#not to Possess them but to possess them if you know what i mean

[acid-ixx]

'cause you're takin' it like a champ, sweetheart !

(nsfw) romantic! yandere conner kent x gn! reader

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist ; leaked sex tape post ; other post !

a/n: mdni. purely nsfw. inspired off of @luludeluluramblings. the reader here is gender neutral but is a bottom, so interpret them as any gender as you will! mentions of breeding, oral (giving &. receiving), and overstimulation.

i'm sorry but i just read about the sex tape thing and now i'm shitposting you guys. what if instead of making chapter 6 for my series angsty, i make conner and you have kinky, sloppy, sweat-drenched sex after your first date? what if instead of the batfamily stripping you away of your freedom, conner strips you naked right before one of the secret cameras placed inside the room you're both in, that he's sure records every single passionate movement you both make in bed?

what if instead of you crying from the pain of all the negligence, you writhe and mewl like an overstimulated pornstar as he pounds away all your worries instead??? and if the footage unknowingly gets leaked? holy shit, not only do you possess the title of bruce wayne's infamous bastard child, but you're now also known as a kryptonian monsterfucker who definitely possesses the energy of a bull if it means you could handle bed-breaking sex to the point you're sure anyone from a mile away could hear your bated, snappy breaths and conner's sporadic, non-stop humping into the most pleasurable parts of your body.

cause even if he's half-human, that doesn't take away the fact that he is half-human. he sports features that aren't typical in normal anatomy. this just translates to: less energy is consumed when fucking you, so he could go on and on and on eating his love out, leaving marks for hours whilst simultaneously ensuring that you're probably well-bred (and i hc that it's probably almost exclusive to kryptonians that they cum, a lot) and dripping and feeling full by the end of the night (or day, heaven knows just how long he could go off worshipping your body).

and yes, the leaked sex tape piqued the interest of most curious eyes and it's probably going to be the spectacle for most researchers curious about kryptonian anatomy- but consider this. conner's not the only man obsessed with you. there're some romantic interests out there seething with rage, at the same time nutting and touching themselves to the video and playing it on repeat cause you're taking it like a champ.

unfortunately for them though, you've already been too addicted to the feel of conner spearing you down that you just can't fathom anyone else holding you the same way he does. you love the dichotomy he puts you through (to the point you ignore the red glinting lenses above your body) when he's possessively pinning you to the any fucking surface with his strong arms wrapped around your waist, with no chance of escape, the sensation of his dick penetration in and out in a hasty, yet rhythmic beat. yet despite the harsh thrusts, his hand still find itself to your sweaty forehead to wipe away stray hair, his lips taking its sweet time softly pressing kisses from the crown of your head all the way to your lips.

"good j-job takin' me whole, sweetheart— ah! god, i love you..." he whispers praises with his parched throat on your ears, every syllable enunciated with the thrum of his hips, your legs nearly resting over his shoulder. if not for his breaths hitting the inside of your ears, goosebumps spreading throughout your body, you wouldn't have picked up on the bass of his voice complimenting you.

your grip on his body only tightens, eyes shutting deeper into the near zenith. with just how much you're humping back despite the soreness in your muscles, tears escaping your eyes from pure, unfiltered pleasure, it's as if you're putting on a performance for the whole world to see.

"i— AH! i love you, t-too, kon– baby!" your reply came in the form of a squeal after another of his particularly harsh thrusts from waiting for your response. god, your throat hurts, it's more sore than conner's, taking him in your mouth fully felt like a fever dream, but you could remember the shape of his tip puncturing the back of your throat that it has your body reeling for another mind-blowing orgasm.

the glass of water on the stand beside you both is empty, it's been empty for hours. yet conner's still thirsty, how else would he be quenched from his urge when his previous ministrations of eating you out whilst prepping you to take his dick makes him even hornier? there's something about your body that makes the kryptonian want to memorize every single detail from how you writhe when the piercing in his tongue penetrates a sensitive part of you, and oh, the salty taste of your sweat and tears is heaven for a starving man like him.

shit, the thought of sloppily devouring you whole after he fills you up time and time again would be the cherry on top. overstimulation works pleasures on his sweetheart's body like a charm. he loves seeing the more desperate parts of you begging for more yet telling him to stop at the same time, as your hands still tangle harshly on his hair to keep him in place.

... but for now, he's got to focus on the lack of love marks on the expanse of your body, his vision nitpicking all the places in your skin that he's going to suck hickeys on. it'll definitely be his final piece of the puzzle to show all your other admirers his claim on you.

and the whole world can only bear witness to the artwork he's creating with you.

welp, guess it's just going to be you and conner alone in the room for a while, satiating both your hunger for each other, haha...

— oh, and don't forget the hundreds of cameras placed strategically to record all angles of your bodied fucking like animals!

[cherryxbooo]

You’re my ideal type

Summary: A video from a year ago of Oscar talking about his ideal type went viral, making his fans wonder why he chose his girlfriend. This leaves y/n with a lot of questions herself .

Note: First time writing for Oscar! I kinda went with the flow. Let me know what you think! 😌

Reader x Oscar Piastri

Genre: fluff/angst

It was a beautiful, sunny day in Monaco. I was out with two of my friends, enjoying brunch together and soaking up the good vibes.

We spent hours talking, laughing, and joking around—overall, it was a fantastic time.

Afterward, we decided to go for a stroll. That’s when we stumbled upon a gorgeous spot with an incredible view. For girls, that can only mean one thing: a photo session. And, of course, we took full advantage.

We snapped countless pictures of each other—exactly what I needed. I’d been wanting to update my Instagram feed, and I knew Oscar would appreciate a few of these too. A win-win situation if you ask me.

Hours later, we decided to head home. Parting ways was bittersweet, but we all had things to do.

When I finally arrived at the place Oscar and I shared, I immediately went inside, feeling my social battery completely drained.

I glanced at the clock and sighed. There were still a few hours to go before Oscar would be home. Feeling a little bored, I decided to tackle some household chores to pass the time.

Eventually, I finished everything and switched to full-on "bed rotting" mode. As I scrolled mindlessly on my phone, I remembered the stunning photos we’d taken earlier.

Sitting up, I started going through them, carefully picking out the best ones to upload to Instagram.

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yourusername Days like these ☀️���

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oscarpiastri Pretties girl ❤️ by author

alexandrasaintmleux Gorgeous ❣️

yourusername Says you 💋

f1_dailylvr81 She's so girly coded love it 💅

fashionistaformula I can't be the only one thinking about that one interview of Oscar?

paistryln481 You're not alone, every time I see her I keep thinking about it

foryoutt16 Wait what? I'm lost, what happened?

cocosainzyy55 @foryoutt16 An old interview of Oscar when he was still in F2 resurfaced and he was talking about his ideal type and the description he gave matches nothing to his current girlfriend. People are suddenly bringing this up again, wondering why he didn't choose his ideal type.

foryoutt16 Oh damn that's rough...

The comments and likes flooded in, as they always did. Sometimes, I forgot that I was dating an F1 driver—it came with its own kind of spotlight.

But as I scrolled through the comments under my post, a few things caught my attention.

One comment in particular stood out: something about an old interview of Oscar.

Confused and curious, I decided to look it up. Little did I know, I was about to regret it...

My stomach twisted into knots as I watched the video, realization sinking in. Oscar described his ideal woman, and her characteristics were unlike ones I possessed. I felt a wave of insecurities and doubts wash over me, each word a reminder of how I didn't fit the bill for his ideal partner.

My heart sank with every word he spoke, describing his ideal woman's qualities - and every one felt like another reminder of how far off the mark I was.

I couldn't help but wonder, "Why did he choose me?" His words stung, and I questioned whether he settled for less than his ideal because he didn't have better options.

On cue, as if the universe was playing a cruel joke, Oscar returned home and called out my name. His voice echoed through the hallway, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning inside me. I hesitated, a mix of fear and confusion gripping me, as I debated whether to face him with this newfound knowledge.

He entered the room with a warm smile, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. He greeted me with a gentle kiss on the forehead before starting to speak in sweet words.

"Hey babe, how was your day?" he asked, completely unaware of the recent discovery I made.

I forced a smile, trying to hide the turmoil inside as I replied, "It was fine," my voice trying to mask the disappointment and insecurity that bubbled up.

The words left my lips, sounding hollow compared to the usual warmth in my tone.

Oscar sensed the hint of falsity in my fake smile. His observant nature picked up on the subtle cues of my distress, and he recognized that something was off. Yet, instead of immediately asking about it, he chose to hold off, observing to see if I would bring it up.

Oscar wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. He kissed my temple gently, his touch providing a temporary sense of comfort.

He knew something was bothering me and chose not to press, offering a moment of respite instead. "Do you want takeout?" he asked, his voice filled with tenderness.

I replied softly, trying to match his tenderness, "Sounds good." Despite my conflicting emotions, I didn't want to dampen the mood by revealing my insecurities.

"Takeout sounds great," I said, attempting to sound cheerful.

Oscar reluctantly let go of me, reaching for the phone to place the takeout order. In his absence, I seized the opportunity to sneak a look in the mirror, as well as to search for pictures of Oscar's ideal type.

I scoured the internet, comparing every aspect of my appearance to the images of his ideal woman. The comparison fueled my insecurities, amplifying the feeling of not measuring up.

My tears threatened to spill as I stood there, comparing myself to Oscar's ideal, but before they could, I heard Oscar's voice calling out.

"Y/n baby, the food will be here in twenty minutes," he informed me. I swiftly wiped away the tears before responding, attempting to hide the vulnerability in my voice, "Okay, thanks for letting me know."

Splashing my face with water to compose myself, hoping to hide any traces of my tears and distress. With determination, I dried my face and returned to the room where Oscar was, trying to mask my vulnerability.

After the food came, we ate together. I was quiet, it was mainly Oscar talking which was odd because normally it was always me talking and he would listen. We were currently cuddled up together after eating

Despite our cozy cuddle on the couch, my mind was preoccupied with worries. Thoughts like "What if he leaves me?" and "What if I'm not good enough?" consumed me.

Oscar noticed my distraction and asked if I was alright, concern in his voice. I replied, "Just tired," and although he didn't fully believe it, he decided not to push further.

Oscar spoke up once more, his voice soft and reassuring. "Y/n?" he began, his eyes searching mine.

"You know I love you, right? If there's anything bothering you, you know you can tell me," he emphasized, his tone filled with patience and support.

I nodded, attempting to hide the depth of my worries and insecurities. "Yeah, I know. I love you too," I responded, trying to sound reassuring.

The words felt heavy, knowing the weight of my unspoken fears.

A few weeks had passed since that moment of insecurity, and I had been avoiding Oscar, even though we lived together. I had made excuses to skip every Grand Prix , claiming I was too busy with work.

Yet, here I was, facing the mirror on the morning of a home race, feeling utterly unprepared. The interview weighed heavily on my mind, and I wasn't in the right state to face it.

Standing in front of my reflection, I looked at myself, thoughts of my inadequacy resurfacing.

Oscar entered the room, his gaze settling on me. He positioned himself behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my head.

His presence brought both comfort and nerves as I stood in front of the mirror, still grappling with my insecurities.

He spoke softly, his compliment genuine and sweet. "I didn't know it was possible to be this pretty. You look amazing love," he murmured, his voice filled with affection.

I stepped away from him, the compliment not offering the comfort it usually would. My actions were distant, as if I was subconsciously putting up a barrier.

"Thanks," I responded distantly, my tone devoid of the warmth that usually accompanied my words.

The fear of his departure and my sense of inadequacy still lingered in my heart, casting a shadow over the moment.

Oscar seemed puzzled by my distant behavior, his confusion evident. Seeing right through my attempt to avoid him, he asked gently,

"Baby, did I do something wrong? Why are you avoiding me?"

His voice was tinged with concern, his eyes filled with hurt at my distance.

I quickly responded, trying to change the subject. "No, you did nothing wrong. Uhm, shouldn't you leave for the race?"

Oscar looked at me, his gaze lingering on me before reluctantly letting it go.

"Wait, weren't you coming with me?" he questioned, his tone hinting at his confusion.

I responded with a slightly busted attitude, "Oh, uhm, I'm not done getting ready yet. I'll come later, though."

It was a lie, and Oscar seemed to sense that something was off.

Despite the passing time, he decided to focus on his own preparations while stealing a moment to kiss my forehead before leaving.

I took a moment to muster my courage, realizing that Oscar didn't deserve being pushed away because of my insecurities.

With a deep breath, I prepared myself to face the day and attend the race, pushing through the weight of my doubts.

As the hours flew by, I found myself standing in the garage, watching from afar, torn between my worries and the desire to support him.

After awhile I decided to go to the restroom since I still had some time before the race started.

As I was walking, I heard voices behind me, and my name being mentioned caught my attention.

I stopped to listen—not that I meant to eavesdrop, but hearing my name made it impossible not to.

From what I could tell, these girls were likely McLaren fangirls. Well duh after all, they were dressed in papaya colors.

Girl 1: "It's crazy that Oscar is still dating y/n. She doesn't even fit his ideal type."

Girl 2: "I know, right? Like, she's not even close."

Girl 3: "Yeah, he must be leading her on or something."

Girl 4: "Or maybe she's in it for the fame and money."

Girl 5: "Oh, definitely. There's no other reason she would be with him."

The girls' laughter echoed in my ears, each comment like a punch to my heart.

Girl 2: "Seriously, you'd think he could do better than her."

Girl 1: "Yeah, she's not even that attractive compared to the other girls he's dated before."

Girl 3: "I bet he'll realize soon that he could get someone way better."

Girl 4: "Well, if the fame and money aren't enough, then he's definitely settling."

I couldn't bear to listen any longer, my tears streaming as I fled to the restroom, seeking solace to hide my distress.

Time slipped away as I stayed there, isolated, wrestling with my tormenting thoughts and self-doubts.

Meanwhile, the McLaren garage buzzed with pre-race energy, but Oscar couldn’t focus. His eyes darted around the paddock, scanning for any sign of you.

Anxiety churned in his gut as he spotted his teammate leaning casually against a workbench.

“Lando!” Oscar called, walking over briskly.

Lando glanced up, eyebrows raised. “What’s up, mate?”

Oscar hesitated before blurting out, “Have you seen Y/N anywhere?”

Lando frowned, clearly puzzled. “No, mate, haven’t seen her. Matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve seen her around for the last few races. Is everything okay?”

Oscar sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, mate. She’s been so distant lately, and I have no idea what I’ve done to upset her.”

Lando’s expression softened, a mix of pity and thoughtfulness. “Could it maybe have to do with that video that went viral again?”

Oscar blinked, confused. “What video? That old F2 interview of mine? That was years ago! I was just joking in most of it anyway.”

Lando shrugged, giving him a pointed look. “Mate, you might want to check the comments under her recent Instagram post. I think that’s your answer.”

With a sympathetic pat on the back, Lando turned and walked off, leaving Oscar alone with his thoughts.

He pulled out his phone, his fingers quickly navigating to your profile. The comments under your latest post hit him like a brick.

“Oh no,” Oscar muttered, his stomach sinking. “No wonder she’s been distant…”

He mentally kicked himself, remembering that dumb interview where he’d been too cocky for his own good.

“I didn’t even mean half the stuff I said,” he whispered to himself, cringing at the memory.

Before he could search for you and explain himself, a crew member called his name, dragging him toward the car for pre-race preparations.

“Great timing,” he muttered under his breath. But he made a promise to himself: as soon as this race was over, he’d find you and make things right.

Meanwhile, back to you, the restroom break had taken longer than expected. The initial plan to kill time before the race started had backfired; now, a dull ache was forming in my head, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease creeping up on me.

I leaned against the sink for a moment, taking a deep breath. “This is ridiculous,” I muttered to myself, but the discomfort wasn’t going away.

Deciding it was best not to push myself, I pulled out my phone and quickly typed a message to Oscar:

Not feeling great. Heading back home. Don’t worry about me.

I hesitated before hitting send. He’d probably be confused or even concerned, but the last thing I wanted was to worry him.

With a sigh, I hit send and slipped my phone back into my bag.

As I stepped out of the restroom and headed for the exit, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt.

On the way, I also let Oscar's manager know I left, just in case he didn't check his phone.

I knew Oscar would notice my absence, but today, it felt easier to retreat than to stay and face everything swirling in my mind.

Little did I know, Oscar was already worrying.

The race had ended, with Oscar clinching a solid P4, just behind Lando. Though pleased with his result, his mind was elsewhere.

He wanted nothing more than to see you, to feel your arms around him, and hear you tell him how proud you were—just like old times.

But as he scanned the crowd, his hope began to waver. You weren’t there.

His manager noticed Oscar’s distracted gaze and approached him. “Looking for Y/N?” the manager asked gently.

“She left you a message. Said she wasn’t feeling well and headed home.”

Oscar’s jaw tightened, his heart sinking. You hadn’t told him the truth.

A mix of frustration and hurt bubbled to the surface. Without a word, he decided to skip the team celebrations and headed straight home.

When Oscar arrived, he didn’t waste a second. Dropping his bag by the door, he called out loudly—his voice sharper than usual.

“Y/N!”

You were downstairs in no time, a soft smile on your face.

“Oh, hey, Osc! You’re back early. How was the race?” I asked sweetly, trying to act normal.

But Oscar wasn’t having it. His expression was hard as he stared at you.

“You would’ve known if you didn’t leave,” he said, his voice laced with frustration.

Guilt washed over me, and you stammered, “I’m sorry, Osc. I wasn’t feeling well—”

“Cut the crap, Y/N!” he interrupted, startling you. His voice was raised, something he rarely did.

“When are you going to finally admit the real reason you’ve been like this? Tell me! I’m sick of it!”

I flinched but couldn’t blame him. He deserved an explanation. At the same time, I’d had enough, too. My emotions spilled out, my voice breaking.

“How would you feel if people kept telling you that your partner is too good for you? That you’re not good enough, that you’re too ugly, not their type, only with them for the money?!”

Tears streamed down my face as you continued.

“And yes, it’s about that stupid interview of yours! I can’t help it, okay? Call me dumb, call me a crybaby, but this is too much!”

By now, I was full-on sobbing, unable to meet his gaze. But before I could crumble further, I felt his arms wrap around me, pulling me close.

His voice was soft now, gentle. “Why didn’t you tell me, baby? I could’ve helped. We’re a team, remember?”

I sniffled, my voice trembling as I replied, “Those were your words, Oscar. I can’t take them back or change them.”

He sighed, his hand running soothingly up and down your back. “Babe, that interview was years ago. I was joking around the entire time. If you’d watched the whole thing, you’d see that.”

I shook my head, unsure, but he leaned back just enough to look at me.

“Since when is my favorite color pink?” he teased, a small laugh escaping him.

