#no i don’t care about the language barrier

[margeoww]

So like queen idk if u have instagram but like recently the leclercs went to Mexico so can we maybe get smthn REALLL angsty where its like carlos x leclerc reader and she’s not too close to the family. (not on her part mainly charles and arthur) and they go on vacation without telling her and she’s like sad. You can have more ending if u want

💐 anon

a/n: okay, let me know if this is what you wanted. because I understand the point but not too much.

Left Behind

back to my masterlist

pairing: carlos sainz x leclerc!reader

summary: left out of a family vacation, you confront Carlos about the secrecy and the growing distance with your brothers. Tensions rise, but Carlos’ heartfelt apology offers a chance for reconciliation and understanding.

warnings: angst, themes of exclusion and insecurity, emotional confrontation.

The early morning sunlight crept through the curtains of your shared apartment in Mónaco, but the warmth on your face did little to ease the growing heaviness in your chest. You scrolled through Instagram absentmindedly, your feed filled with glimpses of familiar faces. Your brother, Charles and Arthur. Both smiling and laughing under the mexican sun.

Charles had posted a picture of himself sipping on a cocktail by the pool, Arthur had shared a video of their group riding ATVs through the desert, and then there was Carlos—your boyfriend of two years—posing in the same photos, his trademark smile shining brighter than the sun.

And yet, no one had told you about the trip.

Not a single word.

Your throat tightened as you swiped through the posts. You hadn’t even known they were leaving Monaco, let alone heading off to Mexico. What hurt most wasn’t the secrecy — it was the reminder that, despite your efforts, you were still an outsider in your own family.

You’d always known that Charles and Arthur shared a bond you could never quite penetrate. They were close, the kind of brothers who had their own language, their own inside jokes. As their sister, you loved them deeply, but there had always been a sense of distance, a silent barrier that set you apart.

And Carlos… he had fit into their world so seamlessly. You’d seen it from the beginning, the way he joked with Charles like they’d been friends forever, the way Arthur looked up to him. Sometimes it felt like Carlos belonged with them more than he belonged with you.

You sighed, setting your phone aside and staring blankly at the ceiling. The questions swirled in your mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

Why didn’t they tell me? Did they think I wouldn’t care? Or… did they just not want me there?

The sound of the front door opening pulled you from your thoughts. Carlos walked in, a small carry-on bag in hand. His face lit up when he saw you, but his smile faltered when he noticed the expression on your face.

—Mi amor. —he greeted, stepping closer. —What’s wrong?

You crossed your arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. —You tell me, Carlos. How was Mexico?

His eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by your tone. —Mexico? How did you—

—Instagram. —you interrupted, holding up your phone. —Charles and Arthur have been posting non-stop. Seems like everyone had a great time. Everyone but me.

Carlos sighed, running a hand through his hair. —I can explain—

—Can you? —you snapped, your voice trembling.

—It wasn’t like that. —Carlos began, his tone pleading. —It was a last-minute thing. Charles invited me—

—And you didn’t think to invite me?

Carlos hesitated, guilt flashing in his eyes. —It wasn’t my place to invite you. It was your family’s trip, not mine.

The words stung, each one hitting like a blow to the chest. —My family —you repeated bitterly. —Right. The family that always makes me feel like I don’t belong.

Carlos stepped closer, his expression softening. —That’s not true—”

—Isn’t it? —you challenged, tears brimming in your eyes. —They didn’t want me there, Carlos. And you went along with it. Do you have any idea how that feels?

He reached for you, but you took a step back. —I thought you were on my side. I thought… I thought I could count on you.

—Mi amor… —Carlos said softly, his voice heavy with regret. —I never wanted to hurt you. If I had known this would upset you—

—You should have known —you cut him off. —You should have thought about how I’d feel. But you didn’t.

The tension in the air was suffocating, the silence between you deafening. Finally, Carlos broke it.

—You’re right —he admitted in a whisper.

His apology caught you off guard, the sincerity in his voice cutting through your anger. You looked at him, searching for any hint of dishonesty, but all you saw was regret.

—I love you —he continued, stepping cautiously closer. —And I never want you to feel like you’re not enough. Not with me, not with anyone.

Your resolve faltered, but his words didn’t fill the emptiness in your chest. You took a small step back, letting the distance between you speak for itself.

—I don’t know if it’s that simple, Carlos —you whispered, avoiding his gaze. —I can’t keep feeling like an outsider.

Carlos froze, his expression pained. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then stopped. He took a breath, and his shoulders slumped slightly.

—I’ll do whatever it takes. —he said quietly. —But only if you let me.

You didn’t respond, your thoughts a tangled mess of emotions. The love you felt for him was still there, but so was the hurt, the lingering doubt.

Carlos nodded, his jaw tight, his eyes filled with understanding—and fear. —Take all the time you need.

He didn’t try to close the distance again, and you didn’t move to close it either. Instead, you stood there, two people caught in the uncertainty of what came next.

The only sound in the room was the faint hum of the city outside, a reminder that the world kept turning even as yours felt stuck in limbo.

[pommunist]

i’m an atheist but thank you god for bringing bagi streaming minecraft rp back to me

[hellobykittys]

𝐒𝐇𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ✦ 𝐎𝐏⁸¹

SUMMARY: You are Lando Norris’ twin sister and were completely obsessed with your brother’s teammate, but he was always avoiding you. NOTES: English is not my first language, so there might be some writing mistakes. I apologize for that, and feel free to point out any improvements. PAIRING: Oscar Piastri x Reader! Lando Norris’ Sister. WARNING: Hot scenes, but not explicit; use of Y/N; Oscar is very shy. WC: 4.7k

MASTERLIST | THE (IM)PERFECT PLAN SERIE

“You need to go a little easier on him,” Lando said as soon as he entered the small room, throwing his backpack onto the chair with a tired sigh. “Oscar’s shy, and you’re scaring the poor guy to death.”

You, leaning against the desk with your legs crossed and your eyes glued to your phone, ignored the first part of the comment. But the last part caught your attention.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, feigning disinterest.

“Oh, come on, don’t act dumb,” Lando shot back, crossing his arms with a smirk. “You’re cornering Oscar. I was going to let it slide because, honestly, it’s hilarious. But look, you’re going too far, and he clearly doesn’t know how to handle it.”

You realized denying it would be pointless. Lando knew exactly what you were doing, and probably the whole paddock did too. Maybe it was time to turn the tables in your favor.

“Did he complain about me?” you asked, now genuinely curious, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “Because, seriously, I don’t get it. Sometimes it seems like he doesn’t care, but then, in the next minute, he acts like I’m the personification of chaos.”

Your voice carried a touch of frustration. Ever since you met Oscar last season, you had done everything to get his attention. Flirting, glances, little touches. But he always pulled away or acted like he didn’t notice. His shyness, which once seemed charming, was now starting to feel like an impenetrable barrier.

Lando laughed, clearly enjoying himself at your expense. “You know what’s funny? You think you can melt anyone with that smile and some games. But let me tell you, Oscar’s different. He’s more… reserved.”

“I know that,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “And that’s exactly why I’m trying harder. He’s not like the others. It just makes it more interesting.”

Lando shook his head, incredulous. “You’re impossible, you know that? But look, if you keep this up, he’s gonna start running away from you. Like, literally. One day, he’s gonna abandon the car in the middle of the track just to escape.”

You laughed. “He already runs, just in a way less obvious than that. But he’ll get used to it. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Or a restraining order.”

“Funny,” you replied, giving him a sharp look.

After a brief silence, you decided to change tactics. “You could help me out!” you asked, in an exaggeratedly sweet tone.

“No way. Stay out of this, Y/N,” Lando responded quickly, as if he already knew where this was going.

“You’re so heartless!” you retorted, with a theatrical touch. “I come every weekend to support you, and this is how I’m treated? You should, I don’t know, compensate me for always being by your side.”

“Support? You’re kidding, right?” Lando laughed. “The whole team already figured out why you’re always here. And the only person who might not have noticed is Oscar himself.”

“What slander!” you snapped, placing a hand on your chest as if deeply offended. “I come because I like my brother. And I thought he liked me too, but apparently, he doesn’t care enough to help me with something so simple.”

Lando just laughed and raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. What exactly do you want me to do?”

“Simple. Find out if he likes me or not. Easy, right?”

Before you could continue the discussion, someone knocked on the door, interrupting the conversation.

“Come in!” Lando replied casually.

The door opened to reveal Oscar. Your excitement was immediate. He, on the other hand… didn’t seem as thrilled to see you.

“I didn’t know your sister was here,” he said to Lando, hesitantly. “I didn’t want to interrupt. I’ll come back later.”

Before he could leave, you rushed to his side and lightly placed your hand on his arm, still covered by his racing suit.

“You don’t have to leave, Osc,” you said softly, your fingers purposely brushing against the fabric of his suit. “Lando and I weren’t talking about anything important. Feel free to stay.”

Oscar hesitated but eventually gave in. “Alright, if you say so…”

Oscar tried to pull away from your touch without being rude, and you, noticing his discomfort, decided to ease the tension and let him slip away.

“Well… I just wanted to ask about the car adjustments for tomorrow. But I guess I interrupted something…” He seemed genuinely uncomfortable, which only made you want to tease him even more.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” you replied with a calm smile. “Actually, I’ll just sit here quietly while you two chat.”

With that, you sat down in a chair lost in the room, pretending to fiddle with your phone while you took the opportunity to observe Oscar. The way he spoke, gestured, or even furrowed his brow when something seemed confusing… it was fascinating.

The two of them spent a few minutes discussing technical adjustments for the car when they were interrupted again. This time, it was someone from the PR team, rushing in to inform Lando that they needed him for an urgent photo session.

“I’m on my way,” Lando said, standing up. But before leaving, he gave you a calculated look. “Oscar, can you stay here? Y/N was feeling a bit nauseous earlier, and I didn’t want her to be alone.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It was obvious he was making it up, but the feigned concern in his voice was flawless. You knew you owed Lando a big favor now, but it was worth it. For Oscar, everything was worth it.

“Seriously?” Oscar looked visibly surprised, casting a suspicious glance from you to Lando. “Alright, if she needs anything…”

“Thanks a lot, buddy,” Lando replied with a mischievous smile, giving Oscar’s arm a friendly squeeze before walking toward the door. “I’ll be back soon. Wait for me here.”

As soon as the door closed, you jumped up and practically ran to the couch, pulling Oscar down to sit next to you before he could even react.

“Thanks so much for staying, Osc,” you said softly, as if you were truly vulnerable. “I wasn’t feeling too great, you know?”

Oscar tensed next to you, clearly uncomfortable. He looked around, as if searching for an escape route. “Is everything okay now? Do you want me to get some water or something?”

“No, no, it’s fine, it’s passed,” you replied, placing your hand on his arm. “I just needed some company. I feel better this way.”

Oscar let out a nervous, short laugh and looked away, clearly trying not to acknowledge the closeness between you two.

“You look cute when you’re nervous, you know?” you remarked, a mischievous smile appearing on your face.

He opened his mouth to respond but seemed to lose his words. Finally, he muttered, “I’m… not nervous.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, leaning in a little closer, until there was almost no space left between you on the small couch. Oscar seemed even more restless, the blush on his face now impossible to hide.

“I think… we don’t need to be this close,” he managed to say, awkwardly trying to pull away. But, poor thing, there was nowhere left to escape.

“Osc,” you started, in a fake hurt tone, looking down at your hands. “I think you don’t like me very much.”

He seemed surprised, the tension in his shoulders easing for a moment. “Why would you think that?”

“Because every time I’m around, you try to get away.” Your voice sounded almost like a lament, and you took the opportunity to glance at him before looking down at your legs. “Did I do something to you?”

When you looked back at him, your face was perfectly molded into a sad expression, your eyes slightly glistening, as if you were truly upset. It was almost impossible not to believe it.

Oscar hesitated, looking genuinely puzzled. “No… of course not. It’s just that…” He stopped, clearly trying to find the right words.

“It’s just that…?” you encouraged, tilting your head.

“You’re… too intense, Y/N,” he finally confessed, his voice low. “I don’t know how to handle you, that’s all.”

A triumphant smile threatened to appear on your lips, but you held it back, keeping up the act. “Intense? I just… like being around you, you know? Is that really so hard?”

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, visibly uncomfortable. “It’s not that. I’m just not used to… attention.”

“So, you’re saying I make you uncomfortable?” you asked, leaning slightly toward him, closing the space even more.

Oscar looked away, his ears turning even redder. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Before he could answer, the door suddenly opened, and Lando walked into the room with that typical mischievous smile you knew so well. “Did I interrupt something?”

Oscar practically jumped off the couch, creating visible distance between you two. It was almost comical, but at that moment, you could only curse your brother. He had ruined the perfect moment. You were so close to getting what you wanted!

“No, no,” Oscar quickly denied, the words tumbling out almost in a rush. “Now that you’re here, I… I think I’ll head out. See you before the next practice.”

And without giving anyone a chance to react, he practically bolted out of the room, as if running away from a fire.

You let out a loud sigh, crossing your arms and shooting a deadly glare at Lando, who was still standing in the doorway, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

“You did that on purpose!” you accused, frustration clear in your voice.

“Me? No way,” Lando responded, feigning innocence as he closed the door behind him. “But you should’ve seen his face. Poor guy, he looked like he was going to pass out.”

“He wasn’t going to pass out!” you retorted, throwing a pillow toward your brother, who easily dodged it.

“Alright, alright. But seriously, Y/N, you’re being way too hard on the guy.” He threw himself onto the couch, taking the spot Oscar had just vacated. “Don’t you think he’s nervous enough already? Every time you get close, it’s like he forgets how to breathe.”

You huffed, sinking into the couch next to him. “Maybe he just needs to get used to me. It’s not that hard, right?”

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “For you, maybe. But for him? Oscar is… different. He’s not used to someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” you repeated, intrigued.

“You know,” Lando explained, gesturing vaguely. “Someone who’s not afraid to say what they want and go after it. Oscar’s more… reserved. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you, he just doesn’t know how to react.”

You were silent for a moment, processing Lando’s words. Maybe he was right. Maybe Oscar just needed a little more time. But giving up wasn’t an option. Not now.

“Okay,” you finally said, a mischievous smile appearing on your lips. “I’ll go easy on him. For now.”

Lando laughed, clearly amused by your determination. “Good luck, sis. You’re going to need it.”

The next day, you positioned yourself strategically in the garage, waiting for the right moment to find Oscar. When he finally appeared, talking to one of the engineers, you calmly walked over with a relaxed smile, pretending you had no agenda in mind.

“Hey, Osc,” you greeted, your voice light and carefree. “How’s everything after yesterday? You seemed in a rush.”

Oscar turned to you, and it was almost funny how hard he tried to appear casual, even though he was clearly uncomfortable. “Oh, yeah… I was just running late for something.”

“Of course, of course,” you responded with a soft smile. “Well, I hope things are calmer now. Maybe we can chat after qualifying?”

He hesitated, shooting a near-pleading glance at the engineer beside him, as if he was hoping they could save him. But this time, something different sparkled in Oscar’s eyes. It wasn’t fear or discomfort. It was curiosity, though still shy.

“Yeah… maybe,” he finally replied, his voice softer than usual.

You smiled, already considering that a small victory.

Unfortunately, finding Oscar after qualifying turned out to be impossible. Lando secured pole position, and you stayed to congratulate him, while Oscar, with a disappointing P5, was swept into endless conversations with engineers and mechanics.

By the time it was late, almost time to head back to the hotel, you went to Lando’s room to grab your things while he wrapped up the last commitment of the day. That’s when fate decided to be kind.

The door next to your brother’s room opened, and who stepped out but the exact person you’d been hoping to see.

“Osc!” you called out cheerfully, a bright smile on your face.

“Hey.” His response was much less enthusiastic. The tone of defeat and frustrated expression clearly showed that he was still upset about the qualifying result.

“Bummed about P5?” you asked, trying to start a conversation.

“It wasn’t what I expected,” he admitted, crossing his arms. “But I’ll make up for it tomorrow.” There was a forced confidence in his voice that you didn’t miss.

“I’m sure you will! And look, I’m calling the podium: Lando in first, and you in second. What do you think?”

You stepped a little closer, almost unintentionally, trying to minimize the distance between you. But for Oscar, there was nothing subtle about your approach. He clearly noticed.

“You’re optimistic,” he commented, trying to ignore how you seemed to invade his space without hesitation.

“I’m not optimistic, I’m realistic,” you shot back, a mischievous smile playing on your lips.

Oscar looked away, clearly looking for an escape route, but you weren’t about to let him slip away so easily.

“Look, Osc,” you began, your tone softening as you leaned in slightly. “I really think you underestimate how good you are at what you do. You’ve got everything to be at the top. You just need to believe in yourself more.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard by your change in tone. You saw the tension in his shoulders ease slightly, and that was enough for you to close the gap just a little more, your smile now sweeter than mischievous.

“You really think so?” he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“I know it,” you replied, sincerity shining through.

Oscar still seemed hesitant, but he didn’t pull away when you placed a light hand on his arm, your fingers resting casually. “You just need to learn to relax more. Maybe I can help with that,” you said, your voice almost a whisper.

Oscar swallowed, his eyes finally meeting yours. For a moment, you thought he was going to give in. He seemed torn between wanting to escape and something he clearly didn’t want to admit. You leaned in a little closer, feeling you were on the edge of success.

“You’re really hard, you know?” he murmured, the words practically floating between you two.

Oscar opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. And just as you were about to close the distance even more, he took a step back, almost stumbling into the wall behind him.

“I… I need to go,” he said quickly, his voice shaky but firm. “Good night, Y/N.”

Before you could react, he was already halfway down the hallway, walking so fast it was almost a run.

You let out a frustrated sigh, but deep down, you couldn’t help but smile. Little by little, Oscar was starting to give in, even if he still resisted at the last second. It was only a matter of time.

And you knew very well that you had all the patience in the world to wait.

The paddock was a well-organized chaos, with mechanics, engineers, and drivers moving around frantically as the grandstands filled with enthusiastic fans. You, of course, were there, strategically positioned in Oscar’s team’s garage, pretending to be just casually walking around but with a very clear goal in mind.

He was there, adjusting his gloves while listening carefully to an engineer. He seemed so focused, he could have blended in with the rest of the team. Almost. You, however, always managed to spot him in the crowd.

“Hey, Osc!” you called, walking into the space without any hesitation.

Oscar quickly turned, his eyes widening slightly when he saw you there. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“I came to wish you good luck, of course,” you answered with a sweet but mischievous smile.

“Good luck?” He seemed suspicious, clearly aware that you rarely did something that simple.

“Of course!” You tilted your head slightly, looking at him as if his question was absurd. “You know I’ll be cheering for you too, right? First Lando, and then you!”

Oscar opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, a blush already creeping up his face. He looked around desperately, almost as if hoping someone would save him from the situation. But, as you’d already noticed, no one was paying attention to you two.

“You’re kind of tense, Osc. It won’t go well like this, you know?” You stepped a little closer, lowering your voice slightly, but still clearly teasing. “Are you nervous because of me?”

“No,” he quickly replied, although his tone and the blush on his face said otherwise.

“Hmm… funny,” you murmured, pretending to think. “Because it seems like every time I get close, you get a little… uneasy.”

“Y/N, we’re in the pit… in public,” he whispered, almost as if trying to make you stop.

“So what? No one’s listening, and we’re not doing anything wrong, are we?” you shot back, a smile mixing sweetness and mischief on your lips. “I’m here to support you, Osc. And, speaking of that, I have a proposition for you.”

He squinted his eyes, clearly suspicious. “What kind of proposition?”

“If you get on the podium today… I’ll give you a special gift,” you said, leaning slightly toward him, your voice low but filled with mystery.

“What gift?” He looked at you, nervousness clear on his face, but at the same time, unable to hide his curiosity.

“It’s a surprise,” you replied, winking conspiratorially.

“Y/N…” He sighed, clearly trying to keep his composure. “You know you didn’t have to come here for that, right?”

“I know,” you answered, your smile growing wider. “But what’s the fun in cheering from a distance? Besides, you might not know, but I’m great at picking out gifts.”

Oscar seemed like he was about to say something, but one of the engineers appeared out of nowhere, calling him for the final pre-race meeting. He sighed in visible relief, almost grabbing the opportunity to escape.

“I have to go,” he said quickly.

“Good luck, Osc,” you replied, not hiding your satisfaction. “I’ll be waiting on the podium. And after the race… the gift is all yours.”

He didn’t reply, just nodded quickly before disappearing toward the engineer. You watched as he walked away, even more flushed than before, and let out a soft laugh.

This time, he had no way of backing out of the promise. And, knowing Oscar, the thought of a “special gift” would be enough to keep him thinking about you the whole time—on or off the track.

The end of the race was electrifying. You, as usual, were glued to the screen, following the final minutes with the anticipation of someone on the track. The last lap was a mix of tension and excitement. Lando crossed the finish line in first, and you couldn’t hold back your shout of joy. But what really made you jump out of your seat was when Oscar secured third place, holding off a fierce battle until the final flag.

“Yes! I knew you could do it, Osc!” you murmured to yourself, smiling proudly as you watched the celebration on the screen.

Soon, you were following the team toward the podium. The paddock was a party, with team members rushing to celebrate their drivers. You blended in with Lando’s engineers and mechanics but kept your eyes fixed on Oscar as he got out of the car, exhausted but visibly satisfied.

The celebration on the podium was contagious. Champagne flew from side to side, and Lando’s smile was so wide it seemed to light up the entire circuit. But your gaze never left Oscar, who looked more shy than ever as he raised his trophy. Even amid the celebration, he shot furtive glances at you in the crowd, which only made your smile grow.

As soon as the ceremony was over, everyone went back to the garage. The team was euphoric, celebrating the incredible result of the race. You found Lando first, who came running toward you with his trophy in hand.

“So, what did you think?” he asked, still sweaty and covered in champagne.

“You were amazing! Doesn’t even seem like my brother,” you joked, laughing as he hugged you and got champagne on your clothes.

“And Oscar, huh?” Lando commented, winking at you. “Are you proud of your favorite driver?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “Don’t start, Lando.”

After the initial excitement, you began preparing to leave. Lando had some team commitments to take care of before heading back to the hotel, so you walked through the paddock, waiting for him. You bumped into Oscar, who seemed more relaxed, still talking to a few engineers.

“Congrats, Osc!” you said, with a genuine smile.

He quickly turned his head, as if he hadn’t expected you to appear there. “Oh, thanks,” he replied, a shy smile forming on his lips.

“I told you’d make it to the podium. Now you know what that means, right?” you teased, leaning slightly forward.

Oscar turned bright red, looking away at anything that wasn’t you. “I… think so?”

“Great.” You winked and walked away before he could respond, knowing exactly the effect you were having.

After a while, Lando finally appeared. “Ready to go?”

“More than ready.” You smiled, following him to the car that would take you back to the hotel.

Back at the hotel, the exhaustion from the race still lingered, but the excitement pulsed even stronger. Lando was sprawled on the couch in his room, talking nonstop about the race and, of course, the party that was about to happen.

“I need to get ready. What, you’ve got about 30 minutes before I drag you to the party?” you teased, grabbing your bag.

“Thirty? You’re being way too optimistic,” he laughed. “You wouldn’t be able to get ready in 30 minutes even if Oscar asked you to.”

“Oh, Lando…” You smiled slyly as you walked toward the door. “For Oscar, I’d do it in fifteen.”

Lando’s expression was priceless, but you didn’t give him a chance to respond. You walked out laughing and went straight to your room, already imagining how you’d make the night unforgettable. After all, a P1 for Lando and a P3 for Oscar was more than enough reason to celebrate in style.

You chose a stunning black Versace dress, fitting just right, and paired it with high heels from the same brand. But the special touch was in the details that no one would see—or rather, that almost no one would see: a papaya-colored lingerie set, matching the team’s colors, chosen especially for the occasion.

The team had reserved a table in the VIP section of a luxurious club. The atmosphere was pure euphoria—champagne, loud music, and laughter filled the air. As soon as they arrived, you made sure to sit strategically next to Oscar, who seemed out of place, unsure of what to do with all the attention around him.

“Osc, relax,” you murmured in his ear, smiling as you noticed he seemed more nervous than he had been during the race.

“I’m relaxed,” he replied, but the hand holding his drink was trembling slightly.

The conversation flowed with the team, but you made sure to provoke Oscar in little moments. You brushed your leg against his, made comments about how well he did in the race, and, of course, mentioned the “special present.”

“If I knew a P3 would make you this happy, I would’ve tried harder earlier,” he joked, trying to appear more confident.

“Oh, Osc, you have no idea,” you replied, smiling with an enigmatic tone.

As time went by, more people started to drift away from the table to dance or talk in other corners. Before long, it was just the two of you. That was your cue.

“So, Osc…” You leaned in a little closer, the loud music muffling the conversation. “About my present… do you want to know what it is?”

Oscar blushed instantly, looking away as he always did when he felt uncomfortable. “I… I don’t think I should ask.”

“Oh, you definitely should.” Your voice dropped low, almost a whisper, as your eyes challenged his. “I did something special to celebrate your P3. And maybe to encourage you to get more podiums in the future.”

He swallowed nervously. “I need… to go to the bathroom,” he said quickly, standing up before you could react.

You smiled to yourself. “So predictable,” you murmured as you followed him with determined steps.

Oscar looked genuinely surprised when you appeared in the hallway, blocking his escape route. “Seriously, Y/N? I just wanted a minute of peace.”

“No chance.” You took a step forward, cornering him against the wall, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. “I followed you to show you my present.”

Oscar looked at you, clearly uncomfortable, but his curiosity won out. “I don’t know if I want to see that,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, though the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his curiosity.

You laughed softly, almost amused, and slid the strap of your dress down, revealing a glimpse of the papaya lingerie, the color of the team. “See? Something special for my favorite driver.”

For a moment, Oscar was speechless, his face turning a deeper red than usual. But something seemed to have shifted in him, as if the provocation had awakened something. He took a step forward, closing the distance between you. The look he had now wasn’t shy, but challenging, almost provocative.

“You like to tease, don’t you?” His voice was low but filled with a newfound confidence that you didn’t expect. “But you know what, Y/N? You can’t last three minutes when the roles are reversed.”

The smile on his face made you hesitate for a second, and he immediately seized the opportunity. Without saying another word, he pulled you closer, his hands firmly gripping your waist. The warmth of his body against yours made your heart race, and before you could say anything, Oscar’s lips found yours.

It was an intense, heated kiss, as if he had been swept away by the wave of provocation you had started. Oscar's hands glided over your skin, as if memorizing every part of you, while you couldn't think clearly anymore.

