasses clinking and laughter. but the closer you got the more frido’s hand started to creep higher and higher, and by the time you were greeted by the hostess it sat against the back of your neck.

the small gesture was so common to you by now though you hardly noticed, in fact it felt a comfort of some sorts knowing she was right there. 

frido was also comforted by the fact that with a grip on the back of your neck it was much easier to control your movements through the crowded restaurant, keeping you locked besides her as the pair of you were lead over to the table already filled with her friends.

you smiled warmly as your girlfriend introduced you to them one by one, her hand again sliding down to the small of your back, guiding you to sit down right beside her once introductions were done.

it then moved to sit on your thigh just above your knee, the blonde never without a hand on you practically at all times, especially when out around others. though it wasn’t one that held an intention of possession, your girlfriend knew you were hers and she was yours and you didn’t have an eye that would ever wander, but it was more so to remind constantly that she was there.

“what looks good?” frido murmured as a menu was slipped in front of you, a gentle squeeze of her hand against your knee capturing your attention, not that it had slipped away for a second. “what looks good to you?” you repeated the question back almost right away.

“i asked you käraste, i expect an answer please.” your girlfriend murmured tone just a touch firmer as you nodded, her thumb tracing circles against your skin absentmindedly. you scanned the menu and offered up a few options, deciding to just split them between you.

as the waiter approached and began to take everyone’s order eventually his eyes turned to you, a smile and a raised eyebrow indicating it was your turn. “she will have the garlic prawn hot pot to start, the beef bourguignon for main and a glass of pinot blanc with ice.”your girlfriend ordered for you with a charming smile before ordering her own meal, hand still firmly planted on your leg.

you were pulled into conversation quickly once everyone had ordered but you let your girlfriend take the lead, knowing when to answer or chime in as frido would gently squeeze your leg in a silent permission.

when your wine came the blonde took it from the waiters hand before giving it to you, the same actions repeated with your meals. as it grew later in the evening her hand had travelled from your leg to again gently caress the back of your neck. sender fingers toying with the baby hairs curled there, arm draped over your shoulder and your chair scooted closer so your body was pressed against hers.

every little movement was calculated. the hands on your thigh, ordering for you, leading the conversation, all the ever so subtle signs of just how much she loved control, and you lapped every bit up happily.

there were of course other much less subtle ways that fridolina asserted her dominance, and by far your favourite was of course when the two of you were hidden away in the privacy of her bedroom.

from the very first time you shared your bodies with one another though the footballer made sure you were okay with everything, communication was just as important to her as control and you knew it was her expectation you uphold that.

you were back on the softest mattress in sweden once again, as the girl loved to remind you mainly so you’d shut her up with a kiss.

but this time the kisses were a little different, they held a slight air of longing and need, the air seemed to be filled with a new and exciting tension, something both of you had picked up on. 

so it was not to your girlfriends surprise when you moved to now be on top of her, your hands cupping her face and deepening the kiss further, but as always frido was the one in control as her hand sat on the back of your head so you couldn’t pull away.

her tongue licked filthily into your mouth and you shifted, the tiniest of noises made as frido’s lips curled into a slightly smug smile and her hand moved, both of them tapping your thighs before gently pushing at your shoulders.

“are you okay?” you questioned with a slight frown of concern, chest heaving just a little as you caught your breath. “more than okay kärlek, but i want to check something with you.” you shuffled back slightly as the blonde sat up, you still perched on her lap as you nodded for her to continue.

“i need you to tell me if you want to take things further than just kissing, i need your consent.” the footballer requested softly, brushing a loose piece of hair behind your ear as you melted. “i’ve been ready for awhile now, i promise you have my full consent.” you murmured, pecking her lips a few times in between words.

“good. now, i need you to promise me if there is anything you do not like or you change your mind you will tell me right away.” her tone shifted slightly as you nodded. “no. use your words, and look at me when you speak to me.” your breath hitched as her hand gripped your jaw, turning your head to face her again as your eyes strayed for a moment and hers bore into you expectantly.

“i promise.” you spoke sure of yourself, frido smiling clearly pleased and letting go of your jaw. you used this slight moment of freedom to grab the hem of your top, pulling it off of you and tossing it over your shoulder, grinning at the way the defenders eyes widened in surprise.

“i need you.” you whispered, thumb tracing her jawline as something shifted in the way she gazed at you. you let out a squeal as within seconds you were pinned beneath her, hands pressed either side of your head as her body straddled your hips pressing them down into the mattress.

“oh no no baby you might want me, but only i know what you need.” frido’s lips ghosted yours, head pulling back as you tried to capture them with your own, cherry red and painted into a very smug smile.

“say it.” the blonde encouraged, eyes twinkling as your heart raced beneath her. “say it. you should know that i do not like to repeat myself älskade.” your girlfriend warned, your head spinning at the way she could so easily flitter between soft and stern.

“only you know what i need.”

“duktig flicka.” frido praised, letting go of your hands as one of hers settled on your cheek and the other trailed a single finger slowly down your chest as you shivered slightly. “are you cold?” the girl teased as your nipples visibly hardened. 

though your reply was swallowed by her lips hungrily devouring yours again, your back arching slightly off the mattress as two fingers teasily ghosted your inner thighs, gone as quickly as they were there as you moaned quietly and the blonde sucked harshly on your bottom lip.

“frido.” you breathed out as her lips moved to your neck, the taller girl knowing every little spot to pay close attention to as your eyes fluttered close. “mmm? what do you want sötnos? use your words.” she teased, stealing them as her teeth sank into your neck and your hips bucked against her.

“you. i want you.”

“me? but baby you have me, i’m right here no?” she tutted, your head pushing back into the pillow as a large hand cupped your left breast and squeezed, her fingers toying with the hardened peak of your nipple.

growing tired of trying to find the right words to get what you want you decided actions might speak a little louder. so with your hands no longer pinned to the bed you grabbed one of hers which sat on your cheek, slipping the slender digits into your mouth and smiling at the way her face changed.

“behövande flicka.” frido breathed out, eyes lit with a new spark as you sucked on her fingers, gagging slightly as she began to rock them into your mouth at a pace set of her own accord, knocking your hand away where it held hers.

once more your hips bucked as her other hand came to settle on your neck, not applying any pressure but even the feel of her callous palm against your throat made your head spin. as her fingers left your mouth it wasn’t without a trail of spit, your cheeks flushing red as frido wiped it off against your naked chest.

You breathed out a sigh of contement as finally her attention seemed to start to go where you both knew you needed her, lips trailing soft kisses down your chest as her body slipped off of you slightly and you exhaled as her hand again ghosted your underwear.

“so wet and i’ve barely touched you.”

the teasing tone in her voice just made you want her more, eyes slipped closed as her fingers toyed with the waistband of your underwear, snapping it against your hips. 

“look at me.” they snapped open at her voice, her hand moved to grip your jaw as you felt her hand slip into your underwear and whined slightly. “you will look at me while i fuck you kärlek, and you will not look away until i tell you to or i stop.” the blonde warned sternly and you nodded.

“words.” she ordered, squeezing your jaw and your body bucked as a singular finger slipped inside you. “yes.” you nodded, a tap to your cheek reminding you of her previous demand as your eyes opened and locked with hers.

you felt your face burn bright red as you held eye contact and a second finger entered you, her pace picking up as your hands fisted the bedsheets, her lips curled into an obnoxiously smug smirk. 

“such a pretty girl, all red and blushing just for me.” the blonde cooed, and there was something about the sudden switch in tone for you to whine. “no no, you will watch kärlek or you will not come.” she warned firmly as your eyes fluttered shut and her fingers pistoned in and out, setting a rhythm which had you squirming beneath her in need.

“are you close baby?” she pouted mockingly feeling your walls tighten and something about it had you pushed even further to the edge, her bodyweight baring down onto you pinning your bucking hips to the mattress. “yes!” you moaned out as your voice cracked, barely able to get the word out but knowing thats what she wanted.

“good girl. now ask me if you can come, and if you ask me nicely enough älskling then maybe i’ll allow it.”

[shdysders]

a cold table

pairing: vada cavell & reader

summary: in which your anniversary with vada didn't turn out like it was supposed to.

word count: 4.8k

author’s note: proof reading this honestly just makes me throw a tantrum bc it’s ridiculously bad in my view. but i’m posting this in hopes of you liking it.

You and Vada were the epitome of "opposites attract."

On the surface, it seemed almost impossible that you two would end up together, let alone be the type of couple that made people smile just by looking at you.

Vada was the kind of girl who looked like she just grabbed her dad's clothes from the laundry basket and made it work. Putting together outfits that made no sense to anyone but her.

Oversized flannel shirts, baggy jeans and sneakers that had seen better days—she wore it all with an air of confidence that dared anyone to question her choices.

She didn't care about trends, and you couldn't imagine her spending more than five minutes deciding what to wear.

You however, were the opposite—always put together, wearing clothes that you knew looked good on you because you liked feeling confident and in control.

When it came to school, Vada was effortlessly good at everything she tried.

She could ace a test without studying, participate in class debates with barely any preparation, and somehow still find time to be the laid-back, carefree person everyone admired.

She had a mind that worked faster than most, but she didn't flaunt it.

You, on the other hand, had to work hard for your grades. School didn't come easily to you, but you cared enough to put in the effort.

You stayed up late studying, agonized over assignments, and took pride in every hard-earned B+ you received. Your determination was something Vada admired, even if she never said it out loud.

Although she would tease you about how seriously you took school, but when it came down to it, she'd show up for study sessions, sometimes even surprising you by actually helping.

And even though you weren't a natural at school, you made sure she didn't slack off too much, reminding her about deadlines and sometimes dragging her to the library when she'd rather be anywhere else.

Everyone at school saw how different you and Vada were. Some people were surprised when you first started dating, while others seemed to have seen it coming from a mile away.

Vada had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room, even when you were surrounded by people.

She listened to you, really listened, like your thoughts were the most important thing in the world. When you talked about your day, no matter how mundane, she would look at you with those deep, thoughtful eyes and nod along.

And you were always there for her, too. Vada might have been the laid-back one, but she had her moments of doubt, and you were the first person she'd turn to.

People noticed how you two balanced each other out. You didn't try to change one another, but you definitely influenced each other in subtle ways.

You brought some structure into Vada's life, and she taught you how to loosen up a bit. You didn't make a show of your relationship, but the way you naturally gravitated toward each other said a lot.

Everyone could see that, even if you didn't make a big deal out of it, you were good for each other.

And even though people didn't really talk about you and Vada much—there wasn't any drama, no on-again, off-again stuff.

You were just there, solid and steady, the kind of couple everyone figured would last. It was easy to imagine you two growing old together, the high school sweethearts who actually made it.

You thought so, too. For the longest time, it just felt like you and Vada were meant to be, that nothing could really shake what you had.

But that was before you started to doubt everything the two of you had.

Before the incident.

You were in the library that day, tucked away in a corner with your books spread out in front of you. Vada had class, and you were trying to focus on an assignment due the next day. It was just another ordinary afternoon, where everything felt routine and predictable.

Then, out of nowhere, you heard it—a loud, sharp sound that made you freeze.

At first, you couldn't quite place it, but then it happened again, and suddenly the room around you shifted.

The quiet murmur of students working turned into panicked whispers, and then, in what felt like seconds, chaos erupted.

Gunshots.

The next thing you knew, people were scrambling, and you were being pulled down to the floor by someone you didn't even know. Your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might burst. You could barely think, your mind racing with fear and confusion.

Meanwhile, Vada had been in the bathroom, just down the hall from where the first shots were fired. She wasn't alone—Mia, the popular girl everyone knew but no one really knew anything about, was there too.

When the first gunshot echoed through the halls, they both froze, their eyes wide with terror. Without a word, they rushed into the nearest stall together, instinctively pulling their feet up onto the toilet seat to stay hidden.

In the days that followed, everything felt like a blur.

The school was closed, news crews swarmed the area, and you were left trying to process what had happened. You tried to be there for Vada, but it was hard to know how.

She was different—quieter, more withdrawn, like she was lost in her own head. You wanted to help, to say something that would make it better, but nothing felt right. It was like a wall had gone up between you, and no matter what you did, you couldn't get through to her.

Vada barely talked about what happened in the bathroom with Mia.

When she did, her voice was flat, detached, like she was telling a story that had happened to someone else. She wouldn't look you in the eye, and that scared you more than anything.

You could see the fear and anger simmering under the surface, but she wouldn't let it out. She tried to act like everything was fine, but you could see the cracks forming.

You knew she was probably feeling a million things—guilt, fear, anger, maybe even shame for surviving when others hadn't. But she didn't talk about it, and you didn't know how to bring it up without making her shut down more.

Every time you reached out, it felt like she was slipping further away, retreating into a place you couldn't follow.

The carefree attitude that used to define her was gone, replaced by a tension that never seemed to leave. You noticed how she avoided certain hallways, how she liked to be alone now, and how she wouldn't talk about it. It was like she was trying to hold it all together, to not fall apart, but you could see how much it was costing her.

Vada didn't go back to school for a long time.

But eventually, you did go back due your parents forcing you. It wasn't easy, and you felt guilty every day.

The hallways felt different, quieter, like everyone was holding their breath. You went through the motions, trying to keep up with classes and pretending things were normal, but they weren't.

Not for you, and definitely not for Vada. It was hard walking into school every day, knowing she was at home, struggling with things you couldn't fully understand.

You tried to keep things normal, to talk about school, or movies, or anything that wasn't about what happened. But even then, you could feel the distance growing.

At first, the way Vada acted—or didn't act—around you didn't really matter. You understood she was going through something unimaginable.

You were patient, giving her the space she seemed to need, even when she seemed distant or didn't respond much.

What really caught you off guard wasn't the silence or the way she sometimes snapped at you, which you could understand given everything she was dealing with.

What hurt more was when Vada started disappearing.

You'd try to check in on her, but she was often unreachable, and you had this sinking feeling she wasn't just avoiding you—she was spending time with someone else.

You'd seen Mia post something on social media, little hints that made it clear Vada had been with her. It wasn't like you blamed her for needing someone who understood what she'd been through, but it stung all the same.

The fact that she was turning to Mia instead of you made the distance between you feel even wider, and that's when the doubt started to creep in. You knew she was hurting, but you couldn't help but wonder if this was the beginning of something you weren't prepared to face.

And as the days went on, Vada started staying out late, not telling you where she was or who she was with. The first time it happened, you tried not to worry too much, but it kept happening.

You wanted to talk to her, to see how she was really doing, but every time you tried, she seemed to slip further away.

Then, one night, you decided to go over to her house, hoping to finally have that conversation.

When she opened the door, you could immediately tell something was off. She was unsteady on her feet, her eyes a little glazed over, and you could smell the alcohol on her breath.

She was drunk, and it had shook you more than you expected. This wasn't like her at all.

You tried to ask her what was going on, why she was drinking, but she just brushed you off, slurring something about needing to forget for a while.

It worried you, seeing her like this, knowing that she was hurting so much that she felt the need to numb it with alcohol. You wanted to help her, to pull her back before she fell too deep, but she wasn't letting you in.

Even with everything going on, you held onto the hope that Vada wouldn't forget about your three-year anniversary. It was the one thing you thought might still matter, even with all the changes and distance between you.

Every year, you and Vada had always done something special to mark the day. It was your tradition—whether it was a simple picnic in the park or watching the stars from the roof of your house, it was always something that brought you closer together.

You thought that this anniversary might be a turning point, a chance for both of you to reconnect and maybe find some of what had been lost in the chaos.

You knew things weren't the same as before, but you hoped that this day would remind Vada of what you had, of how much you meant to each other.

You spent weeks planning something small but meaningful. Nothing too extravagant, just something that would show her you still cared deeply and that you wanted to make this work.

You spent weeks planning something small but meaningful. Nothing too extravagant, just something that would show her you still cared deeply and that you wanted to make this work.

You had arranged everything perfectly. After some careful planning, you talked to Vada's parents about your idea, suggesting that they and her little sister Amelia spend the night at Vada's grandmother's house.

You knew your own parents would never approve of the two of you having the house to yourselves on a school night, but Vada's parents were different.

They saw how much you meant to each other and, more importantly, how much Vada needed something to remind her of the good things in her life. They agreed without hesitation, eager to give you both the space you needed.

With the house to yourselves, you planned to cook dinner for her—nothing fancy, just her favorite comfort foods, something that would make her feel safe and loved.

You'd set the table in the dining room with candles, making it feel cozy and intimate.

After dinner, you were going to to watch the movie you saw on your first date. It was your way of trying to bring things back to the beginning, to remind her of who you both were before everything got so complicated.

You wanted the night to be perfect, not in some grand, over-the-top way, but in a way that would show Vada that you still believed in what you had together. This was your chance to reconnect, to pull her back from the distance that had grown between you, and you were determined to make it happen.

As the day got closer, you tried not to let your anxiety get the best of you. Vada had been distant, but you convinced yourself that she wouldn't let this day slip by.

This was your day, after all—the one day you could both take a break from everything else and just focus on each other. You were counting on it, needing it to bring you back together, at least for a little while.

The day finally came, and you had everything set up just the way you imagined.

You spent hours in the kitchen, carefully preparing all of Vada's favorite dishes. The table was set with candles, the lights dimmed just right to create that warm, intimate atmosphere. Everything was perfect, down to the last detail.

The whole thing was meant to be a surprise—you hadn't told Vada anything, just that she should come straight home after whatever she had planned for the day. You imagined her walking through the door, seeing the setup, and maybe, just maybe, something in her would shift back to how it used to be.

But as the minutes turned into hours, the excitement started to fade, replaced by a growing sense of worry.

Vada wasn't coming home.

You waited and waited, watching the food grow cold on the table. You tried calling her, messaging her, hoping for some kind of response, but there was nothing. Each time your phone stayed silent, your heart sank a little deeper.

You knew deep down that just waiting around probably wasn't the smartest idea. Maybe you should've told her, given her a heads-up so she could be sure to come home.

The hours passed and the house stayed empty, you couldn't ignore the sinking feeling in your chest. The night you'd planned so carefully, the night that was supposed to bring you closer, was slipping away, and with it, the hope you'd been clinging to.

You kept glancing at the clock, the numbers glowing dimly in the quiet room. It was nearly 11, and you were clinging to the hope that she'd come through the door any minute.

If she did, you'd just reheat the food, relight the candles, and try to salvage the night. It wasn't ideal, but you were ready to make the best of it.

Then, the front door creaked open, and Vada walked in. You jumped up immediately, eager to greet her.

When she saw you, her expression was a mix of surprise and something else you couldn't quite place. She looked at you weirdly, as if you were weird for being there.

She seemed off—her steps were unsteady, and there was a distant look in her eyes that made you worry.

"What... What are you doing here, Y/N?" she mumbled, her voice slurring slightly. She seemed distant, making you worry even more.

You tried to smile, but it felt stiff and uncertain. "Today's our three-year anniversary," you said, your voice filled with hesitation. "I was hoping we could spend some time together. You know, like we always do."

Vada let out a scoff and began to walk toward her room, her steps slow and uneven. She glanced at you with a weariness in her eyes, as if the effort to respond was too much. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, and she seemed to be struggling to focus on you.

"Do we really still care about this?"

It hit you harder than you expected. You tried to hold onto your initial excitement and positivity, but her tone made it hard to ignore the distance growing between you.

As she took those two steps toward her room, you felt a mix of disappointment and confusion, unsure how to reach out or fix what seemed to be slipping away.

Vada walked closer, and you could smell the strong scent of alcohol on her breath.

As she moved into the light, you noticed her eyes were red and puffy, and it was hard to tell if it was from crying or something else.

You hoped it was tears—something you could understand and help with. The thought of it being anything worse made your heart sink. You stood there, struggling to reconcile the image of her pain with the reality of what was happening.

You took a hesitant step forward and asked, "Are you drunk?"

Vada's face reddened with anger. "Are you seriously judging me right now?" she snapped.

You were taken aback by her reaction, and a wave of nervousness washed over you.

The fact that she was drunk only seemed to make everything worse.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady, said, "No, I was just wondering where you've been. Have you been drinking alone?" Your words trailed off, unsure how to continue as you watched her closely, hoping she'd open up.

Vada's anger seemed to wane as she noticed your genuine concern. "I was with Mia," she said simply, her voice a bit softer.

You hesitated for a moment before asking, "Have you done drugs?"

Vada's face flushed with anger as she spun around, muttering, "Oh my god." She shot you a fierce look, clearly irritated.

You quickly followed her, trying to explain yourself. "I was just worried because you've been spending a lot of time with Mia, and I was just wondering what you two were up to. I didn't mean to... I just wanted to know." You felt yourself rambling, hoping she'd understand your concern.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. "I just need to know if there's something more going on between you and Mia."

You knew the question was direct and might come off as rude, but you were desperate to understand what was happening.

You needed to know if this was the end for you both, if there was something significant you were missing.

