#one sided enemies to lovers DO YOU SEE IT

[tobeholyistobeempty]

“here’s what’s gonna’ happen.” he mutters, kissing the gun up your neck, leaning an elbow on your thigh. “m’gonna answer this call, you’re gonna’ talk. be honest for daddy. tell em’ you’re tied up.”

so fucking obsessed with the idea of a you x ghost lovers-turned-enemies who just can’t stay the fuck away from eachother. it’s gross and it’s toxic and it’s brutal and it’s probably more insane than it should be but with all the war around you it’s one of the only fucking things left that makes you actually feel alive, so inevitably you end up back under him in new inventive ways each time you cross paths.

maybe you’re working for shadow company during the time graves decides to betray 141 - perhaps you didn’t know it was going to happen because you weren’t directly involved with that mission, after all, but with your rank, ghost has a hard goddamn time believing anything otherwise - no matter how many times he turns it over in his head.

so when he sees you - rather, when you all too conveniently find yourselves in the same map dot city, some shithole for some hellscape intel search while graves and his team are still actively after them - it’s all a little too much for him.

ghost doesn’t know who you’re serving, what your loyalty is, and decides that maybe he’ll just have to get that information out of you himself.

but that’s all little to your knowledge - because you don’t even know the fucker knows you’re here. it’s been a long fucking day. you’re already exhausted, graves has all but sent you to deathrow to chase dead end leads in circles, and everything just keeps getting worse with each passing day. but it’s late, and the motel that you’re staying in has a decent bar that you think you’d like to take advantage of.

you decide one quick drink can’t hurt, can it?

ha.

about as famous last words as any. because, turns out, it can. yes, it can hurt.

it can actually hurt real fucking good when the living embodiment of every mortal man’s nightmares decides (at the most convenient of times, because just so happens you left your gun back in your room) that he’s got questions for you, and isn’t too fucking keen on waiting for answers.

he strikes when the lights have gone out and the bar has closed. when the motel has fallen silent and the only noise is your footsteps as you creep down the hallway that leads to your door. you, however foolishly, drop your guard, thinking you have fuck all to worry about at this point - when suddenly the shadows by your door shift, and the owner of the hand that has the muzzle of a fucking gun pressed to the back of your head tells you that your mistake was waiting until so late, coming here so alone, and not realizing that the shadows in this place are not empty but instead filled with men that can see you just a little bit better than you can see them.

but when the voice sinks in, and you merely smile - dread subsiding as you ask him what took him so damn long to find you - he decides he isn’t too fond of the response. you’re inside your decrepit room only in a few moments after that, tied to a chair, and he’s just looking at you like he can’t quite figure out what’s so damn funny.

you let him have the win, you always do. you know that despite it all, when he’s infront of you like this, it’s never as ghost.

simon riley could never hurt you. not truly.

“who knows you’re here?” he husks, pale eyes surveying the room in a quick sweep. for show, you’re sure. he mapped every inch of this room before he’d even stepped foot inside.

you suck your teeth, fighting to let that shit-eating grin spread. “you mean like, my mom? dad? sister—“

“watch it.” he cuts you off, and the muzzle made of cool steel is pressed at the side of your jaw, shifting your head, turning it away from his. “y’know how i feel about tha’ smart fuckin’ mouth of yours.”

“stupid questions get stupid answers.” you reply back sweetly, tilting your head a little so the steel digs in harder, amplifying the ache for the hell of it. “you’ve got a gun at my jaw, LT. talk to me straight.”

there’s silence, until there’s a hum - he shifts then, crouching beside your chair, stalling at eye level with you. “talk t’ya straight, huh.”

“you act like i don’t know why you’re here.” your chest feels tight, with the way he’s looking at you. it’s a battle with an army of its own to push it down. “you’re looking for the big man, aren’t you? graves. heard he—“

the press of his gun softens momentarily as his free hand finds the other side of your jaw, tilting your eyes back to him, forcing you to look him right in that dead fuckin stare of his.

“y’best be real careful about lying t’me, princess.”

“you can kiss my ass.” you smile thinly, and in the darkness you think you see his eyes gleam, but whether it’s out of irritation or out of something else entirely, you can’t be sure. you exhale. “i had nothing to do with graves’ little villain arc. i don’t know fuck all about it, or where he currently is. you’re wasting your breath.”

the muzzle of his gun trails down, down along your jaw and throat, sparking gooseflesh to life.

“liar.” he rasps, and despite all your moral instincts screaming at you that this is all but a shade off insane, when it comes to this behemoth of a man before you your depraved instincts are just a tad stronger. and when your thighs tense, he notices. “what’s it gonna take, mm? t’get ya talkin.”

you exhale a breath you didn’t even know you were holding - and ghost smiles. you see it through the crease in his mask - but just when he goes to speak again, your fucking cellphone, buried in your jacket pocket, starts to ring.

“well if that ain’t just my fucking luck.” you don’t need to see it to know who’s calling. you ignored check in twice already. too busy at the bar, drowning your sorrows. “ghost, listen—“

oh, he’s listening, alright. listening to the sound of that fucking ringtone filling the space between your words. you can’t tell he’s cocking an eyebrow at you, his eyes not leaving yours as he shifts a hand, reaching for your pocket. you open your mouth, but he’s already withdrawing your phone, snorting after a fleeting glance at the name lit up on it.

he turns it to you, and you try to fight it - but you can’t stop the deadpan. no matter how much you’d already known it would be him.

graves.

“here’s what’s gonna’ happen.” he mutters, kissing the gun up your neck, leaning an elbow on your thigh. “m’gonna answer this call, you’re gonna’ talk. be honest for daddy. tell em’ you’re tied up.”

oh, dear go—

“this your fucking idea of a loyalty test?” you hiss, and you can suddenly feel your blood roaring in your ears, your heart hammering. “are you insane?”

that’s a redundant question, you think, and ghost must agree, because his only answer is to shift the gun in a way that allows him to press a fingertip against your pulse.

you swallow - he’s checking for pulse leaps like a fucking lie detector.

“mhm.” he purrs, absolutely loving this - before pressing a button on your phone, and a low rumble of anticipation rocks through you.

he’s put it on speaker - and the second it connects, graves is talking.

“sergeant.” he all but barks, and you tense, closing your eyes at the sound of his voice. he’s pissed. “where the fuck are you? you missed two of—“

“sorry, sir.” you say through your teeth, flicking your eyes to ghost. he just tilts his head, as if he’s saying go on, show me that you’re still mine. christ. “i uh, got a little…tied up.”

there’s a brief silence, presumably as graves just stands there (you can envision it in your head, crease in his eyebrows, hand clutching his phone - trying to determine what the fuck that means) before he eventually clears his throat.

“and what could you possibly have gotten yourself so tied up with that you can’t report in on time?” he asks, and you want to laugh, because if only he knew. your hands tense against the ropes, and he speaks again. “that was a rhetorical question, sergeant. you’d better have a damn good excuse for this.”

oh, you definitely have a good excuse, though you’re pretty sure that if you were to tell graves who it was that had you so very busy right now, he might just turn into fairy dust and transport himself through the phone to try and kill you both. (keyword, try.)

you open your mouth to answer but words disintegrate as ghost shifts, standing to his full height.

you look up at him, and the blood that rushes to your stomach is something catastrophic - so disarming that you almost forget graves is still on the goddamn line. you blink, and you’re about to say something, when ghost does something you don’t expect; he tucks the gun back into his holster, before moving to the buckle of his belt.

oh - oh.

“christ,” you breathe out, before you even realize it. and when ghost shoves the phone closer to your face, you realize you couldn’t give less of a fuck about graves at this moment. “sir—graves, i was fucking busy, okay? i had shit to do. you’re the one who sent me out here, into this goddamn nightmare, to do your grunt work. should i be really sitting around waiting for your call while you’re out sucking off the general?” the silence that answers you is deafening. and so is the rage you can suddenly feel permeating the air. you suck your teeth when he doesn’t answer. “right, well. if you don’t mind, i’d like to go the fuck to bed. i’ll call in first thing tomorrow.”

ghost’s fingers drift, starting to undo the latch and you know, with your heart and bloodied soul - that he’s smiling right now.

you hear a low, rumbling growl coming over the other end of the line - it takes you a moment to realize it’s coming from graves - and the next thing you hear is the dial tone as he hangs up, presumably plotting the ways he’s going to make your life hell for the next unforeseeable future.

but then, the belt buckle of ghost’s belt is undone, your phone is tossed somewhere behind him, and you find yourself smirking up at him with glistening lips.

“now, look what you made me do.” you whisper, a lazy drawl. “always doubting me, huh. insane fuck.”

and ghost just snorts at the insult, before taking off one of his gloves with his teeth and shoving it into your mouth. you groan at the sudden taste of leather and dust that touches your tongue - but when he leans over you, lips at your ear, it’s a little too easily forgotten.

“quiet now.” he murmurs, with an audible smile. your eyes close at the sound, and his breath against your neck makes you want to scream. “no more talkin’ less you’re good n’ beggin’ f’me put that mouth to proper use.”

you want to spit at him, just for the fun of it, but settle for biting down on the glove as you shift, trying to bring your legs together. but then he’s crouching between them again, pushing them back open with his bulk, and you can only groan as he rips the leather from your mouth.

“if he finds out,” the words spill out without much thought - as you stare into his eyes. “he’ll—“

“mmm.” he hums, leaning in to press his teeth against your jaw. “he’ll what.”

oh, the things your mouth should say. but if you’re being honest, the only thing you want your mouth to say right now is please.

“i’ll - i’ll be the next one getting shot at.” you hiss out as his hands find your thighs. “christ. untie me, asshole.”

“y’jus told the boss you’re tied up.” he mutters back, and from the heat of his breath alone, you know he’s smiling again. “wouldn’t’ wanna’ make a liar outta’ y’self now, would ya?”

————————————-

a/n: the way i would let this man ruin me is concerning.

[kyotosworld]

warm

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warning: language. mini enemies to lovers & one bed trope :p

word count: <1k

summary: you’re freezing, who knew that all you needed was some good old super soldier heat

you’re freezing cold. for whatever reason, a safe house owned by rich man stark doesn’t have a working thermostat.

so even as you’re laying on the side of the bed closest to the fire, while hogging the thick blanket, you can’t stop shivering.

oh and another thing stark couldn’t afford for some reason: a second bed. so you could tell that bucky had fallen asleep a while ago. you guess super soldiers don’t have to deal with the cold...lucky bitches.

you try not to wake him up in your attempt to bury yourself deeper into the covers, all while rubbing your hands and legs together to generate heat.

you think you're being quiet enough until you feel movement from bucky’s side of the bed.

“hey, are you still up?” he asks groggily.

“uh, yeah.” you awkwardly whisper back, trying not to make it obvious that you’re shivering.

“shit, you’re shaking. are you okay?” he seems to get up and rest on his elbow, now fully awake.

“yeah, i’m fine. just go back to sleep.” you try to shrug it off.

but he doesn’t listen. the bed creaks and shifts as he moves closer to you.

“do you trust me?” he suddenly asks close to your ear.

you slightly turn your head towards him and scoff, “is that a serious question? if so then my answer is nooo-”

“can i touch you?” he whispers.

your breath hitches as you take a second to process his words,”…what?”

“i mean, you’re obviously freezing and–well i’m pretty warm right now…” he nervously explains.

your first instinct is to say no, but then your whole body shivers, “sure i guess…if you want to so bad..” you mumble the last part.

he slides his right arm over your waist and you’re instantly warmer.

you sigh and he moves closer. without realizing it, you wrap your own arms around his forearm.

only after you’ve calmed down from the cold do you realize where your hands were.

“oh, sorry.” you rush out, shaking your head, as you start to let go of his arm.

instead he grabs hold of your hand and moves it back towards your chest, “no, do whatever you need to stay warm.”

“..thanks buck,” you whisper as you finally start to fall asleep.

“don’t mention it.”

—

when you wake up, you're surprised to feel that you're still in bucky’s arms. maybe it was because you were half asleep or just so relieved that you finally got some rest, but whatever it was convinced you to bring bucky’s hand closer to your face before placing a soft kiss on it.

you pause in instant regret, waiting to see if he noticed.

after some seconds of silence you try your best to move out of bucky’s arms without waking him.

but of course his super hearing alerts him, and he responds by squeezing his arm around you.

“hey,” he softly greets.

“hi,” you reply shyly before actually getting out of his arms and sitting up.

you then turn to face him, “uh, so why’d you do that last night?” you ask, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

a crease forms between his brows, “you were cold.” he says like it was obvious.

you look down and chuckle, “yeah but..i thought you hated me.”

bucky’s loud snort is what brings your head back up, “that’s hilarious, i thought it was the other way around.”

you both look at each other perplexed for a moment before chuckling.

“we really need to work on our social skills.” you add

“yeahh,” he trails off as you hold each other’s eyes. “so, was that a kiss i felt as i woke up or did i dream that?”

your eyes widen, “definitely a dream.” you answer a bit too quickly.

“hmm. you sure you weren’t trying to cop a feel without me knowing?” he asks with an amused look in his eye.

“no!” you defend while putting your hands up.

“it’s okay if you did..” he’s leaning towards you as he murmurs, “i only want to return the favour.”

your eyes snap up to his as he moves even closer, softly meeting his lips with yours.

you finally pull away and open your eyes, “tell me bucky, did we just kiss or was i dreaming?” you throw back at him only to hear his beautiful laugh in repsonse.