When he pulled away slightly, his eyes glowing in a way you didn't recognize, you were speechless, your body still burning from his proximity and touch.

He leaned in again, whispering in your ear:

"Lost your voice, baby? Always knew you were just talk."

Your breathing was uneven, but you could only stare at him, completely lost.

He grinned to the side, satisfied with the effect he was having.

It didn't take long for him to attack you with even more intense kisses.

You were getting addicted to the taste, to the feeling of being touched by him.

One of his hands slid up your thigh, slowly rising inside your dress. He squeezed your butt firmly, and you couldn't contain a moan. He played with the waistband of your panties, starting to pull them down.

"What are you doing?" you asked, breathless. "Someone might see."

"Now you're afraid of being seen?" he continued, dragging the fabric down your leg. "You never cared before."

He knelt down, completely removing the piece of lingerie.

"But don't worry, baby!" He stood up, pressing his body against yours again.

"I'm not going to do anything here."

He kissed you quickly and pulled away, looking into your eyes while slipping the piece into his pocket.

"If you want it back, find me in my room later."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you there, completely speechless and hungry for more.

[imoved-starbitsun]

something i never see anyone talk about is how lonely autism can be. not because we don’t fit in or whatever, but because our love languages are so fundamentally different from the rest of the world.

i won’t always hear it when someone tells me they love me. i won’t always understand it when someone shares a kindness with me. sometimes it hurts to be touched. sometimes i interpret genuine care as mocking or insincere because i’ve been burnt so often, and i have no way of knowing otherwise.

when i spend time in my room engaging in interests i enjoy, but i leave the door open to let my friends come in and out and interrupt as they please, that’s love. when i send someone a long ramble about something i care about, that’s love. when i let someone hug me, that’s love. when i try a food even though it’s not a safe food, because my friend made it and is very proud of it, that’s love. when i take the time to tell you when i need space and that i’ll come back when im able, that’s love.

i don’t think people hear me when i tell them i love them. i don’t know if i can hear others when they say it either. i feel very alone most of the time, like there’s a glass barrier between me and the rest of the world. i can see them mouthing, i love you, i love you, but how can i believe them? they’re nowhere near me. no warmth and no life in it.

[lnfours]

* ✰. — first place serotonin | l.n

summary: your best friend just won the miami grand prix. and what better way to celebrate then telling you he’s in love with you?

warnings: friends to lovers!au (..shocker), overall happiness and fun times, language, confessions, also a bit rushed because i wanted to get something out to you all asap 🧡 happy lando first win!! here’s to many more!

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

everyone around you was silent. watching the gap between lando and max grow higher and higher with each passing second. your nerves were shot, anxiously waiting for either lando to cross the finish line in first or for max to inevitably overtake the boy in papaya and reclaim first as his.

but he didn’t. lando held on, everyone cheering and celebrating as he crossed the line in first place. winning his first ever grand prix, a dream that sometimes felt impossible to achieve, now unfolding before everyone’s eyes.

aarav and ria pulled you into a hug, the three of you laughing and cheering before aarav spoke, “c’mon! let’s go!”

the three of you headed towards the paddock, laughing and joining the sea of papaya. the three of you made your way into the crowd. everyone let the three of you towards the front, just in time to see him place his helmet on the ground before he started to run over.

he pulled everyone into hugs, but when it got to you, he felt a wave of something different. the way you looked celebrating him and his win, the way your smile lit up your entire face, the way you ignored the happy tears rolling down your cheeks. he was so in love with you, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“c’mere!” he smiled, you opened your arms, fully expecting a hug. but when he lifted you off the ground and over the barrier, you couldn’t help but squeal. once your feet were placed back onto the ground, the sounds of the mclaren team whistling towards the two of you teasingly was drowned out by how close he was.

he smiled softly down at you, “i had this whole thing planned, but right now seems like a better idea, and i don’t know if that’s because of the adrenaline or what but i just can’t keep this to myself anymore,” he started, “but i’m so fucking in love with you, y/n. i always have been, and i don’t want to pretend like i’m not anymore.”

you smiled at the boy dressed in papaya, shaking your head and laughing softly, “i’m tired of pretending like i’m not in love with you, too.”

that was all he needed to hear before he was leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. everyone around you cheering and yelling excitedly, happiness radiating through the crowd. you smiled against his lips, uncaring of the cameras around you capturing the moment because the only thing you had your mind on was the man in front of you.

you pulled away and happily pulled him into another hug, head nuzzled in his neck. you didn’t care about how damp he was, drenched in sweat. the way this moment felt was definitely going to be engraved into your brain for a lifetime.

“i’m so proud of you,” you smiled, pulling away from the hug. your moment was cut short by andrea and zak yelling his name, telling him that it was time to head up to the podium. he turned back around to face you, almost like he was asking if it was okay if he went.

you nodded your head, “i’ll be here when you get back.”

he smiled, leaning in and pressing one more kiss to your cheek before walking backwards, still facing you as he called back to you, “got any plans tonight!?”

you laughed, shaking your head, “is this you asking me on a date?!”

“will you say yes if it is?!”

“definitely, yes!”

and with that he smiled, turning around to walk with andrea to head up to the podium. but not without one more glance your way.

aarav and ria were smiling, happy that their friends had finally caved in and realized that you both were meant to be.

everyone found their places to watch the podium celebration. you smiled and cheered happily as he took the top step for the first time, and certainly not his last.

he looked down at the crowd under him, his eyes only searching for one person. and when they found you, he smiled. a smile so bright it made your heart clench before you watched the way his mouth moved to silently say those three words.

‘i love you’.

[sapphicjackal]

Bingyuan Soulmate au 1

Bingyuan soulmates au

The modern world has soulmates, with the function that anything written on your skin appears on your soulmate. Only soulmates can see the writing of their soulmate, nobody else can see what is written on your skin. The words are visible to your soulmate as well. Language barriers don’t affect communication because it's the communication between souls through the medium of flesh, you will always see your soulmate's words in your own language.

PIDW is a work of fiction within the genre of “no soulmates/alternate soulmates”, it operates on the invisible red string of fate, and not everyone has someone attached to their string. Only certain people like Madam Meiyn can see the string, which means that soulmates are practically a myth within PIDW.

Shen Yuan has been studiously writing to his soulmate since the moment he was old enough to read, cheerfully hoping for his pretty soulmate to write back to him. He was disappointed when years went by without a response, but his parents told him that it happens when your soulmate is younger than you and either hasn't been born yet or can’t read yet.

It took until Shen Yuan was 15 years old to receive his first response from his soulmate. He was both overjoyed and mildly worried and disappointed. He can finally connect with his soulmate, but they're far younger than him. They probably aren’t romantic soulmates which is sad, but Shen Yuan will love them anyway!

Shen Yuan had taken to the habit of writing a short message to his soulmate every morning, even when he was in the hospital. He made sure that each message was unique, and that it told his soulmate that he cared about them. Sometimes he left little stories when interesting things happened and he wanted to share it with someone.

He was delighted when he felt tingling on his forearm, the strokes were far broader than the felt tipped markers that were commonly sold in stores to write to soulmates. It felt kind of like a brush, which Shen Yuan was familiar with writing from his classes on the 4 arts.

“I hope you have a wonderful day that brings you joy.” The words that Shen Yuan wrote this morning.

“Who are you?” 

Came the messy calligraphy painted onto his skin, alongside the words he could feel the phantom emotion in the lettering. It felt like curiosity and confusion, laced with wariness.

Shen Yuan sat up in his bed and grabbed the felt marker from his bedside table, “I’m your soulmate! It’s nice to meet you.” he responded swiftly, watching his arm in anticipation. 

Stroke by stroke came the reply from his soulmate, still with the same calligraphy brush as before. “Soulmate? This one has never heard of words on skin happening with soulmates." The feelings accompanying it were skeptical with an underlying stirring of hope.

“How old are you? I’m surprised you haven’t heard of soulmates, everyone has one. Only soulmates can see each other’s words, but everybody gets them. Unless their soulmate isn’t born or has died.” Shen Yuan explained to his young soulmate, curious as to why his soulmate hadn’t heard of it before. 

Soulmates were ingrained into culture to the point that ignorance of the mechanics was near incomprehensible to Shen Yuan. It was like someone not knowing that there were stars in the sky or that the sun rose in the morning. It was just something that everyone knew, and something that everyone was taught. 

“This one is 10.” came his soulmate's reply. 

Oh, they weren’t as young as Shen Yuan thought. Maybe they came from a more rural place with lower literacy, or lived somewhere less privileged with education. In that case, Shen Yuan should do his best to help educate his soulmate and help them in any way that he can. He cares for his soulmate and he won’t let whatever circumstances they have dictate the rest of their life.

“I’m 15, and I’ll help you with anything you need. Let me know anything you struggle with learning and I’ll try to help you.” Shen Yuan wrote before wiping away his earlier messages to make more room.

“Really?” wrote his soulmate, full of hope and wariness, something so earnest yet fragile that it broke his heart to feel. His soulmate must lack support for them to feel so tentative about genuine help.

“Yuan-ge will help you with anything. I promise.” he wrote, firm with his conviction and affection, hoping that it would transfer to the other.

“Yuan-ge?” asked his soulmate, full with giddy happiness and anticipation.

Shen Yuan smiled, happy that his soulmate was less scared and wary. He wanted his soulmate to be nothing but happy.

“My name is Shen Yuan,” he introduced.

He waited for a few minutes before he felt brush strokes again.

“This one is Luo Binghe.”

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

[tteotlma]

Trust in the Tension

--buried impulses flare into a fierce, unspoken surrender that no barrier can contain

"Nurse"!Logan x Patient!Reader (11.5kwc)

tw; 18+ MDNI; nsfw, power imbalance; caretaker/patient dynamic; dubcon (dubious consent); explicit sexual content; oral sex; choking; hair-pulling; biting; rough physicality; coarse language; mention of mental health struggles; tears/overwhelm.

a/n: PLS BE AWARE THIS IS A PIECE OF FICTION. (I AM DEEPLY AnD GRAVELY AWARE OF THE SEVERITY OF THIS SITUATION IRL BUT again THIS IS FICTION JUST HAVE FUN or skip.) i also didn't intend for this to be so long... but its been a month since my last fic

not edited entirely; pls like & reblog

Your vision pulsed to the sound of your heartbeat as you took in the scene around you.

You hadn’t asked to be here. 

The facility was nice— too nice. Plush furniture, warm neutral tones, windows big enough to let in the light but so obviously locked for safety. Despite the place feeling more like a high-end retreat, than a mental health facility that didn’t stop the feel of the walls caving in. 

Still in an unknowing state of shock you sat stiffly in the common room, arms crossed, back rigid, posture so straight it was almost defiant. It wasn’t lost on you that you were the only one not participating in whatever exercise the group facilitator had planned. 

You clenched your jaw as you stared straight ahead at the painting of random splatters on the far wall, the rest of the people fading away in the background. The painting, an aggressive array of white, red, and black splatters meticulously painted to convey some sort of emotion provided you a great sense of comfort. You couldn’t put your finger on what that feeling was but you could feel it— deep in the pit of your stomach. You felt the facilitator's eyes on you, but you ignored it trying to wrap your head around how you got here in the first place. 

It wasn’t voluntary, that's for sure. No, you were here because your parents begged, pleaded, and finally pulled out the we’re worried about you, sweetheart card. They’d finally worn you down, leaving you too exhausted to fight. 

Not that exhaustion was new to you. 

Professional Burnout was the sanitized phrase they’d slapped onto your file. As if snapping at a coworker who spent months undermining you somehow made you unstable. As if the outburst wasn’t deserved. 

One crack, you thought bitterly, and suddenly I’m the problem. 

The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted your brooding. You glanced up just in time to see a man step into the room, a clipboard in hand and a toothpick hanging lazily from his mouth. He was tall and rugged, with broad shoulders that stretched his uniform and thick sideburns that framed his jaw. He looked like he belonged anywhere but here—on a construction site, maybe, or some smoky dive bar.

His eyes caught yours, sharp and assessing. You didn’t look away, narrowing your gaze in return.

He stood there for a moment, the toothpick rolling between his teeth, sizing you up like he’d already figured you out. You hated it.

“Logan,” he said, finally breaking the silence. His voice was deep and gravelly, with a rough edge that matched his rugged appearance. He tapped the clipboard against his thigh, tilting his head slightly. “You got a name, or are we just gonna keep starin’ at each other?”

“Why do you care?” you shot back, folding your arms tighter across your chest.

His lips quirked, just barely. “Keeps things polite. But hey, if you’d rather I call you ‘sunshine,’ that works too.”

You glared at him. “It’s [Y/N].” 

“[Y/N],” he repeated, his tone deliberate, like he was committing it to memory. “Alright then, [Y/N]. Here’s the deal. I’m the orderly assigned to keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t go stir-crazy or claw anyone’s eyes out.”

You scoffed. “Charming.”

“Thanks,” he said, completely unfazed. “Let’s try something new—how about you actually join the group? Sitting there like a statue ain’t doin’ you any favors.”

“I’m fine right here,” you replied flatly, eyes drifting back to the splatter painting.

“Fine,” he echoed, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

He stepped closer, his boots heavy against the tiled floor. The closer he got, the more imposing he seemed, like he took up all the air in the room. “But here’s the thing, sweetheart. You can act all tough and keep everyone at arm’s length, but it doesn’t make the time go by any faster.”

You finally looked up at him, bristling at the way he loomed over you, like he was daring you to challenge him. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” he said, leaning in just enough to lower his voice, “is that I’ve seen plenty of people like you. Wound so tight you’re about to snap. Keep it up, and you’ll be stuck here a hell of a lot longer than you need to be.”

Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms. “Maybe I like my space.”

His grin was infuriatingly small, almost imperceptible. “Sure you do. Let me know how that works out for you.”

And just like that, he turned and walked off, leaving you fuming. You weren’t sure if you wanted to yell at him or sink deeper into the chair just to spite him. Either way, you had the distinct feeling that Logan wasn’t going to make this easy for you.

—

Later that day you found yourself sitting in another goddamn plush leather seat. You sat stiffly in the chair, arms crossed and jaw tight as Logan settled into the seat across from you. He had the same clipboard as earlier, only now he looked far more official—still rugged and casual in demeanor, but with a sharpness in his gaze that said he wasn’t here to play around. 

“Alright (Y/N),” he started, clicking his pen. “This is just a standard intake. I know you did it before coming here, I just gotta get some background myself, so we know how to help you.” 

“Help me,” you muttered under your breath, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Logan raised a brow but didn’t take the bait. “First question: How are you feeling?”

You scoffed, leaning back in the chair. “Fantastic. Couldn’t be better.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied dryly, jotting something down on the clipboard. “We’ll circle back to that. What about your usual stress levels? On a scale of one to ten?”

“Zero.”

He glanced up, his expression unreadable. “And what do you usually do to blow off steam?”

The question caught you off guard. You hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Work. Run. Avoid people.”

Logan hummed thoughtfully, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “Not exactly workin’ out for you, is it?”

Your glare could’ve cut glass. “What’s your point?”

“No point,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk. “Just gettin’ to know you.”

He finished scribbling and set the clipboard aside, leaning forward slightly. “Last question. You think you belong here?”

You faltered, his sudden intensity throwing you off balance. “What does it matter what I think? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But if you’re gonna be here, might as well make it worth somethin’. Otherwise, you’re just wastin’ your own damn time.”

The weight of his words hung in the air as he stood, gathering his clipboard and pen. “That’s it for now. I’ll see you around, sunshine.”

As he walked out, you couldn’t help but feel like Logan saw more of you in that brief exchange than most people ever did—and it unnerved you.

—

You felt the weight of Logan’s questions long after the session ended. Sure they were simple questions but it’s not like it wasn’t anything he couldn’t look up himself if he tried. The way his eyes had fixed on you, intense and unyielding, had unsettled you more than you cared to admit. You tried to shake it off, but it lingered like a bad taste, gnawing at the back of your mind. 

When you walked back to the common room, the group session was finally finishing up. Everyone slowly filtered out, but you stayed behind. You didn’t want to be around people—didn’t want anyone to see how much you were clenching your fists or how your jaw was tight enough to bruise. 

Sitting back down in your (un)claimed seat, you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back to stare at the painting on the far wall. Your mind kept drifting back to Logan’s words, his calm, almost knowing demeanor. You hated how easily he had gotten under your skin. 

It wasn’t just the questions. It was the way he looked at you, like he understood everything without you saying a word. You didn’t want to think about that, either.

You stood abruptly, deciding a walk through the facility might clear your head. But when you stepped into the hallway, you saw Logan leaning against the doorframe to the lounge, a smirk barely hidden behind his usual indifference.

“Lost?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

You didn’t answer, trying to walk past him. You didn’t need another interaction, especially with him. But he moved just enough to block your path.

“You think you’re just gonna keep brushing me off, huh?” he said, voice low and amused.

“You really love to push buttons, don’t you?” You didn’t bother hiding the irritation in your voice.

His grin widened, but he didn’t press you further. Instead, his gaze softened, almost unreadable. “I don’t push buttons. I just call it like I see it.”

You glared at him, biting back a retort. But when he finally stepped aside, giving you space to walk past him, you couldn’t help but feel a weird mix of relief and frustration. 

—

The next time you saw Logan, it was in another session. Group therapy again. You’d kept your distance as much as possible, staying silent while the others participated. You weren’t interested in talking about your feelings—not to strangers and definitely not to Logan.

As the facilitator guided the group through an exercise, you sat stiffly, arms seemingly permanent crossed. You tried to block out everything and everyone, focusing on the wall in front of you. 

You were here, just like your parents had wanted. That should be enough. 

Logan had been observing you quietly, and when the session ended, he was the first one to walk over.

“You gonna keep that scowl on your face all day, or are you gonna get over yourself?” His voice was sharp, but there was an edge of concern underneath, like he was watching you closely.

You didn’t want to feel anything anymore, didn’t want to stay caught up in the mess of emotions or the frustration building inside you. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe you, and you could see it in his eyes. “You sure about that?”

Before you could snap back, the door to the group room swung open, and the others filed out. Logan stepped closer, his presence so commanding that you felt the air grow heavier around you.

“Why don’t we step outside for a second?” he suggested, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to coax you into something you didn’t want.

You glared up at him. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

But something in his eyes—some unspoken understanding—made you pause. Against your better judgment, you followed him out into the hallway.

Once the two of you were out of earshot from the others, Logan stopped and turned to face you. The air between you was thick, charged with something you couldn’t name.

“You’re acting like a kid,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah? Well, maybe I’m just tired of pretending I’m fine when I’m not,” you shot back, your voice sharp and biting. The frustration you’d been holding in for days boiled to the surface, your words barely contained.

Logan’s gaze softened, but there was no judgment in his eyes. He was too used to dealing with people like you. “Yeah, I figured. You’ve got a lot of tension in you, huh?” His eyes trailed the length of your body. 

You didn’t respond, the anger started to bubble up again, your hands clenched at your side but something about his steady presence seemed to disarm you. Maybe it was the way he didn’t back off, didn’t try to force anything.

He only took a step closer, and for the first time, you didn’t flinch. His hand moved to your shoulder, the touch firm but gentle.

“I’m not here to push you, [Y/N],” he said, his voice low. “But you gotta know—holding all that in? It’s gonna eat you up.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to control the wave of frustration that threatened to overwhelm you. “I don’t need advice,” you muttered, feeling vulnerable in a way you hated.

“I don’t need advice,” you repeated, except the words coming out sharp, and defensive this time. You hated the way your chest felt tight, the vulnerability creeping in from where Logan’s hand rested on your shoulder. 

The warmth from his touch spread across your skin, and for a moment, it felt like it was sinking into your bones, grounding you in a way that made your stomach twist. You didn’t need anyone grounding you. You didn’t need him to make you feel this way.

Logan’s eyes softened just a fraction, but his expression remained steady, like he was waiting for you to crack. “You sure about that?” he asked again quietly, his tone almost too calm.

You felt it then, the tension pooling inside you, the anger at yourself for even considering his words. You were independent. You didn’t need anyone to fix you. You hadn’t needed anyone before to figure things out. And you especially, didn’t need some wannabe shrink to start telling you how to manage your life.

Without thinking, you grabbed his hand and removed it from your shoulder. You did it quickly, as if his touch burned you, trying to ignore the way his heat lingered on your skin. You told yourself it was about reclaiming your space, but deep down, you couldn’t deny the way you resented the way his warmth had made you feel—like you weren’t enough on your own, like you needed him, and it made you bitter.

You didn’t meet his eyes as you moved away. The weight of his gaze felt like too much, like he could see right through you. “I’m fine,” you muttered for what seemed like the umpteenth time, turning away before he could say anything more, before you could let him see how much you were feeling.

Each step you took away from him was deliberate, quick. You weren’t going to let him break you down, weren’t going to let him see how much you wanted the relief he might even be able to offer. You didn’t need him. You’d never needed anyone, not like that.

The hallway stretched out in front of you, a quiet reminder that you could handle this—you could handle this.

—

The next few days passed in a haze. Every session, every group exercise felt like you were just going through the motions, barely containing the storm brewing inside you. You could still feel Logan’s hand on your shoulder, the way it had made you feel both furious and small, and it gnawed at you. You told yourself you were fine, but the anger lingered, thick like smoke in your lungs.

You were sitting in the group room again, the usual chatter around you fading into white noise. Your focus was elsewhere—just trying to survive the hour without having to say a word. You were about to tune out completely when you heard it.

“She’s just another fucking drama queen.”

The voice came from across the room, a low murmur between two of the other patients. You didn’t need to hear more. You already knew they were talking about you. The words were sharp, cutting through the air with a venom that dug deep into you.

You snapped your gaze in their direction, fury immediately surging through you. The mocking tone, the casual dismissal—it was too familiar, too reminiscent of the shit you’d put up with at your last job. You could feel the rage flooding your chest, hot and suffocating. It was a sensation you knew too well, one that had always pushed you to the edge before.

And now, it was back.

The room started to shrink around you. The noise of their laughter, the snickers, the sideways glances—all of it evaporated as your anger took over. Your fists clenched so tightly your nails dug into your palms.

You didn’t care anymore. You needed to make it stop. You needed to hit something. You tried grounding yourself, but it was too late. Your body had already taken over. Your legs were pushing you forward, jumping over your seat in a split-second decision. You saw red, your entire body screaming for release, for someone to just stop dismissing you. But before you could close the distance, a firm hand shot out, grabbing you mid-air.

“Hey!” Logan’s voice cut through the chaos in your mind—or in the room, it was hard to tell—his voice sharp and commanding.

You felt his strong arms wrap around your waist—hard, like steel, pulling you back. You let out a shout of frustration, trying to twist free, but Logan’s grip didn’t falter. It was like he was two steps ahead, as if he had already anticipated your move, as if he knew exactly what was about to happen. His voice was in your ear now, low and unwavering.

“[Y/N], enough,” he said, his tone hard but not cruel. “This isn’t the way.”

Before you could even process what was happening, Logan yanked you backwards with a force that left you no room to fight it. In an instant, he’d pulled you out of the room, dragging you down the hallway with such speed that no one could have comprehended what just happened. There was a stunned silence behind you as you were pulled out of the room, your feet barely touching the ground as Logan kept a firm hold, his steps echoing through the hallway.

“Let me go!” You tried to struggle, to twist your way free, but his grip tightened, holding you firmly as he pushed you further from the group.

“No,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Not until you calm down.”

You were breathing hard, the adrenaline coursing through you. Your pulse was a drum in your ears, and you could feel the heat of your anger radiating off you in waves.

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” you spat, still trying to break free. “I don’t need your fucking help!”

You tried to tear his arm away, but Logan’s grip tightened, his body pressing into yours as he moved with precision, dragging you down the hallway without a word. The moment you realized what was happening, the reality of it hit you like a punch to the gut. Your anger, your rage—it all crashed down as you found yourself being physically restrained, the helplessness burning in your chest.

He didn’t say a word as he pulled you down another hall, his face impassive, but you could feel the tension in his body as if he was just as ready to snap as you had been moments ago. But he wasn’t letting you. He wasn’t letting you lose control.

“Let me go!” you snarled, struggling against his grip, but again, Logan didn’t even flinch. He kept moving, keeping you contained, his presence too overwhelming for you to break free from.

When he finally stopped, it was in a hallway, somewhere far enough from anybody that no one would hear you—no one would witness how you’d almost cracked. He barely released his hold on you, but not before pushing you back against the wall, his body still towering over you, blocking your every escape route.

“Take a breath,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was speaking to someone who might break apart at any second.

His grip on your arm softened, but only just enough for you to feel the tension in his hand. He wasn’t letting go, but he was giving you space to breathe, to calm down if you could.

“You’re better than this. So stop acting like a fucking fool, [Y/N].” He said, his voice lower now, almost like a warning.

Your chest was still heaving, your body still tense with frustration, but hearing him say that—hearing him treat you like more than just a hothead, like you were capable of something better—suddenly made it all feel worse. The tears you’d been holding back started to burn at the back of your eyes, and you hated yourself for it. Hated that you felt so weak, so fucking out of control.

But Logan wasn’t looking at you like you were broken. He wasn’t judging you, even though you knew you deserved it. He was just… there. Silent. Waiting.

You wrenched yourself out of his grip (despite both your dismay) and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain some composure.

“Just… don’t touch me,” you muttered, your voice raw and unsteady.

Logan said nothing. He didn’t have to. The silence between you was thick with something unspoken, something neither of you could easily put into words.

But it didn’t matter. You couldn’t let it matter. Not now.

You turned and walked away, not looking back. 

You barely took a few steps before the frustration began to bubble up again. You had only just started to walk away from Logan, but the moment you stepped around the corner and out of sight, it felt like the world was pressing in on you again.

The laughter from the group still rang in your ears. “Drama queen.” The words clawed at your skin, digging into you like a constant reminder of everything you hated—being dismissed, being belittled.

You were done. You couldn’t keep holding it in. Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms as you spun on your heel, slamming your hand against the wall. The sharp sound of your palm against the cold surface echoed in the hallway, but it wasn’t enough. The rage, the helplessness—it was all too much.

“Fuck!” you hissed, breath coming in sharp bursts as you stared at the spot where your hand had just struck the wall, feeling the dull sting radiating through your knuckles. 

You couldn’t keep it together anymore. It was too much. You were tired of being on the edge, of trying so damn hard to be perfect at everything—at work, at life, at keeping it all together. Everyone depended on you to do everything. Always being there, and put together.

But right now? You didn’t want to be. You didn’t want to hold it in anymore. Your body was shaking with the weight of it all—the frustration of being forced to be something that was overwhelming, the anger at yourself for letting it all pile up until you exploded.