Despite yourself, you let out a small laugh, too.

“That's better,” he said, smiling.

“Listen to me. Everything I said in that interview wasn’t true. I was 18, tired, and didn’t even want to be there. I was just trolling to get it over with.”

I laughed again at his confession, finally meeting his eyes.

“There’s that pretty smile,” he said, his tone softer now. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that, but next time, talk to me, okay?”

I nodded, wiping your tears. “I will. I’m sorry for doubting you… for pushing you away.”

He smiled warmly, leaning in to peck your lips a few times.

“It’s okay, love. I get why you did it. But don’t you ever doubt yourself again, yeah? You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. If anyone doesn’t deserve someone, it’s me. How did I get so lucky, huh?”

He cupped your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek before pulling you into a long, passionate kiss. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“Don’t you ever doubt yourself,” he whispered. “You’re my ideal type. Always.”

I laughed softly. “Alright, alright, I get it.”

Suddenly, Oscar scooped me up into his arms, bridal style, making me squeal.

“Osc! What the hell are you doing? Put me down!”

He grinned, shaking his head as he headed toward the bedroom.

“Nope. Let me show my gorgeous girl how much I love her.”

And let’s just say, the night ended perfectly. From that moment on, I never doubted his love for me ever again.

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oscarpiastri An amazing race to finish off the week. A big thank you to the entire team and the fans. Also a big thank you to my beautiful girlfriend for being the best support.

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yourusername So so proud of you Osc!!! Love you! 🩷

oscarpiastri Love you too pretty!

landonorris Well done mate 🙌 extra support is always great!

oscarpiastri Thanks man! You're right especially if she's just my type 😉

yourusername 🤭 ❤️ by author

lalalandnorris4you Oscar really gagged all of you haters purr 💅

frvrformulaonestan1 This is the cutest thing ever brb I'm going to cry 🥹

notyourfan481 Bro Oscar you don't have to lie we all know this ain't you

osclvy/n Girl stfu he isn't going to notice you ffs 🙄

lovelypeachlan4 You thought you did sum? Get out 👉🚪

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yourusername A little recap of last week 🤍

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yourbffuser Looking like a snack 😋😍🥵

yourusername Love ya 💋🫦

oscarpiastri Gorgeous 😍

yourusername Love youu Osc 🥰

alexandrasaintmleux So so so pretty 😘

yourusername Says you beautiful 😉💕

lv4motorsports81 She's so pretty omd

manyyynorriz She's gorgeous, don't know what people were on about 🤨

banananorrispiastry81 🤢

nothingthelessnorris4 And you did this for what ☠️

piastrybakerlvr Move on he isn't going to notice you 🥱

lvlynorrisss4 Yet your comment didn't make any change to this world... Grow up 🤦‍♀️

The end

[fishnapple]

What can bring true satisfaction to your heart?

Let's end this year by hearing what your heart yearns for. And also trying out my new AAB (Animal Advisory Board) set for divination ✨️

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

ORANGE

On the surface level, what feels like satisfaction for you is recognition for your hard work. You feel a sense of lack when it comes to your material possessions, that that sense of lack can affect your sense of self greatly. You could feel that the more you have, the more confident and safe you are, you find safety in a familiar physical world. Working, earning money, and then being recognised for your effort can elevate your "worth" in this world, or so you believe. And being worthy is the solid proof of existence and meaning. But you will soon find that in chasing success and recognition, you risk burning out and losing your vitality, your jest for life. Being too focused on a goal, a task can narrow your perspective and make you feel like life is just a race, a competition. You want to show your best, to be known as the most hard working person, the one who contributes the most, the one who can take on any tasks without fear, the one who shines the brightest. Life seems like a stage where you have to perform constantly, even when you're alone, your actions are being observed by an invisible audience.

But your inner self disagrees with that approach, and it will demand a change from you. You can't keep running in "the race" forever because there's simply no race for you to run, just a life for you to be in and to live. A part of you is sleeping, latent inspirations are trapped inside without the means to be expressed. It's quite contradictory, on the outside, you look so busy and active, always doing something, but on the inside, the energy is stagnant and inactive. This feeling will continue to pile up until you can't take it anymore and want to burst out, to take off. The feeling of true freedom, of flying for the first time will open up a floodgate inside you, you will begin to nurture a different perspective, you will want to slow down your run and look around, suddenly you will find so many interesting things around you that you haven't noticed before.

By being free, you will also have a different view on relationships. Your heart yearns for freedom, freedom to be yourself, and freedom to love. You will want to bond deeply with people, to seek comfort in the emotional sense, not in the physical sense anymore. You seek true understanding, of yourself, of the other person and the world you live in. Deep connections can bring the most satisfaction, something that you might have been oblivious to up until now. You won't seek recognition from the general crowd anymore, you will seek the transparency of being seen completely by a loved one.

WHITE

For this group, I see a lot of images about predators attacking prey. This can mean that you are having contradictory thoughts and feelings inside yourself, like an inner critic, always watching and judging your every wish and action. This creates lots of unnecessary fears in you, you're held prisoner by your own mind. You desire many different things, or said in a different way, many different things can bring you satisfaction, but they can be at odds with each other. The solution for you is to go ahead and do them anyway, no matter how much your mind protest or try to "talk" you out of it, which sometimes can be in a really aggressive way. Your mind can create visions of people ridicule or criticise you for your decisions. What you need to do is triumph over those visions, shoo them away, and just do what you instinctively feel drawn to do and then see for yourself, with you own eyes, the actual outcome, only then will you have solid "proof" to chase away those intrusive thoughts in your mind. For you, getting over your myriad fears will be your biggest achievement and satisfaction. For every victory over your fear, no matter how small, you deserve to get a pat on your back. Be gentle with yourself, but firm enough to give yourself a chance to grow.

About your many desires, one is about receiving and giving love. You might just focus on romance and dating right now, without much serious thought about a long-term commitment and building a family with someone. But in the future, when you allow yourself to grow more and gain new perspectives, the thought of commitment will naturally arise in you. You won't just desire love and affection alone, you also desire a place to call home, a place where someone will be there to welcome you. You will want to nurture someone, and be nurtured back, work for the connection, and see your effort grow into a deep bond. You're working hard right now, but mostly to build your own foundation, later in life, you will want to work hard to build that foundation with another person. Your heart will flourish in the nurturing environment of a steady relationship.

For now, just focus your energy on getting to know yourself, every nook and cranny. Come to your rescue when your mind begins to nag, especially when you want to rest and contemplate hidden things behind the veil of mundane life. Use your resting time to let your mind explore foreign subjects, coax it gently when it tries to resist learning new things. The more you explore, the more your mind will soar, the more your heart will feel tranquil and happy.

PINK

Does the question of whether the person you're attracted to romantically can also be your friend ever cross your mind? Or the question of whether that person can truly connect with you on a mental level? I see the people who chose this group are ardent lovers. The kind that would focus their all on a connection, passionate and gripping. You might be the person who loves falling in love, the feeling of romance and relationships brings you great joy. But the pitfall here is that you tend to idealise the other person and the connection to the point of overlooking some glaring incompatibilities. On a surface level, a person might seem fun and physically ideal to be your partner, but let some time pass and look closer, you will find that you don't really connect on a more deeper level. A telling sign would be that conversations are lacklustre, there's an uncomfortable silence between you, the subjects of the conversation are superficial. In the long run, this can create dissatisfaction in the relationship.

What you might not realise is that a deep bond, especially forged over many conversations, is essential to your feeling of overall happiness about life. Friendship matters, even love should be built based upon friendship. Having many people who you can call friends is actually more satisfying than having many lovers, friends who come from many walks of life, from all around the world. Having a group of close friends who can go on adventures with you, who can nurture you, who can build you up, who can make your mind buzzing, who can be your family, that's what brings true satisfaction to your heart.

Can you see the stag nipping at a tree while the peacock is facing the opposite direction? I think right now, the way you express yourself can be like a form of reaction to the specific person whom you're interacting with, rather than just communicating who you are in general. In conversations, you might try to act more cool, showing the best of yourself in order to build a favourable image, which is what all of us do to some degrees, consciously or not. But this shape-shifting energy can be detrimental to really connect with the other person. Instead of letting the other person provide you with 'nutrition' for your mind and heart, you're busy impressing them. This can happen in all your interactions, whether with strangers, acquaintances, friends, family, lovers. You should take a more relaxed approach, allowing the words to seep into you leisurely, building friendship as if growing a tree, then you will have a flourished heart.

GREEN

The word 'Success' has a lot of meanings to you, and all meanings have weight that defines your life. For you, being successful doesn't have to be about earning lots of money of being famous, though that is a part of the 'Success' that you pursue, it's not all. You want to leave behind your legacies, the proof that you exist, the proof that you have lived hard and well, that your life has meaning.

Throughout your life, you will encounter various stumbling blocks that require you to reinvent yourself, like ascending a stairway, each step bring your higher, closer to your ideals. You're willing to change yourself, to bring about a complete overhaul, allow yourself to play various roles, don many masks, life is a big stage and you're a magician, a jester or a seller, who always has something to dazzle and sell to the audience. This 'performance' is not fake or disingenuous at all, it's what you're born to do, to achieve prestige and finally reach the top of the stairway.

You have a core that's very malleable and agile, constantly moving, though it can help you be flexible and move through situations with ease, it can create an inner confusion. You feel like you have to be at all places, here and there, never settle down, forever swimming, nothing can hold you down and keep you in one place for long. This fuels your desire to find an anchor in the physical world. To know what you've done, what you've achieved, where you need to go. You need external structure and stability so that your internal spirit can swim freely. You can move a lot, but you need to feel a sense of home wherever you're. And that's not easy to achieve. But you have the knack to connect instantly with people, you can make the most distant stranger your friend in no time. The more people surround you, the safer you feel. Community and sense of camaraderie soothe you nomad heart. As long as you have people around you, everywhere can be your home.

And in that hope will you work your magic, working tirelessly to build your foundation. Even though your spirit is a nomad, constantly moving, you have trouble letting go of things and people, gradually, the stuff you pack with you gets more and more heavy, slowing you down. The challenge for you is to learn when to let go, to travel light. What your heart truly wants is the feeling of ascending the ladder, of knowing that you've done something meaningful and left a mark, of giving away the fruits of your labour, not the feeling of possessing and holding on to as many things as possible.

[somnoir]

Prodigal son beyond time - Part 1

Ra's Al Ghul had a son. No, it's not Dusan we spoke of right now. Ra's Al Ghul's first born child was a peculiar boy that was forged by the Lazarus Pits—or so what he says.

Talia has never met her brother.

Her brother, it has been years since she's found out about him yet her father never gives them a name—he thinks them unworthy of it. Even if he was not present, her brother continues to be the favorite, to be the child their father praised most. His absence is a glaring hole in her father's heart (though she is not sure if he has one).

It is no secret amongst the league that Ra's nameless son was unofficially the heir, even when Damian was born.

Talia has doubted her brother's distance many times, and yet she finds evidence of him over and over again.

Her father writes letters, strange ones that vary in language, dialect, grammar, writing styles. She did not mean to read one when she was young, but she couldn't help herself when she had seen it.

My dearest, son of mine,

It has been an age since last I beheld your presence. I find it most disquieting that you have not seen fit to visit, though I am not ignorant of how poorly time aligns itself with your affairs. Yet still, I dare to hope that you might bestow upon me a portion of your time, if but briefly.

Your siblings have inquired after you once more. Yet I am acutely aware that it would be unwise to bind you to this mortal realm for too great a span. Their hearts, tender and unfortified, lack the endurance I possess to weather the long absences your path necessitates. Nevertheless, I am not blind to the hope you carry—to one day stand before them, whether that moment lies near or far in the veiled expanse of time.

She could not finish the lengthy letter before the letter vanished from her hand, a burst of green and strange liquid slipping from her fingers. Talia had been startled, too young, assuming that this was Lazarus water that has stolen her father's letter.

And she found her father looming behind her, his expression stern get there was amusement in his eyes.

"Your brother is a curious person." Her father hummed, "He's powerful."

"We are not... Allowed to meet him?"

"Not yet. Until you steel your hearts." Ra's nodded, "Your brother does not stay in one place for long. But he is soft hearted and loyal to the family. You give him reason to stay and he will stay."

His hand, firm and guidind, pressed against her shoulder in a tight grip. "And I will not let any of you weaken him."

On that day, Talia realized that her father truly did love her brother. In his own strange way.

The next time she reads a letter, Damian was but a babe of one, cradled in her arms as a letter written on green paper rested in her father's hand. It was open, the wax seal carefully sliced from the envelope.

"Father."

"Talia." He replied nonchalantly, eyes flicking to Damian, his eyes softening momentarily as a longing look slipped to the letter.

Talia's heart tightened, resentful that her father was beginning to see his favorite child on her own son. She could not allow that...

"Your brother has written to me. It has been... Almost a year... Since the last." Ra's hummed, turning to Talia, then Damian, before flicking yet another letter to her. It startled her.

"From your brother." Ra's sighed, "I made the mistake of writing about Damian and now he wishes to meet you first. Not Nyssa, not Dusan—you."

"My brother?" Talia hesitantly accepted the letter. "I do not even know his name..."

Ra's clicked his tongue, "He signed it in his name. You will know from that letter." He paused, glancing back at her. "You have yet to prove yourself worthy, Talia, but... Damian's birth will surely being your brother back home."

Talia's heart palpitated in her chest.

The prospect of her baby, her son, her child—the mere thought that her baby would be the thing that successfully brings her brother home was... Outstanding.

"Read it in your own time... After that, seek me out."

Talia does not know... What to particularly do...

But she takes Damian, watches as her father leaves, and hurries along to her own quarters.

Talia tucks her son into the crib, narrowing her eyes at the nursemaids that were hired to nurture her son. She dismissed them immediately, watching as they silently leave the room. It is only when silence reigns does she takes a seat on her bed as Damian slumbers in his crib.

(Her hands tremble as the letter rested in her hands. It was light, not heavy, her her hands tremble as if she could not handle the weight.)

She takes in a deep breath, takes a dagger and carefully slices it away from envelope. It's intricately made.

The letter is written in the same green paper that her father received.

The letter read as thus:

My Dearest Talia, It would seem that I am now to be regarded as your brother, for Ra's has deemed me his son. Admittedly, this turn of events is of my own doing, as I endeared myself to him centuries past and found solace in his companionship, coming to view him as a father in truth. Yet you, his daughter by blood, remain a stranger to me, as do Nyssa and Dusan. How peculiar it is that Father should act in such a manner, withholding such introductions with his customary inscrutability.

She takes in a deep breath, awes by her brother's penmaniship... And then suddenly the writing style changes. Morphing from the olden age, the formality of a noble, to...

Anyways! Since you're my sister, I don't think I have to keep writing to you the same way Ra's does. It feels awkward to me, y'know?

She was not expecting that change but...

I've always wanted to meet you all. But my duties to my realm are hard. I can't freelt leave. It's especially worse since my world's time doesn't correlate to yours.

You might find the change of writing styles weird, but in all honesty, I'm from the 21st century. It's just that time never did agree with me. Had to comply with the old man on writing like that since he likes it. Weird, right?

But anyways! I heard you had a son! Congrats by the way. I'd like to meet him too, actually. Aside from that, I heard from Ra's you don't know my name.

Well, he's decided to call my Danyal as it's the Arabic version of my original name "Daniel". Though I often go by my nickname Danny. But it has been a delight to write to you, Talia. Hopefully, I'll be able to meet you and your son in the future.

Since you have my name now, you can write me letters too! It'll find me eventually.

Your brother,

Danny

Her brother's name was Danyal... Her brother went by Danny.

Talia blinked.

Her strange brother was a being that traversed through time, a person who was born in the 21st century... Her brother could be somewhere in the world in that moment and in another time the next.

She pressed the letter to her lips, unable to hold back her smile.

She had quite the silly brother...

And amongst her siblings, Talia was the first to know her brother's name. That bit about being able to write letters to him made her finally understand why her father was so possessive of a name.

(In the Infinite realms, High King Phantom received a letter from his estranged younger sister. He really didn't mean to find family in the Demon's head, but he found it anyways.)

Masterlist

[wlwxreader]

Not a Crush

not my gif

Jackie Taylor x fem!reader

Summary: despite what the entire team thinks, Jackie doesn’t have a crush on you. So why does it make her skin crawl when she sees a guy trying to flirt with you?

Warning(s): jealous!Jackie, possessive!Jackie, oblivious!reader, pre-crash!Jackie, Nat being a little shit, simp!Jackie

Word count: 2.6k

Masterlist: tba

No matter how much the team teased her about it, Jackie Taylor did not have a crush on you.

Did she like your soft smile? Yes. Could she spend days on end listening to a recording of your cheerful and sweet laugh? Why, of course. Did her heart stop whenever you looked at her a second too long? Maybe, but it was only because she thought you were beautiful —in a platonic way.

She did not like you. She didn’t think of you every night before she went to bed. Nope. Not at all. And Nat could shove her own words up her ass, because she sure as hell wasn’t a simp for you.

Yeah, as if.

“Hey,” you waved your hand in the air as you walked towards the field. You had just changed into your football uniform, and looked around. “Is everyone ready for practice?”

“Yeah,” Nat said, stretching her arms. “We were waiting for you for like, I don’t know, ten minutes.”

“You’re the last one. You know what that means,” Van smirked at you, and if it wasn’t for Tai’s presence next to them, you would have walked over to smack them in the face.

“Gotta run for ten minutes around the field,” Lottie said in a singsong voice. You narrowed your eyes at her.

“I’m gonna get you, Matthews,” you threatened with mock anger.

“What’s going on?” Jackie, who had been talking to coach Ben about something, asked. Her smile grew a little bigger when she noticed you within the other team players, and you swear you heard Nat and Shauna giggle to each other.

“Y/N was last,” Nat said. “She has to run for ten minutes.”

“Okay, fine—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Jackie said. Her voice, always soft and bright, was commanding. She wasn’t the Jackie who played around anymore, she was captain Jackie, and everyone in the team knew it.

“What?” Van asked, offended. They looked between the both of you, mouth ajar. “That’s not fair! It’s a tradition you started, Jackie. Last one has in the field during practice has to run while the others train. Y/N was the last one today.”

“Enough, Palmer,” Jackie gave them a stern look. “Y/N was late because of me.”

You gave her a surprised look, taken aback by her lie. You should not have been bewildered, though— Jackie always had your back no matter what, using her easy charm to cover up for your slip-ups

“Making out before practice?” Nat asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Jackie’s cheeks turned a bright red color, but she didn’t dare to look at you. Instead, she clapped her hands together a few times, and everyone around sobered up.