Vada's eyes widened in surprise, her face flushing with a mix of anger and guilt. For a moment, she looked taken aback, as if the question had cut through a fog of confusion. Her response was immediate but hesitant,

"What are you talking about? There's nothing between us." But her tone betrayed a hint of uncertainty, leaving you more unsettled than before.

Your curiosity was driven by the fear that everything you had might be unraveling, and you were grasping at any answers that could provide clarity.

You were grasping for understanding, your voice trembling. "I don't know. It feels like you've just—"

Vada cut you off, voice loud enough to make you flinch. "Why do you always have to question everything?" she slurred, her speech thick and unsteady. "Just because we're dating doesn't mean you need to know everything I'm doing or feeling! I'm so fucking tired of you prying into every little thing!"

Her movements were uncoordinated; she stumbled slightly as she spoke, her balance wavering.

The alcohol and possibly drugs made her seem disconnected, her eyes glassy and unfocused. She swayed slightly as she continued, her anger barely masking the haze of her intoxication.

You struggled to keep calm, knowing her anger was intensified by the substances she'd consumed. "I didn't mean to pry," you said, your voice trembling. "I just wanted to understand what's happening with us."

Vada glared at you, her frustration still evident. "What, do you expect me to lay out every detail of my life for you?" she snapped, her voice laced with bitterness.

"Do you want me to explain my feelings all the time, like it's some kind of control?"

You shook your head, your voice trembling as you quietly replied, "No, that's not what I meant." Her words and actions seemed disjointed from what you were trying to address. Vada's gaze remained fixed on you, her anger unyielding and her eyes burning with frustration.

Her words and actions seemed disjointed from what you were trying to address.

You had only been seeking clarity about your relationship, not demanding control or constant explanations. Her response felt out of touch with your intentions, leaving you confused and hurt as you tried to make sense of her accusations.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest, and asked, "What did you guys do?"

You didn't expect anything shocking or out of the ordinary. You just hoped she'd tell you they hung out, talked, maybe drank a little—nothing more.

You weren't trying to accuse her of anything; you just wanted to make sure they hadn't done something reckless or dangerous.

The thought of her putting herself in a risky situation was what really worried you.

That's why you asked—to ease the growing unease in your chest, to hear something that would put your mind at rest, and to reassure yourself that everything was still okay.

Vada's eyes flashed with irritation as she responded, "Nothing."

Her tone was dismissive, but you couldn't ignore the gnawing doubt inside you. You glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time. "Vada, it's almost 11 a.m. You've been with her all night. Of course, you did something."

The air was thick with tension, almost suffocating. Vada's posture stiffened, her shoulders tensing as she tried to process your words. You could see her face flush, her mind clearly racing as she grappled with the confrontation.

She had always hated these kinds of direct confrontations, and it was evident she was struggling to come up with a believable excuse.

For a moment, there was a charged silence. You watched as Vada's gaze darted around, her eyes betraying her panic.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, her face a mixture of frustration and fear as she searched for a way to deflect or minimize the situation.

Her hands fidgeted at her sides, clenching and unclenching in a futile attempt to steady herself.

The silence dragged on, and you could almost see her internal struggle as she failed to come up with a satisfactory answer.

Her frustration began to bubble over, and her composure started to crack under the pressure. Finally, with a sharp intake of breath, she snapped.

"Fuck it," she burst out, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation.

"I smoked weed with Mia, got high and I slept with her, alright? Is that what you'd like to hear?"

Her admission was blunt and raw, a revelation that she hadn't intended to make but couldn't hold back any longer. The anger in her eyes and the way her voice wavered revealed the depth of her frustration and the extent of her emotional turmoil.

Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife.

Her confession hit you like a punch to the gut. The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, and you could feel the room closing in around you.

The shock made it hard to breathe. You tried to stay calm but struggled to process what she'd just admitted. "You slept with her?" you repeated quietly, your voice trembling.

For a split second, you saw a flash of regret in Vada's eyes, as if she realized the weight of what she'd said.

Although that look quickly faded, replaced by her defensive stance.

The moment of vulnerability was brief, almost as if she was trying to erase it before you could fully grasp it. You were left reeling, trying to make sense of her sudden, raw honesty and what it meant for both of you.

Did she actually sleep with her? Or did she just say it out of anger or because she was under influence?

Mia had always been someone you thought was a friend to Vada, someone who was there for her in ways you couldn't be after everything that happened.

You never saw her as a threat, never imagined that Vada's connection with her could be something more than just two people sharing their trauma.

But after every late night that Vada seemed to spend with her,  the doubt had tightened its grip.

You thought you had tried so hard to be there for Vada, to break through the walls she had built up, but now it felt like those walls were never meant to let you in. They were meant to keep you out, while Mia was welcomed in.

The realization that Mia, the girl Vada used to mock for her obsession with popularity and appearances, could have become something more to her, stung.

Vada had always rolled her eyes at the way Mia cared about what people thought, about how she looked. It was something that made you believe Vada and Mia could never be more than friends.

But now, you couldn't help but wonder if all that bashing was just a cover, a way to hide the truth even from herself.

Had Vada's complaints been a way to deflect from feelings she didn't want to admit?

You could feel the tears welling up, your lips trembling uncontrollably. You didn't try to hide it, but it felt irrelevant since Vada seemed to look right through you.

Her gaze was unfocused, her pupils dilated, wide and glassy, as if she was barely seeing you. Her mouth was twisted into a slight, almost mocking smile that made your heart sink even further.

You hoped and prayed that she didn't actually found this funny.

You tried to convince yourself that she would regret this later, that she'd understand the pain she was causing, and that the real Vada—without the haze of alcohol and anger—would recognize how deeply she had hurt you.

But not even your hopes seemed to be on your side as Vada let out a heavy sigh, the anger seeming to drain from her as she suddenly looked exhausted.

"I'm going to bed," she mumbled, her voice still slurred, but now quieter, almost as if the fight had taken all the energy she had left.

She turned on her heel, swaying slightly as she started to walk away.

But then she paused, her hand gripping the edge of the wall for balance, and looked back at you with a cold, detached expression.

"And clean this shit up before my parents get home," she snapped, her voice filled with disgust as she gestured vaguely at the table where the dinner you had so carefully prepared now sat untouched, cold.

"It looks fucking ridiculous." She spat out, her words like shards of glass cutting through you.

You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, feeling the sting as you glanced back at the table.

Her words echoed in your mind, and as you looked at the half-heartedly arranged candles and the untouched dinner, you had to admit—maybe she was right.

It did look ridiculous.

Without waiting for a response, Vada turned away, her frustration palpable as she stormed off toward her room. The silence that followed was heavy, the flickering candles casting long shadows that seemed to mock the effort you had put in.

You stood there, feeling like a stranger in a house you had once felt so welcomed in, like an outsider in a place you had imagined as your second home.

As you cleaned up like she told you to, the weight of what had just transpired settled heavily on your shoulders.

You packed the leftover food into containers, trying to salvage what you could for Vada's parents. Each movement felt mechanical, your hands moving on autopilot while your mind was consumed by a torrent of thoughts.

You sobbed quietly, tears falling onto the remnants of a dinner that was meant to celebrate love and commitment, that was meant to fix what you guys had.

It wasn't a formal breakup, but the reality was clear.

Vada's behavior, whether from being drunk or high, had made it clear that things between you were over, even if no formal words had been spoken.

There was so much left unsaid, so many questions swirling in your mind.

Although as you walked out the door of the Cavell house, you knew the answers no longer mattered.

[acosmicbee]

Would you be open to wring a yandere parental woman who’s like a mob boss and wants a child but can’t have any so she finds reader who already doesn’t have a good home life and like kidnaps her into making reader her kid?

Bad Home, Good Kid

TWs: Implied child abuse, referenced drug abuse

Artemis was supposed to have everything, and she almost did. She had the good looks, the large mansion, the perfect control over the city. To any other mafia boss, this would be enough, but not for Artemis.

She was missing the one thing she wanted, the one thing she craved. A dream that had been brutally ripped away from her after a failed murder attempt. She'd never tortured any man for longer, pain mixing with the anger as she made him suffer.

After all, if his bullet had hit just a little higher, if he'd had better aim, her uterus wouldn't have been hit. She'd still be able to have a child, just the way she'd always dreamed. In the mansion the bedroom next to hers had always been saved for a nursery or kids bedroom. But now...? Now, she'd have to find some other way to have the child she'd dreamed of.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

It was a cloudy day, but there was no forecast of rain so you went to the playground. It wasn't a good neighborhood you lived in, there were more than a few unsavory characters on your floor of your apartment building alone. But most in the area followed the moral code of the mafia, if only to avoid becoming a target, and that meant children were to be left alone.

You were often the only child at the playground. You'd get the swings all to yourself, going back and forth for hours at a time. You never had to wait in line to go down the slide or play on the monkey bars, but it wasn't as fun as it seemed.

You've seen things, things no child should have to see. There was a reason you spent as much time as you could outside, pretending you didn't have a home to go back to. There was a reason you knew to never investigate any sudden sounds, especially sharp cracks.

Today there seemed to be a lot of those a couple of blocks over. The sounds rang through the air as you sat on the swing, swaying back and forth. It was easy for you to disassociate from the noises, letting your mind wander somewhere away from the trauma. Instead of the swing, your mind took you to a ship, one that swayed in the waves and carried you far far away.

A small smile crossed your face as you thought to all the shows you'd watched that showed the ocean. The pretty blue water and warm sun. The gentle swishing sound as it came into contact with things. You never noticed the sounds stopping, lost in your daydream as you swung back and forth.

You eventually stopped swinging, the delusion fading away as you got a little dizzy. You let the swing slow, your shoes dragging against the ground as you tried to decide what you wanted to do next. You glanced up when you heard a demanding voice nearing the playground.

A woman, flanked by a couple of others, walked down the sidewalk. Her voice was sharp and cold and she carried herself with an air of command. You noted her clothes, dressed way too nicely to be from anywhere near this neighborhood. You also noticed the gun in her hand that she was cleaning while she walked.

The swing set creaked as it finally came to a stop and all of a sudden you were looking into icy blue eyes. She stopped dead in her tracks, staring at you, and you felt a pit of fear in your stomach as you stared back. Getting noticed was never a good thing, especially not by someone who stood out.

With a trembling hand you released one of the chains, hesitantly waving hi to her. Almost instantly her demeanor shifted as a warm smile crossed her face. The gun was instantly moved out of your view as she waved back, murmuring something to one of the others with her.

You breathed a sigh of relief as they left, your legs shaking when you finally stood up from the swing. You didn't feel like playing anymore, but going home was always the worse option. Instead you tucked yourself out of view on one of the play structures, hiding from the world for as long as you could.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

"I need info." Artemis' tone was sharp as she approached a man standing on a street corner. He just groaned, looking more put off than anything.

She pulled out her phone, showing the man a picture. There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes as his posture shifted to be more defensive. "What do you want with the kid? I thought it was your rule to leave kids alone."

"I'm not going to hurt them." She said, her voice cold as she glared at him. "And I don't appreciate the insinuation. I want info on their parents and that means info on them as well. Trust me when I say the kid will be fine."

His posture relaxed just a little as he glanced around before speaking. "They're crackhead Corrine's kid, bet you can guess why thats her nickname. No father in the picture, nor has there ever been one as far as I'm aware. Kid's name is Y/N..." He paused before leaning in closer. "They're a good kid in a bad place. Between you and me, someone should've called CPS on Corrine a long time ago."

"And why haven't you? Especially if you're implying what I think you are." Artemis asked. Her gaze was sharp and accusatory, but her info broker didn't flinch, long since used to her intimidation tactics.

"You know the first rule about living here? Mind your own business. If you don't, you'll probably end up on the wrong end of someone's gun. If someone ever traced the CPS call back to me, I'd be labeled a snitch and be shot dead in a week. My job is to give you info, not to act on it. That's your job." He said defensively.

"Where do they live?" She asked, already preparing in her head. She'd need to have your room ready quicker than she expected, not wanting to leave you in a bad situation.

"136 Whittaker Street, I think floor 6 but I'm not sure the exact apartment number." He said, taking a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it.

"If anything happens to the kid, you call me. Immediately." She finally said, slipping him some cash for his information. He just grinned, counting the bills as she walked away.

"Pleasure doing business with ya."

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

You started to find little gifts left for you in the playground. At least, somewhere in your mind you realized they were meant for you. They were always left on your swing, brand new and clean. Even if you tried to rationalize it as someone coincidentally losing things over and over, you knew the gifts were supposed to be for you.

Sometimes, when you played with the jump rope that had been left or one of the balls, you'd see that same woman. She never stayed for long, usually just waving at you before disappearing to go do whatever it is she was in this neighborhood for.

Everything seemed to come crashing down the day you came home late with a small stuffed tiger tucked under your arm. You weren't expecting your mother to be home and flinched when she suddenly grabbed you, pulling you into the apartment.

"Look at you, you little thief! Did you steal that off some other brat?!" She yelled, grabbing the toy from your arms. She dragged you into the kitchen, hissing mean words and calling you names.

She let go of you for a second to grab a pair of scissors which she used to decapitate the poor toy. When she turned to you, still holding the scissors and a dark look in her eyes, you ran.

You darted out the front door and down the staircase, never stoping even though you landed on your ankle funny coming off the stairs. The streets were dark and the worst of the worst were starting to come out, but anywhere felt safer then that cramped apartment.

In your panic, running for the only place you felt safe, you never noticed the man under an awning on the phone. You didn't notice how his eyes followed you or how he subtly stepped further out onto the street to block you mother's view before you turned a corner, leaving her with no clue of where you'd gone.

You slipped through the gate of the playground, panting as you stumbled onto the play structure. Your ankle was throbbing and it felt so hard to breathe over the panic you felt. You started quietly sobbing, trying to force your body to take in air.

You weren't sure how long you sat there, quietly panicking, before you heard the roar of an engine as a car parked somewhere close. There was the squeak of the playground gate, followed by the sound of high heeled shoes on concrete.

You peeked out, seeing a woman standing in the middle of the playground, frantically looking around. It was the woman who always watched you, the one who dressed nicely and waved hello every time she saw you. This time when she saw you she approached the structure quickly.

You were too worn out to run and could only sob harder when she pulled you into her lap, holding you close. She was warm, so warm compared to the cool night. Her hands stroked through your hair as she gently soothed you, helping you find your breath.

When she stood, she took you with her, carrying you towards her waiting car. You hadn't been carried in a very long time and the feeling of being so close to someone without being hurt was novel to you.

She helped buckle you in, holding your hand as her driver started the car. The gentle movement of the car was enough to put you to sleep, your head against the window as the darkened city streets passed.

"Don't worry now, love. I promise you'll never have to run like that again, to be scared like that again. Your mommy will protect you, for now and forever."

[daydreamkissesxo]

Father Charlie x reader | Sinner pt 4; Is this how it ends?

Warnings; manipulation, coercive behaviour, mentions of pregnancy and active labour, angst, mentions of abortion (no smut this time😢)

A/N; I really struggled for this part and I’m not entirely happy with it but it’ll do😂 part 5 is cominggg

Your sudden disappearance was the talk of the church each Sunday, every family theorising what could have possibly happened.

Your mother was distraught, inconsolable as she had no explanation as to where you were or whether you were even alive.

Father Charlie often comforted her after mass, cruelly lifting her spirits by claiming that you would one day return, though he knew otherwise.

Your family's persistent searching often left him anxious, that they'd somehow trace your disappearance back to him.

He'd thought of several different ways to resolve the issue, all exposing your pregnancy one way or another with the knowledge that your parents would disown you for it.

He'd thought of carefully planting a pregnancy test in one of your coat pockets after conveniently visiting your family home to console your mother, hoping she'd find it as she rummaged for clues as to your whereabouts.

He'd even considered paying one of the local homeless men to falsely inform your mother that he'd seen you leaving town with a blossoming baby bump, but that seemed to be one of the riskier options, he knew he'd be setting himself up for blackmail.

You were completely oblivious to the state your family were in, confined to the four walls of Father Charlie's home as he claimed it would be impossible for you to leave it without being noticed now that half of the town knew you were missing.

His intentions were far from pure, he disguised his reasons for keeping you a prisoner in his home as concern for the abandonment you'd inevitably receive from your family if they discovered the truth.

He'd carefully manipulated you into believing that he had done nothing wrong, that he acted on the lust you inflicted upon him and that any consequences were only yours to suffer.

You were disconnected from the outside world as he'd even taken away your phone, claiming that you were easy to trace as long as you were in possession of it.

Each day that passed was another that he'd paralysed your mind, ridding you of your independence unconsciously so that you were solely reliant on him for even the most basic human care.

He had a strong desire to control every aspect of your life, carefully planting small seeds of doubt in your mind that you were incapable of making your own decisions and taking proper care of yourself.

He provided you with a home, the clothes that you wore, the food that you ate and the comfort most people long for, it made him feel so unbelievably powerful.

He'd carefully prepared every meal you'd eat, insisting that he knew best where nutritional value was concerned due to his previous work as a personal trainer, yet his intention was to ensure you never ate unless he provided it, much like a dependant child.

The only time he'd leave your side was to fulfil his duties at the church and even then he wondered if that were too long, he couldn't risk leaving your mind unoccupied.

Despite his extreme measures you'd never once thought of yourself as a prisoner, he appeared so attentive and caring that you believed it was just in his nature, not part of his carefully crafted plot to manipulate the woman he'd purposely impregnated so she could never exist without him.

You couldn't help but feel like a house pet, always perched on the sofa or beside him in bed with no real purpose other than incubating his unborn child.

Father Charlie had managed to convince you not to see anyone of the medical profession during your pregnancy, claiming that once you'd stepped foot over the threshold of a hospital that they'd inform your family immediately.

Being so fearful of their disappointment, you agreed that a doctor he had known previous to becoming a priest could regularly check you over.

Violent nausea woke you from your slumber each morning, you'd spend the majority of your day hunched over the toilet bowl and for that father Charlie was pleased, while you were in that state you were incapable of even attempting to leave which bought him more time to work his manipulative ways.

While he was sympathetic to your sickness, he strongly felt it was the perfect punishment for trying to end your pregnancy, though he never told you that.

He hadn't totally forgiven you for your actions but he wasn't a complete monster, he knelt beside you to hold your hair back when he could.

In an ideal world, the two of you would have been married and equally excited for the arrival of your child, but the conception date made it difficult for him to find a way to leave his position at the church without exposing his sexual relationship with you during his time there.

It was at dinner one night that he'd noticed how withdrawn you'd become, assuming it was due to the toll early pregnancy was having on your body but the sound of stifled sobs caused him to stiffen.

He'd immediately placed the dinner plates onto the table, rushing to your side to kneel beside the chair where you sat.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He asked softly, lifting one of his hands to gently cup your cheek and wipe away your tears, caressing your soft skin with his thumb.

"I..miss my family.." you whispered quietly, your gaze thankfully adverted as Father Charlie clenched his jaw in growing frustration for the reason of your sudden sadness.

"I know you do. But think about it..your family think you've run away. You can't just suddenly show up pregnant, with no husband in sight." He attempted to sound reasonable and sympathetic, as if his sole purpose of keeping you within the four walls of his home was for your own good and not his.

"You're not the reincarnation of Mary, somebody put that baby inside of you and they'll want to know who."

You flinched at his words, perhaps he didn't mean to be so crass but the thought of you exposing him as the father of your child made him anxious.

Hurt by his words, you attempted to turn your head away but his hand nudged at your cheek to force your head back towards him.

"This goes beyond you, sweetheart. What about me? How can I support you if I lose my position? We'll lose this house, I'll lose the support of the community."

He intended to scare you into thinking the two of you could never survive if he were to lose his priesthood, that the luxury that came with the role was the only acceptable choice for your new family.

He knew you'd feel guilty enough at the thought of him losing everything he'd ever worked for to not raise the issue again, but it didn't stop you from feeling disappointed.

He placed one of his palms against your barely noticeable bump, a prideful smile replacing the scowl he wore a moment before.

"This is what happens, sweet girl. You move on, and you start your own family..you leave those you love behind to make space in your heart for new." He said in a soft yet condescending tone, attempting to sever the ties between you and your family completely.

You lowered your gaze as you allowed his words to soak in, unknowingly ingesting the poison that would slowly rid you of your clarity.

His infectious smile caused you to smile back, and for the first time during your pregnancy, you felt hopeful for the future the two of you would share.

Your second trimester brought its own challenges, your breasts were notably larger and constantly sore, and you were almost always in discomfort as the skin of your abdomen stretched to accommodate your growing bundle of joy.

Most days were spent perched in the same spot on the living room couch, no longer able to read nor watch the television as the outside world was all that seemed to occupy your mind.

Each time father Charlie left for mass you'd spend your hour of isolated silence staring out of the window into the front garden, watching as spring finally swept away the darkness of winter.

Once naked tree branches were now beautifully decorated with blossoming flower buds, sparsely planted flowers blooming from the ground while nature began to emerge from its hibernation.

Butterflies were a rare sighting so you were always pleased when one did appear, you thought you'd struck gold as two suddenly appeared to drift past and settle on the window ledge.