You wanted to break. You wanted to let go—but you knew you couldn’t. You couldn’t afford to. You’d kept it locked away for so long, keeping everything in check, trying to make sure no one saw the truth behind the mask. Who knew what would happen if you let yourself slip away, even just a smidge. You were already forced to be somewhere you didn’t want to be, you couldn’t risk losing anything else. But the anger… the helplessness… It was too much. You were suffocating, and you couldn’t breathe anymore.

And that’s when it hit you: This is why you were here.

You couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t keep pretending that you had it all together. You were falling apart at the seams, and the pressure—the pressure of trying to control everything—was finally breaking you.

You spun around, not knowing what you were doing, just feeling the surge of emotions all crashing in. You needed to hit something again, harder. You needed to feel something, anything, that would make it stop. But before you could even move an inch, a voice cut through the chaotic storm inside your mind.

“[Y/N]?”

It was Logan.

You didn’t even turn to look at him. You didn’t want him to see you like this. Hell, you didn’t even want to see yourself like this.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” you snarled, voice hoarse as the tears welled up, but you fought them back. Not yet. Not here. Not now.

But Logan was already there. In an instant, his hands were on you, trying to turn you, pulling you against him, his arms firm and unyielding. You tried to twist, to pull away, but his grip was too strong. And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to break—because you did.

But you couldn’t let him see it. You couldn’t let anyone see how much you were falling apart. You were so fucking tired of pretending to be fine, you were ready to break but not in front of him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Logan tried to pacify your struggles, as his hold on you failed to waver. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t about controlling you. His presence was heavy—comforting in a way you hadn’t let yourself experience in so long.

The tears came the more you struggled in his grip, despite all your efforts. Hot and fast, they burned your face, dripping onto the linoleum floor, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. You wanted to stop them. You hated it. You hated feeling this weak.

But Logan just held you as your body went slack. His grip tightened, pulling you into him. Not to silence you, not to force you to do anything, but to hold you steady, to keep you from falling completely apart.

“I told you not to touch me,” you choked out through the tears, voice breaking as you finally let yourself give into him, your body shuddering against his. You were shaking—not just with the anger anymore, but with the helplessness that had been buried so deep.

You tried once more to push him away, weakly, but it was like fighting against a wall. His chest was too solid. His presence was too overwhelming. You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t want him to see the cracks.

But there was no escaping it now. The reality of everything you’d been holding inside came rushing at you, and it hurt. It hurt more than you could even process.

Logan didn’t speak. He didn’t try to fix anything. He just let you break in silence. His arms around you were steady, not demanding. They didn’t try to pull you back from the edge. They simply were. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe as you were.

When he finally loosened his grip and you finally pulled yourself away from him, still sniffling, you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. You couldn’t look at him like this.

“Please, don’t touch me anymore,” you muttered, voice shaky, and with that, you turned away, your feet dragging as you walked down the hall. You didn’t look back. Not once.

But you knew, in that moment, something had shifted between you. Something in you had cracked.

And Logan knew it too. He didn’t stop you this time. He didn’t chase you. He just let you go.

The silence in the hallway hung heavy in the air after you walked away. Logan stood there for a long moment, the weight of the last few minutes settling over him. He hadn’t expected the tears, the rawness that tore through you, but the way you’d fought it all—fought him—made something click in his mind.

He didn’t follow you. He didn’t try to force anything. Instead, he gave you space. Because deep down, he understood.

He didn’t move from where he stood immediately. He wanted to give you time. You needed it. Needed to process it all.

When he finally did move, it was slow. The hallway was too quiet now, too empty. His hand rested on the wall, his mind replaying the moments that had just passed, trying to piece everything together. What did you need? He hadn’t known before, but now? Now, something was different.

—

It had been a few days since you’d broken down in the hallway. Logan hadn’t pushed you since, letting you process things on your own, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. About you. About the way you’d finally let your guard down, even if just for a moment, before retreating again. He’d stayed close but careful, offering support in quiet ways, waiting for you to let him in.

You walked into your room, your steps slow, your mind racing. As you sat on the edge of your bed, you couldn’t stop the image of Logan holding you from replaying over and over in your head. The warmth of his embrace still lingered on your skin, even though you had pushed him away.

A soft knock at your door interrupted your thoughts.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You knew who it was but, if you looked at him again, you weren’t sure you could hold it together. You needed space. You needed time.

Another knock. A little louder this time.

You dragged a shaky breath into your lungs, wiping your face with the back of your hand. You hated this—hated the fragility of it all. But the pressure inside you hadn’t subsided. You could feel the ache in your chest, the pull to break again.

“[Y/N]?” Logan’s voice came through the door, low, steady. “Can I come in?”

You stayed quiet. You wanted to tell him to leave you alone. You wanted to shut him out. But you couldn’t. You knew deep down you didn’t want him to go away. Not now. Not after everything.

The door creaked open slowly, and Logan stepped inside, his eyes cautious. He didn’t push, didn’t say anything. His presence was still heavy, but it wasn’t demanding. The door shut behind him with a soft thud, followed by a small discernible click. 

He didn’t ask if you were okay. He didn’t offer any words of comfort. He just watched you, letting the silence hang between you. You felt the familiar heat rising in your chest, the uncomfortable feeling of being seen too clearly, but this time, it wasn’t like before. He wasn’t trying to fix you.

You could feel the distance between you. He was there, but he wasn’t pushing.

He shifted, taking a step closer, but not too close. It was a subtle offer, a quiet invitation.

The silence stretched between you like a taut string, every breath you took loud in the otherwise still room. Logan didn’t rush you. He just stood there, his hands loose at his sides, his presence calm, steady, like an anchor in the storm of your thoughts.

“I thought I told you to leave,” you said, your voice wavering despite the steel you tried to inject into it.

His lips twitched, a barely-there smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You didn’t say a word, sunshine. Just figured you might need someone who’ll stick around—Help take care of you.”

You hated how much his words hit the mark, hated how the rawness inside you stirred at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

Logan took another step closer, his boots soft against the floor. The click of the lock earlier seemed louder now, echoing in your mind.

“You’re my nurse,” you whispered, like a warning, but your words lacked conviction.

“I am,” he agreed, his voice low but even. “And that means takin’ care of you, even if you fight me on it. Especially if you fight me on it.” The tone in his voice emphasizing the last part—as if the fight you put up brings a rush to his blood. 

You scoffed, your instinct to push him away rearing its head. “This feels like more than taking care of a patient.”

His gaze softened, but it didn’t waver. “Maybe. But does it matter? You’re not by yourself anymore—not in here. You don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine when you’re not. Let me help you.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in. He saw too much, and yet, you didn’t feel the urge to run. You felt… understood. The wall you’d built around yourself since arriving finally cracked, just enough for his steady gaze to slip through.

“You don’t get it,” you muttered, shaking your head, your hands clenching the edge of the bed. “I’ve always had to hold it together. Always. If I let go—” Your voice broke, a sharp crack in the stillness.

“You won’t fall apart,” Logan interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. He crouched down in front of you, his hands resting on his knees, his body just close enough to block out everything else. “You’ve been doin’ this on your own for too long. Let someone else shoulder some of it.”

His hand lifted slowly, giving you time to pull away, but you didn’t. His fingers brushed against yours where they gripped the edge of the mattress, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

“Logan…” Your voice trembled, a mix of warning and plea.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “Just let me help.”

You closed your eyes, trying to pull yourself together, but the heat radiating from him was impossible to ignore. The way his thumb traced over your knuckles was gentle, but there was an unspoken promise in his touch.

He shifted closer, his legs brushing against yours now. The tension in the air thickened, your pulse quickening as his steady gaze roamed your face. There was something in his expression—something deeper than concern. His job might have brought him here, but the way he looked at you was anything but professional.

“Logan,” you said again, this time softer, your voice barely a whisper.

He leaned in slightly, the rough edge of his voice brushing against your skin. “Let me in, sunshine. Just this once.”

Your walls wavered, the vulnerability threatening to spill over. The ache in your chest was unbearable, the pull to let go stronger than your fear. He wasn’t just offering to help; he was offering himself.

Your breathing grew shallow as his hand slid up, his fingers curling lightly around your wrist, pulling your hand away from the bed and into his. You opened your eyes as you let him guide you, avoiding all chances to truly look him in the eyes, his movements slow, and deliberate, until your hand rested against his chest.

He shifted and his other hand found your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a slow, grounding motion. “Let me take care of you. All you’ve gotta do is trust me, sunshine.”

Your lips parted, words caught in your throat as his thumb slid lower, grazing your bottom lip. You froze, your mind racing, but Logan didn’t push further—he just waited, his touch firm but patient.

The shift was subtle, but it was there—the change in the air between you. He wasn’t just offering comfort anymore. He was asking for surrender, for trust in the most intimate way.

And God help you, you were ready to give it to him anything he asked for. 

The tension between you crackled, thick and electric, but his touch remained steady, grounding. Logan’s thumb brushed the curve of your cheek, slow and deliberate, before tracing the edge of your jaw. His movements weren’t hurried—there was no rush, no demand—just an unspoken invitation.

“See?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, like he was coaxing you down from a ledge. “Ain’t so hard to let someone else take the reins for a bit, is it?”

Your breath hitched as his fingers trailed down, brushing the side of your neck. The warmth of his palm lingered, the weight of his hand firm enough to quiet the chaotic swirl in your mind, but not enough to drown out the muffled sounds of people passing by your door.

“I… I don’t know how,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Logan huffed a soft laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Yeah, you do. You’re already doing it.”

His fingers shifted, sliding to the back of your neck, and you leaned into the touch before you could stop yourself. He drew you closer, just enough to feel his presence envelop you entirely. Your knees brushed against his thighs where he stood in front of you, and the heat radiating off him was impossible to ignore.

“Relax that jaw of yours,” he said, his tone still light but with a teasing edge. After caressing the nape of your neck his hand comes back to your jaw and squeezes until your lips part.  “You’ve been clenching it so tight, it’s a wonder it hasn’t locked up yet.”

You blinked at him, caught between embarrassment and curiosity. His eyes, dark and steady, met yours, and for a moment, you swore he could see straight through you.

“C’mere,” he murmured, tugging gently on your wrist until you slid closer towards him.

The shift brought your bodies even nearer, his hands bracketing your thighs now, his thumbs brushing circles over the fabric of your pants. His touch was careful but deliberate, testing your boundaries while coaxing you further out of your shell.

“Let me take the lead,” he said softly, his voice dipping lower, more intimate.

You swallowed hard, feeling the ache in your chest ease as something entirely new unfurled in its place. Trust. Need. A quiet kind of surrender you didn’t know you were capable of.

“How?” you finally gave in and asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small smirk, but his gaze stayed steady, unwavering. “Like I said… starting with that jaw.”

His hand moved, knuckles grazing your chin as his thumb pressed gently against the corner of your mouth. The motion was slow, teasing, giving you plenty of time to pull back. You didn’t.

“Open up for me,” he murmured, his words a low rumble that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

The command was quiet, laced with care, but the underlying edge of authority had your pulse spiking. Your lips parted instinctively, your breath shaky as his thumb slid along the inside of your bottom lip.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise slipping out like it belonged there.

The words hit you harder than you wanted to admit, warmth pooling in your chest—and lower.

Logan shifted closer, his other hand steadying your jaw as he studied you, his expression unreadable but intent. “We’ll take it slow,” he said, his thumb retreating as he brought his hand to the hem of his pants. “Just let me guide you.”

Your breathing hitched as your eyes flicked down to his hands, the way his fingers deftly worked the knot of his drawstring pants. The quiet rustle of the fabric filled the space between you, a sound that felt louder than it was.

Logan’s movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though he was waiting for any sign of hesitation from you. When your gaze lifted to meet his, you saw no rush, no impatience—just the same steady calm that made it impossible not to trust him.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured, his voice grounding you even as it sent your pulse racing.

You swallowed hard, your jaw relaxing further at his words, at the way his presence seemed to envelop you completely. His hand returned to your chin, tilting your head up slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“Atta girl,” Logan praised softly, his lips curving into a faint smile, as his thumb caressed your skin. “That’s it. Just breathe for me.”

The tension that had coiled so tightly in your chest loosened a fraction as you exhaled shakily. His fingers traced along your jawline, the touch soothing and deliberate, coaxing you to focus on him and nothing else.

When his drawstrings tangled free, Logan leaned in closer, his free hand bracing against the edge of the bed beside you. His proximity was overwhelming in the best way, his warmth and scent filling your senses.

“This ain’t just about me, sunshine,” he said, his voice low and sure. He takes one hand, and brings it to your neck. His thumb finds the pulse point beneath your jaw and he brings you in closer. “This is about you learning to let go. To stop holdin’ on so tight it hurts.”

You nodded faintly, swallowing against his palm, your body responding before your mind could catch up. There was no space for second-guessing, no time for overthinking—not with the way Logan looked at you, like he already knew exactly what you needed.

“Good,” he murmured again, his tone like gravel smoothed by honey. “We’ll go slow, but I need you to trust me.” He nuzzled the side of your head, his breath tickling your skin as he slowly let go of your throat. 

Logan’s hands moved, sliding down to catch yours. His touch was firm but not forceful, the rough calluses on his palm grounding you as he pulled your hands away from your lap. He brought them up, pressing them flat against his chest.

“Feel that?” he asked, his voice low and steady as your fingers splayed over his warm skin through his shirt. His familiar heartbeat thrummed steadily beneath your touch, grounding you, centering you. “That’s all you gotta focus on. Just me. Nothing else matters right now.”

You nodded faintly, the tension in your shoulders coming to a still as he kept your hands there for a moment, letting you adjust.  Suddenly, a loud slam down the hallway caused you to jump and turn towards the door. He quickly grabbed your chin forcing you to look at him. “What did I just say?” He quirked, all you could do was look at him, heat blooming from your neck up. 

Then, slowly once he made sure you weren’t looking away, he began guiding your hands downward.

The motion was deliberate, unhurried, as though every inch was a silent reassurance that you could stop at any time. His hands covered yours, his thumbs brushing the backs of your knuckles as he slid your palms down the planes of his torso, over the firm muscle beneath his shirt, until they rested against his hips.

Logan gave you a beat to take it in, his gaze locked on yours. His breathing was measured, but you could see the faintest flicker of tension in his jaw, the restraint he was holding onto so tightly.

“Still good?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, rougher now.

“Yes,” you murmured, barely trusting your voice as heat pooled low in your belly. You unconsciously squirmed, in anticipation, in heat who knew.  

Logan nodded, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile but carried the same weight of approval. He waited, giving you one last chance to back out before guiding your thumbs to join his, beneath the elastic of his scrub pants.

“Easy,” he murmured, the word a quiet reminder as he guided your hands to push the fabric down slowly, exposing more of his skin. The sliver of skin burned against your fingers as you ghosted them along his body. His abdomen tensed under your touch, his breathing shifting slightly as he exhaled through his nose.

Logan let the pants hang low on his hips, one hand trailing up to cup your jaw again, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “We’ll go nice and slow,” he said, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth again. “No rush, sunshine. Just follow my lead.”

With that, he took your hands again, guiding them lower until they brushed the waistband of his boxers. His movements were steady, deliberate, as though showing you exactly where he wanted you without rushing you.

“You feelin’ brave?” he teased softly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes held nothing but warmth and patience.

You nodded again scooching closer to the edge of the bed, and the brink of insanity, your chest tightening with anticipation. His smirk deepened, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Then show me, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me see what you can do.”

Logan eased back slightly, just enough to give you room to move, but his hand lingered on yours, a steadying presence as he guided your touch. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his waistband, and with a deep breath, you pushed the material down further, revealing more of him inch by inch.

The air between you grew heavier, the tension palpable as his arousal became impossible to ignore. Logan’s hand left yours, but only for a moment, trailing up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face before cupping the back of your neck.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” he murmured, his voice warm and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced lazy circles at the base of your skull, grounding you as his other hand rested atop your forearm, giving you control but silently encouraging you to keep going.

You shifted slightly, your hands trembling as they moved to rest on his hips again. Logan watched you closely, his gaze steady but dark with something you couldn’t quite name. His chest rose and fell in a slow, measured rhythm, as though he were holding himself back, letting you set the pace.

When your hands brushed the bare skin of his hips, Logan inhaled a shaky breath, a faint sound escaping him that made your pulse spike. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your temple as he murmured, “Don’t overthink it. Just take what you can, sunshine. I’ll guide you through the rest.”

Your fingers curled into his skin as you leaned forward, your breath brushing against his lower abdomen. Logan’s hand slid from your neck to your shoulder, a subtle but firm anchor as he shifted slightly, giving you better access.

“Atta girl,” he praised, his voice barely above a whisper. The words sent a wave of warmth through you, and you felt your hesitation ease, replaced by a quiet resolve to follow his lead.

Logan’s hand moved again, this time to rest over yours as he guided one of them lower. He didn’t stop until you were cradling the solid weight of him. Your touch lightly teasing the ache that pulsed beneath your trembling hand. Logan guided your hand to palm the rigid heat beneath his clothes,  wrapping your fingers around him. A sharp inhale escaped his lips, and you felt the faintest tremor in his muscles as your touch sent a jolt through him. 

“Slow,” he reminded you, his voice tight but still soft. “Just like that.” 

The tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, every shift of his body, every measured breath, drawing you further into the moment. Your fingers trembled as they traced the contours of his arousal, the fabric of his boxers doing little to disguise the heat and weight beneath. Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, not in impatience but as a subtle reassurance, his silent way of telling you that you were doing exactly what he wanted.

His hips shifted just barely, an almost involuntary reaction to the way your hand brushed against him. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced another soothing circle at the base of your neck, the grounding motion a stark contrast to the fire building between you. “You’ve got me, sunshine. Just keep going.”

Emboldened by his words, you pressed a little firmer, your palm smoothing over the outline of him, taking your time to explore every inch. The way he exhaled sharply, the muscles in his abdomen tensing beneath your other hand, made you feel a surge of confidence. You dared to glance up at him, and what you saw made your breath catch. His head was tilted back slightly, his jaw tight, the faintest flush coloring his cheeks. His eyes, though darkened with desire, never left yours, his focus sharp and unwavering.

“You’re taking  your time, huh?” he teased, his smirk returning, though it was tinged with a rawness that made your chest tighten. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You swallowed hard, your hand faltering for just a moment before finding its rhythm again. His reaction—the way his body leaned into your touch, the low sound he made in the back of his throat—was intoxicating. It spurred you on, your fingers brushing the waistband of his boxers again before slipping just beneath, your fingertips meeting bare skin.

You felt him twitch ever so slightly, and your cheeks twinged with excitement. There was something happening inside of you that you weren’t quite sure what to think of it. You knew what Logan was doing would’ve been demeaning as hell anywhere else, but here, now… all you wanted to do was give in, succumb to whatever it was he wanted you to do. He asked you to trust him, and so far he hasn’t shown you a reason not to. 

Your heart thudded in your chest as the realization hit you: you wanted this. More than anything, you wanted to give yourself over to him, to see what it felt like to let someone else carry the weight for once. If his touch—barely there—was enough to leave you trembling, what else could he make you feel? What more could he show you?

The thought sent a rush of heat through you, your breath quickening as your fingers finally curled around the rigid, throbbing length of him, pressing more firmly against his strained need. Logan’s soft groan rumbled through the air, stirring something deep in your chest—a quiet, unfamiliar hunger that threatened to consume you. You let yourself sink into it, letting the weight of the moment guide your movements, every brush of your touch unraveling a part of you you didn’t know existed. 

“Good,” Logan murmured, his voice warm and gravelly, the rough edge of it sending a shiver down your spine. “Just like that, sunshine. You’re doin’ perfect.”

You inched closer to the edge of the bed, the pull to be nearer to him overwhelming, almost instinctual. Kneeling now, you practically sank toward the floor, chasing the heat radiating from his body like you couldn’t bear the space between you.

Logan shifted, and before you could fully close the distance, he was pulling back. The loss of contact jarred you, a quiet whine of protest nearly escaping before you caught yourself. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, firm but gentle, stopping you in your tracks.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and steady. In one smooth motion, he grabbed a pillow and tossed it to the ground between the two of you, the soft thud breaking the tension for only a split second.

Your gaze snapped up to meet his, eyes wide, blown out with something you couldn’t quite name—but it was there, raw and undeniable. The way he’d stopped you, how casually he’d thrown the pillow down, like he knew exactly what you needed before you did—your chest tightened, and your jaw slackened just slightly. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry, yet you swore you could taste the heat rolling off him.

Logan’s eyes flickered down to your throat as you swallowed, the barest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He let out a low, rough chuckle—one that felt like gravel and smoke—and before you knew it, his hand was cradling the back of your neck, fingers splaying out against your nape and jaw in a way that had you forgetting how to breathe. The strength in his grip was tempered with something careful, deliberate, and when he tugged you forward, you melted into it willingly, chasing the pull like it was magnetic.

His lips found yours in an instant, the kiss deep and consuming, all heat and desperation that made your head spin. Logan kissed you like he was trying to unravel you, his mouth moving against yours in a way that left you pliant and eager, gasping against him. With every subtle pull of his hand, you followed, inching forward without thought, his control and your surrender melting together.

When you opened your eyes again, you were on your knees on the pillow, face to face with the aching strain beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. You blinked up at him, lips kiss-swollen, as the realization coursed through you, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Logan watched you closely, his thumb brushing slowly along your jaw where his hand still lingered, as though grounding you there—reminding you that this was him, guiding you, coaxing you forward.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice dark and edged with something thick and raw. His thumb dragged along your lower lip, smirking when he noticed you shiver. “Go on. Hold me again, sweetheart.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands trembled slightly as they curled around him once more, this time with more confidence, more purpose. Logan’s gaze stayed locked on yours, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, though his voice dropped to a whisper when he spoke again.

“Good. Now, let me feel those soft lips of yours.” He guided you closer, the weight of his palm on the back of your neck a constant, steadying anchor as you leaned forward. Your lips brushed along the shaft first—tentative, testing—as though learning every inch of him. Logan’s breath hitched, and when you pressed a lingering kiss to the tip, his reaction shattered any lingering doubt.

A deep groan spilled from his chest, half a breathless chuckle, half a helpless sound that made your stomach twist in the best way. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, the sound shaky as his muscles tensed.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he muttered, his hand tightening at your nape. You swore you felt him tremble for just a moment before his voice turned low and rough again. “Sorry, baby. Can’t help myself.”

Before you could process what he meant, his fingers slid into your hair, fisting just tight enough to make your scalp tingle, and with a gentle but deliberate motion, he pushed the tip past your parted lips. The first inch of him filled your mouth, the taste of him flooding your senses, and it was enough to make your mind blank entirely. 

He stilled, his hands firm yet tentative as they guided your gaze up to meet his. The look in his eyes sent a wave of heat coursing through you, pooling low in your belly and making your thighs clench involuntarily. A faint whimper escaped your throat, and you squirmed, trying in vain to adjust the soaked fabric pressing against your folds.

“Oh, pretty girl,” Logan murmured, his chest rising and falling heavily, his voice low and rough with restraint. “You’re makin’ this real hard for me.” He paused, his thumb brushing along your jaw, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You trust me to take good care of you, right?”

You nodded without hesitation, a small, ragged sound catching in your throat as heat prickled across your cheeks. You felt obscene—completely undone under his gaze—but the way Logan looked at you chased away every last shred of doubt.

“Good girl,” he breathed, his hands sliding up to cradle the sides of your neck, a gentle yet possessive hold that left your pulse fluttering wildly. Slowly, he guided you closer, his touch steady as he coaxed your mouth open.

“Relax for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, his thumb sweeping over your jaw, encouraging it to drop further. A strained exhale left his lips as he eased in deeper, until the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. “Oh, yes—” Logan’s voice broke into a rough, shaky breath as he bottomed out, and your eyes fluttered shut as you adjusted to the weight of him.

“Come on, baby. I know you can take it,” he urged softly, his voice laced with both praise and challenge. Your hands rose instinctively to grip his thighs, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his pants as you let out a muffled moan around him.

The sound seemed to undo him further. Logan groaned low in his chest, his hand shifting to the back of your head to hold you there just a moment longer, as though savoring the feeling. You tried to quiet yourself, but the excitement coursing through you was impossible to contain—soft, needy noises escaped despite your efforts, vibrating against him as he held you still against his body.

Logan’s grip tightened at the nape of your neck, his restraint snapping like a taut wire. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice rough and gravelly, “fuck, you’re takin’ me so good.” His hips began to move—slow at first, testing your limits—before he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He bucked into your mouth with a sharp, unrelenting rhythm, his breath coming harder and faster with every thrust. The sound of his low, guttural groans mixed with the wet noises of your mouth, the lewdness of it only spurring him on. “So perfect,” he praised, his voice cracking as he drove himself deeper. “You were made for this, weren’t you, baby? Look at you—”

The words tumbled out in a broken mix of curses and praise, his hold on you steady but possessive as he guided your head to meet each snap of his hips. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your throat constricting around him as your nails dug into his thighs, but the way he sounded—so utterly wrecked—sent waves of pleasure through you, making you moan around him.

“Fuck,—oh, baby, just like that—” Logan’s voice was strained, raw, his head tilting back as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. He was on the brink, his movements growing more erratic as he neared his edge, but before he could lose himself completely, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking you back with a sudden, desperate motion.

You gasped, panting heavily as your lips parted, your chest heaving as you blinked up at him. His eyes were blown wide, dark with hunger, his lips slightly parted as though trying to catch his breath. Without a word, Logan hauled you upward, crashing his mouth onto yours in a heated, sloppy kiss. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming every inch of you as he groaned against your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue.

The kiss was frantic, all teeth and heat as he walked you backward, his hands gripping your waist before spinning you around and throwing you onto the bed. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you, his hands tugging at your clothes with a singular focus, stripping you bare with rough, hurried movements.

“Goddamn,” Logan muttered under his breath, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin as he sat back just long enough to yank his own shirt over his head. The sight of him—bare-chested, muscles taut and flexing as he moved—sent a fresh rush of heat pooling between your thighs.

Logan’s hands were on you in an instant, his lips crashing down against your neck as he kissed, nipped, and licked his way down your body with a ravenous intensity. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you closer, his grip firm and possessive as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

“You’re somethin’ else, sunshine,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and low, vibrating through you. His teeth scraped over your collarbone before his tongue soothed the mark, leaving you gasping beneath him.

His lips trailed lower, his hot breath teasing against your chest as his hands slid up, cupping your breasts with a firm, deliberate squeeze. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Logan grinned against your skin when you arched into him, his lips wrapping around one taut peak as his fingers rolled the other, coaxing a breathless moan from your lips.