“Divide yourself into two teams,” Jackie raised her voice. “Whoever team wins, gets to rest while the others run a lap.”

Everyone groaned, looking around to start to form the groups, trying to be as equitative as possible.

“Shauna, you’re captain of team green. Team blue is my team,” Jackie called, and the brown eyed woman nodded, wasting no time to craft the perfect team in her mind as she looked at everyone in the field.

“Okay, cool—”

“Y/N,” Jackie interrupted her best friend. “You’re on my team.”

“And in her heart,” whispered Nat.

Thankfully, neither Jackie nor you hear it.

If Jackie did not like you, she obviously also didn’t feel any ownership over you. She wasn’t jealous, she wasn’t possessive; there was no point in being those things, as you were both just two good friends.

But sometimes, someone would walk up to you and Jackie forgot her inner mantra, throwing it out the window of her mind. The person would smirk and lean in close, feigning they could not hear what you were saying, and Jackie would feel something dark and uncomfortable burning inside of her.

Sure, you weren’t hers, but that didn’t mean anyone had the right to talk to you, so obviously trying to flirt it was painful to observe.

They didn’t have the right because— because— well, because she said so.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jackie said, walking up to your locker. 

Her voice was high-pitched, and you turned to look at her. Anyone else would have thought nothing of her tone, but you knew her; it was the same voice she used when she wanted to be rude but knew she couldn’t.

“Hi, Jackie,” you said, completely forgetting about the man who was talking to you about the chemistry test you both had next week.

Jackie walked with purpose, and she stood in front of you. She wrapped her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her body. You sighed in relief; it was starting to get cold, and her warmth was welcomed.

The woman smiled when you rested your head on her shoulder, and big green eyes twinkling as she started the man down.

“What were you talking about?” she asked, even though she wasn’t interested in the least. She knew how men were— she suffered their unwanted advances on the daily. It was all an act to get you on their bed.

“Oh,” the man said, clearing his throat. “We were discussing the next chemistry exam—”

“Well, I hope you study hard. Bye.”

You barely had time to close your locker before Jackie was pulling you away from that man.

“Hey— Jackie,” you complained, pulling your books closer to your chest. “What was that for?”

“That boy is a womanizer,” Jackie said through gritted teeth. “He just wanted to get in your panties.”

“You think?” you asked, turning slightly to look at the boy, who was leaning against your locker and staring at you. When he saw you looking back, he smirked and waved. “I think he just wants help studying.”

“You’re too naïve,” the blonde said. “He has tried that same trick with half the school.”

“Really?” you whispered conspicuously. “I thought he was just being friendly.”

Jackie shook her head, leaning in to kiss the side of your head. Her arm was still around you, and it made you walk awkwardly. You still didn’t complain.

“Boys are never friendly just because, Y/N,” she said. “They only got one thing on their mind.”

“Kissing?” you raised an eyebrow at her.

Jackie’s laugh could be heard all around the halls, a melodic sound that carried you out of the building.

“Every year it gets colder earlier,” you complained, shivering slightly.

“Are you cold?” Jackie asked, finally pulling away. You almost moaned in complain at the lack of warmth on your side, but before you could voice your discomfort, a weight was placed on your shoulders.

You looked to your side to see Jackie’s team letterman jacket resting over you. You smiled, putting your books in one hand to put the sleeve on.

“Thank you,” you said, with genuine gratitude. Jackie shook her head, simply reaching over to grab your books so you fully put on the jacket.

“Wanna hang out in the field?” she asked. Once you had the jacket on, she wrapped her arm around your shoulders again, because she wanted to but most importantly, because she could.

“The one time we don’t have to train, and you still wanna go over there,” you rolled your eyes, but followed her steps when she changed course.

She laughed again, turning to look at you. With bright big eyes, and lips pulled into a tight smile, you thought no one would ever be as pretty as she was.

As you walked, Jackie peaked behind you and saw the same man, looking over with frowned eyes. As she heard you talking about your day, she raised her arm enough for everyone to see the back of your jacket, where Taylor stood proudly over her team number.

She’s wearing my jacket, not yours. Dipshit.

To say she was ecstatic at his scolf was an understatement.

Yeah, she thought, let everyone know she only wears my number. Let everyone know she’s mine.

That time, she didn’t try to correct herself.

“I think Jackie has a crush on me.”

Van, who was tying up their cleats, stopped suddenly.

“Uh?” they asked, blinking a few times.

“I—” you cleared your throat, your cheeks suddenly turning red. “I think she might like like me.”

“Oh, shit,” Van said, rubbing their face.

“Did— did I say something wrong?”

“Yes!” Van let go of the laces, irritated. “You weren’t supposed to find out until November. You just lost me ten bucks!” they groaned. “Thanks, buddy.”

“What?” you gave them a puzzling look. “Wait— you have bet on me?”

“No,” Van waved their hands around. “Not on you. On your inability to see what’s happening right in front of your face, to be exact.”

“Okay, rude,” you said. “I’m not that oblivious.”

“Oh, no. Of course not,” Van said. Their tone was laced with sarcasm. “You joined the team two years ago, and only now you have realized.”

“Wait, she has liked me for two years?” you asked in a whisper.

“Duh,” Van gave you a long look. “Jesus, you’re a lost cause.”

“Screw you.”

“What made you realize?” Van asked, with genuine curiosity. They put their feet back down on the ground, leaning over the bench to look at you.

“She, um—” you looked around, making sure no one else was in the changing room. Feeling guilty over spilling such deep secrets, you moved over and sat down next to Van, so no one else would hear. “She kind of lied, the other day. So I wouldn’t have to run around the field.”

“She always lies,” Van scoffed.

“Jackie never lies,” you said, firmly. You gave the redhead a look, one that would have been threatening if it wasn’t coming from you. “She’s an honest person.”

Van chuckled. “She will lie to save your ass,” they said. “Because she’s the fattest crush on you.”

“Fuck,” you whispered.

After practice a week later, instead of going back to the changing room with the rest of the team, you grabbed Jackie and pulled at her hand, forcing her to move toward the bleachers. She went willingly, allowing you to take her wherever it was that you wanted her to be.

She would walk through fire if it meant holding your hand.

In a platonic way, of course.

“Jackie,” you said in a serious tone. You took a deep breath, and stared into big green eyes who looked back with passion. “We need to talk.”

She frowned her eyebrows, quickly picking up on your mood swing. “What’s wrong?” she asked, moving closer.

Jackie’s hand rested on your waist when she saw you starting to pull away. She hated it; hated whenever there was distance between the two of you. She wanted you close to her always, holding your hand and laughing with you.

“I think— I think you might be interested in someone.”

Jackie gave you a puzzling look. Her, being into someone? Not a chance.

“What are you talking about, Y/N?” She asked, as confused as she has ever been.

“Don’t make me say it, please,” you moaned, like a petulant toddler. “This is embarrassing.”

“Well, I can’t read your mind, can I?”

You looked away from her, incapable of looking into her eyes as you spoke.

“I think I might like someone, too.”

Jackie froze at your words. Her jaw dropped, eyes open so wide it looked like they might jump out of their sockets.

“You…” she gave a bewildered look. “You like someone?”

You nodded, and her hand tightened on your waist, as if she needed some support to keep her from falling over.

“This can’t be happening,” she whispered, closing her eyes. You gave her a concerned look.

“Jackie—”

“Is it that boy from the locker? The one who kept trying to flirt with you?”

“No. It’s…” you cleared your throat. “It’s not a boy.”

“Oh, no,” Jackie blinked away the white spots that were starting to form on her vision. “Nat? Tai? Or—” she gasped, looking at you accusingly. “Don’t tell me it’s Shauna.”

“Why would it be— No! It’s not Shauna.”

“It’s not?” she gave you a look. “Thank god.”

“It’s you,” you whispered.

“Me?” Jackie asked, trying to make sure she had heard you properly. “You like me. Me.”

“Yeah. I like you, Jackie.”

She leaned in close to you, looking at your lips. You closed your eyes, preparing yourself for her kiss. Instead, you felt her weight over you, literally on you.

“Jackie? Oh my god!”

Safe to say, it took the Yellowjackets over a month to get over the little spectacle you and coach Ben had pulled off when Jackie fainted.

You had wanted to keep it a secret, of course— Class Queen and captain of the football team, fainting because a girl had confessed their feelings to her? The rumor would be too juicy. But you also couldn’t control yourself when Jackie fell on top of you, eyes closed and mouth open, and it took you approximately ten seconds to take all the information in before you were screaming for help.

The help came in the form of Ben, who had come over running. He frantically looked at the team captain, laying on the grass as you fanned her with your hand, and he ran back inside to get Bill’s help.

It didn’t take long for the girls to come out of the changing room, and soon enough they pulled the pieces together; your conversation with Van they had told the entire team (which had led to Tai waving around fifteen ten dollar bills around the showers), your nervous attitude over practice, the tension they had felt before they left the two of you alone…

“Holy shit,” Nat said, smirking as you tried to wake Jackie up. “She fainted. She actually fainted.”

The story soon spread, faster and more explosive than gunpowder around fire. Soon enough, Jackie Taylor’s untaintable reputation got washed away by the new knowledge that she was a hopeless romantic.

Two months later, people would still whisper about Jackie whenever she walked down the corridors of Wiskayok High School.

“You think you will still be Class Queen after… what happened?” you asked, taking notice of how many students were staring at the two of you.

“Of course,” she smiled that charming smile you loved so much. “I’m Jackie Taylor, baby. This highschool would be nothing without me.”

“You’re too full of it,” you rolled your eyes.

She wrapped her arm around your waist, pulling you in close to her. She kissed your cheek, smiling.

“It doesn’t bother you?” you asked once you reached your locker. “Y’know, everyone still talking about it?”

“Let them talk. They aren’t mean, anyways,” Jackie said, raising her shoulders. You gave her a look; she would never notice just how many people thought ill of her. She thought too kindly of the world, but that made it two of you. “As long as it makes them talk about how you’re my girlfriend, I don’t care.”

You put the books you no longer needed back into your locker, and once you closed it, she pressed you against it.

When her lips pressed against yours, you stopped worrying about the whispers and the teasing from the team; Jackie was right.

Let them talk.

[moralesluvr]

RE-TAKE | b. eilish.

ꨄ︎ delivering some more teacher!billie for you… <3

you’re halfway out the door when her voice stops you.

it’s a call of your name, laced with an angry and frustrated tone. you freeze, hand tightening on the strap of your bag. the classroom is empty now, the faint sound of footsteps fading down the hall as everyone clears out for the day.

but you’re still here.

you swallow thickly, turning on your heel to face your teacher. her hair that was previously flowing down her shoulders is now placed in a messy bun, her blazer already discarded on the back of her desk chair— now only clad in a white, too-tight button up and a black skirt.

“we need to talk,” miss eilish says, her voice low and steady. her eyes don’t leave you as you start to walk forward, and she tuts at you harshly.

“no, shut the door.”

your skin feels clammy as you shut the door behind you quietly, dropping your bag on the floor and standing next to the doorframe, awkwardly. the air is thick and hot with tension, and you’re even more scared because you already know what this is about.

it’s about the fucking quiz. the one you didn’t even finish because your mind was elsewhere, lost in a maze of thoughts that all seemed to lead back to her. it wasn’t your fault that miss eilish decided to wear tighter dress pants and a flowier, lower-cut top that day. she had looked so pretty, and she still had that hickey on her collarbone that you had given her the night before, that she tried so hard to cover up with that small collar of her polo.

“come here,” billie says, snapping you out of your intrinsic thoughts. your feet move before your brain can catch up, carrying you toward her.

she waits until you’re standing in front of her desk before holding up the paper, “do you want to explain this?”

your eyes drop to the paper, to the bright red “F” scrawled at the top. even her handwriting was angry with you.

your face burns with shame, and you smooth your hands over your own skirt in hopes that it’ll calm you down. “i… i just had an off day,” you mumble, not even daring to meet eyes.

“an off day,” she repeats, her tone laced with amusement. she gives you a cocky, mocking nod, “that’s funny, because it seems like you’ve been having a lot of those lately. why is your shit not together?”

you swallow hard, your hands clenching at your sides. you don’t even dare to respond.

“look at me,” she says, and your heart stutters in your chest.

you lift your eyes, and there it is— that look she always gives you, the one that makes it impossible to breathe. she knows you down to a T, and her eyes are sharp, knowing of you, like you’re her prized possession.

“you really are better than this,” she says softly, leaning forward, her elbows resting on the desk. “i know you are.”

you nod, your throat too tight to speak. you fight for your eyes not to drift down to her exposed cleavage, so you flutter them shut before you make any more mistakes.

“but…” she trails off, tilting her head slightly, a loose strand of her black hair slipping over her shoulder. “i’m not happy with you. the retake date has already passed, so you’re going to have to show me that you want to pass my class.”

the way she’s looking at you, eyes slit and low, nearly makes you fall to the floor that your shoes keep twisting on, anxiety fueling you.

truth is, billie was always so big on not fucking you in school. it just seemed too risky, but today, it was like she couldn’t care less. she was already pulled closer to you now, unbuttoning your cardigan slowly as you gulped.

“what—what does that mean? i thought…” you stammer, but she just continues with undressing you, her smirk deepening.

“you’re my smart girl,” billie says, her voice like honey. she passes you a wink, “i think you’ll figure it out.”

that nearly kills you. your cardigan’s now on the floor, discarded like it’s worth nothing— and it really isn’t worth anything, not in this moment.

billie doesn’t kiss you with the usual softness she gives you, she kisses you like you mean nothing to her, like you’re worthless, like you’re just her pathetic little student who can never pay attention in class.

it’s quick, the way that billie rips your clothes off, propping you up on her desk as she fumbles around in a locked drawer of her desk, pulling out a thicker, longer, harder strap that you’ve never seen in your life.

“what the—?” you speak shyly, half due to confusion and half because there’s no way she’s going to use that on you. but your eyes turn wide as saucers when you see her slip her skirt and panties off, slipping on the strap and fastening it to her liking.

she pulls you by the hips without saying a word, the tip of the faux cock aligned with your entrance as her tattooed hand snakes around your throat, “don’t fucking talk at all, you hear me? you’ve done all the talking you need to in my class, giggling and whispering instead of doing your work. such a slut..”

you wince as the strap stretches your cunt out, your walls stretching to accommodate how fucking big it was. billie starts off slow, but that doesn’t last for long— she slams into you at a brutal pace, your stomach twisting as her hand slaps over your mouth to block your moans.

“shut up.” she seethes in your ear, her free hand kneading at your ass as her grip on your lips tightens, “you wanna get caught? you want someone to come in here and see me fucking you like this?”

you think her question is rhetorical until she slaps the flesh of your thigh, pushing you to answer her. and she lets you, her hand coming off of your mouth so you can mumble quietly, “n-no! please, billie….i’m so sorry…”

your eyes blink away tears as you feel a mix of pain and pleasure erupt in your abdomen, and it almost feels like too much, the way she’s fucking into you so hard. but deep down, you wanted this, wanted her to put you in your place. you wanted to fail that quiz so you could be where you are right now— legs shaking, pussy clenched against her strap. it was so wrong, but it felt so right.

a moan passes through your plump lips, and it makes billie’s frustration with you only worse. it’s like something snaps in her, the pace that she’s fucking you at almost seeming inhumane as your ass collides with her thighs, the sound echoing off of the classroom’s walls.

“such a dirty whore,” billie growls, her lips right against your ear, “know you could do much better in my class, but you’re just so distracted… may have to have a talk with the counselor, hm? do you need to be switched to another teacher?”

“n-no! miss eilish…please, wanna stay with you…wanna stay in your class…” you whine pathetically, and billie chuckles at how desperate you look.

tears find themselves streaming down your cheeks as you feel your orgasm closer and closer, your pussy clenching around the strap sporadically. almost inaudible whines leave your lips as you fight to stay upright, “i-i’m close— m’gonna cum, please, i—“

“cum for me.” billie orders, though her voice still drips honey. her hand snakes between your legs to rub your clit, assisting you through your orgasm as you heave, your cum sticky and hot as it races down the length of billie’s strap and onto her thighs.

billie fucks into you slowly a few more times before pulling out, watching as your cum seeps out of your cunt and onto your clit, glistening in the dim lighting of her classroom. billie gives you a kiss on your back, “good job, my girl— took me so fucking well.”

you thank her through puffy lips and teary eyes, laying on your back on her desk as she flips your paper over, writing a new grade on the front.

A+. Good job. :)

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[arc-misadventures]

I Don't Want To Take That Class...

Today was now, Jaune's second day at, Beacon Academy for, Beast Masters. And, Jaune's school experience was so far: Not that great.

Well, at least today he could learn what his classes would be. Beacon had a system where on the first day of school students would orient themselves with the school, get settled into their room, but most importantly they would show off their, Spiritual Beasts so the teachers knew what monster they had, and how to best teach them to master their, Spiritual Beasts powers.

Jaune wasn't sure what he would be learn, considering, Salem's powers were so fast, and how certain members of the teaching staff were giving him, and more importantly, they were giving, Salem some very questionable looks. Particularly, Headmaster Ozpin.