[lotusloong]

My Mate

Relationship: Sun Wukong/Destined One X Female!Reader

AN: Alrighty first fic I managed to finish for Sun Wukong! Takes place during the game Black Myth Wukong, with slight spoilers for the ending. This is PWP tho, so it's not actually talked about, it's just mentioned about the true nature of the destined one.

Tags: Smut, Slight Gore, Blood, Slight Implications of NonCon, Its done by a demon who is very much dead and isn't graphic but the idea is still there, Jealousy, Possessiveness, True Love, Mates, Slight Freak4Freak, reader and her monkey husband are weird for each other and Bajie suffers for it

Summary: When a demon threatens to take you away, your mate needs to reassure himself you won't be going anywhere.

Read it on AO3!

“Maybe I’ll take your little friend there, make her my wife. I’m sure she’d appreciate the power a real demon can offer her.”

The yaoguai who dared speak such crude words about you was nothing but a red smear across the dirt when your companion was done with him. Panting and sweaty, the suspected reincarnation of the Monkey King stood with his sharp canines bared at the pile of gore at his feet before turning to you. You sheathed your own weapon, relief flooding your veins now that the threat was gone. Your companion took one step closer to you, then another and another, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. 

“My love…?” You spoke, keeping your voice soft to not provoke him.

You didn’t believe for one moment that he would hurt you, but you didn’t enjoy seeing him so upset either. You had been told long ago that you were the reincarnation of the Monkey King’s mate, his queen who died of heart break not long after your husband. You had always carried doubts in your mind growing up, until you met the Destined One himself. 

It had been like a piece of yourself long thought lost had found its way home, and you adamantly stayed by his side from that moment on. It didn’t matter if your enemies or companions doubted, you knew in your soul that the monkey demon you travelled with was the Great Sage reborn. The connection you felt was strong, but that didn’t mean you knew everything about each other immediately. You found yourself still learning the quiet ways he communicated with the world around him, and you had never seen him this upset until now.

The yaoguai had been doing everything he could to upset your companion, eager to dig under his skin and see the rumored Great Sage angry. A mistake on his part, as the moment he started talking about you, stealing you away to do unspeakable things, the Destined One had seen nothing but red. With a flash of magic, the enemy had been frozen in place, and you watched in awe as your lover stalked toward them. And as casually as swatting a fly, had ripped the still beating heart out the demon’s chest. The beating that came after was brutal and unnecessary, turning the already dead monster into paste for daring to speak of you in such a way. As you sat in the tree line with your weapon drawn for defense, all you could do was watch in silence. 

It was the most erotic thing you have ever seen.

Watching the strong, proud form of your lover turn red as he snarled and growled, pristine armor glinting in the light as it was dirtied for you, had you soaking your underwear in record time.

You had been expecting him to come back to his senses when the fight was won, but still he stalked towards you like a predator. You tried to speak despite the breathless feeling stirring in your gut.

“Th-than-” A bloody hand from your mate rose and cupped your cheek, your eyes fluttering closed at how gently he held you. “Thank you…” You managed, nuzzling further into his palm, uncaring of the sticky red liquid smearing across your cheek. With a squeak you felt yourself being pushed backwards into a tree, the strong form of your mate pushing his heaving chest against yours. You hiked one leg up to wrap around his hips, his free hand immediately cupping your thigh and digging his claws into your soft flesh. You could feel his claws prick your skin and knew you would have bruises in the shape of his hand to fawn over later.

Lips were pushed against yours, and with your gasp sharp canines dug into your lower lip, teasing but never cutting the delicate skin. You whimper and bring your own hands to his shoulders, tugging and pulling at the thick layers of armor he wears for battle. Your fingers can just barely rub against the soft fur underneath and you grind your hips against his desperately. Even with the thick leather padding over his waist, you can feel your mate’s cock straining underneath the layers.

He growls into your kiss, his tongue pulling away from yours as he breaks the kiss for much needed air. You puff as a thin strand of saliva bridging your lips together snaps under its own weight. Your pussy throbs in time with your heartbeat as you look into your monkey’s gold eyes, hazy with lust and pleasure. The hand cupping your thigh pushes you off his hips, much to your displeasure, and the one cupping your cheek pushes back to tangle into your hair. You don’t care that blood gets into your locks, staining it red and sticky, when your mate tugs and pulls your head back to bare your throat. You whimper, pleased at the feeling of his teeth suddenly nipping at the skin there.

“Fucking pathetic demon…” Your mate growls where his lips are pressed against you. “Thinking he can take what’s mine…” You mewl in response to his words. It’s rare when the Destined One speaks, and yet you’ve heard his voice more than anyone currently living.

“I wouldn’t have gone with him-” You start to say, but are cut off by a sharp tug to your hair. Your back arches into his chest, your breasts pushed against the unrelenting metal of his armor. With another jerk to your hair and his hand at your waist, you're suddenly facing the tree you had been backed into. Your hands steady you against the rough bark as you feel your mate’s warmth press against the length of your back. His claws dig under your top and waist band to grip the edge of your pants and underwear. With a rough jerk, the cloth is pulled below the line of your ass cheeks. You moan and hide your face against the bark of the tree, your blush burning at full force.

You’re in the middle of the wilderness, covered in blood, with your pants pulled down for your mate to see. The last thing you want to do is stop. In fact, you want those bloody claws from your mate to grip your hips and fuck you senseless right here against this tree.

“Continue.” He growls from behind you. You peek over your shoulder to see him kneeling in the dirt, his face level with your ass. You spread your legs further apart, as much as you can with your pants still on, bending to push your hips out closer to his face.

“I wouldn’t have gone with him!” You mewl at the feeling of his hot breath against the leaking of your cunt. “I would have fought and, and-I would have found my way back to you!” You cry.

“Good girl.” Your mate growls, pressing a sloppy, wet kiss to your uncovered pussy. You moan in appreciation, wiggling your hips in invitation for more. The monkey demon takes it, pressing his mouth against your pussy and immediately attacking your clit with his tongue. You gasp and bow your head, leaning heavily against the tree as your knees grow weak. It’s followed by the feeling of that same tongue moving towards your fluttering hole, teasing it with licks before going back to your clit in patterns that leave your head spinning. He sucks hard at the pink flesh, and you cry out, pressing back against his face desperately for more.

He rewards you with more, licking and biting the soft inner flesh of your thighs to give your fluttering cunt a quick reprieve before diving back in like a man starved. Your slick coats the inside of your legs, dripping down the legs of your pants and all over your mate’s furry face as he nuzzles the lips of your cunt in a lewd display of affection. You whimper when his tongue enters you again, wiggling as the heat in your gut builds and builds. Just when you think you’re about to tip over the edge, finally get that sweet release of cumming all over your mate’s skillful tongue, he pulls away.

“No!” You cry, looking over your shoulder, wide eyed and desperate for him to not leave you like this. To your relief the reborn Monkey King drapes himself over your bent form again after hastily shoving the armor covering his cock out of the way. You sigh in relief at the feeling of him, the heat from his hard cock pressing against your dripping pussy as he pants in your ear.

“Patience, my future queen.” He coos, his claws digging into the soft flesh of your waist and roaming over the expanse of your back and tummy as he pulls you closer. You give a happy wiggle of your ass in response, biting your lower lip in anticipation. The Destined One hisses at the feeling of your hips pressing against his own, your slick smearing against his skin and fur.

“Patience!” He hisses in your ear again. You giggle and deliberately grind your ass against the thick cock nestled between your cheeks. Your mate hisses and pulls back from you just enough to reach a hand between your bodies.

Your teasing is rewarded with a hard, sudden thrust into your soaked entrance, and your back arches hard as you scream to the heavens. Your breath is knocked from your lungs as your mate sets a hard, fast pace to punish you for your cheek.

You aren’t complaining, the sudden stretch combined with the relentless pounding against the spongy spot in your pussy making you go limp in your mate’s arms and lean further against the tree. Your eyes flutter closed as you moan, getting fucked like a whore in the middle of the woods by your lover.

“Fu-uck, say it again. Say you’re mine…that you’re my mate.” He growls into your ear, and you can do nothing but hiccup and try to do what he commands.

“I-...I’m your-...yourssss-fuck-” You cry, drool dripping down your chin as you pant and moan for your lover. His face nuzzles close to your neck, his relentless pace not slowing down. The slick sound of his cock inside you echoes through the trees. 

“That’s ri-ight, fuck! You’re mine, my mate…Gonna make you my queen-” A shiver rakes through your body at the thought of marriage, and he hisses at the squeeze of your cunt. “No matter the time, no matter how long-you’re mine. Always-”

You moan as his teeth sink into the warm skin of your neck, the pain sending tingles of pleasure through you. You’ve lost the ability to speak anymore, babbling nonsense that you hope he understands as pleads and thanks as he fucks you thoroughly. 

You can feel your earlier climax building back up, the heat in your lower belly building as your mate loses himself in you. Just a little more-

“Monkey!? Monkey!? Mistress!? Where the hell did those two go?” The sound of Bajie’s voice makes you freeze, your cunt squeezing tight around your mate and making his hips stutter in their pace. He doesn’t stop though, picking right back up at the punishing pace despite the voice of your traveling companion standing a clearing away from discovering you.

Your mate’s cock hits a deep spot inside you, and your pleased cry is cut off by a rough, scarred hand clamping tight over your lips. 

“N-not stopping, need you to cum for me-” His voice is breathless against your neck, and you clench down once more. The thrill of being discovered has your climax rushing forth. You just need-

Sensing what you want, like always, your mate’s free hand moves in between the front of your thighs, circling your swollen clit. Within moments you break, your climax rushing over you like a tidal wave. Your muscles seize up as your cunt throbs around the cock still fucking into it, your knees going weak with pleasure. You would have hit the ground were it not for your mate, who holds your weight up in his arms and against the tree as he finally reaches his own peak. Hot, viscous cum floods your womb as his teeth dig into your shoulder again, his groan of pleasure loud and clear.

You both pant for breath as aftershocks ripple through you, lingering waves of pleasure dying down as you relax. Your mate holds you close, his teeth put away as he nuzzles and kisses the curve of your jaw. Your own shaking hand leaves the tree to cup his cheek, holding him closer to you. Your foreheads press together as you breathe each other in, and you can see your mate’s tail giving pleased flicks where it curls high in the air above you both.

“What was-Oh by the gods above!” Bajie’s voice cuts through the tender moment, and you both startle. Your mate reacts first, using his own body to shield your nakedness from the pig yoaguai’s eyes as you try not to scream. Bajie already has a hand covering his eyes as he turns away from the view you and your mate make.

“I leave you alone for a few minutes! Is that a dead demon!? Fuck Monkey, what the hell!?” Your mate growls in response to Bajie’s words, pulling away from you just enough to pull your clothing back up, covering your intimate areas from view. You blush at the feeling of cum leaking out into your underwear as you stand up straight. By the smug look on the Destined One’s face, he’s aware of your thoughts. He ties his own armor back into place with a sniff before pulling you into his side. His claws settle around your waist to help keep you steady on your still trembling knees.

“I-it’s okay Bajie…we’re decent.” You manage to mumble despite your embarrassment. The pig peaks through his fingers at your words before dropping his hand completely from his muzzle.

“Alright, what happened? Who fucks over a corpse?” Bajie grunts, looking at the bloody smear still ground into the dirt a little ways away from your tree.

“He was…He threatened to take me away. Make me his wife.” You mumble. You feel your mate’s grip tighten around you, a snarl present on his lips at the memory.

“So when he’s dead you fuck next to his body while covered in his blood?” You look off to the side, not feeling at all guilty. You’re mostly embarrassed that Bajie walked in on you both.

“No one is taking my mate from me. No one.” Your love growls, tail flicking in irritation at the thoughts.

“You two freaks deserve each other. Just as bad as 500 years ago.”

[wovendreamscapes]

In which Cassian finds out about Azris

This one was inspired by a fieldofdaisiies incorrect quote, all credit goes to her!

Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling through gritted teeth. He had faced war, trained Illyrian soldiers for centuries, and even survived Rhysand’s moods—but nothing had prepared him for this.

“Let me get this straight,” he said slowly, carefully enunciating each word as if doing so would force the universe to make sense.

Azriel, lounging comfortably on Eris Vanserra’s lap, smirked. “Good luck with that.”

Cassian’s eye twitched. His shadowsinger brother—the brooding, ruthless, emotionless bastard who barely tolerated touch—was currently reclining against the heir to the Autumn Court like he belonged there. Eris’ arm was draped lazily around Azriel’s waist, fingers idly tracing circles against his side. Azriel, for his part, was perfectly at ease, the picture of smug satisfaction as he sipped from a glass of wine, completely ignoring Cassian’s impending meltdown.

Cassian turned to Nesta, who sat beside him at the long dining table in the River House. “You’re seeing this too, right? I didn’t hit my head in training this morning?”

Nesta, who was barely concealing her own amusement, raised a delicate brow. “Oh, I see it. I just think it’s funny.”

Cassian muttered a curse, dragging a hand down his face. “Az.” His voice dropped to the no-nonsense tone he usually reserved for battle. “What in the Mother’s name is happening?”

Azriel took another slow sip of his wine before answering, his smirk never fading. “What does it look like?”

Cassian gaped at him, then at Eris, whose golden eyes gleamed with unholy delight. “It looks like you’ve lost your damn mind.”