“Look at you,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. His eyes burned with unrestrained hunger as his hands roamed your body, exploring every inch with rough, greedy caresses. “Already fallin’ apart for me, huh?”

You barely managed a nod, your head spinning as his mouth moved lower, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. His hands gripped your thighs, prying them apart as he settled between them, his gaze locked onto yours. The sight alone—Logan on his knees, his broad shoulders pinning your legs open, his lips glistening as he licked them—made your breath hitch.

“Goddamn, you’re a dream,” he rasped, his voice thick with reverence and desire. He dipped his head, his stubble brushing against your inner thighs as his tongue flicked out, teasing along your folds. The first swipe of his tongue sent a shudder through you, and Logan groaned deeply, the sound reverberating against you.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured, his lips wrapping around your swollen clit and sucking lightly, drawing a sharp cry from you. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands as he worked you over with unrelenting precision.

Logan alternated between long, slow strokes of his tongue and quick, teasing flicks, relishing every sound you made, every twitch of your body beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he buried his face deeper, his nose brushing against your sensitive nub as his tongue dove inside you.

“God,” he growled against you, his voice rough and dripping with approval. “You’re so fuckin’ sweet, sunshine. Can’t get enough of you.” He pulled back slightly, his lips and chin slick with your arousal as he grinned up at you. “Look at you, practically undone for me already.”

You writhed beneath him, your body trembling as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his fingers replacing his mouth to keep the steady rhythm against your clit. “Logan,” you whimpered, your voice high and desperate, your thighs trembling as heat coiled low in your belly.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice like velvet, his eyes dark and intense as he watched you. “Let go for me, baby. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You were barely holding onto a thread of sanity, your head spinning, your breath hitching as Logan’s relentless tongue and fingers pushed you higher and higher. Your nails scraped against his scalp, and Logan groaned in response, the vibration sending you tumbling over the edge.

Your body arched off the bed as the pressure inside you built to an unbearable peak, every nerve ending ignited under Logan's expert tongue and fingers. The pleasure crashed through you like a tidal wave, your thighs trembling violently as you cried out his name, your hands fisting in his hair.

"That's it," Logan growled against you, his voice dark and dripping with satisfaction as he continued to devour you. "Let it all out for me, sweetheart."

Your orgasm tore through you, so intense that your vision blurred, your entire body trembling as if it couldn’t contain the raw ecstasy coursing through you. Logan didn’t let up for a second, his tongue working you through the aftershocks, prolonging every wave until you were left gasping and shuddering beneath him.

Before you could catch your breath, Logan was on you, his body a solid weight over yours. His hands gripped your hips, and in one swift motion, he buried himself inside you, stealing the remnants of your orgasm and turning them into something even more feral.

“Fuck,” Logan rasped, his voice rough as his hips snapped forward with an unforgiving pace. “Still so tight, baby. I’ve gotcha—just let me take care of you.”

The sensation was overwhelming—his thick cock filling you completely, his relentless rhythm pushing you further into the mattress with every thrust. Your cries mingled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your nails clawing at his back as he moved with a desperate hunger, biting and sucking at your neck, leaving marks that burned and thrilled in equal measure.

“You feel that?” he murmured darkly against your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe before his lips trailed down to your jaw. “This is what you were made for—bein’ mine. My perfect little thing, takin’ me so damn well.”

His hand slid up to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it with a possessive grip that sent a shiver through you. He applied just enough pressure to make your head spin, his eyes locked onto yours, burning with raw intensity. “Look at you, sunshine,” he praised, his voice low and gravelly. “So fuckin’ beautiful when you let go—when you give yourself to me.”

Your moans turned into gasps as he choked you lightly, his thumb brushing along the side of your neck, coaxing you to surrender completely. Logan’s lips found yours again, devouring your cries as his hips slammed into you, his movements erratic and desperate as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

His teeth sank into your shoulder, a primal growl rumbling through his chest as his hand slid down to your thigh, gripping it tightly to spread you wider for him. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, and the sheer force of him sent you spiraling again, your body clenching tightly around him.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it,” Logan groaned, his voice breaking as he felt your walls flutter around him. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, so good for me. Gonna make you mine all over again.”

You cried out as another orgasm overtook you, this one more intense than the first, leaving you trembling and incoherent beneath him. Logan’s movements didn’t falter; if anything, they grew rougher, more possessive, his thumb pressing into the base of your throat as his teeth found the tender skin of your collarbone again.

"That's my girl," he growled, his voice sharp with pride and need as your body writhed beneath his. "Look at you, squirtin’ all over me—so fuckin’ perfect.”

Your body gave out beneath him, your vision blurring as the pleasure consumed you entirely. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your cries filling the room as Logan’s relentless pace pushed you to your limits.

Logan’s hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back as he kissed you deeply, his tongue dominating yours as his hips drove forward with punishing intensity. His free hand roamed your body, squeezing, groping, claiming every inch of you as he chased his own release.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and possessive, his breath hot against your ear as he gave a final, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. His body tensed, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he came, his hips rolling through his climax as if he couldn’t bear to leave your warmth.

Logan collapsed over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured softly, his voice still tinged with raw need. “So fuckin’ good, sunshine. My perfect girl.”

Logan’s grip tightened around your waist, his breath ragged as he held you in place, your body still trembling beneath him. His chest heaved, his lips brushing against your ear as he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, savoring the feel of you around him. His voice was low, a dark satisfaction lacing every word.

“See how good it feels to let go, sweetheart?” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk as his eyes bored into yours. "I told you, just had to trust me."

You didn’t respond with words, your gaze locking onto his as you fought for breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. The only sound in the room was your uneven breaths and the faint, rhythmic pulse of his dick still buried deep inside you.

His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you forward with unrelenting force. The kiss he claimed you with was messy and possessive, his tongue dominating yours, tasting, owning you in every way. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, making it harder to breathe, but you didn’t care. You were lost in him, completely, mindlessly, heart in your throat as he claimed you like this.

You were on top of him now, your body straddling him, both of you entwined in a messy, raw dance that didn’t need words—just the wet slide of your lips, the heat of his skin, the desperate shallow thrusts that made everything blur. His kiss was greedy, ferocious, as though he needed you to know that you were his—his plaything, his perfect girl.

You moaned into the kiss, the sensation of him still deep inside you enough to keep your thoughts scattered and incoherent. Logan didn’t pull away. He kept you close, his tongue in your mouth, tasting, owning, until you could barely keep your eyes open, your body consumed by him —sloppy, messy, and completely possessive, as if the world could end and all that mattered was this. All that mattered was you, beneath him, in his arms, on top of him, held and claimed by his every touch.

And as you melted into the kiss, body trembling and mind slipping into a daze of pleasure, everything else faded. All that remained was the feel of him, the sound of his breath, and the heat that still burned between you.

---

a/n: smooches! (reblog pls)

[cameronsprincess]

Your requests are open again! Also this says rafe but you can change it to jj if you want!

Anyways...Reader and rafe are dating and reader has birth control but still gets nervous it won’t work so they use condoms and they both want to be closer together/not have a condom between them (but do not want to risk it), so reader suggests him practicing pulling out (while wearing a condom) and after a few times he is able to control himself, so reader says she does not want to use a condom if he is okay with not using one so it is kind of romantic and their first time with nothing between them and they feel closer and more intimate, but when he is about to pull out reader says it feels too good and tells him not to and so rafe is like “I’m gonna cum, I can’t hold it baby” and practically begs him to just cum inside (and he is like what? Are you sure?) and reader is like “I don’t care. Don’t pull out”

omfffffg. this is hot🤤 also, i did switch it to jj, hope that’s fr okay🥺🫶🏻 this just gives jj vibes bc rafe be fuckin’ without a condom no matter what, man does not gaf.

CW: 18+ only! strong language, fem receiving oral, protected sex, eventual unprotected sex, cream pie, praise and degrading.

“J, I’ve told you, let’s just practice your pulling out with a condom, and then I promise, once you can control yourself, we’ll go raw.”

You want to feel closer to him, feel all of him, as much as he does you. And even though you’ve been on birth control since the two of you started dating — two years — you’re too afraid it won’t be effective.

And the last thing you and JJ need is a baby. You’re not financially in a spot to support a child, so for now, you continue using the protective barrier.

JJ sighs. “You’re right, baby.”

You can’t help but frown. You understand how frustrated he is, you’re just as frustrated, but you’re just doing what you feel is best. You want to feel JJ raw, but you just cannot risk it right now.

“Wanna practice now?” You ask with a smirk on your lips.

JJ grins widely, showcasing his perfectly straight, white teeth. “Absolutely I do.”

He walks toward you, his large hands grabbing your thighs and lifting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist, giggling when he slaps at your ass. “‘M gonna enjoy fucking you, taking out my frustration on you. Once I get my control, ‘m taking this sweet fucking pussy raw.”

The two of you reach his bedroom in the chateau, and he tosses you onto the bed, making you squeal and giggle uncontrollably. “Fuck me, JJ. Take your frustrations out on me. I can’t wait to feel all of you, so learn control fast.”

-

It’s been two weeks of you and JJ practicing his pulling out with a condom on. He’s finally ready, he finally gets pulled out perfectly, and you know he’s going to come to you soon about going raw.

“Baby, c’mon. I wanna taste you.”

You smile, taking a bite of the apple you’d grabbed out of the fruit bowl. “Mmm, I dunno baby. ‘M not really in the mood.” You joke.

JJ’s eyes narrow. He takes two long steps toward you, making you step back. Your back presses into the counter behind you, and his arms come to rest on the counter on either side of you, caging you in. He lifts his right hand, running it down the side of your face before he knocks your apple into the floor, making you gasp.

“I was eating that!”

He runs his hands down your sides, resting them on your hips. He tightly grips at your waist, lifting you and resting your ass on the countertop. “So? I wanna eat now. I’m starved baby.”

You suck in a sharp breath when his fingers find your exposed thighs, running them up slowly until they disappear under the soft fabric of your dress.

His fingers find your panties, running over the soaked material. “She’s already wet for me baby. Begging for my tongue and cock.”

Your hips buck off the counter, and a moan escapes your lips. He pulls your ass to the edge of the counter, and you place your hands behind you, supporting your weight and keeping yourself from falling.

He drops to a squatting position, tossing your legs over his shoulders and pushing your panties to the side. He runs his index finger through your arousal soaked core, gathering your arousal on his finger before removing it and bringing it to his lips, humming in approval. “Hmmm. So fuckin’ sweet, always baby. Like fucking honey.”

You moan loudly at the sound of his low and raspy voice, the dirty words making your pussy wetter.

“Shit! Stop teasing, J.”

He smirks, leaning his head forward and sinking his teeth into your inner thigh, making sure to leave marks. “J, please?” You beg, the feel of his tongue running over your inner thighs, licking over the fresh teeth marks, has you squirming.

“Such a needy little slut for me.”

He runs his tongue through your slick folds, slowly licking you from your entrance to your clit. Your entire body jerks when the tip of his tongue licks over your sensitive bud.

JJ’s tongue pushes inside your entrance, teasing you as he rubs lazy circles around your clit. He flattens his tongue, his head moving up and down as he devours your pussy. He pulls his head back, shoving two fingers inside you and sucking your clit into his mouth. He licks and sucks at your clit, fingers harshly pushing in and out of you until he has your entire body shaking.

“JJ-” you breathe out. “Fuck me, please”

He slows his fingers, letting your clit fall from his mouth with a pop. He removes your legs from his shoulders, standing to his full height and popping the button on his jeans, his zipper following quickly behind.

You stare down at his hard cock through your lashes, his right hand firmly gripping the base. He strokes himself softly a few times before he teases his head at your entrance. Your heart hammers in your chest, you’re about to feel all of him for the first time, and him feel all of you.

You let out a small whimper when he pushes his head inside. “Fuck, already feels s’much better baby girl, goddamn.”

He slowly sinks more of himself inside you, pushing each inch inside little by little until he fills you to the hilt. A loud moan is ripped from your chest when his swollen tip hits that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

JJ doesn’t move, his eyes squeezed shut as he focuses on the feel of your warm, wet pussy wrapped around him. “Fuck, baby. This pussy feels even better than I imagined, so wet and warm, gripping my cock like she was made for me.”

He begins to slowly pull himself out, his eyes watching in awe at how tightly your pussy gripped him, a creamy ring already formed around his cock.

You whimper as he slowly pulls himself from inside you, missing the feel of his thick cock inside you once he fully pulls out. You open your mouth to beg him to put it back in, but he’s harshly slamming back into you before the words come out, making you cry out his name as his tip nudges against your g-spot.

“F-fuck.. JJ, you feel so fucking good, so b-big! Oh, my God.”

JJ’s hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your soft, plump flesh as he brutally pounds himself into you. “Such a good fucking girl, taking my dick so well, look at how she grips my cock baby. All fuckin’ mine!” he grunts out breathlessly.

Your eyes wander down to where the two of you connect, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, pussy clenching around him tightly from how good it feels to finally feel all of him.

“J-JJ! Fuck, ‘m gonna… ‘M gonna cum! Go harder, please!” you beg, your hands finding his upper arms and gripping at them so hard you feel the skin break beneath your nails.

Your pleas for him to fuck you harder spur him on, his large hands gripping the underside of your ass and lifting you from the countertop. He stills himself inside you, steadying himself and making sure his hold on you is secure before he begins fucking up into you harder, faster.

The room is filled with the lewd squelching of your pussy, skin slapping against skin, and you and JJ’s moans mixing together. Your pussy tightens around him, a sweet tightness building in your lower belly as your orgasm nears. JJ can sense you’re close, his darkened over blue eyes finding yours, “Let go f’me baby. Make a fucking mess all over my cock, wanna feel you come undone around me.”

JJ’s words mixed with his harsh thrusts send you flying off the edge. Your pussy tightens, stars exploding behind your eyes as you come hard, soaking JJ’s cock and thighs. “Fuck! JJ, don’t stop, don’t… Don’t fucking stop!”

“‘M close, princess, gotta… Gotta pull out.” JJ says breathlessly.

You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, burying your face into his neck as your lips attack the skin with bites and kisses. “No! Don’t, don’t pull out, J. Just… Just keep going, shit!”

JJ’s mind goes foggy, hearing you beg him not to pull out was the hottest thing he’d ever heard, and honestly, he didn’t want to pull out, you felt too fucking good to stop. Sure, neither of you were thinking clearly, and he’d definitely have to find the money to buy you a plan B, but it was going to be worth it, to fill your pussy with his cum and watch it drip from your pussy.. Yeah, it was worth it.

His hips begin stuttering, his dick twitching as he thrusts himself up into you a few more times. He feels his dick swell inside you, twitching one final time before the hot ropes of his release spill inside you.

“Ffffuck, baby.” JJ groans, thrusting up one final time.

He sits you back onto the counter, slowly pulling himself from inside you and watching in awe as his thick, white cum leaks from your sensitive hole.

He grins, leaning forward and kissing your lips. “So beautiful when you’re dripping my cum.”

You let out a breathless giggle, your head falling forward as you whisper, “That was worth the wait.. We’re never going back to condoms, ever. ‘Kay?”

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[thatbloodymuggle]

MASTERMIND (v)

FIVE - CHECKMATE

SUMMARY: A child of light and dark, you are the Night Court’s best kept secret. After decades spent in hiding, you yearn to stretch your wings. But you quickly learn that freedom comes with a price, as you find yourself trying to outfox the fox in his own den.

PAIRING: eris vanserra x reader

WORD COUNT: 8.3k

SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: language, graphic violence, smut, rough sex, minimal aftercare, oral (f receiving), p in v, overstimulation, HEAVY angst

You love Rhysand, with all your heart. He welcomed you into Velaris when you had nowhere to go. He gave you not only a home, but a family—and a loving one, at that. But if there’s one thing you can’t stand about the highest of High Lords, it’s his incessant, never-ending, mind-numbing nagging. If patience is a virtue, then he’s a vice.

Any news, my little liaison?

You can sense the question coming before his talons so much as tap on the cobblestone barriers of your mind.  

Not since the last five times you’ve asked.

You know it’s rude, but frankly, you don’t have the energy to hide the irritation laced so clearly in your tone. In your defense, Rhys has doubled the frequency of his daily check-ins, and between the lack of information you have to share and your feelings for Eris that you can no longer ignore, you’re seconds away from winnowing back to Velaris just to give the High Lord a piece of your mind.

Someone’s feisty today.

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and it makes your skin crawl with agitation.

Very. Now if you don’t mind, I have a book to get back to, you snap.

He swiftly replies, Need I remind you that daily check-ins are part of your employment, and that your income is contingent on you doing your job?

You are so going to punch him when you get back.

Don’t pull rank on me, asshole. I’ll get the job done.

The cobblestone barriers go back up and you stare down at the book in your lap with a sour taste in your mouth. Your reading session has effectively been spoiled. But as much as it pains you to admit, Rhys’s incessant nagging doesdrive you into gear. 

After several attempts snooping through the Forest House, you’ve concluded that whatever Eris is hiding isn’t there. So, that leaves one place: the cottage by the waterfall. 

You’ve been putting it off—ever since the night Eris took your virginity. If your emotions were conflicting before, they are at bloody war now. You no longer want any part in this scheme—not when you care for him so deeply, it hurts. But you know that if you return to Velaris now, empty-handed with a week left in your mission, you’ll have no ground to stand on when the accusations come rolling in.

With a long sigh, you set the book down and haul yourself from the comfort of your bed. You don’t want to go to that cottage. Searching it feels like an afront to Eris. However, if you don’t, then the nagging seed planted by the High Lord of the Night Court himself will continue clawing through your thoughts. So, you reluctantly pull on your boots and drape your cloak over your shoulders before winnowing away from that ransack cabin you’re quickly growing to love.

 The kaleidoscope of colors and crashing sounds of the waterfall are just as breathtaking as they were the first time you visited. But they don’t hold the same serenity—perhaps they sense your ulterior motive, somehow dimming their magic. As you make your way to the watermill, you don’t allow yourself to indulge in the natural beauty of this place, or the memories of what transpired the last time you were here. You have a job to do, and it requires searching every inch of that little cottage—if not to quiet Rhys’s nagging, then to satiate your own budding curiosity.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It's much easier said than done—letting the mind’s rationality dominate the body’s desires. All those ancient philosophers were fools for thinking that the two entities could be separated, when they are so inherently intertwined.

You weren’t surprised that there was nothing to be found in that little cottage. With a heavy heart, you find yourself perched atop a boulder at the peak of the waterfall, just inches away from the ledge. It feels poetic—physically placing yourself on the brink of crashing down just as your inner sense of self teeters on the edge. 

This place, in all its magnificence, has changed you. Whether it’s for better or for worse, you’re unsure. But you know that you won’t leave Autumn as the same woman who came. Not when you’ve experienced so much. It’s not the sights you’ve seen, or the raw nature you’ve lived in. Rather, it’s the unification of your mind and body, fused together by an otherworldly force you’ve only read about. 

The thought of leaving, of losing that piece that’s been missing for 70 years, makes your chest ache. You don’t want to lose Eris—you can’t. But staying means continuing to live a lie until he finds out who you really are. Staying means losing him indefinitely. 

As you stare out at the falling water, you plead for some kind of clarity. Something to push you in the right direction. The red and golden trees which remind you so much of your mother billow softly in the wind, rustling in a hushed whisper. Your chest tightens with a different kind of pain. It’s now, more than ever before, that you need her here. You don’t even need to hear her voice, just the warmth of her embrace. So, you close your eyes and relax each muscle in your body, from your head to your toes. You focus on the whispers of the trees, the grumblings of the water, and allow light to take you. You can feel it extending from your fingertips, wrapping around your body just as she would. It’s warm—just like her. And as your eyes flutter open, her light flooding your vision, the answer comes to you.

You can’t leave Eris behind with the memory of a female who doesn’t exist. Nor can you stay here, waiting until he figures you out for himself or Rhys comes looking. If you come clean, Eris won’t be forgiving. But at least this way, with all your metaphorical cards laid out on the table, you’ll both have the peace of mind to move on, for better or for worse.

The light surrounding you rushes back into your fingertips and you take one last glance at the beautiful scenery before you, imprinting it in your memory, before winnowing away without a second thought. The dusty cabin greets you as it always does, and you move with purpose towards the pen Eris had once left you on your bedside table. You hastily tear a page from one of Nesta’s books, and scribble onto the back.

Can I see you tonight? 

You pause in thought, before adding,

My filthy little romance books are becoming a bit boring.

A satisfied smile curls onto your lips, and you neatly fold the page in half before setting it back down on the table. Despite the raging storm looming ahead, the little bit of light heartedness puts your poor nerves at ease. You find yourself unable to sit still as you pace around the cabin, your eyes never leaving the note. Goosebumps erupt along your arms when the piece of paper vanishes with a crack. You hold your breath as you wait for a reply—but it doesn’t come. You stare, unmoving, at the spot where the note once sat. You stare at that dusty table until the gold of the setting sun floods through the windows, until it eventually leaves, until you’re left with only the flickering flames behind you lighting the bleak space.

Frustration bubbles in the pit of your stomach. You’ve barely seen Eris since that fateful night in his room. Sure, you’ve had a few visits to the Forest House library since, but they’ve been brief—cut short by his work. Aside from a few passing kisses and fleeting embraces, you haven’t been with Eris in the same way in nearly a week now. As you watch the empty spot on the table, you’re forced to consider the possibility that he may not receive your message, let alone reply; and you have no Plan B if he doesn’t.

To keep yourself from spiraling, you reluctantly tear your eyes away from the table and resign yourself to the kitchen. You redirect your attention by busying yourself with preparing a small dinner. As you rifle through the sparce number of ingredients in your cabinet, you decide that cabbage and potatoes will have to do. You work leisurely preparing your food, all the while keeping an eye on the bedside table in your peripheral. 

Just as you turn the heat off on the stove, a pair of hands grip your waist. Fear courses through you as you whip around with a scream and a knife in your hand. Amber eyes wink back at you, unfazed by the weapon inches away. Your shoulders sag in relief, but you don’t lower the knife as your eyes narrow into slits. Eris plucks the sharp object from your hand.

“I thought you wanted to see me, Little Bird,” he muses, running a finger along the pointed edge.

Your glare deepens, “A little heads up would have been nice. I’ve been waiting hours for a reply.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth as he twirls the blade in his hand. Your lips part as he raises the knife to your face, tracing the dull edge down your cheekbone, along your jawline, before finally settling under your chin. He tilts it slightly, forcing your chin upwards so your eyes meet his. His jaw is clenched and the typically playful glint in his eye is replaced with something slightly more sinister, exuding a cruel beauty you’ve only caught glimpses of before.

“I know you’re drawn to shiny toys, Little Bird, but you should be careful playing with such sharp things,” he drawls, pressing the blade deeper against your skin, “Haven’t you heard that curiosity killed the cat?”

You gulp as a chill prickles your skin. Despite the impish smirk on his face, there’s something more than mere teasing to his words.

“But satisfaction brought it back,” you quip.

A cinch forms between your brows as you try to decipher the hardness of his features. But just as suddenly as the mystery was there, it’s gone. He lowers the knife and sets it down, stepping away from you. He leans against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. He quirks a brow and jerks his head towards the pot of food on the stove, “Well don’t stop on my accord.”

You reluctantly tear your eyes away from his and turn back towards the steaming pot of cabbage and potatoes. You work in a mechanical manner, acutely aware of his penetrating gaze burning holes in the side of your head. Tension is thick in the air. Something is off; your mind screams at you to ask him what’s wrong, but an even greater force keeps the words contained in your throat. He watches as you walk towards the cupboard, standing on your toes to reach the plates on the top shelf. You can hear him shift behind you as you grab two plates and walk back over to the stove. You scoop a modest serving onto one plate, and just as you’re about to scoop out another onto the second plate, his sharp words slice through the silence.

“What are you doing?”

You pause and cock your head towards him. 

“Serving you food,” you stumble, taken aback by the trepidation in his widened eyes, “I made more than I can eat. I know it’s not much, but I figured—”

He strides forward and wraps his hand around your wrist, forcing you to drop the small pot back onto the stove. You wince at the loud clatter of the metal and turn to face him fully. Your eyes are wide with incredulity, irritation blazing.

“What in the world has gotten into you? Have you lost any semblance of manners?” you hiss, yanking your wrist out of his grasp.

His jaw shifts as he grinds his teeth. Eris stalks closer to you, grabbing your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. You weakly try to push him away, but his grip is firm.

“Did you forget your little note? I thought you wanted me here for a reason,” his demeanor shifts as he speaks in a low rumble, tracing the tip of his nose along your cheek. He rubs circles onto your waist and trails open-mouthed kisses down the expanse of your face, your neck, purposefully avoiding your lips.

“I do,” you gasp as he nips at a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, “But we need to talk.”

He presses your further into the counter, “I’m not in the mood.”

You frown, “But—”

His lips crash against yours, effectively cutting you off. Your mind is spinning, yet you can’t help but melt into his touch. The kiss is fast and sloppy but addicting all the same. His tongue swipes along your lower lip, and your mouth parts without hesitation. His lips leave yours and he redirects his attention to your neck, giving you a moment to breathe, a moment for the fog in your head to clear.

“Eris, I—”

“Please,” he groans against your skin and raises his head. He presses his forehead against yours, “Please just let me have this.”

For a split second, his hardened exterior falters and you catch glimpse of a sliver of vulnerability—of pure desperation. The pleading look in his eyes tugs at something deep in your chest, urging you to nod once.

“Okay,” you whisper.

 His lips are back on yours quicker than your rapid heartbeat. This time, you hold nothing back, giving yourself to him entirely. You match his fervor, driven by that sorrowful whisper in the back of your mind that this will be the last time. And if tonight will be your last, then you selfishly wish to leave with this last memory of him. So as your lips slide against his, you memorize every part of him: the tickling sensation of his chapped lips, each ridge of his biceps, the silk of his crimson hair.

“You said you wanted me to let loose last time,” he mumbles into your mouth and yanks the zipper of your dress down, “So I’m letting loose.”

He shoves the material down your shoulders and walks you back towards the bed. You let him lead you and match his rhythm, never missing a beat. Your knees buckle as you hit the back of the bed, and you collapse onto it together in a heap. Eris doesn’t waste a second as he unclasps your bra, and you just as eagerly pull off his shirt. You whine when he abruptly pulls away, but your protests catch in your throat as he moves down your body to your breasts. Your eyes flutter shut, and you tangle your hands in his hair as he kisses, sucks, and nips every inch of your flesh. Your back arches as he swirls his tongue around your peaked nipple and flicks his thumb over the other.