Salem had told, Jaune about her rather interesting past with the man. Only the brief rundown of things, but he figured it would be for the best if she explain everything in detail. Less he walked into something he didn't want to be in.

~~~

Jaune: Okay... Where am I...?

: Oh, hi, Jaune!

Jaune: Hmm? Oh hey, Ruby.

Ruby: Here to find out what classes you're in?

Jaune: Yeah. Have you found out what classes you're in?

Ruby: Yep!

Jaune: Can you tell me what classes you have? Maybe we have one in common.

Ruby: Sure! I have classes for, Shadow, and Wind magic. But, since you are omni-elemental we'll probably have the same classes. You're probably have the same classes as everyone.

Jaune: Probably. I'll also be in the flight class since I can... well: Fly. Regeneration though... yeah...

Ruby: C-Can you actually regenerate...?

Jaune: Yes.

Ruby: Are you going to elaborate?

Jaune: Do you really want to know how that works?

Ruby: ...

Ruby: No...

Jaune: Smart lass.

Ruby: Okay, but can you tell me about.. Ooph?!

: There you are, Rubes! I've been looking all over for you!

Jaune was taken aback as an older, far more well endowed blonde woman put, Ruby in a headlock, and started giving her a little noogie.

Ruby: Yang?! Stop it!

Yang: Alright, alright I'll stop. I'll... Oh? Well hello~! You must be, Jaune Arc, the guy with the, Spiritual Deity!

Jaune: Yep, that's me. And, you are...?

Yang: Yang Xiao Long! This little twerps big sister! It's a pleasure to meet you!

Jaune: Pleasure.

Yang held out her hand for a hand shack, and Jaune moved his hand to shake it. But, it stopped when her hand was slapped away from his. Yang, and Ruby turned to look at her hand utterly perplexed. All the while, Jaune turned to left as he scowled at the air.

Jaune: Why did you do that? It was just a handshake!

Yang: Uhhh...?

Jaune: We just met her, what's so untrustworthy about her?

Yang: Who is he talking to?

Ruby: Oh! He's talking to his, Spiritual Beast!

Yang: They can talk to each other?

Ruby: Yeah, they do it all the time!

Yang: That's true? I thought that was just a joke?!

Ruby: It's true! Although, Jaune does look a little crazy since he's talking to 'nothing.'

Yang: Yeah, that does look a little...!?

Jaune: What?! Just because she's wearing a midriff, and showing off her belly does not mean she's a harlot?!

Yang: The fuck did you just call me?!

Jaune: Nothing! I did not call you anything at all! Salem called you a harlot though...

Yang: You wanna go missy?!

Yang pointed in the air, as she challenged a god to a fist fight.

Jaune: She's behind you.

Yang: Eh? OWW?!

Yang turned around, and then reeled back as she felt someone's finger flicked her forehead.

Yang: D-Did she just flick my forehead...?

Jaune: Yeah, sorry about that. Salem is... possessive to say the least. She doesn't like it when other girls get too close to me.

Yang: Sounds like a possessive wife.

Jaune: If you knew why she's so possessive of me... you... you wouldn't blame her... that much.

Yang: Are you going to tell me?

Jaune: Best you don't know. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to learn what my classes will be.

Jaune quickly left to go see what classes he was placed into, leaving the sisters alone.

RY: ...

Yang: Well... He seems like a pretty nice guy... It's a bit weird to have an invisible girlfriend batting everyone away from him though.

Ruby: She's actually his wife!

Yang: Really?

Yang: It's still weird that she does that.

Ruby: Yeah it is weird...

~~~

Jaune: Do you see my name on any of these lists, Salem?

Salem was floating over head the crowd of students, searching for her beloveds name among the. She was phasing through the ones who were to close to the board overhead for those she couldn't see.

Salem: Afraid not my love. I've scoped all of these lists, and I haven't found your name on any of them.

Jaune: That's not good...

Salem: Oh, and why is that?

Jaune: Because of you, Salem, it means that they've no doubt come up with a special class of some sorts exclusively for me... And, since i am one of the rare few to have a, Spiritual Deity as my, Spiritual Beast they'll want to run some tests on us.

Salem: Are you sure of that?

Jaune: It's been over four thousand years since the first person became a, Spiritual Beast Master. And, since there have only been just over two dozen, Spiritual Masters who have formed a bound with a, Spiritual Deity. And, to make matters worse, I am the first person you've ever formed a bound with. They are going to run some tests on us.

Salem: These tests... I will have to show myself before them then... This feels like a trap...

Jaune: But, is it for me, or is it for you?

Salem: That doesn't matter! You are my husband! If they come after one of us, then are coming after the both of us, and if they dare harm so much a single golden lock of hair from your head, I will introduce them all, I will remind, Ozma of what is a, Spiritual Deity's FURY!

Jaune watched as a whirlwind of elemental powers swirled around, Salem. Fire, ice, lighting, earth, shadows, and light rage in a kaleidoscope of raw power hang in the air about her. It was a beautiful sight to behold, his beloved showing off the full range of her powers.

To him that is.

Jaune: Salem, you look beautiful, honey. But, everyone is looking at me like I'm crazy since they can't see the, Oni Queen making a storm of elemental powers in the air, they just see the elemental storm ball.

Salem: Eh...?

Salem looked to her side seeing a crowd of students looking on, some in awe, others in fear.

Salem: Whoops...

The storm slowly faded away as, Salem nervously floated down in front of, Jaune. She bashfully looked away from him as a fierce blush was spreading across her face.

Salem: Sorry...

Jaune: It's okay, Salem. It was a good way to flex on everyone.

Jaune rubbed his hand along, Salem's cheek as she swooned into his hand. This loving moment between couples was swiftly brought to the end, when the were interrupted when someone unexpected appeared.

: That you are, Mr. Arc. Lady, Salem...?

Standing before them was the deputy headmistresses of, Beacon Academy. Who looked rather cross...

Jaune: Hi, Professor Goodwitch! C-Can we help you with anything?

Glynda: Can you.. two come with me. Headmaster Ozpin wishes to have a word with you.

Jaune: About our classes?

Glynda: Yes, since you have made a contract with a, Spiritual Deity we've had to come up a unique set of classes for you to do.

Jaune: I expected as much...

Glynda: Will you come with me so we may discuss it?

Jaune: Alright then... We'll come...

Salem: Are you sure this is a wise idea, Jaune?

Jaune: Nope, but what else can we do?

Salem: Improvise?

Jaune: That'll work...

~~~

"Ding~!"

The elevator doors slowly opened, and Jaune, and Salem were greeted to the sight of a trio of teachers, Jaune didn't want to see.

Before him was, Professor Peach, Dr. Oobaleck, and lastly, Headmaster Ozpin.

Out of the three, Professor Peach was the one, Jaune was the least suspicious about. She was a medical doctor, so she was probably here to see about his regeneration abilities. He could understand her curiosity about that, everyone was curious when it came to his regenerative abilities. However, based upon how she wanted to test these abilities, that's where he started to grow cautious of her.

Dr. Oobaleck put, Salem's nerves on end, and in turn, Jaune's as well. He was a scientist, so of course he was curious about the capabilities of, Salem's powers. But, Jaune had read enough science fiction books, and shows to know that the most dangerous scientist there is, is the one who was trying to test the bounds of science, and no one was there to tell them this one simple thing: "No."

So many terrible events that happened because science gone crazy could have been solved if someone just said, "No, bad scientist, no!"

And, lastly he had, Headmaster Ozpin. Out of the three, Jaune was most cautious of this man. Salem had told him plenty of things about, Ozpin, and the results of his, Spirit Curse. So, unless everyone didn't behave. Things were going to become very bad, very, very quickly.

~~~

Ozpin: Ahh... Hello, Mr. Arc. Do you know why we brought you here today?

Jaune: Considering that I didn't see my name on the list of classes, I assume you asked me here to tell me what my classes are?

Ozpin: You are correct, Mr. Arc. Because of your unique circumstances, being partnered with a, Spiritual Deity, and all. Along with your wide variety of spiritual powers, we had to come up with some unique classes to teach you, Mr. Arc.

Jaune: I expected as much... what classes will you be teaching me?

Ozpin: Well, start with, Professor Peach. Professor?

Peach: Thank you... Hello, Mr. Arc, I am Professor Padma Peach. We won't be having too many classes together. Mostly we'll be having tests.

Jaune: Trying to determine the capabilities of my, Regeneration abilities?

Peach: Why, yes! I am most looking forward to learn how that ability of yours works!

Jaune: That's one of us...

Ozpin: Bart.

Oobaleck: Hello, Mr. Arc! My name is, Doctor Bartholomew Oobaleck! I will be teaching you how to control your basic elemental powers! Earth, fire, water, and air! I have never taught an omni elemental before! My fellow teacher, Peter Port will also be assisting me during your teaching! He was busy monitoring the students so he couldn't be here! But, I can assure you, he is most excited to teach you as well!

Jaune: O-Okay...?

Ozpin: And, lastly, Mr. Arc, I will be teaching you how to use your light, and dark magical powers. We will be dividing these class for three to be spent learning ight, and dark magic, and the rest will be spend on your other elemental powers. Professor Peach will only be available during your other elemental powers. But, that should offer her enough time to study your regeneration capabilities.

Ozpin: We will be sending you a timetable of these, and your various other classes you will be taking. We look forward to teaching you, Mr. Arc!

Jaune took in his words with a grain, no, a heap of salt. Professor's Port, and Peach, and Doctor Oobaleck all teaching him in tandem made sense, he was omni elemental after all. But, having a class all alone with, Ozpin.

Jaune mulled over this news, but as he looked to the side, and came to a simple conclusion.

Jaune: I don't want to take that class, Headmaster... No, I won't be taking that class...

Ozpin: Excuse me?

Jaune: Deputy Headmistress, Glynda Goodwitch already teaches classes on dark, and light magic, I want her to teach me those classes, not you.

Ozpin: What are you talking about, I am the most skilled teacher of those elements the world over. I can assure you, I can help you master those powers.

Jaune: And, I can assure you, Headmaster... We will not be taking any classes with you...

Ozpin raised his mug to his face to take a drink, but paused as he took in his wrods.

Ozpin: 'We?'

(Smash.)

Ozpin: What was...?

Ozpin dipped his drink to far, and his drink spilled out of his mug. But, instead of a splatter of how bean water, a solid chunk of coffee ice fell out, and shattered on top of his desk.

Ozpin: What the?!

Ice. Ice emanated from the floor around, Jaune. The temperature in the room fell rapidly, one could see their air as they breathed. For all, but one that is. Jaune stood before, Ozpin, his body was at ease, calm. He didn't seem to be bothered by the coldness building in the room, or it didn't appear that the cold was affecting him at all.

Jaune: Now you've done it, Headmaster...

Ozpin: Done... Done what?

: Not taking my 'hint!'

Within a fraction of a second, The Oni Queen, Salem appeared before Ozpin. She was floating in the air before him, a calm smile played across her lips as the tempest of the storm loomed over the, Headmaster.

Ozpin: Hint... What hint...?

Salem: You think I flicked your forehead as some sort of 'playful teasing?' Hmm...?

Salem cocked her head to the side, her voice was loud for all to hear. Jaune could tell she without seeing her face that she was giving him a cold, an emotionless toothy smile. And while, Jaune knew she had a beautiful smile, it was a predators smile. She bore fangs that could rip through metal with ease, and when she showed off her fangs, the likely hood she was threatening you was very, very high.

Salem: No, that was a warning... a warning to tell you to keep your hands to yourself...

Ozpin: Keep my hands to myself...?

Salem: Yes. For it has come to my attention that you do not seem to remember why you were cursed with immortality. And, we are all too willing to remind you of why that all happened. But, if you dare touch a single hair on my lovers head. I will show you why my daughter held me back the last time you received divine punishment! Understood, Ozma.

Ozpin's body has slowly begun to freeze to his chair as, Salem lowered the temperature more, and more to the point his, Aura's protective barrier was failing to withstand the extreme cold. With a shaky, and cold breath, he answered her.

Ozpin: O-O-Okay...! I-l-l-leave you two alone!

Salem: Good~! Now then...

Salem soon floated over, and appeared before, Glynda, the pair locked eyes before, Salem gave, Glynda a toothy half smile, before she returned to address, Ozpin.

Salem: Glynda here will be teaching, Jaune how to master his light, and dark magic works. Understood?

Ozpin: Y-Y-Yes...

Salem: Good~! Now, let go, Jaune. I'm done with this worm.

Jaune: Alright then. Goodbye, Ms. Goodwitch, Professor, Peach, Doctor Oobaleck. I look forward to seeing you in class.

With that the pair walked into the elevator, and left. Leaving behind the three freezing, and frozen teachers behind.

Glynda: Ozpin... I do not care for whatever schemes you are planning, but I will take you down before she gets a chance to if you push things too far! Understood?

Ozpin: P-Perfectlly... Miss Goodwitch.

Glynda: Good!

Ozpin: Now then... B-Bart?

Oobalek: Yes?

Ozpin: Can you call, Port up here at once... I-I-I'm frozen, and can't move...?!

Oobaleck: On it!

Well, Jaune now would have his class schedule, and Salem had given, Ozpin's final warning. The school year was finally about to begin for real!

Hopefully things didn't go to hell too quickly...

[l0v3r666]

Hi, hi!!! I've been a silent lurker in your account but when I saw that you now allow multiple characters I just knew that I wouldn't want to miss the chance! :>>

Can I request Jamil, Vil, and Rook with overprotective? I'd prefer it if it was obsessive love because I do appreciate a little bit more darker things but you don't have to!! ^^

Thank you sm and take your time! <3

omg so cute!! I had to take some time w/this one because they aren’t really connected (like year/club/dorm), but it was so fun to write!!

All of them are secretive people- putting up fronts to become palatable, but they’re equally possessive. Just with different strengths.

When obsessive!Vil wants something, he gets it. He knows you’re beautiful behind the layers of grime, and only he has the skills for you to reach your full potential.

It means nothing to Vil that you have other admirers, it’s not like he’d ever keep your shine for himself. He feels all fluttery whenever you become possessive over him. Many others would argue that your relationship is far from exclusive on account of his fame, but what the two of you have is special, and he’s not willing to let it go.

Obsessive!Jamil gets ugly with how fiercely he keeps you to himself. If you’re in Scarabia (pre ob) he keeps you nearly sedated with how often you’re hypnotized. It’s not very economical, but he has read that romance improves pain tolerence and reduces stress..

Jamil needs all the help he can get! Can’t you see how hard his work is? Not even mentioning the load he takes on to keep his favourite prefect afloat. You can repay him with a little quality time, can’t you? “The one you behold is your master. When I ask you a question, you will answer. When I give you a command, you will assent. Snake Charmer.”

Obsessive!Rook doesn’t gatekeep you by any stretch of the imagination, but instead forces you to be the protector of your privacy. It’s not like he’s sharing anything invasive (that’s all for his personal collection), but it’s just too much for any strangers to be approaching you in good conscious while knowing all your dirty laundry.

Rook becomes “possessive” only in the face of someone who gets more time with you. Sure he may be the most perceptive on the island, but what’s he supposed to do against Adeuce, or Grim when you spend all your time with them? Eventually he gets to know you well enough without actually meeting you that he greets you- confident that he knows your every move. But you’re full of surprises, so there’s no guarantee he’ll woo you right away. A good hunter knows when to lie in wait <33

[fairyysoup]

it will come back

part 3

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie’s version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!milkmaid!reader

summary: It's May Day, so naturally you'd have a hedonistic time. Except there's nothing natural about any of it.

cw: smut, consensual noncon is negotiated, primal play, literally i cannot stress how consensual it is, public sex (no one gets caught), knotting, biting, marking, possessiveness, reader is bitten by a werewolf, marriage proposal of sorts, dark themes, physical abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master, misogyny, minor character death, blood, fairytale au, some kind of historical fantasy period, inspired by The Company of Wolves by Angela Carter

a/n: hiiiiiiii :) do I like this? no, but I've been working on it for half a year and if I don't publish it now I don't think I ever will, so pls enjoy it and if you don't shhhhh don't tell me ok love you bye

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The bouquet of flowers on your doorstep is beautiful, and not lacking in symbolism. Purple lilacs, for the first emotions of love. Bluebells, for consistency and everlasting love. Red roses, for true love.

In the center is one singular, bright yellow marigold. You figure you know who left them.

You’re stunned by them when you first open the door. Your hairline, already covered by your flowers from last night, prickles with sweat. You had hoped for something, some kind of affection or gesture this year, as you do every year, but you hadn’t imagined it would actually… happen. You’d hoped a bit like a child hopes for rain on a clear day. It’s possible, but it would take a lot, in the grand scheme of things. 

You turn it over in your hands, your heartbeat thudding in your chest. You’re not sure what to think. You don’t know how Eddie would have known that this particular shack, in all of your Master’s sprawling estate, was yours. You don’t know what he means by this gesture. Is it an apology for turning you away last night? For embarrassing you? Is it a promise of some kind, that he intends to do something tonight? Is it a real declaration of love, or is it something else entirely? 

You sniff, getting a waft of fragrant lilac when you do, and turn to place it inside. There’s nothing to be done with it now, aside from finding a vase for it. You don’t know where Eddie lays his head at night. You don’t know where he is now, or where he’ll be later. You have to trust that he’ll find you. 

I’ll always come back to you. That’s what he said, before you walked away last night. You have to believe him, because otherwise you have nothing else.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” snaps a stern voice when you jauntily march out the door of your shack. Your Mistress stands with a sour look on her face, eyeing your day dress, free of an apron.

“To the town square, ma’am,” you tell her honestly, your head bowed. “For the… festival.” 

“Just because it’s May Day does not mean you are exempt from your daily chores,” your Mistress reminds you, shoving a pitchfork in your hand and ordering you to go bale the hay. 

You do as you’re told; you always do. You also know that you’ll probably be baling the hay until nightfall, when the festivities are sure to be picking up. 

It gives you time to think. You don’t know what you’d do if you ran into Eddie at the bonfire tonight. Or, maybe you do… you have some ideas about what you’d like to do, anyways. But you can’t speak for what he wants. 

He told you not to go near the woods, which he also said is where he lives. If he wanted to take you somewhere… wouldn’t it be to his own home? If so, has he already given you his answer, that he doesn’t want you in the way that you want him? It’s hard to believe, based on everything he’s done up to this point. 

Well after noon, and several hay bales later, you’re sure the maypole in the center of town has been decorated by now. You’re sure that the town square has been covered with flowers, and you’re sure that Victoria and Hyacinth and the rest of the maidens in the town have determined which eligible bachelor they want to celebrate with tonight. 

A flame of jealousy sparks in your gut. You hope that none of them have set their sights on Eddie. The mere thought of it is enough to make you see red. 

As the sun sets on the horizon, shining golden light in through the open doors of the barn, you’re sure that people have noticed your absence from the festivities. It’s common knowledge around town that your Master is crueler than most. Less lenient, more forceful. You’ve heard whispers behind your back, and you pay them no heed, usually. That the Master intends to take you for a wife after your Mistress dies, whenever that may be. That he keeps you close for his own twisted purposes. And, you suppose, there’s merit to those rumors.

You’re not unaware of the way the Master sets his eyes on you sometimes. He isn’t good at hiding it, you should say. Not that he really tries; on more than one occasion, you’ve incurred the Mistress’s wrath simply because the Master stared at your chest for a little too long. Yes, you could say that the Master is attracted to you, in some way. And, once, you might have counted yourself lucky.

If he wasn’t attracted to you, he could be crueler. And you could do worse than to catch the eye of a powerful, wealthy landowner. If he married you, you would be financially secure, and you would never have to seek a place to live. You would never worry about being labeled a whore or being thrown out on the street. At one point, you’d accepted that this was the best case scenario for you.

But something has changed your perspective, recently. Something that has dark eyes and a mischievous smile and rings on his fingers. Fingers that, you know, are very skilled.

And what if… What if you were to marry Eddie? As you had imagined in the field last night, your mind wanders to the idea of being Eddie’s wife. Tending to his house, you imagine, a stone cottage in the woods. To lie in bed with him on a rainy night, warm against his burning chest. Being able to gaze into those sparkling eyes as often as you like, being able to wake up to him. 