Eris hummed, his grip on Azriel’s waist tightening. “You should be grateful, General. Your friend here finally realized what he wanted and took it.” He smirked, shifting slightly, and Azriel adjusted with him, their bodies moving like they’d done this a hundred times before.

Cassian’s brain short-circuited. Azriel was willingly moving with Eris. Not stabbing him. Not threatening him. Just… sitting on his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

This was the same Azriel who once burned an Autumn Court scout alive for looking at him wrong. The same Azriel who had spent centuries glaring daggers at Eris every time they were in the same room.

Nesta reached for her own glass of wine, watching the entire debacle unfold with an air of supreme entertainment. “I think it’s romantic,” she mused. “Enemies to lovers. Very dramatic.”

Cassian turned on her so fast his wings nearly knocked over a chair. “Nesta, be serious. This is Eris. Eris.”

Nesta only smirked, her steel-blue eyes dancing with mirth. “Yes, and?”

“And he’s a prick.”

Azriel gave a lazy shrug, entirely unconcerned. “So am I.”

Cassian spluttered, eyes darting between the two of them. “You—you hate him.”

Azriel met his gaze, an infuriatingly calm expression on his face. “Did I?”

Eris outright laughed, the sound deep and rich as he leaned his head back. “Oh, he did,” he said, grinning. “But hate is just misplaced passion, don’t you think?” His hand slid up Azriel’s spine, fingers pressing into the tense muscles between his wings. “And now? Not so misplaced.”

Azriel’s shadows curled around him in response, dark tendrils wrapping lazily around Eris’ wrist like living ink. A silent agreement. A claim.

Cassian felt his soul leave his body.

Nesta, completely unfazed, leaned her chin on her hand. “So, how long has this been going on?”

Azriel smirked against the rim of his glass. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Cassian groaned. “Yes, actually, I would. Because if this started more than a day ago, I need to reassess my entire understanding of reality.”

Eris looked positively delighted. “Two years,” he said smoothly.

Cassian nearly knocked over his chair. “Two years?!”

Azriel sighed. “Eris.”

“What?” Eris squeezed his waist. “They were going to find out eventually.”

Cassian gripped the edge of the table as if it might anchor him to sanity. “Two. Years.” He turned to Nesta in horror. “Did you know?”

Nesta sipped her wine, entirely unbothered. “Of course.”

Cassian’s jaw dropped. “Of course?! What do you mean of course?!”

Nesta shot him a look that clearly said he was being dense. “Cassian, Azriel started sneaking off to the Autumn Court more often. He stopped looking so murderous every time Eris’ name came up. He even started smiling more. Smiling.” She raised a brow. “And you thought that was just a coincidence?”

Cassian opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again, utterly lost for words.

Eris, smug as ever, pressed a kiss to the top of Azriel’s shoulder. “I, for one, think it’s adorable how oblivious he is.”

Cassian growled, pointing a finger at him. “You shut up.”

Azriel chuckled, the sound low and deep. “Come on, Cass. Did you really think I spent all my free time brooding in the shadows?”

“Yes!” Cassian threw his hands in the air. “That’s your thing! That’s what you do!”

Azriel gave him an amused look. “Turns out, I had better things to do.”

Cassian turned to Nesta in absolute betrayal. “And you let this happen?”

Nesta scoffed. “Let? As if I have any control over what Azriel does.”

Cassian groaned, rubbing his temples. “This is a nightmare.”

Azriel only smiled. A genuine, soft smile that looked so utterly foreign on his face that Cassian had to stare at it for a full five seconds before he could process what he was seeing.

Nesta reached over, patting Cassian’s arm with fake sympathy. “You’ll get used to it.”

Cassian shot her a withering glare. “No, I won’t.”

Eris chuckled, shifting slightly under Azriel. “I’m rather enjoying this reaction.”

Azriel smirked. “Me too.”

Cassian groaned again, looking to the ceiling like the Mother herself might grant him strength. “Rhys is going to lose his mind when he finds out.”

Azriel hummed, entirely unbothered. “Probably.”

Nesta, still sipping her wine, shrugged. “Oh, he already knows.”

Cassian blinked. “Excuse me?”

Nesta gave him a pitying look, as if he were a particularly slow student. “Cassian, Rhysand has been covering for him.”

Cassian stared, horror creeping into his expression. “You’re telling me Rhys knew before me?”

Azriel chuckled, clearly enjoying every second of this. “You were the easiest to fool.”

Cassian let out a long, suffering sigh, dragging his hands down his face. “I hate everything.”

Eris smirked. “Except me, apparently.”

Cassian growled.

Azriel just leaned back against Eris’ chest, smirk never fading. “Better luck next time, Cass.”

Cassian slumped against the table, utterly defeated.

Nesta patted his head. “You’ll live.”

Cassian groaned. “Unfortunately.”

Eris laughed, and Azriel—Azriel—tilted his head up, catching the Autumn prince’s lips in a brief, effortless kiss.

Cassian shut his eyes. He definitely needed a drink.

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Not a chance

George Russell x female!OC

Summary: Grace is working on her career as a driver and she’s the leader of the F1 academy team for Mercedes. But she should be working on someone else…

Warnings: enemies to lovers, Max being insufferable idiot, Lewis being the mastermind, Mick is still with Mercedes in this one

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: Well, before I even considered to start a blog and publish my fics, I wrote them with my OC as a main character. Some of them are easy to rewrite, some of them are not and this time I decided to post this as I wrote it last summer, just edited some nonsense. I have so many fics with Grace, so be prepared to see her more often. There can be some mistakes, sorry (not sorry).

Any feedback is welcomed! :)

———

“Just one coffee.” Max stood near the Mercedes garage talking to their reserve driver Grace.

She rolled her eyes, her hands crossed over her chest. “Max, I don’t know how I’m supposed to say this again. No, no and no.”

Lewis was looking at them while going through some papers. Beside him stood George, who was invested in some videos from the track, not caring about what’s going on around him.

“I can’t believe that he’s trying it again.” Lewis chuckled.

“What?” George looked up from the screen.

“Verstappen shooting his shot.” Lewis pointed towards the duo.

George scoffed. It was nothing new that him and Grace had bad blood between them. “I don’t understand what he sees in her. She’s just arrogant and annoying.”

“Jeez, she’s the best in her position. She could easily replace us.” Lewis smirked, knowing that he’d get a reaction from him.

“You’re funny, Lewis.” George gave him an ironic smile, knowing what he was trying to do.

“Maybe your hate is something else and you’re trying to hide it.” Lewis chuckled.

———

Grace looked at her watches. “Look, Max, I need to be somewhere else. Please, just find someone else to date. We’re not a good match.”

Max frowned, his eyes lingering towards Lewis chuckling watching them two.

Getting inside of the garage to prepare some things for the training, she left Max outside. George walked to him smirking. “Are you sad that you lost?”

Max furrowed his brows when looking at him. “I didn’t lost at anything. Someday she’s gonna say yes.”

“You wish.”

———

There was a meeting held at Mercedes hospitality for the upcoming weekend. Grace was late and the last free seat was next to George. With disgust on her face, she sat there. He muttered something under his breath, but she didn’t give it much attention. Lewis watched them with an amused expression from the other side of the table.

“Next thing I want to say is that George needs to work on his manoeuvres in turns on this track.” Toto said while looking through performance sheets.

“I’ve said it for ten times already, that there's a problem with the wheel system. That’s not me, but the car.” George defended himself.

“I don’t want to discuss it.” Toto gave him a warning look.

“I’m sorry, but I must agree with him. Testing wasn’t good either. It’s not a problem with the driver, but, as George said, with the car.” Grace said, passing him a chart with wheel testing.

As Toto looked through the charts, George leaned closer to her. “Thank you.”

“Don’t get used to this.” She smirked amused.

Every other meeting they were arguing, back slashing each other, but today was different. Other team members looked confused at each other.

“I think it would be wise to assign Grace to George with ongoing testing. I’m good with Mick.” Lewis said casually looking at them two as Grace raised one of her brows in confused mildly annoyed look, when George crossed his arms over his chest looking at him with concerned look, but neither of them said anything.

“I think that's a good idea. It could also help you two to actually get on with your anger issues.” Toto hummed, holding a little smile.

Grace exhaled loudly through her nose. “Fine. But expect that he’s gonna beat your ass.” She looked at Lewis with a smirk, pointing at George.

As they got out of the meeting, George took Lewis aside. “What are you trying to do, mate?”

“Maybe this thing could help you to see your issues from a different perspective.” Lewis gave his shoulder a squeeze.

———

Grace was busy with her next meeting she had with Susie Wolff, managing director of F1 Academy.

“Isn’t it a problem for you, Grace?” Susie asked while discussing the problems in the Mercedes girls team.

“It’s okay. We’re gonna work this out.” Grace said while writing some notes.

She arrived at the garage, where the two girls, who were racing in the academy for Mercedes, stood and were throwing daggers through looks.

“So, you two. Do you have a minute? Come outside.” She gave them stern look as she walked outside, the duo following her.

They stood outside for a while avoiding to look at each other.

“I-“ the younger one, Aisha, started talking.

“Why is it so hard for you to get along? Hard enough that Susie needs to have a say in this.” Grace ran her hand through her brown hair.

“She’s always blocking me! Every opportunity she get, I suffer from it.” Emma, the second one, pointed at Aisha, angry as hell.

“Hah! You tell me about suffering! You’re the one always sabotaging my car, so I’m not that fast!” Aisha took a step to Emma.

“You and fast? You’re a joke, Aisha.” Emma rolled her eyes with laugh.

Aisha got even angrier and lunged for Emma, that was the moment for Grace to step between them, getting them apart from themselves.

“You need to stop this nonsense between you. It’s not good for you, for the team, for anybody. It could get you both fired from the academy. You need to cooperate as teammates. And grow together to be better.” Grace sounded convincing and motivational.

George stood behind the pillar hiding and listening to the exchange.

Emma sighed. “Okay. We can cooperate, but you’re not any better than us in this situation, Grace.”

Grace turned to her with raised brows. “What?”

“Everybody talks about you and your teammate George Russell, that you argue a lot and you are on each other's nerves. When do you plan to cooperate with him and get past yourself?” Emma crossed her arms on her chest turning the situation to her terms.

“Young lady, you’re not getting to me through my affairs. I’m working on it, is it enough? So, get to work or you’re fired. And that’s my last word in this.” Grace said sternly and both girls just nodded.

Watching them walking to garage, she spotted George standing there. “Shit…” she muttered to herself and he took slow steps to her with an amused smile.

“It’s hard to keep them on good terms, when you’re not any different, huh?” He teased her.

“If you want to make me more angry, this is not the right time.” She raised a finger at him with a warning.

“You just said that we’re working on the temper between us, so I don’t want to make you more upset. I just heard that whole situation and I want to offer you something.” George put his hands to the pockets of his pants.

“And what is it?” Grace looked up at him with concern.

“I can talk to them and get some insight through our team. I know that Susie doesn't want to mix it up with us, but I think it can be pretty inspiring. And you can even show them your work. Because yes, they know that you’re our reserve driver, but they know you only as their team leader.” George talked all so serious.

She thought about it for a while. Maybe he wasn’t so wrong at all and she really could use some help with this.

“Okay, that sounds good. You can be helpful with this.” Grace smiled a little. It was for the first time she smiled honestly at him.

Suddenly out of nowhere Max got to them. “Hi, Grace. I just thought that you might want to have a date on this event next month, you know the FIA gala.”

Her eyes flickered to George and he caught her gaze understanding the unspoken. “Sorry, Max, but she just agreed to go with me.”

He moved to her side, getting his arm around her shoulders. Max stood there frozen to the ground, his mouth open with shock. Grace didn’t expect this outcome, but somehow she felt comfortable about George being this close to her.

“I knew it, that you’re just messing around with her to get her for yourself.” Max raised his finger upset.

“Hey, I have some say in this either. You just don’t understand that I’m not interested. In you, Max.” Grace said with a frown.

With embarrassed face Max stomped to his garage in fury.

Grace looked up at George with a confused look. “Thank you, but do you mean it? I just thought that I wouldn't attend that event, because who would go with me, besides Max.”

“If you don’t upset me to that time, I mean it.” He chuckled.

“You’re still holding me, are you aware of it?” Grace smirked with a teasing tone.

He immediately stepped back from her, clearing his throat.

“Anyway, tomorrow I’ll be testing some things on your car, so it’ll be good that you'll be there. And you can talk to the girls in the afternoon.” Grace looked at her phone to see the schedule in her calendar.

“Yes, ma’am.” He chuckled.

———

Month went by quickly. Grace and George worked on their issues and started cooperating like a good team. With some help with performance, George was able to drive better than Lewis. Just as Grace predicted. Aisha and Emma were excited about George’s care and looked at their relationship as teammates from a different perspective. Susie was glad that the Mercedes settled in all the ways, because it calmed even her husband Toto.

Friday afternoon all the teams got into the hotel, where the FIA gala was held for the evening. Grace received her keycard at the reception walking to the direction of the hotel room. Unlocking the door, she got inside, but there stood George shirtless in the doorway of the bathroom. Both of them freaked out. “What the hell?! What are you doing in my room?” Grace looked to the side, hiding her eyes from the sight.

“What are YOU doing in MY room?!” George quickly put on some shirt.

“What are you talking about, they gave me this room at the reception at check in.” Grace looked at him confused showing him the key card.

George looked at it, believing her. “We’re going to the lobby to get this thing solved.”

They tried to calmly solve the situation with the receptionist, but Grace was losing her patience.