You jolt as he strokes his other hand along the side of your breast where black ink is etched into your skin, hidden from his view by your glamour. Heat pools in your gut as his lips trail down your body, your heartbeat accelerating as he inches towards the trim of your panties. Amber eyes flick up to you. He hooks his fingers underneath the band of your panties, and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of his pupils blown wide with desire. 

“Talk to me, Little Bird. Use that sharp tongue of yours,” he rasps.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip to contain your whimper as he stretches the band before letting it snap back harshly against your skin.

“I want you between my thighs. I want your mouth on me, your hands all over my body.” He pulls the flimsy material down and you spread your legs, baring yourself to him entirely. Your voice trembles, but you continue, “I want my lips wrapped around your cock. I want you to fuck me into oblivion. I want it all.”

You gasp as he slides a finger through your slick before circling it around your clit.

“Greed is a sin, Little Bird,” he purrs.

Eris slides his other hand up your thigh, wasting no time as he thrusts a finger inside you. A muffled moan escapes your lips as he curls his finger, all the while continuing his ministrations on your clit.

Even with your mind scrambled you still manage to bite back, “Good thing I’m dealing with the devil himself.”

You’re unable to stifle your cry as Eris lurches forward. He dives right in, his lips wrapping around your clit. He continues curling his finger, hitting that delicious spot deep inside you, as his tongue moves skillfully over the swollen bud. He uses his free hand to spread your legs even wider, giving him complete access to the most intimate part of your body. You tangle one hand in his hair, the other grasping the sheets in a white-knuckled grip. You arch your back as he alternates between sucking and flicking his tongue. He quickly picks up his speed, foregoing any teasing, and sinks a second finger into you.

You clench your thighs around his head as you feel the pressure rapidly building in your gut. You tug harshly on his hair in a wordless command to stop before you can finish, but he ignores you. Instead, he buries himself even further, shaking his head as he devours you.

“If you don’t stop, I’ll—”

His teeth graze over your clit, and that’s all it takes for the coil inside you to snap. A pitiful moan escapes your lips as you reach your climax, the orgasm wracking your body so hard you can feel it in your bones. Eris continues flicking his tongue over you, his fingers still moving as he rides you through your release. Unlike last time, he doesn’t stop when your thighs start twitching violently, or when you yank on his hair. A pained cry bubbles in your throat as he keeps going. It’s too much—the overstimulation burns, and your vision starts to blur.

“Eris, please,” you pull again on his hair and he growls against you, “It’s too much.”

He keeps going, even as your thighs close tightly around his head. Black spots dance in your vision, and just when you think you’re about to slip from consciousness, he abruptly pulls off. A sigh of relief passes through your lips and your limbs fall limp. You glance down at him through hooded eyes, watching as he sucks his fingers into his mouth before moving up your body. His tongue flicks out to catch a tear trailing down your cheek.

“I thought you were sinning tonight, Little Bird. Have you a change of heart?” he taunts.

You jolt as his hand reaches down between you and rolls over your clit, swollen red. You grasp his biceps in protest, and he sucks and licks at your neck before pulling his hand away reluctantly.

“I wanted to finish with you inside of me,” you mutter bashfully, a flush crawling up your neck at how quickly he pulled an orgasm out of you.

“Don’t worry, darling. I plan on it,” he mouths at the corner of your lips and rolls his hips against yours, “We’re being greedy tonight, aren’t we?”

You arch your body into his, as if drawn by some magnetic pull. He grinds his hips against yours once more, and you can feel his painfully hard member against your thigh. You throw caution to the wind and wrap your arms around his neck, slotting your lips against his. He responds eagerly, groaning into your mouth as you palm him through the fabric of his pants. You fumble with the fastenings and Eris helps you push the material down in record time, his lips never leaving yours. You slip your tongue into his mouth and simultaneously shove against his shoulders. He flips onto his back, gripping your hips to pull you on top of him. You sink your teeth softly into his bottom lip before pulling away. Eris watches you intently as you gaze down at his throbbing cock sitting proudly against his stomach. He sucks in a breath as you wrap your hand around his member, rolling your thumb over the tip. 

Your eyes light up as an idea crosses your mind, and you lock your eyes with his. His jaw falls slack as you run your fingers through your folds before wrapping your hand around him once more. You use your own dripping arousal as lubricant to move along his length, setting a steady rhythm with the twisting of your wrist. 

“Fuck,” Eris groans, “You truly are sinful.”

You swoop down and wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, but before you can take him completely into your mouth, he hooks his arms underneath yours and yanks you back up his body, as if you weigh nothing. He props himself up with his back against the headboard, forcing you to straddle his lap. You pout at his rough handling but can’t contain the moan that pours from your lips as he jerks his hips upwards, rubbing his cock between your folds.

“Playtime’s over, Little Bird,” Eris pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking it harshly before releasing it, “I’d rather see you ride my cock like the sinner that you are.”

Something about the low grumble of his words, the way the syllables roll off his tongue, stirs something deep inside of you. You raise your hips up slightly, hovering back and forth over his dick in a teasing maneuver. You snake a hand up his shoulder and around his neck, sinking your nails into the skin of his nape. 

“Those who play with the devil’s toys will be brought by degrees to wield his sword,” you whisper sensually against the corner of his mouth.

He grips your hips tightly, steadying you so your entrance hovers directly above the tip of his dick. His blunt nails scrape against your skin in warning, and he bites back, “Speak of the devil, and his horns appear.”

A strangled cry escapes your lips as he forcefully pulls you down, impaling you on his cock. Your head spins at the burning stretch, the overwhelming fullness of being seated directly on him. Gone is the softness, the reverence of your first time with him, and in its place an unsatiable beast. He barely gives you a minute to adjust.

“Go on then,” he grunts, blunt nails still digging into your hips.

You force yourself to breathe through your nose as you steady yourself on his shoulders before rising up slowly, until just his tip remains. He pulls you back down again, impatient, and you moan in unison at the spine-tingling feeling. Your brows cinch together in concentration as you repeat the movement, slowly becoming accustomed to the new position. His hands guide you, and you fall into a steady rhythm bouncing on his cock. A spark of pleasure rolls through you each time you bottom out, your clit rubbing against his abdomen.

You throw your head back as Eris’s hands snake up your waist and caress your breasts which bounce with each rise and fall. You increase your speed, but your thighs are beginning to tremble. The sweat on your palms makes your hands slide from his shoulders as you fuck yourself on his cock, struggling to chase that high you both so desperately seek. Sensing your exertion, Eris wraps his hand around your neck in a stabilizing maneuver before bucking his hips upwards. You gasp at the sensation, your rhythm faltering. He does it again, and your hands slip from his shoulders completely. He hits you so deeply, you’re sure that there’s a bulge in your stomach.

A long string of moans passes through your lips as Eris continues bucking his hips wildly. You collapse into his hold, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder as he fucks up into you so quickly your vision spots. 

“Can’t handle the heat, Little Bird?” he pants, “Didn’t think you’d be so quick to give up.”

You whine in protest but remain pliant in his arms as you let him use you. He alternates his pace, switching from long, deep thrusts to short, shallow ones that build up your high before stripping it away in a torturous manner. 

“Fox got your tongue?” he taunts.

You sink your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your cries as he continues his punishing pace. He suddenly stills, but before you can even raise your head from his shoulder, he flips you over so your back is against the mattress, hair splayed across your pillows. Eris pulls out completely, and your cunt clenches at the emptiness. He raises your legs, draping them over his shoulders and pulling you flush to his body. For a split second, everything stops, and all you can see, think, touch, and taste his him. The sweat beading on his brow, the rosy flush over his freckled cheeks, and the distant look in those amber eyes you so desperately want to wipe away. Just as suddenly, he plunges back into you with brutal force. 

A string of incoherent babbles falls from your lips as he drives into you, hitting your g-spot over and over again. You scramble for purchase as he straightens his back and pulls your thighs flush to his chest. A tear slips from the corner of your eye at the back-breaking angle.

“Come on, Little Bird,” he grunts as he drives into you, “Talk to me.”

He leans forward, caging you between his elbows as he folds your pliable body in half. The constant switching of angles is dizzying, and you splutter for words through cries of pleasure.

“I can’t,” you all but sob as you desperately claw at his back.

“Yes you can,” he pushes, “Tell me how much you love this.”

He snakes a hand between you and begins rubbing circles over your throbbing clit in perfect time with the force of his thrusts.

“I—I love it,” you gasp, writhing underneath him as the pleasure rapidly builds to a breaking point.

“I know you do,” he moans, his forehead dropping against yours, “No one else can make you feel this good, can they? No one else can absolutely ruin you.”

Your walls flutter around him as your high looms, just seconds away. You shake your head, tears rolling freely down your cheeks.

“Only you,” you cry, “Ruin me, Eris.”

The wave comes crashing over you so violently it feels like drowning. You have no control over the incoherent syllables stringing from your mouth, the convulsing of your thighs, as for the first time in your life, your body separates completely from your mind. Eris crashes his lips against yours as he quickly follows, spilling into you with a guttural groan that shakes you to your core. He continues thrusting into you in a languid manner, coaxing out both of your orgasms and filling you to the brim. You barely manage to move your lips against his, but he strokes his thumb over your cheek in a gentle, soothing manner—a contrast to the roughness with which he’s handled you tonight. You gradually sink into the kiss as you come down from your high and run your hand through his crimson hair, matching his soft touch.

You breathe each other in, relishing in the taste of him. As the ecstasy of your orgasm subsides, another bone-shattering force takes its place: the bitter reminder that these will be your last moments with the male who has so effortlessly turned your world upside down.

Your chest tightens as he detaches his lips from yours, not ready for it to end. His eyes lock onto yours in a fleeting moment of vulnerability before trailing down to the tears still streaming freely down your cheeks. He avoids your gaze as he wipes them away, one by one, with a tender touch. You raise a shaky hand and brush back his tousled hair in a silent plea for him to look at you, to reveal the storm stirring behind his eyes. Instead he pulls away completely, and eases his softening cock out from inside of you. You wince at the combination of physical overstimulation and emotional dejection.

Eris flops onto his back beside you, his chest still heaving. You tentatively peek at him through your peripheral, and find him staring up at the ceiling blankly. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, head spinning as you debate whether or not to break the heavy silence. You divert your gaze to the flaming fireplace in front of you.

“Eris?” you whisper meekly.

He merely grunts in response.

You wet your lips before continuing, “I have to tell you something.”

The sheets don’t so much as rustle; the only sound that fills the quaint little cabin is the crackling of embers. Still, you continue.

“I’m not who I say I am,” your voice trembles. 

Silence. Blistering, gut-wrenching silence.

You turn onto your side, and your heart drops at the sight before you. His eyes are fluttered shut, long lashes gracing the tops of his cheekbones. His swollen lips are parted slightly, and his chest moves steadily with each deep breath—dead asleep. You squint your eyes shut, fighting the urge to scream with frustration. This was not how the night was supposed to go. You were supposed to come clean, to end things in the best way possible given the complexity of your circumstances. But it seems the universe has something else in store for you.

You stare blankly at Eris as he sleeps, silently willing him to stir. Instead, his breathing only slows further, and soft snores start to sound from his lips. Anxiety creeps up your arms, threatening to swallow you whole. The thought alone of waiting a second longer to confess is all-consuming—but you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. As you stare at the strong bridge of his nose, you try your best to reassure yourself. Just one more night, and it will all be over.

You crawl underneath the covers, the chilliness of the cabin prickling your skin, and resign yourself to sleep. But even with the warm comfort of the crackling hearth, sleep doesn’t come kindly—not with your racing mind. You try slowing your breaths to match the steady rise and fall of Eris’s chest. You even try counting imaginary sheep in your head, but each time you reach the brink of consciousness you’re abruptly ripped away, leaving it just beyond your reach. With a huff, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You shiver as your bare feet touch the dust-covered floor. Even with the blazing fire in the corner, the chilling autumn winds seem to sneak through the cracks in the walls of the ransack cabin.

You wrap your arms around your bare body and hastily pull on Eris’s tunic before padding towards the kitchenette. The food you’d prepared for the two of you sits on the counter, untouched. The cabbage and potatoes are cold and bland without the proper spices but do the job, temporarily relieving you from the onslaught of your thoughts and the hunger pains from missing your dinner.

 As you eat, you can’t help but study Eris’s sleeping form. Something was off with him tonight. More than just off—looking into his eyes made you feel like a stranger. After your revelation by the waterfall, continuing with your mission wasn’t even an option in your mind. But after tonight…something’s changed. Eris was so detached, so emotionally distant in a way he’s never been before. 

For the first time during your stay, you saw a sign, a confirmation that he is hiding secrets. Beron’s were hidden in plain sight, albeit contained by a magical ward. But Beron is a hubristic male. Eris, on the other hand, is more covert, more sly and cunning—he is, after all, the Fox himself. It wouldn’t make sense for his secrets to be hidden in the Forest House, where his father could get his hands on them, or anywhere Beron knows about, for that matter. But Eris is far too paranoid to leave them hidden out in the forest or the town, where anyone could stumble upon them. He would keep his secrets somewhere only he knows—somewhere he trusts. Or rather, with someone he trusts.

The fork clatters against the counter and your hand goes limp. A chilling realization dawns over you, your eyes widening and lips parting in disbelief. You are the only person in Autumn Eris trusts. Beron has no idea who you are, let alone where you live. You have no real ties to this court. 

They’re here. His secrets are hidden in this dusty, little, ransack cabin.

The initial shock fades and the loud clatter of metal finally registers. You squint at the male in your bed, watching carefully for any changes in his steady breathing. He must be a deep sleeper, you surmise, as the sound of his soft snores still fill the room. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stand from the stool and glance around the small room. Your revelation is so profound, you have no idea where to start.

With trembling hands, you start searching the kitchenette—opening every drawer, inspecting the bottom of the sink, turning over each mug in your cabinet. You move slowly to temper the adrenaline surging through you, careful not to wake the male sleeping in your bed. As you redirect your search to the bathroom, you don’t leave a single spot unturned. And with each possible hiding spot that comes up empty, your hope diminishes a little bit.

Frustration bubbles as you crouch down underneath the bed, only to be met with an empty, dirty floor. Whatever he’s hiding has to be here—there’s no alternative. But after checking every piece of peeling wallpaper, every pocket of your skirts and cloaks, there’s nothing to be found. You plop down in front of the fireplace with a long sigh. You’re technically a genius. Your IQ score is off the charts. But the Fox has you completely and utterly stumped. How hard is it to find a damned hiding spot? You glance up at the red bricks of the fireplace, asking the Mother for some sort of sign. Just a small indication that you’re on the right track, a little—

That brick wasn’t always jutting out.

Your lips part as you study the piece of brick poking out ever so slightly from the rest of the wall. You rub your eyes with the heels of your hands, but it’s still there. Bingo.

You rise on shaky legs, peering behind you to make sure Eris is still asleep. The brick is high, but just within your reach when you stand on your tip toes. Your heart pounds in your chest as you grip the edges and pull. It slides out of the wall like it was never meant to be there. Your stomach lurches as you nearly drop the brick, not having prepared yourself for the weight of it. You set it down quietly on the mantle and look up at the hole in the wall. The sight of parchment peeking out wages a war of conflicting emotions inside of you.

On one hand, you’re elated that after three weeks in this court, just when you were about to give up, you’ve finally found something. But on the other, a part of you was hoping you would find nothing at all. The same part that has grown to care deeply for the male sleeping soundly behind you. The same part that dreads having to leave this place, even in all its cruelty.

You take one last look at the crimson-haired male behind you. He hasn’t moved an inch—in fact, he seems to have sunk deeper into the mattress. With a steadying breath, you rise on your tip toes again and pull out the stack of papers. Your hands are trembling so violently, you can hardly read the letters in front of you.

The first piece of parchment contains notes tracking Koshei’s possible whereabouts, his movements throughout the courts. You read through the scribbled handwriting several times, hoping to imprint it in your memory. Eris doesn’t seem to know more than Azriel has been able to surmise with his shadows, but you store it in your mind, just in case. The next is a series of correspondences with an herbalist in the Dawn Court discussing a variety of deadly poisons. Eris seems to be interested in purchasing an odorless one, undetectable even by his highly trained smokehounds. You presume this to be part of his plot to assassinate Beron, but still make note of the names of the herbs and ingredients to report back to Rhys. 

The third, and final, item in the stack is a neatly folded piece of parchment. You set the other papers down and slowly unfold it, careful not to make any noise. Your heart catches in your throat as you smooth it out and turn it around. There’s one word, written with a sharp precision that contrasts the messy scribbles in his other notes. 

Checkmate.

A stitch forms between your brows as you read the single word over and over again. Checkmate? Your tight grip on the paper loosens, blood rushing from your face. You whip around, and bile rises to your throat at the sight of an empty bed. 

Your fight or flight instinct kicks in and you make a run towards the door, but not quickly enough. You cry out as a force throws you against the wall, your head smacking hard against brick. Your legs give out and you crumple to the ground, but strong arms haul you from the floor and pin you against the wall. 

“Stupid little girl, you really thought you could outwit me?”

You squint through blurred vision, and the deadly look in Eris’s cold eyes makes you wish it had been a killing blow. Scorching flames wrap around your wrists, pinning them to the wall. A wave of nausea rolls through you at the unmistakable scent of your burning skin, but you grit your teeth to keep from crying for mercy.

“Answer me,” he seethes, flames crawling up your arms.

“You figured me out,” you hiss at the unrelenting pain, “What do you want me to say?”

Your eyes shoot wide open as he wraps his hand around your throat.

“I want you to look me in the eye, and repent,” he spits, “And maybe I’ll spare you.”

“I have nothing to repent,” you speak sharply, even with his hand wrapped tightly around your throat, “I meant everything I did. Everything I said.”

You gasp as he squeezes your windpipe, forcing a rush of blood to your ashen face, “You think me a fool?” he bellows, “You think I believe a word that comes out of that filthy mouth? You’re out of your depth, Little Bird.”

The nickname that once made you swoon suddenly holds a new meaning. You splutter as his grip tightens, black spots dancing in your vision. You barely register the fire wrapped around your wrists anymore as you feel yourself slowly slipping from consciousness. But before you go, you focus on his eyes once more.

The amber you so love is gone, and as you look into their void, you picture the sweetness of the honey that was once there. If this is your end, you wish to leave with that memory. You shut your eyes tight, and the fire around your wrist transforms into his gentle grip, holding your hands above your head as he makes love to you slowly. The pressure on your throat isn’t his crushing hold, but the words you always wanted to say and never had the chance to. 

You’re fading quickly, but before you go you open your eyes once more. And just when you feel the tips of your fingers going numb, you feel an unmistakable tug, deep inside your chest—a single, shining thread of gold tying him to you. 

“Mate,” you gasp through blue lips.

Suddenly, you can breathe again. The pressure on your throat ceases, the flaming binds on your wrists vanish, and you crumple to the ground in a heap. You cough and heave violently, but nothing comes out. You don’t dare look up from the dust-covered floor beneath you, and you tremble when you see Eris’s knees bend in your peripheral as he crouches down. He hooks a cold finger underneath your chin, yanking your head up to his.

Gone is the fiery anger in his eyes, and in its place, nothing at all. They’re empty—hauntingly so. His voice is level, void of emotion as he speaks.

“It’s time to run back to your master like a good little bitch. If you ever step foot into this court again, I’ll arrange for a long-awaited family reunion with your loving father.”

The shining thread of gold quivers as your heart splits in two. 

You barely register the second-degree burns on your wrists as you twist the silver ring off your thumb and blindly slide it onto his middle finger.

“Beron knows you’re up to something,” your voice is so scratchy it’s barely recognizable, “He keeps logs of your whereabouts in the second drawer of his desk.”

His hand drops from underneath your chin, and with one last look into those empty eyes, you use the little strength you have left to winnow away.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You land in the House of Wind just as you left the little, ransack cabin—in a pathetic heap of sorrow. The golden thread pulls taut in protest, and you yank at the neckline of Eris’s shirt—as if doing so will snap that damned string apart. Uneven breaths leave your lips as you rip the fabric down the middle so you can claw at your bare chest. You need to get it out, need to the break the thread, need to not feel him.

Tears finally spring to your eyes, and sobs wrack your body as you pull, kick, scratch, anything to get rid of it. You barely register the panicked voices around you, the darkness enveloping you as Azriel wraps his wings around you to shield your nude form. You can only see clouded tears. You can only hear your pounding heart. And you can only feel that stupid fucking thread.

 Hands wrap around your arms, pulling them from your chest. You kick your legs, trying desperately to free yourself from the vice-like grip. 

“Get Madja. Now,” Rhys’s stern voice sounds like its miles away.

You yank your arms free and keep scratching at your bloodied chest, but just as quickly as the grip was gone, it’s back again.

“I need it out. Get it out. Please. Cut it, break it, burn it, I don’t care. I can’t feel him,” you don’t recognize your hoarse voice as you blubber through sobs.

 Another pair of arms wrap around your ankles, halting your thrashing legs. More hands join, holding the ripped tunic closed over your chest. When another pair of hands holds your head steady, you think you might implode.

Get off, stop touching me, leave me alone, you scream, but nothing comes out. Are you drowning? You can feel the water rushing, flooding your lungs as you desperately try to swim to surface. This must be Death, coming to save you from your miserable existence.

Suddenly, a flash of blinding light fills the air, and you can breathe again. The tears stop, and with your vision clear, you look around the room to assess the damage left in the wake of your storm.

Azriel, Rhys, Feyre, and Madja stand wide-eyed on the opposite end of the room, your outburst having sent them flying backwards. You stare back, eyes cloudy in an almost dream-like state. It feels like floating—your post-breakdown haze. You don’t feel the bond tugging in your chest. You don’t feel anything at all, really.

“Y/N,” Feyre’s tone is soft, like coaxing a child, “You’re hurt. Madja needs to take a look at your wounds.”

You shake your head and croak, “I’m fine.”

“Your hands are burned to crisps and there’s blood all over your head,” Rhys deadpans, earning an elbow in the ribs from his mate.

You raise a hand to the back of your head and feel something wet and sticky. You pull it back to see scarlet red coating your fingertips. A humorless laugh passes through your lips at the sight. You felt the burning on your wrists, the crushing of your throat. But the cracking of your head seemed to go undetected—you suppose you really do have a hard head, as Cassian always says. Your lips stretch into a wide, sinister grin, and your humorless chuckle transforms into a manic laugh. You must look like a madman, driven to the brink of sanity. 

Your laughter halts abruptly and the grin falls from your face as Azriel takes a step forward. You simply stare at him, no emotion in your big, doe eyes. He takes another step forward, and when you make no move to stop him, he continues approaching you like one would a wild, rabid animal.

You don’t protest this time as he crouches down in front of you and unfurls his wings, concealing your body once again. His hazel eyes search yours desperately for some sort of feeling—but there’s nothing there.

“Can I take you somewhere more private for Madja to take a look at you?” he whispers.

The pity in his eyes leaves a sour taste in your mouth. But you don’t protest—nor do you respond. He takes your silence as permission and moves slowly again as he wraps an arm underneath your knees and behind your back. You simply stare up at the ceiling as he rises to his full height with you limp in his arms. Azriel’s shadows dance frantically around him, his wings still curled around your exposed form, as he walks you towards the door of the living room.

You can hear Feyre and Rhys mumbling amongst themselves, but choose to block them out. You can see Azriel’s shadows swirling in your peripheral, checking on your wounds before reporting back to their master. But you don’t so much as blink an eye. You continue staring blankly at the ceiling, even when he sets you down. You let him remove the tattered tunic and wrap a silk night robe over your nude frame. You don’t so much as twitch when he places a soft kiss to your head before leaving you to Madja. 

Madja works quickly, but thoroughly, sensing your itching desire to leave. She asks many questions, to which you either shake your head, nod, or shrug your shoulders. The healer explains what kind of care each of your wounds will require—you think you remember her saying something about a concussion. You all but run out of the room the moment she finishes with you, but regret your decision instantly when you swing the door open.

Big, brown eyes stare back at you. 

You can’t look at her right now. If you look at her, let alone speak to her, then you might feel again. And you can’t risk feeling.

So, you don’t stop. You brush past Mor, the hurt in her identical eyes not registering in your mind. She reaches out to wrap a hand around your wrist but pauses at the layers of bandages covering them. The sound of her protests is muffled by the grain of your haze as you continue down the hallway. You can feel them all staring, but you look at no one, and they leave you be. 

Your room is exactly how you left it: crumpled sheets, books strewn about, and a crackling hearth. But you’re not the same person you were three weeks ago. And you can’t look into that damn fire without losing it all over again.

You sit on the edge of your bed, as far away as possible from the fireplace. Even on the opposite side of the room, you can hear the popping embers, feel the warming rays. You shut your eyes tight, bounce your leg, anything to distract. But it’s still there, taunting. You can’t stay here, in this room. You can’t stay in this house, for that matter—not when everything is a bitter reminder of who you used to be, of what you’ve lost. 

Stone-faced, you rise from the unmade bed and grab a bag from the depths of your closet. You mindlessly throw in a mess of clothes, the rainy-day cash you’ve saved up, and a couple of necessities. You grab a piece of parchment from your desk and scribble a note.

Need to leave for a while. I’ll be back—not sure when. Don’t worry about me.

Simple, but effective. You don’t even recognize your own handwriting as you set the pen down beside the note. The crackling embers of the fire seem to be growing louder by the second, so you hastily grab your bag.

You shut your eyes tightly and will the world around you to twist and fold. You don’t have any particular destination in mind. You’re not sure where you’ll end up—hopefully somewhere far away from here. And as the air contracts around you, you don’t dare look back at the place that once felt like home.

taglist:

@lilah-asteria @goldenmagnolias @myromanempiree @i-know-i-can @hannzoaks @olive-main @lilylilyyyyyy @batboygirlie @stuff-i-found-while-crying @moni-cah @6000-fandoms @melsunshine @roseodelle @rcarbo1 @paliketerson @ktz-bb @l-adynesta

due to a bug, tumblr only lets me mention the first five people in my taglist :( I'm hoping the issue will be resolved at some point soon!

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 5

Part 4

After collecting their bags from the library lockers Jazz led him down the hallway until she found a small, unlocked, empty classroom. The room was barren except for desks and a whiteboard. I guess they don’t bother locking it if there’s nothing worth stealing.

Jazz sat her messenger bag down on the teacher’s desk and pulled a whiteboard marker out of a side pocket.

“Right,” Jazz began, “I don’t know how much you know about ecto-entities and since, as you said, the reports on them tend to be pretty biased, I’m just going to start from scratch. Sounds good?” she rambled.

Tim hopped up onto the front row desk and tried his best to look like an attentive teacher’s pet.

“Yes, Ms Fenton,” he said cheekily.

