#my soul is easily fed

[wow-an-unfunny-joke]

I love human Leo having vitiligo I ADORE when his vitiligo face stripes are splotchy and stuff, like the straight lines are fine but the splotchy imperfect stripes fuel my soul

[catsaurofmagiccomedy]

I runned out of tags,, i will compile all of this and reblog it as text, i guess

Please put your logic in the tags I’m genuinely interested in this cause I’ve seen a few good takes already, even if I think something different.

Please remember that avatar and victim are two different things and while there are certainly overlaps in some instances mostly an avatar is a manifestation of a power that gains energy from feeding off of victims of the power that they belong to. They can still suffer from a power, but they aren’t it’s main prey, more of a mouth piece. Or living snare.

[bunnis-monsters]

The mating bond of a prince

Yandere!Demon Prince x Fem!Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 17th

Oct 16

Oct 18

summary:

warning: dubcon, kind of angsty, breeding, mating, marking, possessive and obsessive behavior

a/n: I wanna do more with this concept, but here’s a snippet for monstertober because I’m behind ><

Demons were said to be cruel creatures incapable of love or empathy, soulless beings that fed on fear and misery… and for the most part, that was true.

But what humans didn’t know about demons was one simple fact. There is only one person that they will ever love and care for…

Their mate.

Every demon was born into the world with one thought in their mind.

To find their mate.

Soon, other thoughts would pop up from time to time. They had to eat to continue the search for their mate, tear down humans cities to help their species thrive so their mate would have a comfortable place to live once they found them.

If they didn’t fight to end human civilization, where would their mates live and raise young? Taking their beloved back to hell with them was out of the question!

This was how the demon king managed to help demon numbers increase and keep his army growing. If each demon was born with the urge to procreate and create a good nesting ground for their mate, they could be easily controlled.

He just hadn’t expected his son, the prince of hell to be bound to a human.

The prince had recently conquered a small village. As he went about killing the men, his entire body began to throb.

In the distance, he smelled something that had his head spinning. One of the small cottages was on fire, that heavenly scent coming from inside.

He felt his body being pulled towards it, so he completely ignored the humans attempting to kill him and walked towards the cottage.

Breaking down the door was easy, but being enveloped in your overwhelming scent made it hard to think.

The second he saw you, injured and barely confused as a fellow demon stood over your fragile, human body, he felt something he had never felt before.

Protective.

Within seconds he was shirking your body, his claw drenched in the demons blood from ripping his throat out. Why was he doing this? You were just some human woman, but his soul was bound to you.

He couldn’t let you die.

When you woke up, you were somewhere strange… some sort of contraption beeped next to you, the beeps increasing in frequency as you sat up and looked around… only to spot a demon by your bed.

All you felt was pure terror.

You stared at the creature whose specifies was responsible for the deaths of so many of your friends and family, who killed innocents in cold blood. Tears streamed down your face as you tried to speak.

“Please… let me go…”

But when the prince looked into your eyes for the first time, his body felt like it had been set on fire.

He loved you, and you were his mate.

Not once in his life had he ever looked upon another creature with such fondness and care. The prince made his way to your bed, kneeling by your side and taking your hand.

“My love… oh, my darling do not fear… here you are safe, you’ll be treasured for all eternity…”

He kissed the back of your hand, your gut burning with anger and shame. This thing had taken you as some sort of… bride?

“W-what about my family?”

The words finally came out after a few days in the hospital. In this time, you learned that demon society was far ahead of the human one, with machines that could monitor your heart rate and medicines that kept you from being in pain.

It was… comfortable.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark and cold. “What about them? They are humans, they will be culled like the rest.”

You clutched your blanket in your fists, your eyes welling up with tears. Something about you crying made his chest ache, and the prince reached out to caress your cheek.

“Why do you cry? Are you not comfortable?”

The demon could not comprehend your feelings towards your loved ones. He simply saw them as pests that needed to be eradicated, and could only feel love for you, his mate.

“They’re my family, I love them!”

Your sudden exclamation had him raising an eyebrow, his tail twitching. Were they really that important?

The prince knew that every human from your village was already dead, there was no way your family had survived. But to placate his mate, he wrapped his tail around you, using his soft black wings to encircle you and bring you close.

“I’ll have my men escort them somewhere safe. You may not see them, but they will live.”

This lie made you relax, and you settled into his arms. You felt like you could finally rest, and slept like a baby for the first time since you had been taken away.

The prince wanted to take things slow, but news that his mate had turned out to be a human woman spread through the kingdom until it reached his father.

He was called in to meet with the King, who was displeased, but mildly amused.

“I hear you’ve taken on a human mate, my son. You know how the royal court will react.”

The prince nodded, standing tall and confident in front of his father. “I am prepared to defend my mate to my dying breath, as would any demon.”

“That’s all well and good, but a human mate is an eyesore. You should hurry up and get her pregnant, there will be less danger once an heir is produced.”

Everyone knew that demon blood was powerful, being the dominant trait in every pairing. Once she was pregnant with the heir to the throne, not a single creature would dare to touch her.

It had only been a week since you had been home from the hospital, staying with the demon prince when suddenly approached you.

“My love…”

His lips peppered across your neck, hands holding onto your waist before sliding to your hips. “I wanted to wait… to give you time to adjust…”

You froze when his tail moved between your legs, rubbing against your clothed cunt. “But this is the only way to keep you safe… please, don’t be afraid… I’ll be gentle.”

The pieces slowly came together as his tail played with your cunt, rubbing against your panties before slipping under them and toying with your clit.

His hand was on your belly, eyes darting between your face and thighs. The way he moved his hand around your stomach…

He was going to breed you.

You squirmed for a bit, letting out an uncomfortable whine, but settled down when his clawed hand danced across your chest, groping one of your breasts as his face buried itself into your neck.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, love… this life is comfortable, isn’t it? I can give you a life of peace and safety, where you don’t have to fear war or pain. You’ll be taken care of.”

The very thought of some human male touching his lover made a growl rumble in his chest. You’d be staying with him, that wasn’t an option… but he wanted it to be something you chose yourself.

It felt sinful feeling wet from the demon playing with your fat pussy. His fingers pumped in and out of your as the tip of his tail continued to stimulate your clit, your juices flowing down your thighs.

He said your family was safe… was it so bad to let this demon take you as his mate? You were tired of long nights full of screams from people running from demons, of days without a proper meal as you rationed your supplies so you wouldn’t have to leave your home.

Couldn’t you live a comfortable life? You’ve suffered enough…

So you let him pin you down, watching as his fat cock rubbed against your leg. You had never seen a man naked before, so you were unsure if the size was normal… but you knew it had to be bigger than average.

His wings fluttered as his cock rested against your thigh. It nudges you, his tail lifting from your cunt to your tits, playing with them.

“I love you… more than you could ever imagine. You never have to want for anything again. I’ll give you everything…”

The pain of him taking your virginity made you cry out, your nails digging into his forearm. It didn’t hurt him at all, and he simply cooed, his wings soft as he dried his best to comfort you.

“Shh… shh… oh, my love I know it hurts. It won’t be for long…”

His lips pressed against your forehead, sweat already beading down. It wasn’t easy trying to take something so large inside of you for the first time…

The second you eased into it a bit, he pulled back out and slammed into you. He hadn’t meant to be rough, but he had struggled to control his urge to breed you from the second he realized you were his mate.

“I love you…” he murmured, gripping your hips as he fucked you, his teeth lightly gracing your neck. He wanted to cover you in bites and hickeys, claiming you completely.

He wasn’t done with you until your belly bulged with his cum. You smelled so much like him that he was a sappy mess.

You were exhausted, sore, and in need of a bath… but your demon mate curled around you protectively, kissing all over your body.

Within a month you were confirmed to be pregnant, and were moved into the palace as a princess.

You’d live a life of comfort… but were practically betraying your species by baring the future demon prince.

The current demon prince would soon be king, and you his queen.

An honor and the biggest shame.

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

[itneverendshere]

played me like a clarinet - rafe cameron

request: "Desperately-on my knees-begging for a ''She's all that'' from 1999, with Popular Rafe x Reader. Ooouff, and you want that soul crushing heartbreak when she finds out about the bet he had made"

pairing: rafe x smart!nerdy!reader warnings: angst <3; VERY LONG

wrote this listening to roses <3

Rafe Cameron held grudges better than anyone and his ex was about to witness exactly that. 

Fucking Jessica Green liked to think of herself as the queen of their university, the epitome of beauty and popularity. Some real high school bullshit he only fed because he liked her. And then, she went and dumped him for none other than Tyler West, the star player of his rival basketball team. Technically, she cheated on him, sneaking around with that piece of shit behind his back. 

The humiliation was killing him. 

Rafe wasn't one to take such things lying down; he wanted revenge, and he wanted it badly. He wanted to ruin her life. It wasn’t just enough to ruin her reputation—he wanted to hit her where it hurt the most. And what would hurt more than being replaced? Not just by any girl, but by someone who was everything she wasn’t. It was a genius idea, really. To prove that some loser could easily take her place, with a little help of course.

And that’s when he noticed you.

Kelce pointed you out actually, when they were six beers in and too fucking drunk to think clearly. But it was still a good choice.

You were the complete opposite of his ex, blending into the crowds like it was your superpower. He watched you for an entire hour at the party. You didn’t utter a single word the entire time you were there, only nursing your drink and listening to the other girls on the cheerleading squad speak.

Hell, he didn’t even know you were a cheerleader until that night. 

Were you always there? How had he never noticed you before? It was hard to remember when all he focused on up until then was Jessica. 

You were practically invisible in comparison to her, always on the sidelines, blending into the background. 

You were perfect.

If he could take this overlooked, nerdy girl and turn her into the new queen of the university, it would be the ultimate blow to Jessica's ego. It would prove that she wasn’t as irreplaceable as she thought. 

“You really gonna do it?”

He didn’t take his eyes off you, “Oh yeah. ‘M doing it.”

“Nahh, there’s no way you’re pulling this off.”

Rafe leaned back in his chair, a cocky grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Kelce’s skepticism was exactly what he expected, and honestly, it made the challenge even sweeter.

 “You think so?” he said, his tone light but with an edge of determination. “Watch me.”

Kelce, always the instigator, leaned forward with a smirk. “Come on, Cameron. You really think you can turn that quiet little thing into the next Jessica? She’s cute, I guess, in that nerdy way, but she’s not queen material.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he kept his cool. “She’s got potential,” he said confidently. “Just needs someone to show her how to use it.”

Topper laughed, shaking his head. “You’re insane. This isn’t some movie where the shy girl takes off her glasses and suddenly she’s hot. Jessica had something that can’t be taught.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Rafe pointed out, “It’s all about confidence man. Jessica wasn’t born the way she is now. She learned how to act the part, and I can do the same with her.”

Like a school project, he thought to himself. That’s all you were. 

Kelce took a swig of his drink, clearly enjoying where the conversation was going. “Alright, I’ll bite. How much time are we talking here? Because she’s got a long way to go, my guy.”

Rafe tilted his head, considering. “Give me two months. By the end of it, she’ll be turning heads. Maybe even more.”

Topper snorted, setting his drink down with a thunk. “Two months? No way. I’ll bet you a grand you can’t pull it off.”

Kelce laughed, clapping his hands together. “Oh, this is gonna be good. I’m in. A grand says you can’t turn her into the hottest girl in school.”

Rafe’s eyes glinted with determination. “You’re on,” he said, without hesitation. “In a month or two, you’ll be handing me that fucking cash, and she’ll be the one everyone’s talking about. Looking all pretty in my arms.”

Kelce raised his glass. “To Rafe and his miracle project. This is gonna be fun to watch.”

Topper shook his head again, still grinning as he clinked his glass against Kelce’s. “Here’s to you wasting a month of your life on a lost cause.”

He clinked his glass with theirs, the bet sealed. 

“You better start saving up.”

This plan was flawless. 

It was so good that even in his drunken haze, he could see how perfectly it would play out. The first step was simple: get close to you. Make you feel special, noticed, like you were someone who mattered. Rafe knew how to charm people; it was practically second nature. And with Jessica, it had been easy—too easy. She’d fallen for his looks, his confidence, his golden boy appeal. 

The next day, he started showing up at places he knew you’d be. The library, the campus coffee shop, even lingering around after cheerleading practice. At first, he didn’t approach you, just observed. 

He had to figure out how to crack the code, how to make you see him without scaring you off. It took a week before he made his first move.

You were sitting alone in the library, surrounded by textbooks and notes. He casually strolled up, pretending to be looking for a book on the same shelf. “Hey,” he said, glancing down at you with a disarming smile. “You’re in my econ class, right? Mind if I sit here?”

You looked up, a little startled, but nodded, shifting your books to make room for him. You probably couldn’t believe that someone like Rafe Cameron was talking to you, let alone sitting with you. But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? To make you feel special, to pull you out of your shell and into his orbit.

He knew he still had to tread carefully. The wrong move could send you running, and he couldn’t afford that.

You kept your eyes down, focused on your notes. He noticed the way your hand shook slightly when you turned the page. Rafe leaned in a little closer, just enough to make his presence known without crowding you.

“You always this buried in work?” he asked casually, pulling out a notebook and flipping it open.

You glanced up, surprised he was still there. “I guess. I have a lot to catch up on.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I hear you. Econ’s been kicking my ass this semester. You doing okay in it?”

He could tell you were surprised. Probably didn't expect him to know you shared the same class. And he didn't, until last week.

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, it’s… fine. Just a lot of material.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I’ve been trying to wrap my head around these supply and demand curves for days. You think the professor’s trying to torture us?”

You smiled faintly, a small victory in his book. “Maybe. It’s kind of her thing.”

Rafe grinned, pleased that he got a reaction out of you. “You mind if I study with you? Might help to bounce some ideas off each other.”

You blinked, clearly taken aback by his request. “Um, sure. I mean, if you want.”

“Definitely,” he replied smoothly. “You seem like you actually know what’s going on, unlike me.”

He spent the next hour working alongside you, occasionally asking questions, but mostly just being there. He didn’t push, didn’t try too hard. He wanted you to get comfortable with him, to see him as someone you could rely on.

“I’m sorry about Jessica.”

The way you blurted the words out told him you hadn’t meant to say it. 

Rafe froze, his grip tightening on the pen in his hand. He could feel the familiar anger bubbling up, but he forced it down, keeping his expression calm. This was exactly what he didn’t want—Jessica’s name being brought up, especially by you.

But he couldn’t let you see that. 

He looked at you, feigning surprise with a bit of sadness, as if Jessica was just a painful memory he was trying to move past. “Oh,” he said softly, his voice controlled and measured. “You know about that?”

You nodded, eyes wide and apologetic, clearly regretting bringing it up. “Yeah… I mean, it’s all over campus, right? The girls were talking about it in the locker room. I just—I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry.”

Rafe forced a smile, as if he was grateful for your concern. He leaned back in his chair, letting out a small sigh as if he was relieved to talk about it, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. “It’s okay,” he said, his tone gentle. “I guess it’s just one of those things, y’know? We were together for a while, and it sucked when it ended.”

You looked down at your notes, fidgeting with the corner of a page. 

“She shouldn’t have done that to you.”

He let out a dry laugh, the bitterness threatening to seep through, but he quickly disguised it as a rueful chuckle. “Yeah, well, people do shitty things sometimes. Guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”

He noticed the way you seemed to relax as if you were relieved that he wasn’t angry. He needed to shift the conversation away from Jessica, and back to you, where it should be. “But hey,” he said, his voice brightening as if he was genuinely trying to shake off the bad memories, “Everything happens for a reason right?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden attention. “Right."

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. “You’re not like everyone else around here. You’re real, y’know? Genuine. I like that.”

Bullshit. But he could see the effect his words had on you. Easy.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, and you looked away, a small, shy smile playing on your lips. “I’m just…here.”

Rafe shook his head, his smile softening, taking on a more sincere tone. “I’m glad I’m getting the chance to see that.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at him with those wide eyes, as if you were trying to figure him out. Rafe held your gaze, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make the moment feel meaningful, even though he knew exactly what he was doing. He was reeling you in, one calculated move at a time.

Finally, you nodded, lips twitching, “Thanks, Rafe."

Oh, you were too perfect for this.

He grinned, leaning back in his chair as if the conversation had lightened his mood.

 “Anytime."

It was a perfect conversation, one that made you feel like he was letting you in on something personal, something real. And from the look on your face, it worked.

But inside, Rafe was fuming. Jessica had managed to worm her way into his head again, even indirectly. It was a reminder of why he was doing this in the first place. 

He plastered on another smile, picking up his pen and tapping it lightly against his notebook. “So,” he said, steering the conversation back to safer waters, “You think you can help me with this econ stuff? Because I’m pretty sure I’m doomed without you.”

You laughed, the tension from earlier completely dissipating. “Yeah, I think I can manage that.”

As you both turned your attention back to your notes, Rafe felt a sense of satisfaction. He was winning that bet on way or another. 

Over the next few weeks, Rafe made sure to stick to his plan. Slowly but surely, he worked his way into your life. He was always around, ready with a casual compliment or a small gesture that made you feel noticed, special. He’d walk you to class, carry your books, and offer to study with you whenever he had the chance. He knew how to play the long game, and with every passing day, you were warming up to him more and more.

He made sure to steer clear of anything that might remind you of Jessica or his past. Instead, he focused on building up your confidence, subtly encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone. 

He’d invite you to parties, introducing you to his friends, and before long, you were starting to come out of your shell. You even started to dress a little differently—nothing too drastic, but enough to catch people’s attention. The change was gradual, but it was happening, and Rafe could see it.

The first party he invited you to was at a swanky off-campus house, the kind of place you’d only ever heard about but never had the nerve to attend. He had that effect on you—made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you belonged in a world that had always seemed so out of reach. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Rafe said, his voice smooth as silk. You hesitated, biting your lip, feeling out of place just imagining yourself in his world.

“I don’t know… I’m not really into parties,” you admitted.

Rafe grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “I promise I won’t let anything bad happen. Just give it a try, for me?”

His gaze was so earnest, so convincing, that you found yourself nodding. “Okay. I guess I could give it a shot.”

The first party was initially awkward—loud music, people you didn’t know, and a social scene that felt worlds away from where you belonged. 

But Rafe stayed close. 

The moment you walked in, the loud music and flashing lights overwhelmed your senses. You clung a little closer to him, who noticed and shot you a reassuring smile, his hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you through the crowd. He was different tonight—more confident, more assertive. 

“Relax,” he whispered in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re with me. Have some fun, sweets.”

You nodded, trying to loosen up, but the eyes on you—on both of you—were hard to ignore. People were noticing. Whispering. It was exactly what Rafe wanted.

He led you to where Kelce and Topper were already posted up, drinks in hand. The second they saw you, their eyebrows shot up, but they quickly masked their surprise with easy smiles. Rafe kept you close as he greeted them, his hand never leaving your back.

“Guys, this is her,” Rafe said, his tone casual but with a hint of pride. “Told you I’d get her to come out with us.”

Kelce looked you up and down, his smirk growing. “Well, well, Cameron. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Topper raised his drink in your direction, his smile more genuine. “Nice to meet you. Rafe’s been talking you up.”

You managed a small chuckle, feeling the weight of their attention on you. “Nice to meet you too.”

Rafe gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Why don’t you grab a drink? I’ll be right here.”

You nodded, grateful for the brief escape, and headed towards the makeshift bar in the kitchen. As soon as you were out of earshot, the easygoing demeanor Rafe had been maintaining with you slipped away, replaced by something more calculating as he turned back to his friends.

“So?” Kelce asked, “How’s the project going?”

Rafe shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Better than expected. She’s starting to come out of her shell. Still got a long way to go, but I’d say we’re on track.”

Topper leaned against the counter, his gaze following you as you picked out a drink. “She seems… nice. You sure you want to go through with this, man?”

Rafe shot him a look, his expression hardening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Topper shrugged. “Just saying. She doesn’t seem like the type who’s cut out for this crowd. Might be too sweet for what you’ve got planned.”

Kelce chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s sweet, alright. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? She’s not Jessica. And if he pulls this off, it’s gonna be legendary.”

Rafe’s lips curled into a smirk. “Exactly. She’s perfect for this.”

He said it with confidence, but there was something else in his eyes—something he quickly buried as he watched you make your way back with a drink in hand.

When you returned to the group, his expression softened instantly. He slipped back into the charming, attentive guy he’d been playing for you all night.

“Got something good?” he asked, nodding towards your drink.

You giggled, holding up your cup. “Just punch. Thought I’d start slow.”

He snorted, nodding approvingly. “Smart move. Don’t let these guys talk you into anything too crazy.”

The night went on like that, Rafe playing the perfect gentleman, always by your side, making sure you were comfortable, that you were enjoying yourself. He introduced you to more people, his arm around your shoulders, subtly guiding you through the social maze with ease. And every time you excused yourself—whether to grab another drink or use the restroom—his demeanor shifted. The smile would slip, and he’d share knowing looks with his friends, a silent acknowledgment of the game they were playing.

But you didn’t see any of that. 

You saw the guy who made you feel like you were finally part of something bigger, like you belonged. And as the night went on, you found yourself relaxing more, laughing, talking, feeling the walls you’d built around yourself start to come down.

Rafe noticed, of course. That was the whole point. He’d spent weeks laying the groundwork, and tonight was just the beginning. He was getting what he wanted.

But as he watched you laugh at something Kelce said, genuinely enjoying yourself, he felt a pang of something unfamiliar. It was brief, fleeting, but it was there. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was something else. He quickly pushed it aside, reminding himself why he was doing this.

He knew better than to get too comfortable. 

He knew his ex wouldn’t stay out of his business forever, and sure enough, she confronted him right before class the next day.

“Rafe, can we talk?”

He didn’t look at her right away, instead shoving his notebook into his bag as if she wasn’t even worth the effort. But he couldn’t resist; he turned to her, keeping his expression neutral. “What’s up?”

Jessica glanced around, making sure no one was listening, before stepping closer to him. Her voice was low, almost pleading. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, playing dumb. “What do you mean?”

She huffed in frustration, clearly not in the mood for games. “Don’t act like you don’t know. She’s a nice girl, I know she’s not your type.”

Rafe couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. “Jealous?

Jessica’s eyes flashed with anger, but there was something else there too—guilt. 

“No. You’re just going to use her to get back at me? That’s not fair. She doesn’t deserve that.”

He leaned in closer, his smirk turning cold. “You didn’t think about fairness when you were sneaking around with Tyler, did you? Why should I care about what she deserves?”

"Rafe."

"You only care about your precious reputation, so shut the fuck up."

Jessica flinched, “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done what I did. But I fell in love with Tyler. I’m not sorry about that.”

“Do you even realize what you did to me?” The memory of the last time he’d trusted her flashed before his eyes—the way she’d smiled at him. The same smile she had for someone else, “You don’t get to apologize now. You don’t get to tell me what’s fair.”