You leant closer to the window in fascination, A beautiful white butterfly trapped beneath a black and red patterned one.

It was oddly symbolic, the darkness holding the pure and innocent captive, much like how Father Charlie held you.

The sudden sound of a closing door forced you to jump, your hand falling to your rounded belly to clutch it as you glanced over your shoulder, your gaze meeting Father Charlie's.

He stood frozen in the doorway as he took a moment to admire the sight before him, how beautiful you looked as you sit and wait for him to return, the natural light reflecting against your skin to create a radiant glow.

"There's my girl." He murmured as he walked over to take a seat beside you, excitedly placing a hand on either side of your pregnant belly.

"Not much longer and I can finally come home to two beautiful girls." He chuckled, lowering his head to press a soft peck to the top of your baby bump.

"We don't know if we're having a girl." You replied, quietly giggling as you found his assumption of the gender amusing seeing as he was so adamant.

"Oh she's definitely a girl." He argued, lifting his head to look up at you before leaning in to place a delicate kiss to your lips, silencing you from correcting him once more.

He'd pulled away before you even had chance to reciprocate, your lips left parted as your eyes met once more.

"How have you been feeling? I thought perhaps we could take a walk around the church grounds later, get some fresh air?" He offered, a reward for your compliance now that he was confident you'd never run.

Later, meaning after it had gotten dark as he certainly couldn't allow anyone to see you now you were very visibly pregnant.

He watched as your eyes lit up with excitement at such a small offering of freedom and it left him nervous, mentally questioning how you'd act if he ever accidentally left the door unlocked.

"Great. But first, I've got some ideas about the nursery I'd like to run by you." He added, his hand falling from your bump to his pocket to retrieve his phone.

He lifted it slightly as he swiped through his apps in search of the photo one, clicking on it to then scroll upwards in search of the screenshots he'd taken from various shopping sites for inspiration.

"I was thinking neutral? Seeing as you're not going to let me paint it pink." He teased, smiling as he held the phone up just enough for you to see the inspiration photos he had.

It was later that evening that he'd taken you to the church grounds as promised, aware that gentle exercise is essential for expectant mothers and would aid the correct positioning of the baby as your due date drew closer.

He kept a slow pace as he walked beside you, acknowledging that due to the pressure bearing down on your pelvis it was uncomfortable to walk any faster.

Despite the discomfort, the walk was more than pleasing as you'd finally got to feel the fresh spring breeze brush past your skin while taking in a view far more pleasant than the same four walls of his home.

The church held many memories for you, most fond while some were unpleasant, such as your scuffle with Father Charlie.

You'd often dreamed of marrying at such a beautiful place, though now the thought of marriage was no longer as your relationship with Father Charlie would be frowned upon by most.

He'd often wondered whether you missed the church, the beautiful hymns you knew every word of and the scriptures you'd followed so closely until his corruption of you.

"Do you miss being here?" He asked sincerely after noticing the longing in your eyes as you take in the view, for once not taking the opportunity to taunt you.

You nodded simply in response, reminiscent of the Sundays you'd spent sat amongst your family as you looked for guidance from the Lord, when your feelings for Father Charlie were nothing more than your best kept secret.

"I do. I wish I'd have had some self restraint, things may have been different.."

Father Charlie grew stiff at your confession, your words of regret made him feel both uncomfortable and somewhat sad.

"But I'm not regretful. What good is regret? Everyone's path in life is different, and if it's God's will..I will gladly accept the path chosen for me." You softly add, turning your attention towards him as you smile warmly.

Somehow he'd felt even more sad, God's will never played a part in your fate, it was his decisions that led you down the path you now walked.

The warmth of your smile filled him with nothing more than shame, more shame than he'd inflicted upon you for attempting to better your future by aborting the living evidence of your sexual relationship, he understood in that very moment why you'd considered it.

You gently took hold of his hand, intertwining your fingers with his as a way of showing that the two of you would walk your ill fated path together.

"God will forgive us for our sins, and I hope you will forgive me for the selfish decision I almost made.." You timidly said, his reaction to the abortion you almost endured still ingrained on your mind.

Father Charlie could only respond with a smile, truly stunned by your sudden remorse and compliance, it was deeply unnerving.

Father Charlie never truly recovered from that day, he'd become even more nervy and on edge, waiting for you to one day take your revenge instead of now appreciating the compliance he'd always sought from you.

It was several weeks until your supposed due date and you could barely tell the difference between every day pain and possible contractions.

The pain prevented you from sleeping at night, every time you'd settle another sharp pain in your lower abdomen would disturb you, leaving you exhausted and desperate for your pregnancy to be over with.

Father Charlie felt your accidental nudges throughout the night as you stirred, always waking from his own slumber to ask whether you were okay.

He was reluctant to leave for mass one morning but you insisted he should, convinced that the pain was nothing more than those practise contractions you'd read so much about, but you couldn't have been more wrong.

The pain became drastically worse and had you still been in possession of your phone, you'd have called the first contact you could to come and help.

The intense pain lasted for just a few seconds every couple of minutes, it was a pain you could only describe as a tightening squeeze across your lower abdomen.

Father Charlie had returned from mass to find you slumped against the wall in the hallway with your knees slightly bent up towards your chest, your hand desperately shaking as you clutched at your belly while your body writhed in pain.

His eyes widening in panic as dropped his briefcase in desperate hurry, rushing to your side faster than his mind could even comprehend before falling to his knees beside you.

Your skin was visibly clammy while your face was scrunched in clear discomfort, your purposeful drawn out breathes interrupted as loud pain filled sobs erupt from your lips when another contraction reached its peak.

Father Charlie was visibly panicked, untrained and certainly not educated enough to deliver a baby but there was hardly any time to wait for his doctor friend.

"Baby? Baby, tell me how far apart the contractions are?" He asked, attempting to sound confident while completely overcome with nerves, raising a hand to softly stroke your hair in an attempt to comfort you.

"I, I don't know!" You choke out, arching your back from against the wall as the pain rippled through your abdomen uncomfortably.

Unbeknownst to father Charlie, your mother had followed him home in hope of seeking the comfort he'd often provided her in regard to your disappearance.

Though he could hardly hear a thing over your agonised sobbing, a loud knock at the door followed by a familiar voice caused him to freeze in absolute panic.

"Father Charlie, are you there?" She called out, and the sound of your mother's comforting voice was everything you'd wished to hear as your body fought to bring new life into the world.

Father Charlie glanced over his shoulder at the door, his breath audibly trembling as he believed the two of you would inevitably be caught.

He felt your body tense beside him, confident that a contraction was impending, and as you began to let out a violent sob his hand came to harshly cover your mouth to muffle it.

It felt sickeningly cruel to touch you this way knowing the intense pain that rushed throughout your body, but he just needed to let your mother leave before attending to your greatly immense suffering and the delivery of his beautiful baby.

Taglist; @targaryenswhxre @dckweed @psychocitylights @yoongling 💖💖

[kirain]

Part 21 of my appreciation project.

@spinfins A fic based on their wonderful fanfic here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

Art by @toonybrin here!

The water was warm, but Emmrich barely seemed to feel it.

"Bathe him," Dorian had said. "Just enough to soak his wounds. Don't fill the tub. Don't scrub. We don't know the extent of his injuries, and we don't need you peeling his skin like you would a salmon."

Rook winced at the image, and Dorian apologised.

"Look, just... run over them with a sponge as best you can. We can't heal him with magic, so dab away whatever grime you can to prevent infection."

"Right."

"If you need help, give me a shout. I'll come running."

She could have—she considered it—but Emmrich had already been violated and laid bare before too many eyes. She trusted Dorian, knew he wouldn't take any pleasure in it, but the guilt of undressing Emmrich when he had no mind to object weighed heavily on her conscience. She knew he wouldn't want her—or anyone, for that matter—to see him in such a gruesome state.

"I'm so sorry."

She had cradled his head as she helped him into the tub, careful as one might be with glass—no, not glass. He was softer than that. Bruised flesh and weary bone and breath that stuttered shallow in his throat. She'd held him up as he slumped, arms limp around her shoulders, legs shaking as she lowered him into the water.

He'd wailed. Thrashed.

Of course it hurt.

Now he leaned back against the copper edge, his head lolled to one side, damp strands of silver clinging to his forehead. His lips were dry, cracked. His one good eyelid fluttered but didn't open. He looked a hundred years older, and infinitely more fragile.

Rook dipped the sponge again, wrung it out, and brushed it over his shoulder.

He groaned.

She stopped.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Emmrich didn't respond. He sighed arduously through his teeth, the sound tight and unnatural. Maker, she hated this. She hated it almost as much as she hated the Venatori and Ghilan'nain. She bit the inside of her cheek, her fingers trembling as she began again—slower, barely more than a caress over the mottled bruises blooming down his ribs and across his stomach.

"Don't wash his hair," Dorian had warned. "Don't dunk his head or cover his mouth. Don't do anything that might give him the impression he's drowning. He still hasn't regained control of his faculties."

Rook obeyed.

After the ritual—after witnessing what a semiconscious mage could do under strain—she hadn't dared take any chances. She'd gone further still, resting his shackled wrists over the edge of the tub, too afraid to let them sink beneath the water. Instead, she'd dabbed at the skin she could reach, and even that had made him jolt in agony.

And now, she was subjecting him to yet more torment, lapping the soapy, browning water over his hollow abdomen. The dirt and clotted blood refused to lift, her strokes too restrained, too tentative—but she prayed the remedy would seep into his wounds well enough to atone for her cowardice.

"You'll need another bath," she said, forcing a smile. She knew he couldn't see it, but she hoped he'd hear it in her tone. "When you're feeling better, maybe Dorian can take us to a fancy bath house."

She chuckled at the notion, then frowned.

Come on, kid. We both know you're not gonna let him outside after this.

Varric was right. She wasn't sure how she'd ever let him out of her sight again.

But you need to get over it. Spooks will never heal if you smother him. He's a free spirit. You need to let him fly, to restore his faith in humanity, or this whole thing'll break him.

"Yeah, well—" Her jaw clenched. "That's easy for you to say... when you're not wrist deep in his bloody bath water. I have to keep him safe."

Suddenly, Emmrich tensed as the sponge drifted over his left side. Another groan—hoarse this time, and louder. His brows furrowed and he tried to pull away.

"I know, I know." She shuddered. "I'm trying not to hurt you."

She didn't cry—she didn't have the right, not when he was the one suffering—but the tears burned behind her eyes like smoke. She'd never seen him like this. Emmrich, with all his gentleness and virtue, reduced to raw breaths and the occasional twitch of a hand he could no longer lift.

She couldn't wash him thoroughly, but she could at least do it reverently, whispering "sorry" into the air each time the sponge strayed too close to his lesions—so many times, the word could've defined her entire life's vocabulary.

When he was clean—or as clean as she could delude herself into thinking he was—she drained the tub in silence and fetched a towel, draping it over him with tender hands.

But even that hurt him.

"Vishante Kaffas..."

He was barely conscious as she dried him off, yet he still reacted. His skin was too pale, the bruises too vivid. She spoke his name once, desperate for him to hear, but he didn't respond.

She didn't stop.

She dressed the worst of his wounds—the split along his ribs, the scratch on his shoulder, the angry swelling around his abdomen. She even tried to patch the infuriating gash on his nose, but he wouldn't allow it, moaning and recoiling, expending energy he couldn't afford to waste. No matter how gently she approached, no matter how many reassurances she gave, any contact with his face was voicelessly forbidden.

His face.

His handsome face.

How many times had those foul cultists grabbed it? How many times had they pried his mouth open and forced that poison down his throat? How close had they been? What did he see? Did he taste their sweat, their transgressions, the metallic tang of their gloves? Did he smell their rancid breath?

She wanted to scream. No wonder he didn't want to be touched, and she had no wish to upset him.

She let it go.

He's not clean, kid. You're wrapping dirty wounds. All you did was get them a little wet. There's still gunk inside.

"No. Dorian said the soap had elfroot and myrrh in it, and he told me not to scrub. He'll be fine." She shook her head. "You'll be fine, Emmrich."

Fair enough.

By the time she finished, the room smelled of herbs and gauze—and shame.

"All right," she muttered, rising to her feet. "We need to get you to bed, sweetheart. Can you handle it?"

He said nothing, of course, but the faint tilt of his head struck Rook as a precious flicker of awareness.

She embraced him, slipping her arms under his. "On three, okay? One... two... three."

He gasped sharply as he stood, nearly choking on it.

Rook winced. "I've got you. I've got you."

He sagged against her, dead weight in her arms as she dragged him from the tub. His poor shins struck the rim with a dull clang that echoed off the walls—but if he felt it, he gave no sign. The greater pain had numbed him to the rest.

"Kaffas..."

Rook staggered back under the sudden pressure. He was so much larger than her, so much heavier in his weakness. But she didn't fall—she couldn't. With a nimble twirl, she hooked one arm beneath his and the other around his waist, then bore him forward with a strength that belied her size.

They made it halfway across the room when his knees buckled.

"No. No, Emmrich—!"

She tightened her grip, but it was too late. He dropped to the floor, almost in slow motion, whimpering as his legs folded beneath him.

"Emmrich!" She crouched beside him, steadying him against her chest. He was trembling, his eyes rolling under their lids. "Sweetheart, you have to stay with me."

He groaned in defiance, head hanging low between his shoulder blades. One hand hovered over his ribs, his body curled ever so slightly inward.

"You can rest all you want once you're in your nice warm bed," Rook promised, her voice quaking but kind. "I'll even fluff the pillows for you. But you have to stand. Just one more time. Please. Can you do that for me?"

For a long moment, she feared he might pass out right there on the floor.

But eventually—painfully—he nodded.

"That's it," she praised. "It's almost over."

With immense effort, she hauled him upright, her heart twisting at the sound of his pitiful mewls. He was heavier than before, swaying into her—directionless. Gritting her teeth, she took a tottering step forward, bearing his weight inch by inch.

"That's it," she huffed. "Just lean on me. You're doing so well, sweetheart. We're almost there."

His lips parted, and one word scarcely escaped: "Rook..."

Her breath caught.

She almost stumbled.

She could have bawled from the way he said her name—like it meant everything. Like it was his reason for living, for enduring days of torture, for clinging to whatever scraps of hope he had left.

Her name was the thread that kept him tethered to reality.

"I... I'm here," she stuttered. "Just keep walking. I won't let you fall again."

Step by slow, agonising step, they made it to the bed—finally. Rook let out a long, exhausted breath and eased him down, her hand cupping the back of his head with the same care one might use to lower an infant into a crib.

"Ah, ah..." Emmrich stiffened the moment he met the mattress—the shift in stance, the pull of gravity, all wringing fresh pain from his battered midsection.

"I'm sorry," Rook murmured for the millionth time, adjusting him in search of the most comfortable position.

It took some trial and error, some fumbling, but lying on his back—with a cushion propping up his left side—seemed to suit him best. That side, for whatever reason, caused him the most distress.

"I'm sorry. So sorry."

His breathing was harsh, laboured, but once she had him settled, he melted under the blankets, the creases in his forehead loosening like knots unravelled. Lying there, his head nestled in a feathery pillow, he looked so small. So achingly innocent.

That was Emmrich Volkarin—a man of boundless compassion, who weathered sorrow without resentment, resisted violence until it was unavoidable, and reached for every outstretched hand, no matter how fleeting. A rare gleam of gold in a world tarnished by cruelty, hatred, and neglect.

"Emmrich, I..."

Rook's fingers curled into fists, her nails carving crescents into her palms. This was the first time since his rescue that she'd had a chance to truly look at him—alone, with no well-meaning intrusions, no one there to poke or prod him. Bathed, bandaged, soul intact—yet he was still a wreck. Still broken. Still soiled. Her jaw clenched, her teeth grinding into her gums.

What kind of monster could do this to a man like him?

They deserved to die. The Venatori. Elgar'nan. Ghilan'nain.

They all deserved to die!

"Dar...ling..."

She froze.

Emmrich's good eye fluttered open, just for a heartbeat—so swift she almost thought she'd imagined it. He looked at her, perhaps even smiled—all of it gone in the span of a second.

"Thank you..." he wheezed.

She didn't move. She didn't dare. Sleep had finally claimed him, and she feared even her own breathing might shatter the silence. An eternity seemed to pass before she was certain she wouldn't disturb him. Then she sat beside him on the bed, her eyes wide and shimmering. She reached for his hand—cold, chained, bare in a way that felt wrong—and held it gently between her own, as if she could shield him from the memory of his abduction.

And she wept.

[kayharrisons]

If you got a boyfriend, I'm jealous of him. But if you're single, that's honestly worse [Tyler x Reader x Bjorn] [NSFW, 18+ ONLY]

He doesn't know what's worse; his cousin's girlfriend or the fact that he can't get her off his damn mind.

A/N: 18+ only!!! i promise igddtdts is STILL in the works but I wanted to get this lil brain bunny out ehehehehe yes the song is a line from gorgeous by taylor swift also PS this is a FIC in no way do I condone cheating or anything like that so like. Don't go out and do that, it's bad!!!!! I'm DEBATING a part 2 for this but we'll see

Warnings: jealous behavior, possessive thoughts, Temptation™️, cheating, Bjorn knows he's fucked up here but he makes no efforts to change LMAO, exhibitionism, accidental overhearing of Sex, Cheeky Wank Mention™️, sexual acts, Tyler's face gets ridden, unprotected sex (wear a condom!!!), reader is a lil bit of an attention seeking minx ehehe, footsie

He can't stand her.

Tyler's new girlfriend is a sweet thing, always attached to him at the hip, it seems.

She works down at the housing offices, had met Tyler when he'd came by to pay rent and sparks had flown. Or some shite.

Tyler is head over heels, acting like a fucking sap most days. It's not surprising, he'd acted as such with Rain when that doomed relationship had been a thing.

But Rain and Tyler had broken up (damn near split the entire group too, fuck you very much), had been over for some years now, it was natural for his cousin to go out and get out there again.

Hell, Bjorn had encouraged it. In less than polite terms, of course.

But damn, did Tyler need to get fucking laid. His cousin had been tense more often than not, always frowning, always moping.

Sad sod.

And so, he'd met her.

He'd made some dumb joke about rent that Bjorn couldn't even bother to remember, and she'd supposedly found it hilarious, and bam, here they were, going strong a year later.

He hadn't minded her, at first.

Sure, her laugh was always the loudest, easy to pick out amongst others. She laughed way too easily, seemed to find everything funny.

Sure, her smile was the brightest, brighter than any star Bjorn could recall seeing. It was toothy, framed by perfect lips, which looked oh so sof-

But then that had started.

His thoughts tended to wander, now.

She would show up to the shitty bar they'd deigned their hang out, wearing those damn pencil skirts that hugged her hips and backside just so, or those slacks that made her legs look longer. Her blouse would be untucked, a button or two undone and her elegant neck exposed. Sometimes her eyes locked with his for a beat too long and he felt a fucking current shoot up his spine.

Innocent enough.

But oh, how Bjorn had thought about tearing that skirt right off of her body, collapsing to his knees and feasting on her pussy until the only name she knew was his. Hell, he'd do it in front of Tyler, if he had to, just to get the fucking point across-

Fuck, he was fucked.

If there was a hell, he was going straight there. Normal blokes didn't fantasise about fucking their cousin's girlfriend. A cheeky wank or two over it, maybe, but god, Bjorn felt unhinged.

He could feel his self control slipping, with every interaction, with every meeting of eyes.

He felt insane every time he saw his cousin's hands on you. An arm around your shoulders, a hand on your thigh, a finger tucking your hair behind your ear.

All instinctive, sweet touches between a couple. Nothing offensive.

And yet Bjorn wanted to set himself on fucking fire every time he saw it.

Jesus, maybe he needed to get laid.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

You let out a strangled moan as Tyler licks another hot, wet stripe from your core to your clit, your fingers tightening in his hair as you ground down on his face.

"That's a good girl," he groans, hands tightening on your hips, rocking you to and fro against his face. He gently sucks your clit into his mouth, before soothing it with his tongue, releasing it briefly. "Always ride my face so fuckin' well, darlin', always look so fuckin' good using me to get yourself off."

"Tyler-" you damn near sob, bucking your hips faster, and faster, as you feel that ever familiar tightening sensation that signals your orgasm is approaching. "Baby, fuck- I'm so fucking close-"

He groans again, removing his mouth and staring up at you, panting softly. His handsome face is soaked in your slick, his eyes dark as they hungrily rove over your figure. A boyish grin lights up his face as you whine. He stands to his full height, towering over you as he backs you over to your desk.

"The blinds aren't down-" you hiss, only to be silenced by a kiss that tastes of you.

"So?" he hums, nosing at your neck, kissing his way down to your collarbone, where he lightly nips a mark into your skin. He kisses further, over your clothed breast, swirling his tongue against the pebbling nipple. "All people are gonna see is me fuckin' my girl, just the way she wants it."