Jazz gave him an amused look.

“Careful Mr Taylor, or you’ll end up in detention,” she said lightly. She turned to the whiteboard and gathered her thoughts for a moment, then wrote ECTO-ENTITIES in large block letters, “Many people refer to all ecto-entities as ghosts, but this is actually a misnomer. Ghosts as most people think of them, i.e. the restless spirits of the dead, are only a small subset of the ectoplasmic population. There’s plenty of them that were never human to begin with,” higher up on the board, she wrote INFINITE REALMS, “Ecto-entities originate from a parallel dimension to ours, which is called the Infinite Realms by its inhabitants. Though my parents refer to it as the Ghost Zone, that name is woefully inadequate.” Jazz paused and glanced at him.

“Kinda like foreigners renaming places instead of using the one in the native language, gotcha,” Tim nodded. They had dealt with alternate realities before, so this wasn’t completely out of left field. He would go along with it for now. Jazz gave him a small smile.

“That’s right!” she said and tapped the whiteboard, “Now, the Infinite Realms and our dimension are closely interconnected, like two sides of the same coin. Large scale damage to one would cause similar devastation on the opposite side and vice versa,” she gave him a serious look.

“Which makes the hostile attitude of the paranormal research community rather worrying,” Tim mused, “If someone did something stupid the blowback would hit us too,” If he wasn’t trained to read people he would have missed the slight tightening around Jazz’s eyes.

“That’s the theory anyway. And it’s not like the US government ever dropped bombs on people just to see what would happen,” she chirped with false cheeriness.

There’s a story there, Tim thought, and not the kind you would find in a history book. What the hell has been going on?

“I’m guessing getting access to the Infinite Realms isn’t as easy as calling an Uber though,” he joked.

“You’d be surprised,” Jazz said wryly, receiving a raised eyebrow in response, “there are places where the barrier between worlds is naturally thin, allowing temporary rifts to form more easily, but they can pop up pretty much anywhere in the world. It’s what allows ecto-entities to enter our dimension. It’s also not unheard of for humans to stumble into the Realms either, though they’re lucky to return at all,” she twirled the marker between her fingers, “Time doesn’t seem to work the same way in the Realms as it does here. Just in case you ever come across one, make sure to leave through the same portal you entered. Otherwise you might find yourself stranded in the Middle Ages, or far in the future with everyone you know and love long dead.”

Tim had to fight to keep down a wince. The whole Bruce Lost In Time Debacle was still an emotional scar for the family, they really didn’t need a repeat performance.

“Duly noted.”

“Some entities are able to open and close rifts at will,” Jazz continued, unfazed by Tim’s dry tone, ”though that ability seems to be pretty rare. It probably requires an unusual level of power or incursions would be much more common.”

“That would explain the little disappearing trick Damian’s delivery guy pulled,” Jason murmured through Tim’s earpiece, “But does that mean we’re dealing with a fucking super ghost?”

Tim gave a thoughtful hum and drummed his fingers against the edge of the desk.

“Do you think humans could open a portal to the Realms?”

Jazz gave him a wry smile.

“You just summed up the bulk of my parents’ research over the last two decades. They managed to build a functioning portal about two years ago.”

Tim choked. Jason swore.

“What?! But that’s-! How is that not all over the news?!” Tim sputtered. Jazz just sighed.

“My parents have been ranting about ghosts since they were in college,” she said wearily, ”Most of the scientific community had written them off as crackpots years ago. It doesn’t help that large concentrations of ectoplasm generate some kind of interference that messes with recording equipment. Short of kidnapping the naysayers and shoving them bodily through the Fenton Ghost Portal it’s hard to prove anything. And thankfully even my parents aren’t that crazy,” she finished with an eye roll.

Tim buried his face in his hands. An interdimensional portal. What the fuck. He thought back on everything Jazz had told him so far.

“What’s ectoplasm?”

“You’ve been paying attention!” she smiled and added some notes to the whiteboard, “Ectoplasm is the basic building block of everything in the Infinite Realms, and by extension ecto-entities. Hence the name. It’s the equivalent of matter in our dimension; atoms, protons, quarks, etcetera. I’m not a physicist, so I can’t tell you exactly how it works, but that’s why ecto-entities are able to interact with our physical world in such fascinating ways. Flight, intangibility and invisibility are all common abilities for them.”

“Wow, what a fucking security nightmare. B is gonna freak,” Jason groused. Tim tuned him out to focus on Jazz’s continued explanation.

“My parents have been experimenting with using ectoplasm for power generation, but it’s proven extremely volatile. It seems like it’s affected by things like belief and emotion which is absolutely fascinating,” she said with a gleam in her eye, “not to mention its effects on organic tissue. Have you ever had your dinner come to life and try to eat you?”

Tim had a sudden, horrible suspicion.

“Can’t say that I have,” he managed to squeeze out past the lump in his throat, “Um… Jazz, what does ectoplasm look like?”

“Well that depends on what it’s been affected and shaped by but in its raw form it looks like a bright green, glowing liquid,” she tilted her head, “Why do you ask?”

Over the comms, Jason made a sound like someone had kicked him in the crotch.

“Lazarus water?! Is she talking about the fucking pits?!” he choked out.

Tim made a valiant effort to keep his own reaction in check.

“Oh, just wondering how I’ll recognize a ghost- er, ecto-entity when I see one,” he lied with fake casualness, “You mentioned something about powers?”

“Yes! All the entities we’ve encountered so far have exhibited powers which are common to their species, as well as additional powers that seem to depend on the individual core. I’ve theorized that powers develop as a response to stress related to either their Obsession or death trauma…” Jazz trailed off, “aaaaaand I’ve lost you.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, I know I have a tendency to ramble,” she said sheepishly and considered the bullet points she had written so far, “Let me backtrack a bit. Not all ecto-entities are ghosts. There’s personifications of concepts, which I theorize are formed through the collective consciousness of living beings. They are entities which represent Hope or Justice or-”

“Time?” Tim interjected. Jazz gave him a calculating look.

“...sure. They are among the most powerful entities and have powers related to what they represent. I suspect they may have even been worshipped as gods at some point. You definitely wouldn’t want to mess with them,” at Tim’s nod, she continued, “There’s also the Neverborn, which are formed when ecto-entities choose to reproduce. They are entirely of the Infinite Realms, and thus were never ‘born’ into our world.”

“Ghosts can have children?” he said, surprised.

“Yes, although I’ve never been able to get the details on how it works. They don’t like to discuss it with outsiders. And considering they can look like dragons or disembodied floating eyeballs I’m not sure I’d want to know the exact mechanics,” she joked.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of people who’d disagree with you on that,” Tim muttered, then paused. “Wait, dragons?”

Jazz waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. The point is that there’s way more to the other side than most people realize. There’s probably lots of things I’ve never even heard of. It’s quite exciting, really!”

Tim worried about it. A lot. Jason had also gone suspiciously quiet.

“So, ghosts are just the tip of the iceberg?” Tim hedged.

“Exactly. What sets them apart from other ecto-entities is that they are usually created upon the death of someone or something from our dimension, which gives them motivation to come back here,” Jazz added more notes and arrows to the whiteboard. “All entities have something they call a core; think of it as their central organ or brain. It houses their consciousness, and its nature affects what powers they get. There’s all kinds of elemental cores like fire and water, but also more esoteric ones like shadow or technology. An ecto-entity’s body is composed of ectoplasm and moulded by their core. Their physical form is malleable and heavily based on their self-perception. With experience they can change shape to suit their needs.”

Tim mentally added shapeshifting to the growing list of powers to worry about. So far it sounded a lot like a Martian’s.

“So can ecto-entities grow and age?”

“It depends. The Neverborn usually do, but a lot of ghosts have a bit of a Peter Pan thing going on where they don’t want to. They are often ‘stuck’ at the age they were when they died, physically and mentally. Though there’s always exceptions.”

Tim hummed thoughtfully. Something had been bothering him since ghosts had first entered the equation.

“Jazz, if ghosts don’t age or die, why aren’t they all over the place? Even if rifts are rare, shouldn’t there be hundreds of thousands of years worth of dead folks wandering the Earth?”

She gave him a sad smile.

“I never said ghosts couldn’t die, Adam,” she said carefully, ”And not everyone who dies comes back as a ghost. The ones who do typically have some unfinished business holding them back. Like an obsession they never got to fulfill, or a loved one they are watching over. Once they are done, they are free to move on to whatever Afterlife awaits them,” she sighed and crossed her arms, “It also takes a lot of energy for a ghost to do anything in our world. I think a majority of them never hit that level, or can’t keep it up for any significant amount of time. It’s also part of the reason my parents are so biased against them.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Think about it. Most ecto-entities are just like regular people, going about their business and keeping their heads down. The ones who are both motivated to cross into our world, powerful enough to manifest and tend to make themselves known are the troublemakers. It would be like an alien looking at the population of Belle Reve and concluding that the majority of humans must be super villains! It’s sample bias.”

Tim bit his lip. This all sounded worryingly plausible, which would mean a literal world of trouble about to come down on their heads. Fuck, just what we needed.

“You mentioned that ghosts can die. I assume you don’t mean from old age, right?” he queried. Jazz looked at him wearily.

“You’d be right. If an ecto-entity’s core is too badly damaged, they will cease to exist,” she said cautiously, “It doesn’t help that ghosts tend to maintain a strength based social hierarchy and are fiercely protective of their territory. Ecto-entities usually have a lair within the Infinite Realms, and those who cross over to our dimension often establish a haunt to call their own. Any intruders would be met with violence,” she sighed and rubbed her forehead, “My parents have also been developing weapons to fight ghosts with… varying degrees of success. A lot of their tech runs on ectoplasm which makes it pretty temperamental.”

Seeing Jazz’s obvious discomfort with the topic, Tim decided to switch tracks.

“Is there any way to tell for sure if my brother came back as a ghost?”

Relieved at the change, Jazz made a see-sawing motion with her hand.

“Kind of? My parents tried for ages to build a ghost detector but they never got it to work quite right. Too much ambient ectoplasm in Amity I guess,” she shrugged as if that statement wasn’t extremely worrying. “You could always grab a ouija board or something and try asking. Just… don’t ask a ghost about their death. It’s a major trauma for most of them and there’s no better way to send them into a frothing rage. If they volunteer the information that’s one thing, but to ask about it is like the social faux pas among ecto-entities.”

Tim nodded and made a mental note to get his hands on some Fenton tech. He had a feeling it was going to be a long week for him.

Jason and Tim didn’t speak until they were safely back in the car. Tim was mentally composing the report they would have to make to Bruce. He was not looking forward to his reaction.

“So,” Jason began with fake casualness, “an interdimensional portal in Illinois.”

“Yep.”

“Creatures made of fucking Lazarus Water.”

“Sounds like it.”

“And we still don’t know if our mystery meta is Bruce’s dead kid or not.”

Tim groaned.

“It all adds up though, doesn’t it? The camera glitching, the powers, the portal…”

“And that damned prophecy. The personification of Time, huh?”

Tim pinched his nose to stave off the growing headache. They contemplated the fucked up situation they had stumbled into in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Jason sighed and started up the engine.

“Rock-paper-scissors for who has to tell B?”

Part 6

[reidmania]

sharpest tool | s.reid

(chapter four, motion sickness)

'I hate you for what you did and I miss you like a little kid. i faked it every time but that's alright. i can hardly feel anything, i hardly feel anything at all, I have emotional motion sickness somebody roll the windows down, there are no words in the english language, i could scream to drown you out'

summary; you never had someone make you feel safe enough to open up, until spencer. now trying to cope with his sudden absence you learn to lean on your new found friendship with his coworker, penelope.

warnings; fem reader, mentions of bad relationships, ghosting, commitment issues, self doubt & overthinking, preettyy angsty idk guys, no comfort yet but there is some fluff, and theres penelope & reader friendship!! reader lowkey shit talks spencer but he deserves it. reader is embarrassed & upset. reader is lowkey really mean, but shes coping guys. i think this is my favourite chapter out of all of them.

2.3k words

taglist; @gghostwriter @lavonee @guiltyyassin @spencersinonlygf @criminalmindssworld @iknwreid @fortheloveofgubler @yokaimoon @sapphirecobalt-1 @eddiesdrummergf @livvyliv15 @lover-of-books-and-tea a @sebastiansstanswhore @bloodredrubyrose @sp3ncelle @nemobee777 @jencole214 @hazzarules

SERIES MASTERLIST

The lights are low, casting a soft, warm glow on the room, making it feel almost too cozy for the storm of emotions swirling inside of you. Penelope sits across from you on the other side of the coffee table, her vibrant personality seeming muted for once. She’s not wearing her usual bright colors, just a simple oversized shirt and pajama pants, the kind of clothes that scream comfort. It fits the night. It fits the conversation.

“You want to talk about it?” Penelope asks, voice gentle, but still full of that spark of energy that only she has. There’s no judgment there. Her eyes made you believe there never would be.

Your fingers tug absentmindedly at a loose thread on the hem of your sweatpants, the silence stretching between you like an invisible barrier. But it’s not an uncomfortable silence. Penelope doesn’t push. She doesn’t know you well enough to push. You’re not sure how to start, not sure how to talk about something you’re still struggling to process.

The night had consisted of making cookies, watching sickeningly sweet romance films you both gushed over — there were numerous times you had to stop your mind from drifting to Spencer, and when it did, you felt a sickening ache in your stomach. For the most part, besides those moments where the room fell quiet and your mind drifted, the night had been great.

“He just... stopped,” you whisper, voice barely audible, but Penelope catches it. Her eyes soften, and she leans forward slightly, offering silent encouragement for you to continue. "One day, Spencer was there, and the next... he wasn't. Theoretically of course..”

Spencer was different to anyone else you met, or at least he seemed that way. You thought he understood you. The way he listened, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way he made you feel like you could breathe around him. No one had ever done that for you before. But then, when things had started getting real—when you both were on the verge of making it official—he disappeared. You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it was a commitment issue thing. Or if he really just had been playing with you the entire time.

“I don’t understand why,” you continue, the words tumbling out faster now, as if saying them out loud will make them make sense. “One day, we were close. He’d text me every morning. He’d ask how I was feeling, what I was doing. He made me feel… seen. Like he actually cared. And then, nothing. No calls, no messages. He just—”

“Ghosted you?” Penelope finishes for you, and the bluntness of the term hits you harder than you thought it would. You nod, feeling the sting of it all over again.

“He just disappeared,” you say, the words coming out harsh, jagged. You laugh bitterly, but there’s no humor in it. “Like I wasn’t even worth an explanation.”

Penelope’s hand reaches across the table, her fingers curling around yours in a comforting squeeze. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just lets you sit with the weight of your own pain. But her presence, her warmth, makes it feel a little less suffocating.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” she murmurs, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Spencer… he’s complicated. I don’t know why he did this to you, but I can tell you for sure, it’s not your fault. It never was.”

You close your eyes for a second, trying to swallow down the hurt, but it lingers there, a dull ache that refuses to fade. It’s not just about Spencer ghosting you; it’s about all the hope you had pinned on him. You thought he was different, thought he could be the person who made you feel safe in a way you had never felt before.

You couldn’t help the embarrassment you felt, all you had been thinking about for days was ‘how could i be so stupid.’ You had your guard up for a reason. You didn’t date for a reason, and the fact that you had let him let you forget that. You were so mad at yourself.

You missed Spencer more than you were willing to admit. Sleep evades you, and when it comes, it’s restless—haunted by the ghost of his touch. Your limbs grew weary, not from movement but from the effort of carrying the silence he left behind.

Your lips twitch into a bitter smile. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s on me. I was stupid for thinking it would be different.”

“No. Absolutely not,” Penelope says firmly, her voice suddenly fierce in a way that surprises you. “No. You were not stupid. You opened up because he made you feel like you could, and that’s on him, not you. He gave you the signals. He made the promises, and then he broke them. Spencer—he’s got his issues. He’s been through a lot, but that doesn’t excuse what he did to you. You deserved better.”

You pull your knees up to your chest, hugging them tightly as Penelope’s words sink in. It’s hard to believe that sometimes, that you deserved better. Spencer had made you feel like you could finally let your guard down, but in the end, it just made the hurt cut deeper. — Maybe thats all you’d ever deserve.

“He made me feel safe,” you admit, your voice breaking slightly. “Which i know sounds stupid— But— I don’t know.. I trusted him.”

“And then he took that away,” Penelope finishes, her voice softening again, filled with understanding. “It’s okay to be hurt. It’s okay to be angry. You opened up to him because you trusted him, and he didn’t treat that trust the way he should have.”

You nod, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay. You hadn’t wanted to cry tonight. You hadn’t wanted to break down. But being here with Penelope, his friend, his co-worker, who was so sweet and so understanding, it’s harder to keep everything bottled up.

“I just don’t get it,” you say, voice shaking. “Why would he make me feel like I mattered, like we were something, and then just leave?”

Penelope sighs, leaning back against the couch. “Spencer’s not great at dealing with his emotions,” she explains gently. “He’s always in his head, analyzing things, trying to make sense of the world. But feelings aren’t always logical. And sometimes… sometimes he runs from things he can’t control.”

You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “Well, he sure ran fast.”

Penelope gives you a sad smile, squeezing your hand again. “I know it doesn’t make it easier, but sometimes people can care about you and still hurt you. It doesn’t mean what you had wasn’t real. It just means he is an idiot.”

You stare down at your hands, the weight of her words settling on your shoulders. Maybe she’s right. Maybe Spencer did care about you in his own way, but that didn’t change the fact that he left you when you needed him most. It didn’t change the fact that you were still trying to pick up the pieces of your heart while he was nowhere to be found.

“I mean, he’s so damn smart, right? So.. So smart, always figuring things out. But apparently, figuring out how to treat people isn’t part of his skill set.”

Penelope chuckles softly, though there’s no real humor in it. “Yeah, sometimes Spencer’s great at solving every problem except the ones that really matter.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” you mutter, shaking your head. The frustration still courses through your veins, and you grip the fabric of your pants tightly, trying to channel it somewhere, anywhere. “I’m not going to sit around waiting for some half-assed explanation either. If he wanted to tell me why he bailed, he would have.”

She nodded her head. “He is dumb.” She said.

A laugh passed through your lips as you nodded quickly in agreement. “How is he so smart — and sweet yet such a fucking coward? I’m so pissed that he couldn’t even end things in person — that he didn’t even say anything.” You ran your hands down your face.

Penelope smiled. Maybe you were being mean in order to deflect from the hurt in your heart and the way your brain fizzled with an overwhelming ache for the comfort of Spencer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to ask him about it?” She asked.

You were quick to shake your head. While you were desperate for an answer of what you could have possibly done — you weren’t desperate enough to go through his friends to get an answer. You refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing you cared so much. “No. No- Please don’t— Does he even know we have been talking?” Penelope was quick to shake her head with a grin.

“Nope! I haven’t said anything to him.. I sent a photo to JJ earlier of your bobble head collection, but I highly doubt she would’ve just shown Spencer?” She mumbled, shrugging her shoulders slightly. The words made you frown, yet glad. You didn’t care about Penelope sharing your silly bobble head collection, it was something you were very proud of.

“I don’t really care if he knows. Is it bad I hope he is really mad? Like I hope he is really really pissed off about it. Is that petty?” You tumbled out the questions as your mind swirled. You hoped he was mad because at least then in some way maybe you could believe he cared.

“Yes. Definitely petty.” Penelope nodded, a playful smile on her face. “But— If anyone has a right to be petty, it’s you.. You’re handing this better than I would. i’d want to egg his house.” She shrugged, the words made a string of laughter leave your lips.

“I really really do want to” You said honestly, “maybe then he would have to say something” It was silly, but it would lie to say the thought hadn’t crossed your mind. It was childish, and immature and so petty, but leaving someone with no explanation was also just as childish and immature so in your head, it evened out.

“I reckon he would start crying” Penelope giggled.

“God I hope so.” you huffed out, running your hands through your hair before a small smile made way onto your lips as you looked up at the blonde women. The last thing you expected was to get along so quickly with the girl. You had expected it to be awkward between the two of you, but it wasn’t. You two spent hours watching silly chick-flics and laughing, before this conversation even started.

“Thank you- by the way. For this” you mumbled, referring to her just being there. She didn’t have to. She didn’t know you, she didn’t owe you anything, she was Spencer’s friend, not yours.

Penelope grinned widely, “Don’t thank me. I love boy genius but he can be such a tool sometimes without even realising it. He fucked up and you need somebody, plus who else would make sugar cookies with me?” She teased.

You curled up by Penelope’s side, smiling at her gently. You really were grateful. “Speaking of sugar cookies, do you think we could frost them yet?”

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hello I don’t know if you’re currently taking requests but let me tell you. I need more about Milo. If you can. Like he became possessive with reader, jealous of everyone near her.

Milo X Reader: You belong to me

Warnings: Fighting, bar fight, bone breaking, drunk men, sleazy men, smut, dirty talk, dom x sub (kind of), dom Milo, possessive Milo, ass bitting, fingering, making out, penetration ( p in v), unprotected sex, pet names.

Word count: 3K

He's staring again, he knows he is. He also knows he shouldn't but he can't help it. Not when you look like that. You're at the edge of the bar sipping a drink Milo can't quite recognize. He's known you for years but he never noticed what your go to drink was. Perhaps it was because he had been too occupied pretending the pain in his leg wasn't killing him to care or maybe it was because it didn't really matter. He would never be the one to approach you, your favorite drink in hand as he flirted his way into your heart. You'd never made him feel undesirable. He didn't believe you had it in you to make someone feel something like that but you didn't have to, his brain did the work for you. Self loathing does wonders to one's confidence. 

Milo has been watching you for a little while now. You hadn't invited him to the bar. It had been a coincidence. He'd sauntered into the pub, his mind set on finding a pretty thing to take home. He needed to test the waters of his new powers and he wanted company to do it. A special kind of company. He had expected to find someone random, anyone who peaked his interest enough. He wasn't expecting to see you, in fact, it was the last thing he expected but he would be lying if the sight of you didn't ignite something inside him. 

He still hadn't worked up the courage to walk over. This would be the first you saw him like this. The first time he'd talked to you since the "change". It thrilled him but it also scared him. He wondered how you would react. Would you just stare or would you scream at him for his irresponsible actions? He wouldn't be able to take the look of disappointment on your face. He remembered when you first found out about Michele's unorthodox studies. You didn't  speak to the doctor for a week which to some may seem like a small amount of time but that's because they had never met you. They had never had the pleasure of being around you long enough to feel the radiant energy that seeped from you. His fear of your opinion glued him to his spot but it didn't stop him from admiring you. Milo had almost accepted the fact that, despite wanting with all his heart to whisk you away from this dingy bar, you'd probably go home alone. It wasn't until a man approached you that Milos mind changed. He watched the man stumble towards you with a drunken smile on his face. You shuffled slowly to the side trying to put a small distance between the two of you. Milos' hands clenched at his side, his features turning into a scowl as he watched the scene before him. He saw you let out an uncomfortable laugh before shaking your head in a polite no. Milo noticed the way the man's body language shifted at your actions radiating a sort of dangerous energy. Milo didn't like it at all. Before his mind could compute what he was doing his body moved in your direction, his legs moving in steady steps. Milo had gotten to you just as the man had reached out to grab your arm, his body working as a barrier between you and the man. You glanced up at Milo with a look of visible confusion on your face.

“There you are darling. Was wondering where you'd gone.”

“Milo…”

His name left your lips in a breathy whisper sending a chill down his spine.

“Hey asshole we were talking.”

“You know this guy?”

You shook your head timidly, your body moving closer to Milos as you searched for safety. Milo placed his hand on your arm before turning to look at the other man.

“You heard the lady. She doesn't feel like talking to you.”

“That is not what she said.”

“Yeah because she's too polite for that. Luckily for her i’m not, so i'll say what she’s really thinking.”

Milo paused for a moment, his ears picking up on the beating of your heart. It was a bit slower than it had been when he arrived but it was still faster than it should be. The heartbeat of someone who was afraid. The noise seemed to snap something inside Milo's brain, a sudden feeling of rage coming over him.

“Fuck off.”

You let out a small gasp at Milo's words, your fingers digging into his forearm. 

“Milo leave it, let's get out of here.”

He hated the way your voice shook as you spoke. He hated the fact that this man had gotten to you. He wanted to rip this neck open in front of this entire bar. He wanted to show them all that you were under his protection and that anyone that messed with you would have to deal with him. But the way you clung to him brought him out of his rage filled daze. He turned to look at you, his hands moving to push a stray hair behind your ear.

“Okay darling, if that's what you want.”

With one meaningful glance at the man Milo turned around, placing his hands on your hips as he guided you away from the bar and towards the door. You’d barely made it five steps when Milo felt something wet on his shoulder. He heard your scream of his name followed by the sound of glass shards falling to the ground. Milo didn’t give himself enough time to think before he pushed you away, his body turning around to face his attacker just as the man prepared himself to land a punch on Milo's face. His fist came in contact with Milo's body but not in the way he’d wanted it to. Instead of knocking into Milos cheek the man's hand found its way into Milos open palm, his eyes widening in fear as he made eye contact with the vampire. Milo twisted the man's arm, cracking the bone with ease. You watched with wide eyes as Milo tugged the man against his chest and whispered something in his ear before shoving him away. The man stumbled to the  ground using his unharmed hand to drag himself away from Milo in fear. Milo turned towards you, one hand pushing his hair back as the other reached for your arm. You let Milo drag you away from the bar, your legs moving quickly in order to keep up with his long strides. It was only then that you noticed he was walking without difficulty and without a cane. You stopped walking, your body freezing in the middle of the sidewalk causing Milo to stop as well. He turned to look at you, the anger in his features slipping away as he saw the fear on your face.

“Milo how are you…how did you-”

“It doesn't matter.”

“How the fuck can you say that? You just broke that guys like it was made of fucking paper!”

You glanced down at his legs.

“And you're walking like it's no problem.”

“What a big deal? People do that everyday.”

“Well you're not like most people Milo! You’re-

“What? A sick man? A weakling? A good for-”

“Stop it! I’d never call you any of that and you know it you jerk!”

You turned your face away from Milo, your hands going to wipe away the tears that had started to fall from your eyes. Milos' shoulders sagged at the sight. You just been through hell and here he was yelling at you like you were in the wrong. He called out your name, making you turn to look at him. Your lip shook slightly, making you bite on it in an attempt to look strong.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Please forgive me.”

He opened his arms to you with a silent request for a hug. You waited for a second before letting your body collide into Milos. He pulled you as close as he possibly could, burying his face into your hair. He listened as your heartbeat calmed down, a small sigh leaving your lips.

“Thank you.”