For the first time since you were a young girl, you really consider the possibility of being… happy. Your happiness. The idea of a happy future is something that has been such a foreign concept for so long, it almost makes you uncomfortable to dream about it. 

When you were little, you’d dream about being a beautiful princess in a tower, saved by a knight in shining armor, who also happened to be a prince. These dreams went away once your family sold you into indentured servitude; princesses don’t work. Princesses aren’t covered in shit and filth on festival days, baling hay in a cow pasture. Princesses would be dancing the maypole and crowned the may queen–

“And I crowned her my sweet queen of May.”

–Princesses would be showered with flowers and gifts–

Bluebells for consistency and everlasting love.

–Princesses are whisked away in the night from their troubles and marry princes. 

I am not a princess.

You throw your pitchfork down beside the last bale of hay. The sun has set, finally, and the moon is already high in the sky. The bonfires in the town square will be burning down. If Eddie was there, he’s sure to have found someone else by now. 

Your cheeks, dusted with dirt, feel crusty and filthy when you cry. You are no princess, despite the crown of flowers on your head. Eddie isn’t going to save you. And really, what would it say for your honor if he did? Can you not defend yourself? Are you so helpless that you need a strange man from the woods to save you from your life?

Marching out of the barn, you feel hungry, and tired, and you figure that you would probably be best suited to go to bed. But there will be food and drink at the festival, even if it’s late. There could still be time to meet someone, anyway.

“And where do you think you’re going?” It’s a deep and gruff voice that asks this time, and you’re about sick and tired of hearing that same question. But your irritation is easily replaced by dread, when you turn to find your Master standing by the entrance to the barn you just stormed out of.

“The bonfire,” you reply, with less heat than intended. “It’s May Day, and I’ve done my chores.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” your Master says. 

He’s not a tall man, but what he lacks in stature he makes up for in intimidation. He has cold blue eyes and a sneer that could freeze a King in his place. You know what it’s like when he’s on the other side of a cane, and you don’t relish the idea of a beating just because you wanted to go to a festival. When the Master steps up to you, he smells like liquor, so strong it stings your sinuses.

“You think I don’t know what you’ve been up to?” He growls at you, a nasty sounding thing in the back of his throat. You flinch. “That girl from the Werther’s house– Victoria, is it? She told me all about you and some… some boy in the woods. The one they call the Beast in town. Is that what you’re doing now? Dallying with any boy who comes around? Even ones from the woods?” 

Your cheeks burn hot, and you step back just as he steps forward, looming over you in his drunken state. “No, I… I don’t dally–” 

“Not from what she says,” he snaps back, and you briefly consider wringing Victoria by her stupid neck. And then you think, Hyacinth would have never betrayed me. “Running around in your night clothes, fooling around with some woodland freak. I ought to whip you where you stand.” 

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as he backs you into a corner. The fence for the pig pen meets the edge of the barn where you end up, your back hitting the barn door and earning a loud creak from the hinges. 

Your Master reaches for you with a snarl. Instinctively you curl into a ball, your arms coming up to protect your face and neck. Your instincts don’t take into consideration that he doesn’t have a cane in his hand, and he’s too drunk to throw a good punch. You cry out when his hand clamps tightly around your wrist, and he yanks you toward the barn. 

“What are you doing?” is your undignified shriek when he throws you into the barn, and you fall into the pile of hay bales you just stacked.

“You’ll sleep with the cows tonight,” the Master growls, and spits a glob of phlegm at your feet. “It’s what you are.” 

“No, please–” you rush forward just as the barn doors slam shut in front of your face, locking you in darkness with the stench of manure and dirt. The cows are down at the other end of the barn; you hear them jostling unhappily in their restraints as you bang on the door with the flat of your hand. 

You finally let yourself cry. You’re filthy. Covered in sweat and grime, mud all over your skirt from working all day, the crown of flowers on your head wilting. You don’t know what you expected. You’re not Cinderella; you don’t have a fairy godmother, and you don’t have anyone coming to save you and let you go to the ball. This isn’t a fairytale. The stories you were told when you were a child were just that.

Even as you continue to bang on the door, you’re already starting to accept it. You won’t be getting out of here anytime soon. They’ll let you out of the barn in the morning, sure, but you’re not going to leave this farm, or your Master, or this life of servitude until you’re dead, or otherwise ripped from your mortal life. 

Then there’s a scuffling. On the other side of the door, you hear your Master shout once, shortly, before it’s muffled and frantic. Footfalls in the dirt. A growling, snarling. Yelping. And then something bangs on the barn door, making it jostle so hard you scream and jump back. 

Your Master, just on the other side of the door, like he’s been thrown against it, screams loudly. Something snarls, and then there’s a wet squelch, like the sound of something alive being torn open. A chicken being gutted. You stand away from the door, your eyes bulging in the darkness, your hands clamped over your mouth to quiet your frantic breathing. 

Something just killed your Master. The fact sinks like a stone in your stomach. He’s no longer shouting. There’s no movement, nothing to indicate that there’s anything alive on the other side of the door anymore. Only dead silence. 

And then another scuffle. A heavy thud, like something being thrown aside. And then something, or someone, is unlocking the door.

In the darkness, you panic. You back away quickly, your hands searching, feeling for anything that you can grab to defend yourself with. You find nothing, but collapse into the stack of hay bales just as the doors swing open, and you come face to face with your Master’s killer. 

“Eddie?” 

It’s him, all right. He stands with his arms outstretched to either side, holding the barn doors open with the light of the full moon shining in behind him. You don’t know how it’s happening, but his eyes reflect the moonlight with a bright red hue to compliment the red blood that’s all over him. 

It drips down his face, his neck, his chest. It’s on his hands. When he smiles at you, it’s in his teeth.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, and you feel like your heart could leap out of your chest with how hard it pounds in its cage. He tilts his head, seeing your tear streaked face, the way you cower against the bales of hay in your muddy dress. “Rough day?”

“You– you–” and your brain has stopped working. You know what you’re looking at; Eddie killed your Master. Eddie is covered in his blood. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, is a killer, a murderer, looming over you with a smile that could scare ghosts back into their graves. 

“Yeah, me.” He takes a step forward. You scream and jump back, putting a bale of hay between you and the man covered in blood at the door. Eddie puts his hands up in defense. “I’m not going to hurt you, princess–”

“Stop calling me that.” You grab your pitchfork off the ground, and hold it up at him. “You killed my Master. I don’t even know how you did it– but do you know what that means?” You thrust the pitchfork at him. He jumps back. “Do you?”

Eddie blinks. “It means… you’re free?” 

“It means I get passed off to his next of kin,” you snarl at him. “Like a fucking cow. That’s all I am to them. I’m cattle. And the next person who gets me may decide to slaughter me. Do you understand?” You jab the pitchfork at him again, and he backs away into the moonlight. “Why would you do that to me?” 

“Because he hurt you!” Eddie retorts, flailing his outstretched hands, exasperated. “Because he locked you in a barn! I could– I could smell the rage on him. He wasn’t going to leave you here, he was going to do something worse. Just give it another drink, he would have been back out here. And I wasn’t going to let it happen. I couldn’t… I couldn’t watch it anymore.” He drops his arms with a sigh, and his hands smack loudly against his thighs. “You’ve helped me twice. Let me at least return the favor.” 

“I helped you once,” you snap.

Eddie shakes his head. “No, sweet pea. Twice. You just didn’t know it.” 

He raises his right hand, his bloody fist tight. He shakes his arm until his sleeve falls, and exposes the light pink scrap of fabric tied around it– the one you swore was yours. The one you swore you tied around the leg of the wolf you nursed last month. 

“You–” the pitchfork in your hand lowers. You think you’re halfway to crazy. Or, maybe you’re already there. “You’re the wolf.” 

Eddie nods. “I am.”

“You’re a… a wolf-man?” You’re shaking your head, but even so, the entire thing makes sense. It’s why you’ve been so suspicious, why something seemed so off about him. Why his smile is always so sharp. Why you always feel a little bit like a frightened animal around him, in spite of it all.

“I am,” Eddie repeats, and he turns to look over his shoulder.

You shake your head. “I don’t believe in that. I don’t believe in fairytales.”

“Doesn’t matter what you believe in, sweetheart.” He spits something out of his mouth, grimacing as he licks his teeth. “The moon will peak at midnight, and then I change. I need to be far away when that happens.” He looks at you, his eyes pleading. “Come with me.” 

As incredulous as you are, as slowly as you’re coming to terms with what’s been in front of you the whole time, you still drop your pitchfork to the ground. “Where?” 

“To the woods,” Eddie shrugs, his smile disarmingly sweet beneath all the blood. “Maybe I can be your new Master, hm?” 

“Fuck you, Munson.”

“That’s the name of the game.”

“You’re a goddamn demon. I shouldn’t have trusted you– I shouldn’t have talked to you.” 

Eddie crosses his arms. “Listen. I think God’s got a sick sense of humor; otherwise, I wouldn’t be what I am, and you’d be a lady in a castle far away from any of this. So why don’t we make the best of a bad situation, hm?”

You narrow your eyes at him. You can feel yourself doing something stupid even before you say it. “I’m… listening.”

“Great!” He claps his hands and launches into a spiel that leaves you wondering if he’d spent the entire time since last night concocting it. “I’m gonna turn into a rabid beast in, oh, I dunno, maybe two hours. Give or take. But if you want to stay in my home, safe, where wolf-me can’t work a latch, I’ll be back in the morning. And then we can get married and fuck and have lots of babies and be that old couple who lives in the woods. Or something. Really, I haven’t thought that far. Maybe just stay the night? Or forever. I’m not picky.”

You’re frowning when he turns to you with a half-crazed grin. “That’s the worst proposal I’ve ever heard.”

Eddie gestures to himself. “Not exactly a poet.”

“So, what are you, then?” You raise an eyebrow at him. “No riddles this time. Tell me, honestly. What are you?”

Eddie sighs. He tilts his head to the ceiling, kicks the ground with the heel of his boot, and then he says, “I’m a monster. I’m a man. I’m a woodworker and I’m a charlatan. I cheat, I lie. I turn into a wolf and I kill men because they’d do the same to me. I can’t help it, comes with the territory. I have a family of other wolves who look after me and I look after them, and you’ll meet them if you want. But…” He peers at you for a moment, and then averts his gaze, “But really, I’m yours. I’m in love with you. I have been since you helped me that time Thatch shot me, and I’ll be yours even if you run to town and turn me in, and I’ll be yours if they hunt me down and throw me on a pyre. That’s all I am, really.”

You can barely find it in you to breathe. You’re still shaky on your feet and you don’t think you’re quite in your right mind, but you find yourself thinking about the last night, about his hands and his lips on you, about how it was so easy for you to get lost in him. How you spent all night and all day thinking about him, wanting him, wishing for precisely this. 

Just not with the caveat of fur and four legs. 

“You’re looking at me funny,” he muses, his eyes flaring. His smile is wider than it should be. His teeth are more pointed than they should be. 

“I’m not looking at you any sort of way.”

He laughs. It runs clear down your spine and shudders through your limbs. You have to swallow past the dryness in your throat. 

“Always so proud– you know you don’t have to stand on ceremony anymore, right?” He tilts his head at you. “There’s no one around to judge you here, princess. Least of all me.”

 “I’m not standing on ceremony,” you press, but you feel like an indignant child the more you argue with him. “If I was, I wouldn’t be talking to you. I’d be trying to get out of here.”

“You want to leave?” Eddie asks, his voice clear and frank. He points over his shoulder. “Don’t let me stand in your way.”

He holds his hands out at his sides, palms up. His fingernails are long and sharp– like he’s slowly transforming into a monster, right in front of you. He stands aside, and there’s a clear path between you and the door. 

You could leave. You could run. You could find a place to run and hide, disappear by morning. 

But you don’t. You don’t want to leave. Not him. Not yet. 

His eyes are different now as they peer at you. They seem iridescent, glinting in the darkness. He sizes you up and down, and you feel more and more like prey. You… should be scared.

“Am I to take that as a no?” Eddie asks after a lengthy pause. 

You don’t exactly have anything to say in your defense. If he was wrong, you would already have tried to bolt. 

“Will you chase me?” You watch his eyebrows shoot up when you ask the question. You wet your lower lip with your tongue, an inch away from gnawing on it. “If I run, will you come after me?”

“Do you want me to chase you?” 

Your breath sticks in your throat. It would be so easy to just say yes. Yes, I want to be chased by you. I want to be pursued and I want you to make me yours in every way possible. But the words won’t come. They can’t come, as if it would soil you just to say them. It would be admitting defeat.

“I don’t want to be given a choice.” 

Eddie shakes his head, his frown of confusion deepening. “You always have a choice with me.”

“Eddie,” you say slowly, inclining your head. “I don’t. Want. A choice.” You stare at him heavily, willing him to gather your meaning without having to say it. I want you to force me.

You watch as the fire of recognition ignites in his eyes, and he opens his mouth with a noise of understanding. Ah. Yes. This is your choice. He smirks at you, then looks down at his foot as he digs his heel idly into the dirt. 

“I’ll count to three,” Eddie mutters without looking up at you. Still, you can see the ghost of a playful smile on his face. “One-”

You take off like a shot. You don’t have time to hear him continue counting. You’ll probably make it to the pasture before he catches up with you, unless he’s stronger than a normal man. If the bloodied carcass of your Master is anything to go by, though, you imagine that he is. 

You don’t make it to the pasture. You don’t even get close. You come to the doorstep of your pathetic little shed, your feet slamming the dirt, kicking up dust all the way, the air in your lungs burning with the labor of your breath, when your back is hit by something solid and unforgiving. Your legs are ripped out from beneath you, and you topple to the ground in front of your door with a thud.

“How fitting,” Eddie’s voice says in your ear, deep and husky, while his hand cups your chin, yanking your head up from the dirt. “Right where we met, isn’t it?”

He crowds you, half-laying on top of you, his weight pressing into your back and his hips meeting yours from behind. You gasp at the feeling of sharp claws pricking your cheeks where he holds your jaw in his hand, while the other creeps beneath your skirt and along your thigh.

“I never got to finish what I started last night,” Eddie purrs, his voice resonating in his chest. It’s enough to make you shiver, while goosebumps erupt on your skin. “I never like to leave a lady wanting.”

He scrapes his nails along your inner thigh, coaxing your legs apart. You jerk a little in his grip and whine when his claws dig in. Your face burns, your skin feeling like it’s on fire. It would be so easy for someone to find you here, flat on your stomach with a monster at your back. 

A whimper escapes your lips when his finger circles your clit, just like he did the night before. You shouldn’t want him, especially not like this, but it’s almost as if everything about Eddie begs you to go against your own nature. It began when you invited a wild animal into your home. It doesn’t seem like it will ever end. Nor will your want for him. 

“Eddie,” you sigh out shakily, and he shushes you while his finger plays through your wetness. He touches you like he knows exactly how to set you on edge. He’s cruel with his gentility, even while you want him to tear you apart. 

You arch against him, driving your ass back against his hips. You feel his cock press against you through the layers of fabric still separating you, and it makes you want to whine in frustration like a spoiled brat. It’s not enough to have him here, pinning you, touching you. You need him everywhere. You need him to consume you entirely. 

Gasping, you open your mouth to say something else– urge him or taunt him, you’re not sure which– but his hand clamps down over your mouth before you can manage it. 

“I told you to be quiet,” he growls, grinding his hips down into yours harder. “I’ve already been shot once, I don’t need it to happen again because you can’t keep it down.”

Eddie flips your skirts up over your hips, and your bare skin meets the cool air. There’s a moment of heavy anticipation, of Eddie’s harsh breathing against your ear, of the scrape of his trousers against your thighs. And then there’s the press of his cock against your entrance, and you tense. 

“Do you believe in me now?” Eddie whispers in your ear. His voice has taken on a ragged tone, like he can hardly contain the animal lingering beneath his surface. His fingers have just started to tremble against your cheeks– just enough to let you know that he, damn him, is holding himself back. 

Your eyelashes flutter. You have a mind to grind against him, to spur him on. “I have to, don’t I?”

He chuckles, and the sound raises goosebumps on your skin. Your heart pounds in your chest, and Eddie takes a long, slow inhale. “Your heart’s beating so fast, princess. Something on your mind?”

“Fuck you,” you seethe. 

“As you wish.”

He grabs your hips and pushes in deep. You cry out, digging your fingers into the dirt to steady yourself, scrabbling for a sense of stability. Eddie holds you close by the throat, pulling out and pushing back in with the same brutal force. 

The sounds coming from your mouth can’t be real, can’t be you. You aren’t proud of yourself, but you can’t stop while he’s being relentless, fucking into you hard and fast. 

Eddie groans low in your ear, his hand around your throat slipping down. His claws wrap around your neckline and he tears through the fabric, ripping the layers of clothing to expose your shoulder to him. You feel the whisper of his sharp teeth along your skin, tickling at your pulse point, and it’s all you can do not to cum right then. 

Your eyes roll, your back arching against him. “Eddie, I–”

“Don’t be afraid,” Eddie tells you. His words vibrate on your skin. “I won’t bite.”

You reach back, and your hand finds his hair, thick and curly between your fingers. “I want you to,” you pant, while your orgasm mounts, pleasure gathering between your legs with every move that he makes. You moan, your breath catching in your throat. “Please, Eddie–”

His nose pressed to your shoulder, Eddie shakes his head. You can’t see the way that his pupils dilate, his limbs shaking with the effort of holding back. 

Instead, his hand slips between your legs again, and when he circles your clit with his gentle touch and his sharp claw, you cum with a silent scream of relief. 

He keeps going, hard and fast as you ride out your orgasm. And finally, Eddie lets out an animalistic growl loud enough to shake the earth, and he spills inside you. 

Your legs threaten to buckle out from under you, but Eddie catches you at the last second just before you both slump to the damp ground. Gasping for breath and still coming down from your high, you barely have the energy to object when your clouded mind registers the swell of a knot keeping him inside you. 

Eddie wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer, until you fit against him like the missing piece of a puzzle. The full moon overhead douses the pastures with silver light. Far off in the tall grass, crickets sing. 

“You didn’t bite,” you croak, your voice sounding distant and hazy. He shifts, and it makes you squeak when it moves the knot inside you. 

“Didn’t want to do it to you if you didn’t mean it,” he murmurs. His breath is hot on the back of your neck, and you find yourself wishing that you could turn and look at him in the moonlight. 

“I meant it,” you tell him earnestly, running your hand along his arm. “I want… I want it. Make me yours, Eddie.”

He makes a weak noise in his throat, his arms tightening around you even further. “Don’t say that unless you want me forever.”

You laugh. It surprises you, but you can’t help it. “I don’t think I could let you go even if I wanted to, baby.”

He stills for a moment, like he’s trying to process what you’re telling him. “So… so you’ll come with me?”