Jessica’s expression softened, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’m not saying this for me. I’m saying it for her."

"Right, because you care so much about other people, huh?"

"You're being difficult for no reason."

Rafe clenched his jaw, every word she said feeling like a knife twisting in his gut. He wanted to lash out, to tell her that she didn’t get to play the moral high ground after everything she’d done. But instead, he just stared at her, his eyes hard and cold.

“Stay out of it, Jess” he said finally, his voice low and dangerous. “And keep your fucking mouth shut.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as if she’d been expecting this. “Just think about it before you do something stupid."

Without another word, Jessica turned and walked away, leaving Rafe standing there, seething with anger. He watched her go, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Of course, she would act like she gave a shit about you the moment he’s attention shifted from her. She had no right to lecture him, no right to tell him what to do.

This was about revenge, about proving a point. You were just a means to an end, nothing more.

But you made it so fucking hard for him to keep his head in the game. 

Every time you smiled at him, every time you thanked him for something small, it chipped away at the cold resolve he had built up inside. He told himself it was just part of the plan, that getting close to you was necessary for the outcome he wanted. But the more time he spent with you, the more he realized that he was enjoying himself. 

He didn't even have to put in the effort to influence you. You began to speak up in class, even crack jokes with the other girls on the cheerleading squad. The transformation was happening right before his eyes, just like he’d planned. But instead of feeling satisfied, there was a knot of guilt forming in his stomach. You were changing, yes, but it wasn’t just on the outside. You were starting to trust him, to look at him like he was more than just some popular guy who was doing you a favor. You were starting to care, and that terrified him.

One night, after another party where you had danced a little closer, laughed a little louder, Rafe walked you back to your dorm. The campus was quiet, the stars above bright against the inky sky. You were buzzing with the energy of the night, still talking animatedly about how much fun you’d had. The sound of your laughter, the way your eyes lit up—it caught him off guard.

“Thanks for inviting me, Rafe. I never thought I’d actually enjoy these things, but you make it… I don’t know, easier, I guess.”

Rafe smiled down at you, trying to ignore the way his heart twisted at your words. 

“I’m glad sweets. You deserve to have fun.”

You looked up at him, your eyes softening. “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you properly. For everything. You didn’t have to be this nice to me.”

For a split second, he saw you. Not as a means to an end, but as someone he genuinely cared about.

His expression faltered for a moment before he quickly recovered. “It’s no big deal. Really.”

But it was a big deal, and you both knew it.

You had gone from barely existing on the social radar to being someone everyone noticed, someone everyone wanted to be around. And it was all because of him. Rafe had given you that, but he knew he was taking something from you too—your innocence, your trust.

He walked you to your door, his usual confidence wavering as you turned to face him. There was something different in your gaze tonight, something that made his breath catch in his throat.

“Rafe… I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” you began, your voice a little hesitant.

He forced himself to stay calm, even though his heart was pounding in his chest. “Yeah? What’s up?”

You looked down, fiddling with the hem of your top before meeting his eyes again. “Why did you start talking to me? I mean, really. Was it because you felt sorry for me? Or… or something else?”

Rafe’s mind raced, trying to find the right words, the ones that wouldn’t hurt you. He could lie, like he’d been doing all along, or he could tell you the truth, risk everything.

But before he could answer, you continued, your voice softer now. “Because… I’m glad you did. Whatever the reason was. I’ve never felt this… this good about myself. And it’s because of you.”

Rafe swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

Fuck. He’d never expected this, never thought that you would be the one to make him feel something real, something that wasn’t just part of his stupid revenge plan.

He’d thought he could control this, control you, but it was slipping through his fingers. He stepped closer to you, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’ve always been amazing,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse. “I just… I just helped you see it.”

You grinned up at him, your eyes shining with gratitud. It was too much, too real, and Rafe could feel the walls he’d carefully constructed around his heart starting to crumble. You were looking at him like he was someone worth caring about, and for the first time, he felt like he was the one being played.

He couldn’t let you get any closer. If you did, he wouldn’t be able to follow through with his plan.

But pushing you away now, after all the effort he’d put in, would raise too many questions. So, he did the only thing he could think of—he leaned down and kissed you.

It was gentle at first, testing the waters, but when you didn’t pull away, he deepened it, his hand cradling the back of your head as if you were something fragile. Your lips were soft against his, and for a moment, Rafe let himself forget why he was doing this. He let himself enjoy the warmth of your body pressed against his, the way you sighed softly into his mouth.

But then, just as quickly as it started, he pulled back.

The look in your eyes nearly undid him. There was so much trust, so much hope, and it made him want to break something, anything, just to stop feeling the way he did.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured, his voice rough, as if the kiss had taken something out of him.

You nodded, still dazed, a small smile playing on your lips. “Yeah, tomorrow.”

This was wrong. 

He knew it was wrong. But in that moment, with the way you were looking at him, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He watched you go, waiting until you disappeared into your dorm before he let out a shaky breath.

What the fuck was he doing? He couldn’t afford to second-guess himself now. Not when he was so close to winning and yet, he couldn’t help but feel that he was the one who was losing.

Later that night, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Jessica’s words mocked him.

“I’m sorry okay? I shouldn’t have done what I did. But I fell in love with Tyler. I’m not sorry about that.”

He had scoffed at her then, dismissed her excuses as pathetic attempts to justify her shitty behavior.

But now, lying there alone, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was any different. He didn’t plan on feeling anything real for you. This was supposed to be a game, a way to hurt Jessica the way she hurt him. But somewhere along the line, things had changed.

How could he let this happen? How could he, of all people, start to care? He was supposed to be in control, supposed to be the one pulling the strings, not getting tangled in them.

And yet, the memory of your pretty face, the sound of your laugh, the warmth in your eyes—these were the things that lingered in his mind, all the damn time. 

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow.

The anger and bitterness that had fueled him for weeks were still there, but they were being drowned out by something else—you.

Rafe’s resolve had been wavering for days, but he pushed the guilt aside as he drove to campus the next morning. He was picking you up before class, something that had become a bit of a routine. It was a small gesture, but one that made you smile every time, and Rafe had to admit, he looked forward to seeing that smile.

When he pulled up to your dorm, you were already waiting outside, your bag slung over your shoulder. You looked different from when he first met you—still shy, but with a confidence that hadn’t been there before. It was subtle, but Rafe noticed. 

He noticed everything about you these days.

“Hey,” you said as you slid into the passenger seat, giving him that small smile that always made his chest tighten a little. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“Anytime,” he replied smoothly, shifting the car into gear. “Ready for another day of fun and learning?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but there was a lightness in your expression that hadn’t been there a month ago. “If by fun, you mean trying not to fall asleep in econ, then yeah, totally ready.”

He chuckled, glancing over at you as he pulled onto the road. “I’m starting to think you secretly enjoy econ. You’re just trying to maintain your cool, indifferent persona.”

You laughed, the sound genuine and free, and Rafe felt that unfamiliar pang in his chest again.

“Yeah, that’s me. The cool, indifferent econ nerd.”

“See? I knew it,” Rafe teased, but there was an edge of something else in his voice, something he couldn’t quite shake.

The drive to campus was easy, filled with light conversation and the comfortable silence that had developed between you two. When you arrived, he parked in his usual spot, but instead of getting out right away, you turned to him, your expression suddenly serious.

“Rafe, can I ask you something?”

He froze for a split second, his mind racing. Had you figured it out? Did you know about the bet? But he quickly forced a casual smile, nodding.

“Sure sweets, what’s up?”

You hesitated, chewing on your lower lip, a habit he’d noticed you had when you were nervous.

“Why did you kiss me?”

Rafe’s heart pounded in his chest. This was the moment he’d been dreading—the moment when you’d start questioning everything. He couldn’t afford to slip up now.

“Why not?” he said, his tone light, but there was a hint of sincerity that even he didn’t expect. “I like you. I like being around you.”

You looked at him, your eyes searching his, trying to find the truth in his words. Rafe held your gaze, doing his best to keep his expression open and honest. After a moment, you nodded, as if you’d decided to believe him.

“Okay,” you said. “I just... I didn’t want to assume, y’know? It’s just... new.”

“Good new, though, right?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, “Good new.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur, with classes, coffee breaks, and more of Rafe’s effortless charm. But that moment in the car stuck with him. You were starting to get closer, to trust him, and every time you did, the guilt fucked with his head a little more. 

Later that day, when the two of you met up for a late lunch, he noticed the way you had begun to attract attention from others. Some guys glanced your way, clearly noticing the changes in you, and a few girls even stopped to chat with you—a far cry from the shy girl he’d first approached in the library.

As you two sat down at a table outside the campus cafe, he saw the way your eyes lit up when you spotted someone approaching. It was Leila, a girl from your cheer squad. She waved and came over, sitting down.

“Hey, you two,” she greeted, her eyes flicking between you and Rafe. “Mind if I join?”

“Sure,” you said, scooting over to make room for her. He nodded, keeping his expression neutral, but there was something about the way Leila looked at you that put him on edge.

The conversation flowed easily, with her complimenting you on something you’d done at practice the other day, and you blushing at the praise.

Rafe watched, a small smile on his face, but his mind was elsewhere. He could see how much you were changing, how you were starting to come into your own, and it was becoming harder and harder to justify what he was doing.

When Leila left after a few minutes, you turned to Rafe with a grin. “She’s nice. I didn’t think she even noticed me before.”

“She notices you now,” Rafe replied, his voice quieter than usual.

You looked at him, your smile fading slightly. “Is something wrong?”

Rafe hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “No, nothing. Just... thinking.”

“About what?”

He leaned back in his chair. “About how you’re starting to steal everyone’s attention here. What am I gonna do when you’re the most popular one around here?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I don’t think that’s gonna happen anytime soon.”

Rafe smiled back, but the guilt was back, stronger than ever. You were starting to trust him, to believe in the friendship he was offering, and it was killing him.

As the afternoon wore on, he found himself more and more distracted by his thoughts. He needed to talk to someone about it, someone who knew the score.

Later that evening, after dropping you off at your dorm, he called Kelce. The phone rang a few times before his friend picked up, sounding slightly out of breath.

“Yo, Cameron. What’s up?”

Rafe took a deep breath, leaning against the side of his car. “I need to talk, man. About the bet.”

Kelce laughed, clearly not picking up on the seriousness in Rafe’s voice. “What, you already feeling bad for her? Didn’t think you’d go soft so fast.”

Rafe frowned, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that. It’s just... I didn’t think it’d be like this. She’s... she’s actually really nice, Kelce. Like, genuinely nice.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Kelce responded, his tone more serious.

“Dude, we all knew she was nice. That’s what makes this so good. You’re flipping the script. Just remember why you’re doing it.”

Rafe let out a frustrated sigh. “I know, but... She trusts me."

And I trust her, he wanted to add, but didn't.

“Look, Rafe, you’re in too deep to back out now. If you quit, she’ll still get hurt, and you’ll look like a fucking idiot. You gotta see this through. Just... keep your eye on the prize, okay? It’s not about her, it’s about Jessica.”

Rafe nodded, even though Kelce couldn’t see him. “Yeah... yeah, you’re right. I just needed to clear my head.”

“Good,” Kelce said. “Now go get some sleep or something. We’ve got a party this weekend, and I wanna see you back on your game.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, man.”

By Friday, the campus was buzzing with weekend plans, and you were in a good mood, chatting excitedly about some party that night. You two were in the cafeteria, grabbing lunch, when it happened.

You were waiting in line for food, and Rafe had stepped aside to check his phone. When he glanced up, he saw a guy approaching you—a guy he recognized from the football team. A sleazy bastard.

The guy leaned in, flashing you a charming smirk, clearly trying to flirt. He wanted to pummel his face to the wall. Rafe watched from a distance as the guy made you laugh, his hand casually resting on the counter next to yours. Too fucking close.

The sight made something twist in his chest, something dark and possessive that he hadn’t expected. He'd never felt like this before. His grip tightened around his phone as he watched, his jaw clenching.

You seemed flattered but a little uncomfortable, your smile not quite reaching your eyes. Rafe could tell you weren’t used to this kind of attention, and it made him feel something primal, something that burned hotter than the guilt. He wanted to go over there, to tell that guy to back the fuck off, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood there, seething, trying to keep his cool.

Scaring you away was the last thing he wanted to do.

When the guy finally walked away, you looked relieved, but Rafe was already moving. He crossed the cafeteria in quick strides, his eyes locked on you, his heart pounding. You spotted him coming and smiled, but it fell when you saw the look on his face.

“Rafe, what’s—”

He didn’t let you finish. Before you could say another word, he was right in front of you, his hand cupping your face as he pulled you toward him.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t like the kiss outsider your dorm. This was different. It was fierce, almost desperate as if he needed to prove something to himself, to you, and to everyone watching. His lips moved against yours with intensity, his other hand gripping your waist, pulling you closer. He didn’t care who was around, who was watching. 

All he cared about was you, right there, in his arms.

You froze for a second, caught off guard by the suddenness of it, but then you melted into him, your hands clutching at his shirt as you kissed him back with equal fervor. It was like all the tension, all the confusion, everything that had been building between you two, finally snapped.

Rafe deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, claiming you in a way that left no room for doubt. His fingers tangled in your hair, and you let out a soft moan that only made him kiss you harder, his body pressing against yours like he couldn’t get enough.

People around you were definitely watching now, whispering, some even cheering, but Rafe didn’t care. He didn’t pull away until he was breathless, and even then, he stayed close, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing heavy. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw the way you were looking at him—dazed, flushed, your lips slightly swollen from the intensity of the kiss.

“What... what was that?” you asked, your voice shaky, your eyes searching his for answers.

Rafe knew he should say something, explain himself, but all he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss you again. Instead, he just shook his head slightly, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“Just couldn’t help myself,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You blinked up at him, still trying to process what had just happened, but there was no mistaking the way your body was responding to him. 

He finally stepped back, but kept his hand on your waist, grounding you as he looked around. Sure enough, the guy from earlier was watching. 

Rafe caught his eye, giving him a look that said everything without words. She’s mine.

When he looked back at you, he saw the confusion in your eyes and something else—something that looked a lot like longing.

He knew he’d just crossed a line, again, but in that moment, he didn’t care. All he cared about was the way you felt in his arms, the way you looked at him like he was the only guy in the world.

“C’mon,” Rafe said, his voice softer now. “We’ve got class.”

You nodded, still a little dazed, and let him guide you out of the cafeteria, his hand never leaving yours. He was in deeper than ever, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Not when you looked at him like that, not when his heart was pounding like this.

As you approached the building where your next class was, he stopped, turning to face you. He touched your cheek again, his thumb brushing against your skin, and you leaned into his touch.

“Rafe—”

“You’re my girl,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours again. “Okay?”

You nodded, your breath hitching as you looked up at him, your eyes wide and trusting. Rafe knew he was on the edge of something he couldn’t control, but as he leaned in for one more kiss, slow and tender this time, he realized he didn’t care.

“Rafe…” you began again, speaking against his lips. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you needed to understand about what you were, what you two were becoming. His thumb traced the curve of your jawline.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered, his voice low, almost reverent. “I just… I need you to know that you mean something to me. This, us—"

“Okay.”

He was already in too deep.

And just like that, he got what he wanted. 

The next day, everything seemed to fall into place as if the universe has finally aligned for you. He asked you out, and just like that, you were together.

The next two months were a dream—utter bliss. You weren’t just happy; you were radiant. You’d become the most popular girl in school, and with him by your side, it felt like you were living in some sort of fairy tale. 

Every smile he gave you, every touch, every whispered confession of how perfect you were sent you soaring higher. He couldn’t get enough of you—your sweetness, your kindness, your genuine heart. It was as if he was falling more and more in love with you every single day. And you, you had never felt this alive.

But deep down, in a place he didn’t dare acknowledge, there was a shadow, a sliver of guilt that he pushed aside every time he looked into your trusting eyes.

He never officially ended the bet with Kelce and Topper. It was just a stupid game, something that seemed so insignificant compared to what he feels for you now. He told himself that he had forgotten about it, that it didn’t matter anymore.

After all, what you two had is real, right? And you, completely oblivious to the sinister origins of your relationship, continued to believe in the fairy tale.

Until it ended. 

⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ

It’s after cheerleading practice, and you’re alone in the locker room, stuffing your things into your bag. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and body spray, the usual post-practice atmosphere, but there’s something different today—a tension you can’t quite place. 

As you’re zipping up your bag, you hear voices nearby, just around the corner. Leila and Jessica, their conversation low but unmistakable. You wouldn’t normally eavesdrop, but something about the tone of their voices makes you pause, your heart suddenly beating a little faster.

"You were right," Leila says, her voice edged with a cruel satisfaction. "About your gut feeling with Rafe and his new girl."

Oh.

Jessica sounds tired, almost defeated. "What do you mean?"

Leila sighs, a dark amusement in her tone. "Kelce spilled everything when we hooked up last week. He was too high to keep his mouth shut. Rafe’s been playing her this whole time, using her to mess with you. It was all a bet."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you can’t move, can’t think. The room spins around you, the ground shifting beneath your feet.

No. No, this can’t be real.

Leila’s voice continues, completely unaware of the devastation she’s causing. "It's so fucked up. She has no idea. She’s out there thinking he’s her Prince Charming, and all along it was just some sick game."

Jessica doesn’t say anything, but you can’t bear to hear more. You feel like you’re suffocating, your chest tightening as panic floods your system.

Before you know it, you’re running—out of the locker room, down the hall, anywhere to get away from those words, those horrible, soul-crushing words. Tears blur your vision as you stumble outside, gasping for air, for some kind of escape from the nightmare that’s suddenly become your reality.

The ache in your chest doesn’t fade as you bolt from the locker room, tears hot on your cheeks. You don’t know where you’re going, but you know you can’t stop moving. The hallways blur past you as you wipe at your eyes, struggling to catch your breath. Rage and heartbreak twist inside you like a knife, and before you know it, you find yourself standing outside the gym, where the sounds of basketball practice echo through the double doors.

You push through the doors without thinking, your heart pounding in your ears. The gym is full of movement—squeaking sneakers, the thud of the ball against the court, and the grunts of effort as the players practice their drills. But all of it fades into the background as soon as your eyes lock onto Rafe.

He’s in the middle of a play, dribbling the ball down the court with that intense focus you’ve always admired. For a moment, you hesitate, that familiar warmth of seeing him almost enough to make you stop. But then the memory of Leila’s words slams into you like a wave, and the anger surges back, drowning out everything else.

You storm across the gym, your footsteps heavy on the polished floor. Some of the players notice you, their eyes widening in surprise, but you don’t care. You’re beyond caring. The only thing that matters is confronting him, making him face what he’s done.

"Cameron!" you shout, your voice sharp, cutting through the noise of the practice.

He turns at the sound of your voice, surprise flashing across his face. The ball slips from his hands, bouncing away as the other players stop, confusion rippling through the group. You always call him by his name.

The coach starts to say something, but you barely hear him. All you can see is Rafe, standing there, looking at you with those eyes that you once thought held nothing but affection for you. 

Now, all you see is a liar.

“What’s wrong baby?” He jogs over to you, his brow furrowing.

You don’t answer immediately, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to hold yourself together.

But it’s impossible.

“Was I a bet?”

His expression changes from confusion to something closer to horror, his mouth opening as if to say something, but nothing comes out. The sound of your voice, trembling with disbelief and pain, seems to have stunned him into silence.

For a moment, you just stare at each other. You want him to deny it, to laugh and tell you it’s all some terrible misunderstanding. But deep down, you already know the truth. You saw it in his eyes the second he turned to face you, that flicker of guilt, that flash of something wildly desperate.

He reaches for you, his voice breaking. "Baby, wait, let me explain—”

“Was I a fucking bet?” you repeat, your voice louder this time, edged with a desperate, frantic energy that you can’t control. You take a step back as he tries to get closer, every muscle in your body screaming to get away from him, to escape the unbearable weight of the truth.

His eyes are pleading, searching yours for something, anything that might make this easier, but there’s nothing. No words, no excuses that can make this hurt any less.

“It started as a bet,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper, but to you, it’s as loud as a gunshot. “But it’s not like that, I swear. I—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

He flinches at your words, pain flashing across his face, but you can’t stop. It’s like all the anger, all the heartbreak, all the humiliation you’ve been choking down is pouring out of you in a torrent, and you don’t have the strength to hold it back. You can see the panic rising in him, the desperation as he realizes just how badly he’s messed up. He takes another step toward you, his hand reaching out, but you jerk away, 

“We’re done.”

“Please, just listen,” he pleads, his voice cracking.

“No.”

And with that, you leave. 

Rafe’s voice echoes behind you as you walk away, but you refuse to look back. The gym doors swing shut, muffling the sounds of the practice resuming, and you’re left in the eerily quiet hallway, your breath coming in ragged gasps. 

The locker room is cold and empty when you push open the door. The scent of body spray and sweat lingers in the air. You head straight to your locker again, hands trembling as you fumble with the lock, desperate to escape. But before you can get it open, the door swings wide behind you, and you know, without turning around, that he followed you.

“Go away,” you say, your voice barely holding steady.

“I can’t,” he says, his voice strained with desperation. “Not like this.”

You spin around, your eyes blazing with anger. “You don’t get to decide that. You used me! And for what? Some sick joke with your friends?”

He takes a step closer, his hands raised as if to placate you, but you back away, your heart pounding. “I know I messed up,” he says, his voice thick with regret. “I know I should’ve told you the truth, but I—”

“But you didn’t,” you cut him off, your voice rising. “You let me believe that you cared about me, that everything was real, and all the while it was just a game to you. You and your friends laughed in my face the entire time, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t a game,” he insists, his voice cracking. “It wasn't supposed to be like this, okay? This wasn't the plan. I changed. Being with you... it was the only thing that felt real to me.”

You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t believe you.” 

Rafe looks at you, his expression torn between guilt and desperation. 

“It wasn’t a joke. It started as a stupid bet, but I never expected to actually—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I care about you. That’s real.”

For a moment, you see the boy who had made you feel special, who had made you believe in something more. But it's not enough.

“I don’t even know who you are."

You want to believe him, to take solace in the idea that some part of what you had was real, but you can't. You shake your head again, a sob choking you as you turn away from him, your back pressing against the cold metal of the locker.

“It isn’t supposed to hurt like this,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “It’s not supposed to feel like a knife in your chest.”

Rafe takes another step closer, “Please, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “Just give me a chance to make this right.”

"You don’t get to have a chance. You don’t get to pretend this is some kind of love story. You lied to me. You used me.”

You look at him then, really look at him, and all you see is the boy who broke your heart. The boy who turned your world upside down with a single lie. You know that if you stay, if you let him talk, you might be tempted to forgive him. But you can’t. 