“I’m sorry, but it seems there was a glitch in the system, so they gave you a room together.” Receptionist said with a frown.

“Fine, okay, but is there any other room you can get me?” Grace sighed.

“The hotel is at its full capacity due to the gala event, so there is no other room.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t snore.” George said jokingly.

Grace only rolled her eyes. “Okay, thanks for your effort.”

They came back to the hotel room and after some relax time, they started to prepare for the evening.

George was leaning over the couch as he waited for her, he was wearing a simple white shirt and black trousers.

Grace came out of the bathroom completely like a new person. Her brown hair blew out in the gentle curls, her figure appealing in the simple dark green silk dress, which complimented her green eyes. He looked at her in awe, taken aback by her appearance.

“You’re drooling, George.” She said amused.

“I’m not. You’re looking good.” He was breathless.

Grace slightly blushed at his words, but quickly took her purse, ready to go.

They got to the entrance of the ball room, where they were supposed to say their names to get in.

“George Russell and Grace Johnson.” George sounded nonchalant. The man at the stand looked through the name list confused. “There is George Russell, but not Grace Johnson. But wait…”

“Don’t tell me I’m here for nothing.” She was getting annoyed again.

“Ehm, there is- There is-“ the man stuttered while looking at them two and back to the paper.

“What?” She raised her brows.

“There is Grace, but… Not Johnson.” The man said looking at them.

“So, what is it this time mistaking my name. Joson or Ohnson?” Grace tried to be funny, but George started to understand.

“Mrs. Grace Russell.” The man said with gulp.

Grace was surprised not only by the mistake but by how good it sounded.

After the silence George just laughed. “I don’t remember marrying you, but it’s okay. Thank you. That’s us. The Russells.”

With that they got to their table. There was also the Mr. and Mrs. Russell name cards.

“I’m telling you that there’s someone behind all of this.” Grace muttered while sitting down on her chair.

“I have a certain someone on my mind.” He hummed as he looked across the table at Lewis, who sat there fighting his usual smirk.

“You think…” she looked at Lewis and then back at George, who just nodded with one of his grin.

Grace caught Max with the corner of her eye only for him to appear at their table. “Oh no…”

Before Grace could turn the name card, he noticed the name. It shot the bolt of anger through him.

“I see you’re getting used to his name. I also know, that you’re sharing a room.” Max spat with irony in his voice.

“Max, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” Grace huffed.

“I hope you enjoy the evening.” Max looked at them both and then stomped away.

“This man won’t give me a break.” She sighed looking at the name card.

“It sounds good, right?” He leaned closer to look at it too.

“Maybe. Just for today.” Grace smirked a little, putting it down for it to be visible.

———

She was dancing with Mick, laughing, when George came up to them. “May I?”

Mick nodded, hiding a smile, stepping back from them.

As they danced, Grace felt so good it scared her. Feeling safe in his arms, she leaned her head against his shoulder, inhaling his scent that made her heart flutter.

“One would say that you’re melting under my touch.” He whispered, leading her through the dance floor.

“Shush. I’m just enjoying the moment.” She smiled.

Lewis watched them amused. “So, Toto, you didn’t believe me, when I said that it would take a month to get them together.”

Toto smirked watching them as well. “You planned it so well. But how can we be sure, that they’re together?”

———

At 2AM, Grace was a little tipsy same as George, but he was more sober than her. Getting into the room, she got off her heels with relief.

“This evening was the best.” She giggled while sitting on the bed, getting her jewellery off. He slumped beside her, smiling, getting off his watches and unbuttoning his shirt.

“Yeah, it was.” He chuckled while placing his hand on her thigh instinctively. Grace looked down at his hand, it was the side where her dress had a slit and her leg was on display. Then she looked up at him, while he was already staring.

“I need to say something that I would’ve trouble saying if I were sober.”

“Mhm?” She waited patiently.

“I never really hated you. It was my mask to hide my true feelings. Actually I always admired you. The way you swayed through garage, being incredible at everything you touch.” He breathed out while looking to the floor and then back at her.

Grace softly laughed. “You know, I’m feeling the same way. I always felt like I’d never be enough for you.”

George cupped her cheeks with both of his hands, caressing gently. “You are more than enough.”

———

They were the last ones to get to the breakfast at hotel restaurant. Both of them smiling, full of themselves.

As they got to the table, all eyes were on them.

“So, how you slept?” Lewis asked with chuckle.

Grace looked up at him, her gaze then lingering at George and then back at Lewis. “Pretty good.”

“I can see.” Lewis said while looking over at Toto, who also tried to hide his amusement.

———

It was the start of another season, when Grace arrived to the paddock not wearing her significant racing suit, but rather her casual clothes with sneakers. Meeting with Susie, they discussed the plan of the season in the academy.

“How are you feeling?” Susie asked with kind smile.

“Mostly good, but you know, it has some bad days.” Grace laughed softly.

After that she walked to the Mercedes garage, meeting George at his car. “I hope you’re taking good care of him for me.” She laughed talking to the mechanics around.

George hopped out of the car, kissing her temple.

“Are you good today?” He asked with worry.

“Yeah, today is good. I wouldn’t miss your first day back on the track.” She smiled at him.

He put his hand on her small pregnant belly, talking to it. “Be good to your mother. We need her to be strong.”

Grace was filled with warmth and never ending love.

After some other meetings, she sat on the couch nearby, getting through her notes. She tried to work as much as she could. Her eyes fell on the ring on her left hand. Smiling, she remembered the day she said yes to George.

Being Mrs. Russell wasn’t so bad at all.

———

Please don’t use my writings without permission! Pictures found on Pinterest.

-

Tags: @chilling-seavey

[44forza]

backburner (chapter one)

series masterlist, main masterlist

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut. mdni.

tropes: teammates, friends to lovers to enemies ... and back to lovers

word count: 3.3k

summary: charles is boy wonder, prince of monaco, il predestinato, and the clear favorite for the WDC. as the newest addition to the team and only woman on the grid, all eyes are on you as you navigate your way through your 3rd season in f1. your illicit past with your teammate only seems to add to the bubbling tension. will you ever be seen as worthy to ferrari? to charles? inspired by the song backburner by niki

warnings: sexism/misogyny will be heavily discussed in this fic. please don't read if that makes you uncomfortable! there's a decent amount of timeline hopping which is split up by page breaks but everything should be clear. oc is def a black cat character lol but do not be fooled this is a mutually pining situation, they're just kind of stupid and bad at communicating properly.

author's note: chapter one is here!!! i'm so excited to get this out and share this story with u guys. as always please let me know what u think <3 pls send me an ask if u want to be added to the taglist.

you’re ushered through a sea of employees, rosso corsa flanking you from all sides. the gap widens to accommodate you and your escort to the center of the room, though it feels like the room has already swallowed you up entirely. the energy in the room is electric. you feel more like a live wire. fragile like a bomb. as you reach the steps of the stage and meet the eyes of each person there, aside from one, your feet grow heavier with every step. there are words exchanged excitedly upon your appearance, both in english and italian, but it’s hard to hear through the ringing in your head. 

few people in the world have stood here, you think distantly. there isn’t time to ponder if maybe that’s why it feels so lonely. you feel the dialogue whizz by you like their words are flying around the room, circling you. an introduction, probably—a mic is in your hand and you’re expected to address the room at some point. to address your new team. you don’t need to look to see your new teammate's eyes haven’t moved from the floor since your entry. his gaze is the most piercing of all, and you’re glad to be free of it in this moment. 

it’s easy to fall back on rehearsed lines. thank you for the warm welcome, i look forward to meeting everyone and working with you all to fight for another constructors championship this year. the words placate your agent standing nearby even if they dont quite reach your ears as you spew them. you don’t say the words in the back of your throat, how you want to fight for the driver’s championship, how you’re more than a second seat warmer, how you are just as capable as your teammate who can’t even be bothered to acknowledge your presence just a few feet away. it was easier to pretend you didn’t want any of it to begin with. a true team player. 

you’re so consumed in feeling what you shouldn’t be feeling to notice that your teammate is looking now. the type of gaze that seeps into your marrow and back. you wonder what he sees as you lock eyes. there’s more chatter that flits in your ears, groups form to take the two of you away for kit fittings and modifications, but neither of you move. 

his gaze is hypnotizing. it’s strong enough to pick you up and carry you away with it if you aren’t careful. but you are. after last year, you’re more careful than you’ve ever been. it’s easy to forget about all of that though in these small, fleeting moments. it’s only as you’re being pulled away by your race engineer that you note how sad he looks. eyebrows downturned and solemn. it reminds you that you’re angry, and you can’t afford to forget that again. you look away and don’t look back. 

the tour goes smoothly, though you knew it would. ferrari has a reputation for many things, their sterile professionalism being one of them. as you glance around each room and shake hands with every important person ushered your way, you know better than to linger on anyone’s face for a beat too long. you knew what you would find. 

you were an odd choice to be sure. this wasn’t to say you were undeserving. though you try to maintain a humble attitude, you had an impressive couple of years so far in F1. you signed your rookie contract to alpine where you stayed for two years, finishing P5 in last year's constructors championship after a hard fought battle with aston martin. alpine’s car was far from impressive in terms of pace, but that’s never been enough to hold you back. you were fast and consistent. the past year has been full of pushing yourself to the absolute limit physically and mentally to make things shake, as well as secret meetings and phone calls discussing a potential move to many other teams on the grid. but talent isn’t all that makes up a reputation. you’re known to be ruthless on track, determined to win no matter the obstacle or person in front of you. in a sport like this, that should be admirable. but when you’re a woman, and that obstacle or person is charles leclerc, things aren’t quite so easily decided. especially to the tifosi. 

competitiveness is seen as aggression, assertiveness is seen as bitchiness, confidence is seen as arrogance. you’ve grown used to these. most fall like water down your back, now. but on some occasions they burn your skin like a freshly scarred brand. every friendly gesture with another driver is speculated upon, every physical attribute of yours is picked apart online. it’s all a test, anyways. at least it’s hard to not feel that way, hard to not feel like you’re the sacrificial lamb of your generation. fellow women in motorsport know how impossible it is to earn your keep, let alone to climb the ranks into f1. you’ve raced with many women over the years, some equally as talented if not moreso. it’s hard to think back to the people you’ve left behind on your journey to the top, wondering why it was you who made it when there have been so many who have tried. maybe it’s why you race now with a chip on your shoulder. for you, there’s always been so much more at stake than the fame, glory and money. the community that built you and pushed you, all the women and girls watching you from the sidelines and at home, waiting for you to show the world what a woman can do in this sport. so you’ve been aggressive. you’ve been aggressive, bitchy, arrogant, and you fight to win. 

you’ve come to accept that there are some things you can control speculation on and some things that you can’t - your personal relationships becoming media fodder being a main concern. you don’t need to hear what the world thinks about the highest scoring female driver in f1 history throwing away her shot because she got too soft on another driver. you didn’t want to be reduced to a relationship, real or fake. 

what you once had with charles though .. that was real. 

“fresh eyed and bushy tailed, they called me. what a load of shit,” you spit out, furiously walking out of the media pit. “i’m not a fucking squirrel.” 

“i really don’t think they meant it like that y/n. doesn’t that just mean eager? or excited?” oscar follows closely behind. you're quick on your feet but he’s got the leg span of the jolly green giant. damn him.

“wouldn’t that be obvious, though? it’s my first race weekend in formula one, obviously i’m excited to be here. i could do without the woodland animal comparison.”

“you’re in alpine, maybe the clarification is needed,” he jokes. you huff under your breath and swat at his chest which only makes him laugh harder. “iron your face out, champ, or it’ll stay like that forever. then you’ll have all the reporters talking about your fine lines and wrinkles on the front pages tomorrow.” 

that manages to get a laugh out of you. oscar always does, whether you want to or not. damn him again. “maybe that’s for the best, actually. they can talk about my premature aging instead of my tractor for a car.”

“that’s the spirit!” he chimes, voice mimicking the sound of the bell atop the cantina door as he holds it open for you to walk through. 

it’s hard to recall a time before you and oscar were friends. you chock it up to him being raised with sisters the way he always seems to understand you. you were karting age when you first met the brown eyed boy, and you still teasingly tell the story to anyone who will listen how he followed you around that entire first day because he thought a girl racer was the coolest thing he’d ever seen. he pretends that never happened but you know the truth. 

in a world that’s been so critical of your existence, oscar’s presence was a god-send in your most formative years as a driver. without his confidence in you and your abilities, you’re sure you would have given up on your f1 pipedream before even making it to formula 3. 

you love him to bits, but you’ve got half a mind to pour your latte over his head as you bicker back and forth at the cantina coffee bar over cream and sugar. 

“i get that you’re australian and all of you are weirdly anal about your coffee but that’s really not my problem, osc.”

“it’s blasphemy, really. is it even coffee at that point? you’re an athlete for godsake!”

“and you’re a thorn in my side. try adding some sugar to your coffee to help fix that bitter attitude of yours.”

a muffled laugh sounds on your left but you don’t bother to look over, too focused on grabbing a sleeve for your cup from the stack on the counter. 

“remind me to never get on your bad side, y/n.” the voice gives you pause. the hand holding your cup starts to burn as your other hand hovers embarrassingly still over the stack of cup sleeves. when you finally turn your head towards the voice, it’s none other than charles leclerc standing next to you. you know who he is, of course, though you’ve never spoken directly to him. you blink once, and then twice, like a deer in headlights. maybe the woodland animal comparison from earlier was accurate after all. it feels like his eyes have an iron grip on you and you stand there frozen, unchanged. it’s a lighthearted, teasing gaze he gives you, lips curled into an easy smile that flatters him beautifully. you’re too dazed to push that thought away as it passes through your brain. another beat passes and you still haven’t said anything, or moved, something oscar clearly finds all too amusing. 