You sigh, with a gentle smile curling at your lips. You consider the dreams you’ve had, of running away with him, of living with him, of having him whisk you away like a knight in shining armor. Even if he isn’t a knight, it is what you’ve been wishing for, isn’t it?

“Yes,” you tell him softly. “I’ll come with you. Just make me yours.”

When he pulls your hair away from your neck, Eddie’s touch is so tender that it could make you cry. His lips touch your skin, and your eyes flutter shut in anticipation of the sting of his teeth. 

“I’ll always be yours,” he tells you again, this time so quiet that it sounds like a prayer for you alone to hear. “Always.”

And when Eddie sinks his teeth in, the world goes black.

You wake with your head on a pillow of soft cotton and your back on a mattress filled with hay.

Wherever you are, there isn’t much light in the room. There’s an open window somewhere over your head; you hear birds outside. The forest sings in the morning. 

The cabin you’re in is much like your own, except it affords more room to move around. The floor has a decadent rug thrown across it, something that you wouldn’t expect a cabin like this to have in its inventory. It isn’t much bigger than your own shack. You old shack, now, you suppose. 

The more you look around, the more things seem… eclectic, to say the least. The bed is simple wood, but the blankets and linens are fine, like something an aristocrat would use. The ring dish on the window sill is an abalone seashell, shining iridescent purple and blue in the morning light to reflect the rubies and sapphires on the rings inside of it. The humble dining table is worn and covered in knicks and scratches, but the silverware is finer than any you’ve ever seen. 

When you finally pull yourself out of the bed and take a look around, you see Eddie’s burgundy blouse tossed across a rocking chair in the corner by the hearth. So, you conclude, this is Eddie’s domain. His home. The cabin in the woods you’d been dreaming of. 

And with a bit more snooping, you conclude something else. Eddie Munson is a goddamned thief. 

He has pocket watches engraved with names of nobility from all around the country. The platter on the table is monogrammed H.R. Cheshire. Eddie’s wardrobe has a large amount of men’s and women’s clothing piled in it, and all of it is fine silk, taffeta and lace– not something a simple woodworker living in the woods would be able to afford. 

You stumble to the door almost like you’re drunk, and when the door bangs open on its hinges, it’s Eddie who startles backwards in the bushes this time. He yelps, and you see just enough of him to catch him losing his balance and toppling ass-over-head over a log past the treeline. 

“For god’s sake, Eddie,” you chastise him. 

“Wasn’t expecting that,” he retorts, his head popping up over the top of the bush. He’s cleaned himself up, at least, so his face isn’t covered in blood anymore. He still looks so beautiful, though, and you still feel your heart skip a beat to look at him.

“You– you’ve stolen half of everything in here.” You gesture vaguely over your shoulder at the cabin. Your shoulder aches and stings when you move it, leading you to believe that everything that happened in the night was not a dream. It was real. 

Everything you’ve thought didn’t exist is real. 

Eddie is just a flicker of a shadow through the trees as he rounds one and steps into full view. “Had to make a living, somehow.” 

“And yet you walk around in the woods naked?”

He holds his hands out at his sides. “Um. Didn’t have time to get changed after I brought you here. It's kinda… it’s hard to hold it off when it happens.”

“When you turn into a wolf, you mean?”

“Yes.” 

You nod slowly, trying to only look at his face. It’s inordinately difficult. “Am I going to turn into a wolf?”

“Eventually.” Eddie tilts his head and looks at you warily. “Did you… not want it after all?”

“No, I–” you pause. It’s hard to put into words what you’re feeling, but you know it’s not regret. Your voice wobbles when you finally say, “I think it’ll just take some time to get used to it. Things have been the same for so long, and now…”

“Hey,” Eddie says, sounding almost the same as you had when he showed up the first time, crying at your door. He holds out his hand, his palm facing upward. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Okay? Let me help.”

You look at him through misty eyes, and you almost laugh at how blatantly your roles have reversed, now. You, standing at his door, crying. Him, trying to be of service to you. 

You give him a meager smile, placing your hand in his. “Can I stay?”

“Stay forever,” Eddie tells you, looking up at you with kind eyes. “But I can’t promise I’ll be polite for all of it.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m in love with you,” you admit, and watch as he absorbs your words slowly, almost as if he never imagined he’d hear you say it. 

And when he kisses you this time, you don’t even mind the sharpness of his teeth.

[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (9)

originally post on my old account, posting twice weekly :)

Alexia’s POV 

“You alright there capi?” Lucy giggled watching as I gripped my glass tighter and tighter. 

“I’m fine Lucia.” Gritted through teeth. 

Jealousy was freely flowing through my veins. Why did Misa and Alba get to dance with her like that? I wanted it to be me and only me. I wasn’t usually possessive, but Amelia made me do irrational things. 

As Amelia almost fell over her own feet on the dance floor, Misa grabbed her waist. That was it. I’d had enough. 

“Ale, stop. She’s having fun.” Keira placed a hand on my chest as soon as I got up. “Let her enjoy this.“

“No. She’s too drunk, I’m taking her home.” Pushing passed Keira was quiet easy, considering she was shorted and less muscular. 

By the time I pushed through the bodies on the dance floor, Alba had gone back to the bar leaving Misa and Amelia grinding on each other. She smiled at me and reached her arm out to invite me. 

“No. We are going home. Let’s go.” I tugged her arm, pulling her out of Misa’s grip. 

“Ale stop. I don’t want to go home yet.” 

“I don’t care. Let’s go. I’ll drag you out if I have to.” She gave up the fight, letting me pull her through the crowd, past our friends who were all watching on, very confused and not understanding what was happening. By the time we were outside she was starting to fight back. 

“Alexia! Alexia stop! What is wrong with you?” 

“You! You’re what is wrong with me!”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean Alexia?” She scoffed, crossing her arms against her chest. She was mad. 

“Forget about it. Just get in the car and let me take you home. Please.” 

Shaking her head and refusing to move, “no. You don’t get to say that and then tell me to forget about it. You’re an adult Alexia. use your words.” 

“I am in love with you! No one is you. Jesus!” 

“Alexia no. You love Olga. She is your person, not me.” 

“Olga broke up with me.” I say quietly. Not quite ready to admit the truth. She could see I loved her, but I was in love with you. 

“She broke up with you because you love me.” It almost sounded like she was trying to make sense of it herself.  

“I have always loved you Amelia. Even when you left me, I didn’t stop loving you. You tore my heart out of my fucking chest and all I wanted was you. All I want is you. I can’t keep being just friends with you. Maybe because your eyes remind me so much of the nights we fell asleep wrapped in each other's warmth Or maybe when you smile it makes my body shiver because I know that smile used to be because of me. I can't see that with my eyes and pretend like it's ony. Because it's not. I can't be just friends with you, because every time I see you I fall in love again." 

The tears were running down both our faces. Silence engulfed us. 

“Please say something mil.” It came out more like a sob. 

“Alexia, I ca-“ 

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” Keira’s engulfed Mil in a hug, Alba and Lucy standing either side of them. Keira’s face was mad, Lucy’s was sad and Alba she was unreadable. 

“Take me home please Kei.” With that, Keira turned them both around, walking away and leaving me there, again. 

“Wait Mil please!” I tried to go after them but Lucy’s hand caught my arm. 

“Stop Ale. She’s drunk, let Keira take her home and you can have the conversation later. Come on, I’ll take you home.” Lucy was firm but soft. Not waiting to push too much. 

Alba chewed me out in the drive home. I wasn’t even listening to be honest. The tears never stopped falling, all I could think about was Amelia. What would have happened if we’d tried sooner? Or if she never left? It had always been here, I knew it from the moment I met her but I was with Jenni then. 

Lucy left after dropping alba and I at my apartment. It was a horrible ride in the elevator. Alba wouldn’t stop. She didn’t stop when we got inside, or when I walked away from her, she just followed and continued to chew me out. 

“Alba stop! I fucked up okay. I love her and I have for years. I don’t need you telling me over and over again that I fucked up. I am well aware of that fact.” 

“You love her? What about Olga?” 

“She broke up with me. 3 weeks ago.” 

“Ale-“

“No don’t! I don’t need your pity right now. I need you to tell me what to do to fix this. I can’t lose Amelia again. I can’t go through that pain again. Alba please help me fix this.” The last sentence came out as a whisper, a sob was caught in the back of my throat and as soon as Alba wrapped her arms around me, it all came crashing down. 

I was going to lose Amelia. Again.  

[thepixelelf]

frat president seungcheol x reader x one night romance chan warnings: slight and I mean slight suggestiveness. coarse language, alcohol, possessive (derogatory) cheol; he's toxic and doesn't know it. implications of sex and sexual acts. idk how frats work. wc: 1.8k

love triangle au requests (this one is also for @hey-blondie <3)

read part 1 first

[what's holding you back? 2] Every time his brothers decide to throw another house party, Seungcheol considers quitting altogether. He's always the one who ends up having to clean the house (with the help of an ever-nagging neatfreak Mingyu by his side, at least), always the one who has to arrange the keg delivery (with Soonyoung and his connections getting them life-saving discounts, thankfully), and always the one whose room gets miraculously broken into by some horny party-goers.

(Joshua is still scrubbing every tile in the bathrooms bi-weekly for that last incident.)

((Why he couldn't use his own damn room is still a mystery to Seungcheol.))

Despite all that, every time the boys arrange a new headache -- party, whatever -- and Seungcheol thinks about sitting this one out, they always manage to do the one thing that makes these stupid shindigs irresistible to Seungcheol.

They invite you.

And even though your course load can only be described as mountainous, your part-time job starts early tomorrow morning, and you far prefer getting at least half of a good night's sleep...

You're here. You're here while music blasts and people dance like the rent's due and something breaks every two and a half minutes, laughing at something Jeonghan said. Just within and out of reach.

You lean into the cushion behind you, your shoulders brushing his arm where it rests on the back of the couch. Seungcheol lets the warmth from your back seep through his skin like honey -- because why wouldn't he? You're comfortable where you are, and it's his job to be that "where".

"No, I'm serious!" you defend yourself against Jeonghan's teasing. A likely thing for him to be doing. "He's a total scaredy cat. That's why he always makes you guys run the yearly haunted house."

Soonyoung waves his hand dismissively. "No way. His family celebrates Halloween every year-- that's why he never runs it with us."

"As if!" With a sly smirk, you bump your shoulder into Seungcheol's side. "He hides out at my place every year, and we don't even watch scary movies, either."

Seungcheol rubs the spot you bumped even though it doesn't hurt at all. "We watch scary movies," he argues.

"Halloweentown doesn't count, Seungcheol."

"Now you're just trying to embarrass me--"

Someone calls out your name, and you turn your head, eyes widening,

"Oh shit," you breathe out.

Some guy strides up to the couch with the confidence and determination of a soldier, and every muscle in Seungcheol's body tenses.

You? After the initial surprise, your eyes brighten in that special way Seungcheol likes when you're looking at him.

And can't stand when it's anyone else.

Lifting yourself off the cushions and subsequently away from Seungcheol's arm, you approach the guy before he makes it all the way over to the couch. You touch a hand to his arm, lightly, familiar, a smile on your lips as you chuckle and say, "How the hell did you find me?"

Seungcheol's jaw clenches. He turns to Jeonghan. "Who is that?"

For once, Jeonghan was minding his own business, and he turns away from his conversation to see whom Seungcheol nodded at. "Ah," he says, all-knowing when it comes to who's who. "That's one of Seungkwan's friends. Chan. Lee Chan."

Seungcheol scrunches his nose. Chan, he mocks in his mind as he watches you lead the guy off somewhere. Lee Chan sure isn't holding back in the up-and-down glances. It's like he can't even believe you're there in front of him.

The thing is, you shouldn't be. Seungcheol grinds his teeth. The couch is where you should be, where you're comfortable and you're honey and you're next to him.

He stands.

Even though he knows the answer now, Seungcheol settles next to you, slings his arm over your shoulder, and interrupts whatever the loser was saying with, "Hey, Cherry. Who's your friend?" He lifts his chin a bit, peering down his nose at him with the closest he can get to a polite smile.

There. Lee Chan should get the message with that.

But instead of scurrying off with his tail between his legs like so many of your pursuers had before him, Chan barely acknowledges Seungcheol and just blinks at you. "Cherry?" he asks.

"Oh." You fluster a bit at the nickname, and Seungcheol grows hotter knowing Chan gets to see another one of his favourite expressions on you. "Um, the first of this guy's frat parties I went to, I drank way too much cherry vodka and did some...things. I can't even smell anything cherry-flavoured now without getting queasy." Using one arm to bashfully rub the back of your neck, you chuckle, the movement causing Seungcheol's arm to slip off your shoulders.

He looks for your eyes, which don't meet his. You didn't do that on purpose.

Did you?

"Anyway." You clear your throat and use one hand to gesture at your admirer. "This is Chan. Chan, this is Seungcheol. He's my, um..."

You look at him then, and the lack of answer hits him somewhere within his rib cage. He crosses his arms and turns to Chan. "How do you two know each other?"

He isn't used to having to ask questions like this, his reputation usually enough to deter any unwanted interactions. If this Chan guy is still standing here, though, it must mean he really, really wants to talk to you.

Chan opens his mouth, but you're faster. "Remember the destination wedding my mom's friends went to?"

Seungcheol nods. "The one where they brought you so you could watch their children?"

"Yeah." You glance at Chan, and it's almost like you're telling him something Seungcheol can't hear. "We met there."

Seungcheol's right hand grips harder onto his own arm. "I see."

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," Chan says, ignoring Seungcheol once again. He sends you what must be a charming smile. "Especially not here."

"Funny." But you don't laugh. "I didn't think I'd see you here either."

Alright. Enough.

Seungcheol makes a show of grabbing your plastic cup and looking inside. "Let's go get you something to drink," he says, noting your confusion but having none of it. "Nothing cherry, I promise."

Because Seungcheol is the one who knows you. Knows your likes and dislikes, your favourite colours, how you prefer your eggs, the smell of your shampoo...

The face you make when he touches your bare skin. The way desire flickers in your eyes like the hot coals of a campfire.

You shake your head, pulling your cup back and holding it close to your chest. "I'm okay. Thank you."

Seungcheol's brow furrows. "I really think we should go to the kitchen."

"I'm fine, Cheol."

Lifting his hand, he places it on your forearm. "Cherry--"

At the same time as you step away from his touch, Chan steps between you and Seungcheol. "How about you go get yourself a drink?" he says, chest almost imperceptibly puffed out. "I wanted to ask Cherry something in private, anyway."

The nickname Seungcheol gave you coming off of this little shit's tongue makes him seethe. "Ask them what, exactly?" he says through his teeth.

Chan doesn't falter. "I'm sure you don't want to know."

"I'm sure I do," Seungcheol grits out.

"Guys..." you try to cut in quietly, but both boys are too caught up in each other to notice.

Scoffing in amusement, Chan shakes his head before meeting Seungcheol's glare. "Then if you need to know: I wanted to ask if they enjoyed it."

Seungcheol's jaw clenches. "'Enjoyed it'?" he echoes.

"Hey," you try again, somewhere beyond the red fog closing in on him.

"Yes," Chan answers confidently, crossing his own arms now. "If the sounds they made for me are anything to go by, I bet they really enjoyed it -- enough for a repeat performance."

Surging forward, Seungcheol clutches the collar of Chan's shirt in his fist. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Chan smirks, taking delight in setting him off. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Seungcheol growls, pulling his other arm back to give this guy exactly the beating he deserves, but he's half a second too late.

You shove your foot into his stomach, and he stumbles back, fingers loosening from Chan's shirt. You push Chan back by the shoulder for good measure, and when you turn back again, the anger on your face turns Seungcheol's chest inside out.

This fire in your eyes is different than he's ever seen before. Your anger is no stranger to him, from the frustrations of life and all the shit you've had to go through, but you haven't been this mad at him since...

Fuck.

Since he didn't kiss you that night.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Seungcheol?" Your shoulders rise and fall with the anger coursing through you. It's like a wall has finally fallen, the way you look at him. "You're not some rom-com bad boy. Get a hold of yourself."

Seungcheol takes a breath, holding his stomach. "Cherry..."

"What?!" You throw your hands in the air and let them fall. The hints of the brawl that almost broke out had caught the attention of some people around already, but your exasperated voice turns even more heads. "What, Seungcheol? You decided you don't want to fuck me, and after that, you decided no one else can either?"

"I... That's not..."

You huff. "I don't care. I actually just don't care anymore. You know why I didn't tell you about this? Do you know why I never talk to you about this kind of shit?"

He doesn't want to know. But he has a feeling he needs to. "Cherry..."

"Because I knew you'd react like this," you tell him, eyes cold. "Why is it that just because you won't have me, I'm not allowed to have anyone?"

When Seungcheol has no response, Chan returns himself to the picture, standing beside you and putting his hand at the small of your back.

You spin. "And you." An accusatory finger gets thrust in Chan's face, settling under his widened eyes. "If you think you're getting a" --you spit the words-- "'repeat performance' after airing out my shit like that for some dumbfuck pissing contest, you're obviously not the same Chan I met before."

Mouth opening and closing like a fish on the chopping block, Chan sputters for a few seconds before you seemingly decide you don't care about what he would have to say.

You storm off, straight to Soonyoung, whom you grab by the arm and ask to take you home. He spares one glance in Seungcheol's direction, then nods at you with concern on his face.

He knows something Seungcheol doesn't, and it makes Seungcheol want to throw up.

With you gone, the party resumes its usual chaos and volume, although Seungcheol can feel the stares from every direction. Chan disappears somewhere. He doesn't care.

Somehow, Seungcheol finds himself back on the couch. It's a lot less comfortable without you next to him.

Jeonghan sits down with a sigh. "You fucked up, didn't you?"

Sunken into the cushions, Seungcheol shuts his eyes. "I've been fucking up."

"What are you going to do about it?"

Seungcheol brings his hands up to his face, and he digs his palms into his eye sockets. "I don't know. Fuck. I don't know."

[woozinhos]

hi!!! congrats on 400<3. may i request a make up sex with mingi from ateez with the 12th quote, pls?

merry Christmas anon I decided to choose yours to write for Christmas I hope you enjoy this make up sex with mingi <333

The argument had been intense, the tension between you and Mingi reaching a boiling point.

You'd both said things you didn't mean, the words cutting deep and leaving wounds that felt like they might never heal. But now, as you stand there facing each other, the anger has faded and all that's left is an aching need to be close to one another. Mingi's eyes lock onto yours, his gaze intense as he takes a step closer to you.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "I didn't mean what I said. I was angry and hurt and I lashed out at you."

You feel a lump forming in your throat, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you hear the sincerity in his words.