You moan softly, rubbing your thighs together at the thought. It's sinful, downright naughty, even. But it gets you... well, hot. Thinking about someone happening to glance in, to see Tyler balls deep inside of you, making you forget your own name.

Fuck, it makes you damn near gush a fucking flood.

Tyler smiles that boyish grin again at your moan. "Such a good girl for me," he coos, as he unzips his jeans, shoving them down his legs along with his boxers. He pumps his hand up and down his shaft once, then twice, gathering the precum slowly forming at the head and stroking it up and down his cock with a stifled sigh. "Fuck, jesus- you want it-"

"Raw," you whisper, leaning back on your desk, legs spread wide for him. "Wanna feel you, Tyler. Need you to cum inside me so fucking bad, baby, I've been aching for it-"

He groans again, stepping between your spread legs and rubbing the head of his cock through your wetness. Both of your breaths catch in your chests, your eyes locking as he finally pushes his cock inside of you.

Your twin moans echo in the small building. Thank god it's your lunch break.

He doesn't start off gentle, like he usually does. No, neither of you have the patience today. The pace is damn near brutal, his hips snapping fiercely against yours, your cunt aching in the most delicious way possible as he fucks you hard and fast.

It's a miracle your desk is still standing, by the time you're done.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"You alright, cuz?" Tyler grins as he claps Bjorn on the shoulder, collapsing into a seat beside him at the bar.

Bjorn grunts, not quite looking at him as he fidgets with the tab on his can of beer.

Tyler arches a brow. "Fucks sake, must've been a shite day if it's got you all quiet."

Rather the oppsite, Bjorn wants to spit back, Got to hear your girlfriend moaning and begging to get filled with cum, got enough material to fuel a thousand masturbation fantasies and fucking more. Close the blinds next time you fucking exhibitionist.

He of course says none of that.

"Summit like that." Bjorn shrugs instead. "So where's-"

"Hey," you grin, sliding into the seat beside Tyler. Bjorn almost groans.

Of fucking course it was the skirt today. God, he hoped some fucking grunt would come along and fire a pulse rifle into his head.

"Sup?" he greets, barely looking at you.

You're well used to Bjorn's behaviour by now but...

Well, that won't do.

You're in love with Tyler, yeah. Absolutely devoted to him alone, but...

You like the attention that Bjorn desperately tries not to give you. You like the struggle of watching him try not to stare at your ass in a skirt, or your tits in your blouse. You like watching his jaw tick and his knuckles tighten on his glass whenever Tyler gets handsy.

It's thrilling.

It's maddening when his eyes aren't on you.

God forbid he even thinks about looking at another girl.

You shift in your seat, crossing one leg over the other, completely casual.

Your foot stretches out, casually gliding up and doen Bjorn's calf. He tenses, looking at you with confusion, his brow furrowed in thought. Perhaps he thought you'd aimed for Tyler and missed.

You meet his eyes, sliding your foot up his calf, over his knee, up his thigh...

He inhales sharply, taking a sip of beer as he listens to Tyler chat about his work day.

You toy with the zipper of Bjorn's pants. Of course, you can't unzip but...

The feeling of something getting firmer beneath your touch sends a thrill down your spine, makes your pussy pulse with want. Your eyes meet Bjorn's again, and oh fuck, if the sight of the blue of his eyes being taken over by his pupils doesn't make your cunt fucking damn near gush...

You remove your foot, watching Bjorn's fingers tighten on his can, his eyes burning into your face, trailing to your lips, down your neck, your breasts...

His eyes snap up to the mark on your neck, his nostrils flaring as he leans back in his chair, throwing back the rest of his can in one smooth gulp.

"Gonna head," he grunts, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair and holding it on his lap, glancing between the pair of you. "Enjoy yourselves or whateva, alright? Try not to fuck in front of everyone, yeah?"

And he's off, before you or Tyler can even say a word. Tyler watches after his cousin with concern, brow pinched and frown of worry firmly set into his handsome face.

"What's up with him?" He ponders, and you hum, taking your eyes off of Bjorn's backside in order to smile at him.

"No idea."

[keanusbabydoll]

Please write more michael myers pics ♥️ I’m totally drooling 🤤

ONLY HIS

a/n: you ask and you shall receive!! here’s another request for our hot oldman!myers😏

paring: peepaw!myers x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ content, violence, murder, michael’s a warning himself, slightest degrading, spanking, rough sex, no foreplay, HUGE age gap, p in v, unprotected sex, use of y/n

wordcount: 2.4k

masterlist

••••••••••❦❦❦❦•••••••••

in the quiet town of haddonfield, an unusual relationship unfolded between an infamous figure and a young woman who saw something different beneath his masked exterior. barely 20 year old y/n had been with michael myers for two years, in what could only be described as a twisted, dangerous kind of romance. despite the violent and cryptic nature that had carved him into a legend of fear, michael was possessive and protective in way that almost made y/n feel safe, cherished. their intimacy was intense, a secret kept tightly locked within the walls of their home, the old myers house.

one evening however, y/n craved the taste if normalcy. she'd been cooped up, living in michael's isolated world, and the memory of a carefree night out with her friends tugged at her heart. tonight, she'd decided she'd indulge. she slipped into a slinky black dress, her curves accentuated perfectly. she knew it was bold and risky, considering michael's possessiveness. yet, he wasn't home and she had no idea when he would return. this gave her just the window she needed. her friends picked her up and soon they were at a club, where the music and the neon lights drowned out any lingering apprehension about her decision.

as the hours wore on, y/n was lost in laughter and dancing, her worries about michael fading. around an hour in, she met a guy named jason. he seemed friendly, he was easy to talk to. they chatted briefly, mostly small talk, but nothing that would've even registered as interesting to her. still, as the night deepened, she started to feel an ache in her legs and feet, a tiredness settling in. it was 2 am. and y/n knew it was time to leave.

she said goodbye to her friends, intending to head home alone.

just as she was about to leave, jason offered to walk her back, but y/n declined. she knew michael’s possessiveness too well—he’d barely tolerate her with another man’s presence, let alone walking her home. but jason was persistent, smiling and saying, “it’s not safe out here for a girl alone at this time.” despite her refusals, he walked alongside her anyway.

as they neared her street, an unsettling tension built inside y/n. she’d sensed something shadowing her steps, a chill that hung in the air. she walked faster, jason following behind her, chatting casually. they were almost at her door when she heard a strange rustle, a weird sound that shouldn’t have been there.

she froze, her breath hitching. slowly, she turned, and the sight made her stomach drop.

michael stood there, his expression unreadable beneath his mask, yet his stance dripped with barely controlled rage. a bloody knife gleamed in his hand, and at his feet lay jason’s lifeless body, blood staining the pavement.

a strangled cry escaped y/n’s lips, and she turned to run. but before she could even make it to the door, michael closed the distance, grabbing her around the neck. she choked, her vision blurring as he tightened his grip, cutting off any attempt to escape. then, with a rough, forceful movement, he threw her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing at all.

"michael, please,” she gasped, her voice muffled. “it’s not what it looked like, I swear.”

but michael didn’t respond, didn’t even give a hint of mercy in his movements. his grip on her was brutal as he strode into their house, the heavy door slamming shut behind them. he didn’t waste time, heading straight to the kitchen before setting her down roughly on the counter. y/n‘s body trembled, her mind spinning with panic and anticipation as she saw the cold rage flicker in his eyes.

“i didn’t want him to walk me back. I tried to tell him,” she pleaded, her voice breathless.

michael remained silent, his grip digging into her waist as he leaned over her. slowly, almost torturously, he pressed closer, his eyes watching every movement she made, every breath she took. there was something terrifyingly predatory in his gaze, and y/n felt herself trapped in it. he didn’t need words to show his displeasure; the look in his eyes and the tense silence spoke volumes.

“michael…” she tried again, but he cut her off, his fingers hooking under the strap of her dress and ripping it down with a violent pull, the fabric falling away from her skin and landing in a heap on the floor.

a cruel smirk seemed to linger in his gaze as he trailed his hand over her now-bare shoulder. it stopped by her bra which he tore apart, followed by her lace panties and tossed it away.

y/n’s heart pounded, caught between fear and the twisted excitement that only michael could draw out in her. the fact that she sat there completely naked in front of his clothed form made something inside her tingle. she wanted to explain, to tell him that it had been innocent, but his cold gaze told her that he wouldn’t accept any excuses.

before she could even react michael reached around her throat again and pulled her off the counter. he immediately turned her around and pressed her upper body flush against the cold marble, her nipples hardening at the sudden cold. her brows were furrowed in fear, scared that he would do something to her. but when she hear him dropping his knife to the floor and unzipping his suit, relief washed over her.

but suddenly it went all quiet, her heart began to beat faster and faster and adrenaline was pumping through her veins.

smack.

a painful yelp escaped her mouth when she felt a stinging pain on her ass cheek. before she could even fully comprehend it the next hit came down on her already. her body surged forward and her face crunched up in discomfort. she tried to push her body up but michael instantly had his hand on her back, forcing her to stay in place and let his other hand spank her ass again.

he gave five more slaps to each cheek before he felt pleased with his work, the fire red handprints only satisfying him even more. tears were streaming down her face but the arousal that was slowly drenching the insides of her thighs betrayed her. her core was burning with desire and practically begged to be fucked.

she heard michael stepping closer to her and a quiet hum left her mouth when she felt the tip of his cock pressing directly against her soaking entrance. his hands gripped her hips harshly, almost punishing. with a swift move of his hips and his hands pulling her back against him, he entered her with ease til his hips where flush against her ass.

a cracked cry echoed in the room, her eyes were shut in pain. he was stretching her walls to their maximum, it was always painful at first when they had sex. and not to forget his length. she could feel his tip kissing her cervix in an uncomfortable way.

but this time michael wouldn’t wait a minute or two for her to get used to his size. no. she would regret what she did.

he immediately started off with a fast, bruising pace making her whine out. her nails were scraping against the counter, trying to find something to hold on to. "please slow down michael.“ she mewled, voice shaky. michael groaned out, slapping her already bruised ass, signing her that she should shut her mouth and stop complaining.

he let his hips clash rougher and quicker against her ass, here and there slapping her flesh. y/n was seeing stars, his pace too much for her and the stinging pain didn’t help much. yet, michael could make her drunk off his cock with ease. the way his tip always hit her spongy spot with the right force sent intense waves of pleasure through her body and made her almost forget about the pain.

but the force of his hips reminded her that he was still mad at her, pissed off by what he witnessed a few minutes ago. nothing stopped his uncaring pace. when he looked down to where their bodies connected, it made him pound into her heat harder, her pathetic whines now turning into moans that even pornstars would envy.

her nails scratched stronger against the marble and her eyes where tightly closed. slowly she felt the coil in her womb building up, her walls clenching around his thick cock desperately. "i‘m close.“ she squeaked out, the constant stimulation on her spot edging her closer to her release.

michaels grip harshened, digging his short nails into her flesh. "no.“ she could her hear him faintly growl out. it was rare that michal spoke, it only occurred when he was warning her or when she was hurt.

y/n‘s blood almost froze when she heard his deep, raspy voice. it was always a shock for her to hear his voice.

she felt herself getting closer and closer but with the blink of an eye, michael pulled out of her. she mewled out at the sudden emptiness and the denial of her approaching orgasm which was fading away completely. slowly, y/n turned her head to look at him with begging eyes.

he was staring down at her, head tilted and mask off.

"please michael.“ she whispered.

michael surged forward, wrapping his arms around her waist before he pulled her up and pushed her against the nearest wall. he immediately followed her, grabbing her hair, turning her head to face him. "slut.“ he muttered lowly before he smashed his lips against her pulling her into an rough yet furious kiss. she immediately responded, moving her lips in sync with his. without breaking the kiss, michael snaked a hand around her body, pushing her hips back. then, he gripped both her wrist and pulling them behind her back, holding them in place.

in a matter of seconds he entered her again, his pace just as ruthless as before. the new position made him go even deeper, reaching spots that sent shivers down her spine she didn’t even know existed. michael growled shamelessly into their kiss, showing that he enjoyed this.

one hand still held her wrists together, while the other reached around her middle, finding her clit. he rubbed fast circles on it before he pulled away again, sending a punishing slap straight to it. "fuck!“ she screamed into the kiss before she pulled away, breathing in and out heavily. her eyes searched for his and when she finally met them, all she could see was lust, the same lust that gleamed in his eyes when he satisfied his need to kill someone.

loud and sinful moans, cry’s echoed through the room and the sound of skin slapping against each others made y/n‘s brain go all fuzzy. at that point she couldn’t think straight anymore, the only thing on her mind was michael and how good he was fucking her.

again, michael let his fingers glide to her sensitive nub and flicked them rapidly on it. her knees began to buckle at the sudden stimulation, legs completely shaking.

this time she felt her orgasm approaching even faster than before, her walls clamping down on his cock, almost at the peak of her high. michael was on the verge of cumming as well, her clutching walls just adding to his pleasure.

"oh god michael, please let me cum!“ y/n spluttered out, not being able to hold it in any longer. she could feel it, it was almost there, just seconds away, when michael removed his digits once more.

"michael!!“ she cried out, tears of frustration streaming down her cheeks. she needed to cum, the denial was unbearable to take.

his thrusts got more erratic but for sure didn’t slow down, instead they became violently fast, animalistic almost. high pitched moans left y/n‘s lip as she tried to wriggle free from his grip. but michael just gripped her harder.

one more time, michael pressed his fingers to her clit and began to rub. immediately, y/n could feel her high building up in a matter of seconds. "yes! just like t-that.“ she whimpered out, desperate to cum.

michael fucked into her, chasing his own release and when he felt her walls pulsing around her, he gave in, spurting his white seed deep inside of her. a low growl left his mouth, followed by loud, sharp breaths.

michael‘s orgasm just triggered her own and finally he didn’t stop his movements, he kept assaulting her clit and with a last push of his hips y/n released on his cock with an pornographic moan. pure ecstasy rushed through her shaking body, eyes rolling to the back of her skull. he continued to fuck her through her release intensifying her pleasure to its maximum.

her head fell back against his chest, her body completely worn out, barely able to hold herself up anymore.

michael‘s hips finally came to an halt and his digits relieved her pearl. he slowly pulled out of her, making her squeak quietly. he released her wrists and took a step back, glaring down at her writhing form he caused. he almost began to smirk, almost like he was proud of himself to get you in such a state.

she was leaning her head against the wall, her hands flattened on it, trying to support herself. but she was too weak, her legs didn’t have the strength anymore. she slowly sank down to the floor, leaning against the wall. with hazy eyes she looked up to him. he looked so powerful, so intimidating.

she watched him as he pulled his suit up, closing the zip. he stood there for a few seconds, admiring his art. "i’m sorry, michael. i love you.“ she whispered, apologizing again, hoping he would forgive her.

all she got in reply was a head tilt. in situations like these she hated it that michael only talked this rarely.

but then, michael bowed down, reaching her level, before he grabbed her body, lifting her up. he carried her bridal style, slowly making his way up to their shared bedroom. a warm smile spread across her face, snuggling up against his chest. he had a strange way to show his affection, but even little things made y/n‘s warm up.

michael would always care for her. doesn’t matter what happened. something about her made him weak. she was his weakness.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Duet of Fire and Fate

Part Four | Series Masterlist

Summary: Aemond can't seem to steer clear of the pianist, and it's not the outcome either were expecting | Word Count: 8.4k~ | Warnings: smut, hate sex, oral sex (f receiving), sabotage

It was the third day in a row Aemond had been unable to function in the morning without standing in the shower, forehead against the tiles, water lapping against his shoulders and eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he fisted his length to completion.

It wasn't always this hard to get off, was it?

Each build to that blissful peak was haunted by the memory of her. How warm she'd been. How tight. Her face as she clenched hard around him. And he'd stop, not wanting that memory to be the thing that hurled him off the edge.

But it was the third day in a row he'd failed to do so. It was always her. Lips parted, cheeks flushed, her necklace taught across her heaving collarbone, that finished him off.

At first, he groaned in annoyance. But slowly, as his control each time wavered, acceptance began to creep in. And with that, regret.

She was easy to avoid. Being a rival school meant that he didn't even have to see her if he didn't want to. And it partly made him realise that he saw her so often before this because he'd secretly hope he'd bump into her.

Now it couldn't be more different.

He sat in the practice room, several students tuned their instruments. His grandfather advising them. Aemond’s fingers ghosted over the strings of his cello, the vibrations almost too subtle to feel beneath his fingertips. He hadn’t planned on letting things go as far as they did. But each rehearsal, each rivalry-fuelled exchange, and then finally…

He’d left her there.

The regret lingered like an uninvited guest, seated firmly at the back of his mind, as he replayed that night over and over. He didn’t mean to think of her, but it happened without effort.

Aemond’s bow slipped on the strings, producing an unsteady note. His jaw clenched.

He hadn’t spoken to her since.

He hadn’t allowed himself to. If anyone knew about it, his family, Otto, they’d see it as a distraction, a sign of weakness. He couldn't afford that. Not with his performance on the horizon. Not with the pressure to perfect every movement, every sound. He had worked too hard for too long to let a single night get in the way of his future.

His hand reached for his phone, hesitating before he let it fall back to his side. Realising perhaps that he didn't even have her number. Only her Instagram in his search history.

He wanted to know if she was thinking about him too, or if she had written him off as cold, arrogant. He wasn't sure which possibility unsettled him more. His pulse quickened as he imagined her face when he left, maybe angry, or worse, indifferent.

Otto, hands in pockets, stood in front of him, encouraging Aemond to raise his gaze.

“Good. Keep going.”

There was something unsettling about how nice Otto was being today.

Aemond’s bow hesitated just above the strings. He hadn’t played his best moments ago, distracted by thoughts of her. His grip tightened. Otto didn’t seem to notice the mistakes, or worse, he didn’t care.

His grandfather had always pushed him toward perfection, to sharpen every note like a blade. So why did he feel so...forgiving now?

Aemond straightened his back, shifting his weight. Something was off, and he hated it. His grandfather wasn’t the type to offer encouragement, not like this, not when he should have been correcting the slight tremor in Aemond’s bow hand or the uneven pacing. His praise was always earned, and Aemond had always known how to achieve it. But this? This wasn’t earned.

He adjusted his grip on the bow, unsure whether to obey or question Otto’s uncharacteristic behaviour. Aemond’s focus wavered again, the image of the pianist still clinging to his thoughts, and with it, the same suffocating mix of regret and uncertainty.

He could feel Otto’s attention sharpen, even if the older man didn’t say a word. It was the silence, the way he let the imperfection hang in the air, unaddressed, that gnawed at Aemond. His grandfather never let mistakes slide. He always demanded more, always expected Aemond to rise above his peers, to be better, stronger, sharper. Perfect.

But not today.

Today, Otto’s silence was suffocating.

When the last note faded, Aemond let the bow drop to his lap, frustration twisting in his gut. His breaths were shallow, controlled, but the tension refused to release.

Otto didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on Aemond, the weight of his presence unbearable.

“I don’t need...this,” Aemond finally muttered, his voice harsher than he intended. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

Otto’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, Aemond thought he saw the flicker of something, a knowing, a calculation, one of those silent judgments Otto was famous for. But then his expression smoothed into that unnerving calm again.

“I’m just observing, Aemond,” Otto said, his tone measured, as if he hadn’t noticed the frustration brimming beneath the surface. “You’ve been different lately. Distracted.”

Aemond bristled, his fingers gripping the bow tighter. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?” Otto tilted his head slightly, his gaze piercing. “I’ve seen this before, you know. You’re slipping. Like you were when you were with her.”

Alys.

The accusation hit Aemond like a cold blade, slicing through the control he’d been struggling to maintain. Slipping? He wasn’t slipping. He was still practising every day, still working toward the recital, still chasing perfection as he always had.

Being distracted by Alys and then by the pianist were two different tortures. He wanted to open his mouth to speak in support of Alys, for she hadn't done anything to slight him, not really.

But she kept slipping into his mind, no matter how much he tried to push her out.

Aemond’s jaw clenched. “I’m not slipping.”

Otto took a slow step forward, his eyes narrowing as if he could see right through Aemond, see the truth buried beneath the surface. “You think I don’t know when my grandson is distracted?”

Aemond tried to steady his breathing, tried to push back against the overwhelming sense that his grandfather had already pieced it together. He couldn’t let Otto know. Not about her. Not about what happened. It was supposed to be nothing, a moment of weakness, something he could forget. But Otto could read him too well.

“I’m not distracted,” Aemond shot back, his voice sharper now, more defensive. “I’ve been practising. I’m ready.”

Otto raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Perfection requires more than practice,” he said slowly, as if lecturing a student who wasn’t quite understanding the lesson. “It requires control. And you, right now, are lacking it.”

Aemond’s chest tightened. It wasn’t just his playing that Otto was talking about, it was his discipline, his focus. His life.

“Whatever it is,” Otto continued, his tone growing harder now, “you will end it.”