“charles! what are you doing down here?” oscar’s hand claps onto your shoulder, making you jolt enough to snap out of whatever trance you had fallen in hurriedly looking away. you finally slip the sleeve on your cup before your fingers fall off.  “i didn’t think you usually ate outside of the ferrari hospitality.”

“normally no, you’re right. like y/n here though,” you look back up at the mention of your name. it’s like a siren call the way it slides off his tongue. melodic, almost. “i like my coffee sweet. i’d be willing to bet that italians are worse about coffee than australians, so i come down here to avoid all of that.”

you speak before you realize you’re doing it, “you should tell them to shove it.” charles eyebrows shoot up his forehead. 

“shove it?”

“yeah. who gives a fuck? make it however you want. if they don’t like it just tell them to fuck off. that’s what i do with oscar. he’s annoying so he doesn’t listen, but they might.” 

distantly you hear oscar choke out a laugh from behind you, clearly used to your candor. his hand that’s still on your shoulder half heartedly nudges you forward, clearly chastising you for speaking so freely. charles still has his eyebrows raised and watches amusedly as you take a sip from your cup. you raise your eyebrows back as if to say “what?”

something warm settles deep in your stomach when charles’ eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes and the way he’s failing to hide his smile from your advice. “you think i should say that?” 

“it’s what i would do.”

charles lets out a quiet hum at that, nodding along to your words. his eyes still flicker up and down your face, but you’re not sure if it’s purposeful or instinctual. his hand reaches out to you.

"i'm charles."

you take it, shaking it once before letting go. "i know."

“do whatever you’d like obviously,” you turn and start to walk past oscar to the door, reaching for your phone in your back pocket. “i guess i’ll know if you’re here again what you decide.” you throw a halfhearted wave in charles’ direction before you walk through the door. glancing down at your phone, you note that you’ve got enough time to run through strategy notes one more time before heading back to your hotel for the night, so you start walking in the direction of the alpine garage. after a minute or so, you hear rushed footsteps coming up from behind you. 

“so.. what the hell was that?”

“don’t piss me off, osc.”

“okay well, you didn’t see his face after you walked out of there,”

“and i don’t want to hear about it either.” a lie. you’re a liar. but he continues anyway.

“or how he asked if we were ‘together’ while he wistfully watched you walk away. i seriously thought he forgot i was even standing there until he asked me that.”

there’s a little too much bite to your voice now as you quickly ask, “so what’d you say?” 

“ew? what else could i say to that? i walked out right after.”

the sigh you let out comes from deep in your diaphragm. “you’re a pest, you know that?”

“a real pest would have said yes when he asked, he clearly wants you bad.” his sing songy tone of voice pisses you off even more than his words. 

“i don’t have the patience for this.”

“you don’t have the patience for anything, it’s your most consistent character trait.” when you don’t answer, he tries again. “seriously, i don’t get the problem. there’s obviously chemistry there. i know you feel strongly about the world thinking you’re the virgin mary, and i get your reasons why, but they don’t need to know about what you do in private.”

you splinter off from him and start to walk into the alpine garage, tossing your dismissal over your shoulder, “this conversation is over, osc.”

notably, charles does not take your advice. he starts showing up in the cantina every race weekend like clockwork, something oscar finds hilarious. it’s even escalated so far as eating together when you’re all free to do so. you can’t fathom why charles would choose to eat with you and oscar when the ferrari catering must be far better than whatever the general cantina is serving. the last time you voiced that thought to oscar he called you an idiot, so you keep those thoughts to yourself now. 

you’re a little ashamed to admit it, but you enjoy charles’ company. as silly as it might sound to others, it feels a little like giving up. you’ve done everything you could to build up your walls to protect you from scandal in f1, but it all comes crumbling over one boy with beautiful blue eyes? it makes your stomach churn a little with unease.

that’s not to say you felt good about pushing everyone away. the vast majority of the drivers have approached you since the start of the season to at least introduce themselves, though obviously not necessary. you know some of them from your karting days, so the formalities always laid limp to you. you know they’re just being nice, but you keep your usual bite with every conversation you have. it’s easier this way for everyone involved. 

charles seems wholly unperturbed by your attitude which is almost more unsettling than his generally increasing presence in your life. he just won’t go away. calls you “refreshing” which feels like someone has poured ice cold water down the back of your shirt. 

you were half convinced he was sticking around because he knew it was driving you crazy, but the more tooth-rotting coffee you drink together the more you’ve come to realize that he’s simply too nice to scheme like that. you haven’t been overtly mean in your time with him, albeit a little short and quick to leave the room when you felt uncomfortable, but that’s just second nature to you. leave it to you to attract the attention of the most popular driver on the grid when you’re trying to keep your head down in the media. you can hear oscar’s laugh ringing in your head like a school bell.

refreshing. who the hell does he think he is?

but you can’t deny that it’s nice. he’s nice. to sit across from someone else and have them ask you questions because they genuinely want to know the answers is nice. you’ve only ever really had oscar as a friend in the racing world and he knows you like the back of his hand—you’ve never wanted another friend, never needed one. but then again, no one has ever tried this hard. 

you are at least self aware enough to acknowledge that there’s an edge to everything charles does and says to you. there’s a thrum of attraction flowing between both of you, another thing that makes you want to bury your head in the sand and never come back up for air. even if charles had successfully weasled his way into trying to be your friend, that’s all you could allow this to be. it already feels like too much. a crack in your facade. 

you have enough to worry about, like how you’re about to race singapore in a billion degree heat in a brick for a car. you have half a mind to ask for an IV drip at the alpine hospitality just to prepare your body for how much fluid you’re going to lose. as you and oscar walk into the cantina on press day, charles is already standing to the side holding two cups. he hands one to you with a gentle, “let me know how it is” before you’re able to say anything. 

you blink in his face, just like the day you met. oscar mumbles a “jesus christ” before stepping around you two to get his own. you take a sip and nod. it’s all you’re able to do when he looks at you like that. like you’re the first good thing he’s seen all day. 

“it’s good?”

you hum in agreement. his 5 billion gigawatt smile lights up his face and he knocks his cup against yours. “cheers.”

the pit in your stomach grows.

the rest of the day goes on without incident. you finished the ferrari hq tour feeling like the pope, shaking hands and kissing babies. the crowd of tifosi roar as you walk outside and you wave to as many people as you can before you’re pushed into the car waiting to take you back. it’s hard not to feel like this is the world fattening you up like a pig before the slaughter. there’s no higher pedestal to fall from. your lifelong dream of racing in red finally realized, only no one really believes in your ability to stay there. not even yourself. even oscar has a hard time remaining positive about it. your phone lights up with another text from him. 

“he didnt say anything?????? wdym?”

you sigh, locking your phone before resting your temple against the car window.

you foolishly let your mind wander to charles. what he thinks of you being there, whether he thinks of you at all. how he could look so sad standing next to you on stage when he’s the reason you haven’t spoken in months. you aren’t even sure what you’d want to hear if you asked him. he said enough in cota last year to speak for a lifetime. you only wish you could forget it. 

another ding brings your train of thought to a screeching halt. 

“hi y/n. it’s charles. are you able to meet me for coffee tomorrow before we go in for marketing shots?”

[minxmut-cafe]

HEXED HEARTS | part 1.

Pairing : Slytherin Jimin x Huffle puff Reader

Word count : 18k words

Authors note : I AM BACK!!! Ik it's been a LONG time since I posted LMAO but my exams are going on and I really need to focus lol. This had been in my requests for a long time lol. Also I haven't really watched Harry potter. So my apologies if there's something inaccurate in it. But I hope you enjoy it. ALSO this was originally supposed to be one part but it got too long T T. So it's now a 3 part story because of the word count limit.

PART 2 | PART 3

Warning : Smut, spell, mentions of poison, Sexual penetration, PWP, cunnilingus, intercourse, oral sex (F receiving), bullying, threats, enemies to lover???, masturbation, accidental voyeurism.

Synopsis :

Jimin, a cocky Slytherin, relentlessly bullies the sweet, naive little Hufflepuff. After accidentally hitting her with a charm, she becomes love-struck and overly vulnerable. Despite her efforts to hide it, her innocence makes her an easy target for his teasing and the manipulations of others, leaving her trapped in confusion and desire. In an attempt to revert her back to normal...things take an interesting turn.

__________________________________________________

Jimin leaned against the cold stone wall of the Hufflepuff common room entrance, his usual smug grin plastered on his face as he watched the young Hufflepuff girl approach. She was just about to pass him, her arms clutching a freshly bought butterbeer from the Hogwarts kitchen, when he blocked her path with a lazy flick of his wand.

"Got something for me, love?" he teased, his voice dripping with mock sweetness as he eyed the bottle in her hands.

The girl, her name was Y/N, tried to sidestep him, but Jimin’s other hand shot out, snatching the bottle from her grip effortlessly.

"Hey!" she squeaked, her cheeks flushing a deep pink. “Give it back!”

Jimin didn’t even flinch, instead, he raised the bottle just out of her reach, savoring the discomfort he was causing. "Oh? Why should I?" he taunted, eyes glinting with a mischievous sparkle. "You’re so innocent, aren't you? Too sweet for your own good."

Y/N huffed, her breath shaky as she tried to stand her ground. She didn’t know what it was about him—how he could mock her so easily, take her things, laugh at her expense—and yet, she couldn’t ever seem to stay mad for long. There was something about him that made her heart race, even when she hated what he was doing to her.

Jimin saw the telltale flush creeping up her neck and smirked. Too easy. But then, an idea sparked in his mind. He flicked his wand again, just for fun, and whispered a quick incantation. A flash of light and—whoops—the charm hit her square in the chest.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, he noticed it.

Y/N blinked, her gaze locking on his, a soft, dazed look clouding her usually clear eyes. She bit her lip and swayed slightly, almost as though the world around her had lost its balance.

What the hell did I just do? Jimin thought, a cold shiver running down his spine. He’d only meant to play another prank, not... this.

"Y/N?" he asked, voice lower now, suddenly unsure of the situation.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her fingers tightened around the edges of her robes, and her breath came out in shallow bursts.

“Are you alright?” he pressed, though the devilish grin hadn’t left his face.

Y/N’s response wasn’t quite what he expected. She blinked at him again, as if seeing him for the first time, and said softly, “You’re... beautiful.”

Jimin’s smirk faltered.

He watched, almost fascinated, as she stumbled over her words, her hands fidgeting at her sides. Whatever he had done, it had affected her in ways he didn’t understand.

Well, this could be interesting.

But as she stood there, clearly confused by whatever magic had just altered her perception, Jimin couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was going to go horribly wrong.

This is getting really interesting—Jimin's slow realization of how much he messed up, combined with his initial indifference, adds a lot of tension. Here’s how the next scene could play out:

Jimin had never thought much about the aftermath of his teasing. He’d throw a snide comment here, steal a butterbeer there—nothing too serious. The little Hufflepuff was easy to rile up, her reactions far too amusing for him to stop. But lately... something had changed.

Over the past few weeks, Y/N has become strange. More sensitive to his taunts, more flustered than usual. It was almost too easy now. A simple smirk in her direction had her stammering, and sometimes—Merlin forbid—she would look at him with wide, starry eyes, as if he had just saved her from a dragon instead of, say, hexing her quill to scribble nonsense on her parchment.

He didn't think much of it. Maybe she was just being her usual naive self. Maybe she was just going through a phase.

But then, the whispers started.

Jimin had always known she was an easy target—too trusting, too kind for her own good—but lately, people were taking more advantage of her than before. The usual teasing had shifted into something uglier. More cruel. A few times, he caught her looking startled when a group of boys brushed past her too closely in the halls, or freezing up when someone flicked their wand and sent her books tumbling.

Still, he ignored it.

At least, he did until that night.

Jimin had been heading back to his dorm, barely paying attention as he strolled through the dimly lit corridors of the castle. The halls were mostly empty—curfew was approaching—when something made him pause.

A soft sniffle.

He turned the corner, brows furrowing, and what he saw made his stomach clench.

Y/N. Sitting on the cold stone floor, knees drawn up to her chest, her hands curled weakly around them. Her robes were slightly disheveled, her usually bright expression replaced by something hollow. The candlelight flickered against her skin, highlighting the bruises on her knees, a few more scattered on her hands and calves.

Jimin didn’t move at first.

He wasn’t sure why he felt that sudden, uncomfortable pang in his chest, but it was there, unwelcome and nagging.

Y/N sniffled again, rubbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. She hadn’t noticed him yet.

Jimin should have walked away. Should’ve pretended he didn’t see.

Instead, he exhaled sharply and took a step forward. "Oi."

She flinched, her head snapping up. For a second, her dazed eyes met his, and he saw it—the hesitation, the lingering effect of whatever stupid charm he had hit her with.

"...Jimin?" she whispered, blinking in confusion.

He clenched his jaw.

"Tch. What are you doing sitting on the floor like a pathetic little lost kitten?" he muttered, crouching down to her level. His voice was sharp, but his movements were careful.

Y/N swallowed thickly, lowering her gaze. "I—I just... tripped," she lied, a weak attempt at brushing it off.