"I'm sorry too," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. "I said some awful things as well. I didn't mean them, Mingi. I was just so frustrated."

Mingi takes another step closer, closing the distance between you until there's only a few inches separating your bodies. He reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he looks down at you with a mixture of regret and desire.

"I know," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "I know you didn't mean it. But I can't stop thinking about what you said. The way you looked at me, the words that came out of your mouth... they've been haunting me all day."

He takes a deep breath, his eyes burning with a desperate need.

"I need to hear you say something else," he says, his voice dropping to a low growl. "I need to hear you scream my name when you cum."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the desire in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. Mingi's eyes darken with hunger, his hand sliding from your cheek to grip your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"I want to make you forget everything but my name," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to erase every other thought from your mind until all that's left is me."

Mingi's grip on your chin tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you closer. His body presses against yours, his muscular frame pinning you against the wall behind you. He captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue immediately plunging into your mouth as he claims you as his own.

The kiss is fierce and passionate, full of all the pent-up emotions and desire that have been building between you for hours. Mingi's hands roam over your body, his touch possessive and hungry as he claims every inch of you. He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your jawline and along your neck, leaving a trail of searing kisses in their wake.

He nips at your skin, leaving behind marks that are sure to linger for days, marking you as his. Mingi's anger and frustration from the argument come out in the way he touches you, his movements rough and desperate. He bites down hard on your collarbone, making you gasp in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

"You're mine," he growls against your skin, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he grinds against you. "And I'm going to make sure you never forget that again."

Mingi's mouth continues to explore your body, his lips and teeth marking you in all the places he knows are most sensitive. He reaches for the hem of your shirt, yanking it up and over your head in one swift motion. He takes a step back, his eyes raking over your exposed skin as he takes in the sight of you.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, his gaze darkening with desire. "And all mine."

Mingi lifts you up with ease, his strong arms wrapping around your body as he carries you towards the bedroom. He lays you down on the bed, his body hovering over yours as he gazes down at you with a possessive glint in his eyes.

"You're so perfect like this," he murmurs, his hands trailing up your thighs and under your skirt. "Spread out beneath me, waiting for me to take what's mine."

Mingi looks down at you, his eyes burning with a primal need.

"Can we skip the foreplay?" he asks, his voice rough with desire. "I need you, now. I need to feel you around me, I need to be inside you."

Mingi lets out a low growl at your nod, his eyes darkening with satisfaction.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his hands immediately going to the waistband of your skirt.

He pulls it off in one swift motion, leaving you completely bare beneath him. Mingi's eyes rake over your body, his gaze devouring every inch of your skin.

"So beautiful," he repeats, his voice thick with desire. "So perfect for me."

He runs his hands up your thighs, his fingers tracing the outline of your hips before moving to grip your waist.

"I'm going to make you scream," he promises, his thumbs digging into your skin. "I'm going to make you beg for more."

Mingi quickly sheds his own clothes, his body exposed to your hungry gaze.

He stands at the edge of the bed, towering over you with an air of dominance and control. His muscles ripple as he moves, the sight of him completely naked and aroused making your heart race with anticipation. Mingi looks down at you, his eyes locking onto yours as he asks the question.

"Can we skip the condom this time?" he asks, his voice low and serious. "I want to feel all of you, I want to fill you up and claim you in every way possible."

Mingi grins at your nod, a mix of relief and excitement crossing his face.

"Good," he murmurs, his hands roaming over your body once more. "I've been dreaming of this for so long."

He moves onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs as he gazes down at you with a predatory glint in his eyes. Mingi enters you in one smooth thrust, his body slotting perfectly against yours as he fills you completely. He lets out a low groan, his eyes rolling back in pleasure as he savors the feeling of being inside you without a barrier.

"God, you feel amazing," he breathes, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he holds himself still for a moment.

Mingi takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he adjusts to the sensation of being inside you.

"So tight," he murmurs, his voice strained with desire. "You're so tight and hot around me, it's driving me crazy."

He slowly pulls out, before thrusting back in again, burying himself deep inside you with a guttural moan.

Mingi sets a punishing pace, his hips snapping against yours as he begins to move with increasing intensity. He pounds into you relentlessly, each thrust hard and deep, hitting all the right spots and making you see stars. His hands roam over your body, gripping and squeezing your flesh as he claims you as his own. Mingi grabs your hips, flipping you over onto your hands and knees with a growl.

He positions himself behind you, his chest pressing against your back as he covers your body with his own. He grips your hair, tugging your head back and exposing your neck to him as he continues to pound into you from behind. Mingi's anger from the argument comes out in every snap of his hips, his body driving into you with a brutal intensity that makes you cry out.

He grips your hips tightly, pulling you back against him with each thrust as he buries himself deep inside you over and over again. His teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck, nipping and biting at your flesh as he marks you as his in every way possible. Mingi's breath is hot against your ear as he speaks, his voice low and rough with desire.

"You're mine," he growls, his hips slamming against yours with each word. "You're mine, and I'm never letting you go."

He lets go of your hair, his hand trailing down your body to find your clit.

He begins to rub it in time with his thrusts, his fingers expertly working your sensitive flesh as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. The added stimulation of his fingers on your clit makes you moan loudly, your body arching back against his as pleasure courses through you. Mingi grins against your skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Let me hear you. Let everyone hear how good I'm making you feel."

You gasp out his name, the word a breathless moan on your lips.

"Mingi... please..." you whimper, your body trembling beneath his touch as you feel yourself nearing the edge.

Mingi's grin widens at the sound of his name on your lips, his pace becoming even more frantic as he drives you closer and closer to your release.

"Please what, baby?" he teases, his fingers continuing to work your clit with a relentless rhythm. "Tell me what you want."

"Come for me," he growls, his own climax drawing near as he feels your body tightening around him.

He quickens his pace even further, his hips snapping against yours with a desperate urgency as he chases both of your releases. With a few more thrusts, Mingi finally sends you over the edge, your body convulsing beneath him as your orgasm crashes over you. He lets out a guttural moan as he feels you clenching around him, his own release following closely behind as he spills himself deep inside you.

He collapses on top of you, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he holds you close. Mingi nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing slowly returning to normal as he comes down from his high. He presses soft kisses to your skin, his voice filled with a mix of exhaustion and tenderness as he speaks.

"Promise me," he murmurs, his arms tightening around you. "Promise me we'll never fight like that again."

[faith-forgxtten-land]

Sloppy | Raphael

okay so this wasn’t a request but i’ve been MIA for a while and i haven’t really had the opportunity to write much over the past few months so this is really just writing practice (forgive me if it's subpar, i'm rusty)

also, if you've requested something, i promise that i'm working on it so please be patient!

made with bayverse in mind!!

warnings: NSFW, first thing i’ve properly written in months so be kind people, swearing, afab reader — mentions of pussy etc., oral sex (f!receiving), raph is a little feral and mean i feel… everyone is 18+!!, not proofread so lemme know if you notice any glaring errors

summary: raph eats your pussy; he’s greedy and sloppy (it’s perfect)

word count: 651 (short and not sweet)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

raph eats pussy like a man possessed. he’s sloppy and loud about it, spit and slick all over his face as he spreads your legs as wide as possible and then even wider. your hips ache from the stretch, and you can already tell you’ll be sore tomorrow, but all you can do is whine and moan, hands covering your heated face in a futile effort to silence yourself.

you can’t even grind down against him like this because the bastard has one arm casually slung over your stomach, his huge palm pressing down just so, enough to make you whimper. you can feel him grinning meanly against your thigh with each failed arch of your spine, nipping your flesh in cruel, teasing bites that are sure to leave purple marks, before he continues to lap at your cunt like he hasn’t eaten in a week.

“raph,” you wheeze desperately, whimpers getting stuck in your throat as he practically growls against you. the sound is dark and agonised, and you can’t help but gasp as he pushes a thick digit inside you. “raph, raph, raph—”

he tongues your clit and crooks his finger, and you can no longer breathe, hands now clenched into bedsheets and thighs shaking with every sloppy touch. “that’s it,” he rumbles, the vibrations only making you tremble more. “that’s it, give it to me.”

your moans fill the room in perfect harmony with the filthy squelch of your pussy as raph fucks you with his calloused finger. it’s already too much, but you think you might pass out when he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks like he’s trying to reap your soul. “oh my god—”

you’re whining so loud, choked, and so, so needy, but you can’t find it within you to feel shame even as a distant part of your brain acknowledges that you won’t be able to look his brothers in the eye for a good week after this.

white eclipses your vision when you come, falling headfirst over that precipice that you’ve been teetering on for god knows how long. you fall silent when you do, mouth parted and back finally arching as raph lets your body take exactly what it needs; he lets you grind your hips down, mouth still fixed over your clit as your thighs clamp down around his skull.

he’s mumbling something dirty and full of sacrilege when you finish, his words a wicked churr that tips you into oversensitivity, and you whine weakly when he keeps moving his finger inside you, letting it drag against your slick walls with a slightly sadistic delight.

he chuckles when you slap his forearm weakly, but he acquiesces and slowly pulls back, groaning to himself when he sees just how soaked his hand is. “such a good girl,” he murmurs, looking right at you when he tastes you on his finger. he groans again at the flavour as if he hasn’t been buried in your pussy for the best part of the last hour.

“you’re terrible,” you tell him, voice wrecked, when he finally releases his finger from his mouth.

his smirk is shameless and greedy. “oh, i know.” his warm palms rest against your wet thighs, parting them again with ease. your hipbones twinge, and you gasp as he drags you closer to him, nestling between your legs like he belongs there (he does). “and we’re nowhere near done.”

his eyes are dark and leering, gluttonous and greedy, never full of you but always full of sin, and you swallow thickly as his lips twist into a ravenous snarl, nostrils flaring as you somehow grow even wetter, slick trickling down your already soaked thigh at the unadulterated lechery above you.

by the time you're done, several hours and several orgasms later, you know you won’t be able to look his brothers in the eye for at least a month.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 19

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! An unlikely flirtation turns into a dark obsession... Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw/involuntary captivity. credit to @sweetwolfcupcake for finding the perfect donaka pic for this chapter! 😘😘 all chapters

Nineteen. 十九

You enjoy the duration of the ride, all the way up to Causeway Bay. He pulls up to a towering building, one of so many on Gloucester Road. 

“What’s this?” you ask, craning your neck as you look upward. 

“I believe they're called skyscrapers…” he answers cheekily. 

“Haha. I mean what are we doing?”

“Yum cha, of course.”

Your stomach starts to rumble almost on cue at the mention of this Hong Kong lunch-time tradition of tea and dumplings. 

You're not sure why it surprises you when he passes the keys to a young valet at the door. 

 “Does it ever worry you, handing the keys over to a two-million dollar car?” you ask as you take his arm. 

“Not really,” he answers. “It’s insured, and they know there would be consequences, if there was an incident.” 

“Hmm. Isn’t there a huge market for stolen luxury cars on the mainland? Like, don’t the Triads put them on speedboats and whisk them away in the dead of night?” 

Donaka chuckles darkly down at you. 

“What a morbid imagination you have.” 

“I read it somewhere.”

“One of your dubious internet searches, no doubt,” he comments with a knowing smirk. “You really shouldn’t Google ‘how to get away with murder’ so cavalierly.” 

This makes you pause as you are stepping over an uneven crack in the sidewalk. You almost teeter over in your high platforms, and you might have fallen if not for his steadying hand upon you. 

You remember that thread of research–from a long time ago. 

“It was for a book.” How far back did his sleuthing on you go? 

“Sure it was. Not for the ex boyfriend who was heckling you?” 

There had been a time when one of your exes had spammed you with messages on Facebook, asking you to hang out again with the poorly disguised intention of resuming your relationship, as though he hadn’t cheated on you with another backpacker in a hostel in Kathmandu. Murder was a bit drastic, but after the time he gave you before the cheating, the gaslighting, the degradation, and the way he would yell at you for utterly inconsequential things, you wouldn't have shed a tear if he'd been mauled by monkeys and fell off a mountain. 

You realize that from now on you might as well assume Donaka has read every little detail of your online life, whether it was password protected or not. This doesn’t surprise you as much as it might have a month ago. In fact…you’re damn near resigned. 

Rather than push you off balance, as usual, this time you merely roll your eyes. “Afraid I made my personal FBI agent clutch his pearls?”

“Undoubtedly.” 

He smirks down at you, and you can tell by the glitter in his shark-black eyes that he is enjoying himself. 

“Does my search history make you nervous, Mr. Mark?” you tease, knowing the likelihood is zilch to nil. He pushes your hair behind your ear, before tilting your head up with just a touch too much force to be considered polite.

“If you were going to try to kill me, y/n, you would have done it by now.” 

You gape up at him, flummoxed as usual. Does this mean he thinks he’s worn you down…or do you dare hope…you’re finally safe? You grasp for this latter possibility with greedy hands before your higher brain slaps the foolish notion down. 

Surely this man is only fucking with you, the way he has been all along. 

You are not safe with him, that inner voice chides. 

Why do you find it so hard to listen to it lately?  

In the end, you have to ask. “Does that mean…you're going to be nice to me now?”

He snorts, ushering you inside with his hand utterly spanning the small of your back. He doesn’t answer until the doors slide closed, and he crowds you into the wall with his big body, caging you with his arms on either side of you. Your treacherous heart leaps into your throat, torn as usual between fear and absolute immolation. He looks down at you with the sharp hunger of a wolf as he informs you, “You haven't even seen my mean side yet, sweetheart.”

Your mouth goes dry, and for some stupid reason you can’t tear your gaze away from his lips. 

You can only manage one pleading word past the tightness in your throat, your hand sliding over the hard plane of his chest, resting above his wicked heart. “Donaka…”

You don't really even know what you're asking him for? Mercy, or your final ruin?

The elevator dings at your floor. “Later.” He rights himself, taking your hand to lead you into the foyer of the restaurant. It’s a beautiful space, all dark high-polished wood and soft lighting. Backlit wooden screens bearing cutouts of undulating dragons and Chinese characters take up one wall. You wonder if it tells a story. The host addresses Donaka reverentially by name, and immediately ushers you to a table for two by the window. 

The view of the glittering blue bay below teeming with boats is breathtaking from this high up. 

If you knew nothing about Hong Kong, just looked at the teeny tiny green island on a map in relation to the mainland, and then to the whole world…it would seem hard to fathom what all the fuss is about. But there is a special magic to this place that you maybe sensed all along, yet had no hope of truly understanding, and you realize you still don’t. You wonder if that will ever change, or if this place will forever remain a dazzling mystery to you. 

“You like the view?”

 You simply nod, awed by the bustle below and your chic surroundings and the unlikely treat of being out in public with Donaka, you realize, for the very first time. Without thinking you find yourself reaching for his hand across the table, sliding your fingers into his. You feel him tense, as though you've actually done something to surprise him–or anger him.  You meet his eyes across the table, and for a split second you get the odd feeling that you aren't the only one who is uncertain.

It passes so quickly you are almost convinced you invented it. His long fingers wrap around yours possessively, the corner of his mouth pulled upwards. You can't tell if he's smirking at you, like you're the butt of a joke you don't understand– or if he's simply pleased. 

You’re not terribly proud of it, but it does not escape you that this man could show you a side of this city you never could have accessed before. Of course you always knew he was rich, but there is an upper echelon of of unfathomably wealthy people on this little island, and you’re beginning to suspect that Donaka might be one of them. 

Not for the first time you marvel that this handsome, well-connected man could have anyone in the world–and yet he’s chosen you. But then you tell yourself, also not for the first time, that he never could have gotten away with what he’s done to you, if he’d taken someone who mattered.

He watches you intently as you are thinking about all of this; you do not know what he reads in your expression. Before he can ask the waiter brings tea. Your hands separate on the tablecloth, and you feel the absence of his grasp keenly as though a chasm has opened between you. 

Annoyed with yourself, you dig your nails into your palm. 

The waiter sets down the tea tray, arranging the cups on the table, pouring for you both.  

Donaka chats with him genially in Cantonese, and you think about how morbidly fascinating it is to watch him interact with the public. He has such a commanding presence, and yet somehow he is always perfectly polite. You marvel at how people leap to please him. Do they have any inkling of the monster beneath the mask, or is it simply all charm? 

You catch a few words of their discussion, but most of it goes over your head. You presume he’s ordered for you both, after the waiter trots off for the kitchen. You find, in this instance…you don’t particularly mind. Would you have objected, once? Is he changing you? Or are you just surviving? You find you’re not particularly sure about any of these questions, and you dig your nails into your flesh even harder, as though trying to wake up from a dream. 

But this is no passing fancy of your sleeping brain. This is real, and you are living it–you have finally made it out of the house, and yet still, he has you. You realize it did not occur to you even once after the car stopped to make a run for it down the sidewalk, or solicit the help of a stranger on the street. 

Has he truly managed to train you? 

It’s not too late. 

You could make a scene, in this beautiful restaurant with its three Michelin stars. (You saw the proud plaque on the wall on the way in). But you look at the man sitting across from you, who is watching you extra intently now, as though he senses that you are a horse that has just remembered she does not require the bit–and you feel the truth settle over you.

You do not want to run.

You would rather sit here with him, and share a tasty meal like normal people, and hope that maybe things will turn around for you after all. 

You seek out his foot with yours, touching it lightly with your toe, and the question in his eyes seems to dissipate, at least for now. In fact, he looks downright pleased, and he tangles you up in his long legs under the table. He holds up his teacup in a silent toast, and gods help you, but you return the gesture and sip, the warm liquid sliding down your throat.

***

With an absolute feast of har gow and dim sum in bamboo steamer baskets filling the table, the two of you chow down. The table offers a taste of everything: succulent little dumplings filled with seasoned pork and shrimp, beef buns so delightful you could die. You even got to try bird’s nest soup for the first time, a delicacy that sounds strange to the Western palette, but something truly special. 

It’s the most full you’ve been in a long time, and you think Donaka might have to roll you out of the restaurant. Playfully you fight over the last dumpling with your chopsticks. He wins, of course, but he offers you the morsel expertly from across the table. You’re sure it’s not exactly good manners, but you cannot damper your utter delight for this sweet gesture from your usually so forbidding paramour.

“I think I’m going to pop,” you confess, winning his quiet mirth from across the table. 

“You liked?”

“Oh god.”

This only makes him chuckle more, and you know you are a ridiculous creature, but the sound is music to your ears. This pure delight makes him seem almost boyish, and you cannot stop yourself from gazing at him, wondering. 

“What were you like, when you were young?” you ask, seemingly out of the blue. 

He narrows his eyes at you, his brow furrowed, though you sense you have not actually displeased him. “Why do you ask?”

“I don't know,” you evade, setting down your chopsticks. “Maybe I wonder…if you were ever innocent.”