Not this time.

With a deep breath, you straighten up, wiping away the tears that have stained your cheeks. “I’m done.”

“Don’t say that,” he pleads, his voice thick with desperation.

But you’ve made up your mind. 

“I mean it. We’re done. I need you to stay away from me.”

The words hit him like a physical blow, and for a moment, he just stands there, staring at you as if he can’t believe what you’re saying.

But then he sees the resolve in your eyes, the finality in your tone, and he knows there’s no coming back from this.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

Without another word, you turn away from him, pushing past the locker room door and walking away. You hesitate for a split second. A small voice inside you screams to turn back, to give him one more chance, but then you imagine the laughter, the cruel satisfaction. 

The image of Rafe with his friends, laughing at your expense, sears itself into your mind. 

The door slams shut behind him, and he leans against it, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He doesn’t feel victorious. Instead, there’s a hollowness, a quiet whisper in the back of his mind that asks, “What now?” He clenches his fists, trying to silence it, but the emptiness remains.

This time, he doesn’t follow you. 

[arijackz]

PICK A CARD: Your Fall Awakening

✧ "I loved watching the base of those thunderstorms, the billowing tops of the cumulonimbus, the lightning that effortlessly lit up the lake and the sky. It was gorgeous, so energetic. I was in love." - Ginger Zee

Disclaimer: This is a general reading, take what resonates. This is a gender-neutral reading, change any pronouns to apply to you. Also, the tense changes from past to present to future, I hope this doesn't make the reading difficult.

Also! Thank you so much to everyone who put in a paid reading request, when my life stabilizes, those will be on the top of my priority list. <3

p1 → p2 ↙︎ p3 → p4

Pile One (King of Cups, 5oC, The Sun, The Knight of Cups)

This energy feels sudden but fated. This year’s eclipse season has been insane and you were always destined to reach a cosmic juncture of complete renewal around this time. The scales are tipping in your favor and this is your season to receive. 

This is my emotionally attuned pile. You were a sensitive child—a walking bundle of warmth and acceptance—until people took advantage of your gentle soul. You could have been the typical sunshine kid always giggling, easily making connections, and being a bright energy people were easily attracted to. Whether or not you were aware of it, people saw your capacity for love and happiness as intimidating and “fake”. Their reality did not shine as bright as yours so they could not fathom your authentic happiness.

That doesn’t mean people did not try to take advantage of your gentleness. Society associates friendliness/happiness as weakness and sees you as an easy target to get over on. Being trusting isn’t naivety, it isn’t your fault that you extended your time and resources to greedy people, it is their loss that they ruined a genuine connection because they were too far gone in their own misery to recognize a helping hand out of the shadows. 

This is a general reading so the details of what happened vary greatly, for most of you, there was a series of traumatic events involving your interpersonal relationships that scarred your heart. I visually see a wilting flower or a chest caving in on itself. 

Betrayal, cheating, abuse, years and years of lying, bullying, isolation, being ignored, and just overall feeling less important than the other people in your life.

But we don’t need to get into the nitty gritty of that bullshit. That chapter is closed, burned, and a renewed phoenix is rising from its ashes. 

To any other person, these events would have turned them rotten and nasty, but you never passed this hurt onto others, you just held onto it and kept holding on until it slowly drained and left all the cavities in your body empty and numb. You’re used to depletion, giving and giving, but being left in the dust after everyone else gets their fill and moves on.

Listen to me, you are stepping into your rainfall- the world revolves around you- era. You’re being rewarded for your resilience and “the cycle ends with me” attitude. A hurt person hurt you and you turned that into further reason why you would never be so cruel to another soul.

You got the sun, the best fucking card in the deck, right in the middle of your spread. With the lies you’ve been fed over the years, at some point on your journey, you got lost in the illusions of lack and fear. Fear that you weren’t enough and less than the magnificent being you truly are.

But this juncture is like a lightning strike of clarity to your consciousness, you are realizing that this journey is just that… a journey. A life lesson circling you back to your power so you can acknowledge just how fucking desirable your heart actually is.

People tried to rob you of your happiness because they wanted it. People tried to squash your kindness because they wanted it. People abused your time and energy because they yearned for it but could never have it. Think about it, if you had nothing of value, they wouldn’t have plotted on the resources you offered. 

We’ve all heard the saying, “You don’t know how good you have something until you lose it.” Life put you on this course of being on top, hitting rock bottom (deep depression), and then climbing up again so you can cultivate the strength to have a sensitive soul and defend it against all the greedy hands who want a piece. 

This journey taught you discernment, who to trust and who not to trust. It taught you how to pick yourself up and dust off. You learned to be stingy with your time and treat yourself as high value. Most importantly, you experienced your first full cycle of rebirth, where you learn that even your lowest of lows are temporary and it is universal law that all things eventually come to an end to be reborn bigger and better. 

True strength is seeing the world’s ugliness and not letting it taint you. You’ve been the victim of cruel actions and you wouldn’t dare enforce those on anyone else. The universe honors people like you. You were always meant to experience this upcoming win fall.

If you’re reading this, you’re already beginning to feel it. Shifts like this happen internally before manifesting externally. You step outside and the world looks more… romantic.

You can feel it in your bones that you are about to receive your fairytale life. The moon is smiling back at you and the stars are spelling out your name.

Embrace this Knight of cups energy and follow the whims of your heart, they’re leading you to your new timeline. Fall in love with yourself and acknowledge the battle you not only survived but won. 

P.S. Little you is so motherfucking proud of who you are and what you stand for. They knew you would make it back to them. It pained them to see you lost in other people’s lies but they never doubted your capability to see love in life again. Your kid self lived and breathed this joy and they knew nobody could truly take it from them. They are happy to see you realize it too.  

"Sometimes, the strongest roots grow in the softest soil."

Pile Two (King of Swords rev., King of Pentacles, 10oW, Queen of Wands rev.)

YOU ARE MORE THAN ENOUGH! There is no fucking reason to fixate on changing yourself when you are already perfect as is, sugar plum!

You carried your family’s burdens up a verrry long mountain. You were trekking through life with a generational weight strapped on your back. Your greatest devil was expectations. 

You were told who you should be, what you should do, how you should act, what you should believe in. 

There weren’t many loving voices in your home, your efforts were met with harsh critiques and a heavier load on your plate. This is the classic case of being pushed beyond limits no child should have to reach. In your upbringing, it was perfection or nothing. Not only did you have to excel academically, you had to be attractive and have a thriving social life, do extracurriculars, and anything else that exemplified you as a model child and citizen. 

And even then, when you did all those things, you didn’t get the proper acknowledgment or congratulations you deserved. Lots of you just got higher expectations set after you proved you could reach an already unrealistic standard. God forbid you didn’t reach those standards, some of you got shunned or abused. 

Sometimes you felt more like a project your people flaunted rather than someone they authentically loved and cared for.

This fucked with your young psyche. I mean… what's the point!? You jump through all these hoops to barely get a pat on the back? Yeah, you seemed perfect on the outside but internally, you were teeming with self-hate and the contempt of not being enough for anyone. 

I am getting frustrated just channeling this message, damn you deserved so much more! 

(Do you get migraines or tension headaches?)

This is my pile of people who did not get the privilege of choosing their own career path. Your guardians told you to study to become a doctor, engineer, scientist, artist, or whatever the hell they wanted to flaunt as an extension of themselves. 

But get this, your people didn’t do that shit either! They push so hard for you to be someone they’re not because they’re projecting their (fear of) failure onto you. 

For some (those who were not ignored or abused), it wasn’t malicious. They pushed you to be great because they wanted the best for you, but the way they handled it was fucked up.

There was a lot of fear about falling short of expectations and disappointing the people around you. Creating this mindset that you had to perform for affection and needed to prove that you were of value to people in order to be loved.

Some of you heavily rebelled against this authoritarian force in your life. Explicitly, through using sex to satiate your desire to feel loved. Like with your family, you viewed love as transactional and went into “relationships” with people who disguised their lust for you as love but only truly wanted to exploit your vulnerable state.

I am sorry you did not deserve that, you are better with those energies out of your life. 

BAAABBBYYYY, this season is rinsing out all that gunk between your ears and pushing the weight off your back. Can you feel your spine unfurl?

This season you’re letting all the bullshit go. You’re garnering strength the rest of society only talks about. You’re looking at yourself in the mirror and saying that nobody’s expectations are worth living a life you don’t want to live. Those people were empowered by you not recognizing your own capability, they were the only measurement of how worthy you were and the only source of the approval you craved. 

(why won't this center???^)

You’re awakening to just how much of a bad mf you truly are! You’re the king of pentacles- you’re your own empire! You’re reclaiming your power and acknowledging that with all the time and effort you put into building someone else’s dreams, you have the strength to build your own!

With every challenge thrown at you, YOU BODY THAT SHIT!

I’m getting chills, I feel like a hype man lmao. I’m your biggest fan fr. I want you on my team! You’re an irreplaceable asset that anyone would be blessed to work with. 

All the pressure you faced has forged you into a one-of-a-kind gemstone and you are shining brightly! 

This journey taught you the power of control and how to take the reigns of your own chariot. You will never allow another soul to take your will from you again. 

*Clears throat* Don’t tell anyone I said this but… expect your life to blossom in ways you can’t even begin to fathom.

Your 5th house: leisure, pleasure, romance, creativity, and your 10th house: higher self, your image, and how you carry yourself once you leave the shadows is getting a major activation.  

The dreams of your future that you wouldn’t dare whisper to the people in your life are being heard by Source and they’re being packaged (with a cute lil bow) behind the scenes, ready to be delivered at your feet. I am not kidding, your oracle cards are: 10th house, 5th house, Venus, fated meeting, and “Blessings you couldn’t even dream of are walking to your front door”.

There is a special emphasis on your creative endeavors, unleash the side of you that was shunned, and allow it to garner the love and attention that has always been meant for you! It is your time to live life the way you’ve always wanted to. 

P.S. People don’t want to hear it because getting your expectations high is a “bad” thing or whatever, but you will meet someone. It’s a fated meeting and you two are meant for each other. Royal love. You got all court cards and while I was typing, “one-of-a-kind” autocorrected to “one-of-a-king”. 

Pressure Reveals Our Brilliance

Pile Three (10oS Rev., 10oW, 8oP, Queen of Swords, Emperor)

Growing up, my mom always told me that when we feel like we’re wandering aimlessly, we’re actually slowly inching closer to where we’re meant to be.

I pass these words of wisdom on to you because you know the pain of wandering all too well. When you were younger, your energy was unadulterated and you dreamt big without any doubt creeping around your skull to sully your aspirations. You are naturally a very ambitious person with a killer drive to get shit done.

However, something shifted. I don’t think it was a specific event, it happened over time. The wrong people and painful situations slowly chipped away at your spark for life until your body lost its will and you slowly staggered to the ground with all ten swords in your back. 

There was a dense fog around who you were and what you wanted. You questioned your desires and your ability to achieve them, growing more frustrated with your own confusion. Until eventually, you stopped dreaming. Anything to curb the painful disappointment of feeling like a person coming from a broken mold. Or a human without an outline, just an indistinct blur melting into the background. 

I feel static in my bones. I see that your shadows locked you in place- paralyzed. Limited only to the realms in your head as you watch the world evolve and move on without you.

This pile struggles with the most intense anxiety. Have you seen Inside Out 2? There is a scene where the anxiety emotion goes into overdrive and can’t remove herself from the control panel and Riley has an ongoing panic attack. For a huge chunk of your life, your anxiety couldn’t release itself from the command center. Your whole life has felt like you’ve been holding your breath, waiting for the panic attack to subside. 

You’re a nervous nelly, I’m afraid. Not to be offensive, but I imagine a nervous, wet chihuahua shaking like a leaf (haha, been there).

Something about your friendships and the negative influence of others is important. The ten of swords is typically a betrayal card. These situations left you with an aching sense that you didn’t have control over the direction of your life, so you spent your days worrying about everything that has and will go wrong.

Maybe people told you that you weren’t capable? Maybe you felt like you didn't measure up to the people around you who had direction in their lives.

You have a lot of energy, pent-up energy. It is actually one of your blessings, you have an abundance of energy to achieve all that you set your mind to. But these traumatic events locked up this vitality and prevented it from being properly expressed. It didn’t go away, it got transmuted into mental energy and you “thought” yourself to death. 

It’s funny—you probably daydream about taking action and doing the everyday things that others do without a second thought. For them, it’s normal, but for you, it’s a wild dream. 

This is my late bloomer pile. The things people your age typically do, you haven’t gotten around to because you can’t seem to get your body and mind on the same accord. 

You had restless energy, your body was always on but not in motion. Think of a tightly stretched rubber band aching to be released anywhere but stuck in this moment of tension. You felt the pull, the urge to leap into action, yet something held you back—whether it was doubt, hesitation, or simply the weight of expectation. Each day was a reminder of your potential, a constant yearning to break free and finally express that energy in a meaningful way. But, the second you went in for the kill, your bones locked up and left you stagnant.

I want to cry writing this. Your wishes are so simple and you will get them tenfold, quote me. 

This season you are getting the key to freedom from your mental prison- clarity. Clarity on just how possible everything is. You are awakening to the world at your fingertips and the very road map woven into your heart.

It sounds silly, but you dream of work! You want to go out and create without paralyzing fear looming over your shoulder. This is your deepest desire because you are meant to do it. You’re the fucking emperor AND the queen of swords. Your name is meant to be plastered on a building somewhere, and no amount of fear or doubt is going to keep you from that. 

This journey taught you how to build mental fortitude and define yourself. You won’t listen to any voice that prevents you from living the life you want to live, not even your own. The next time you get stabbed in the back, you won’t even flinch and you sure as hell won’t stop your motion. 

You don’t need to think, just be. Your feet will take you to where you need to go.

(Shoutout to my Rahuvians!)

Your wildest dreams have been heard and answered, and you’re beginning to find your direction again. I know it’s hard to believe, especially after spending so much of your life in an illusionary prison—a mental construct that felt all too real. But take a deep breath and allow those bars to melt away. Remember, this chapter is just that: a chapter in your life. You are ready to turn the page and embark on a new adventure, one that could be your very first! Embrace the possibilities ahead, and tell any lingering fears to shut the fuck up and kick rocks.

This next phase in your life is anything but slow, it’s a complete 180 from what you’re used to. Get ready to be a busy bee and in high demand. Your mind and body will be sharp, focused, and honed in on your craft. You are mastering something and achieving great success. “Blessings you couldn’t even dream of are walking to your front door.”

P.S. I know that was a long, agonizing, period in your life but jump for joy now that it’s over! I promise you, it truly is!! Don’t stress about the past or worry about what you should or could have done differently. You did everything perfectly and you were always meant to be where you are right now. 

I know this might sound cliché, but the situation was out of your hands. The lesson was about learning to surrender control and trusting in the only constant in life: change. Nothing lasts forever, your pain is temporary. Trust that this experience has shaped you, and now you have the opportunity to step forward with newfound strength and resilience. Embrace the future—it’s waiting for you!

She's Using the Colors of Her Aura to Define Her Being

Pile Four (2oP, 7oW, 4oW, 90P, Clear, Third Eye Chakra, 1st House, Pluto)

Hmmm, pentacles (earth​ = stay and grow, grow, grow) and wands (fire = go, go, go)… “Should I stay or should I go?” 

Nobody wants to hear it, but you’re being pushed into hermit mode. But fear not! ☝🏾 This will be your last and most peaceful retreat. You’re caught in a battle between the urge to slow down and prioritize your wellness and the temptation to jump up and grind. Embrace this time for reflection and self-care—it’s essential for your growth. When you take the time to recharge, you’ll emerge stronger and more focused, ready to tackle whatever comes next with renewed energy. Trust that this phase is necessary for your journey.

The right answer is a blend of both. Make a steady meditation and fitness plan you can rely on where you feel productive yet kept to yourself. Your energy is sensitive at this time and people are going to try and purposely trigger you because they can sense that you’re getting ready to pop out and do your mf jig!

You are crazy intuitive and are awakening to this fact, but just like the start of any journey, you’re trying to find a balance between your intuition and judgment.

Spoiler alert, they're the same thing! 

ESPECIALLY for you. Check to see if you have Pluto, Ketu (south node), Jupiter (Sag or Pisces), Mars (Aries or Scorpio), or Moon (Cancer) in your first, fourth, seventh, or tenth house. Or literally anything in your eighth house.

You are blessed with the ability to see beyond the veil of illusion and are meant to nurture and refine this gift. Embrace it as a powerful tool for understanding yourself and the world around you. Trust your intuition and allow it to guide you through challenges, helping you uncover deeper truths. 

This season is bringing changes to your physical body and immediate environment, you feel most vulnerable to the weather changes and are probably having trouble sleeping. You are likely feeling tension between your eyebrows and are seeing images that aren't actually there. 

You’re experiencing a third eye awakening and a major karmic clearing, this is my most spiritual pile by far. If you’re not into these types of things, this isn’t your pile. Actually, this group really stands out from the others, I don’t have advice for you per se; this message is to assure you that you’re not delusional. 

I am here to tell you to trust what you’re seeing. You’re right! Whatever you think is happening… is happening. If you think great things are coming, they absolutely are. Conversely, if you feel that something shady is going on behind the scenes, then that’s exactly what’s unfolding. Trust your instincts; they’re guiding you toward the truth.

Here’s a secret about intuitive judgment: If the thoughts are causing anxiety and plaguing you with fear, they’re not true. On the other hand, if your instincts provide insight into a situation and help you feel more in control, you’re on the right track. Even if the truth is harsh or painful, knowing it empowers you to make informed decisions about your next move. 

The truth is enlightening, even if it leads to a tower moment where everything you thought you knew comes crumbling down. Lies may feel comforting at first, but they can slowly trap you, binding you to a life that isn’t truly yours. Your soul craves deep transformation and healing. It may sound cryptic, but this is your season to die and allow yourself to be reborn anew. Embrace the intensity of Scorpio season; it’s a powerful time for you to shed old skin and welcome a higher version of yourself. 

Who is this higher version? You have been cultivating them bit by bit with every trial thrown your way and it is finally time for them to rise to the surface. This version embodies your resilience, wisdom, and strength, shaped by your experiences and the lessons learned along the way. Embrace this transformation and let your true self shine. You are ready to step into your power and create the life you’ve always envisioned.

(Any Mula natives in the chat?)

I am excited for you, it’ll be tiring and unpleasant but the world waiting for you on the other side is one of bountiful harvests and celebrations! Hang in there! 

Embrace the slowness and allow yourself to relax while it's here because this next chapter is TURNT. 

P.S. You’re hot—like really, incredibly sexy. Your gaze is piercing, and people feel as though you see straight through them into depths they aren’t even aware of. You don’t have to do much to unsettle others; they’re easily triggered because they can’t hide behind the safety of their masks when they’re around you. Your authenticity and intensity shine through, making them confront their own truths. Embrace that power; it’s a gift that not everyone possesses!

She Follows the Blueprint Woven Into Her Flesh

[angelicalchaoticabyss]

Burning Spice x reader with their newborn baby :3

Warning: Mentions of being post-partum, after birth, that stuff. Also, sorry if I write him wrong, I just finished playing the story!

It had been a long 9 months, and what felt like an even longer 15 hours. The wild spice tribe leaders were rushing to and fro on Burning Spice Cookie’s orders to get you cleaned up, healed, fed, given drink, etc. The cotton bedding you laid on was replaced with a clean one, you were panting with a sore throat and tear stained faced…but you were happy.

You were happy, because in your arms wrapped in a bundle of soft blankets was a tiny extension of both you and your husband. Your darling beast had been so gentle with you through your pregnancy, and you chuckled a bit seeing him be so nervous to touch you or the child you both had made. The baby had your dough, your hair, but also had his blazing red eyes that you adored so much. It looked like the perfect mixture of the two of you.

You looked at Burning Spice and motioned for him to come closer. He did, moving up right next to you, he was even careful with that.

“Come on now, don’t you want to hold them?” You asked, tired but still playful.

“Yes, but I can so easily break them. I don’t want to hurt them.” He spoke.

“And you won’t, I know you won’t. Come now, they wanna be held by their precious papa.” You snickered.

You carefully held your child up to him, Burning Spice Cookie while hesitant, took the child into his arms. Holding them close to his chest and cradling their head. Your child yawned and opened their eyes, looking at him and then…they smiled. At that your husband started to cry, this big man of destruction, known to laugh at people’s suffering…was crying over his newborn baby. That brought a smile and a laugh.

Your baby gripped his finger and bit it; Burning Spice laughed through his tears and nuzzled his child. That brought more tears to you, but they were tears of joy at seeing your husband absolutely adore his child. He sat on the new cotton bedding next to you, cradling the baby with one arm and holding you close with the other. He kissed your head and then your lips.

“My dear spice, you’re stronger than any cookie I know. And look, you given me a beautiful and clearly powerful heir. I swear on my soul jam that nothing will destroy what is mine.”

That made your heart so fast, you rested your head on his shoulder and cuddled him. He moved the baby to rest on the both of you. Your Great Destroyer just promised not to let anything harm you or his child. Now THAT’S something to get out of him.

As for Burning Spice Cookie, he felt something in his heart that he hadn’t felt in a long time. A true, happy, CHANGE to his life. And he had no intention to ever let it go. You and his child were his world now. A world he will do anything to protect…including destroy a few kingdoms for.

[gojonanami]

NO REGRETS ☁︎ KENTO NANAMI

☁︎ summary: when nanami is injured from his fight with mahito, you're sent to pick him up. and both of your careful avoidance of your feelings for each other comes crumbling down. ☁︎ cw: hurt/comfort, angst then fluff, mutual pining, mentions of injuries, blood, spoilers for events of s1, these two idiots are so in love ☁︎ wc: 3,509

Nanami had very few regrets in his life, if any. 

Regrets felt almost wasteful to him — living in the past when you were already firmly rooted in the present, and aside from that, he knew the insidious power of regret — the way it festered and grew and fed cursed energy and spirits alike.

However, as he grasped at his side discreetly — pain blooming with each step he took,  scarlet red painting his fingers that barely concealed the wound under his jacket — he couldn’t help but regret arriving at this trap without backup. 

It was hubris really — he thought as he finally found an empty bathroom — and the utter lack of resources that Jujutsu sorcerers had, in both manpower and strength. 

Really, he thought as he stripped off his jacket, leaning against the wall of the stall, his blood still roaring in his ears, you’d think after all these years, the organization would have any semblance of organization or unity for that matter. He glances at the wound staining his shirt — shit it’s deeper than I thought. 

He rinses his hands off in the sink, ringlets of blood staining the clean countertop and sink alike. He pulls tissue from the dispenser, wiping the remainder of blood from his fingers, before taking clean napkins and wadding it, placing it at his wound to stem the bleeding. 