Jimin's eyes flickered over her bruises. Liar.

For the first time in weeks, his teasing words didn’t come. His usual smirk felt foreign on his lips.

Because deep down, a part of him knew—this wasn’t just some random accident. And the worst part?

It was his fault.

Jimin stayed crouched in front of her, his usual smirk absent, replaced by something unreadable. His sharp eyes scanned the bruises on her skin, the way her fingers trembled slightly as she gripped the fabric of her robe.

He clicked his tongue. "Who did this?"

Y/N blinked at him, eyes glassy from unshed tears.

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something firmer. "I’m serious, Y/N. Who? Was it those Ravenclaw pricks? Or was it Jeongmin again?"

She sniffled.

Jimin’s patience was wearing thin. He had seen the way people treated her lately—hell, he’d contributed to it—but even he had limits. This wasn’t just a bit of teasing anymore. Someone had hurt her.

“Y/N,” he pressed, a little softer this time, watching her lower lip wobble. “Tell me.”

Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her robes. Then, instead of answering, she let out a tiny, pitiful noise—half a sniffle, half a whimper—and pouted up at him, her wide eyes shimmering under the dim torchlight.

“Why is everyone so mean to me?”

Jimin froze.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He had been ready for a name, for a snarky excuse, maybe even a dismissive I’m fine. But this? This small, defeated question?

It made something in his chest twist��tight and unfamiliar.

Y/N sniffled again, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeve. “I don’t—I don’t even do anything bad,” she hiccuped, voice cracking. "But—but they keep taking my things, and laughing, and—" she bit her lip, looking down. "Even when I say stop, they just laugh harder."

Jimin felt his fingers twitch.

For the first time, he actually looked at her. Not just as the gullible little Hufflepuff he loved to torment, not as the girl who got flustered too easily or tripped over her own feet.

But as someone who was genuinely hurting.

And the worst part? A good portion of that was his fault.

Jimin ran his tongue over his teeth, inhaling sharply. His pride wouldn’t let him soften completely, but for once, the usual amusement in his voice was gone when he muttered, "Tch. They’re idiots. They don’t know any better."

Y/N pouted harder. "But why?"

Jimin clenched his jaw. Why? Because you’re too trusting. Because you never fight back. Because you’re too soft for a school full of people who don’t deserve your kindness. Because—

Because I started it.

He exhaled sharply through his nose and stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his robes.

"Come on," he muttered, holding a hand out.

She blinked up at him. "Huh?"

"You heard me, Hufflepuff. Get up."

She hesitated, but when she finally placed her smaller hand in his, Jimin was hit with a sudden warmth. He ignored it, gripping her wrist and tugging her up to her feet.

She wobbled slightly, her balance off, and before he could think, Jimin’s hands found her waist to steady her.

Too close.

His breath hitched. Y/N was staring up at him again, wide-eyed, lips parted in surprise.

For a second, Jimin forgot why he was supposed to be mad. Why he was even here. All he could focus on was the way her fingers were gripping his sleeve like he was something safe. Like she trusted him.

Like he wasn’t the reason she was like this in the first place.

His grip on her waist tightened before he quickly let go. "Tch. Stop looking at me like that," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Like what?" she sniffled.

He rolled his eyes, turning on his heel. "Never mind."

But as he walked away, jaw tight, he knew one thing for certain—

This was his mess to clean up.

Jimin wasn’t the type to lose sleep over guilt.

But that night, as he lay in his dorm, arms crossed behind his head, he found himself staring at the ceiling, replaying the way Y/N had sniffled up at him with wide, heartbroken eyes.

Why is everyone so mean to me?

He scowled, turning onto his side. Tch. Stupid girl.

Still, when morning came, Jimin found himself paying more attention than usual.

She was easy to spot—Hufflepuffs were loud, and her friend group had the energy of overeager puppies. But even as she chattered away with them, he could tell she wasn’t fully herself. Her movements were stiff, her usual sunshine-like warmth dimmed.

And she was still too damn trusting.

Jimin’s wand twitched in his sleeve as he watched from a distance. A small hex here, a charm there—little things. Subtle things. When she nearly walked into a swinging suit of armor, an invisible force nudged her just enough to avoid it. When a group of Ravenclaws whispered too loudly about her, their quills inexplicably snapped in half. And when one particularly brave Slytherin tried to jinx her from behind?

Well. Jimin had ways of making sure the hex rebounded.

He wasn’t sure what exactly had changed overnight. All he knew was that watching her flinch at every little thing left a bad taste in his mouth.

So, when lunchtime rolled around, and he caught sight of a certain someone sneering in Y/N’s direction, all thoughts of subtlety went out the window.

Jeongmin.

The arrogant bastard was lounging at the Ravenclaw table, shooting Y/N a knowing smirk while she hurried past him, clutching her books a little tighter.

Jimin tilted his head. Interesting.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he was paying attention, he saw it—the way Jeongmin’s friends elbowed each other, laughing under their breath. The way Y/N ducked her head, trying to disappear.

Jimin flexed his fingers. So, you’re the one.

He stood from his seat, rolling his shoulders lazily. He wasn’t impulsive per se—every move he made was calculated. But some things required creativity.

A hex would be too obvious. A fight? Too much paperwork.

No, if Jimin was going to deal with this, he’d do it the smart way.

The Slytherin way.

Later That Evening…

Jeongmin never saw it coming.

One minute, he was on his way back from the library, minding his own business. The next, the torches in the corridor flickered, and a chilling voice murmured from the shadows—

"Going somewhere, Jeongmin?"

The Ravenclaw barely had time to react before he was shoved—hard—against the cold stone wall.

Jimin leaned in, his wand pressing just under Jeongmin’s chin.

"Funny thing," he mused, voice eerily calm. "I heard something interesting today."

Jeongmin swallowed, trying—and failing—to push back. Jimin barely exerted any force, but the weight of his presence alone kept him pinned.

"I heard," Jimin continued, tilting his head, "that you’ve been running your mouth. That you’ve been having a little too much fun at someone else’s expense." His eyes gleamed in the dim torchlight. "That true?"

Jeongmin wet his lips. "I—I don’t know what you’re talking about—"

Jimin clicked his tongue. Wrong answer.

With a lazy flick of his wand, Jeongmin’s knees buckled, forcing him down.

"Try again," Jimin murmured.

Jeongmin gasped, but Jimin crouched, keeping their eye level dangerously close.

"You know," he continued conversationally, "there are certain spells that don’t leave a mark. No proof. No trace." He hummed, tapping his wand against his palm. "Ever heard of the Cold Shiver Hex? Makes it feel like insects are crawling under your skin for days."

Jeongmin’s breath hitched.

"Or the Whisper Curse? A tiny spell—nothing major. But it does make sure you hear the same voice in your head, over and over." Jimin smiled, slow and sharp. "My voice. Repeating one little word."

He leaned in. "Run."

Jeongmin trembled.

Jimin exhaled, letting the silence stretch.

Then, just as suddenly, he stood, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve.

"Stay," he drawled, stepping back. "Out of her way."

With one last, lingering glance, he turned on his heel, disappearing down the corridor.

Behind him, Jeongmin slumped against the wall, shaking.

Jimin didn’t look back.

But as he made his way toward the common room, a smirk finally tugged at his lips.

Messing with Y/N? Big mistake.

Y/N barely had time to register what was happening before she found herself being dragged through the corridors, her feet stumbling over the cold stone floor.

“Jimin—wait—!” she yelped, nearly tripping.

“Stop whining.”

“Where are we going?”

“The library.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

She puffed out her cheeks in protest, huffing as she tried to keep up. He had grabbed the back of her coat, practically hauling her along like a misbehaving cat.

“Why are you so grumpy today?” she mumbled, pouting. “You’re always mean, but today feels extra mean.”

Jimin’s eye twitched.

She was the one pouting? She was the one acting like he was being unreasonable? After all the absolute bullshit he had to clean up because of her ridiculous condition?

He inhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to stay calm.

She wasn’t wrong, though. He was grumpy.

For one, he had spent half his day making sure no one dared to lay a hand on her again. And two, he was pissed at himself.

Because now that he was paying attention, the signs were obvious. The dazed, dreamy looks. The way she got flustered way too easily. How she stared at him all starry-eyed when he so much as breathed in her direction.

And the worst part?

This wasn’t normal.

Not for her.

Y/N was naturally soft, sure. But she wasn’t—or at least, she hadn’t always been—this stupidly, pathetically love-struck.

Which meant… he had caused this.

Somehow.

And that was why they were marching to the library.

Jimin threw her into a chair.

“Sit.”

Y/N let out a tiny squeak, blinking up at him in bewilderment. “You didn’t have to be so rough, you know.”

Jimin ignored her, already scanning the shelves for what he needed. His fingers skimmed the spines of several books—Obscure Charms and How to Break Them, Hexes, Curses, and Accidental Magic, The Unspoken Dangers of Misdirected Spells.

He pulled out three, dropping them onto the table with a thud.

Y/N flinched.

Jimin took a seat across from her, flipping open the first book.

“Alright,” he said, voice clipped. “You’re going to sit there and not whine while I figure out what the hell is wrong with you.”

She blinked. “Huh?”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “You. Are. Acting. Weird.”

“I am not!”

Jimin shot her a look.

She wilted. “…Okay, maybe a little.”

He scoffed. A little?

“A lot,” he corrected. “And considering the fact that I may or may not have hit you with an undetermined spell—”

Her eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

“—we need to fix it before you do something stupid.”

Y/N huffed, crossing her arms. “I don’t do stupid things.”

Jimin gave her a flat look. “You almost walked straight into a cursed tapestry yesterday.”

“…Oh.”

He smirked. “Yeah. Oh.”

She fidgeted. “Well… maybe I am acting a little different,” she admitted, voice soft.

Jimin rolled his eyes. “A little? You’ve been looking at me like I personally hung the stars for the past two weeks.”

Y/N flushed. “I have not—!”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “You swooned when I insulted you.”

Y/N gasped. “I did not swoon!”

“You did.”

She buried her face in her hands, groaning. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah, it’s bad.” Jimin flipped a page, scanning for anything useful.

Y/N peeked at him through her fingers. “W-What if…” she hesitated.

“What?”

“What if…” she fidgeted. “What if I like it?”

Jimin froze.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze from the book, staring at her like she had just grown a second head. “What.”

She squirmed under his stare. “I-I mean… it’s not that bad, right? It’s just a little crush—”

Jimin slammed the book shut.

“Nope.” He stood. “Nope. Absolutely not. We’re fixing this tonight.”

Y/N pouted. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I am not—” he exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Y/N. You don’t even like me.”

She blinked.

Jimin continued, voice strained. “Before this stupid charm, you hated me.”

Y/N hesitated. “I didn’t hate you…”

“Oh, really?” Jimin drawled. “So you enjoyed when I stole your butterbeer? When I relentlessly mocked you? When I made fun of you in front of the entire class?”

She bit her lip. “…No.”

Jimin pointed at her. “Exactly.”

Y/N slumped in her chair, deflating. “…Then what do we do?”

Jimin sighed, sitting back down. He flipped open another book, eyes scanning the pages.

“We figure out how to reverse it,” he muttered. “Before you start writing my name in hearts on your notebook.”

Y/N let out a tiny squeak, quickly shoving her notebook under the table.

Jimin’s eye twitched.

Merlin help me.

Jimin was trying to focus.

Really, he was.

But it was proving to be exceedingly difficult when Y/N was sitting across from him looking like an actual water nymph, her chin resting on her hands, lips pouting, legs kicking lazily under the table.

She wasn’t even doing anything. Just… being cute. Like it was effortless. Like it wasn’t completely ruining his concentration.

He flipped another page, trying to ignore the way she sighed dreamily, her fingers tracing aimless patterns on the table.

Merlin’s bloody beard.

It wasn’t helping that she kept staring at him, either. Not with her usual wary glances or that signature Hufflepuff softness. No—this was different.

This was… hungry.

Jimin froze.

Wait.

No. No way.

He narrowed his eyes at her, scrutinizing her expression.

Was that—was she looking at him like she wanted to eat him?

His stomach did a weird flip. He immediately shut that thought down.

No. Nope. No way in hell.

This was Y/N they were talking about. The same wide-eyed, Bambi-looking, butterbeer-loving Hufflepuff who probably cried over injured Bowtruckles.

There was no way she was—

Jimin shook his head. She doesn’t even know what horny is.

Right?

…Right?

His eye twitched.

He refused to entertain the thought.

With a deep sigh, he returned his attention to the book, doing his best to block out her utterly bewildering presence.

“Jimin,” she suddenly murmured.

He gritted his teeth. “What.”

She tilted her head. “Why do your hands look so nice?”

Jimin choked.

“What—?”

“They’re so veiny,” she mused, blinking owlishly. “I like them.”

Jimin snapped the book shut.

That was it. He was finding the cure

Jimin flicked her forehead.

“Ow—!” Y/N huffed, rubbing the spot as she pouted at him.

“Stop staring at me like that and help me find the damn spell,” Jimin scolded, flipping the book open again. “Or at least describe what you're feeling so I know what I’m fixing.”

Y/N blinked, looking up at him with big, thoughtful eyes. She opened her mouth, then hesitated.

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

She fidgeted. “Um…”

He sighed impatiently. “Spit it out, Bambi.”

Y/N’s lips wobbled. “I-It’s just… my heart feels like it’s gonna explode, and there’s butterflies, and my knees feel all weak and wobbly, and—and—”

She swallowed, face heating.