“Gotta be able to protect what’s mine.”

The words left Milos' lips with little effort. It wasn't until he felt your body tense that he noticed what he had said. He waited in silence, trying to see how you’d react. You shifted against him, lifting your head so you could look into his eyes. When you met his gaze and  saw the primal like expression in them your breath caught in your throat. You had no idea what had happened to him. Even though he looked the same as he always had there was something different about the way he looked at you. He looked at you like he was a lion and you were a juicy piece of meat. And though it startled you it also sent a thrill down your spine.

“What’s yours hum?” 

Your hand trailed down Milos chest fingers running over the clothes ridges of his abs.

“Yes…”

“And what do you do with what’s yours?”

He couldn't take it anymore. Not with the way your body felt warm against him and the way you bit your lips as you spoke. Milos lips crashed into yours, his hands tangling into your hair as he kissed you. You let him grab onto your body, a small moan leaving your lips when he gives your ass a squeeze. He loved the sounds you made as his hands moved against you. You break the kiss, the need for air getting to you. Milos hands don’t leave your frame, his fingers digging into your hips as he rests his forehead against your.

“Take me to your house.”

“With fucking pleasure darling.” 

You’ve been inside Milo's house a thousand times and you knew the layout like the palm of your hand. Even so you managed to walk into the wrong room. You blamed Milo. The way he tugged at your body in desperation left your brain dizzy. You glanced around the room, eyes falling on the desk in the corner.

“This isn’t your bedroom.”

Milo raised his head, detaching his lips from your neck. 

“You’re right it's not. But this works.”

“There isn't a bed Milo.”

“Oh darling, who said we need a bed?”

A smirk spread across Milo's face as he watched your eyes widen before glancing to look at the desk once more.

“Well what are you waiting for? Get over there.”

“You want me on your desk?”

“I was thinking more like over my desk but on works too.”

You rubbed tights together at the sound of Milo's voice. You weren’t used to seeing this side of him. He was usually quiet and slightly melancholic. The man in front of you wasn’t like that at all. The man in front of you was demanding and sexy. You'd be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.

“I thought I gave you an order darling.”

Milos hand wrapped around your throat squeezing lightly as he leaned down to give your lips a quick peak.

“Get over there. Now.”

“Yes sir.”

You turned around a yelp leaving your lips when you felt Milos hand come in contact with your ass in a rough slap.

“That's my good girl.”

“All yours sir.”

Milo licked his lips making his way to you. He watched as you hopped onto his desk, spreading your legs so that he could see your underwear. A moan left Milos lips as his eyes caught a look at the lace you wore.

“Planning on getting fucked tonight?”

“I was actually. Just wasn’t expecting it to be by you.”

Milos smile drops at your words. He leans in closer, placing his arms beside each of your thighs, caging you with his body. You swallow dry at the sight of the scowl on his face worried you’d angered him somehow. You had made him angry but not at you. Oh no. He was angry at everyone else. Angry at the others that had gotten a chance to look at you, touch you and taste you before him. He loathed them but he couldn’t change the past. The only thing he could do is make sure that for this day forward he was the only one who could have you like this. Milos eyes bore into you the silence making you uneasy but then he gave you a sly grin and you calmed down a bit.

“You think that…”

Milos hands made their way in between your legs rubbing your clothed clit as he spoke.

“Anyone could fuck you better than i can?”

Your hips bucked as Milo pushed your underwear aside playing with your folds for a moment before inserting a digit into your cunt. Your lips fell open as you moaned, closing your eyes as Milo fucked your with his fingers.

“I asked you a question.”

“No i-ugh shit- don’t think anyone can fuck me better than you.”

“And who do you belong to?”

“Ah-fuck please- you Milo. I’m yours, I'm all yours.”

“Good girl.”

You placed your hands behind you, fingers digging into the wooden desk beneath you as Milo kept up his brutal pace.

“Wanna cum pretty thing?”

“Yess please Milo…so close-oh-please don’t stop.”

“Okay i’ll let you cum but first you gotta give me a kiss.”

You pushed yourself up so that you were closer to Milo, one of your hands finding his cheek. He smiled at you, plunging his fingers as deep as he could. You launched forward, giving him a rough kiss. 

“Cum princess, go on cum on my fingers.”

He didn’t have to ask you twice. Your body stiffened as your orgasm washed over you, your hands snaking their way across Milo's shoulders as he worked you down from your high. Your body sagged into his as he removed his fingers from your pussy and brought them to his lips. He licked his hand clean of  your juices, head falling back at the taste of you.  

“Taste so good darling.”

“Yeah?”

“That perfuct fucking pussy.”

“Your perfect fucking pussy.”

Milos dick twitched at your words the sultry tone in them making him feel impossibly harder. You seemed to notice the way his hips shifted closer to you. Your hands made their way to his pants unbuttoning them before reaching into his boxers. Milo groaned as you pallmed his cock making you smirk up at him.

“Happy to see me?”

“You have no idea.”

“I think I got a pretty good feeling.”

Milo laughed, placing a kiss to your cheek as he pushed your hair away from your face. You moved your face so that you could place Milos fingers into your mouth. He watched as you sucked on his digits, never breaking eye contact. You removed his fingers from your mouth with a pop.

“Can I take care of you Milo?” 

“As much as I would love that darling, I need to be inside you.”

“OKay. How do you want me?”

Milo pulled you off the desk flipping you around so your back was pressed to his chest.

“Lay down darling.”

“Yes sir.”

You did as he asked your ass brushing against his hard on as you did. Milos hands moved to your hips pulling your dress up so that he could get a good view of your ass. He let out a wolf whistle as he grabbed your cheeks. 

“Now that’s an ass I could get used to kissing up to.”

“What's stopping you?”

Milos grinned at you leaning down and giving your butt a soft bite. You pressed your face into the desk at the feeling, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Delectable.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh don’t thank me just yet darling. I’m about to ruin you.”

“I wanna see you try.”

“Is that right?”

“Uh hum.”

Milos hands ran up your bare thigh, his fingers toying with the edge of your underwear before ripping it off in one quick motion. You gasped as the cool air hit your exposed cunt. It wasn't long before the chill air was replaced with the feeling of Milo's warm skin. He inched his dick into your pussy slowly, trying not to cum at the feeling of your walls fluttering against him and the sounds of your squeals. Once he was fully inside he tugged your hair, forcing you to lean off the table. You could feel the outline of Milos abs against your back as he leaned down to suck on your neck.

“This is that last warning darling. Last chance to back out. If I start now I won't be able to control myself.”

“Lucian i swear to god if you don’t fuck me right now.”

Before you could even fully finish your phrase Milo had laid you back down on the desk and started pistoling  into you. He’d bring his dick almost all the way out before plugging it back in all the way. Your nipples rubbed against the wood as your body rocked with Milos movements. You could feel the desk creaking beneath you a twinge of worry entering your system but quickly vanishing. So what if he broke the desk? He could afford a new one. What he couldn't afford was cumming before you. Milo's hands found their way to your clit, rubbing it exactly. He felt you clench around him as you came causing him to reach his own orgasm. Your body fell lip on the desk, whimpering as you felt Milo pull out. You shut your eyes listening to Milo walk to the other end of the room. He returned with a wet towel, gently cleaning up the cum that had started to leak down your thighs. You whispered a small thank you, far too tired to move. Milo threw the towel on the floor, his hands wrapping around your waist as he pulled you off of the desk. He sat down on his chair tugging you into his lap. You nuzzled into Milos neck, sighing contentedly. Milos' hands stroked your hair, observing you as sleep seemed to take over your body. He placed a kiss to your hair breathing in your scent. A scent that had been made for him and only him. Everything was just as it should be: you in Milos arms. The place which you’d always belonged to.

[thydungeongal]

Hello! Sorry for the basic question (double sorry it’s a d&d 5E question), but what do you think are the key hallmarks of a dungeon that D&D mechanics want to interact with? Like what absolutely distinguishes a dungeon from an “encounter” (sorry for the d&d language) and makes one work whilst the other fails?

I want to get confident at GMing, and have only ever GM’d one thing for one session (it was 5E but we didn’t really use the mechanics at all…), but everyone at my nerd shop/in my friend group only wants to play 5E and I’ve basically only ever played d&d, and I feel like to get them to play anything else I’ll have to run 5E for them to get them to trust me first. (It’s also unfortunately the only rule set I have real mastery of bc reading the rules of games just doesn’t translate into understanding a game to me, I assume for mild learning disability reasons)

I really believe you (and other women) when they say that d&d wants to be doing dungeons, but I feel like I don’t really understand what is is *about* a Dungeon that D&D is suited for. (If anything? Maybe 5E isn’t actually suited for anything). Sorry if that doesn’t make much sense. The vast majority of the d&d I’ve played has been 5E modules that are not interested in dungeons, and I have felt the game fighting the module, but I don’t really understand what (if anything) the game wouldn’t be fighting against.

Oh, this is a really fun ask!

First of all, I don't think D&D is bad at "encounters." In fact D&D pretty much codified the term. What I am on about when I complain about "encounters" is a terminology issue: the term isn't neutral and carries a lot of implications specific to the genre of games that D&D is a part of.

I've also previously complained about the idea that encounters are something that is planned and constructed ahead of time: like, putting a bunch of guys in a room and then writing "this is the Combat Encounter with a Bunch of Guys Room" in your notes already creates an expectation in your mind about what should happen.

Anyway, onto the subject: D&D as a game, regardless of edition, cares about a few things: first of all, it's ultimately a game of resource management and attrition. During the course of an adventure there is a clear arc where characters will slowly lose resources and in general won't be able to recover to full until they return to a place of rest. (Note: my phone wanted to say "return to Islam" and like hell yeah, I think D&D characters should return to Islam.)

Secondly, D&D, all editions, is ultimately a challenge game. It's not a game that cares about exploring a character's emotions or morals (although those can give the game some added spice!) but a game about characters going into Situations and Overcoming those Situations. A lot of the time this translates to combat, but not all the time. Characters have, at their disposal, a lot of tools that can potentially turn a potential combat encounter into a different type of encounter or even allow them to avoid encounters altogether.

And finally it is a game that cares about space. A lot of RPGs, especially of the trad variety, care about space in the sense that distance and position are usually at least somewhat important to them, but sort of built into D&D's DNA is the idea that the space of the dungeon or the battlefield or the world map itself is valuable.

Anyway so dungeons are pretty much a good microcosm of that. First of all, the very act of going into a dungeon builds a barrier between the "safe" world where characters can rest and recover and the dangerous world where there's random encounters and monsters, so the moment the characters leave the safety of their town the resource management mode is on. Second of all, there are a lot of Situations characters can get in both on the way to dungeons and therein. And finally the space of the dungeon itself is important and meaningful since it contains Situations but also the very act of exploring the dungeon figures meaningfully into the resource management minigame (if the characters push further will they still have enough resources for a return to safety?).

Now, a D&D game doesn't really need much more than a dungeon to be satisfying provided:

The dungeon is a place in the world that ties into the setting and has some context beyond just being a place with monsters and treasures in it.

The space of the dungeon is built in such a way that characters can make meaningful, informed decisions about which route to follow, how far they are willing to push, etc.

The characters have a reason to go into the dungeon.

That last bullet point is pretty much moot in older editions, because in those editions the act of going into the dungeon really is its own reward: that's where the gameplay is and where the rewards are. But since modern editions tend to de-emphasize the need to just loot treasure and grow in strength you might want to give the characters an extrinsic goal for exploring a dungeon. While I personally prefer the intrinsic reward of just exploring a dungeon as its own satisfying gameplay, I think it's entirely valid to give characters other objectives to pursue within the dungeon. Heck, if you can tie them into character motivations, that owns.

Anyway, I hope this wasn't too rambling. I am kind of having a tired and depressing day, but this ask was fun to answer so thanks for that. And if you have any further questions or you'd like me to elaborate on something, don't hesitate to get in touch again! :)

[sleepy-steve]

@steddieangstyaugust 05/08 // ‘Please Please Please, Let Me Get What I Want’ by The Smiths

wc: 2.2k // rating: M // cw: language, negative self talk // tags: YEARNING, post-s4 but vecna dies, eddie has some self-esteem issues, mild references to sexual content

divider credits @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Eddie isn’t sure when it started. When this… obsession took over his life. When he suddenly couldn’t think of anything but Steve Harrington.

It could have been when they started hanging out every day, the threat of otherworldly horrors gone and the Big Evil defeated. When they realised that while they don’t necessarily have much in common, they both care to learn about what the other likes.

It could have started before that, when Steve continually showed up to help him through his physical therapy, never wavering in his kindness despite how many times Eddie snapped in frustration or lashed out at him. Steve always took it in stride, but never patronised him. Or was it even before that? When Steve showed up everyday to his bedside in the hospital, at first appearing to just be chauffeuring Dustin, but then visiting on his own. Spending hours talking with him or letting the silence settle between them, filling the hours where Wayne couldn’t be there.

Shit, if Eddie really thought about it, it went further back than that too. Before Steve carried him out of hell and quite literally saved his life—though that alone was enough to make a guy swoon—and before the moment Eddie flirted with him in the RV (and really, what was he thinking with that?) and even before their little heart to heart in the aforementioned hell after the first bat attack.

No, if Eddie was honest with himself, it all went back to Steve’s surprise appearance in the boathouse, shoved up against the wall with a shard of glass pressed to his neck and fear in his eyes. Eddie remembers feeling Steve tremble as Eddie held tight to his jacket, watching as he swallowed, skin of his throat pressing against the glass. Eddie’s own hands shook around the broken bottle, from exertion and fear, and god help him he was not going down without a fight in that moment. Their all too literal colliding of worlds was not something he could have been prepared for, nevermind the fact that Eddie almost killed him. But it was that brief moment, so miniscule, right before Eddie let him go, that he realised Steve really wouldn’t hurt him. Despite being held up and almost having his throat slashed, Steve had dropped the oar.

It was the first hint he got that all those things Dustin had said about Steve were actually true. That all the ideas he’d previously had about Steve Harrington were undeniably false. And Eddie only continued to be proven wrong by the sheer magnitude of Steve’s kindness, his patience, his unending love for his friends. Which now, by some miracle, Eddie was a part of.

It had grown. Out of something that should have just been a trauma-bond that then dissolved once they were quote-unquote healed and realised they actually had nothing in common besides the shared experience of almost dying in an otherworldly dimension. It had grown into something much more than that, something that Eddie never really had before. He’d had friends before, sure, his little sheepies and his band mates, but nothing quite like this. It was both his fault and also not. When he arrived in middle school and was immediately bullied for daring to be a little bit different—despite the differences having more to do with his class status than anything he had truly picked at that time—the walls came up. People could get somewhat close to him, but ultimately Eddie decided just how much he would give to people, and arms length was always safest. They wouldn’t be able to hurt him at arms length.

And yet. Steve Harrington had somehow wormed himself past the walls, beyond the arms length barrier, and settled himself neatly within Eddie’s rib cage. Not only that, Steve brought along the rest of his little group, a family that knocked down Eddie’s walls and forged a space just for him. It went beyond the trauma bond. It had grown into something that almost felt like Steve cared about him. Actually, that wasn’t fair. Steve absolutely did care about Eddie. He’d shown it time and time again. Shown up and held tight and given his time and space and love, being the kind of best friend Eddie only dreamed of having.

And here he was, greedy. Desperately craving more. More of the connection, more of the love —platonic though it is—more of which he has already been given. Arguably he’s received far more than he ever thought he deserved (despite what his new friends might say). But Eddie can’t help it.

He wants. He craves.

He fucking aches for it.

It grips him in a chokehold, this desperation with which he begs to receive more. To have more. To be more. It wasn’t enough to have Steve’s friendship, Eddie wanted his whole heart. His whole soul, even. Every tiny speck of stardust that came together to create him, Eddie wanted it in his possession. Wanted it all to himself, to hoard like a dragon’s greatest treasure. To lock this man away and keep him safe and shower him with love and devotion every day for the rest of his life. He longed for it to the point of feeling more animal than man, a slave to his own desires. Helpless against his own hunger for a connection that would run bone deep between them, etched into his skull, woven into his blood. Eddie burned to fucking consume Steve Harrington and be consumed by him. To have their souls merge together in a supernova and, and, and…

And nothing. Because it would never happen. Not for Eddie, not the way that he wants it to. He reminds himself constantly that he should just be grateful to have the friendship, to cherish it for the special thing that it is. That guys like Steve Harrington didn’t want guys like Eddie Munson, at least not in that way. Not in the way Eddie wanted, because Eddie never got what he wanted.

Well, not never. But rarely. When he goes down this spiral, he struggles to remember times he has actually gotten what he wanted. In love, in romance? Never. Kisses—too fast, too hard, too scared—shared with boys who met him behind the bleachers and didn’t know what they wanted. Or rather, did know but wished they didn’t. Those that ended in the boys running away, or worse, threatening to hit him—to kill him—if Eddie dared to speak about what happened. Not that anyone would believe a jock would ever turn to Eddie The Freak Munson, even as an experiment. That’s all he ever was when he was younger, an experiment. It was all he thought he deserved, at least until he got a bit older and was able to venture out of Hawkins. Then came other stuff. Quick, filthy hookups in club bathrooms and dark alleyways in Indy. A stranger’s tongue in his mouth and their hands in each other’s pants and maybe their mouths on each other and the flash of a smile before leaving and he’d never see them again. It was fine. He got what he set out for in those moments, but nothing more. He never felt like he was owed more, never felt worthy of more, so why would anyone give him that? At least they didn’t end in threats of violence. At least he felt desired, somewhat. But, if given the chance, he’d trade all those experiences for one night of feeling like he was the prize, like he was the one worth fighting for, like someone wanted his heart.

And the craziest part was… sometimes he did feel that way. Sometimes Steve made him feel that way. Like Eddie was the most special person on the planet. Like no one else could draw his attention away. Like they were the only two people in the world. Like Steve could actually…

No. It wasn’t like that. Eddie had to remind himself endlessly. It wasn’t like that. This love wasn’t reserved just for Eddie, who watched Steve share it with all of them. When he picked up Dustin to take him wherever he wanted to go, despite the squabbling they shared. The way he and Robin seemed to read each other's minds, attached at the hip whenever possible. How he helped Max after she got out of the hospital, ready to drop everything at a second’s notice if she needed him. Spending afternoons training basketball with Lucas, giving him all of his tips and shining with pride at his skills.

Still… there was something. Something in the way Steve’s eyes lit up whenever Eddie arrived. Something in the way he was almost always too close, fingers brushing as beers were passed, arms and legs pressed against each other during movie nights, arms held tight when nightmares returned, and one glorious evening of warm cuddling and dreamless sleep after sharing a joint. Eddie lived in those moments, let them play on an endless loop in his mind, reading deep into each tiny interaction. Thinking about every smile sent his way and was it any different from the smiles anyone else got? God, he wanted to believe Steve had a special one just for him. One that was a little bit softer and sweeter and shyer.

The idea is nice, but it’s washed away by the cold reality of the fact that it would never happen. Even if, by some miracle, Steve was anything other than straight, why would he want Eddie? He could have anyone he wanted. And Eddie wouldn’t get what he wanted because that’s just how life was for him. Though he may beg and plead with invisible entities for it, though he might crave and ache to the point of feeling feral with it, though he might promise—swear on his life—to himself and anyone up there listening that he’d treat Steve so well if given the chance, Eddie knew it just wasn’t on the cards. The sooner he accepted that the better.

His resolve in place—forget about it, or at least bury it until it could be forgotten—Eddie makes his way up the driveway to the Harrington house. He wouldn’t think about it for the entirety of movie night. He absolutely would not.

“Hey, man!” Steve answers the door with a perfect smile and joy in his eyes. Eddie’s resolve wobbles. “Just in time.”

Eddie takes a moment to steel himself, firmly reminding himself of his goal, as he follows Steve into the house. And it lasts for all of two minutes before he’s pulled down onto the sofa, thigh pressed against Steve’s. Was there truly any reason for Eddie to be tortured this way? He tries to remember that Robin is on the other side of Steve, and that there’s limited room on the sofa but fucking hell… Their shoulders brush, the soft grazes through layers of fabric sending Eddie’s mind spinning, until Steve places his arm around behind Eddie on the sofa-back, not quite touching but close enough to feel the heat of his skin. And god, this is so much worse. The desire to lean in and cuddle him, just nestle right in and have Steve’s arm around him, drives him crazy. The idea that they could… that this could be normal for them, domestic even. It went beyond the physical, Eddie wanted to take care of him. To show him the love Steve had so willingly given to him, and give it back ten-fold, hundred-fold. To create a life with him. To be proud of him and show him off and love him endlessly. To go to the ends of the earth to grant Steve his every wish, if he could just have one chance, he was begging—

Get it together! Eddie’s internal voice hisses at him, and he tries to shove all his thoughts back down into a vault, feeling a bit like trying to get water back into a broken hydrant. He does his best, managing to get it back down to a simmer, rather than a rapid boil.

Steve shifts slightly, suddenly a bit closer. It all comes rushing back. The warmth where their thighs are touching becomes burning hot and all the aching, craving, yearning, wanting that Eddie tried to shove down and out of his mind is suddenly front and centre and focused on the way Steve laughs and those glorious moles dotting down his neck. He feels insane with longing, desperate to press his lips to those moles, as if that could ever convey the depth of his feelings for the man beside him. Overcome with the need to drag his fingers through that beautiful hair and maybe even pull on it a little, just to see what kind of noise Steve makes, Eddie hears the tiny voice in his mind telling him off for staring. He just can’t seem to drag his eyes away. Steve throws his head back with a laugh, exposing his throat, and Eddie might as well perish right then and there, distraught with how much he wants to bite it. To just sink his teeth into the skin and feel Steve’s pulse beneath with his tongue. To leave bites and bruises all over his body, everywhere Eddie thinks is beautiful…

Before he can summon enough shame to look away, Steve catches his eye, and just grins, eyes lit up with that same brightness he always seems to have when looking at him.

Eddie’s a fucking goner.

[starless-nightz]

Ashlyn with a mute s/o?

Ashlyn with a mute! S/O HCs

note -> I love Ashlyn so much she so silly I just wanna kiss her face :33

warnings -> none.

content includes -> fluff, protective! Ashlyn, she learns sign language.

Ashlyn quickly adapts to your way of communicating. Whether it’s through sign language, gestures, or written notes, Ashlyn is incredibly patient. She takes the time to learn any communication methods you prefer, and she finds it endearing how much care you put into expressing yourself in other ways. She would be your personal translator too.

Ashlyn is highly observant, and she picks up on your moods and thoughts even without words. She’s skilled at reading your body language, and sometimes it feels like she can sense how you’re feeling just by the look in your eyes. It creates a bond between you where words become less necessary—she’s always paying attention to the little things.

She loves your silent strength. Ashlyn finds your quiet nature calming, a grounding force in her chaotic life. She admires how you’re able to express so much through your actions rather than words, and she finds herself relying on your presence more than she expected. In a world full of noise, your silence feels like peace.

She’s fiercely protective of you. Even though you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself, Ashlyn is quick to step in if she senses anyone being dismissive or condescending because of your muteness. She’ll cut off any disrespect with a sharp look or a cutting remark, making it clear that she won’t tolerate anyone underestimating you.

Ashlyn is naturally expressive, and she loves how she can speak without needing you to reply. Whether it’s teasing you with a sly smile or pouring out her heart during a vulnerable moment, she never feels like your silence is a barrier. In fact, it makes her more open, knowing you’re always listening intently.

She adores the non-verbal affection you give. Whether it’s a soft touch on her hand, a reassuring smile, or the way you lean against her when you’re comfortable, Ashlyn cherishes these moments. To her, they’re just as powerful as any words could be, and they make her feel deeply connected to you.

She’s great at filling the space with humor. Whenever there’s a lull in communication, Ashlyn loves to throw in light-hearted comments or jokes to keep things playful. She knows you can’t always respond verbally, but she enjoys the way your eyes light up or the small smile that tugs at your lips when she’s being goofy.

Ashlyn becomes your biggest advocate. If anyone ever struggles to understand your way of communicating, she’s quick to step in and explain or help bridge the gap. She’s never patronizing, though—she just wants to make sure you’re heard, in whatever way works best for you.

She respects your boundaries and never pushes you to speak if you don’t want to. Ashlyn knows that communication isn’t just about talking, and she loves finding new ways to connect with you. Whether it’s through shared looks, small gestures, or moments of comfortable silence, she feels like your relationship is built on an understanding that transcends words.

She loves how thoughtful you are. Without needing to speak, you have a way of making Ashlyn feel special. Whether it’s leaving her small notes, surprising her with something meaningful, or just being present when she needs support, Ashlyn is constantly reminded of how deeply you care.

Ashlyn never feels like anything’s missing. Your silence doesn’t create distance; it brings you closer. She knows you understand her in a way few others do, and she treasures every moment you share—whether you’re communicating with words, gestures, or the quiet, unspoken bond you’ve built together.

[eetherealgoddess]

So I feel like I wrote my last two stories a little mid so hopefully this is more detailed and well written. Also brought back the language barrier cuz I love it too and haven’t written a story with it in a while. :)

ꨄRabid Loveꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Hybrid Au

❦Your deceased grandmother’s will passed down wealth, a mansion in Japan, and five exotic hyrbids❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

❣︎A little love between some of the characters as well❣︎

Not fully proofread!

Japanese language is red

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture him as a black male but you can see him however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Rabid Love

The manor sits on top of a hill, distant from the busy streets of the city near. Trees cover the surface, surrounding as if a natural gate. Very few houses of the same build sit near amongst the land that stretches along. It had been a few weeks since your wealthy grandmother passed down the hybrids that you’re going to live with in her enormous house. You weren’t too excited about the news at first, having heard nothing but the word “responsibility” pop into your brain, however you couldn’t help but accept the gift once the will was stated as you sat in the chair of the office.

Once all was set, you moved yourself as well as your belongings into the mansion she once lived in, sort of creeped out by the fact that her ghost may or may not be lingering. Regardless, the situation had been unsettling considering she died inside the home. You mentally shook your anxiety away as you gathered your things from the car, thinking about how you and the hybrids would get along. The note she left had warned you of all concerns as well as facts about them.

So far you only knew that they are all males, adults, and two out of five of them are biologically related. They are broad with strong personalities. They can take care of themselves for the most part and were sort of like her sons. All of the males have the alpha gene which is the only thing you have to worry about, as a female yourself considering their weird dominance obsession. It is common for male hybrids to compete for superiority, especially when it comes to humans. It’s a surprise that these particular beings even got along as well as they do.