But how could it? He pulls out his phone — finding Ijichi’s number and dialing it — especially when sorcerers were dying left and right — 

— And he was barely an exception. 

"Hello, I’m sorry!” 

“Hm?” what could he possibly have to apologize for? 

“I’ve just sent you my location,” he feels a headache creeping on, and he wasn’t sure it was from the fatigue or the blood loss — probably both, “please come and pick me up a.s.a.p. I need you to take me to Jujutsu Tech to get some treatment from Ieiri.” 

“Treatment?” he was tired of questions — the exhaustion settled against his body familiarly, the adneradline finally beginning to wane from his body. 

“Nothing serious,” and he almost could have laughed — a penetrating wound in his side wasn’t serious — and he added, “nothing that’s going to kill me anyway.”

But it easily could have — if he hadn’t hidden his soul in time, if he hadn’t chosen to take the hit, he would have died — or would he have? A shiver travels down his spine at the thought of that transfigured human, pleading for him to kill them — or would his subconscious simply have been trapped? 

“That’s good,” comes Ijichi’s sigh of relief, “Well, I’m about to join up with Itadori, then we’ll head your way.” 

Nanami’s brow wrinkles, “What? He’s not with you?” 

There’s no telling what those unidentified cursed spirits’ plans were — but it was a terrible idea having Itadori wander around unsupervised with any of them out there. They had no idea what plan these unidentified special grades had — only that they started emerging when Itadori became the vessel for Sukuna. He pinches the bridge of his nose — whether that was a coincidence or not, he didn’t want to take that risk. 

“I’m sorry!” Ijichi yells into the receiver, and Nanami flinches, holding the phone away from his ear, “I’m going to get him right now. Wait right there.” 

And Nanami hangs up, putting his phone away, leaning against the wall of the bathroom again. The pain in his side begins to throb, and he sucks in breath, only to sigh.  Like he said, it’s not like this would kill him — he glances down at the wound again, but it did hurt like hell. 

He hoped Ijichi got here quickly. 

You see Ijichi’s name flash on your screen, as you glance up from the mountain of paperwork burying your normally neat desk. Volunteering to be a temporary teacher at Jujutsu Tech while Gojo was away was a mistake, if only because you got stuck finishing up the paperwork he so kindly left behind for you. You could almost imagine him laughing at you when he returns, thanking you with some tacky souvenir he picked up from some gift shop. 

He may be the greatest sorcerer in the world, but he’s still the same pain in the ass you knew from your time here. 

You grab your phone — so you’d welcome any distraction — even if it’s Ijichi asking you to run an errand for him. 

You pick up, “Ijichi, what’s up?”

He greets you, “Can you do me a favor?” his voice is breaking, and you wrinkle your brow. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Never mind that,” you swear you hear him sniff, but he continues regardless of that, his voice growing more even with every word, “could you pick up Nanami for me? I sent you his coordinates.” 

“Nanami?” your brows knit together, chest squeezing, “is he okay?” 

“He’s fine, from what he said on the phone, but he needs to be seen by Ieiri for treatment,” Ijichi says, the tension in his voice thick with every passing word, like a clock being wound far too tight, far too quickly,  “please, I would really appreciate it!” 

“Alright, alright, Ijichi,” and you hear him sigh in relief, “Did you let him know I’m coming?” 

Silence fills your ears for a moment, before he speaks, “Can you just let him know? Thank you so much, I will see you soon!” 

“Ijichi—” and he’s already hung up, and you sigh at your phone. 

Nanami’s right — jujutsu sorcerers are shit. 

 You make your way to Nanami’s location, your fingers drumming against the leather of your steering wheel, chewing on your lip. You didn’t bother telling Nanami you were headed his way, knowing him he’d only protest and call a car to come get him. And you weren’t about to let him get driven home by a stranger when he’s hurt. Nanami was the type to hate being reliant on anyone, only when it was absolutely necessary — you had learned that soon enough after meeting him.

You squeezed the wheel tighter — you hoped Gojo hadn’t said anything to him about your conversation with him — the damn bastard was so smug — as always. 

“You really agreed to come back quickly,” Gojo’s lips were split in a wide grin, and even behind that blindfold, you knew he was gauging your reactions. 

“Yeah? So? I’m at Jujutsu Tech half the time anyway in between missions,” you frown at him as he walks you to where you’ll be staying at the school, “plus, this will give me some time to observe the first years, and make sure you’re not filling their heads with nonsense,” 

“Oh, you wound me,” despite that, he’s laughing maniacally after, his lips still curled smugly, “but still, I just find it interesting is all, especially because you were hesitating until I mentioned Nanami would be here as well,” And you furrow your brow, head snapping to him, “is all I mean.” 

“Gojo—” 

“Have you told him how you feel?” and he doesn’t stop for a breath, “of course you haven’t, the two of you still dance around this like you did when you were students here. Very high school of you, but I guess it’s fitting since we’re in one.” 

“We don’t—” 

“You can’t deny it,” he says, still grinning, “well, you can, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still there,” and then he gestures to the door in front of you, “we’re here!” 

You only stare at him, brow furrowed, “I don’t have feelings for Kento — we’re just friends.” 

And to your surprise, Gojo nods, “You’re right — you’re just friends, and that’s all you’ll ever be,” and he’s brushing past you, “unless one of you says anything,” And you blink, teeth digging into your bottom lip, “Or unless I say something—” 

“Gojo!” and he’s already disappearing around a corner, laughing. 

He wouldn’t say anything — he wouldn’t. 

You think, at least. 

But — you tap your foot against the floor of the car — it didn’t make you any less anxious. 

It wasn’t simple. You and Nanami. 

It never was. 

Both first years at Jujutsu High — you grew up together, you lived next door to each other, you fought together — until you didn’t. 

Until he didn’t, because he left. 

But he had to — you never blamed him for that. It was hard enough to see horrors you all did day in and day out, but another thing is to lose people close to you — to be at risk of losing everyone. 

It was too much for him. 

And you knew that, you saw it, even if he didn’t want you to. 

Too many nights you would barely knock on his door only to find him wide awake, bags under his eyes. Eventually, there was one night, after a difficult mission, you found yourself at his door. His door creaked open, and you knew he wasn’t sleeping — he had been lying awake just like you had. You spent the night with him in solace, in quiet, until eventually you both fell asleep. 

It became a habit — one that you had started after you couldn’t sleep one night, and it soon became every night — except the one night Gojo had barged into Nanami’s room, finding the two of you asleep by the dining table on the floor, your head resting against his shoulder. Gojo had woken Nanami up with the click of his camera phone, and you woke up as Nanami yelled at Gojo — who ran out of the room, laughing. 

After that, Nanami would find his way to your room instead. And you had asked him once why he still came? He paused, only shrugging, “Because I want to.” 

And then he came back. Because he wanted to. 

You had him in your life again, but it wasn’t the same. The walls you had tumbled before were higher and harder to climb, and you didn’t even know if he wanted you too.

It had been a while since you had seen him — a few months, almost a year. 

You pulled into the area he was in, as you turned your car off. And you didn’t know what you were going to say to him, grabbing the first aid kit and your keys, before opening your door — only that you hoped he was okay. 

Nanami hears a knock on the stall, and his eyes flicker open, checking his phone — no call or text from Ijichi — his hand instinctively reaches for his blade. Until he senses who it is. He furrows his brow, unlocking the door, “What are you doing here?” 

How long had it been since he’d seen you? A few months? A year almost? Either way, it was far too long since he’d seen you, heard your voice, saw you smile—and he brushed away his thoughts. 

And that was exactly why it had been as long as it had. 

You stand, arms crossed eyes scrutinizing until you find your way to his wound, “Strip,” 

And he blinks, “Excuse me?” 

“Take off your shirt, Nanami,” and he purses his lips at the use of his last name, you open up the first aid kit — fully outfitted in everything needed to care for a wound, “I need to dress the wound before I take you to Jujutsu Tech, otherwise it could get infected, especially since it’s been left to bleed.” 

“You don’t need to—” and the rest of his sentence dies on his lips when your eyes flicker to his, glowering, and he sighs. It was more trouble to argue with you then it was to concede. 

He undoes the buttons of his shirt, as you wash your hands, sanitizing them, before grabbing a clean cloth. He gingerly shrugs off his shirt, and he sees your eyes flicker over his bare chest, before quickly resting on his wound. Heat climbs his neck, as you examine the wound, your cold fingers brushing against his warm skin.  

“It doesn’t look like there’s any remnants of cursed energy or poison in the wound,” you rise, dampening the cloth under running water, “I’m just going to clean it and bandage it.” 

His gaze softens as he watches you, “Since when did you learn so much about caring for wounds?” 

“I’ve had Shoko teach me a few things over the years,” you wring the cloth out, before kneeling again, “this might sting a little.” 

And it did — but his focus was elsewhere aside from pain. His eyes couldn’t help but gaze at you, noting the tenseness in your shoulders, the tiredness in your eyes, the signs of wear on your face, but he also notices that things that haven’t changed — the way you bit your lip when you were focusing, the way your brow scrunched deeply, and the way you always wore your heart on your sleeve, even if it wasn’t apparent to most around you. 

Or maybe it was just the way you were around him. 

That was the one thing that always drew him to you, wasn’t it? 

He was content in his life — he had left the jujutsu world because he thought he couldn’t handle it, and maybe at that time, he couldn’t. The deaths — especially of the people around him — it was too much. But he returned because he realized that the appreciation he could gather, the thank yous, were enough for him to live each day with no regrets. 

But his eyes found you again— almost. 

You were always the one to make him dare to want more than simple contentment — and it was dangerous to want more — because there was more to lose. And he couldn’t bear to lose anyone else — no, he pursed his lips, glancing as you rose to wash and wring out the cloth — he couldn’t bear to lose you. 

“Nanami,” and his gaze snapped up, finding himself staring at a water bottle, “drink.” 

He thanks you, taking the bottle from your fingers, brushing yours as he does, and the question slips from his lips before he can help it, “Why are you calling me ‘Nanami?’” 

You pause, raising an eyebrow “Should I be calling you Nanamin?” 

And he blinks, lips parting to ask where you heard— before he scowls, where else? Gojo must have told you about Itadori’s nickname, “No,” but he felt his ears burn — or maybe you should — and he continues, “You always called me Kento, before,” 

“Like you said, it was before,” you purse your lips, "what happened?" And he frowns, tilting his head, "I mean with the cursed spirit you were fighting," 

"I had to withdraw," he shakes his head, "this was an unregistered special grade — much like the ones that Gojo encountered. It's technique — it—" he breaks off — the memory of the woman— and he corrects himself — the corpse begging for him to kill her, "it was a bad match for mine, so I had no choice." but he notices your gaze lingering, "what?" 

"Are you okay?" And he blinks. 

"I'm fine—" and you shake your head, "what?" 

"You don't always have to do everything on your own, Nanami,” 

And he purses his lips, “Jujutsu isn’t—” 

“A team sport,” you finish, raising your eyebrows, “but this isn’t about the fight itself,” you pull fresh gauze from your kit, “it’s about the toll it takes after,” your fingers brush his, as you guide his hand to press it to the wound. 

“I don’t need to burden other people—” 

“You’re not a burden,” you cut him off, and you steal the breath from his lungs, your gaze burning a trail of heat wherever it lays, “how can you expect anyone to feel close to you if you won’t let anyone in?” the sound of tape cuts through the silence, as you bite it before ripping it into strips. 

“Maybe because I don’t want anyone to get close enough to see how weak I really am,” he says quietly, the back of his head resting against the wall again, “it’s easier to be content living so close to death every day, when you don’t have anything to lose.” 

You frown, “Nanami—”

“The things we see—” he says, “the murder, the disfigurement, the death, the loss,” he runs a hand over his face, “is it worth it to do what we do?” 

He feels your gaze linger on him, “Nanami, what happened earlier?” 

“I don’t—” he shakes. 

“What happened?” he squeezes his eyes shut, before sighing. 

So he tells you. About the cursed spirit, about how it can morph and mangle souls and bodies into whatever form he wishes, how it was the worst match up against his cursed technique, and about the corpse, “And there was a person— a corpse,” he swallows, “their face right below my feet, begging me to kill them — and I couldn’t do it,” his voice breaks. 

“Nanami—” he can’t look at you — he can’t. 

“And it almost did the same thing to me,” he whispers, “I could have ended up just like—” 

“But you didn’t,” your hand reaches for him, but he catches your wrist in his hand, gently, “you escaped.” 

“But I almost—” became just like them. 

And he almost understood what Itadori meant by the fact he wanted to have a proper death — because there was nothing proper about what that cursed spirit did to those people. 

You break from his grip, and your fingers brush his cheek tentatively, and you guide his gaze to yours, “You’re here with me — because of your skill, because of your abilities, because it wasn’t your time,” you tilt your head, “I’m not losing you that easily, Kento. Not without a fight.” 

His lips twitch into a bitter smile, watching the overhead fan spin above them, “But I suppose I’ll still be losing something in the end,” the words slip past his lips, “just like I lost you.” 

“Kento,” and he blinks, mouth parting, his eyes finding yours again, your brows furrowed, “you never lost me. You always have me—” and your eyes shy away, but not before they turn stern, “but not if you insist on being a martyr.” 

“I can manage that,” he says softly, as your fingers brush against his again, pressing tape over the gauze, and he hisses a little, leaning forward. 

Your head whips up, “Sorry,” and you freeze, your face an inch from his own. He feels your breath warm his lips, while his own stills — god, you were so beautiful, weren’t you? 

“Do you still not want anyone to be close to you?” you breathe, and he chuckles, lips curling in a smile, as his fingers dare to brush against your cheek, his chest stirring as he feels you lean into his touch. 

“Maybe not anyone,” and then he adds,  “but if it’s you—” 

“If it’s me?” and he dares a little closer, tilting your head upwards, his fingers resting on the back of your neck. 

“I always want you by my side,” he breathes, his lips a centimeter away, as he breathes your name, almost to ask for permission, “I’ve always—” 

“I know,” you whisper, “me too.” 

And his lips brush yours, for a moment — hesitant, as you both part for a moment, until your lips find his again, and again, and again. Until his hands are cupping your cheeks, and your arms are wrapping around his neck, your nails carding through the hair resting on the back of his neck — as your lips meet again. 

“Kento—” you murmur, and he nearly groans, as he’s pulling you closer — and he can’t think of anything else, but you, “I—” and you gasp, as his lips kiss down your jawline, and your hands slide down his shoulders to the front of his shirt, grasping at it, tugging him needlessly closer. 

“Ow,” he flinches, his wound stinging, and you pull away, hands raised. 

“Sorry, sorry,” and he smiles, his arms pulling you back to him, “Kento— we should get you to Jujutsu Tech,” 

Hu hums, “Just a second,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I just want to savor this.”

“I didn’t know you were one for being sentimental, Nanamin,” and you feel him chuckle, your head resting on his chest, gingerly. 

“I don’t mind you calling me that, so much as I do...others,” 

“I’ll have to let Gojo know,” you snort, as your fingers toy with a button on his shirt, “and I’ll have to thank him.” 

He raises an eyebrow, “For what?” 

“For making me realize my feelings for you,” and Nanami tilts his head, “I’ll explain later.” 

“I’d thank him,” his hands wrapping around your waist,  “if I respected him more.”

“You do—” and he kisses you again, hard, his nose bumping against yours, before he smiles, his thumb softly grazing the length of your cheek back and forth, “Kento—” 

“You can thank him later,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours, “I want to keep you to myself for now.” 

“And then?” His fingers slowly intertwine with yours — a perfect fit — as you tug at him, leading him out of the washroom.

He squeezes your hand, “We’ll see.” 

Together. 

☁︎ a/n: this is a fic i wrote a long time ago when i watched season 1 and i was like why not post it?

☁︎ tag list (apologies if you didn't wanna be tagged, going off who liked the poll i put up): @thotsposts, @ib4ryuguji, @sunspawn22, @kannra21, @nightmarelov,

[cr4yolaas]

not strong enough — miya osamu

notes: based off of “not strong enough” by boygenius <3

tags: reverse comfort, cheating implications (no actual cheating), self-deprecation + jealousy (osamu), super heartfelt tho

osamu hadn’t been home lately.

the kitchen was devoid of heart and soul. gone was the warmth that seeped into the apartment at his presence, or the comfort that his voice provided as it wafted through the halls. you didn’t see nor feel him anymore, save for the few glimpses of him getting ready before the sun could even greet your windowsill.

miya osamu was disappearing from your life, and you could do nothing but prepare for it.

you instantly feared the worst — that he was planning to leave you, or that he was seeking solace in another, or anything else that involved him separating himself from the life he built in your shared home. and so, delusion after delusion fed into one another, thus leading to an overwhelming bubble of anxiety that infected every inch of your bones.

when you had finally seen him — not just witnessed his shadow in the darkness of a lonesome bedroom — he appeared as if he had just barely dragged himself home. his skin hung heavy under his eyes, his hair was oily and tousled, his hands seemingly obtained an impossible amount of callouses and burns and scratches. you did not say a word, fearful for his response. instead, you held him in your arms in the doorway as he collapsed to the floor, the buckle of his knees bringing you down with him.

you could hear the remnants of an apology muttered into your shirt (his shirt, truthfully).

“what was that, ‘samu?” you whispered, your voice barely reaching his ears.

he turned his head to look to the side with his cheek still firm on your shoulder. “don’t ya ever wish things were different?”

his voice was hoarse; it was littered with exhaustion and pain and misery that you could not begin to understand. his question nestled itself deep into your lungs. you weren’t entirely sure what he was asking.

“a life where you’re living comfortably … and you’re free to do whatever your want …” he began to trail off, his features lined with sleepiness. “didn’t ya ever want that?”

you began to rub circles around his back, which was damp from the sweat that accumulated beneath his work uniform. you were waiting patiently for him to say it — to tell you to go pursue greater things to conceal his desire to rid himself of you, or that he didn’t deserve you because he had committed an act of betrayal. but instead, he continued, “‘tsumu’s doing great things … ‘n he’s rich ‘n happy ‘n famous and so much more. but what about me? what have i done?”

his words dissipated gradually. the cracks in his voice exposed him quite easily, not to mention the teardrops staining your skin. “you’ve done more than enough for me, ‘samu. i’m sorry i didn’t make you feel that way.” your boyfriend only gripped onto your harder, as if he were scared you would melt away if he didn’t.

“i jus’ wanna make you happy. i’m not sure if my job can even do that,” he muttered. “i’m trying to work harder at the shop, but i’m scared it isn’t enough.”

if it were situationally acceptable, you would have heaved a heavy sigh of relief. but it was not — so instead, you began to hold him impossibly tighter. “you don’t need to work so hard for me to love n’ appreciate you. everything about you is enough to make me happy,” you spoke softly to him. “as long as you’re by my side, i’m happy.”

miya osamu, despite his intricacies, was a delicate man at heart. that night, as you held him at the front door, the porcelain shell concealing his truest soul had shattered.

[jayaury]

Inn-Dulgence

Another from the archives! And as always, there's plenty more on my P*treon!

#

In some ways, it was the indignity of being caught that grated the most.

Julian Larnd grunted and tested the cuffs that held his arms behind his back once more, but the enchanted steel gave nothing, securing him to the thick support pillar. Damn damn damn! He should have realized the inn was in league with the cult. It was the perfect hiding place for members! But he’d had no indication their influence had spread so far.

He sighed, leaning back and banging his head with a dull thunk against the pillar. Not much of a cell, but secure enough. He glared ruefully at the dim bulks of barrels not far. He could still feel a faint muzziness from the drugged ale they’d given him, but it was dispersing now. There had to be a way out. There had to be! A Ranger of the Silver Bow didn’t just give up. There was a way out of this. He just had to think of it.

A creak of the door had him jerk upright, every sense keyed up. The door swung open at the top of the steps, and the barmaid from the evening before came in.

Seeing her once more, Julian realized ruefully how easily he’d been caught. Any man would have been distracted by the sight of the gorgeous woman. Especially her large breasts, held in her tight peasant bodice, though with a somewhat scandalously low cut. It took him an effort of will to look away from those plump orbs and to her face, which was hardly a loss. She was strikingly lovely in a hometown kind of way, her short red hair framing a pretty face with a small nose and sprinkling of freckles. A short skirt drew the eye to long legs and wide hips, which swung tantalisingly with her lazy stride.

Lizzie. That was the name she’d given him while serving his ale. He felt again a flush of annoyance at how shamelessly he’d flirted with her the night before, never suspecting the drink she served would be drugged.

But her allure hadn’t entirely vanished for him, testament to which was it took Julian a moment to notice the tray of bread and mug of water she carried.

“Hey there, sugar,” she said, shooting him a dazzling smile. “How goes it?”

“Oh, just great,” Julian said acidly. “I’m in raptures.”

She giggled, and Julian tried to ignore how his heart skipped at the sound. “You’re funny,” she said, placing the dish down in front of him. Yet she didn’t go at once, instead crouching before him, looking at him impishly.

Julian eyed her closely. She didn’t strike him as the sort that would be in deep with the cult. Too flighty. Those who summoned demons inevitably began to feel the corruption, becoming maddened as the power and influence of their demonic patrons infested them with their foul magics. She might be new to the cult. Which meant she might be his way out…

“Do you know what your fellow cultists are doing?” he said.

“Why don’t you tell me what they’re doing?” she said coyly.

He leaned forward. “Your ‘friends’ are seeking to feed mortal souls to demons!”

“Gosh! Is that right?” she giggled.

He shook his head. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of this,” he said. “Those whose souls are devoured by a demon soon lose any semblance of humanity. They become little more than mindless thralls, enraptured by the demon who devoured them.”

“Goodness!”

“And those are the lucky ones,” Julian growled, the thought making his blood fire with rage. “The unlucky ones are unable to offer even a token resistance. They give themselves eagerly to the demons, and as a result, are fed upon, transformed into creatures like their patrons. Monsters of cruelty and mindless obedience to the demon who devoured their essence.”

“Quite the expert, hm?” she said.

Julian snorted. “I should be. I kill them.”

“Didn’t do a good job this time, though, huh?”

Julian scowled, the reminder stinging, especially coming from such a pretty woman. “I… underestimated the cult,” he said. “But not again. If I could get free, I could banish the fiend and free its worshippers.”

“You’d do that?” she said.

“Of course!”

“Oh, but,” the redhead said, putting a coy finger to her pouting lips with thought. “What if the cultists didn’t wanna be free? What if they super duper love her?”

“They are deluded,” Julian said sharply. “Drawn to the demon by promises and the allure of the forbidden, and too late do many realize the depths of depravity they will be forced to plunge. Do you really want your friends to face such a fate? Your neighbours? To be little more than soulless, mindless puppets of a demon?”

“And if I let ya go, you could stop her?” the barmaid said, still with that teasing smile.

“Of course!”