He lifts an eyebrow at this, and you shift in your chair, pressing your thighs together in an effort to relieve the sudden ache in your core. 

“Probably not,” he admits.

“Were you ever…happy?”

“Not like this,” he admits, and he could have pushed you out of your chair with a fingertip at that moment.

“What did you look like?”

This makes him laugh, and he too sits back in his chair, bracketing you with his long legs. “Younger, one assumes.”

“Do you have any pictures?”

“On me right now?”

You giggle, intoxicated in the moment. “No. Just in general.”

“I’m not a sentimental man, y/n. It’s not something I would keep around.”

You shrug, not sure if you believe him, deep down. You think that maybe he holds on to things in his way, more than he would like to admit. 

“Were you happy?” he counters.  “As a child?”

“Not often,” you answer immediately. “But then…I didn’t know anything different.”

“What about now?”

You close your eyes for a few long moments, and you realize the answer, crazy as it seems…is yes.

You nod, and the half smile he pays you is more than just triumph. The hunger in his eyes makes you squirm in your seat–yet there is also a certain warmth that you’re not entirely sure what to do with. 

In any other man, you would know exactly what it meant.

Donaka Mark, however…cannot be read so easily. You know it, deep down, even while a part of you dares to hope that maybe there is some genuine softer feeling in this man, just for you.     

“I have to use the restroom,” you say, gathering your ridiculous new purse on your forearm. It's a perfectly normal thing one does after a meal, but you incline your head at your keeper, waiting. He nods, and you go, walking towards the front of the restaurant. 

You can feel his eyes upon you as you walk away.

Yet after you do your business and step out you realize how close you are to the exit. You can see Donaka across the dining room, looking out the window over the water, seemingly not even paying attention to you. You think about how easy it could be, to just slip out of the restaurant unnoticed. Down the stairs, or even the elevator. Kick off these high-rise shoes and run. Make your way to the street, then your embassy. 

Maybe finally make your way home. 

You look again at the handsome man by the window waiting for you, and again you realize…you don't want to. 

If he will treat you well…you could be happy. You could be happy with that terrible rogue, and your new found family of Mei and Mrs. Wong and the other people of his household who have become your fast friends. Even Jason, who undoubtedly knows how you tried to trick him, still treats you kindly. You care for them all, and losing them would hurt in a way you find you’re not prepared to endure just now.  

He holds you hostage with kindness far more effectively than he ever did with fear. If he planned this day just to lull you into a false sense of security…he hit the mark dead on. 

Knowing very well that you could be a lamb returning meekly to the slaughter, you slowly walk back to the table with a strange ringing in your ears. As you take your seat you look upon Donaka with new eyes. 

You would have paid a king’s ransom in that moment, to know if any of this is real. 

Donaka inclines his head at you as you settle in, reaching out to possess your hand across the table with a greediness that surprises you. “So. What made you decide to come back, tou zai yee?”

Little rabbit indeed. 

You look out the window again, reluctant as ever to say it aloud.

He squeezes your hand in his, just this side of too hard. 

“I’ll have it here, or at home with you bent over my knee, bunny,” he assures you, his tone low and dangerous as the warning growl of a tiger. You see the eager gleam in his dark eyes, and you know he’ll be happy either way. 

Here he is, you think to yourself. The predator you knew lurked all along, beneath the genial facade.  

Still, you answer in your stubborn way, “Why make me say it? You already know.” 

You see it out the corner of your eye, when he smirks at you. “Do I? So I was right, you do have expensive taste.” 

This almost feels like a slap. You’re sure he knows it too, but you rise to the bait anyway, fighting to keep your voice low in this public arena. “Donaka, you could have taken me to a street stall on public transit, and I’d still be feeling this way.” 

“What way?” 

“Hoping against hope that this side of you is genuine. Because I like you a lot, when you’re sweet to me.” 

“Hmm. I think I’d bore you to tears, if I was always sweet to you.” 

“Try me.” 

This earns you genuine laughter; you covet it like a precious gem, knowing you’ll hoard it in your memory like a dragon guarding its treasure.  

“Is that all?” 

“No.” 

“I thought not.” 

You find yourself even more reluctant to admit the rest of the truth. It’s a fine blade you walk upon, confessing weakness to this man. It could lead to victory…or demise, with one tiny misstep. Yet like he knows, he waits, his dark eyes boring into you. 

“Go on, y/n. Finish your thought.” 

You make a small sound in the back of your throat that you know is no more threatening to this man than the posturing of a frustrated kitten. He squeezes you harder, and as ever, the strength in his hands never fails to make your insides flutter. 

“Mei…is like a sister I never had,” you admit. 

“You have two half-sisters.” 

“Yes. But they hate me, and I…don’t like them much either.”

He seems to consider this, which for this man, is about as close to surprise as you can get. 

“That girl means so much to you?” 

You nod, still looking out the window, hoping this explanation is enough. You’re afraid if you admit to him that his entire household has become precious to you, he will only use it against you. 

“Hmm. I suppose I can’t scold you for fraternizing with the help.”

You laugh shakily at that. Here you are, gone from housekeeper to kept woman–even if only as of today, somewhat according to your own will.

How the tables have turned. 

Donaka nods, as though mulling this over. It’s interesting to you, that this is the thing that seems to perplex him.

“Very well, y/n. Ready to go home?”

There is a lightness in his tone that emboldens you.

“No. I want more adventuring with you.”

He chuckles at you, his eyes shining like high-polished onyx. “Oh really? Someone thinks she's tai-tai already.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your Cantonese is abominable.” 

“I’m…working on it.” 

He snorts at that, only gently derisive. “Not hard enough. Ask your friend Mei, next time you're gossiping when she should be working.” He says this with a little smile, and you decide he doesn't mind that you have a friend at home, or that you’re making demands to spend more time out with him. 

“Fine. I will.”

He lifts an eyebrow at you amusedly, and damn him for the thrill it gives you. 

“Very well. More adventuring. I know what you'll like.”

You can’t help but think that's been the problem all along.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling

Epilogue

It's 1997, and Elvis is still alive and well. He quit music in 1972 after a successful world tour, and now he runs Presley Studios - teaching people karate across America. His daughter and grandchildren are regular visitors at Graceland, and when he’s in Memphis he likes to do a little teaching. His life is quieter now, though. Most of the Mafia have gone - going to live their own lives - and after his divorce from his second wife, Elvis is sworn off women for good. Will a Welsh girl with a wicked sense of humour be the one to make him break his promise to himself not to fall in love again?

Need to catch up? Go here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan, a Welsh girl he meets at karate.

Word count: 1.3K

TWs: Just a little dirty talk really.

A/N: Well, this is the end! Thanks to everyone who has interacted with this fic - it was a labour of love and I have cherished every single comment, reblog and message 💕

When Tegan wakes the next morning she feels the events of the night before in her body before she remembers them. As they start to come back to her, slowly at first and then more and more rapidly she feels a smile spreading across her face. She’d enjoyed last night. A lot. She rolls over to find Elvis already sat up in bed, reading. Groaning and stretching, she tries to wake herself up properly. It’d been really late when Jerry had finally left their bed for his own; they’d spent hours talking together about all sorts of things. 

“Mornin’ sunshine.”

Elvis closes the book and puts it down on the bedside table, looking at his girlfriend as she peers back through half-open eyes. 

“Mmmm. ‘Raur.”

“How ya feelin’?”

She closes one eye and squints at him through the other. “Thoroughly fucked.”

That earns her a belly laugh, one of her absolute favourite Elvis reactions. “Well that’s coz ya were, baby.”

She closes both eyes and puts her face in her hands, giggling. “I loved it,” she admits, still hiding. 

“Hmmm. Well it was a damn good Christmas gift, considerin’ ya didn’t even know Jerry was comin’ until the night before.”

She looks up, cautiously. “You think I’m a slut, for doing that? I only just met the guy…”

Elvis shakes his head, leaning down to kiss the top of hers. “Baby, I used ta fuck a different girl every night on some tours. Met ‘em, liked ‘em, made ‘em cum. Plus I know ya only jus’ met ‘im, but Jerry’s been my best friend fer years.”

Tegan thinks about this as she slowly sits up. “You ever do this with Stella?”

He blinks in surprise. “Uh… no.”

“Oh.”

“I uh… she wanted the picket fence life.”

She shifts to lean against him. “What kind of life do you want?”

“One with you in it, honey.”

She smiles against his pyjama top. “Me too.”

“But, uh, not one with Jerry… y’know…”

“I’m not sure I do know.”

Elvis sighs. “Yer makin’ me say it, again.”

“I mean, last night you told me you and Jerry used to take it in turns to fuck women you met on tour. And now you’re going all shy again?”

“I was a little drunk last night, darlin’.”

Tegan looks up at his face from her position with her head against his shoulder. “What’re you trying to say, ‘raur? Spit it out.”

Another deep sigh. “Last night was fun. But I don’t want Jerry as a permanent fixture in our bedroom.”

Tegan raises an eyebrow. 

“I don’t want him fuckin’ ya all the time!” Elvis snaps, exasperated. “Yer mine. I don’t mind if he borrows ya, under supervision… on special occasions y’know. But not…” he sighs again and waves a finger around in a circle. “This… ain’t a thing.”

Tegan smiles at his possessiveness. She feels like she ought to be offended by him talking about her like she’s a rare library book, but instead it makes her feel all warm inside. 

“I enjoyed last night a lot,” she begins, wrapping her arm around him. “I’m glad we did it. And if you and Jerry want to do it again before he leaves, then I’d be down. But I don’t want anything more than that. One boyfriend is enough.”

It’s Elvis’ turn to raise an eyebrow. “Ya wanna do it again?”

She giggles into his shoulder. “Mmm. Yeah.”

“Well, we’ll see about that, little girl…”

***

Elvis, Tegan and Jerry have fun together again more than once, but after Elvis’ massive New Year’s Eve party Jerry goes back to LA, and although they both miss him they’re glad to be back to just the two of them for a while. They get professional photos taken of the two of them with Coffi, and the best one - where they have forgotten the camera and are just staring into one another’s eyes, giggling over some shared joke or other - hangs with the other family shots on the wall in the living room of Graceland. They share their time between the mansion and the apartment, and despite Elvis’ best attempts to persuade her to give it up, Tegan continues working at the recording studio, though she drops down to three days a week as a compromise. She finally takes her grading seriously, and by the end of the year she’s a purple belt. Elvis is proud of her, but he still thinks she could practise more at home. 

He travels less for work now, feeling content staying in Memphis for months at a time. There are still times when he has to pay one of the studios on the other side of the country a visit, and Tegan can’t always take time off work to go with him. He misses her like crazy, but she’s secretly a little relieved to have time to herself, though of course she doesn’t tell him that. 

One day after a trip to Kansas, he presents her with a big box with a pink bow on the outside. 

“Jus’ somethin’ for ya for next time I’m away.”

Tegan’s mind boggles at the possibilities, but nothing she thinks of is what she eventually finds in the box. 

“It’s…a bear?”

“Squeeze ‘im.”

Tegan puts both hands around the middle of the teddy and squeezes.

“Daddy misses ya, Tegan bach.” The teddy bear says, in Elvis’ unmistakable drawl. 

Tegan squeals, then giggles, then squeezes it again to see if it does the same thing, which it does. 

“He’s from build-a-bear,” Elvis explains. “Got ‘im from the second store in the country. Ya make ‘im yerself, put a little heart in him…” he smiles, bashfully. “...an’ ya can record a little thing for ‘im ta say. Got them ta open the store in the middle of the night fer me so I didn’t get papped doin’ it.”

“Aww ‘raur!” Tegan throws an arm around Elvis’ neck, cuddling him close and holding the bear out to the side slightly to avoid squashing him. “He’s adorable. You’re adorable.”

“Glad ya like ‘im, honey.”

They pull apart and she looks down at the bear again. “He needs a name.”

Elvis’ arm slips around her waist and he presses his lips to her ear. “Why don’tcha call ‘im Elvis?”

Tegan pushes on his chest, laughing. “Don’t be filthy now! This is a nice, cute bear!”

“Me? Filthy? I don’t know whatcha mean, Queenie.”

He’s desperately trying to keep a straight face, but Tegan can see his eyes shining with amusement. 

“You’re giving me a bear to keep me company when you’re away, and you want me to name him Elvis?” Her eyebrow is raised and her hand is on her hip, but she’s struggling to keep from laughing, too. 

“Uh huh. Ya can cuddle up ta him in bed when I’m not there.”

“Right, right, yeah of course. That’s all you meant.”

“Sure.” His lip is quivering at this point, as he tries desperately not to grin. “I mean I wouldn’t want ta get between a girl an’ her bear, and whatever else she might wanna do with him when she’s missin’ me…”

“Elvis Presley.” Tegan uses her best school teacherish tone, but eventually the pressure of trying not to laugh gets to be too much and they both burst into peals of laughter. 

“What?!”

She hits him with the bear, inadvertently making the voice go off and their hysterics even worse. 

“Hey, you’ll hurt ‘im!”

“I’ll hurt you in a minute!”

They keep giggling as Elvis pulls her in close, pressing his forehead against hers. 

“Yer always makin’ me laugh, little darlin’,” he breathes. “‘M glad I came ta teach that karate class.”

“I’m glad too, ‘raur.”

“Don't know what I'd do without ya, Queenie.”

She smirks. “Well I can get you your own bear if you really want…”

***

Taglist:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

updated and improved "all the fears want arthur lester carnally" list

just a general tally of influence/Marks arthur would have received if you were playing by TMA rules. enhanced with further contemplation and with some peer review from @luci-z-wont-shut-up thankyouuu

the eye

VERY dedicated private investigator. consistently more invested in Solving The Mystery than, like, Remaining Alive

was magic-stalked by the KIY and his cult throughout season 1

also kayne was watching his whole life and taking notes to roast him about his trauma later. apparently

something something metanarrative implications of an audience gathering around just to watch you suffer

the spiral

possessed by a god of madness (twice) (three times?) (possibly more depending on how you count?)

was held hostage in a fake dream-realm mental institution with fucked up architecture so one of the aforementioned madness gods could pry information out of him (which also gets cryptically described as "Here, there, everywhere, nowhere. Anywhere." which is sooo the spiral-coded)

relies on someone else to be his eyes so there's always the lingering background awareness that he may be missing or outright misrepresenting information & consequently he can't trust what he sees

the end

he's died.

multiple times.

there's also the omnipresent threats on his life but mostly just that. like. he's been The Ended. doesn't get much more direct than that

the stranger

i still think "losing parts of your body to another consciousness while they are still attached to you" is VERY the stranger type activities

the king in S1 turning any weak-willed bystanders against him so any stranger could turn into a threat without warning

also, the king and scratch posing as normal people, even people he knows sometimes!

orbited by a cast of nonhuman Entities remaking their identities into something closer to humanity for one reason or another (john, yellow, scratch, kayne) and frequently not quite hitting the mark (ty luci)

the lonely

general sense of alienation from his peers that started young and—just vibe checking here, just taking a general temperature—doesn't seem to have gotten much better over time

"I want him safe." / "You want him back." / "...Yes." <- guy who can totally handle being alone

john left and he went fully off the deep end in the span of like, a day

it's just one of those things that i think he hates and is terrified of but also is constantly haunted by

the desolation

the whole vibe of the death/destruction specifically of things that could have brought meaning to the world, or people who had a lot to live for and could have touched other lives and had an effect on others, is... um. (gestures vaguely at the. all of them)

will do LITERALLY ANYTHING to avoid losing anyone else.

also pain. i feel like pain takes a thematic backseat but it is still a part of the desolation and good lord is this man in so much pain basically all the time

one time he did an arson at an in-progress building site and left a guy bleeding out in the ruins!! desolation come get your juice

also independently invented molotovs so he could use them to kill a different thing which was perhaps divine inspiration straight from the lightless flame itself??

the slaughter

start with parker's death and just work your way down from there tbh

the butcher confrontation "Whose life did you take without provocation, without threat? Who did you kill that was innocent?" vs the slaughter's "random, senseless, unmotivated violence"

also knowing that pain and death are coming but not where or when or how. Yup 👍

just. in general. he has been wading through his own and other people's blood in equal measure since the start of the damn show

had to hide in a pit full of rotting corpses that one time

the vast

timelines! go confront how meaningless your entire life is in the face of the uncaring multiverse! have a quick crisis about it! fuck meaning!

i still don't have a whole lot for this one tbh

he can't stop falling off things obviously but i don't think he's particularly scared of that. i think he's resigned to it. balance is a fickle beast and he has accepted that it does not return his affections.

one time a kraken almost drowned him?

the buried

known claustrophobe!

almost got pinned in a cave, unable to move, on multiple different occasions!

this man and caves in general have a very very bad relationship. they keep making him be underground and then terrible things happen to him down there.

drowning goes here also :)

the dark

"Funny. Before all of this, I used to fear the dark. Not in any crippling way, but – but now it’s… well, now it’s no different."

used to be unnerved by the dark and now he is blind. checks out

also, the dark world. it's in the name, baby. that's more john's fear but i think it has to rub off on him at least a little bit

the corruption

eeeeverything that happened with the witch. she tried to use him to breed maggots. now that's what i call Corrupt™

horig, also

obsessive, almost self-destructive levels of devotion to an entity that killed his friend and wrecked his life. listen i'm supportive i think they're perfect for each other in an ESH way i'm just saying this probably also falls into the corruption's purview (ty luci)

ESPECIALLY considering john lives in his body like a parasite. not trying to be derogatory here but like, on an objective level. he is stealing his body parts. and arthur loves him. again, incredibly on-brand for the corruption

the web

he Doesn't Like Being Told What To Do >:[

ongoing vendetta against cult shit for this exact reason

the idea of not having fully free will seems to be very actively and deeply concerning for him

"I am the captain of my soul" and so on and so forth

got literally brainwormed by The Creature back in addison (twice!)

the flesh

Michael Fucking Faust

also, had to bite his own finger off before that. in case you needed or wanted some bonus points

the hunt

HOO BOY has he ever been Hunted. so many times by so many different things. take your fucking pick

also: "You are hunting." / "Predators need to be hunted." <- basically an active prayer to the hunt

this man is prey animal rage incarnate honestly. go!! lose yourself in the bloodlust!! kill them before they can kill you!!!!

john would really appreciate it if he was a little Less cozy with the hunt tbh :(

the extinction

i'm actually not counting this one bc it doesn't take avatars and also doesn't rrrreally exist yet

he's lived through a world war and a pandemic. how's that. i think that's as good as it gets.

CONCLUSION: i still think arthur should go shake hands with the vast and get carried off by a bird and hope that gets the rest of these assholes to fuck off. i think it's his best bet atp.