They were already situated in the house so you were the outsider coming in, having had an estranged relationship with your deceased grandmother for the majority of your lives. It wasn’t until a few years before she died you reached out, finding out that she had moved to Japan and started a new life away from the family when you were a child. It was sweet, the time you spent together before she went into hospice and gave into the light. You were at peace that she was no longer in physical pain so you were able to mourn in a brighter way, the thought helping you feel better.

Once you made it to the door, you took a deep breath and walked into the manor to begin your new life, set for the rest of your days by the blessing from your grandmother’s will. When you finally walked in, you were met with the smell of vanilla with a pinch of cinnamon, the beautiful decor shining amongst the white walls, reflecting off the marble floor perfectly. You weren’t used to such luxury, your gaze stuck on the maroon furniture placed in the foyer. A long staircase wrapped around a pillar to the left of the entrance facing inside.

You walked further, passing the foyer and walking through the arch. A butler stood, greeting you as he grabbed your luggage, leading you to your new bedroom up the stairs. You eye the doors you pass as you both stroll down the hall. He bows once you make it to the room before leaving you to your lonesome. You eye the large bed that you couldn’t wait to lay in for the first time. It looked far better than anything you’ve ever slept on, including the pillows.

You set your luggage down and gaze at the rest of the room, glancing at your balcony as well as the television and electric fireplace under it. A maroon rug on the cream carpet placed in front of the bed as well as an ottoman, and a walk-in closet near the bathroom’s door that’s connected through the bedroom. You decide to unpack your stuff later, eager to get meeting the hybrids over with as soon as possible. When you walk out of your room, you check the halls both ways as you listen for a presence near, to no avail. You move to the staircase before ascending down all the while gently holding the railing.

You walk through the foyer, surprised to not see any butlers or hybrids as you make your way to the living space. You perk up when you hear rustling in the kitchen, rushing to the area. You see a cabinet open, covering a face as they’re bent over, blonde tail sticking up as they search for something.

“Hey.” You say, attempting to make your presence known though you watch as the person ignores you and continues their hunt. You stood awkwardly as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt.

Damn. Should I walk away?

Finally the male grabs whatever he was looking for and stands up straight, closing the cabinet’s door before looking at you as he tears the bag of a snack. His blonde hair sways as his attention shifts to you, dark eyes boring into yours as he takes a bite. His ears stick out above his head, perking up as he chews.

“Who are you?” He says, accent thick even with his mouth full, swallowing before taking another bite. One of his hands is placed in his pocket as his tail sways to the other side. His face holds an unreadable expression.

“Y/n. I’m G/n’s granddaughter.” He hums before nodding, staring at you for a little longer before walking towards the doorway, turning slightly to the side to eye you.

“Mikey.” He says before disappearing into the hall. You stood frozen in your position.

I guess that wasn’t so bad. That must’ve been the lion. He was shorter than I thought he’d be. Four more and the hardest part will be over.

You walk out of the kitchen and head out of the den down the second hall. You hear music from a familiar videogame you once played, following the sound as you prepare yourself to meet whichever hybrids are playing the game. When you reached the closed door, your hand wrapped around the doorknob. You twist the object and push the door open, entering the large room that seems to be the game room, considering the futuristic look and electronic devices that surround the area. A large flat - screen displays the game as you face the back of the gaming chairs that hold two people.

You notice one of their tails hanging to the side of the chair, indicating one of the leopards your grandmother noted. “They come off mischevious though they do have a sweet side once you surpass that phase, but don’t forget that it isn’t a facade. They find amusement in others’ suffering.”

You’re glad she was honest though it didn’t calm your nerves in the slightest. Hybrids are known to be dangerous by nature considering their societal views of the world surrounding them. It comes from a survival instinct that somehow turned into play. They are intimidating creatures, especially when they are exotic which is why they are so expensive. You move into the room further before clearing your throat quietly.

“Hello.” You state, awaiting a response as the screen continues on. The only one who acknowledges you is the person who turns their head on the left, revealing tiger ears as their golden eyes meet yours. His lips upturn into a wide grin, turning in his seat to where he sits sideways, the tiger tattoo on his neck prominent under his long black and blonde hair, as well as the tail that sticks out on the other side of the chair.

“Hey there.” He greets. “Do you know Japanese?”

You shook your head as your hand reached the back of your neck in embarrassment, smiling sheepishly. “Nah. Sorry about that.”

“You knew you were moving here yet didn’t bother to learn basic Japanese? How smart of you.” Another voice says from the seat next to the tiger who chuckles in response.

You didn’t know what the first part of his speech was, but considering the last part of it you could tell it probably wasn’t the nicest statement. Irritation creeps in but you didn't want to assume the worst so you ignored the remark.

“Kazutora.” He states before nodding over to the man who sits next to him. “That’s Rin.”

“Cool. Y/n.” You respond.

“Well, nice to meet ya, Y/n. I guess I’ll see ya around.” He says before giving you one last smile and turning back in his seat to face the screen. You nod to yourself before leaving the room with a “You too.”

You sigh as you make your way out of the hall and towards the staircase. You walk up the stairs heading to your room before deciding to find the last two cats. Then you can breathe and focus on unpacking. As you walk past the upstairs balcony, you stroll down the hall that holds the doors to the bedrooms. You notice a cracked door as well, whispers and the sound of a man talking low. The closer you get the more your eyebrows furrow as you hear wet smacking sounds. When you look through the crack, your hand covers your mouth as you eye the display.

Long pink hair drapes over the shoulders of the man bent over with his face against the bed, a red hue covering his face as drops of sweat cause his skin to glisten. His eyebrows are furrowed as his nose scrunches, fingers gripping the comforter as his body rocks against the man behind him while his ears are flat. The jaguar’s tail is held behind him by the long haired leopard’s hand, naked body glistening with sweat along with highlighting the large tattoo embedded on his torso, all the while he pounds into the man below him. His other hand grips his hips, claws piercing the skin as their skin smacks together. Both men pant while releasing occasional moans and praises.

Once your eyes make contact with purple you swiftly move away and rush towards your room, slamming the door behind you as you press your back against it. You had not expected any of that but you didn’t plan to act weird about it. It just caught you by surprise as well as making you embarrassed for being caught watching.

You sigh before turning your own tv on and beginning your unpacking process. Once you finished you heard a knock at your door. You yell, “Come in!”

The door opens to reveal the butler from earlier.

“Dinner is ready, madam.”

“Oh, thanks. Also, you don’t have to call me madam.”

“Yes, L/n” You shrug as he leads you to the empty dining room. You sit in one of the chairs and watch as the chef comes out with a covered plate, setting it in front of you before lifting it to reveal your delicious smelling dinner. You didn't hesitate to dig in, causing some to drip out of your mouth. You’ve honestly never tasted something so delectable in your life. You down the plate of food so fast, you take a second to breathe before you ask for more, tempted to get up on your own and grab it from the chef’s station.

“You’re gonna choke if you slurp it down like that again.” A voice says from the entrance of the room, causing you to turn your head in their direction. You immediately felt warmth in your face when you see the leopard from earlier, his long black and blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, swaying as he walks in before sitting at the table.

His ears stick up as his tail moves to rest against his lap, fingers connected as his face leans on the back of his hands. His leg crosses as a sly smile falls along his expression. A strand of hair falls in front of his face as his droopy eyes gaze at you from across.

“I’ll be fine.” You respond just as another plate of food is placed in front of you. “Y/n.” You shake off your anxiety considering it’s really not a big deal. They could’ve at least closed the door.

“Haitani Ran.” He offers a hand, dark claws out causing you to hesitate before accepting with your own.

He takes the opportunity to lift the back of your hand to connect his lips, releasing you as he licks the taste of your skin off his lips. You ignored the residue tingle left on your hand and began to eat your second plate. You glance at the other men who entered the room, noticing all of them except the lion.

They all sit in their seats, Rin beside Ran and the pink haired male next to them. Kazutora takes a seat next to you.

“Wonder what’s on the menu.” Rin states sarcastically.

“Our favorite as always.” Ran responds with a knowing look.

“How do you think she’ll react?” Kazutora asks with amusement.

“She wouldn’t know the difference, you know how dense humans are.” The scarred male says.

You wish you would have at least looked into a translation tool of some sort because you try telling yourself that they’re just having a normal conversation but you feel like you’re being shit - talked. You know that it’s a ‘you’ problem but the tone and energy that comes with their speech has been off.

“Hey, I’m Y/n.” You say to the male you have yet to meet. He gives you a bored look before stating, “Sanzu.” Mikey finally entered the dining room with his arm rubbing against his tired eyes. He heads to the seat on the other side of you and sits after pulling the chair back. He leans over the table with his head lying on his palm.

“Had a nice nap?” Kazutora questions.

“Not long enough.” He says with a soft voice.

“You came earlier than usual.” Rin says before turning to his brother. “You owe me.” To which Ran rolled his eyes.

The same chef as earlier, along with a few others came out with covered plates and set them in front of the hybrids. They also poured their preferred beverage into the wine glasses. Your eyebrows furrowed as to how you forgot to ask for your own drink or why they didn’t have a cup already out like everyone else.

Well, I am new so it’s probably nothing personal.

When they lifted the cover, you eye the chunks of raw meat along with the side dishes surrounding the plate. The smell was enticing though you’ve never been one to enjoy raw food in fear of the repercussions.

I guess they are technically big cats so it’s healthy for them.

You’ve never seen meat that looks quite like what’s on their plates. You watch as Sanzu rubs his meat into the red substance that puddles around it before lifting the chopsticks to his mouth.

“What is that?” You hope to not come off rude or ignorant though you were just so curious you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. Some of them gave each other looks all the while snickering or rolling their eyes.

“Fresh human.” Mikey says casually before taking another bite. Your eyes widen, hand holding your own chopsticks pausing as you stare down at your plate.

“Don’t worry, your dinner is animal meat.” The golden eyed tiger reassures you. Unfortunately, you’ve seemed to have lost your appetite.

“So, how do you obtain human meat?” You ask.

“By cooking a human.” Rin snorts. You glare at his smart ass answer and look over to the others.

“Your grandmother has freezers full of cut human slabs by those who signed off on donating their body parts to the Hybrid - Food Society Association.” Ran explains before taking another bite of food.

“They’re cleaned thoroughly before they’re slaughtered considering most donations are only after they’re dead.” He continued, “lucky for us only the healthiest of humans are chosen to be a meal specially made for the exotic hybrids such as us.”

How have you never heard of this before? Then again they only make normal pet food for non - exotic hybrids. You’ve never even been around a regular hybrid let alone the type you have to live with now. You nod your head as you prevent the bile from coming up your throat. You know that humans are technically just chunks of meat with legs, still on the food chain for other species and even on their own at times. You still couldn’t help but feel disturbed. They could decide to eat you at any moment and you’d be done for.

You turn to the chef and give your thanks before standing up and nodding a dismissal to the rest of the men, heading to your room so you could take a moment to relieve yourself of the anxiety forming. When you reached your bedroom, you decided to take a shower, gathering a pair of pajamas before entering your bathroom and turning the faucet on. After your shower you completed your nightly routine and hopped into bed.

After a few hours of scrolling and not being able to sleep, you climbed out of bed and walked through the hall to the staircase. Once you reach the den, one of your eyebrows raise at the tiger who sat on the couch leaned over. As you walked around you noticed the tray on his lap as well as the opened wrap in his hands that he brought to his lips to lick the lining before rolling the leaf, closing around the green flower. His ears perked up as he turned slightly to look at you.

“Want some?” He says with a smile and tilted head, holding the joint up.

Sitting on the balcony connected to his room, you both pass the stick as you converse about whatever comes to mind, slight laughter along with semi - deep conversation that’s lingering between the surface and depth. A moment of silence included with the level of ganja consumed enhanced your need for sleep, you lying on the ground as your legs hang off the edge of the balcony. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel weightless under the moonlight. Your steady breathing caught Kazutora’s attention.

He turns back to look at you before finishing off the roach and ashing it out. He tossed it below, the burnt leaf disappearing into the forested area. He leaned back, connecting with the floor as he turned his head to the side to observe your sleeping face. His own expression is stoic besides the light pink hue that lingers on his face. After lying there for a moment, he sits up to lean over you and sniff near your neck, your distinct scent fuming his nostrils. One of his hands move to your shoulder as he grips the skin, sniffing a little harsher than before to receive every fume that comes from you.

A few weeks pass and you find yourself with a casual routine. Fortunately, you’ve bonded well with Kazutora though that’s not much of a surprise since he was the most welcoming. His extrovertedness did well with helping you out of your comfort zone. Today you went out to run errands. Eyeing the building to your left and noticing that it is a bakery, you decide to run in and buy a case of Mikey’s favorite treat. You knew he was running out so a quick pit stop couldn’t hurt.

When you arrived home you dropped the case on the kitchen counter before quickly taking your own stuff to your room, planning to place it in the right area once you finished setting your bags on the floor. When you made it downstairs, you stopped to see Mikey opening the case you had set on the counter. When he grabs the snack, he opens the package and sets the treat between his lips, fangs glistening before he takes a bite.

“Thanks.” He says before walking out. You shrug before sneaking one of your own and setting the rest in the pantry. You knew that he’d eat all of those within the next two to three days so you thought to snatch one to try before he eats them all.

A few days pass and he asks if you can style his hair so he wouldn’t have to. You didn’t think pulling half your hair up in a ponytail could be that much work but to each their own. You didn’t mind styling his hair, the soft strands entangling your fingers as you pulled it up to wrap the band around the section once you were finished brushing the mane. You thought his ears would make it harder for you but there was no trouble at all. He stared at the tv all the while you completed the ponytail.

From that day on he would automatically show up in your room and position himself on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. You never complained nor rejected him. It was quite the bonding experience even when you two didn’t talk at all. More weeks passed and he gradually showed more comfortability around you, making excuse after excuse just to touch you such as making you carry him, lying his head on your lap, or spooning you whenever he’d ask to sleep in your bed. You found the behavior adorable and the company appreciated.

A couple months passed and you were walking up the stairs to your bedroom after a smoke session with Kazutora. When you opened your door, the putrid smell smacked your face before you eye the red liquid from the freshly slaughtered human arm lying on your comforter. You covered your mouth before bile shot up your throat and caused you to vomit on the floor. Dry heaving and gagging, tears fall down your face at the burning liquid from your throat as well as the stench filling your nostrils.

“What a sight.” A voice says behind you though you’re too distracted to notice, running to your bathroom before slamming the door shut. Laughter filled the room.

After you got yourself together you were met with an ‘apology’ from Rin and Sanzu, though it only consisted of, “It was just a prank.” Ran offered for you to sleep in his room until the mattress and sheets were replaced, to which Mikey and Kazutora tried to argue against in order for you to stay with them instead.

A few months pass and you wake up in the middle of the night. You felt the urge to walk down the hall considering the loud noise that startled you awake. Once you did, you found one of the bedroom doors open. Walking in, you gasped when you see Sanzu on the ground completely out of it with his eyes barely open and head leaning against the wall. You immediately take action and stick your fingers into his throat forcing him to vomit whatever he consumed. Once he came back to consciousness you wrapped your arms around him and cried on his shoulder for his safety, his own eyes staring ahead into the space across from where you sat.

Unknown to you, after a week passed he made himself a routine of observing you while you slept. Sometimes he would even climb in the bed, accidentally waking you up though you weren’t concerned, embracing the jaguar in your arms as you fell back into slumber.

One day, you just couldn’t take your eyes off of Ran’s long hair. You asked if you could play with it, as it reminded you of the mannequin heads you received as a little girl. He didn’t mind. As a matter of fact he fell asleep numerous times on your lap, nuzzling comfortably against your thighs as your fingers traced his scalp. Sometimes, he’d even ask you to downright scratch his head, his body reacting slightly as the tingles go straight down his spine. It was cute.

A month passed and you were walking through the rest of the mansion you had yet to see. You almost passed a room until the leopard patterned ears caught your attention. You watched as Rin worked out in the gym, lifting large weights. You eye the matching tattoo that sits on the opposite side of his brother’s torso. Never really exercising consistently, you walk into the room and grab the smallest weights as a joke before standing next to him and lifting your own, giving him a humorous smile. He side glances at you before you turn away, continuing to lift as you miss the red hue forming on his face.

A year passed and you decidedl that it’s time for you to meet other humans who reside in Japan. Having been slacking on your social skills, you couldn’t help the nerves that struck when you went out to meet a group of people you’ve never met before you were hit up on social media. You made sure to dress appropriately considering you all would be bar hopping and running around the booming streets of a popular city. The night was spent with pure joy and good energy as you all roamed the area. The hours reach the am and you finally return home, a little tipsy as you stumble into the foyer.

“Where were you?” You almost jolt out of your skin when you try passing the den, turning to see Kazutora sitting on the sofa with a leg crossed.

“Oh, you scared me.” You giggle in relief. His expressionless gaze caused you to quiet down before you responded to his question. “I went out with some people I met.”

“Who?” He asks in a serious tone. You raise one of your eyebrows.

“What is this an interrogation?” He holds his hands up in surrender with a sheepish smile.

“It was just a question.” You sigh before shaking your head.

“I-I’m sorry about that, I shouldn’t have gotten so defensive.” You drop your purse on the floor before sitting next to him.

“It’s alright. Wanna smoke?” He questions before he feels your head leaning against his shoulder. Your quiet breathing indicated your slumber. He sits up and turns his body towards you, shifting you to lean back on the couch before diving into your neck, sniffing the scents from the various humans that had been in your presence. His expression turns into irritation, a drop in his stomach as he feels the need to scrub your body clean of the stench that surrounds you. Instead, he helped you to bed.

A few weeks pass and you go on a date. The meeting was nice and the guy really made your day with his gentlemen - like behavior. You stepped out of the car after he dropped you off. He walked you to your door before you gave him a kiss on the cheek and told him, “Bye.” When you entered the door, you were immediately grabbed by the arm while you were sniffed by Rin.

“Gross.” He hissed before dropping your arm and walking away. Leaving you confused as you stood in your spot. On another occasion you were in the middle of braiding Ran’s hair while he faced you with his legs over yours, both of you sitting on your bed.

“Wouldn’t you rather watch tv than me?” You chuckled. He shook his head with a smile.

“Nope.” He says before pushing you on your back and climbing on top of you, nuzzling his head between your shoulder and positioning himself comfortably enough to nap. You roll your eyes and shift your attention to the flat screen while caressing his back until you fall asleep on your own.

When you went to the bathroom after you both woke up and he left your room, your eyebrows furrowed at the marks left on your neck. Tracing them as you stared deeply into the mirror. You confronted him though he promised to not do it again, he didn’t listen. You begin to hide it with makeup when going out only for the foundation to show up missing each time, causing you to stop buying new products considering they’d disappear anyway.

“Master, my dorayaki is gone!” Mikey whines as he sits on top of your lap, legs circled around your waist as you sit on the sofa in the den. You pull him back by the arms while giving him a look.

“Mikey, I’ve already told you to stop calling me that.”

He continues to whine about his missing dorayaki, ignoring your statement as he calls you the preferred name over and over.

“I can’t get you more if you don’t get up.” To which he replied, “Then take me with you.”

“You’d still have to get down.” He paused above you, sniffing your neck before you felt a long wet muscle leave a trail of moisture.

“Mikey!” You gasp.

“All I can smell is Ran’s stupid scent on you.” He hissed before he continued to lick and mark up your neck with his own scent. You ignore the chills running up your back as you attempt to push him off though his grip is keeping you locked. His tail wraps around one of your arms while his hand grabs your other wrist, preventing you from pushing against him. You huff frustratingly.

You’ve been noticing the absence of a few of your clothing. The only thing you know is that someone has been stealing from your dirty clothes basket. It probably doesn’t worry you as much as it should but you couldn’t really do anything about it without the risk of accusing the wrong person and causing a problem. It wasn’t until one night you walked into Sanzu’s, seeing him naked and asleep as he held one of your favorite shirts. Your eyes widen at the pair of your panties tangled around his limp cock.

You immediately leave the room, shutting the door behind you and walking back to your bedroom. You brush the memory off as something to do with their instincts and comfortability or something, you don’t really know how to react to that. You didn’t bring it up nor did you say anything about it to anyone else. You’ve caught a few of them either having intercourse or masturbating but never once with your clothes. Not until then or until you ended up finding Kazutora sniffing your panties with drowsy eyes all the while Mikey pounding his ass above him, his head leaning on the tiger’s back while he gripped his waist. Now that was a sight you hadn’t expected to see at all.

You just thought that they all had a harmless crush on you and didn’t know what to do with it besides their sexual escapades so you didn’t say a word. You didn’t find a problem with their behavior until you had a visitor. You had no idea why they acted so rudely to your new friend, her being a girl who you were not attracted to in the slightest way sexually or romantically. It was clear the platonic friendship you had going on but for them to just outright go out of their way to aggressively make her uncomfortable is insane to you. You refrained from inviting anyone else over. It seemed to have just gone downhill from there.

One night you woke up and felt cold air hitting your whole body which made no sense considering you fell asleep warm in your pajamas. What you hadn’t expected was the moisture hitting one of your nipples nor the muscle sliding against your clit. Two pairs of purple eyes glower at you all the while continuing their assault. Claws slightly penetrate your thighs as well as the breast that’s being held against a mouth. Your hips buck before you sit up and push the older brother back, as well as the head of the younger.

“Rin! Ran! What in the fuck?!” You exclaim.

You had them all sit down in the den, the males holding expressions of boredom or little care for what you were going on about. You set boundaries about everything that had made you uncomfortable. The only reason you were explaining anything was because they are all hybrids and have different sets of rules and social constructs than regular humans. Although disturbed you decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, hoping things would get better.

You made an unfortunate decision, attempting to invite another friend over, this time a male. Considering there had been some time that passed and the hybrids had listened to your concerns, you thought that you could finally have some company. It was very late by the time you both realized the time, you being nice and offering him to stay in one of the guest bedrooms and sleep over. When you hadn’t heard from him or seen him walk out of the room, you decided to check in. Only for you to let out a scream of terror at what was left of the mauled body lying on the bed. You couldn’t stop trembling as you hyperventilated, Kazutora rubbing your sides as he held you against his chest while the maids cleaned the mess.

A few days pass as you stay locked in your room. You get up from the bed and head to your grandmother’s old bedroom on the other side of the mansion. You searched for anything that could notify you of the violence that occured. Some piece of information on how to stay safe or figure out how to lessen their weird behavior. The only thing you found was your grandmother’s journal. You sat in your bedroom and read the entire passage. Your hands tremble as realization smacks you in the face. When you couldn’t find anyone upstairs, you rushed down to the game room after passing the empty den.

All of them were either sitting on gaming chairs or the couches, focusing on what was displaying on the screen. You walked to the tv, unplugging it and throwing the journal on the ground. You contemplated just making your exit quietly but you were so angry you acted out of emotion.

“What the fuck did you do to my grandma?! Who are you and what was your plan?”

They all stare at you with absent expressions. The only thing that could be heard was your heavy breathing.

“What are you talking about?” Kazutora questions. You shake your head.

“No don’t fucking try to manipulate me you know exactly what I’m talking about!” You say before grabbing one of the unused controllers near the tv and chucking it at him, only for him to dodge it.

“And what do you think you’re gonna do about it, huh? She’s dead and you’re lucky we spared you.” Rin says with irritation. Your eyes widen.

“Lucky you spared me?! Your plan was to kill me after poisoning her to death so you can steal everything from us!” You exclaim. “You lied to her and she was too old to notice that she even wrote it herself! You knew she didn’t have her right mind so you manipulated her into thinking you loved her!” The sound of another controller breaking catches your attention.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. We loved her like our mother.” Sanzu growls.

“Then why did you gradually kill her to steal from her! You don’t do that to people you love!”

“It wasn’t part of the plan to bond with her. She was just some old rich lady before we got to know her.” Ran says with a stoic expression. You scoff.

“Oh please! You’re fucking terrible!” You exclaim before walking to the exit. Before you could leave the room you were snatched by your arm.

“Where are you going?” Mikey questions while gripping your arm with his claws slightly piercing your skin, dark eyes glaring into your own orbs.

“Away from you freaks.” You hissed attempting to pull your arm away from him only to get thrown on the ground. You land with a thud along with a grunt when the back of your head meets the carpet.

Before you can get back up, you’re forced on your back, Mikey climbing on top of you and pinning you to the ground.

“LET ME GO!” You roar, fear mixing with the anger as the grip on your wrists tighten. His tail wraps around your neck in a tight hold, blocking your airway while he stares down at you with a cold look. You stare wide eyed as you struggle in his hold.

“Calm down, Y/n.” Kazutora says as they all gather around, him crouching down to eye you from above.

“Knock her out already.” Rin states before Sanzu pressed harshly against your pressure point, causing you to go limp immediately.

“It’s okay.” A voice cooes in your ear from behind. Heat covers your body as you groan while slowly coming to reality. The only light is the moonlight reflecting into the room, causing a hollow glow. You feel your own body rocking as the feeling of being stretched from below causes you to gasp. Hands grip your shoulders as your stomach is pressed against the bed. You hear panting behind you as kisses are placed on your neck and shoulder.

“I… hah, love you so much. Fuck!” Kazutora breathes out as he rocks his lower body against yours, sliding his thick erection out of your body before shoving it back inside deeply, purposefully aiming himself to hit the spot he knows will drive you crazy. You look up wide eyed at purple eyes that stare down at you from above, cock in hand right in front of your eyesight as he kneels on the bed.

“M’ so close. G-gonna fill this pussy up with my fucking cum.” His hair drapes over your back as his thrusts harden. He pulls his hips back before pressing them against your ass, accelerating his steady pace as he aims his head perfectly against your g - spot. You whimper as you bite your lip, tears streaming down your face as you turn your head the other way to not face the older Haitani. Only to be met with icy blue orbs glowering down at you with a twisted look of lust on his expression, such an intense gaze that forces you to shut your eyes tightly, waiting for the time to pass and this to be over.

Kazutora’s thrusts become harder as you feel a rise of your own stomach, the stimulation getting the best of your body before you release, the male over you holding his hips against your ass before he shoots ropes of cum inside of you. Breathing heavily, you feel his weight lift off of you before forcing you to turn over on your back. You cry out when Mikey crawls in between your legs, holding your legs up as he positions himself to push inside.

“I hate you! I-I hate all of you!” You hysterically cry, using your fists to bang against Mikey’s chest before Rin appears in your vision, grabbing your chin as he leans over, red hue covering his cheeks.

“Shut up.” He says before forcing you into a passionate kiss.

Once they were all done taking their turns with you, you were carried to the bathroom to get cleaned up by Ran. Your limp body is exhausted from being used by the stronger species, worn out and broken from the inside out. You knew that the next day would be spent planning your escape.