“Even if she’s super duper pretty? What if she’s got cute horns and big, bouncy tits like these?”

Julian felt the muscles in his neck twitch as she hefted her breasts through her top. Heat rose in his face and he cleared his throat. “O-of course! Such things would not stay my blade.”

“But what if she’s got pretty golden eyes and is like, just tons of fun.”

“Yes, dammit!”

“But what if she looks like… this?”

Her eyes flashed a molten gold. Her teeth suddenly sharpened with a pair of small fangs. Her body grew, her clothes creaking under the sudden swell of her figure. Her chest tore the lacing of her blouse, her skirt ripping to rags against plump thighs. Her skin darkened, turning a lurid red, and twin horns curved back like those of a goat along her hair.

Julian jerked back, gasping as a scent of smoke and mint suddenly engulfed him. He swooned, but shook it off, squinting and glaring at the creature.

“You…”

“Aw, don’t be like that, honey!” Lizzie said with another blinding smile. “You look much cuter when ya smile. Just a cute, handsome slayer too dumb to see the demoness fawnin’ all over him. Not that you were complaining much.”

“B-bitch!” Julian snapped furiously, tugging at his bindings. “If I were free, I’d-”

“Oh sure. Sure,” she said with an airy wave. “You’d kill me. Slay me and send me back t’ the pit I’d spawned from. Which is super mean a ya, by the by. Because I love it up here! So much fun and pretty boys and girls just lookin’ for a good time. And why shouldn’t I give to them? They loooove it.”

“You are a monster!” Julian snapped. “A creature of darkness and sin.”

“Totes! But that’s what makes it so fun, right?” she said with a twinkle of a smile.

“But hey,” Lizzie continued, scooting closer, grinning wickedly at him. “I’m a fair girl. So tell you what I’ll do. I’ll undo your cuffs in five minutes.”

“You’re lying,” he growled.

“Nope! Cross my heart and hope to burn,” she said.

“Why the hell would you do that?” he demanded hotly.

“Well, so’s you can get those hands of yours on my big, bouncy tits of course,” Lizzie giggled, giving her breasts another bounce.

Julian choked on his rage, the sight making his mouth feel suddenly dry. He tore his eyes from the display and to her smiling face. “I’d sooner cut them off!”

“Nuh uh! You’ll want to touch them too bad. You’ll be desperate to bury that pretty face of yours between my honkin’ tits and just smother yourself like a good human. Just get yourself buried under my big, soft, titties! Just a naughty slayer. So I’ll totes do it!”

Julian tensed. “You’re mad and a liar, and we both know it.”

“No way! See? I swear it. Swear it on the Red Throne and the Black Crown.”

Julian gaped as she made a crossing gesture over her chest, and in the wake of her talon an X mark burned before it faded. An oath to the Throne and the Crown was unlike any other to a demon. To make it was to swear upon the name of the ruler of the hells themselves. It could not be broken by a creature of the infernal realms. To even try would invite a fate worse than mere death or pain.

“But… why?” Julian could only ask.

“Oh, that’s suuuuper simple,” Lizzie giggled as her hands lifted, dropped, bounced her bust before him. “Because I’m plum certain you can’t wait to kiss my big tits…”

Julian glowered, glaring at her, but found his eyes drawn once more to her breasts. To the way her hands pressed those pillowy crimson orbs together. The way they seemed almost to ripple with the bouncing motions.

Gods but those were fantastic breasts.

Not that Julian was an expert, of course. He’d always known that demons were at their best when tempting mortals with sins of the flesh, and thus he’d avoided such entrapping. Quite sensibly, of course. But even so, he felt certain that no woman he’d ever known had such… such perfect breasts. Breasts that seemed almost tailored to the motions. The ups and downs. The way they seemed to quiver as they dropped, nipples stiff and trembling when her bust landed atop her crossed arms.

“Ooooh, a real connoisseur of titties, aren’t you?” Lizzie crooned.

“I-I am not!” Julian snapped. “Such lewd displays cannot… It’s disgusting!”

“Oh you’re soooo right!” Lizzie giggled, her hands ceasing their bouncing motions, instead running over her plump orbs, stroking her titflesh, tracing the curve of her bust, her fingers swirling around the coal black of her areola. “Look at how evil my big breasts are. So naughty and sinful. So dumb and fat. And my nipples ‘r sooooo needy, ya know? Just awful, naughty things! And don’t they look all wrong without a pair of lips wrapped around them, huh? Without some cute, dumb, horny thrall just suckin’ and moanin’ like a tooootal tit slave.”

Julian felt his blush burn again. But somehow, he felt like… like she was right. Her nipples did look so… so lewd just being out there. They should be covered. And yes. A pair of lips sucking them would do that. A tongue teasing. Stroking. He wondered what she would taste like? Would it be minty? Like her perfume? Or something else? Something unique to her. Something he couldn’t even dream of.

Gods but his mouth was dry. His lips quivered and he licked them, trying not to, but not quite able to stop himself.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Still think my perfect tits are evil? Thinkin’ they’re soooo sinful and sooooo bad?” Lizzie cooed.

“O-of course!” Julian gasped.

“And you’re soooo right, sugar! But that’s what makes them fun,” Lizzie giggled as her fingers tweaked her nipples, wrenching a gasping moan from her. “Ohhh! My naughty nipples are soooo fun to play with. Humans just can’t get enough a sucklin’ on them like cute bimbos.”

“You enchant them,” Julian panted, his chest heaving. Gods, he was so hot. He could feel the heat of his body pulse through him like his veins were fire. “You… you use your… your demonic powers to… to…”

“Sure do,” Lizzia giggled. “I totes do. I use my naughty powers to make everyone fall in love with my perfect, bouncy tits! Not that it takes much. They’re all soooo ready to fall for them. Just desperate to become good, brainless bimbos for my bouncy tits.”

“I n-never would.”

“You suuuuure about that?” Lizzie teased.

Wasn’t he? Or was she trying to corrupt him now? It wouldn’t surprise him. She was a demon. But… but so what? He could resist her. Resist her big, bouncy tits. He wouldn’t let them bounce away his thoughts. Dumb his mind. And… and he only had to… had to last five minutes. He could last ten times that long. No big titted bimbo would… would get the best of him.

“Won’t get… turned,” he growled.

“Oooooh, of course you won’t, darlin’,” Lizzie giggled. “You’re soooo strong. My big, soft, bouncy tits can’t make you all silly. All dumb.”

“Y-yes. That’s… that’s right… Yeah,” Julian grunted.

“You’re soooo strong, Julian,” she giggled. “Sooo powerful. You can resist me so well. My big, soft, fat titties could never enthrall ya. You’re much too smart. Much too much ‘f a stud. Much too strong to become a mindless bimbo for my big tits…”

Julian scowled. She… she was teasing him. He knew that. Could feel it. But… but wasn’t she right? He was strong. Strong enough to resist her breasts. Her powers. He could do it. He was doing it.

Wasn’t he?

Yes. Yes, of course he was. He was resisting her. He knew it. He felt fine. A little light headed. Light and… and soft like her breasts. But that was to be expected. It was expected. It was fine. He was fine.

“Feeling dumb yet, handsome?” Lizzie cooed as her fingers squeezed her breasts together. “Feeling your thoughts getting’ all numb and floaty?”

“O-of course not.”

“Oh goooood!” she crooned, hefting her breasts, dropping them. “So goooood. You’re resistin’ me so wonderfully, sugar! I have noooo power over ya. My big tits are totally failin’ to make you fall for them.”

“Exact… exactly…”

“And whoops! It’s five minutes,” she said.

Julian blinked blankly, looked up to her smiling face. “Huh?” he said.

Clink.

Julian slowly brought his arms up from behind his back, looking in wonderment at his free hands. He raised his head to the succubus.

“Oops!” Lizzie giggled, still fondling and massaging her impressive chest. “Looks like ya won, stud! Awww. And now you can do whatever you want with me.”

Julian blinked vaguely. “I… yes. Wh-whatever…”

“Especially,” she said, scattering his thoughts anew, “since you’re clearly so powerful ‘nd tough. Soooo smart you easily resisted my big tits. You’re much too strong to get brainwashed even now. You could do just aaaaanything to me.”

He… he could, couldn’t he?

After all, he was resisting. He wasn’t enthralled. He was still fine. Perfectly fine. In fact, his head felt clearer than he could remember. He could do it. He was resisting her so easily now. He wasn’t even trying and she had no influence over him. He could do anything he wanted…

“Like bury your face between my big… bimbo… tits…” Lizzie crooned.

He found himself staring at them again. At those perfect breasts. Perfect and big. Perfect and soft. Yes. Yes, he could do that, couldn’t he? He had resisted her thus far. She hadn’t influenced his mind. He could bury his face between those flawless orbs. Feel how soft they no doubt were.

“Go on,” Lizzie crooned. “Just do it. I’m soooooo helpless, darlin’.”

Julian nodded slowly, never noticing his nodding head was timed to the bounce of her bust. He leaned forward, shuddering as he inhaled the sweet aroma of her perfume. That spiciness of mint. Closer. Closer. Her breasts filling his vision. His world.

He felt her hand on the back of his head, urging him further forward. He took a shuddering breath as his face was eased into the valley between her breasts, a whimper escaping him as those glorious orbs squished around his face. Soft as clouds. Out of this world...

“O-ohhhhh,” he moaned.

“Isn’t that niiiice?” Lizzie said, her voice dulled by the softness pressing against his ears, yet seeming to vibrate through her and into him. “Ain’t it so relaaaaxing being between my big, bouncy boobs? So easy to relax. And you can toooootally relax, right? You’re super strong and brave and all that stuff.”

He was, wasn’t he? Julian smirked to himself at how easily he had overcome the succubus. Such a simple thing. But that was why he was the hunter, and she the prey.

“Hey!” Lizzie giggled overhead. “I bet you’ve been wanting to kiss my big tits a whole bunch, huh? You could totally do that too! I can’t stop you at all. I’m already beaten by you. Just helpless before the big, strong hunter.”

Julian laughed to himself. She was so dumb! She still sounded like she was teasing him. But that was silly of her. She was utterly at his mercy. But he supposed he shouldn’t expect too much from a dumb bimbo like her.

But she was right about one thing. He could totally kiss her breasts. And he’d wanted to for so long. And why not? He was totally in control. Utterly in command. He chucked to himself and pressed his lips against her breasts. Once on each side. The taste tingled on his lips and tongue. He was right. She did taste a little minty. But again, there was something deeper beneath that spice of flavour. Something smoky and alluring. Attractive yet nameless.

“Ohhhh! That’s iiiiit!” Lizzie moaned, squeezing his head further into her bust. “Kiss my big tittes, mister big mean hunter. Lick my needy nipples! Oh gosh. Oh gosh, i’m sooooo totally at your mercy! Just a poor, dumb bimbo slut who can’t resist the big bad hunter!”

“That’s… that’s right,” Julian growled, his tongue feeling thick, his voice slurring as if with drink. But he’d gotten over the ale. He wasn’t drunk anymore. He was totally in control. He could do anything. She was his. His captive. His… his…

“Wanna fuck me?”

Julian lifted his face from between her breasts, staring at the smirking visage of the demoness. “Wh-what?”

Lizzie giggled, her hands touching his head, pressing him back into her breasts, his mouth and nose sandwiched in that blessed softness. “Wanna fuck me?” she purred. “Want to pound that big, manly cock into my pretty pink pussy? Wanna make me scream and beg for more? Wanna to really conquer me, pretty boy?”

Julian stared, his sluggish mind struggling. There… there was something… something wrong about that. Something bad. He could feel it on the tip of his tongue. It… it would feel good but… but…

“Y… you’ll drink my… my soul if I… if I do,” Julian finally managed to say.

“Noooo, silly!” Lizzie cooed, petting his head, smoothing back his hair and making his nose and cheeks bounce softly against her heavy titflesh. “That’d only happen if I’d beaten you! But who ever heard about a hunter who beat a succubus getting his soul drained? That never happens!”

That… that did sound right. It made sense. Didn’t it? It must. He’d always been warned that if a hunter lost, a succubus would inevitably fuck the soul out of him. But he’d never heard of triumphant hunters getting their soul drained. At least, he didn’t think so. Some detail about that was bothering him. But he was having a very hard time figuring out what that was as her breasts squished around his face. So soft. So warm. The scent of mint and the musky huskiness filling his nose and head with swirly fumes.

“Go for it, cutie,” Lizzie cooed, still stroking his head. Soothing his worries. “You deserve it.”

He did.

He did deserve it.

He’d bested the succubus.

He’d conquered her.

Resisted her.

He deserved some fun.

He deserved some pleasure.

He deserved to take what he wanted from this dumb, busty bimbo.

Yes.

Yes.

He deserved it all.

And he would take it.

He pushed her back, Lizzie gasping, then giggling as she fell to the floor. She gazed up at him, her cheeks flushed an even more lurid crimson. She opened her arms, and Julian didn’t even think twice before pushing forward. Kissing her hard. Fiercely. He felt her hand on his pants, tugging them open. His cock came out, throbbing, pulsing. Yes. Yes! He’d fuck this bitch. This fucking whore. This demonic slut. He’d show her!

“Ohhhhhh!” he groaned as he felt the tight heat of her pussy close around his cock. Squeeze his tender manhood. His body began to thrust, pounding his cock into her, the bouncy orbs of her breasts inches before his eyes, swaying with every frantic thrust into her.

“Yes!” Lizzie cried. “Yes! Fuck me! Make me cum! Tame me! Tame me with your big cock! Oh fuck. Fuck yes! Yes! Don’t stop! Ohhhh! Don’t stoooop! Make me cum! Make me your bitch! Cum in me! Cum for me! Cum for Lizzie!”

Julian panted, gasped, his head throbbing. Pounding. His body rocking as he furiously thrust into her with ever greater urgency. He had to cum. He needed to cum! He had to cum and finally show her… show her what he was made of!

And it was so good. So wonderful! Her pussy was like a perfect sleeve around him. Rippling around his cock. Warm and eager. Pulling him into her almost lovingly. Julian moaned and whined as he increased his pace. His orgasm was so near.

“Cum! Cum with me, pretty boy! Cum with mistress! Cum for meeeee! Ohhhhh!” Lizzie cried as her inner walls suddenly clamped around him, squeezing him.

And Julian came.

His orgasm surged through him like a great wave. It tingled from his toes and fingers, rushing through him and into his cock. He cried out, shuddering as he released inside her. As he spurted his hot load in her.

“Yesssss!” Lizzie groaned, shuddering as he came, her own orgasm seizing her in that glorious moment, her pussy milking him while her breasts heaved at the sudden intensity of orgasm. Her arms grabbed Julian’s head, pulled him into the cushions of her breasts.

Julian moaned, vertigo spinning him. He felt like he had been balancing on a precipice, and suddenly had toppled over. His eyes rolled back, weakness aching through him as his cock surrendered, spurting a last few times. Aftershocks robbing him of strength.

A sudden emptiness filled him. Julian groaned, his head lolling back between her breasts, looking up at Lizzie’s face.

The succubus smirked down at him, radiant. Not just radiant. Glorious. Her skin glowed softly, her eyes sparking with delight and malice, her lips lifted in amusement as she gazed down into Julian’s glassy eyes. Soulless eyes.

She pet the former hunter’s head, and her touch shuddered through Julian like white hot ecstasy. “Who’s my pretty bimbo pet?” Lizzie asked.

“M-meeee,” Julian droned, his jaw sagging in dumb obedience, entranced by the sight of the woman who had devoured his soul.

Lizzie giggled, pulling his head back between her soft breasts. “You know it, sugar! Ooooh, you’re gonna be such a good bimbo for mistress, ain’tcha? I can’t wait to show you off to the other girls.”

Julian glowed from her praise, blushed against her breasts. Yes. Yes, he couldn’t wait either. Couldn’t wait for mistress to do whatever she wanted. Couldn’t wait to show he was such a good bimbo for her.

He nuzzled her breasts, moaning as her pussy squeezed his tender cock once more. Yes. He was going to be a good thrall.

A good slave for mistress Lizzie…

[tenjikyu]

𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘦𝘴 - 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ bonten!executives x manjiro’s son!reader , male!reader , izana lives bc fuck it we ball & he adds character to the fic , bonten all lives together in a massive penthouse just like my rockstar!reader fic bc that’s such a fun idea , reader is a very “ ion gaf ” character , reader is not biologically related to manjiro , reader has suffered through childhood abuse , more fluff then angst , going to make a part 2 .

❤︎ the day manjiro sano found you, helpless and starved, he practically convinced himself to ignore you.

❤︎ alas, his big brother didn’t share the same sentiment, quickly walking over to you and overwhelming you with questions.

❤︎ izana talked your ear off, and all the executives present could see that you were pissed by his presence.

❤︎ deciding it would be better to just leave you be to die of starvation, he takes izana’s hand in his own before dragging him away.

❤︎ you barley crossed his mind after that.

❤︎ until he found you in an alleyway, drenched in blood that was certainly not your own.

❤︎ you were wielding a simple thin kitchen knife, and you were clearly distressed.

❤︎ looking over your shoulder, you notice the man’s presence behind you, and get in an offensive position, ready to attack need be.

“what happened?” the boy with frosted skin asked you, staring lifelessly at the rather large man that had a slice to his throat.

“he followed me back to the alleyway after i borrowed some apples from the store next to his. when i told him to leave, he didn’t.” you explain, glaring at the corpse next to you.

“and so, i had to take matters into my own hands.”

you seemed almost indifferent to the stench of blood, your eyes spoke a million words to manjiro. it was as though this was an all to familiar scenario for you.

“come boy, i’ll get you a change of clothes.” the man before you almost orders you. scoffing, you race to him and grip the knife to his throat.

“like hell i’m going anywhere with you.” you spit at the man, completely oblivious to just how dangerous he was, not that you would’ve cared regardless.

it’s a kill or be killed world, and you weren’t going to become apart of the former. not again.

manjiro only sighed, waving your hand away from him.

“come, or do you want the cops to find you? you aren’t getting anywhere dressed like that. if you’re with me, the police force won’t be able touch you.”

at the end of the day, you had just killed a man once more, and you knew deep down that the strange man in front of you was right.

there was no way you’re getting out of this alone.

❤︎ and so, you allowed the lean man to hold your even thinner wrist as he walks through the streets. it was about 10:00pm by now, and manjiro knew that his brother is probably blowing up his phone as you two walk.

❤︎ regardless, he takes you into a shady thrift shop and gets you dressed. nothing fancy, just a black hoodie with some worn jeans and a pair of 2nd hand converse shoes. not the best, but much better then the rags you were wearing beforehand anyways.

❤︎ as he made his way back to the penthouse, which could easily home more then 15 people, he finally answers his silenced phone.

❤︎ izana is giving him the usual earful about how he “shouldn’t leave without his big brother” and how “anyone could be tracking his movements.”

❤︎ manjiro only holds your little hand tighter as he steps into the place.

❤︎ immediately, 8 sets of eyes land on the two of you.

❤︎ the man with the curly white hair blankly stares into what feels like your soul. he slowly approaches you, before leaning down to his level.

❤︎ “you like taiyaki?”. his eyes crazed and still glaring into you.

❤︎ and thus, you were oddly enough, quickly welcomed into bonten.

❤︎ you were promptly fed and bathed, much to your discomfort, before being placed into one of the many spare bedrooms within their absolutely massive penthouse, right next to manjiro’s bedroom for simplicity’s sake.

❤︎ everything was a first for you, from the endless amount of food stocked in the home, to having adults around you that aren’t about to beat you senseless.

❤︎ after waking up from your first ever comfortable night asleep, you promised to yourself that you wouldn’t speak a word to any of these people.

❤︎ having your trust in the ones supposed to protect you abused and shattered doesn’t get fixed overnight, but that didn’t seem to bother any of the men around you.

❤︎ it has been 2 days since your arrival, and apart from manjiro showing you around, they seemed to mostly ignore your presence.

❤︎ you did whatever you wanted. watched TV, ate anybody’s food without a care in the world, interrupted all of the men from getting their work done and stolen an excessive amount of personal items that belonged to the executives, much to their confusion.

❤︎ some of them used the spare bedrooms as 2nd offices (apart from the one at HQ), and you used that as a way to learn more about the guys who had ripped you from the streets.

❤︎ and from that, you learned then that you were currently residing in the most dangerous home in japan, with the deadliest men in the country’s stolen goods scattered in your bedroom.

❤︎ your heart sunk when you heard someone enter the office you were in, only to find the head on bonten staring at you as you scrolled through his laptop.

❤︎ you only blinked, before slowly backing away from him, attempting to make a run for it.

❤︎ “let’s chat, (Y/N).” he takes ahold of your little wrist once more.

❤︎ fuck.

❤︎ you spent a good 2 and 1/2 hours talking to manjiro. you told him about your home life. how your mother slept around with the door wide open, and how your fathers empty bottles typically collided with your forehead if you took a breath too loud. you told him about how you had finally had enough, and murdered them both with the same knife you held to his throat only a few days ago.

❤︎ you told him about how school was a drag, and the kids there would often laugh at the marks left by your father. ‘the boy with unfortunate parents’ was your title, and you found yourself breaking the noses of the children teasing you. and so, you just stopped going.

❤︎ you told him more about yourself. how you (from what you could remember), were nine and turning ten next year, and what your interests were, heavily limited due to lack of exposure.

❤︎ not once did manjiro interrupt you as you spoke. he sat there, legs crossed and staring at you with an indifferent look.

❤︎ after you were done, he gently pulled you by the waist into his lap and ruffled your messy hair.

❤︎ “from now on, you only listen to what i say. you don’t need to listen to anyone else in the house, okay? just do as i say, and you’re free to do as you wish.”

❤︎ that’s all he says as he strokes your hair, attempting to have you drift off in his protective hold.

❤︎ and it works.

A/N : part 2 is gonna have the reader interacting with the executives, as well as the father/son relationship form between him and manjiro.

uncle izana is gonna go so hard.

[sunfeyre]

Jaehaerys II Targaryen, the prince taken by selfish entitlement.

we were shown Jaehaerys as an innocent soul, a child, our first glimpse of him is him playing with his sister by Helaena's side.

and the more we see of him the more we are shown that he's just a little child, being carried by his father ever so easily into a court room where he understands nothing of what the people around him are saying. opting instead to start playing, as a child would. he was being annoying to Tyland Lannister, who tried to retrieve the marble ball from the child, only for Jaehaerys to take it again and again, behaving childishly, how else would he behave otherwise?

when blood and cheese happened, some say that you can hear Jaehaerys' muffled voice call for Helaena, "mummy", a scared boy with two big men holding him down and covering his mouth with a knife to his neck, who else would he call for but his mummy?

during his public funeral, Jaehaerys looked more like a little angel than a corpse, the only reminder of his brutal fate was his flimsily stitched head to his neck, purposefully done so to make it visible and clear to everyone what was done to the boy.

we saw his father calling him "my little son" "my legacy" "my heir", the man that hated appearing weak crying for his son, for his baby.

and his mother calling him "my boy", not having the opportunity to give him the embroidery she made specially for him, that she created, stitch by stitch, just for him.

a child they both saw as part of them that they lost, the innoceness of childhood, a child they could give a life to better than what their parents have given them. all for it to come crashing down at the feet of the entitlement of a selfish man, "a son for a son" he told blood a cheese after being asked about what if they couldn't find Aemond, he knew exactly what he meant by his words.