“There isn’t anything to end,” Aemond replied, his voice steady but edged with defiance. He looked Otto in the eye, unwilling to show the tension that was building inside him. “There never was.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not really. Because whatever had happened, it was a mistake. One he shouldn’t have made in the first place. And yet, as he spoke the words, a flicker of doubt settled in his chest, gnawing at the truth he was trying so hard to maintain.

“Good. Now play again.”

As Aemond finished packing up his cello, carefully placing the bow into its case, he heard the familiar shuffle of footsteps approaching. He glanced up to see Oscar Tully, his classmate, standing in the doorway with a wide grin plastered on his face. Oscar was one of the more easygoing students, always looking for some distraction from the gruelling practice schedules that everyone else seemed to thrive on.

“Ah! Aemond! Did I give you one already?”

Aemond gestures dismissively, “I don't—”

But somehow the leaflet ended up in his hand anyway. And upon looking at the shorter man before him, he didn't muster up the courage to say he didn't want it. Oscar’s voice was practically buzzing with excitement.

“There's an amazing music venue off Crownland Plaza. You should come, have a look!”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, closing the latch on his cello case with a soft click. “Crownland Plaza?” he repeated, frowning slightly. He ran through the mental list of all the concert halls and events he frequented. The Royal Opera House, the exclusive classical recitals, the private performances he’d been invited to, but Crownland Plaza? It didn’t ring any bells. 

“It’s incredible! They’ve got these outdoor performances, indoor as well of course, a real mix of stuff too. Not just the highbrow stuff, but, you know...real music.” He emphasised the last two words as if it held more meaning than Aemond could understand.

Aemond’s expression remained neutral, though his curiosity flickered briefly. He knew the best music events in the city, the ones that mattered, the ones that attracted the critics and the virtuosos. How could there be something he'd missed? Something that wasn’t on his radar?

“What kind of music?” Aemond asked, unable to fully mask his interest.

“Everything, man, but they make it feel so alive, you know?” Oscar’s eyes sparkled as he spoke. “And the crowd! They’re not like the stiff ones we get at our recitals. These people are there to feel the music. To live it.”

Those words sound familiar.

A pang in his chest accompanies that thought.

Before he could respond, Oscar clapped him on the shoulder, his smile never fading. “You should come! It’s a fun vibe, and I think you could use it. I mean, I never see you at anything like this.”

Aemond opened his mouth to refuse instinctively, but Oscar was already backing out of the room, waving his hand in the air as he walked. “Think about it! It’d be good to see you loosen up for once.”

He wanted to screw up the leaflet in frustration. Annoyed that people had been able to see his detachment.

Was there really a music scene, so far from the perfection and formality of classical music, that he never knew about?

He shook his head and turned back to his cello, lifting the case with one hand. He had a routine, a plan. He didn’t need to waste his time at some event where people felt the music without understanding the discipline behind it. But the seed of curiosity had been planted.

And tonight he'd find out.

The bar off Crownland Plaza was nothing like the grand concert halls Aemond was used to. It was small, intimate, almost hidden, the kind of place you wouldn’t notice unless you knew exactly where to look. From outside, he could already hear the faint strains of music filtering through the walls, not the elegant, calculated compositions he was familiar with, but something looser, wilder.

He stood outside for a moment, his fingers flexing at his sides as if instinctively preparing to grip his cello again, to find the order in the chaos. But there was none here. It was messy, unpredictable. He wasn’t sure if he hated it already.

I can always get a drink, he told himself. If the music grated on his nerves, at least he could distract himself with a drink, and maybe make a quick exit before Oscar could find him.

He stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind him, and was immediately engulfed in sound. The music wasn’t just something you listened to here, it was something you felt. People laughed, danced, and clapped. 

The low, steady hum of the bass vibrated through the floor, while trumpets blared in sudden bursts, sharp and brassy, filling the room with energy. A piano, somewhere in the back, played rapid, uneven chords, cutting through the noise with a rhythm that seemed to defy expectation.

Glancing towards the stage, the scent of beer and heavy perfumes floating through the dark atmosphere, he spotted a man playing a double bass almost the size of him. So much like a cello, Aemond thought, but the way he was playing it, as if he were stringing his very smile into the music, without the refinement Aemond was so used to, he was ashamed almost, embarrassed, to admit to himself that he was captivated.

Feeling wholly out of his depth, he slid to the bar, tapping his card and craving the familiar touch of the amber liquid that would calm his nerves. Something strong, he thought. 

The glass barely touched his lips before he saw her.

She was sat at a table by herself, perched on a stool in a darkened corner, with a warm, almost orange light casting shadows on her features. She watched the performance, one hand perched on her cheek, smiling slightly but with a sense of unease that she could only distance with her drink in front of her.

Discomfort rose in his throat. Did he feel bad? Should he feel bad? It was difficult to tell.

One thing was for certain. It would certainly not be her falling over her words if they did happen to exchange them that night. That much he knew about her.

The little that he did.

The song eased off and she applauded, and it was easy to spot her eyes scanning the space as if she could feel she was being watched. Landing on him.

Any smile immediately dissipates. Replaced by a sharp, unreadable look that stilled him to his spot. She didn’t make any move to wave him over or call out, yet something in her expression told him everything. 

If you don’t choose to come over now, don’t bother again.

It felt like an ultimatum. He could sense the line in the sand as clearly as if she’d spoken it aloud. Aemond took a breath, then made his way over, hoping his usual composure would hold steady under her gaze.

When he reached her, she didn’t waste a second. “What are you doing here?” she asked, arching an eyebrow, her tone dripping with challenge.

“Apparently not what you’d expect,” he replied evenly, trying to meet her edge for edge. But she just crossed her arms, eyes narrowing as she looked him over, sizing him up. “Believe it or not,” he replied, a touch defensive, “I don’t follow you around.”

She let out a dry laugh. "Right. You don’t follow me," she shot back, her voice low but cutting. "You just leave me half-naked in a storage closet without a word.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she kept going, her voice laced with bitterness and a hint of disbelief. 

“I'm not fucking stupid, Aemond. It's not like I was expecting this grand declaration of love or some bullshit like that, but you could have at least said something.”

He looked away, the weight of her gaze pressing on him as if challenging him to face what he’d done, who he’d become. “I didn't mean to make you feel that way.”

“Oh, well, that fixes it,” she shot back, bitterness seeping through every syllable. 

He clenched his jaw, grappling with the truth of it. The fact was, he hadn’t thought past that moment. Hadn’t questioned what it meant to him, or to her, only that he’d needed an escape, a release. That pull between them had flared too brightly, burning too hot to ignore. But standing here, he could see her hurt, her pride cut through, and it unsettled him more than he’d ever admit.

“Look,” he said finally, his voice forced calm. “I'll be the first person to say it was a fucking mistake. Whatever you think of me, I never wanted to make you feel used.”

She narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced, her mouth set in a firm line. “I will not be a placeholder for whatever it is you can’t face. I don’t expect anything from you, Aemond, but I’m not here to stroke your ego or be another one of your distractions.”

For the first time, he felt the weight of her words sink in entirely. She wasn’t expecting him to change, wasn’t even expecting him to care, only that he’d own up to his part in this, instead of hiding behind his own fear and avoidance.

She saw through him, and if he was honest, that terrified him. With her, the easy deflection wouldn't come, and he found his words flooding from his lips unbidden.

“I know I have a problem, don't need you to rub it in my face.” The words felt like they scraped their way out, a truth he’d barely acknowledged even to himself. For a moment, he felt stripped down, like he’d handed her a piece of himself he wasn’t sure he’d ever get back. And there was a strange, unsettling relief in it.

But she only crossed her arms, her face unreadable, her silence somehow louder than any answer.

“If your plan is to keep distracting me, or using me, or whatever this is, don’t bother. And I’m not stupid, I know there’s always somebody else—”

“She’s gone,” Aemond said quickly, his voice sharper than he intended.

Her laugh was bitter, hollow. “Good for you. But it doesn’t change anything for me. It’s not about her, Aemond. It’s about you.” She gestured at him with a short, deliberate motion.

He felt the irritation gnaw at him again, the same one he felt in that dark, stuffy closet before they fucked. He clenched his fists. Hating that she was right. Hating that this…stranger, saw him so deeply and shamelessly.

“If you're looking for someone to save you, it's not going to be me.”

He loved that look on her face. That firm, serious expression that gave way when he touched her, watching her crumble. Why did pushing her too far excite him? It was a dangerous game. One that if played too much would repel her too far.

And before he could say anything else, she was up and gone, her head disappearing into the lively, dark crowd.

He wasn't sure if she had friends here already or if she was just an easy personality, because the way she morphed back into the rampant crowd and immediately found a dancing partner was borderline impressive. Even if it did make his fingers tighten around his glass watching her.

He reminded himself he had no right to feel that way.

But as aggravated as he was. He stayed. Watched her face light up with warmth as she danced and clapped to the vibrant music on stage. He had to admit there was charm to it. Even if he couldn't see himself dead doing what she was, so carefree.

The words of Otto Hightower didn't even cross his mind as he drank another. And another. His gaze following her somewhat lazily now as the night dragged on, his head swimming with thoughts that had no right being there.

She drank too, sipping various gin and tonics. Not drunk. But certainly flushed. She wore sheer black tights, a tank top and skirt, and whenever she raised her arms to clap, her nipples poked against the fabric, the swell of her breasts spilling over the straps slightly.

Sometimes she would glance over to see if he was still there. Or still watching her. And this time, when she did catch him, she rolled her eyes and slipped through the crowd to the fire exit for air, where several smokers were gathered to chat.

The cool night air hit her like a balm, easing the heat that had flushed her cheeks, though the irritation simmering beneath the surface didn’t dissipate as easily. She leaned against the brick wall, her phone clutched tightly in her hand, the screen glowing as she tapped at it with unnecessary force. The smokers nearby didn’t pay her any mind, lost in their low, murmured conversations and the occasional flicker of lighters.

She opened her rideshare app again, squinting at the lack of available taxis. “Of course,” she muttered, half under her breath, her annoyance mounting. The night was supposed to have been an escape, a brief respite from everything, not another reminder of how much he lingered in the edges of her mind.

And speak of the devil.

“Trouble finding a ride?” Aemond’s voice cut through the haze of her irritation, smooth and maddeningly calm. She didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing there, likely looking as composed as ever, though she could feel the heat of his gaze on her back.

“What do you want, Aemond?” she snapped, whipping her head toward him. He was leaning casually against the frame of the fire exit, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

“Relax. Just offering to help,” he said with a shrug, though his one eye glinted with something that set her teeth on edge. “My place isn’t far. You can come there if you can’t find a ride.”

Her laugh was sharp, bitter, cutting through the cool night air like glass. “Gods, you are delusional,” she snapped, shoving her phone into her bag. “Why in the world would I want to go anywhere with you?”

Aemond tilted his head, his calm appearance unshaken. “Because you’re drunk, it’s late, and your so-called ride isn’t coming.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Don’t fucking call me stupid–”

The rumble of her phone in her pocket made her quip die in her throat. But nothing gave her that sinking feeling like seeing ‘Mum’ across her screen. With a huff, and hoping he wouldn’t notice, she shoved it back into her bag.

“You not answering that?” he asked, his voice cool but probing, as if he had the right to know.

“It’s none of your business.”

“It’s just a question. You’re acting like it’s a bomb or something.”

“Drop it,” she said firmly, but the way she gripped her bag strap betrayed her agitation.

Aemond looked as if he considered probing more, if not so that he could get more of a reaction out of her. Instead he exhaled, sharp, through his nose and gestured towards the street, pushing himself off the wall. “Suit yourself. Let’s go.”

She looked away, taking a deep breath as if considering whether to fire back or walk away without a ride. “Fine,” she strained, “but don’t act like you’re the one doing me a favour.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, his lips quirking into a smug half-smile that made her want to smack it off his face.

The roads were mercifully quiet. No chance of anyone they both knew seeing them walking back to his place together, surely. If someone did, they’d no doubt blab to Lyonel, she’d get a sharp talking to about hanging around with someone who wasn’t from their school. Not like there was any secrets she could divulge, none that she even would. But all the same, being involved with someone from a rival school was not something to sneeze about. 

He made no attempt at conversation, which she was grateful for. Doubly so when he led her aside to a large apartment complex and swiped his key fob for the doors. Not that she was particularly thrilled to be spending the night on a guy’s sofa who she’d fucked once in a storage closet, but for tonight, it would have to do.

It was perhaps the slowest ascent in a lift she’d ever felt. More so, because she could practically feel his gaze on her. 

Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her body angled away from him, but it didn’t stop her from feeling that heat. That suffocating awareness of him.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Aemond drawled.

She rolled her eyes but kept them fixed on the numbers lighting up above the doors. “Not everything needs to be filled with your commentary, you know.”

“I’m just making conversation.”

“You’re terrible at it.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, the smallest hint of a smirk, but his eye darkened, studying her. Before she could fire another quip, the lift came to a halt, the doors sliding open with a soft chime.

“Ladies first,” he said. 

His apartment was tidy, just like she had expected it to be. There were few ornaments, only what was needed. A stainless steel coffee machine stood proud in his kitchen, alongside a few mugs that were pastel colours. She stared at them as Aemond moved through the apartment. They seemed out of place alongside his cool, darker aesthetic. And her mind immediately went to the woman she’d seen him with the first time they’d met. For some reason, it made a bitter taste in her mouth. Wondering if he’d been telling the truth when he said she was gone.

Aemond puffed up some cushions on the sofa with the kind of detached efficiency that made it clear he didn’t care whether she was comfortable or not. “You can crash here,” he said flatly, tossing a blanket onto the armrest. His eye flicked to her briefly before he turned away, heading toward the kitchen.

“Was she here,” she asks. 

He scoffs, pulling an espresso cup out of a cupboard, “thought you didn’t care.”

“I don’t. Just curious.”

He turned fully now, leaning against the counter, his arms folded over his chest as he regarded her with an exasperated look. “No, she wasn’t here. Satisfied?”

“Thrilled,” she replied, the sarcasm dripping from her tone. She didn’t break eye contact, even as the silence between them grew heavier. “Did she get the same treatment as me?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, his gaze narrowing as her words hung in the air like a gauntlet thrown at his feet. He didn’t answer right away, the tension between them coiling tighter with every passing second.

“What treatment would that be?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“You know exactly what I mean.” She stepped closer, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. “The whole hit-and-run routine. Or was she special?”

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Always trying to pick a fight.”

“And you’re always dodging,” she shot back, her voice rising slightly. “Maybe you are a sex addict.”

He was quiet. This was different than when she confronted him at the club. This was more intimate, she was right here before him, demanding a response, a reason. Wanting to see him squirm at least. His grip tightened, white knuckled on the counter. And he found he didn’t have a reply.

She huffed, “are you embarrassed of me, or something?” she asks, her voice softening slightly as if the idea of it genuinely bothered her. “Like, you don’t want to be seen with me.”

“Of course I don’t. If anyone found out I was fooling around with someone from a different school, someone I’m meant to compete against, what do you think that does for my reputation? What do you think people will think of me?”

Her arms fell to her sides, her posture rigid as she stared at him like he was a puzzle she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve. “You’re such a fucking coward,” she said, her tone low but biting.

He scoffed, though his defenses felt thinner now, threadbare. “Coward? No. Just realistic.”

This time it was her turn to scoff, “realistic. Fucking perfect–”

“Fine,” he snapped. “You want honesty? I’ll give it to you.” He stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating as he looked down at her, his single eye burning with intensity. “I am messed up. I’ve been messed up for a long time, and yeah, maybe I’m addicted to sex, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

She swallowed. And knew he didn’t really want an answer. He just needed somewhere to direct his anger. 

“You challenge me. You don’t just roll over and play nice. You fight me, push me, tear me apart, and I fucking love it,” he admitted, “I love it and I fucking hate it. I loved it, you were right there, and I needed it.”

His hand was extended, as if tempted to grab her face but he didn’t. And she heard the strain of his skin as he clenched his fist. Her breath hitched, and she hated that his words, raw and vulnerable as they were, stirred something in her. 

“Bullshit,” she responded, “you didn’t need me. You just need something with a pulse.”

“Maybe,” he shot back, his voice rising again. “Maybe I take because I don’t know how to ask. Because needing someone feels like weakness, and I can’t afford to be weak.”

For a moment, they just stood there, the air between them thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. She could see it in his face, the conflict, the self-loathing, the desperate need for something he didn’t know how to name.

“You’re a mess,” she said finally.

“And you’re perfect?” he shot back, though there was no malice in his words, only a tired sort of defiance.

The tension between them was unbearable, crackling like a live wire in the charged silence that followed. She opened her mouth, maybe to retort, maybe to leave, but before a word could escape, he closed the distance between them in one quick, purposeful stride.

He kissed her, hard and bruising, with all the pent-up frustration and confusion that had been simmering between them for weeks. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t tender, it was raw and unrelenting, like a storm finally breaking.

She resisted, her hands pressing against his chest as if to shove him away, but it only lasted a second before she grabbed at his shirt, pulling him closer instead. Her nails scraped his skin through the thin fabric, her movements every bit as furious as his.

Her head tilted back as his mouth moved to her neck, biting and kissing with equal fervor. The line between anger and desire blurred so thoroughly it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

“Don’t think this means anything,” she warned, her voice shaking, though she didn’t let go.

“I don’t.”

Her lips crashed into his again, silencing whatever else he might have said. She hated how much she wanted this, hated that he made her feel like this, but in that moment, with his hands roaming her body and his lips leaving trails of heat along her skin, she didn’t care.

She tugged at his shirt impatiently, her fingers fumbling in her haste, and when it finally gave way, she pushed it off his shoulders with a growl of frustration. Her hands skimmed over the hard planes of his chest, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted fast, frantic, and over with. She wanted to get him out of her system, to snuff out the unbearable tension that had plagued her since that day in the storage room.

But Aemond had other ideas.

He pulled back, just enough to catch her wrists in his hands, stilling her movements.

“Not like this,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

“Don’t—” she started, her words clipped with irritation.

“Not like this,” he repeated firmly, his grip on her wrists loosening as his hands slid down to her hips.

Before she could protest again, he scooped her up with maddening ease, his hands gripping her thighs as he carried her to the sofa. He set her down gently, his movements careful.

“Aemond,” she said, her voice laced with both annoyance and need, but he just shook his head, his hands already tugging her skirt higher and rolling her tights down her legs..

“Let me,” he said, his tone softer now, almost pleading. “I’m not rushing this.”

Her breath hitched as he knelt between her legs, his hands sliding up her thighs, spreading her open as he leaned in. His lips followed the path of his hands, pressing heated kisses against her skin as he pushed her skirt higher.

“Just fuck me—”

“Stop being so fucking stubborn.”

Her head fell back against the sofa with a groan, her fists clenching at her sides as she tried to fight the pull of his touch. “I don’t need this—”

“Yes, you do,” he cut her off, his voice quieter now but no less intense.

Before she could find the words to bite back, his lips found the sensitive skin at the crease of her thigh, and her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. He traced it with his tongue, rendering her mindless and unapologetically dragged his attention to the gusset of her underwear, fingers hooking indecently through them to pull them aside.

Despite telling her he wanted to take his time with her, this is one area where he did not hesitate to take what he wanted. As soon as his tongue met her, swiping lazily through her folds to taste her, her body trembled, the sharp gasp that escaped her lips was answer enough.

“See?” he murmured against her, his voice tinged with a smug satisfaction. “Not so stubborn now.”

She didn’t dignify him with a response. Couldn’t, even if she’d wanted to, because he set to work in earnest, his mouth and hands coaxing reactions from her that she didn’t want to give. Her nails bit into the sofa cushions, her hips shifting of their own accord as he drove her higher, slower than she wanted, but impossibly thorough.

Every time she thought she was close, he pulled back just enough to keep her on edge, forcing her to feel every second, every touch.

“Aemond,” she finally managed, her voice half annoyance and half need.

His response was a low hum against her that sent another wave of heat rolling through her, and she realised, with a mix of frustration and something far more dangerous, that he had her exactly where he wanted her.

Without warning, two fingers prodded at her, slipping inside her with a slow, measured thrust that made her entire body tense. He groaned softly, feeling the way she clenched around him, tight and wet, her body betraying just how much she wanted this despite her stubborn nature.

"Fuck," he murmured, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips sucking at her pearl, rolling his tongue over it as if to play with her.

Her head fell back, her lips parting as a shaky breath escaped her. His fingers moved in rhythm, curling slightly with each thrust, seeking out the spot that made her gasp and tighten around him.

Aemond finally pulled back, his fingers sliding out of her with an almost lazy care, his gaze glinting with satisfaction as he watched her try to catch her breath. He licked his lips, as if savouring the taste of her, and leaned forward to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh.

Her hips rolled to meet his lips, and he revelled in the control he had. And it didn't take long, the tension coiled in her stomach snapped with a sharp cry she couldn’t hold back, her body arching as the release washed over her in waves. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up, drawing out every last tremor until she was left gasping and trembling beneath him, her fingers that were in his moonlight hair so tight and gripping it burned.