Jimin narrowed his eyes. “And?”

Y/N squirmed, avoiding his gaze.

“…T-Tingles.”

Jimin’s brow furrowed. “Tingles?”

She gave a tiny nod.

He frowned. “Where?”

Silence.

Jimin watched as she slowly, very suspiciously, started sinking lower in her chair, face turning redder and redder.

Realization hit him like a Bludger to the chest.

Oh.

Oh, fuck no.

Jimin slammed the book shut.

“We are fixing this right now.”

Y/N jumped at the slam of the book, her already wobbly knees knocking against the chair legs.

Jimin glared at her, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "You're telling me—" he sucked in a sharp breath, "—that I hit you with some random-ass charm that makes you all soft and useless and, and—" His eyes flicked down at her shifting thighs before darting back up. "Tingly?"

Y/N swallowed hard. "W-Well, I wouldn’t say useless…"

Jimin gave her the flattest look.

She fidgeted under his stare, nervously playing with her sleeves. "I just… I feel warm all the time, and everyone seems so much meaner lately, and I don’t know, Jimin, my head's all fuzzy, and my body is—"

"Okay, stop!" he hissed, holding up a hand. He pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply like he needed patience from the heavens above.

Y/N pursed her lips, eyes glistening. "Why are you mad at me?" she mumbled.

Jimin groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I’m not mad at you,” he gritted out. "I'm mad at my own dumbass for hitting you with whatever the hell this is."

Y/N blinked. "Oh."

Then, very softly—"You're not a dumbass."

Jimin’s eye twitched. He shot her a sharp look, only to find her staring at him all dotingly again, her lashes fluttering, her lips slightly parted like he was the most dazzling thing she'd ever seen.

Merlin’s bloody socks.

He had to fix this. Now.

Jimin abruptly stood, yanking his tie loose. "Alright, come on."

Y/N blinked in confusion as he grabbed her coat and dragged her out of her chair.

"Jimin—"

"We're finding this spell and reversing it," he grumbled, tugging her toward the Restricted Section.

Y/N stumbled behind him, half-tripping over her own feet. "Wait—"

"Not waiting, Bambi."

"But—"

"Not but-ing either."

Y/N let out a small, defeated whimper as he marched her through the aisles, her little feet barely keeping up.

Jimin, on the other hand, was fighting for his life to ignore the way she was pouting up at him, her fingers clutching his sleeve like some lost little fawn.

He clenched his jaw.

This spell had to go.

Immediately.

Jimin’s fingers tightened around the book.

His eyes scanned the page once, twice—then a third time just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Aquire the object of your desire.

The words stared mockingly back at him.

His throat went dry. "No way."

Y/N, still swaying slightly beside him, tilted her head. "What does it say?"

Jimin didn’t answer. His mind was racing.

It wasn’t a love spell.

Not some stupid, artificial enchantment forcing her feelings. Not some external force turning her into a love-drunk fool.

It was an amplifier.

The charm didn't create her feelings—it just intensified what was already there.

Jimin sat back, the realization hitting him like a goddamn truck.

Jimin stared at the book. Then at Y/N. Then back at the book.

His brain was short-circuiting.

The charm was an amplifier. It only enhanced feelings that were already there.

Which meant—

She’d already felt like this before.

The stolen glances, the nervous fidgeting, the way she melted when he so much as breathed in her direction. The way she looked at him now—

Like she wanted to devour him.

Jimin swallowed, jaw tightening.

There was only one way to fix this.

He shut the book with an audible thud.

Y/N blinked at him, wide-eyed. “Did you find the cure?”

Jimin exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah."

She perked up. "Oh! What is it?"

He turned to her, looking her over slowly—her flushed cheeks, the way she was still swaying slightly, her pupils way too dilated for her own good.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

"Well…" he drawled.

Y/N tilted her head. "Well…?"

Jimin leaned in, his voice low and unbelievably smug.

“We’ll have to fuck it out.”

Y/N froze.

Silence.

Absolute, earth-shattering silence.

Then—

"WHAT—?"

Y/N’s entire body seized up.

Her breath hitched, eyes widening to the size of saucers. "E-EXCUSE ME?!"

Jimin leaned back against the table, crossing his arms lazily. “You heard me, Bambi.”

Her mouth opened—then closed—then opened again, but no words came out. Her face burned so hot, she swore she was about to spontaneously combust.

Jimin, on the other hand, looked far too pleased with himself. He tilted his head, watching her with a lazy smirk. “I mean, unless you wanna stay like this forever—getting all weak and breathless every time I so much as look at you.”

Y/N whimpered.

Jimin chuckled, low and deep. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Her hands flew to her face, her brain scrambling to process what was happening. “T-That can’t be the only way—”

Jimin shrugged. “It’s the fastest way.”

She gawked at him.

He grinned. “What? You’d rather wait weeks for the effects to wear off?” He leaned in again, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Or do you wanna fix this tonight?”

Y/N squeaked.

Jimin chuckled again, dark and satisfied. He loved this. Loved watching her squirm, loved how her breathing quickened when he got too close.

And now that he knew she wanted him?

Oh, he was going to have fun with this.

“So?” he purred. “What’s it gonna be, Bambi?”

Y/N swallowed hard, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. Her whole body buzzed—with heat, with want, with something overwhelming—but underneath it all, a small, quiet voice whispered: Not yet.

She didn’t know why.

Jimin was right. This was the fastest way to get rid of the spell. She wanted him—hell, the spell made sure of that—but something in her gut twisted at the idea of just… giving in like that.

She wasn’t ready.

Not like this.

Y/N licked her lips, her gaze flickering away. “I… I think I’ll wait.”

Silence.

When she finally dared to look at him, Jimin was just… staring.

Brows slightly furrowed. Lips parted just the tiniest bit. Like she had just spoken in Parseltongue and he couldn’t understand a damn word she’d said.

"You’ll what?"

Y/N felt her chest tighten. “I’ll wait. Until it wears off.”

Jimin’s head tilted. He genuinely looked confused. “Wait.”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Even though you’re, like, two seconds away from melting whenever I so much as breathe near you?”

Y/N whimpered, looking away again. “Y-Yes.”

Jimin blinked, then scoffed. “That’s stupid.”

She frowned. “It’s not!”

He let out a sharp laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re miserable, Bambi! I see it! You can barely focus, you freeze when someone so much as bumps into you, you can’t even look at me without turning into a puddle!” He gestured at her with both hands. “This is your chance to fix it!”

Y/N flinched.

Jimin stopped.

The frustration in his eyes faltered for just a second.

Then—

Y/N abruptly scampered away.

Jimin didn’t even have time to react. She shot up from her chair, mumbling something about needing to study or sleep or something before she practically ran out of the library.

Jimin was left standing there, staring at the empty space she left behind.

His jaw clenched.

What the fuck just happened?

Jimin wasn't having it.

The moment Y/N ran off, something inside him snapped.

He wasn’t even thinking—his feet just moved, following her out of the library, down the dimly lit corridors, ignoring the ridiculous pounding in his chest.

By the time he caught up to her, she was halfway to the Hufflepuff dorms, walking with her head down, her arms hugged tight around herself.

Jimin grabbed her wrist. “Hey—”

Y/N jumped, eyes wide as she spun around.

“Jimin—”

He exhaled sharply, scanning her face. "What’s wrong?"

Y/N’s lips parted slightly. "I—I told you, I just want to w-wait—”

Jimin’s jaw tightened. "Yeah, and that’s bullshit. You’re burning up, you can barely look at me without your knees buckling, and yet you ran the moment I gave you an actual solution."

She flinched, gaze darting away.

Jimin took a step closer. "So what is it? What’s stopping you?"

Y/N inhaled shakily. She bit her lip, as if debating whether to say anything at all.

Then, finally—

“…Don’t get mad.”

Jimin stiffened.

Something about the way she said it—soft, hesitant, like she was genuinely afraid of his reaction—made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

He swallowed, forcing himself to nod. “I won’t.”

Y/N hesitated for a long moment. Then, she sighed.

“…I do have feelings for you.”

Jimin’s breath caught.

She looked up at him, cheeks flushed, lips trembling. "And, yeah, I’m all… hot and bothered and it’s so embarrassing, but…"

She fidgeted with the sleeves of her robe.

"You’ve always been mean to me, Jimin." Her voice was quiet. "You tease me, you steal my stuff, you embarrass me in front of everyone. You’ve never been nice to me before. So how am I supposed to trust that after we… you know… you won’t just go back to treating me like a joke?"

Jimin froze.

His lips parted, but no words came out.

Because fuck.

He hadn’t thought about that.

Jimin stared at her.

For the first time in his life, he was completely speechless.

Because—fuck—she was right.

He had been mean to her. He had bullied her. He had made her life at Hogwarts miserable whenever he got the chance.

So why the fuck should she trust him now?

His fingers twitched around her wrist, his grip loosening.

Y/N bit her lip, gaze dropping to the floor. “…See?” she whispered. “You can’t even deny it.”

Jimin’s chest tightened.

His mind raced, searching for something—anything—to say, but for once, his usual sharp tongue failed him.

And then, before he could even try to stop her, she gently pulled her wrist from his grasp and took a step back.

"I need to go." Her voice wavered, but her expression was set. "Please don’t follow me this time."

Jimin didn’t move.

He just stood there, watching as she turned away—her shoulders slumped, her steps small and unsure, her hand brushing against the wall as if she needed to steady herself.

He clenched his jaw.

Something ugly clawed at his chest.

The same feeling he got when he saw her with those assholes. When he saw her bruised and sniffly and small.

He hated that feeling.

And he hated even more that he was the reason she looked like that now.

Jimin exhaled sharply through his nose, his hands clenching into fists.

Fine.

She wanted him to prove he wasn’t the same asshole who had tormented her for years?

Then he fucking would.

Jimin stood there, his chest tight, mind spiraling. The further Y/N walked away from him, the more the words rattled in his brain.

You’ve always been mean to me, Jimin.

He clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth might crack.

Fuck.

He had always known he was a bit of an asshole. He liked pushing people, making them squirm, seeing how far he could go before they cracked. But with her?

It was different.

Something about her made him… possessive.

He wasn’t proud of it, but it was true.

Sure, he bullied her, mocked her, made her life hell—because she was fun to mess with. She was soft, sweet, and naive, too easy to rile up. He loved how she’d get flustered, how her cheeks would heat up when he teased her.

But there was always this little something that lingered under the surface. The moments he couldn’t explain away.

Like that time in third year when he saw some idiot bump into her in the hallway and she dropped her books. He’d been about to walk away, but when she bent down to pick them up, the way the guy looked at her—hungrily—made his blood boil.

He remembered stepping in, elbowing the guy aside with a sharp glare, picking up her books for her, all without a second thought.

And there was the time when he noticed her limping after a quidditch match, her ankle twisted. He’d called her a “freaking idiot” but then cursed under his breath and healed her leg, making sure to be extra gentle as his fingers brushed against her skin.

He'd never said anything, but it bugged him. Every time she looked at him, she saw him as a monster, a bully.

But deep down, he always felt this strange protectiveness. Like no one else was allowed to touch her, to hurt her.

Only he was allowed to hurt her.

And now, realizing the weight of those little moments, he felt it, really felt it.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

He had been pushing her away, tormenting her for what? For fun?

A sick feeling churned in his stomach. He wasn’t the same person he used to be, but fuck if he wasn’t still a huge part of the problem.

He cursed himself again.

She’d given him the perfect chance to fix this, to make it right, and instead, he’d acted like a goddamn asshole.

He glanced back toward the direction she’d gone, his hands trembling with frustration.

Jimin ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. No more. He wasn’t going to let her slip away again.

He wasn’t sure what exactly it was yet—whether it was the spell or just how real everything felt now—but he knew this:

He wasn’t done with her. And if he had to destroy his own pride to prove it, then so be it.

CONTINUATION | PART 2

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Is Not That Strange?

Confirmed bachelor Anthony Crowley has sworn off romance, but he's willing to set his disdain aside to celebrate the nuptials of his friend, Anathema.Unlucky in love, Aziraphale Fell is doing everything in his power to make sure the wedding of his closest friend, Newt, goes off without a hitch.Neither of them expected to come face to face with the ex they loved and lost eleven years ago.

Length: 46,877 Words AO3 Rating: Teen and Up Best for/Keywords: Safe in Public, Pick-Me-Up, Human AU, Enemies to Lovers, Rom-Com, Weddings Major Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by BraveLight

*Minor Spoilers* In this story, Aziraphale and Crowley are exes who broke up eleven years ago (due to a misunderstanding) but of course they've never actually moved on. Now they’re forced to confront each other at the wedding of Anathema and Newt. A whole weekend of drama, hilarity, and bribing wedding staff awaits!

This story is a delight and everything you’d want in a rom-com. It's fun, romantic, and makes your heart smile. Aziraphale and Crowley’s chemistry is of course top tier. They both burn so bright, and are so damn stubborn! The side characters are hilarious scene-stealers, and the Them as the wedding staffers was one of my favorite parts. I couldn't get enough, they were so much fun to see popping up. Also shout out to Warlock inclusion, I love to see a Warlock!

It’s funny, light, and perfect for a read on the go. It's completely safe in public, but know that you'll have one of those dopey smiles on your face if you do decide to read this around others.

Read it here, fic by BraveLight

[jenhoneys]

I'm a barb × roz truther do you see my vision???