"an eye for an eye, a son for a son" but that phrase is only valid when it's them, when it benefits them.

because if they truly saw "an eye for an eye" as justice, why does Lucerys have two perfectly good eyes?

the entitlement is unreal, taking and taking and taking, but once it's time to give you suddenly become defensive. almost...animalistic in a way, animals like to be fed freely, but they might hurt you if they feel like it, a cat may scratch you, a dog may bite you, a llama might spit at you, a lion might kill you.

suddenly her words make sense, you are the challenge, and they will not stop at anything or anyone or at any line that shouldn't be crossed, if it meant that they could take more while giving little to nothing.

[fitgirlfemdom]

✧∘* ✧･ﾟbigger guys✧∘* ✧･ﾟ

you meet me at the gym. maybe i caught your eye from the squat rack or maybe you watched as a downed a bottle of water during a break. it doesn't matter--we get to talking. eventually, you realize, i come to that gym everyday, and soon we get to exchanging numbers. i come across as this demure, young cardiobunny with a bit of an obsession for you, and maybe you're just looking to score.

it doesn't matter. i tell you that i like bigger guys. you ask me about my opinion of you, and i suggest that you could eat a few more calories. after all, it's bulking season. you don't really think that your 10% body fat is gonna maintain all the way to summer, do you? i suggest a mass gainer shake brand, and although you forget most of our conversation, on your way home, you couldn't help but stop by a grocery store and pick some up.

that's when i start asking you about it. i recommend, after our respective work-outs when we're downing out protein shakes, you take your mass gainer at the same time. it's efficiency, after all. you say you want to ease into it, but after meeting my eyes as the bottle touches your lips, something changes in you.

i go to the gym everyday, and when i see you enter, i ask about the shakes. you did bring some with you, right? you won't get any gains if you don't eat right after! didn't you know that? and that brand isn't even that good anyway. who told you to get that? let's head to your place after--i'll show you how to make a real shake.

that's when it becomes a daily routine--well, it started to, before your lethargy got to you. post-workout, i'd head over and whip up something special for you--gobs of peanut butter, mass gainer, heavy cream, protein powder, the works--all in the comfort of your own blender. you start to question if all of this is really necessary, but i did tell you big guys were better, and are you gonna tell me i'm wrong? look at you. don't get self-deprecating now. i like how much you've gained!

the daily work-out dates turn to me seeing you after, crashed out on the couch. you head to the gym a few times a week, but not as commonly as before. you've just been so tired lately, i get it. rest days are even more important for recovery, though. it's doctors' orders-you need more sleep, and you need more shakes. when you're not ordering DoorDash, i'm the one cooking for you. a shake goes with every meal--it's mandatory. and you love it. they taste good! why think so hard about it when i'm smiling when you do it?

in fact, going to the gym at all is just cutting down the muscle you already have, don't you know that? you need some time to regain mass. you might as well quit your job--it's so demanding, isn't it? i could support both of us easily, and why would i want you to risk burning more calories out and about? it'd be much easier for you to sit on the couch and regroup, watch some TV, watch some porn, and eat.

you quit your job, because it's sucked the soul out of you, honestly. you've moved in with me, because there's no reason to live separately when we spend all our time together. you can't go five minutes without one of my shakes or my meals, after all. you're honestly a real glutton now, if i'm being honest. whenever i return from my daily gym visit, i make sure to bring you plenty of take-out, or three pizzas, or a few Subway footlongs, just to make sure you're well-fed. you've added probably 100lbs of mass at this point. it'd be a shame for all that hard work to go to waste.

you barely move from the couch, and i think it's starting to get to you. your gym buddies are all wondering what happened, and you can barely get the strength to sit-up by yourself, but that mental turmoil seems to dissipate when you're eating. it just tastes too good, doesn't it, baby? you're so full, but you love when i bring a fork to your lips, or a slice of pizza to your mouth. you love when i nod affirmatively, smiling as i watch you down another one of my shakes.

you especially love when i ride you. all those past memories, memories of athletic prowess, of high school cheerleaders, of locker room chats, all seem to fade away. the rush of a new PR, the delight in pumping iron, it's all gone. you spread your thick, plumped-out thighs outward and i straddle you as the TV plays. it's hard to get a good hold on your cock with that gut in the way, but you're so hard, so needy, so hot--i plunge myself on it right away. you feel my tight, toned body squeeze the life out of you, hearing the wet slaps of your balls on my defined, perky ass. you might not be able to move as well now, but i certainly can. i'm the tightest you've ever had, and my tits are pressed up against your face.

you're sweating, and you're not even moving. well, not intentionally, anyway. your tits are bouncing more than mine, let's be honest. everything about me is perky and defined, firm--even my ribs are apparent. but you? you're a pig. your moans almost sound like oinks, that's how much pressure you've put on your body. you stare up at me riding your cock, and because of your porn-rotten brain and how pathetic you are, you cum almost immediately, like always. doesn't matter. i give you a hearty dose of Viagra with your mass gainer shake after, and i use your cock for the next few hours. i get horny after the gym, what can i say?

you've blown at least four loads into my wet cunt at this point, and although my stamina hasn't faltered, you're completely spent. your cock is so overstimulated, you wince at the slightest touch. i know this, baby, and i care about you so much, so i make sure i've licked every inch of it clean. i stare up at you from this angle, but i can barely see your face behind your gut. you've really let yourself go, haven't you? you're shaking, overfed, overstimulated, bound to this couch under your own poor decisions. why even leave the house? they're all just gonna make fun of you. you think your gym buddies won't have a few choice words to say about you when you make your return?

you don't care about this, about any of this. your brain is so melted from the constant dopamine, the constant pleasure, that you've lost all self-awareness. your daily schedules consists of cable TV, countless hours of porn and touching your pathetic cock, and, of course, eating everything in sight. you're a complete degenerate, but you're my complete degenerate.

i did tell you i liked bigger guys.

[woodle-isbae]

i feel like there’s lots of fics on here about art and his breeding kink but i wish it was more so on other stuff.

sure, art and his breeding kink are cute + yeah, he’s prolly a switch/service top.

but what about art and his need to be in control? in a non abusive way ofc, in a “i need to feed my girl” “need to make my girl cum daily” AND his mindset of “need to empty my cum inside of her” type stuff ykwim

cuz wdym art is jerking off to the thought of you? girl, fuck that! he’s cumming and keeping the sperm incubated and stuffing u full of that shit, no seed goes to waste.

Ok im rambling bye

Art Donaldson whose just a giver , he always wants to see you happy. Never in the mood to argue , he will always find a solution to an argument.

Art Donaldson who spoils you rotten , giving you access to his card and accounts , glad that his basically rich.

Art Donaldson who can't say no to you , even if your arguing he'd find a way to have you face down into the sheets , pleading for more. And who is he to refuse you of such a thing?

Art Donaldson , whose a straight giver , always giving himself up to you in anyways possible , never pulling out just to stuff you full of his cum

[] Holding you so , so close to him , kissing any part of your skin he can get. Both your brains mushed from overstimulation yet content with how you ended up. []

Art Donaldson whose ready to take you anywhere , finding any remote or private area and trying his best to be quick with it.

[] Hiking your dress up to your waist before you slid in , thrusts passionate yet fast , lips placed between your teeth to suppress any sounds that could escape your mouth. The thought of getting caught just fueling you both on.

"Shh , keep it down f'me..yeah?"

His large frame overshadowing yours , which was bent over a bathroom sink , clit bumping against it with each thrust. Sending waves apon waves of pleasure to your whole body []

Art Donaldson who believes his soul purpose is to keep you pleased and happy , keeping you fed and full. Having a whole book of planning which involves kids.

Art Donaldson who knows how dirty of a thought it is but still holds you down as you squirm , stuffing his fingers into you to keep anything from dripping out

[] his fingers slipping in so easily as he kept the mix of both your juices trapped inside you , his face growing hotter than ever at the thought of getting you pregnant []

Art Donaldson whose honesty a good man , and makes other women Jealous of you just by a single glance at you two together

[peakyswritings]

Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby x OC

PART XI

Summary: the situation complicates further as Tommy’s stay in Sicily nears its end. It’s time for conversations, and things that have been buried for too long are brought to the light.

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, slow-burn, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s), time-typical misogyny, references to past attempted assault, harassment, violence, angst, English is not my first language. This chapter is 18+, smut (I’m still not used to writing it but here we go). This is set between season 1 and 2.

Like in some previous chapters, some conversations are supposed to be in Italian but for obvious reasons I kept them in English.

A/N: sorry this is really long. I hope it makes up for the wait!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dividers credits

Tommy’s proposal to Agnese had brought quite the hustle in the Ferrante’s property. A stream of relatives and friends had been coming to congratulate the new couple in the past few days, and people continuously came and went to make the arrangements for the wedding - or simply pry in the family business. And with the engagement party being held that night, it was impossible for Nina to step out of the house without bumping into some caterer or seamstress or, if she was particularly unlucky, some cantankerous old aunt who would stray away from her as if she were the Devil incarnated.

Her mood, which was already dark to begin with, had considerably worsened, forcing her to withdraw into isolation to avoid all possible conflict. She was easily irritated, she couldn’t stand her mother’s complaints, her father’s deceitfulness, her brothers’ haughtiness, and she couldn’t help herself from talking back or snapping when something bothered her. She could tell they were fed up with her insolence, that she was treading on thin ice, but she drew a twisted satisfaction from getting on their nerves. It was the only way she had to get back at them for the hell they were putting her through. Her role in the family, the impossibility of being something more than she was expected to be, the threat of a forced marriage with Stefano that was becoming less of a prospect and more of a certainty with each day that passed. And now that. Having to watch as the marriage between Tommy and Agnese took form, pretending with her cousin she was genuinely happy for her.

It was tearing her apart from the inside. At this point, Nina couldn’t wait for them to get married, so that Tommy would leave her house, her country, and set her free from the deep ache she felt every time he was near. It would be difficult, at first, but in time she’d forget about him, about the way he made her heart race, about how safe she felt in his arms.

“I’m going over to aunt Rita,” her mother hastily walked into the kitchen, holding a sewing box in her hands. “I’m helping her embroider the bedsheets for the trousseau.”

“Mhm.” Nina merely raised her eyes from the book she was pretending to read. Hearing about bedsheets and trousseaus was the last thing she needed in that moment, especially if it had to become yet another excuse to reproach her for not having the intention to get married anytime soon.

All of a sudden the book was soon snatched from her hands. When she raised her gaze, her mother was looking at her with a stern look on her face.

“Your friend has been invited to the party,” she said bitterly, as though the matter was somehow her daughter’s fault.

Nina’s heart fell to the pit of her stomach. It didn’t take a genius to understand who said friend was.

“The whole Spinietta family has been invited,” Maria went on, slamming the book on the table.

She swallowed harshly, the implications of that gesture rapidly sinking in. “Are you serious?”

“I warned you,” her mother pointed a finger at her. “If you had listened to me, maybe it would’ve been Angelo, not him.”

Nina rolled her eyes. Again with her friend’s son. What did she want, to put a death sentence on the poor man? She grabbed the cup of tea that had grown cold in front of her, and got up to pour its content in the sink.

“Did I tell you he’s a teacher?” Maria started again. “I bet he acts all intellectual just like you.”

“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll intellectualise away from me. Unless he wants to get on the Spiniettas’ bad side, that is. Or dad’s.” She started to aggressively scrub the cup, taking out her anger on the fragile item. “And who says he’d be interested in me anyway?”

Her mother looked at her as if a second nose had grown on her face. Despite her unusual behaviour, Nina carried herself well, looked nice, had an education that most girls could only dream of. Her Italian was outstandingly clean, almost devoid of dialectal influences, and clear. Her brain worked incessantly, she had complex thoughts, and it was often difficult to keep up with her. Not to mention how she managed to give even men twice her age a hard time with the sole power of her words.

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Maybe he’d find me ugly,” Nina shrugged, “or stupid.”

“You’re my daughter, you can’t be ugly or stupid.”

Nina let out a sigh, drying her hands on a towel. There was no point in arguing. In those situations, it was better to let her mum vent until she got tired of talking with a stone wall and gave up.

Maria dropped the sewing box on the table with a thud. Once she had her daughter’s attention back in her, she started speaking again, a grave expression on her face. “I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in. If your father says yes to Stefano, then he won’t be able to say no anymore,” she said lowly. “You need to act before he says yes.”

“He can’t force me.”

If her father really decided to go through with it, she’d drop the bomb on him that she wasn’t a virgin anymore. Maybe she could do it in front of Stefano, for the pleasure of watching his smug grin disappear from his face. Would she be irremediably deemed as a whore? Yes. Would she bring shame upon her whole family? Absolutely. It would still be better than being Spinietta’s wife.

“You can’t change my mind on this, mum,” she concluded in a tone that didn’t leave any room for discussion.

Her didn’t mother didn’t reply, but the disapproval was clear on her face.

“You know what?” Maria picked up the box from the table again and put it under her arm with a nervous gesture. “I don’t care. Do what you want,” she said sharply, leaving the kitchen.

As soon as she heard the front door closing, Nina exhaled deeply. That was another issue she’d have to deal with, apparently. She wasn’t sure her mother would give up so easily, and she was scared she’d try to act behind her back like her father was.

Her father. Her blood boiled in her veins as her mind went back to the reason why the argument she had just gotten out of had started in the first place. It was time to talk to him, to make it clear that she would never accept to marry that bastard, that she didn’t need time to decide cause she had already made up her mind. The sooner they had that conversation, the sooner all that would end. Hopefully.

Animated by a fiery resolution, Nina strode through the house with large, quick steps. She didn’t pay attention to her brothers, who were heading to the kitchen to have breakfast, nor to Tommy, who was waiting in the large hallway for her father to let him in, and was now looking at her with a puzzled look on his face.

She stormed in her father office, slamming the door behind her. He raised his head from the papers he was signing, looking at her questioningly, but not without a hint of reproach for bursting into his private room without even knocking.

“What does this mean?” Her voice came out more high-pitched than she intended. She stopped in front of the dark wooden desk, forcing him to pay attention to her.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

Her father leaned back in his chair, rolling his cigar between his fingers, keeping his oblivious facade. A new wave of rage ran through Nina, but she was careful to contain it. “You invited the Spinietta family to the engagement party,” she explained through gritted teeth.

Unimpressed by her accusations, he stubbed out his cigar, then folded is hands on his lap. “The Spiniettas are close friends of ours,” he said calmly.

“Right,” she let out a humourless laugh. “You became pretty close over the last month.”

“Business is growing.”

“Ah,” she nodded, raising her eyebrows. “Business.”

Her father clenched his jaw, and from the way his shoulders had stiffened she could tell he knew exactly where the conversation was going. And that he didn’t like her mocking tone.

“Is there a problem, Nina?”

“You tell me. Is there something going on that could be a problem for me?”

She wanted to hear it from him. She wanted him to admit it out loud. She was tired of being treated like she was crazy, like she was imagining things. She wanted honesty.

Vincenzo pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as if hit by a sudden headache. “I need to talk to Mr Shelby, can we-”

“You’re talking to me,” Nina said firmly, raising her voice.

Her father straightened his back, leaning with his elbows on the wooden surface in front of him. He fixed his gaze on her, his features hardening with austerity. “Mind how you speak to me, I’m your father,” he warned her.

“So I should stay quiet while you make decisions about my life,” she spat out. The way he was trying to impose his authority on her just because he had no arguments to defend himself made her stomach churn.

“I’m not making decisions.”

“You are,” she slammed a hand on the the desk. “Do you really think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

Her father reached his hand out, keeping his voice still low. “Calm down.”

“I will not calm down!”

Ferrante took a deep breath, raising from his chair to properly speak to his daughter. If there was one thing he didn’t tolerate, it was disrespect, but getting angry wouldn’t work, not now, at least. It would only make Nina more stubborn. If he wanted her to listen to him, he needed to get his point across nicely.

“What do you want to do with your life?” he asked her, apparently changing the subject.

Nina furrowed her brows, taken aback by his question. She could sense he was trying to direct the conversation somewhere, and she was quick to pull herself together.

“I want to study,” she said steadily.

“You’ve finished school,” he countered.

“There’s university.”

“Women don’t go to university.”

Nina squinted her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “Then I want to work.”

“Poor women need to work. Do you want to ruin your hands in a factory?”

A glimpse of irony flashed across his face. Once again, his purpose seemed to be to make her feel stupid, or naive, like she had no idea how the world worked. The thing was, he was right, to some extent. Nina had little experience, she didn’t know everything. But there were things she knew, things she didn’t like, and she wasn’t going to accept them just because that was how life was.

Vincenzo walked around his desk to approach her. He placed his hands on her shoulders, his expression softening. “I’m only worried about you,” he said. “About what your life will be like if you go on like this.”

“It’s my life, dad,” she whispered, feeling the tears well up in her eyes against her will. “Maybe you’re right, and I’m ruining myself with my own hands. But the choice is mine to make.”

Despite everything, she thought she could make him understand. There had to be a way to get through him, to make him see, she didn’t want to ruin the bond they had always had. Because she would make her own decisions either way, and she wished for him to support her. She needed him to support her.

“You’re my daughter. I can’t stand back and watch you do that to yourself,” he shook her slightly. “Let go of these fantasies, Nina. Real life is something else.”

Of course. How stupid of her to imagine that he could even try to understand. She shrugged his hands off, forcing back her tears. “You’re wrong.”

Her father nodded to himself, taking a step back. “We’ll see,” he simply said. “As for Stefano, I told you already. The choice is up to you, I’m not forcing you to do anything,” he reassured her, but his condescending tone had the opposite effect.

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, but that son of a bitch is always around.”

“Language.”

Nina scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. He didn’t see the point. He didn’t want to see the point. He only cared about business, about power. Why was she wasting her time?

She made her way towards the door, but she stopped in her tracks when her hand grabbed the handle. After a moment of hesitation, she spoke again, but she didn’t around to look at him.

“You’re making a mistake.”

Tommy watched as Nina strode out of Ferrante’s study with a face like thunder. He had heard the screams, but he hadn’t been able to make out what the fuss was about, the long sequence of Italian sentences unfamiliar to him.

Those kinds of arguments had happened frequently, over the last three days. Nina had become unmanageable - not that she had ever been the manageable type. But she had gotten worse. If someone so much as glanced at her the wrong way or said one word too many, she’d turn it into an excuse to fight. She was sensitive, and snappish, and she seemed to have lost the ability to put on her mask of coolness and indifference. As a way to heal his wounded ego, which still burned from the things she had said to him, he told himself it was a good thing she had rejected him. If she had the gall to talk back to her father like that, there was no doubt she’d act even worse with her husband, and he had enough headaches already. And for sure, he would’ve never wanted to be at the receiving hand of her temper.

Nina stopped in front of him, recollecting herself, and Tommy couldn’t not notice she radiated the same frigidity as when they had met for the first time. “My father wants to see you, Mr Shelby,” she said coldly.

Ah, now she called him Mr Shelby. As if she hadn’t been whimpering his name in his ear a few nights before.

“I think we’re way past the formalities, sweetheart.”

His remark was enough to make her falter. She blinked up at him, shocked by his bluntness.

“Way past,” he repeated, raising his eyebrows.

“Will you lower your voice?” she hissed, taking a look around to make sure no one was near.

Tommy held back a smirk at her flustered state. Her usual frown had deepened, and a tinge of red had crept up her cheeks. Had the situation between them been different, he would’ve gladly went on. He had to remind himself he wasn’t in the position to tease her anymore. Nina had said it very clearly, she didn’t care about him. What had happened between them had been a mistake, she regretted it. She regretted him.

Then why were her eyes telling a different story?

Nina huffed, tucking a rebel strand of hair behind her ear. “He’s waiting for you,” she murmured.

Her arm brushed against his as she walked past him, sending a spark of electricity through his whole body. Leaving him wondering when he had gotten to the point where the slightest contact threatened to make his self-control crumble.

Nina examined her figure in the mirror, a niggling uneasiness taking over her. She wasn’t used to doll herself up like that. She had put on a beautiful dress for the occasion, done her makeup, managed to tame her long hair, and she had half-hoped she would be happy with the result once she was done. However, in her silk dress, in her makeup, with her hair away from her face, Nina felt like a fraud. Ridiculous, even.

She had always been the ugly duckling of the brood. When her cousins had started to bloom into beautiful women, she was still all elbows and knees, drawing the petty comments of her aunts, poorly hidden behind harmless jokes. She remembered all too well the embarrassment she felt every time they pointed out her flat chest, joking about how if she cut her hair she could be mistaken for a boy. She was ashamed to admit that even though she wasn’t that gawky kid anymore, those words had stuck with her. She tried to convince herself she didn’t care about being pretty, that her mind was her primary concern, but the truth was, sometimes she wanted to feel pretty.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself and just pretend, she told herself, straightening her back. It was a little exercise she had trained herself to do over the years. Head high, impassive face, don’t let them get to you, act like you know exactly what you want, walk like you know exactly where you’re going. It worked, most of the times. Maybe if she pretended long enough one day she’d be able to convince herself as well.

Once ready, she crossed the upstairs floor of the house, reaching the separate corridor in which her parents’ bedroom was located. Her mother was standing in front of a full-length mirror, fixing some pins in her hair. Nina leaned against the doorframe, and allowed herself to stay in her company for a while.

Out of the comfortable clothes she used to wear, out of the kitchen, out of the restraints of her role as a wife and a mother doomed to annihilate herself, she looked years younger. The dress she was wearing was modest, elegant, and the dark blue shade perfectly complimented her complexion. The shadow of a rare genuine smile grew on her face as she put on her pearl earrings, mixed with an emotion Nina couldn’t quite recognise. She could almost swear there were tears in her eyes. Nina realised she didn’t even remember the last time she had seen her mother taking care of her appearance like that, and that finally having the chance to do it must be a source of melancholy as well as joy. Was that what a life dedicated to the care of a whole family had done to her? Had she forgotten herself to that degree?

“What are you looking at?” Maria asked gruffly, glancing at her daughter through the mirror.

How sweet. Nina pursed her lips to hide a sly grin, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Nothing.”

Her mother frowned, smoothing down her dress, then she turned around to face her. She looked at the ground for a moment, then back at Nina, a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. “How do I look?”