“Told you,” he said quietly, his voice low and rough. “You just have to let go.”

As if he was telling her that, she thought with distaste.

Fucking hypocrite.

Instead of backing off, he leaned in closer, his hands skimming along her silky thighs. “What’s that look for?” he murmured, his tone almost teasing.

“You tell me,” she shot back, willing the shake out her voice.

Aemond smirked, tilting his head, “I think I know.”

She was about to say, ‘tell me what I'm thinking then, you smug asshole’, but Aemond straightened, confidently pulling his jeans with his boxers over his hips. She tried to keep her gaze fixed firmly on his face, but when they'd last had sex, she hadn't seen him, not really. But her curiosity betrayed her, and he caught her eyes flickering downwards.

Equally so, when his large hand took himself in his palm, and gave his length a few maddeningly slow, hard strokes, coaxing pearly liquid from the ruddy tip of him. 

Asshole.

His hands found her hips, tugging her closer to pull at the waistband of her skirt. But with a glare, she swatted his hands away, “I can do it myself.”

He scoffed, “please.”

He pulled her skirt over her hips, everything coming with it. His touch over her thighs firm and unapologetic. He made quick work over the rest of her clothes, savouring every second of her surrender. 

He smirked, a hand sliding up her spine to undo her lacy black bra, his breath shuddery against her neck, “cute,” he commented as the fabric fell from her skin.

“Stop staring,” she muttered, her hands coming to cover her now bare chest. 

His grip came to her wrist, “you always this bossy?”

“Only with you.”

“Hm, lucky me,” he grins, pushing her hands to the sofa so he could see the vast expanse of her body beneath him. She hated, hated, that he could make her pulse race like this.

Her breath hitched as he teased himself against her entrance, his previous actions making the friction deliciously non-existent. She knew he was doing it on purpose, running the head of him over her to coat himself in her slick, and dragging it to her bud, setting every nerve alight.

“Fucking— hurry up.”

He laughs lowly, “just taking my time, baby. Thought you might actually appreciate someone paying attention to you.”

Her glare could melt steel. “Are you seriously doing this right now?”

“What?” he asked innocently, his lips curving into a smirk as he shifted just enough to draw a gasp from her. “So fucking impatient.”

“You’re unbearable,” she hissed, though her voice trembled as he rolled his hips, barely pushing into her, then pulling back.

“Hm,” he hums, “I think you're talking too fucking much.”

Before she could fire back another insult, he slid forward, filling her in one fluid motion that knocked the breath from her lungs. She was prepared, but all the same, the stretch around him was distinctively overwhelming, stealing the words right out of her mouth. Her hands tightened where they gripped his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as her body adjusted to the sensation.

Aemond stilled for a moment, his jaw clenched, breathing laboured as if trying to maintain control. “Not so mouthy now, are you?” he muttered, though his voice came out more strained than smug.

Her breath hitched, but she wasn’t going to let him have the last word. “You’re still—oh gods—so insufferable,” she managed as he shifted his hips, a sharp gasp escaping her lips.

He smirked at that, clearly satisfied with the reaction, and began to move, his pace slow and deliberate at first, as if savouring the way she tensed and relaxed beneath him. The deliberate drag of him against her sent sparks rippling through her, and she bit her lip, determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing how much it affected her.

“Thought you’d be louder,” he taunted, his voice strained as he buried himself deeper.

“Thought you’d be better.”

Aemond’s smirk faltered, replaced by a dark glint in his eye that made her pulse quicken. “Oh, you want better?” he rasped, his voice low and dangerous. Without waiting for a response, he pulled out and flipped her legs up, draping them over his shoulders with a swift, practised motion. The shift left her gasping as he pressed down, angling his body to sink into her again, this time with an intensity that had her clenching around him instantly.

“Fuck—Aemond—” she started, but the words dissolved into a strangled moan as he set a relentless pace, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, and more devastatingly accurate.

“You still think you can run your mouth?” he growled, his breath ragged as he drove into her with a force that made the sofa creak beneath them. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her in place as he leaned further into her, folding her nearly in half. “Fucking love it when you struggle to take me,” he bit out, his voice thick with triumph and lust.

Her nails dug into the fabric of the sofa, her head tipping back as the overwhelming pressure of him inside her and the angle of his movements sent her spiraling. Every thrust struck that sweet spot, over and over, leaving her helpless against the waves of pleasure crashing through her.

She couldn’t respond, couldn’t think, couldn’t even breathe properly as her body tightened and pulsed around him, her mind clouded by the intensity of it all. And he revelled in it, watching her crumble beneath him, her bravado finally stripped away as he watched her body move with the force of his rutting into her.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he muttered, his voice strained but edged with a dark satisfaction.

She tried to glare at him, to muster some kind of retort, but her body betrayed her, trembling violently as the coil deep within her snapped. A strangled cry tore from her throat, her walls clenching around him so tightly it nearly made him lose his rhythm.

“Fuck,” he growled, his voice rough and strained as his movements became frantic, erratic. The sight of her body trembling beneath him, the way she clung to him as though she couldn’t help it, was the final push he needed. Her walls clenched around him in the aftermath of her release, and the last few desperate squeezes undid him completely. 

He pulled from her quickly, not even having to stroke himself to completion as hot ropes of his release coated her stomach, her breasts, painting her gorgeous body until there was nothing left. Deep, rumbling groans were all she heard through her haze, and the warmth of his cum on her skin.

He stayed there for a moment, his gaze flickering over her, watching the way his release glistened on her body. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, though it lacked the usual smugness, replaced by something quieter, almost contemplative.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she uttered once her breath had calmed. 

“Can’t help it,” he replied, reaching for a discarded towel with a smirk. Their back and forth had certainly not faded. He began to gently wipe her skin, his movements surprisingly careful. It was almost disconcerting, seeing him like this, still snarky, but not cruel. The slow drag of the towel along her stomach, over her ribs, told her he was taking his time.

“Didn’t think you’d be the type to fuss over cleanup,” she quipped, arching a brow at him.

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he retorted, smirking a little. He offered a hand, helping her up. For a moment, they stood close, neither quite ready to step back. When she finally did, the fleeting press of their bodies parted, leaving them both a fraction colder as they gathered their clothes.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, stepping away to gather whatever clothing was still intact.

He nodded, rubbing at the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the floor. “Don’t get used to me being nice.”

She let out a small snort. “Trust me, that’s the last thing I’ll ever expect from you.” Despite the barbed words, her tone lacked its old venom, and the corner of her mouth twitched with something close to a smile.

She slipped her top over her head, glancing up at him as she smoothed it into place. “So,” she began, crossing her arms over her chest, half in defense, half in uncertainty. “We should probably talk. About this. About… us.”

His gaze flicked to hers, and for a moment, he looked uneasy. “Right,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “Guess we should.”

She took a step closer, feeling that familiar surge of defiance rise within her, though it was tempered now. “I’m not expecting some grand declaration of love,” she reminded him, her voice low. “I’ve never been that naïve. Especially not with you.”

He winced slightly, and she realised how that must have sounded, but there was no taking it back. “You really think I’m that incapable of—” He paused, shaking his head. “It’s not that I don’t care,” he corrected himself, his tone quieter than usual. “Just…not sure I know how to care the way you’d want me to.”

She frowned, fiddling with a loose thread. “All I ask is why you’re so keen on carrying on like this. If it’s because you think I’m just a good time—”

“No. No.”

Her brows lifted in skepticism, but she didn’t interrupt. Not this time.

He took a breath, gathering whatever fragments of honesty he could muster. “You…you challenge me,” he admitted finally, his voice low. “And I hate it. Except I don’t. It drives me crazy that you can get under my skin like this.”

She studied him for a moment, as if deciding whether to believe him. “We’re competitors,” she said, bluntly. “Different schools, different ideologies, different everything.”

He shrugged, though his eyes never left hers. “Can’t deny that.”

She sighs softly, “so we’re doomed, is that it?”

“I’m not saying we have to be,” he offered quietly.

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

Aemond exhaled. “Maybe I am.”

Her expression softened despite herself. She could see the conflict there, the way his posture had lost its usual confidence, how his shoulders seemed weighed down by something he didn’t want to name.

“I usually know what I want. But ever since…since Alys…” His voice trailed off, and he pressed his lips together. “She ended things because she felt I used her. And maybe she was right.”

She blinked, not expecting him to bring up Alys so bluntly. “And you think you’re doing the same thing with me?”

“Am I?” he asked, his voice low, almost pleading for an answer he couldn’t give himself. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. If I’m just—replacing her with you. Because it’s easier to fill that void than confront the fact that I might not know how to…be with someone.”

Her initial instinct was to lash out, to remind him she wasn’t a placeholder. But the look in his eye gave her pause. Instead, she inhaled slowly, weighing her words. “You think you’re just repeating the pattern,” she said quietly. “Different person, same problem.”

“Alys said it. And I was too damn proud to listen. She cut things off because she didn’t want to be the fix for whatever’s wrong with me.” A mirthless half-smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe she had a point.”

The admission brought a heaviness to her chest. “So…what now?” she asked gently, unsure if she even wanted the answer.

Aemond’s gaze flicked away, his jaw tightening. “Otto’s been breathing down my neck,” he said, clearing his throat. “He’s convinced I need total discipline for the competition. Zero distractions. I’ve…I’ve been trying to keep it together. But this?” He gestured vaguely between them. “Us? It’s not helping.”

Her lips parted in surprise, and a sting of hurt made itself known. “So you think we should—what? Pretend this never happened?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. We don’t have to pretend it never happened, but…we can’t let it happen again.”

She stared at him for a long moment, the words lodging in her throat. Part of her wanted to argue, to demand he face whatever was broken inside him instead of cutting her out. But she saw the raw conflict in his eyes, the fear that clung to him like a second skin. For a moment, she could see him for what he truly was. A man afraid of commitment or any true, real and raw feeling.

For a moment she simply saw the waves of silver that framed his face. The scar through his eye and brow. And cloudy blue of his left eye that stared back.

She wouldn't like to admit there was a strange beauty to it. Why would she? When he was the one turning her down. Bruising her ego.

“Fine,” she said, her voice hushed, almost hollow. She hated how final it sounded, but she couldn’t force him to confront his demons. Whatever they were.

Aemond nodded once, slowly, as if sealing a deal that left them both unsatisfied. “Yeah. Right. Better this way.”

Better this way, she repeated silently, wishing she believed it.

After Aemond disappeared into his room without another word, she glared at the closed door for a moment, frustration and something heavier gnawing at her. It shouldn’t hurt that he’d ended things so neatly, as if all of this, or rather, whatever it had been, was simply an inconvenient dream.

She sank onto the sofa, her mind a whirlwind, the competition, the tangled mess of emotions she could barely name, the strange pang of rejection. Did it matter that she’d thought there was something between them? Or that for the briefest moment, she felt seen in a way she hadn’t expected? 

None of it mattered now. He didn’t want her.

When her phone lit up, she felt the familiar thrum of annoyance that it might again be her mother. But instead replaced with confusion at the unknown number plastered across her screen. She frowned, the face ID unlocking her phone to reveal a photo of her and Aemond disappearing into his apartment building earlier that night. 

Her stomach dropped. A cold chill burning in her blood.

Below the image, the message read:

Did you have fun? I wonder what Lyonel would think if he knew you were sleeping with the enemy. Might want to consider your next moves carefully. Wouldn’t want your lovely solo compramised.

Her pulse pounded, anger and dread warring in her chest. A threat…aimed at both her reputation and her chances in the competition. She swallowed hard, staring at the ominous text. A wave of tired resignation washed over her, as if the night hadn’t already beaten her down enough. Her shaky hand raised to her mouth as if to muffle her gasp but nothing came out anyway, her face going dark as she locked her phone. 

Her heart drummed a rapid, uneasy rhythm. Even as she lay back against the sofa, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders, she couldn’t tear her thoughts away from the threat. This person knew her, had her phone number. 

Better this way, she repeated again, a mantra that felt emptier each time she said it. But she couldn’t pretend any longer that walking away was so simple, especially now that someone was determined to make her choices even harder.

✨ Please note ✨ I no longer do taglists. If you would updates, please follow @targaryenrealnessdarlingfics and turn on notifications!

[ashwhowrites]

So excited to see your requests open!!! My first request since I found you!! So I was having a hard time deciding what to ask for and then I thought why not do a dice roller on the prompt list with the categories!

And I got love confessions 7, and then under fluff 11. Honestly it sounds cute as hell! And that’s all, full author control of the set up and what have you.

And clearly I’m very indecisive tonight so I rolled for who to ask for it with, between Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson. And the dice gods decreed Steve and I cannot wait to see what you do with this!

You are chef’s kiss, shining star, ten million fireflies lighting up the world as owlcity fell asleep.

Lol, basically you’re great and your writing is great and thank you so so much for doing requests as much as you do! it really just makes it easier to get through the miasma that is life when I can check here for new goodies on fic days. Your effort is so appreciated babes. XOXO

“I’m going to need you to stop for one second because I just find it so incredibly rude that you think I’m not head over heels in love with your stupid, oblivious ass. Are you a brick? Because you’re dense as fuck.”

“Our kids are gonna be *mwah*!”

A harsh confession

Steve was a helpless romantic who never wanted to give up on his relationship with Nancy. But it was clear she didn't love him and a part of him was scared to admit he didn't love her. They were high school lovers and he figured she'd be the one until the end, simply because it was the easiest outcome.

And then he met someone else, Y/N. He met someone who made him feel things he had never felt with Nancy. It scared the shit out of him. To make matters worse, it was his new coworker. Someone he would always see and spend time with. Then he'd go back to Nancy and try to get Y/N out of his head.

But she never left. She haunted Steve's head and he couldn't escape her. He didn't have the heart to tell Nancy, so he planned to suffer for the rest of his life in a convenient relationship. Nancy had other plans, she fell in love with someone else too, but she wasn't going to stay for Steve. One drunk night and all her feelings came to the surface. Steve was hurt but man was he relieved.

~~~

Steve walked into work as a new man, a bright smile on his face. He was free and that meant he could go for Y/N, the girl he truly wanted.

"What's got you in a good mood?" Robin asked

"Nancy broke up with me," Steve said, but he didn't sound upset about it, and that confused Robin

"Isn't a breakup supposed to be heartbroken and supposed to be crying in your bedroom and not showering for days?"

"I'm not a girl," Steve scoffed, which led Robin to give him a glare and roll her eyes. "It was needed, neither of us was in it anymore," Steve explained.

"Morning, guys," Y/N smiled as she walked through the doors. Steve smiled upon hearing her voice, his stomach fluttering as she walked past him and he inhaled her perfume.

"Morning, Y/N," Robin smiled

They followed her with their eyes until she was out of sight.

"That's why you aren't upset. You got your eye on someone else," Robin teased, nudging Steve with her elbow.

"Yeah, but the question is, does she have her eye on me?" Steve sighed

~~~

Now that Steve was single, he tried to charm Y/N's socks off. It seemed to work, she'd smile and get shy. Sometimes she'd flirt back and it made Steve's head spin.

He felt too nervous to straight out ask if she was interested in him so he hoped his flirting and consistent interest told her how he felt. But were girls ever that easy? Nope.

She liked Steve, of course, she did. He was gorgeous with his sweet eyes, perfect smile, and flowy hair. She had feelings for him the second she met him. But he was with Nancy so she never went for it. Now he is single and seems to flirt with her more than he ever did with Nancy.

Y/N wanted to give in but she was scared to be his rebound. She liked him too much to date him so fresh out of a relationship. She couldn't tell if he was interested in hooking up or interested in being together. She could have asked him but she felt like she would sound way too pushy about it.

She gave it a week or two and Steve never asked her out so she gave up. A random boy she met asked her out and she accepted the date. She wasn't exactly interested in the poor boy but maybe it would make Steve move forward a step.

~

"SHE'S ON A DATE!" Steve screamed as he walked into Robin's bedroom. His hair was a mess from the amount of times he ran his hands through it. He was beyond frustrated and a bit hurt.

"What?" Robin asked

"She's on a fucking date, Robin. Clearly, she doesn't like me," Steve huffed, collapsing on her bed with a dramatic sigh.

"Well, have you thought about asking her on a date?" Robin sighed, already knowing her peaceful night was going to be spent on Steve's feelings.

"Obviously!" Steve groaned

"Okay, did you ever ask her?"

"Well, no,"

"How do you know she doesn't like you if you've never asked her out?" Robin sarcastically smiled

"Because she's currently on a date with a guy," Steve said back in a duh tone.