A pang of sorrow spread in Nina’s chest at the thought that her mother might feel anything else but beautiful. “Stunning, mum,” she said truthfully.

“Is this too much?”

“No,” she shook her head. “It’s perfect.”

The older woman turned to the mirror again, her features softening. “Go downstairs, tell your father I’m almost ready.”

Reluctantly, Nina mustered up the courage to get out of her hiding, mechanical step after mechanical step, like a man facing the gallows. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to feel her relatives’ judgmental stares on her. She didn’t want to see Stefano. She didn’t want to watch Tommy and Agnese be officially presented as a couple. Husband and wife. It made her feel sick. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw Tommy standing on top of the staircase, checking the time on his pocket watch, handsome in his formal attire.

His head shot up upon hearing the sound of her footsteps, and for a while it felt like the whole world had stopped turning just for him to have that moment. That moment to look at her, to take in the sight of her in her long, light blue dress that enhanced her tanned skin; with her ebony hair pinned up, exposing her delicate neck and cleavage, instead of hiding her as usual.

“You…” Tommy’s breath hitched in his throat, his mouth dry. You’re beautiful.

He didn’t dare say it.

“Hi,” Nina murmured, fidgeting with her own fingers. She had no idea of what to do or say. Standing there and staring at him like an idiot was clearly not an option, so she decided to approach the stairs. But one look at the long series of steps was enough for her to understand that there was no way she could descend it in her heels without making a fool of herself. Had she been alone, she would’ve gripped the railing like her life depended on it and ungracefully stomped her way down.

As if he had read her mind, Tommy offered her his arm without uttering a single word. He limited himself to peering at her, his gaze indecipherable, intense. Nina accepted his help, trying not to think about how natural it felt to have her hand in the crook of his elbow as they climbed down the stairs. Her legs were shaking, probably not because of the shoes, and she just hoped she wouldn’t trip over her feet and ruinously fall on her face. When she walked down the last step, she realised she had been holding her breath the whole time.

“Thank you,” she whispered, letting go of his arm.

Tommy nodded, taking a step back.

He needed a drink - or possibly two or three - to give him the strength to get through the night. Now more than ever he felt like he was putting handcuffs around his wrists rather than a ring on his finger. He had been telling himself that everything was going reasonably well, that following the plan which had been made over a month before was the best thing to do. He was going to marry the woman they had chosen for him, a beautiful woman, who would make him look good. Agnese was sweet, and gentle. She would take care of the house, of him, give him children. He would have a good life with her. She would bring him peace, turn his house into a safe place away from the wickedness of his business.

Nina would’ve brought him the storm. With her, a life of confrontation, of compromise, maybe even conflict would’ve awaited him. He would’ve had to answer to her, to accept her sharp edges and the sides of her that weren’t easy to deal with.

No, he was lying to himself. Confrontation, compromise, conflict had been his daily bread since he was a kid. His restless nature had never cared for peace. His skin was thick enough not to get cut on her edges. And pain had never scared him anyway. But that didn’t matter. The wedding would be in two weeks, then he would leave that place behind. Leave Nina behind. He’d forget about her like he had forgotten about Grace. He had done it once, he could do it again. Even if he’d prefer to rip his heart out of his chest.

For the engagement party, Agnese’s family had chosen to celebrate in the garden that surrounded the two houses. Everything had been planned with the outmost care: there were tables, flowers, candles, waiters balancing trays of champagne, musicians playing mesmerising tunes. A whole team of chefs had been hired for the delicious dinner. Nina had been pleased to find out that she wouldn’t have to share the table with Stefano, this time, who had sat with his family and other guests far away from her. Nevertheless, she had barely touched her food. Her stomach was still twisted from the events of the day. Now she was standing aside, watching as some couples gathered to dance. Including Tommy and Agnese.

They were both beautiful. Exceptionally so. Agnese was radiant in her ivory dress, she glowed with the happiness of a girl who was about to see all her dreams come true. Tommy held her in his arms with great gentleness as they swayed to the rhythm, and despite the vicious bites of jealousy, Nina was unable to look away. He’d fall in love with Agnese, of that she was sure. Her cousin was stunning, and sweet, and caring, all things Nina was not. Tommy would fall in love with Agnese and realise how blind he had been for ever setting his eyes on someone like her.

A tall figure came to stand by her side, and she was engulfed by the smell of a strong cologne mixed with cigar smoke. The man exuded an aura of power, dominance, along with a calm that was nothing more than a cover for something far more dangerous, unpredictable. Vito Spinietta. Her body tensed, and she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. Sending him a sideways glance, she was met with his calculating gaze. He was inspecting her, assessing her, searching for any weak point as though he could read into her.

“Good evening,” he said, not taking his eyes off her.

“Good evening.”

A heavy silence followed. Nina wasn’t a fool, she was aware that if Stefano’s brother had taken the trouble to go speak to her it wasn’t to make small talk. The heir to the Spinietta empire was too practical a man to waste his time on pleasantries, and certainly wasn’t there for the pleasure of her company.

“I know there’s no point beating around the bush with you,” he said, confirming her suspicions. “So I’ll be direct. I’m here on behalf of my brother.”

Nina tilted her head in amusement. Had it really become a family matter? Had a no on her part caused such commotion?

“Stefano’s a good guy,” he announced solemnly. “It’s just that sometimes he acts the wrong way.”

Nina had to hold back a dismissive laugh at his statement. A good guy. It was almost as pathetic as the excuse he had made up for his behaviour.

“What am I supposed to do with this information?”

“He cares about you.”

“So you’ve taken it upon yourself to play Cupid,” she said bitterly, with a little edge of sarcasm, earning herself a stern look. “It doesn’t suit you,” she shook her head, mocking him behind an expression that was meant to feign innocent honesty.

Vito raised his chin, reacting with silence to her insolent replies. “It would be good to unite the families, considering the circumstances,” he said instead. “And a rejection could be seen as…” he paused, searching her face. “An offence.”

His words had Nina knitting her eyebrows in a frown. He had pronounced them in an ambiguous, vague way, but she hadn’t missed the gloomy undertone. “Is this a threat?”

“What do you take me for?” he asked, clearly just pretending to be offended. “I’d never threaten a woman.”

He was playing the card of the man of honour. As if he and his brother hadn’t done even worse to the girls of the town. She had to say something now. Too long had she let Stefano scare her, she wouldn’t make the same mistake with Vito. The Spiniettas weren’t the only ones who got power, she came from a tough family as well, and she would no longer forget who she was.

“Listen,” she started, turning to properly look at him. “I’m not scared of you, or your brother, or your threats.”

Vito clenched his jaw, his mouth twisting into a grimace.

Nina took a step towards him, further decreasing the already short distance between them. “You two think you can do as you please because I am a woman?” she narrowed her eyes. “Think again. Cause one word from me and you’ll see your whole organisation fall around your ears.”

“Is this a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

Nina wanted to see his mask slip. She wanted him to reveal himself, like Stefano had revealed himself not so long ago, when he had put his hands on her in her own house. She wanted him to give her a reason to draw her knife on him, there, in front of everyone. But Vito wasn’t Stefano. It would take a lot more to make him lose his composure.

Vito took a step back, observing her. He could see why his brother was so adamant on having her. Stefano had always loved a good challenge. He didn’t want someone obedient by nature, someone who would listen to his every command. He wanted someone difficult, someone he could take his time to bend. Or break. It would’ve taken way more than a few slaps to break that one.

Their conversation came to an end when Stefano walked up to Nina, holding out his hand to her. “Wanna dance?”

Nina took a look around. Her situation hadn’t gone unnoticed: most of the guests had been peering at her and Vito, trying to figure out what was going on, and now that Stefano had entered the picture, they were sending them subtle glances, waiting to see if Nina would’ve accepted his invitation. Her first instinct was to say no, but leaving him there in front of everyone would cause quite the stir, and surely take the attention away from the new couple. That was Agnese’s night, and she didn’t have the right to ruin it for her. Not after what she had already done. So she placed her hand in his, and unwillingly let him lead her to the dance floor.

His hand was light on her waist as he lead the dance, yet that contact felt heavy, violent. It made her skin crawl. She focused on the ground behind his shoulders, trying to ignore the weight of people’s stares on them. She was afraid to raise her head and find out Tommy was watching too.

It didn’t take her long to detach herself from her surroundings. She didn’t hear the music, she didn’t see the couples dancing around them, she was only uncomfortably aware of Stefano’s proximity, of the heat of his body, of the burning marks his hands seemed to leave into her flesh. He had the predatory eyes of a raptor as he scrutinised the uncovered parts of her body, taking on the appearance of a beast waiting for the right moment to bite.

“I love you, Nina,” he whispered in her ear, his tone pleading. “I want to make you happy. I want to give you everything.”

Nina could read it on his face. He did think he loved her, he was truly convinced that his sick obsession was love. It’s wasn’t merely a matter of wounded ego, he was sincerely hurt in his own, twisted way. And that was something that could potentially make him even more dangerous. A shiver ran down her spine, but she forced herself not to shy away, and she let him speak without interrupting him.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes with you, and I want to fix them. Let me make it right.” His arm tightened around her as he brought her even closer. “I can be good to you.” There was desperation now in his voice. Nina tried to put some distance between them, but he didn’t let her. “I can be good to you, and you can be good to me. I’ll teach you how to be good to me.” His fingers curled around her hand in a painful grip. “Think about what we could be together. Say yes.”

Nina squeezed her eyes, overwhelmed by his insistent touch, his urgent words; disgusted by the image of them living in the same house that had forced itself into her mind; repulsed by his eagerness to mould her.

The music ended, bringing them back to reality. Nina was relieved to be able to pull away from Stefano, whose grip had finally loosened. He was out of his mind if he thought she could ever forget what he had done to her. A wave of rage ran through her, but she was careful not to let it show. Straightening her back, she looked him dead in the eyes, and just one word left her mouth.

“No.”

Stefano’s face fell, disappointment and anger battling in his irises, and his fist clenched by his side. However, Nina didn’t stay there to wait for a reaction. She turned on her heels and walked away from him, from the dance floor, from the crowd of nosy guests. Her inner turmoil grew with every step, and her state of panic was such that she didn’t even realise she had entered her house. With an irritated huff, she hastily fumbled with her impractical shoes and left them at the entrance, then sought refuge in her bedroom.

She took some deep breaths, rubbing her face. It felt like the more she tried to fix things, the more she made them worse, and there was no way out of that endless cycle. What was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to act? Who was she supposed to beg to drag her out of that situation? Because it was becoming clearer and clearer that she wouldn’t be able to make it by herself. When had things taken that turn? Had there been a mistake, a single, fateful mistake she had made that had caused all of that? Or was it someone else’s fault? Or was it no one’s fault?

Too many questions, not enough answers. Racking her brains to find a pattern, to put order to the events was useless. They were too tangled, too intricate. It hadn’t started when she had made love with Tommy, nor when he had kissed her, nor when he had appeared in her life. It hadn’t even started when she had pointed a knife at Stefano’s throat, nor when she had let him get close to her all those years ago at school. Had it started, perhaps, when she had insisted on studying? Was it her punishment for wanting more than she could have? More questions, still no answers. The worst thing was, she couldn’t see a way out.

There was a soft knocking on the open door, and when Nina turned around Tommy was there. He looked exhausted, as if the evening had drained him of all his energy. It was unusual to see him like that, he wasn’t the kind of man who let his distress show. For the first time, she realised how much the whole marriage situation had taken a toll on him.

If the reasonable part of her wanted him to leave, the other - the one she seemingly had no control over - needed him close to her. It was absurd how reassuring his presence felt. Maybe that was what had drawn her to him in the first place. When everything around her was swirling, when there was nothing certain or reliable, Tommy was stable, solid. Something to hold on to.

Nina forced those thoughts away. She was losing her mind. Tommy was the least stable thing in her life. He wasn’t there to stay, he would leave in two weeks time and she would never see him again, except for a few occasions, like Christmas or maybe weddings. Indulging in that kind of fantasy would only make things harder.

“Is this your plan?” Tommy suddenly asked, a hint of accusation leaking out of his neutral tone. “Say yes to Spinietta?”

Nina felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her, and her musings disappeared to give way to pure surprise. “What?” she asked in disbelief, widening her eyes.

“You heard me.”

“That’s ridiculous, I’d never do that.”

“Is that why you were dancing with him?” he raised his eyebrows, pointing at the door with his finger, as if Stefano were outside the room.

Nina shook her head, still not believing they were actually having that conversation. “You shouldn’t mix whiskey with champagne,” she said dryly, her voice coming out harsher than she had intended. But Tommy didn’t seem fazed by it.

“You looked rather intimate,” he noted with a touch of contempt, too upset to realise how preposterous his assumptions sounded.

Nina’s mouth fell agape. She hadn’t missed the inflection in his voice. Was he… jealous? She squinted her eyes, taking a step towards him. “What’s this?” she inquired.

Her question seemed to catch him off guard. He wavered, and an emotion difficult to define flashed across his features. It was more than simply pain. It was like all the resentment Tommy had harboured since that fateful afternoon was flowing out, inexorable, making him unable to think with a clear mind. Biting back was the only way he had to protect the feelings he had foolishly let show. Guilt ate at her stomach at the sight, and she had to remind herself she had done what she had done for him, before anyone else.

As if finally coming back to himself, Tommy clenched his jaw, and took on his usual, impassive expression. “I can’t believe you,” he murmured. “After everything he’s done to you.”

Nina nervously fidgeted with her fingers, not knowing how to make him see that he couldn’t be more wrong. Did he think so little of her? “I’m not..” she trailed off, torn between her sense of guilt and her pride. The latter took the upper hand. She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “You have no right to lecture me.”

“True,” he nodded. “I have no right. Cause what happened between us was a mistake and you don’t care about me.”

That was the point. That had always been the point. Tommy thought she had cruelly played him, maybe even used him, just to discard him when she didn’t want him anymore. She exhaled deeply, not meeting his eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s not like that,” he let out a humourless chuckle. “You said it, you’re taking it back now?”

“Stop it.”

“Eh?” Tommy’s voice raised, overlapping hers. “Are you taking it back?”

“I said stop.”

“You said-”

“I lied!” she snapped.

A tense silence fell in the room. Tommy blinked, and all the bitterness faded from his features. “Wha… what?” he stuttered, a confused frown forming on his face.

Nina didn’t regret her admission. She was so tired of pretending, of lying, of hurting him, and saying it out loud lifted a weight off her shoulders.

“I lied,” she repeated, more softly. “I never meant to hurt you. I…” her voice cracked. “I did it to protect you. To protect both of us.” There was no going back now. Her walls had been breached, and the words she had fought hard to keep to herself were leaving her lips before she had the chance to measure them. “Do you have any idea how much we’re risking? I’m risking? We talked about it, I told you how these things work.”

Tentatively, Tommy broke the distance between them, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head up. “Is this what you’re scared of?” he asked incredulous, searching her face frantically, his frown deepening. “I’d never let anything bad happen to you. I’d never let anyone lay a fucking finger on you. You hear me?”

Nina believed him. He would stand between her and harm’s way without a second thought. But that was the problem. She took his hand in hers, rubbing her thumb over it before pulling it away from her face. “And what about you?”

“What?”

“Do you really think you could’ve changed your mind? That they would let you, at that point? You made your decision when you started courting Agnese.”

“Maybe they would’ve understood-”

“No. Her father would’ve wanted your head for humiliating his daughter. The deal would’ve been off and you would’ve been six feet underground in a matter of hours.”

And I’d never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you because of me, she wanted to add.

Tommy didn’t reply, but the pain in his eyes spoke for him. He knew she was right.

Nina gently stroked his cheek. “We never had a chance,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m not worth starting a war over.”

Tommy squeezed his eyelids, shaking his head as if to chase that unbearable thought away. Then, impetuously, he kicked the door shut and crushed his lips against hers. The force of the kiss knocked Nina’s breath out of her lungs, but she was quick to wrap her arms around his neck, pressing their bodies together.

Tommy backed her towards the dresser behind her, then he hoisted her up in his strong arms and sat her on it. A groan left his lips when Nina hooked a leg around him, bringing him even closer. His hands roamed down to her hips, gripping, squeezing, his tongue exploring her sweet mouth. He relished her warmth, her scent, her soft hands caressing his face, trying to imprint every little feeling into his memory. He wanted her, in the most raw, primal way. Because it was the only way he had to have her. Or at least, to delude himself he did. She was like water in his hands, she slipped through his fingers again and again, never letting him hold her, never letting him keep her. But with his fingers digging in her skin, she almost seemed real.

Pulling away to catch his breath, Tommy dropped his forehead into her neck, grabbing her waist. “You’re killing me,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You’re fucking killing me.”

Tears began to stream down Nina’s cheeks. She felt like the worst person alive. She was causing so much pain, to him, to herself. She gently stroked the back of his head, sniffling. “You should go,” she compelled herself to say, although in that moment she wanted nothing more than for him to stay. “They’ll notice your absence.”

“They’re all drunk, they won’t,” he contradicted her.

“Agnese will.”

“She’s with her sisters.”

“But-”

Tommy’s head shot up to look at her, silencing her with his icy glare. “Fuck them,” he husked, wiping away her tears.

Fuck them.

Their mouths collided again. Blood rushed through Nina’s veins as Tommy kissed her hungrily. She could feel him everywhere, she was completely enveloped by him, by his smell of soap, whiskey and cigarettes, by the feeling of his rough hands, and yet she wanted more. She wanted to crumble and be brought into a new existence, to melt in his arms and become one heart, one body, one soul.

They only parted so she could help Tommy get free of his jacket. He was back on her right away, leaving a trail of kisses from her neck down to her chest, his teeth grazing the soft skin from time to time, making goosebumps ripple down her skin. He impatiently lifted her dress, fingers brushing against her smooth legs. More free to move, Nina allowed him more space, and her insides clenched with desire when she felt the bulge in his trousers against her.

Tommy’s hand ghosted over her clothed sex, making her squirm in anticipation. “Tommy,” she moaned, urging him to touch her where she needed the most. Pushing her underwear to the side, he slid two digits into her wet entrance, coaxing a sinful, beautiful sound out of her lips. Nina held onto his shoulders as he started to move his fingers, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Look at me,” Tommy commanded, cupping her chin with his free hand. Her eyelids fluttered open, showing him her glossy eyes filled with pleasure, causing his cock to painfully twitch.

He pumped his fingers in and out of her, working her open, eliciting small gasps from her that threatened to make him lose his mind. His thumb went to stroke her clit, the unexpected motion making her yelp.

Fuck, she was so beautiful.

“Tommy, please…” she whispered, clutching the soft material of his shirt. “I need you.”

She didn’t need to say it twice. Wasting no time, Tommy slid his fingers out of her to get rid of her knickers, discarding them somewhere on the floor, then fumbled with his trousers, finally freeing himself from all restraints. He grabbed Nina’s thighs, pulling her closer to the edge of the dresser so he could position himself between her folds, then he entered her with one swift thrust, burying himself inside of her. Nina hid her face in his shoulder, one hand coming to cup the nape of his neck, the other clutching the fabric of his shirt. Tommy began to rock his hips, firmly yet slowly, giving her the time to adjust to the feeling of him stretching her walls.

Nina clung onto him as if he could shield her from the unknown, as if he were a shelter, a place where she could forget, even for a moment, the uncertain future that awaited her. A future she tried to escape from, but the more she ran, the more she found it on her heels, ready to catch her, to drag her into the darkness that had been threatening her for years.

Tommy’s pace quickened, becoming more desperate, almost brutal, arms wrapped around her waist, bringing every inch of their bodies together. Nina was surprised to find that was exactly what she needed in that moment. It kept her anchored to him and only him.

“You feel so good,” Tommy growled, digging his fingers in her flesh, and her cheeks burned at his words.

He set a merciless rhythm, pounding into her with sharp thrusts. Nina barely recognised the sounds that were coming out of her, but she was too lost in her pleasure to be worried about them. Breath hitched in her throat when he reached a particular spot that made her see stars, and he hit it again and again, drawing shaky whimpers out of her. With each minute that passed she felt closer and closer to her release, and Tommy must’ve been aware of that too. She let out a strangled noise when he brought a finger to her swollen clit, the fire in her abdomen too much to bear.

“C’mon, love,” he rasped. “Cum for me.”

He drew small circles on her sensitive bud, pushing her over the edge. Her walls fluttered around his cock, shockwaves gripping her body as she came undone. Tommy kept on thrusting into her, hips ruthlessly snapping as he chased his climax, until with a last, powerful thrust, he emptied himself inside of her, grunting in her ear.

For a while, neither of them moved. They stayed in each other’s embrace, panting, savouring that ephemeral semblance of peace. Nina nuzzled her cheek against his, the comforting scent of his aftershave filling her nostrils. Neither of them seemed to intend to let go first.

God, she didn’t want to let him go. Before she could control them, tears filled Nina’s eyes again, and she tried her best to prevent them from falling. Why did it have to be so hard? Why did she have to fall for the one man she could never have? Why did her happiness have to cause so much damage? The most irrational part of it was that despite all of that, being in his arms felt like the rightest thing in the world. They perfectly moulded together like they had been created just fit into each other’s arms, to fill each other’s voids. Nothing she had ever felt could compare to it.

Eventually, they moved apart. They fixed their clothes in silence, pulling themselves together as best they could. Not that Nina cared at all. There was no way she was going back to the party. No one would notice anyway.

“Go,” she whispered, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen on his forehead. “They must be looking for you.”

Tommy gently cradled the back of her head, pressing a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll come to you later,” he promised.

Nina nodded, forcing herself to smile. But tears started flowing as soon as she watched him walk out the door.

NEXT CHAPTER

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[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Between the Pages

Summary: grappling with his violent past, Ettore is unexpectedly challenged by the silence of his unassuming cellmate | Word Count: 3.4k~ | warnings: mentions of noncon as a crime, violence

A/N: I've been wanting to kind of do a character heavy fic for a while since I read the interview about Ettore coming of age aboard the ship, so enjoy my take on it 😘

The darkness nibbled at the edges of him. From his feet and fingers, to his ankles and wrists, up his arms and legs. 

It curled deep in his gut, sliding around like oil inside, slick with a morbid curiosity that had lingered there for years. It crept up, weaving through his arteries and veins like vines, choking what purity there used to be, an innocent ignorance, and tainting it, into a sort of murky, sunless void.

He thought that once, he was capable of feeling anything else. Perhaps once, he was capable of love. Of some kind of affection. Maybe even deserved it.

After all, the ones you loved unconditionally, were supposed to give that same love back.

Right?

The day that darkness reached his heart, sucking the soul out of it like the way tendons and fat stick to meat as it’s torn up into chunks, was the day that Ettore understood this truth. Nobody was entitled to love. Not even him. And those people who were supposed to care, supposed to protect him, had abandoned him. What use was there in hoping for it now? He thought so often to himself. 

His body felt so heavy, felt so fucking heavy. The hatred marinated inside. Festered. What was there to do, but simply let it stay and rot? To allow it to become you.

How foolish of him to think that those who participated in making him, who chose to bring him into existence, would be able to give him the nourishment and support he wanted. That he needed. It was a story so often heard. That caregivers cared not about the people they assisted in bringing into this world. Their own children. At first, he admitted, he brushed it off.

It’s just the way my family is. Every family has different dynamics.

Until he couldn’t remember the last time his father had ever spoken to him. And then he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him. And then finally, his face. How he spoke. How he rolled up his cigarettes. He only remembered the smell of him. Fusty and deep. Like how old pubs smell. And the stench of whisky on his breath and yellowed teeth. 

He remembered being on the end of his fist most often. 

And when he was gone, though it was softer, he remembered then the palm of his mother’s. She didn’t have the strength of his father’s, but all the bite.

Trying to stay out of her way proved difficult most days. More often than not, he’d be out, even in the midst of winter as the wind nipped at his bones and the chill sank into his skin, he didn’t want to see the hysterical, screaming mess of a woman that was once his mother to be the first thing he came across when he got home. God forbid she ever spotted him.

He thought she must have thought he looked too similar to his father or something like that. Perhaps it was the eyes, the temperament or the expression. He hoped, somewhere deep, that it was perhaps the crime. Then there may have been some explanation for the way he was.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t figure it out for the life of him, so it was often easiest, to be out of her eyeline altogether. He wasn’t much better at staying out of trouble outside the confines of his home. Out there, in the big, wide world that he was so underprepared for, it was still difficult to be accepted. People had to want to be his friend, after all.

Eventually, he just didn’t even try. Though there was still a desire for acceptance, one he didn’t get by befriending men of a similar age and temperament to him. 

It felt only right, that he used the only things he felt he had, to his advantage. Looks. Talk. Confidence. Three things he was never short on.

And also the three things that fed easily into how he coped and how he eventually morphed into the person he was today. The looks got him into women’s beds, and in between their thighs too. The talk got them to stop fighting, to stay still and let him have his way. The confidence was the one thing in the end that worked to his disadvantage, thinking that the ones who he’d let get away wouldn’t say anything, and the ones he kept quiet by clamping his hands around her tiny, little necks, would inevitably fade away into non-existence. 

He still remembers the way their blood roared against his palms, how their breaths stuttered in his grip, and that addictive wide-eyed look, and the slow, blinking fade of life from their eyes. He thought there was nothing more powerful than holding someone’s very life-blood in his grip, and that was when he knew the rot had taken hold inside him. 

If he could, he would have wiped every judgemental glare off everyone in the courtroom that day. What use was there in pretending to be remorseful, as if he didn’t savour the memory of choking the hell out of those women with his dick so deep inside them still he could feel the way their bodies tried to reject him. Those are the memories he thinks of in those lonely nights in the Box. Those are the cold dark hands that drag him further and further. Until perhaps there is nowhere further to go.

Which is why she confuses him. His cellmate sleeps above him, a woman who he has strangely paid little attention to and can’t for the life of him figure out why. The narrow confines of their shared cell, with its cold, steel surfaces and harsh fluorescent lights, force a proximity that is usually unbearable for him. Yet, with her, there is an unspoken truce that puzzles him further.

There is a suffocating silence in the cell at night. Ettore’s usual trigger lay dormant for a while, an uneasy peace reigning in the small, padded space he shares with her. Unlike the other women aboard the ship, callous, loud and obnoxious, this woman keeps to herself, hovering just beyond the reach of his understanding.

Each day that goes by, he tries to solve the puzzle that she is. Why doesn’t she flinch at his gaze? Why doesn’t she cower? It’s as if she moves through a different realm, her demeanour calm, almost detached, unaffected by the chaos that typically surrounded him and the others alike, or the violence he is known for. 

She is a question without an answer, unsettling him more with each passing day. He sometimes imagines her figure from his bottom bunk, and how she would look while she sleeps, often with her eyes glued to the pages of a book. And he knows from the gentle thud of her tired hand and the half-opened novel on the mattress, that she has likely exhausted herself to sleep from reading and straining in the dark.

So he starts to look for signs, any clue that might explain her indifference, her silence. But she gives nothing away, her routine meticulous and quiet. When she reads, she never looks up. He supposes there is no reason for her to. Does anyone even know her name? Or do they do what he used to do, and just pretend she never existed in the first place? Perhaps that’s where she feels most comfortable.

It gnaws at him more than any confrontation could. His history with women was fraught with aggression, violence and brutality, but it provides no playbook for this experience. There is no anger in her silence, no fear. She merely exists in a state of complete neutrality, leaving him to wonder why she is even in prison in the first place. This indifference to life itself, it seems, is more disarming than any verbal or physical challenge. 

He hopes for a flicker of annoyance when he makes too much noise coming back to their shared cell some nights. But nothing. He hopes for the one day she glances up from her book, eyes clear and calm, as if nothing is wrong. 

She was like a candle unlit. A sheet of snow upon the ground without a fault or a footstep to taint it. Like a notebook you kept but didn't have the heart to write in for the first time, for the fear of ruining the very first page.

So it is that night, he lays with his hands behind his head, ever kept in a state of wide-eyed curiosity, when he hears the familiar thud of her tired hand dropping her novel. She never seems annoyed when she loses her place in her story, she simply gets up in the morning, and places something flat where she thinks she was, and is more than happy to start all over again. 

Despite the silence, his mind races, thoughts swirling and colliding in the shadows. He’s grown accustomed to the rhythms of their cohabitation, the sound of her breathing, the slight shifts of her body in the bunk above him, the soft rustle of pages turning. These sounds punctuate his nights, a constant reminder of her presence.

And yet, tonight, there’s a different kind of awareness, a curiosity that edges toward something he can’t quite name. It’s not desire, not the kind he’s known before, which was always tangled with aggression and control. This is something else, something quieter, more invasive. He wants to see her as she sleeps, to witness her in a moment of unguarded vulnerability, not to disturb or dominate, but to understand.

This thought, this need to see her face relaxed in sleep, strikes him with a pang of guilt. Even in the dim light of self-awareness, he recognises that this impulse feels like a violation, an intrusion into her silent world. He’s used to taking space, not just physically but emotionally, imposing his will on others as a way to affirm his existence. But with her, the dynamics are different. She offers nothing to conquer, only a silence to be filled, and in that silence, his own reflections become too loud, too clear.

Lying there, Ettore wrestles with the pull of his curiosity and the weight of his past. He knows too well the darkness that lives within him, the ease with which he could turn a moment of curiosity into something far more sinister. The battle within him is a quiet one, but intense. The thought of crossing the boundary, even just to see her in her sleep, stirs a deep-seated fear that he might revert to the man he was, the man he still is, underneath the surface of this uneasy peace.

His limbs move as if detached from his will. He places one hand on the cold metal of the ladder, then another, his movements slow, deliberate. Every rung of the ladder creaks softly under his weight, a grim soundtrack to his betrayal of self-promises. His heart pounds in his ears, not with excitement, but with a dread that feels both foreign and familiar.

As he ascends, each step feels heavier, burdened not by physical weight but by the gravity of his intentions. He pauses halfway, his body tensed, his mind screaming for him to retreat. But the pull is too strong, the need to see her, to understand why she affects him so profoundly, why she can exist so close to him yet remain a world apart.

Reaching the top, Ettore pauses, barely breathing. He is close enough now to hear her gentle breaths, the soft exhale of sleep that seems so at odds with the storm raging in his soul. She is a portrait of peace, her eyelids fluttering slightly with dreams he cannot begin to fathom. He yearns to understand her not because she is an enigma, but because in her quiet resilience, he sees a reflection of what he might have been, what he still could be. It's a longing not only to understand but also to be understood, to be seen not as the sum of his past actions but as the person he struggles to become.

He approaches her bunk with a reverence that surprises him. As he lays down gently beside her, he is acutely aware of the sanctity of the moment, of her trust not to be breached and of his own resolve not to revert to the man he knows he really is deep down. 

But there is a vulnerability that is roused in him when he watches her like this, and he doesn't recognise or like it one bit. It'd be so easy to just wrap his hands around her neck, like he had done before so instinctively, and be rid of her. Maybe then he wouldn't question this side of himself that has bubbled to the surface.

The mere idea of putting his fingers around her throat has adrenaline soaring in his veins.

But Ettore pulls back from the precipice of this dark impulse almost as quickly as it arises. The primal, instinctual urge to eliminate what confuses him, to destroy rather than confront, surges within him, his hands tensing at his sides. Yet, as he watches her, her chest gently rising and falling with each breath, he finds himself caught in a storm of conflicting emotions.

It's horrifying, the ease with which violence still beckons to him. The quiet, once a cloak she wrapped around herself, now envelops him too. The battle is not with her, not even with the world outside, but inside. But this realisation does not bring peace. Far from it.

Feeling as if his heart in his throat, his palm hovers above her body, starting from her legs. He is trembling, leaving an inch of space that feels like a chasm. And yet he can feel the heat of her form, as if radiating from her skin and pulsing into his.

He passes over her hips, his eyes zeroed in on a slither of skin that has become visible beneath her sleeping shirt. It beckons to him like a test of his will. If she were anyone else, one hand would hold her down, while the other would rip her sweatpants off and-

He clenches his fist tight, his eyes mirroring the struggle. Every moment he chooses restraint, he is redefining himself.

And yet as he descends the steps down from her bunk, she hadn't moved an inch and the prospect of her being a deep sleeper makes the intrusive desire to do this again ever more prevalent. It doesn’t reassure him at this point, rather it feeds into the dangerous allure of doing it again, and again, and again.

And each time in the days following, what he does becomes more bold, skirting around the edges of darkness he knows full well lurks beneath. He waits every night for the thud of her book on the bed, for her quiet breathing to let him know that it is safe to venture into what feels like dangerous territory.

Hovered hands become soft brushes against her flesh. Initially, these contacts are mere brushes, fleeting and barely there, against her arms, perhaps unintentionally grazing her leg, or the slope of her shoulder. With each night, his touches grow slightly more deliberate, and when he has straddled that line too closely and she stirs or readjusts, he feels his heart quicken and chest tighten. Sometimes he almost wants her to wake up, just to see what he would instinctively do.

This dangerous game continues, each touch a test of his self-control. His fingers linger a moment too long on the soft skin of her cheek one night, the warmth of her breath against his hand, and the next day he struggles to even glance in her direction alongside the torrent of emotions within him. The fear that he is becoming the monster he dreads appears more real than ever. The very act of touching her in her sleep, though innocent, yet an invasion of her privacy and autonomy, is a stark reminder of the control he once wielded without thought.

He understands now that this cannot continue. The path he is on, though it started with a quest for understanding and connection, is veering dangerously close to old patterns that had once felt familiar. And yet with her of which he cannot even envision.

He knows the only way to break this cycle, to truly change, is to confront the situation directly and honestly. No more silent, uninvited intrusions in the dark; he needs to face her in the light, to speak to her and gauge her response, to decide his next steps based on a genuine interaction rather than his own conjectures and impulses.

All the scenarios run rampant in his mind, stealing every quiet moment in his day to day life seemingly without effort. 

He is desperate to hear her voice, just for him, a sound to anchor the whirlwind inside.

If he speaks and she glances up from between her precious pages, with a look of fear, judgement, anger…there just might still be violence screaming in his gut. He imagines, with a chilling clarity, how he might react. To watch those eyes that have never landed upon him, wide-eyed and panicked with fear, her hands that would usually hold those delicate covers as if they were sentient, thrashing and scratching at his skin for escape.

However, if her eyes meet his with calmness, a soft but unyielding clarity, it might signal a different path. Such a look could secure him, pull him back from the brink, offering a glimpse of a different kind of interaction, one rooted in mutual respect rather than fear.

Throughout the day, Ettore wrestles with the decision to approach her at an unusual time, a moment outside their routine interactions, which are typically defined by the unspoken boundaries and silent acknowledgements of shared space. The weight of this choice, loaded with the potential for a shift in their dynamic, presses on him.

Finally, as the day bleeds into evening, he steels himself and walks towards their cell, a path he has traversed countless times yet now feels distinctly different. His footsteps echo slightly in the empty corridor, a hollow sound that seems to beat in rhythm with his anxious heart. He pauses at the doorway, his hand resting against the cold metal frame for a moment. He had never been short on confidence, until right this moment.

She is there, as always, perched on her bed with a book cradled in her lap, her attention fully absorbed by the pages. The familiar sight of her, so engrossed in her literary world, momentarily steadies him. "Hey," he calls out softly, his voice slightly rough around the edges from the turmoil inside him.

At the sound of his voice, she looks up, her expression shifting from concentrated reading to mild surprise. Her eyes meet his, clear and calm, carrying none of the fear or judgement he had feared. "Hey," she responds simply, her voice a quiet echo to his own.

In that brief exchange, just a single word spoken by each, there's a palpable shift. It's not a definitive answer to all his internal questions, but it grants him a moment of reprieve from his fears of eliciting a negative reaction. So he stands there, momentarily rooted to the spot by the simplicity and normalcy of her response. And it is this moment where her eyes are piercing right into him that he is offered his first real glimpse into her as well. Features he had usually seen undisturbed by the quiet of sleep felt familiar and yet uncharted now, such as the flutter of her eyelashes and the decorating of freckles across her cheeks, and the small, curious pupils looking between his eyes as if for an answer.

Realising he's been standing silent for too long, Ettore scrambles mentally for something to say, to break the growing awkwardness that feels almost like a first encounter. His lips part, ready to forge some semblance of normal conversation.

No sooner are his lips parted that he is rendered into silence he once would have expected from her. She dog-eared the page, closed her book off her lap and brushed her hair from her face, and spoke with a soft tone laden with genuine concern. It feels like an invitation, a door opening to endless possibilities where she has seen past the facade of toughness to the raw, uncertain man beneath. She invites him into a space where he can be vulnerable, and yet he is still unsure if he even wants to be there. Can those raging, endless violent impulses ever be quieted by just a couple of words?

“You okay?”

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[stararch4ngelqueen]

Date Night Blues

—

Time written- 7:48 p.m.

Dick Grayson/fem!reader fluff

—

The sun slowly dies behind dreary, shadowy clouds before you pull your bedroom curtains closed, returning to your task at hand at folding your still warm laundry, munching on crunchy green grapes in between your work, mainly consisting of passive aggressively folding laundry.

To say you were mildly annoyed with a most gracious understatement.

Irritated. Aggravated. Distressed.

Fed up.

Majorly annoyed sounded much better than the very first option.

You would say you were mentally exhausted from the unfortunate routines of planning dates with vigilantes who always got called in at the worst moments. Talk about a crazy schedule.

Your days off remained rather dull without him, leaving you to do your daily chores or run errands on your own on some days. You thought vigilantes usually do their crime fighting at night. Sometimes, that just wasn’t the case in Blüdhaven.

Whilst debating on folding a particular shirt to slip into your drawer, or adjust on a hangar to put in your closet, you ponder over what was left for you to do for the rest of tonight.

Finish up my laundry, recheck my work schedule, make sure laptop’s charged, then debate on what to have for dinner.

Don’t have much, what should I order in then? Eh, don’t feel like going out tonight. It’s Sunday, maybe I’ll google to see if that one place on the corner is still open, see if they deliver—

“Boo."

You jump, turning around with a loud yelp. The culprit, while he wasn’t an intruding thief, smirked like a villain at your amusing outburst, your hand clutching onto that very shirt as if it would service to protect you.

“I- Dick! Oh my God, don’t do that!!”

The man chuckles, not caring if you meant to call him an insult or not, too amused to even care.

"Okay, that was the cutest sound ever." He points out as he steps closer, black gloved hands slowly settling along your shoulders.

He was still in uniform, off on a mission of sorts you cared little to bother about. The bitterness of his line of work came rushing back to you, making you scoff and toss the article of unfolded clothing onto your bed.

“How did you get in here?”

“Uh, the usual way?” Dick replies, the curtains billowing in the late evening breeze making an appearance behind his broad back. Of course he did.

“Jesus,” you mutter, glancing up at Dick in question.

“I literally could’ve strangled you with a pair of socks if I thought you were some thug breaking into my room. You’re aware of that, right?”

"But I wasn't a thug,” Dick smiles as he slightly leans down, his voice lowering the closer he approached your face. “So you don't get to strangle me tonight, babycake.”

He usually leers down closer to your level before giving you a kiss, which is what a part of you so desperately desired.

However, the more stubborn devil on your shoulder grimaced at his approach, controlling your thoughts to lean your head back just enough before his nose bumped against yours.

“Ah-ah. I didn’t hear you say sorry yet, Mister,” You tell the tall man, but you didn’t lean back from him any further than that.

He pouts with furrowed brows, face contorted in feigned shock and distress. He takes his chance to lean close one more, taking your chin with two gentle fingers.

“Sorry," he whispers before moving their faces close together. "Now can I kiss you?"

“Say it like you mean it,” Came his girl’s soft response. “And I just might let you.”

Dick looks at you for a moment as the gears quickly work inside his mind. Then, with a smirk, he answers.

"I apologize with my entire soul,” He begins, his hands working down to caress along your plush hips. “Please, my Goddess, forgive me for all of the mistakes I made by scaring you instead of kissing you the moment I broke into your room."

Nearly deadpanning by his choice of words, you scoff once more before snorting in full amusement, unsure whether to blush or cringe. You always blushed so damn easily with him anyway.

“Wow,” You couldn’t help but giggle. “Fiiine, I guess that deserves a kiss.”

Dick smiles widely, laughing a little at the success of his little trick.

Wasting no further time, his nose brushes against yours as he takes your lips, finally fulfilling the strong need he's had since the moment he left your apartment this morning after answering one of Batman’s calls.

“M’sorry, babycakes,” he mutters against your lips, nearly humming at the soft weight of your forearms resting up on his shoulders.

“I know you don’t— don’t like when I leave.” Talking full sentences in between a gentle, passionate make-out was a bit of a challenge. “Believe me, if I had it my way—“

“We would’ve finished what you started?”

Your interruption made a handsome smile stretch across his face, his head nodding. “We would’ve finish what I started. Exactly.”

What he had started bloomed from you waking up to him absentmindedly massaging your soft tits through your sleep shirt, an ‘absentminded’ habit he obtained over many nights of sleeping in your apartment.

Fortunately for you, you had stirred with a deep, hungry ache in your tummy, desperate for him in all ways he was more than willing to provide. He answered your silent pleas after reading your desires in your sleepy eyes, both hands working on simultaneously slipping under your shirt and underwear, lips trapped against one another in variously passionate, heavy kisses.

Ever so unfortunately, his phone begins to vibrate on the nightstand.

You both learn that not even scam callers were annoying enough to call so early in the morning, unless they were that desperate to steal your credit card info or identity.

You insisted within heavy gasps to not answer it, your fingers firmly grazing along the waistband of his sweats to convince him. His raspy groan echoing against the crook of your neck signified his inner turmoil between wanting to make you scream, and screaming at the person responsible displayed on the Caller ID.

Dick couldn’t scream at Bruce, but he did have an attitude after getting blue balled by the Dark Knight.

Even worse, it was nearly a common occurrence.

“You sound like you read Pride and Prejudice, by the way.” You snicker as you gently peel of his domino mask, peering into his pretty eyes free of their sheer, milky covering.

“Or watched Phantom of the Opera. Have you seen that movie?” You question after setting his mask alongside your folded clothes, especially curious since you may have it available on your current streaming service.

Dick gives a weak shrug and responds with a semi-truth. "No, I haven't. Always heard it's pretty good though."

What he meant by that was Jason invited him to watch it before, but what he could nearly recall was falling asleep after the opening credits. Jason “teased” him about it for weeks after, but he was sort of glad you hadn’t brought it up. Maybe you weren’t even aware of it, thankfully.

What could you say, really? You were dying for a movie night for the past week, pleading to whichever God that listened that Dick had the time to stay a while, without interruptions. Only, you weren’t sure if Dick merely broke into your apartment to stop by for a short spell.

“Maybe, you’d want to watch it with me?" You began to question with hints of hesitation. “Unless Mr. Nightwing has any secret crime fighting missions he’s not telling me about.”

“I mean..” Dick laughs at that, shaking his head a bit.

“What?” Your heart was nearly moments away from dropping into your stomach.

He pulls you closer to himself, warm material smooth against your cotton clothes, peering down at you with pretty eyes and a small, innocent smile.

"I'm not sure how much longer I can last without kissing you again." Dick leans towards your lips, smiling. “I’d much rather be doing this than any secret crime fighting—“

“You can kiss me all you want in a bit,” You insist, keeping your palms braced along his chest for fair measure, dying for your question to be answered.

“You wanna stay? Yes, or no? I want a full movie night this time, Dick. The kind where one of us falls asleep on top of the other, and it becomes an inconvenience.”

Dick, completely enamored by your sweet voice asking such an even sweeter request, nods his head twice without little time to ponder over it all.

Dick wants exactly what you desire, a deal that can be easily struck; to make tonight like every Hollywood romance movie. It deserves to be that special, you deserve to have that memory become born.

“Yeah, I can do that."

“Great,” your lips broaden into a smile, one he wanted to see plastered onto your face nearly every minute of the day.

“You hungry?” You suddenly question. “I need your help deciding what we should order out. Oh, and I’m thinking of making that chocolate, rainbow sprinkle popcorn for the movie.”

There you go again, getting your hopes up in planning ahead for a potentially successful date night. Dick could only stare at you with a content gaze, amused by the giddiness in your eyes, the glimmer brighter than any star.

You dropped your chores to spend time with him, he’s convinced you to skip a day or two of work to remain in bed with him for a few extra hours. It was unfair for him to always leave, putting the wrong person on the top of his priority list, when you should’ve remained the first.

He knew you were annoyed with him and Batman all day, he wasn’t an idiot on that account. Now?

All you wanted was for you both to hold one another underneath a fuzzy blanket, cuddling one another like two multicolored cats napping under the sun, tails and limbs intertwined.

His own tired smile revealed he wanted the very same thing. You were his girl, his babycakes, his short stack with a cute pout and firecracker temper.

Their was a firm chance he would fall asleep after the opening scene like before, but at least it would be in the warm safety of your arms and a large, cream knit blanket.

He’d do anything to keep that smile on your face just a while longer, even ignoring the subtle vibrating of his phone on his person. No doubt another ‘un-likely scammer.’

“Which one will it be, Richy?” You question which of the two movies you listed for him to choose, leading him by the hand down the short hallway towards your cozy living room.

Maybe if neither of you fell asleep, he’d lead you both to make use of your futon. To finish what he started.

“What was the name of the masquerade musical again?”