"It's a date, Steve. She isn't getting married," Robin said as she rolled her eyes, "ask the girl out."

~~~

The next day Steve pulled her aside at work. She was confused but followed him into the back room.

"What's up?"

"How was your date?" Steve asked, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall

Y/N was surprised he cared to ask, "It was alright. Is that what you wanted to talk about?"

"Will there be another date?" Steve asked. He tried to sound nonchalant but his tone was clearly snippy.

"Being debated," Y/N shrugged.

"Well is he cute?" Steve asked

"Yes, Steve he's cute. What's going on?" Y/N asked

"Just catching up with my friend," Steve shrugged.

Y/N felt her body deflate at the word friend. She rolled her eyes and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Steve asked, pushing off the wall to follow her

"To work, Steve. This conversation seems to be pointless." She snapped

"Talking to me is pointless?" Steve scoffed

"It seems like it!" Y/N huffed. "I mean we barely have conversations. We flirt and that's it. Now you call me your friend and try to get the inside scoop of my dating life. What do you want from this conversation?"

"I want to know why you went on a date with that guy!" Steve exclaimed

"Because he asked me out!"

"But why would you go when we were...you know flirting," Steve argued

"I'm sorry I didn't know flirting meant we were exclusive. You never said anything about actually liking me!"

"Well, I do!" Steve fought, "I like you and I want to ask you out but it's clear you don't like me that way. I mean you already have dates lined up so I guess I shouldn't waste my time." Steve went for the door but Y/N stood in front of it. Steve looked down at her, it was clear he was angry but didn't want to lose his cool.

"I didn't want to be your rebound!" Y/N admitted

Steve's face softened, "what?"

"You and Nancy just broke up. I've always liked you but I didn't know if you were flirting because you like me or it got your mind off Nancy. And you never did anything more than flirt so I have a feeling it's the second one." Y/N spat, her eyes went into slits as she glared.

“I’m going to need you to stop for one second because I just find it so incredibly rude that you think I’m not head over heels in love with your stupid, oblivious ass. Are you a brick? Because you’re dense as fuck.” Steve laughed with no humor behind it.

"Hey you don't have to be so ru- wait you love me?" Y/N asked, her anger disappeared as shock took over her body.

"I've been in love with you, even when I was with Nancy. I should have gotten to the point and asked you out. But you also never said how you felt!" Steve argued, "But we know how we feel now, so where do you want to go with this?"

Y/N didn't have to think. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips against his. Her hands dove into his hair, it was softer than she ever dreamed. She loved feeling his hair and his lips, she knew she'd never get tired of it.

Steve kissed her back, his arms wrapped around her body. He pressed her against the door and kissed her harder.

The door pushed back against them and they quickly jumped apart. Robin kept pushing open the door until the two came into view.

"Got a job to do lovebirds," Robin said

"Right!" Y/N said, her body felt like it was on fire as she raced out of the door

“Our kids are gonna be *mwah*!” Steve said a dazed smile on his face.

"Oh Lord help me," Robin sighed as she went in the direction Y/N went.

[howdoesagrapewrites]

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Plot: Imagine being the legitimized bastard of Daemon Targaryen, and having a very devoted family.

Cw: incest/targcest, yandere/lovesick behavior, unhealthy relationships, platonic and romantic yanderes, not everyone is romantically involved with reader, yandere EVERYONE x reader, it is kind of implied that Daemon has hit reader before, or that reader is aware Daemon is violent

>You loved Rhaenyra

>As a child, she'd always make time for you, and eagerly wait for your arrival. She always wished for a girl, and while doing your hair and telling you tales, she always said you were everything she could ever desire in a lass

>So before she married your father, you loved Rhaenyra

>You loved Daemon

>Your father had always doted on you, you had always been his favorite. He defended you fiercely against any slander, and reminded you that all that mattered was that you were dragonborn, you were his seed and carried the Targaryen lineage. You were his first born, his little girl

>So before he married Rhaenyra, you loved your father

>But then you had too look at yourself in the mirror while being dressed for the big day of your father's not first, not second but third wedding day. Not even a year later of Laena's passing

>You remembered Rhaenyra flying with your father and step-mother, while your uncle Laenor would stay on land with you

>You look back at that memory, and can't help but imagine Laena's reaction

>They married in secret, just them, a septon and you

>When you asked your father why your sisters or Rhaenyra's kids were there, he said he trusted you the most

>But you didn't, you didn't trust him anymore

>It was never spoken, but you knew Laenor's "mysterious" death somehow involved them

>This marriage also meant you would have to say goodbye to your sisters, Rhaena and Baela, who would stay in Driftmark

>They both wept, and Rhaena threw a tantrum, but it was to no avail

>And as much as you loved Jace, Luke and Joffrey, they were not your sisters

>Despite the warnings, that year you mounted your dragon for the first time

>Two of the dragon keepers had to run through the halls of dragonstone to inform your father of your dissaparence along with Dagahrion's, it was not difficult to put two and two together

>He got on Caraxes and chased after you

>Like a wise hand once said, not being capable of controlling your daughter seemed to be a tradition in the house of Targaryen

>It was not hard to find you, Dagahrion had grew even concerningly so in the last season, making him easy to spot

>The dragon was shaking, unused to being rode, Daemon begged to every god he had ever disappointed to please allow you to survive, anxiety pooling in his gut

>You were hugging Dagahrion as hard as you could, with your eyes shut. Tears streaming down your cheeks, your face felt like it was freezing due to the wind hitting you. Your garments were restrictive, causing your legs to be tightly wrapped around the scales of his neck

>"Lykirī, lykirī" you kept screaming to your dragon, until he steadied and finally landed at your command

>You were surprised to see Caraxes land with you, your father's screams were inaudible between the fear, the wind and Dagahrion's noises

>When you got off your dragon, your father's expression made your blood run cold. He approached, and you knew by his stance, he could only mean to hit you as soon as he was close enough, you fearfully walked towards him

>But instead of a slap, he hugged you so close to his chest you had trouble breathing. But you did not care, you simply let him silently suffocate you, you can feel his worry, his anger, the turmoil inside him, his heartbeat says it all

>He slowly lets go, and proclaims "I will not have any daughter of mine fall off her dragon, be aware" it sounded like a threat, but you knew in what terms your sire had always spoken in

>He took you home to Dragonstone, on Caraxes, having Dagahrion follow

>When you came back, you noticed Rhaenyra's arm was bleeding once again, she had developed the bad habit of picking on the stitches when she was anxious, but never on this level

>She ran to hug you, and you smelled her blood, the same blood of the valyrian ceremony

>It was difficult to forgive, but you did

>You exchanged multiple letters with Alicent Hightower, and she had always reminded you, that the seven watch after you, and know you have the strength to forgive

>You had spoken to her plainly.

>"[...] You said my father will never love Rhaenyra more than he loves me, but that is not what afflicts me. He may love me more, but I am competent —as competent as any person with a fine set of two eyes— to see he loves her more than lady Laena. She was not my mother, but in her heart of gold, she held me, and at the risk of disrespect, I dare to say she was the closest I could get. I wonder if dragons would get to feel this way too, Caraxes is a son of Dreamfyre and Vermithor, yet they are all apart, and Dagahrion is a son of Vhagar, but has no sire that we know of. Do they feel lonely? I wish they do not, I don't wish for their misery."

>"My dearest Y/N.

Despite my many years here, I do not know about dragons as nearly much as I'd like. They are miraculous creatures, but like any one of us, they were created by the god of seven faces, So I believe they are capable of such emotions. But princess, do not think only of their misery, think of their joy. If I am not overstepping, then may I offer you a solution for both predicaments of loneliness? Both Dagahrion and your grace are the blood of the dragon, and if it pleased you to remain surrounded by your kin, you are always welcome to King's Landing, Sunfyre, Dreamfyre, Vhagar, Vermithor and their riders are always honored to give you company. Perhaps one day you'll call the red keep your home, if you'll excuse my boldness.

While you are not at arms reach from me, I keep you in my mind and my prayers. Pray to the mother, sweet child, you need her like one day I needed her.

Warm regards."

>No matter how much Alicent spoke of him, you did not want anything to do with Aemond for a long time, it was painful

>But you would send one raven for Daeron and one for Helaena almost every week

>Daeron was everything you once saw in his older brother, a knight, a hero. And he was oh so gentle, just like his sister. Perhaps it was due to his position as the youngest, but Daeron never screamed to be heard, never dolled up to be seen, he was gentle like a summer breeze, and never tried to control the conversation in your corresponde

>And as time passed and you kept Alicent's words in your head, your step-brothers also became close companions, each of them sweeter than the last one, the Velaryon boys were like warm honey in your presence, sweet and sticky

>Jace was always respectful, but there was some things you didn't know about him

>Like how he stole an old nightgown of yours to cuddle with at night, or how he keeps hiding your quills so you'll stop writing Daeron

>At some point it is impossible to hide your correspondence from your family, causing Daemon to forbid the servants from giving you birds. This ultimately fails, as you always charm the servants into doing whatever you want

>You sometimes travel to King's Landing on dragonback along with Rhaenyra, you can see that side your family, and Rhaenyra can closely watch the Hightowers actions

>Despite everything, this time was happy

>You loved Rhaenyra, and Daemon, and Alicent, and Viserys, and Jace, Luke and Joffrey, you loved Daeron and Helaena

>But what a horrible feature life has, when everything that is wonderful is meant to end

[ellieslittlewh0re]

Temptations part 3 - step-sister! ellie x fem reader

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

wk - 5k

additional tags- step-sister! ellie, sarah doesn’t exists in this bc I said so, band! ellie, weed! mentions, cocky! ellie, loser! ellie, perv! ellie, sexual tension, overstimulation, orgasm denial, light choking, use of the word daddy like once, word cock/dick usage, oral (reader! receiving), fingering (reader receiving), strap-on usage (reader receiving), pussy slapping (sorry but not really), spit play, ellie is messy w it, scissoring, finger sucking, e! is rough but also really hot, implied consent obvi

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You quickly pull away, the loud banging on the

door practically sent you into a shock.

What were you thinking? We're you even thinking at all? That was a dumb question because no, you weren't. You simply let your body take control- letting it fulfill whatever fucked up need you had.

Ellie pulled away with a huff, frustrated in more ways than one, as she walked towards the front door, leaving you in the kitchen with a soaking patch growing inside your panties.

"The fuck took you so long?" Ellie said, annoyed, greeting the man at the door who was nothing but a stranger to you.

You get up, adjusting the hem of your dress to make sure everything was covered and walk towards to them.

"Sorry man. Tire blew out- had to put on a donut."

The guy said, sounding pretty unaffected- buzzed beached hair and a piercing on the arch of his eyebrow.

"I thought you said you got pulled over?" Ellie asked, sounding pretty fed up already.

"Ohhh yeah- a cop pulled us over to tell us we had a flat. Was wondering' why the road felt so bumpy." The man trailed off, mentally putting together the puzzle pieces in his head.

He was high.. like really high, the whites of his eyes a shade of pink, half closed and glossed over.

He glanced over Ellie's shoulder, meeting your shy and slightly guilty-ridden face.

"Damn Williams- you didn't say you had a new girl with you."

He points a finger in your direction, making you more uncomfortable with the acknowledgment.

"Don't be a fucking creep- she's my sister." Ellie snaps back, moving further in front of you like she was shielding you from his sight.

"Get in the van ash before you piss me off more."

Even from standing behind her, you could tell she was rolling her eyes. She was never the patient type.

The man "Ash" threw his hands up, spun around, and walked towards Ellie's car, a classic creeper van that she got because "it's convenient to move shit."

"Sorry bout' him. Weed burned all his brain cells, but I promise he's harmless."

Ellie apologized as she turns around to face you, scratching the back of her neck. Bingo.

"S' okay." You giggle, chasing her eyes with yours and when she looks- you bat your doe eyes at her, your lips widening into a gloss coated smile which made Ellie's cheeks flush and her head spin.

If it was up to her, she'd say fuck the band and fucking anything else that got in her way of having you to herself.

She would've had you bent over the same counter just moments earlier- your bare tits smushed against the granite while she had your dress hiked up over your ass and her knuckles snugged deep inside your pussy.

Ellie clears her throat, rocking on her heels as she looks around the room at anything but you. You weren't going to make this easy for her, and you wanted her to know that.

"Ready to go?" Ellie holds out a hand and you take it, letting her lead you two out the door and down the driveway.

This was Ellie's way of pretending that you're hers, even if it's just for tonight, canvassing it like it was just innocent sisterly affection.

The back of the van was packed to the brim with three more people besides the man that you met earlier, along with instruments and other equipment that you couldn't name.

Ellie points at them individually, telling you their names, and they all greet you in unison, laughing and smiling- not one of them seemed entirely sober but friendly enough.

Ellie insisted you were her passenger. She pretty much kicked Ash from the front seat so you can sit beside her- claiming "family comes first".

It was kinda embarrassing. I mean, Ellie wasn't being the most subtle, so you mouth a "sorry" under your breath in his direction before putting on your seat belt, but you couldn't deny how hot your face felt when she'd openly favor you to such a degree.

The van shortly filled with a thick haze of smoke, the music cranked to an overwhelming degree and everyone talking- more like yelling over each other. It was fun though, and it felt refreshing to be with a group of people that didn't care what anyone else thought about them, freely being themselves without feeling bad about it.

"Here- you take control." Ellie said without looking at you, eyes still on the road ahead as she hands you the aux cord.

"Oh- no- Ellie I don't know what to put on."

I take the cord in my hands, turning it over in my fingers.

"Just play anything babe-"

Ellie cuts herself off to fix her mistake, but it was too late. She slipped, and she quickly froze, waiting to see if anyone else in the van caught on, but they didn't, too busy finishing off a joint and laughing at the top of their lungs.

But you? You definitely noticed, and for a second, it felt normal until Ellie's reaction reminded you it wasn't.

"Babe, huh?" You chuckle, mocking her words under your breath as you plug in your phone, scrolling through Spotify until you find something that felt like a safe choice.

Ellies felt her cheeks ignite, both from embarrassment but also your reaction. You weren't mad or scared; you smiled wildly at the nickname, embracing it, and based on your body language- you encouraged it.

You shifted in the seat, scooting as close as you could, turning your body in her direction and crossed your legs, not bothering to fix your dress that scrunched up to the point your lace underwear was peaking out from under the fabric.

You traced shapes on her forearm that rested on the center console with your manicured nail, tracing the lines of her tattoo. You felt Ellie tense under your touch, swallowing hard and trying her best to keep her eyes on the fucking road.

Sisterly affection, right?

-

Ellie pulls the van into the alley behind the bar, shifting the gear into park.

It was pitch black, the only light source being a light pole at the corner, flickering in and out, making the already sketchy area even more unsettling.

You take a deep breath as you exit the car, shutting the door and adjusting your dress.

"Do you play here a lot?" Your voice peaks in question, looking at Ellie who was already unloading the van, holding something heavy in her arms, veins and muscles straining under the weight.

"Yeah- every other weekend or so."

You tried helping in any way you could, grabbing mic stands or rolled up cords, but Ellie always shot you down, shaking her finger followed by a "tsk tsk" and a "can't have you gettin' hurt, princess- the old man will never forgive me."

You eventually give up, knowing anything about your step sister-she's stubborn and doesn't take no for an answer. Instead you sit in the van, legs hanging out the side with the door open, observing the amount of effort it took all of them, but if you were being honest... you only looked at Ellie.

How could you not?

Her biceps bulged, and veins popped in her forearms and all the way down to her hands. Her face was focused, eyebrows scrunched together that made her look unapproachable, but when ever she caught your stares, she'd always give a side smile and a wink.

She was a literal walking wet dream.

-

To say the bar was crowded, was an understatement. The small area was filled with people that were hip to hip, waving beer bottles in their hands, yelling and cheering like they were celebrating a hard-earned victory.

It smelled like smoke and sweat; stickers and hand draw graffiti decorated the walls. Most of the people in there, we're young, mid-20s/ 30s, with the occasional older biker types sprinkled in.

You stood by awkwardly, definitely wishing you wore something that blended in more while Ellie and the rest of the band were setting up on the makeshift stage that was only a few feet from you.

You dazed out into the crowd, rocking from foot to foot when you felt Ellies presence loom over you.

"We're about to start. If you want a drink or anything- just tell Mario at the bar that you're here with me. He'll hook you up." Ellie said in a unintentionally raspy voice, crouching down on the stage to be at eye level with you.

You smile at her, looking down and giving Ellie the perfect time to ogle your tits from a downwards view.

You look up at her and lean in, positioning yourself between her bent knees, letting your nails linger over the denim of her jeans.

You stand on your tippy-toes so that you could get close enough to whisper.

"I'm not taking my eyes off you."

Ellie took a deep breath in as those words danced off the tip of your tongue, so sweet and yet, so suggestive.

Ellie bit the inside of her cheek hard; to bring her back down to earth after the way you teased her. She lifted a finger, tapping it to the underside of your chin, not in an affection way, more of "keep that shit up and see where it gets you" sort of way.

She stood, returning to the center of the stage and draped the guitar around her shoulder, plugging it in and strumming the cords to ensure the tune.

The crowd erupted into cheers louder than before, you look around and can't help but smile as the first few notes start to play.

You didn't recognize the beat, but you didn't care. Your eyes solely looked at Ellie, tuning everyone else out.

She sang into the microphone, chipped black nail polished fingers holding it in place on the mic stand. You felt entranced- under a spell, too busy soaking up the sight and not wanting to forget this night happened.

She looked like a natural, happy, and in her element, beads of sweat forming on her forehead and bridge of her nose, making stands of her hair stick to the sides of her face.

You sway to the music, rocking from side to side with a stupid smile on your face; because all you can think is, she was born for this.

Ellie tried her best to interact with the crowd, but it was hard to look at anyone else knowing you were there, front and center. The way your face lit up in shades of green and red from the neon lights overhead, your smile beaming and how effortlessly you swayed your hips, not too much, but enough to help Ellie imagine you using those movements- swirling your hips on her strap.

You catch Ellie's attention, using the opportunity to blow a kiss at her which definitely may or may not have, made Ellie's voice crack.

You can tell she was frazzled- embarrassed that her mistake echoed into the bar, but no one else seemed to care, too busy singing along and dancing- not to mention inebriated.

You cover your mouth to hide a giggle, your cheeks gleaming from the fullness and sweat of the hot bodies that danced around you.

-

Ellie and the rest of the band; were starting to pack up after saying their closing lines and thanking everyone for being here tonight.

The crowd had fizzled out. Most left, respectively-being it was almost 3 in the morning, while others passed out over tables and chairs.

"Well, whaddya think, was it everything you'd dream it'd be?" Ellie asked, dropping down from the stage to dangle her legs over the edge right next to you.

You leaned against the platform, placing a hand on her knee, looking around to make sure everyone else was still putting shit in the van.

"I think-"

You draw out your words, hushing them into a whisper.

"You- might have found your biggest fan."

Somehow you ended up between her thighs, your hands on each knee as you continue to lean into your words.

Ellie found herself subconsciously leaning in, closing the space between you, her eyes flickering to a darker gaze, her lips parted slightly as short breaths escaped them. You had a spell on her, a girl who thought she could snake her way between any women's legs, but you?

You had all the power over her.

"What do you think you're doing, huh?" Ellie asked, her voice low and coarse from her hours of singing/screaming into a microphone.

It sent shivers down your spine- how she loomed over you, how she looked at you- like she was ready to jump your fucking bones.

You bat your eyelashes, inching you hands further up the inside of her jean cladded thighs, "m' not doing anything, el's... just showing my appreciation is all." You play dumb, rubbing circles dangerously close to the seam of her crotch.

"You're unbelievable-"

"Vans' all packed, ready to go-?"

Ash called out, entering the doorway from the back alley.

You pulled away, clearing your throat, trying to shoot down any suspicions that he may have had. 

Ellie kicked off the platform, running a hand through her shagged haircut.

"Yeah- let's blow this place."

She took your hand in hers, letting you trail behind her as you go back to the car.

It felt urgent and rushed, feeling her grip. She was frustrated and wanted to get you home as quickly as possible to teach you a lesson- make herself feel like she was in control again.

-

The ride home was... tense. Ellie didn't say a word, her jaw clenched, white fisting the steering wheel.

When we got home, she didn't bother saying goodbyes or offering anyone to crash for the night, which she usually would do. She was too determined, too eager to let any more distractions get in her way.

The rest of her band pulled out of the driveway, red brake lights disappearing into the distance, while Ellie continued to tug- more like drag you into the house, making sure to be as quiet as possible to not wake your poor, unsuspecting father.

She drags you up the stairs, your heels making you trip, but she doesn't ease up. The grip on your wrist tightening.

You whisper yell to her, telling her to slow down, but it went unacknowledged.

She yanks you into your bedroom, practically pushing you onto the bed, shutting the door quickly, but making sure to turn the knob so it wouldn't echo a clicking noise throughout the house.

Your heartbeat thuds harder against your chest, propping yourself up on your elbows as you looked at her. You felt a tightening in your stomach, and the room felt like it was on fire.

"You had fun tonight, huh? Like playing your little games with me?" Ellie said accusingly, steeping to the foot of the bed, placing a knee between your legs that dangled over the side.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You continue to act innocent, lowering your voice into a hushed wined like a kicked puppy.

Her knee between your legs forces them apart, displaying your laced-covered heat.

Ellie clicked her tongue against her teeth, slinking a finger to raise the hem of your dress to get a better look.

"Want me to take care of that?" She teases, a cocky smirk hinted on her lips as she motions a eyebrow raise at your sopping cunt.

You almost whimper just from hearing her voice alone, in fact, you probably did.

You don't respond, too distracted by how fucking hot you felt.

Ellie widens her stance, prying your legs further apart as she climbed on top of you.

"Or- do you want me to let you deal with it yourself."

She mere inches from your face, her breath brushing against your lips.

You shake your head desperately, indicating a no.

"Ah-ah.. need to hear you say it pretty girl."

She smirks, her eye contact deepening.

"N-no els.. need your help." You whined, hoping it would make her have pity on you.

Your hands reach up, snaking your fingers through her hair.

She dips down further, pausing before your lips touch. Ellie's lips ghost over, barely grazing yours. Her knee hikes between your thighs and bumps against your cunt.

"A-ah.." You moan, biting your lip and start to grind yourself down on her knee.

In an instant, something ignited in Ellie, hearing your moans and how you desperately tried to get yourself off with little patience or rhythm. She connects your lips, and a low moan vibrates in your mouth as she slips her tongue inside, grazing your teeth and spongy walls.

"You're fucking killing me.." She growls between open mouth kisses, letting her knee drag over your poor, neglected pussy.

You whine, placing your hands on the back of her thighs and pushing her harder against you.

"S' not enough... need more e-ellie."

"Pretty girl needs more, huh?" She said mockingly in a way that sounded dehumanizing.

You nod enthusiastically, your eyebrows furrowing up in frustration.

"Then beg." She stopped all movements with her knee, and your hips raise to connect the contact, but it was no use- only she can save you now.

"P-please els.. I'll do anything- I'll be good.. please." You babbled and pleaded, not really sure what you were saying, but you didn't care as long as it got her to touch you.

Ellie smirked down at you, clearly satisfied that she had you this needy.

"Atta girl... have to be quiet though- Can't have dad hearing you getting fucked, can we?"

You nod pathetically again and Ellie rewards you with a kiss for how good you were being. She pulls away, hovering over you on her knees as she looked down, eyes trailing slowly to take you all in.

She gets off the bed, kneeling at the edge of it to be eye level with your soaked cunt.

"Up."

She taps your calf, signaling for you to prop up your legs and you do what she says without any hesitation.

She thumbs over your pussy, looking up to watch you squirm from the littlest touches that she gives you.

She rubs tight circles over your clit, and to be honest- it felt like a punishment- how lightly she was doing it, knowing how fucking worked up you were.

"Els... please." You whine, tears forming in the corners of your eyes, thrusting your hips up shamelessly.

You hear ellie chuckle to herself before she palms your pussy harshly, rolling her wrist against it which caused you to cry out.

"Sorry baby- just love seeing you all stupid for me." She continued to feel you through your panties, getting you more wet than before.

The pet names she was throwing out had you close by itself, knowing how fucking wrong it was, but fuck... nothing has ever felt this good.

She wrapped her hands around your thighs, fisting the fat between her fingers to spread you out more. You cover your mouth to suppress a moan.

She dips down, hovering over your cunt and you felt her breath hitting your core before she flat tongues a strip over the fabric. She uses her fingers to tug aside your panties, letting the tip of her tongue flick your erect clit.

You bite down on your hand while the other fists your comforter, rocking your hips against her tongue.

"F-fuuu- mm." Your jaw hangs open, fully engrossing yourself with the sensations of her skilled touch.

"Taste so fucking good, baby.. knew you would." Ellie whispered- almost growled between each taste, her hunger growing more out of control.

You pull at the top your dress, yanking your straps down your shoulders and palm your tits, kneading the fat between your fingers.

Ellie noticed, her eyes widening a little before going dark again. She rips off your underwear, yanking them down your legs and tossing them to the floor.

You yelp/moan in surprise as her hands grab you by the back of your thighs and yank you down further to the edge of the bed. She pushes your knees up, leaving your pussy fully exposed to her.

"So pretty.. such a pretty pussy." Ellie says, almost to herself as she placed a kiss to your bud before taking it into her mouth, suckling it until it was swollen and puffy.

You were a mess at this point, overstimulated, and at the same time, you wanted more.

Ellie sat up to watch you carefully, running her fingers over your folds before slapping your puffy cunt repeatedly. It started light at first, but each slap had more power than the last, and she just watched. She watched you squirm, and buckling your hips, trying to get away, but her other hand had a tight grip on your hip to keep you in place.

Full-on tears were streaming down your face at this point, and your clit was throbbing, but you still felt so empty and desperate to be filled.

"E-ellie.. it's too much.. n-need you inside." You said through broken sobs to the best of your abilities.

Ellie's hand tighten on your hip and it will definitely leave bruises for the days to come.

"You need me inside pretty girl?" Ellie fakes a sympathetic tone, her hand smearing your slick further down your thighs before placing a kiss to the delicate skin.

You nod down at her through wet eyelashes, using the back of your hand to wipe away a stray tear.

Your exhale was cut short, Ellie's finger plunging into your pussy, slow at first and just holding it inside, curling it against your walls.

"O-oh- fuuck." You fist the sheets at your sides, your dress bunched up where it only covered a small portion of your mid-section, leaving all the most important details on display.

Her single finger was joined by a second, pumping in and out slowly and spreading them apart inside you. Ellie lacked any rhythm, purposefully slowly her movements when you were close to your climax.

You were a mess, hair sticking to your forehead, and your lip was swollen and raw from biting down on it to keep yourself fucking quiet.

Ellie loved every second of it, watching you fall apart from every little thing she did to you, but it was getting harder to ignore how her boxers were sticking to her own arousal.

After Ellie was satisfied that your were properly stretch out for her, she got up and left the room, leaving you confused on the bed.

She returned not even 2 minutes later, her pants gone, leaving her in just her boxers and her black muscle tank, but she had on something else; a harness that cupped the underside of her ass and a purple silicone dick that stood between her thighs.

Your breath catches in your throat, and a shudder runs down your spine as she strolls over to the bed. 'How could she possibly get any hotter?' You thought to yourself.

She gets on the bed, crawling over you and cages you in with her hands on either side of your head.

Her hand reaches around your throat, squeezing lightly as she connects your lips, it's sloppy and rough, leaving you begging for what's to come.

You break away, your hand coming up to tuck a stray hair behind her ear.

"We shouldn't do this."

"Oh- now you want to stop?" She grins, her hand on your throat coming down to squeeze your tit before rolling your nipple between her fingers.

You moan, squeezing your eyes shut as your head presses further back into the mattress.

"S' not what I said." You whisper sweetly.

"Good-" and just like that, her hand holds the base of her dick, lining it up to your entrance, running it along your folds, and coating it in your slick.

"P-please, please, Ellie.. I need it- O-oh.. fuc-k." You're cut off by her dick slamming into you, fully disappearing inside your cunt. Your nails sink into her forearm, surly leaving crescent shapes into the flesh.

She slowly pulls out only to snap her hips forward, repeating the motion that had you reaching for her, begging to feel her lips on yours again.

You were split open, brain foggy and the only thing you could focus on was her. You whine and moan, sharpe exhales cut short by the tip of her cock hitting your cervix just right. You are babbling incoherently, barely able to form a coherent thought, simply muttering her name over and over again, and it was music to Ellie's ears.

She falls forward, her hand wrapping around your jaw as she plants open mouth kisses to your puffy lips, wet of your saliva mixed with hers.

"Fuck- taking me so well, baby. Such a good girl."

She breathed into your lips, pent up frustration covered up by praises.

Ellie was growing more insatiable, her hand wondering down to squeeze your tit, pulling at your redden and abused peak, but it wasn't enough.

Her pointer and middle finger glazed over your bottom lip, smearing your spit across your face before tapping for entry. You opened hesitantly at first, too fucked out to question her. Her fingers slip in, reaching further into the back of your throat. You moan around her, tasting yourself on her as she presses against your tongue.

Ellie snaps, her hips rutting faster against yours, hitting deeper and harder than you thought anyone could. You yell out in painful pleasure, Ellie's hand coming up to cover your mouth as she sucks on your neck, breathing into it like a women starved. Ellie wanted to take her time with you- wanted you to beg for her to come, but she was past that point.

Tears steamed down your cheeks, your nails clawed at the back of her shoulders as she pistoned into your aching cunt. Your cries were growing louder, muffed by Ellie's hand and she felt your body tense under her, signaling how close you were.

Her lips tugged at the sensitive skin below your ear, pulling and letting it plop back into place, moving up to position her lips over your ear.

"Cum fr' daddy, baby girl."

That's all it took, hearing her primitive voice echo in your brain, feeling her breath fan over your neck. Your hips buckle and then stiffen, her lips capture yours the hide the cry that you both knew was coming on. Your back arches off the mattress, your legs tighten around her waist to keep her deep inside as you come undone on her cock.

She slows her pace inside, snapping her hips against your spongy walls, working you through your orgasm.

She quickly placed a kiss to your worn lips, carefully removing herself from you. You were left breathless, still feeling the aftershocks sparking through your body, not noticing Ellie ridding herself of the hardness and the rest of her clothes minus the black sport bra that she kept on.

She crawled back on the bed, her hands prying your knees open as she portioned herself between your legs.

You barely had time to take in the fact she was almost fully naked, her toned stomach and defined 'v' that lead your eyes down to her dripping pussy.

"Wha-? Els... what are you-?" You ask, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"M' not done with you yet, baby- not after the way you've been teasing me- gonna use your pretty pussy to cum... can you let me do that?" She smirks, rubbing a hand down your inner thigh. It wasn't a question- she was simply vocalizing what she was going to do, and who were you to deny her? 

Your breath hitches, your cunt clenching around nothing, already missing the pressure of her inside. You nod weakly at her, taking your bottom between your teeth.

"Good girl." She coos, leaning down to kiss your knee.

She wedges herself between you two, positioning one of your legs over her shoulder as she sinks down onto you.

"Mm... fuck- oh my god- you make feel so fucking good babe." Ellie moans, grinding her sopping cunt against yours, the combination of your slick coating your thighs and hers.

You're beyond gone at this point, eyes blown out, and the corners of your vision going dark. Ellie grunted with each snap of her hips, her temple resting against your calf as her eyes focused on where you two were connected. Her jaw hung slightly and her brows furrowed upwards, little moans threatened her tongue.

You felt your stomach tightening, your clit pulsating and rubbed raw.

"E-ellie... I can't- gonna cum." You whine, your tone dripping in lust, and desperate to come undone.

"M-me too.. fuck- gonna cum all over your fucking pussy." Ellie said through clenched teeth, speaking more to herself than to you, getting off to hearing such crude words come from her mouth.

If kissing your step-sister wasn't bad enough... this was crossing the line of downright; filthy. The sounds that filled the room, wet skin rubbing against more wet skin, your whines mixed with Ellie's moans and sharp, shallow breaths. It was something straight out of a porno.

"You feel so-fucking-good.. oh my god-" Ellie's jaw drops, rutting her hips harder and faster against yours to reach her growing climax.

Your nails dig into her hip bone, your body going limp and you just take it, too fucked out to do anything else.

You babble her name weakly, eyes rolling back into your skull, grabbing at her in any way you can.

"Fuck-fuck-ohmygod-" You cry, causing Ellie to kiss your inner thigh that rested on her shoulder, sweetly, cooing words of 'I know' and 'cum for me pretty girl'.

Her hips sputter and jolt, growing harder to keep her pace as she reached her peak.

One last glide of her hips had both of you falling apart, shaking and squirming beneath her, whining and moaning into the back of your hand.

She slowed her pace before stopping all together, gently removing your leg and brought it down to rest on the bed.

She laid beside you, breathing heavily, bringing her forearm to rest over her eyes. You both stay like that for for a moment, catching your breath and letting the silence creep into the room.

Ellie turns to face you and brings the sheet up, and over your frame, slinking an arm over your torso. You turn to look at her, almost too engrossed in her features to think about the consequences. Her skin was dewy, freckles sprinkled her cheeks and upper lip, and her lips were full and a darker shade of pink from how chaffed they were. She was beautiful, and you were fucked.

"Probably shouldn't have done that, huh?" She chuckles, bringing her hand up to remove a strand of hair from your face.

A burst of air escapes your nose as you return a giggle, placing your hand on top of hers as it cups your cheek.

"Probably not- what are we going to do?" You ask rhetorically, eyes dazing up to the ceiling.

Ellie hums in thought, memorizing the side of your face, wanting to remember every detail of your skin.

"We could change our names... move to the other side of the country." She teased, but only partly.

"Ha- seems like a lot of work for the sake of having sex with someone." You playfully scoff, rolling your eyes.

Her thumb dances over your bottom lip, swiping back and forth like she's deep in a thought.

"Just say the words and I'll buy the plane tickets."

[tinyshyteacup]

TW: Cussing, threats, firearms

Part 27

Scotch and Screams - Part 28

The room was cold, dimly lit by the pale Irish sun that fought to cut through the grime-streaked window.

Chibs stood by the door, shoulders tight, every muscle wound like a spring as Jax knelt in front of his son Abel

The boy blinked up at his father, wide-eyed and unaware of the storm raging around him.

Chibs swallowed thickly, his throat raw with something he couldn’t quite name. Relief, maybe. But also rage.

They had found Abel.

After all the blood, all the goddamn running, after the twisted game Jimmy'O had been playing—there he was.

Safe.

"Thank Christ," he muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face.

Jax barely seemed to hear him, too lost in his own world as he carefully lifted Abel into his arms. The boy fussed, confused, but quieted as Jax whispered to him.

Chibs let out a slow breath, stepping closer, watching the Abel curl into his father’s chest. It was the first time Jax had held his son in weeks, and Chibs could feel the emotion rolling off him in waves.

But then—

"Ah, what a sight."

That voice.

The hairs on the back of Chibs' neck stood up, rage flaring hot in his gut as he turned sharply.

Jimmy'O stood in the doorway, a smirk carved onto his face like he was enjoying a private joke. He was flanked by a couple of his men, standing just out of reach, just far enough to make a clean getaway.

"Nice reunion, boys," Jimmy said smoothly, eyes flicking to Jax and Abel. "Warms the heart."

Jax’s whole body tensed, but it was Chibs who took a step forward, fists clenching at his sides.

"Bastard," he spat, voice low and dangerous.

Jimmy just grinned, tilting his head slightly. "Now, Filip, what did i say about greeting old friends?"

Chibs could feel the fire in his veins before Jimmy even spoke, the heat of his rage pressing against his ribs like a cage made of flesh and bone, barely holding in the storm.

His breath came sharp, teeth clenched so tight his jaw ached.

His fists curled at his sides, knuckles cracking.

He was standing still, but inside, he was already lunging, already wrapping his hands around that smug bastard’s throat.

Then Jimmy tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something dark, something knowing.

"You know, Filip," he said, voice light, almost conversational. "I've taken one woman from ye before. What’s stoppin’ me from takin’ another?"

The world stopped.

The words hit like a blade to the gut, slicing through the air, through Chibs’ control. He went deathly still, a predator just before the kill.

"Ye best choose yer next words carefully, Jimmy," he said, voice low and steady, but shaking with restrained violence.

Jimmy only smirked, tilting his head as if considering it.

"Relax, brother," he said with a slow shrug, his tone dripping with false innocence. "I'm just saying... a wee lass like that, soft-spoken, so bloody sweet—aye, bet she'd be real easy to break, wouldn't she?"

Chibs saw red.

He lunged before his mind could catch up with his body. Juice and Opie were on him instantly, grabbing his arms, their grips tight as steel.

"LET ME GO!" he roared, muscles straining as he fought against them, his body a live wire of fury. He could barely hear them over the roaring in his ears.

Jimmy just laughed. That same infuriating, smug laugh.

"Aye, there he is," he taunted. "Same old Filip. So predictable. Just like back in the day."

Chibs snapped.

"I’LL RIP YER FECKIN’ HEART OUT!" His voice was raw, scraped down to its very bones.

Jimmy took a slow step back, grinning like he was enjoying every second of this.

"Ah, but ye can’t, can ye?" he said mockingly. "Yer boys won’t let ye."

He gestured toward Juice and Opie, still holding Chibs back, their grips ironclad.

"But don’t worry, brother," Jimmy went on, still grinning. "I was only havin’ a bit of fun. For now."

"Let me go!" Chibs snarled to his brothers, muscles straining.

"Yer a dead man, Jimmy," he growled, voice shaking with rage

Then, without another word, Jimmy'O turned and bolted, his men covering his retreat. Gunfire rang out, but it was too late. Jimmy'O was gone.

And Chibs—

Chibs was left standing there, breathing hard, shaking with the kind of rage that burned a man from the inside out.

The drive back to SAMBEL was quiet, tension thick in the air. Jax sat in the front, one hand on Abel’s tiny back, the other gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles went white.

Chibs sat in the back, his head against the van’s cold metal wall, staring at nothing.

"You alright, brother?" Juice asked after a long stretch of silence.

Chibs didn’t answer at first. His jaw was tight, the words pressing behind his teeth like something sharp.

Finally, he exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Nae, Juice," he admitted. "I'm not."

His voice was raw, rough.

"We got Abel," Juice pointed out, like that was enough.

And maybe it should have been. But it wasn’t.

"Aye," Chibs said quietly, staring at his hands.

As much as he wanted to be grateful for this small victory, it felt like a hollow one. Because Jimmy was still out there.

The news hit like a hammer to the ribs.

Jimmy'O had escaped.

The air in the SAMBEL clubhouse, already thick with cigarette smoke and whiskey fumes, seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on Chibs like a weight.

He sat stiffly at the bar, fingers tightening around the glass of whiskey he hadn’t touched, his mind racing.

"Shit," Clay muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand down his face. "That Irish bastard just won’t die, huh?"

"Aye," Chibs said lowly, voice almost too calm. That was the dangerous thing about him—when the rage settled too deep, when it didn’t explode outright but simmered, slow-burning and lethal.

He could feel it now, curling in his gut like a blade being twisted.

Jimmy O had been right there. Right there.

And now he was gone.

Jax paced beside him, rubbing his temples like he was barely holding back his own frustration. "Jesus Christ, how the hell did he slip the IRA?"

"He had help," Opie guessed, shaking his head. "Probably the Russians. Someone paid his way out."

Chibs swallowed back the taste of bile, feeling his pulse thud against his throat.

Jimmy O wasn’t just some enemy.

He wasn’t just a problem to be solved.

He was personal.

The scars on Chibs’ face burned as if the bastard had carved them into his skin just yesterday.

Jimmy O had taken everything from him once before—his brothers, his family, his life in Belfast.

And now, with the bastard running loose in the States, the past wasn’t just creeping back in—it was rushing toward him, like a bullet heading straight for his chest.

He barely heard the conversation around him. SAMCRO were still talking, still throwing out theories, plans, next steps. But Chibs’ mind had already raced ahead.

Jimmy O was in the States.

Which meant you were in danger.

His fingers curled into a fist against the table.

Because if Jimmy O got anywhere near you?

Chibs would make damn sure that this time, the bastard didn’t get away, He wouldn’t rest until that bastard was six feet under.

The phone rang once. Twice.

Chibs’ grip on the burner phone was tight, his knuckles aching with the force of it.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears, his mind racing ahead to all the worst-case scenarios. Jimmy O was loose. Not locked up, not dead, not a distant threat in a foreign country.

He was somewhere in the States.

Closer to you than Chibs was.

A third ring. His jaw clenched. He hated being this far away from you, hated the helplessness pressing down on his ribs like a steel boot.

He wasn’t a man who panicked, but something about this—about you—set his blood on fire.

Then—

"Filip."

Just like that, his whole chest tightened.

Your voice, soft and familiar, cut through the tension like a blade. The world around him—SAMCRO talking in low voices, the hum of the SAMBEL clubhouse—faded into nothing.

"Hey, love," he said, voice rougher than he meant. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound steady. "Ye alright?"

There was a pause, then a quiet laugh. "You just called me this morning. I’m fine Scotsman"

A muscle in his jaw jumped. He could picture you so clearly—probably curled up somewhere warm, completely unaware of the shadows shifting just outside your world. Completely unaware that a monster was on the move.

"Aye, I know," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "Just… needed to hear ye."

A softer pause this time. Then—

"Are you okay?"

No.

Not even close.

"Aye," he lied smoothly, his accent rolling low. "Just a long day, that’s all."

You didn’t sound convinced, but you let it slide.

"Alright"

A beat. Then "I miss you."

Jesus Christ.

Something inside him cracked.

"I know, mo chridhe," he murmured, voice thick. "I miss ye too."

And he did. Every goddamn second.

But this wasn’t just about missing you. This was about keeping you safe.

Since he wasn’t there to do it himself, he needed someone who was.

"Listen, love," he said, exhaling hard. "Tig around?"

A beat of confusion. "Yeah… he’s here. Want me to get him?"

"Aye."

A shuffling sound, then the faint sound of you calling for Tig before the phone was muffled. Chibs waited, his knee bouncing with restless energy. Then—

"What’s up, Chibby?"

"Listen, Trager," Chibs snapped, his patience razor-thin. "Jimmy O got loose. He’s in the States. Probably got the Russians behind him."

Silence.

Then, Tig’s voice dropped into something colder. "Shit."

"Aye. And he knows about her, threatened her"

Tig exhaled sharply, and Chibs could hear him moving, probably pacing. "You want me on her full-time?"

"Aye. Don’t let her outta yer fuckin’ sight, ye hear me? No runs to the store alone, no walkin’ to the clubhouse without someone with her. If anyone—anyone—so much as looks at her sideways, ye put ‘em in the goddamn ground."

"Yeah, man. I got her."

Chibs closed his eyes, swallowing hard. Tig might’ve been a wildcard, but when it came to protecting the people he cared about? There wasn’t a single man Chibs trusted more.

"Good," he muttered. "Keep me updated."

"You got it, Chibby."

There was a pause, then the phone shuffled again.

"Filip?"

His chest tightened at the sound of your voice.

"Aye, love," he said softer.

"Everything okay?"

"Aye," he lied again, his voice warmer now. "Just club business, nothin’ for ye to worry about."

He could picture the little frown you probably had, the slight tilt of your head as you tried to read between the lines.

But you wouldn’t ask, you trusted him.

"Okay," you murmured. "Be safe, Filip."

Jesus. He had to get home.

"Aye, love," he said, softer than before. "Ye too, mo chridhe"

And then, reluctantly, he hung up.

He sat there for a moment, the silence pressing in, his heart still hammering in his chest.

Then, slowly, his expression hardened.

Tig showing up at the most random times—leaning against his bike when you left the store, acting like he just happened to be riding by when you were grabbing coffee, nodding at you from across the street when you walked out of the clubhouse.

The first few times, you thought nothing of it. But then, the coincidences kept piling up.

"Tig, are you following me?"

Tig, standing by his Dyna, raised his eyebrows, all mock offense.

"Me? Following you? Sweetheart, I got better things to do."

You narrowed your eyes. "Really? Because this is the fourth time today you’ve ‘just been in the neighborhood.’"

He smirked, looking unbothered. "What can I say? It’s a small town."

You folded your arms. "Tig—"

"Alright, alright," he cut you off, holding his hands up. "Maybe I’m just… keepin’ an eye on you. Y’know, making sure you don’t get yourself into any trouble."

You frowned. "When do I get in trouble, Tig?"

Tig shrugged, too nonchalant. "No reason. Just… you know, with the guys still in Belfast, I figured you could use a big, strong man looking out for you." He flashed a grin. "And since there’s none of those around, you’re stuck with me."

You weren’t convinced, but he was Tig, and Tig was always… well, Tig. You sighed, letting it go.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than he was saying.

When Chibs called that night, you mentioned it.

"Filip"

"Mo chridhe"

"Hey ... Scotsman ... Tig’s been hanging around a lot. Says he’s ‘keeping an eye on me.’"

There was a pause.

A little too long.

"That so?" Chibs’ voice was careful.

You could hear the sounds of shuffling in the background drawers opening and closing.

Was Filip packing ?

The idea alone made your chest tighten.

Filip coming home.

"Yeah, but you know Tig. He’s not exactly the most serious guy in the world." You laughed lightly.

"He probably just misses you guys."

Another pause, the shuffling stopped.

Then—his voice dipped lower, rougher. "Love… if Tig’s watchin’ ye, there’s a reason."

The warmth in your chest cooled slightly. "What do you mean, Scotsman?"

Chibs exhaled, the sound of him rubbing a hand over his beard coming through the phone.

"Nothin’ for ye to worry about, mo chridhe. Just… I asked ‘im to keep close. That alright?"

"You asked him?"

"Aye."

You hesitated.

"Filip, what are you not telling me?"

Silence.

For a second, you thought the call had dropped.

Then, softly— "Ye trust me, aye?"

Your stomach twisted. "You know I do."

"Then trust me on this."

His voice was warm, steady—but there was something else there.

Something heavy.

Something he wasn’t telling you.

You didn’t push.

But a part of you wondered—