[connecting-the-stars]

Character dynamics I apparently love:

Peeta and Obi-wan: loving the one person who actually see them and expects nothing in return, willing to build bridges as slowly as their loved one needs.

Falls first. It’s okay, the distance does not diminished my love.

Katniss and Cody: violently distrustful of the person who seems too kind that they rationalize it as a scheming act to lower their guard. Incredibly defensive to the person they haven’t fallen in love with quite yet.

Falls later, like a rock from a cliff. 10 to 1000. Terrifying level of devotion.

[wistfulwatcher]

The Watchful Eye | 1.06 "Save New York"

[sylustra]

Sylus saying "...don't run" to MC when they're finally being openly honest about their desire for one another and their trust and shared spaces.

[absolutelyarealperson]

Does anyone know a good Not Me fic that has the "two dates to the same dance" trope, but it's like White going to an Important Event™ with his father, but the gang is also targeting that event for their next mission?

I feel like this trope should be overplayed, but I somehow can't find any Not Me fics that use it. Maybe I'm just bad at searching though.

I feel like there's a ton of potential. Like maybe White is changing clothes in the bathroom and Sean walks in on him. And before he can even come up with an excuse they hear someone else coming and all of a sudden Sean and a shirtless White are pressed up against each other in a bathroom stall trying to stay silent so they're not caught.

Or like White doesn't have time to switch between contacts and glasses/drops his contacts on one of his quick changes, so while he's faking he's Black, he can only see like 2 feet ahead of him and he's trying to play it off to the gang like it's not extremely suspicious he didn't recognize his target standing right next to him.

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're No Good

Pairings - Cult leader/clan Leader Geto x F! reader

Summary - You have been promised to marry the psychotic, human hating leader of the Geto Clan, Suguru. Your heart sinks at the wedding when you realize you're likely to be ended once you've fulfilled your duty, giving him an heir. He detests you on sight, as do you, but something happens the first time you lay together, Suguru swears you're some witch, because he can't get enough of you. He becomes consumed with fucking you, with the excuse of 'having an heir' but you begin to wonder just where the lines are blurring. Would you survive this- and will Suguru survive being with you?

CW- Arranged marriage trope, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, psychotic Geto lol- lots of hate sex, Suguru calling you a stupid monkey, angsty in places, FULL of smut. Reader is a virgin bc she's sheltered due to been promised to him. Reader is FEISTY asf and mean right back. Explicit sex and Geto being whipped/insane/obsessed and an ass. This part- fingering, fucking, loss of virginity, masturbation (suguru) finger sucking, hate sex, light angst. WC this part- 6.4k

Will be three parts or so <3 Plz share/comment/ like if you enjoy!!

Masterlist - Playlist - Part Two>>> Based on Clan Leader Geto

Part One

You were to marry Suguru Geto, curse user, rumored cult leader, and clan leader to the major four clans there were. The Kamos, The Zenin, The Gojos and The Getos, the main four clans that you all know there are. As for Suguru’s family, it turns out he is now the clan leader for them, he is the one that they are now riding the whole line of the Geto Clan on.

Marrying you.

You stand there nervously, tummy feeling sick in your pretty white robes as you stare at this psychotic man, this man that thinks people without power are lesser, and perhaps worthless. Perhaps he wishes to eradicate you all, yet for his duty to the Geto clan, it leaves him to have to be with you, the chosen one from your family, for as long as you two were alive.

Maybe Suguru Geto back then was tolerable, back when he was just a clan leader and not all the rumors that are held, but now!? Being his bride was not just terrifying, it was a literal death sentence. After you’d given him heirs you were absolutely sure he’d eradicate you and perhaps anyone you’ve ever known and loved, including your family, who’d just given you the saddest of looks.

They weren’t here, you supposed even they couldn’t live with just handing their only daughter off to him, maybe before, you’d have been excited, remembering meeting him when you were just a teenager, he was a little older than you. Handsome and sweet with this smile that made you want to pinch his cheeks, he was so courteous and sweet, but that was a different man.

You look now, as you nervously step down the aisle, eyes of everyone on you aside from him, Suguru Geto. He’s decked out in brilliant emerald robes, laughing and murmuring to several girls near him. His long black hair is half up, showcasing his handsome features, yes if perhaps he wasn’t a psycho killer, you could find him attractive, not be sick to your stomach.

As some long red headed lady taps his shoulder, her long nails against him, he finally sees you then, and his jaw locks, you feel those violet eyes on you like a physical touch. You doubt he remembers your one meeting years ago, you doubt he recognizes you or cares, or sees you as anything but a nuisance, a duty. But you see his narrowed eyes dip down your body, taking you in.

Your heart hammers as you get closer, a mix of sorcerers scowling or smirking at you, along with the Geto clan looking curiously, murmuring here and there. Everyone hoped to stay on Suguru Geto’s good side, if he had one, you weren’t quite sure, feeling the insane energy emanating from him as he studies you. Another step, another click of your heel echoing in the immaculate hall.

It’s hard to be impressed with the beauty of it, of the Geto estate, surely it’s one of the nicest there are, there are four major families, and the Geto family is one. You don’t know how you ended up being selected, your family is certainly wealthy, but you wonder at your horrific luck now as you stand before him.

You have to lean your head back just to look at the tall man, towering over everyone in the room, he makes you feel so small, even smaller with his quiet assessment, as the room is full of hushed whispers. Half of them surely want you to just die, half of them want an heir from you, you imagine this man in front of you leaning down wants both.

Suguru eyes you carefully, yes you’re beautiful, but you clearly have not an ounce of power, not an ounce of any useful energy. You’re clearly just some pathetic little mortal, which disgusts him, you’re tiny and pathetic, useless. He’s so annoyed this is what he has to do, but he certainly can’t just not fulfill these obligations, as Suguru needs the backing of his family to gain more power.

Already so powerful, and with an enormous, loyal following, he detests that he has to in any way deal with his parents still, but he supposes he will handle it for now. Surely soon he’d have the precious few mortals he allows to live, to be loyal servants at his beck and call, pathetic ants that work for their lives he allows them.

Your eyes lower nervously, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks, lights of the soft chandelier hanging above you glittering on your smooth skin. He feels it, you’re terrified, which makes him smirk just a bit, as you should know your place, under him, beneath him, perhaps he can handle you if you’ll be just a little docile. You are pleasing enough to look at.

Something familiar stirs when you look back at him, with eyes glimmering with unshed tears, your lower lip caught in your row of upper teeth. He remembers it like a fog, being at Jujutsu high with his best friends, right before he started to realize how horrible humans were, God he’d been so naive then. Your families introduced you two, but you were young.

He remembers thinking you were pretty, being just a little shy actually, which is so laughable now. You’d met Satoru then too, and he could swear you’d made eyes on him, on his old best friend who now is his enemy, which hurts Suguru in many, many ways, as having Satoru back on the right side, his side. There was no denying Satoru was the strongest, but Suguru was coming for him.

He smiles a bit as he thinks of it, and his pretty face looks terrifying for a moment, making your breath catch, as the priest begins the ceremony, and Suguru rips his eyes from you. You eye black gauged earrings, alone with some little barbell in his eyebrow, details that almost make him seem like a human, but you suppose those are just from long ago.

Suguru feels Manami’s long nails against his back, he turns and smirks at her, ignoring the pretty, but pathetic human in front of him. Manami and him have long hooked up together, though Suguru partakes in many women, she seems to be the main one by his side. Just this morning she’d sucked him off, he had not been in any sort of mood however to do more.

Knowing he’d have to fulfill his stupid duties were irritating him to know end, and no amount of sucking was fixing his shitty mood. He also sees the girls he truly sees as his real daughters, Mimiko and Nanako whispering about the bride just a bit. He errantly thinks he hears ‘pretty’ but he remembers how young they are, and what he keeps them a bit sheltered from still.

They didn’t know all of his plans yet, they were just girls still.

“You may kiss the bride.” Suguru hears errantly, he sighs, leaning down and pressing his lips against yours, hopefully the only time he’ll have to, but something literally jolts through his body as he does. He pulls back, glaring down at you, gripping your wrist, tiny in his massive grip, making you wince a bit, looking up at him with frightened eyes.

“Do you have any cursed energy!?” He demands, narrowing those intense eyes of his, you step back, shaking your head quickly.

“You know I do not. Why ask?” You whisper, he grabs your wrist even tighter, sensing every bit of your body, finding nothing. Why then, had he felt that!? Some odd shock through his system!?

He’d never kiss you again, it is quite annoying.

As the ceremony goes, and Suguru has many people around him, including some redhead you notice is all over him, you come across two little girls, who you’ve been informed are like daughters to Suguru. They both study you curiously, the little blond with pigtails smiling at you.

“You’re just a human, right?” She says, and you nod, shyly.

“Does it… suck to have no powers?” The little brunette says, and you sigh.

“Honestly, no. I don’t want all of that responsibility I guess? Do you all…” They both hold balls of energy, and you step back, heart racing as they giggle.

“Girls, not at the ceremony.” You’re almost shocked to hear him sound- kind, affectionate?- from across the room, chuckling a bit.

“Fine, dad.” They speak at the same time you notice, then they bombard you with more and more questions, while Suguru watches curiously, Manami murmuring things she’d do to him in his ear, as the other members start to dance. Someone dances with you, then, and Suguru…

Well he doesn’t fucking like it.

Why!? You’re nothing really.

When you’re finally done in the ceremony, and you’ve been dressed in some dainty little see through slip, you feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, as they finally leave after slathering you in fragrant oil, brushing your hair till it gleamed. You eye yourself in the mirror nervously, seeing the color on your cheeks, the way your eyes look so… frightened really.

Being promised to Suguru meant being sheltered, and aside from making out and some touching when you could sneak out, you were indeed a virgin, and having your first time with a dude who wants to kill you just doesn’t sound fun. You sure wouldn’t let him see how afraid you were, not when he walks into the room, a goblet of wine in his hand, sighing and shutting the door.

You’re tense as he eyes your, thin transparent material showcasing your curves, the nip of your waist, the just of your hips, and most tantalizingly the swell of your breasts. His breath catches at just how good you do look, his cock twitching in response, irritating him to no end.

Perhaps this is just his stupid body’s response, but he does not get attracted to humans, they disgust him, even the pretty ones. But you are… exceptionally sexy right now, could it be all the wine, could it be that he saw you before he changed? Suguru shoves all those thoughts back, gulping down the rest of the red wine now, a drip falling from the corner, and you’re just standing there.

“Let’s get this over with.” He mumbles, and you glare then, making him smirk but also making his cock even more full of blood.

“Let’s, I don’t want this any more than you.” You mumble, unlacing the ribbons over your gown then, and he’s irritated at how bad his hands itch to take it off you, instead raising a brow.

“Oh I doubt that, at least you get to fuck me, someone with power. I am the one that has to fuck a pathetic monkey.” Your scowl deepens, as he unlaces his belt, letting his robes fall, and you see his perfect body, well formed pecs and cut abdomen, lines and swirls of tattoos all over his body, even on his corded arms.

You falter for only a moment, because his body is literally perfect, down to the trail of dark hair below his flat belly button, but you quickly shove all that out, ignoring the way your body is reacting to just seeing him. “Monkey, huh, is that what you call humans?”

“Sure is, pathetic monkeys, lesser developed and-” He pauses when your dress falls in a silky pool to your ankles, and you stand there naked fully, his heart dropping into his damn stomach.

His cock is leaking precum just staring at you, god you’re fucking beautiful, so beautiful he doesn’t think he can put a word to it. It’s as if his cock doesn’t recognize you’re some pathetic human, neither do hands that itch to touch, and his tongue that wants to just lick you.

Fuck you’re annoying.

Why are you built like this!? Your perfect tits alone are making him ache for you so badly he can hardly breathe, as they rise and fall with your own nervous breaths, and you look right at him, boldly. Suguru tries to avert his eyes, to play it off in any way, but he’s awestruck, lips parted, as he watches you cross your arms under those breasts, sees a hint of a pussy he wants to bury himself inside.

Fuck if you were just… if you just had some powers, he’d have so much fun with you, god he’d tell you how pretty you were. He’d make you cum on his mouth over and over, feel you gripping his long locks, but he can’t because you’re… you’re nothing, really, just a monkey… he has to remember.

You see red lining his perfect cheekbones, making you curious at him until he clears his throat, averting his eyes and releasing his hair, letting it cascade over broad shoulders. “Let’s just… get it done.” You murmur then, sitting on the futon now, decked with reds and golds in the luxurious room they had made for the two of you.

That’s when Suguru sees your perfect little pussy, making him bump into the side table, you blink a bit, curiously at him, thighs spread as you rest on your elbows. He cannot even function, you are so perfect he hates it, surely there is something about you, some energy they’re missing, there is no way that you’re a human, with such effects on him!?

He lets his pants fall as he tries to pull himself together, and that’s when you see him, rock hard and thick, far, far too many inches. You panic, wondering just how the fuck that’s gonna fit, you’d had fingers inside you that hurt a bit before, this was probably gonna wreck you. You almost shut your thighs, watching his reddened tip drool pearly drops of precum.

Sheltered but not stupid, he was clearly ready. You raise a brow. “You seem pretty… ready for such a monkey in front of you, hmm?”

Suguru glares now, grabbing you by the hair, cock near your face, you wonder if he’ll shove it in your mouth wildly, but he’s just pulling at your hair, making you gasp out in pain, as he tilts your head back. “Do you even know what to do, pathetic little fucking monkey!?”

“I haven’t before, no.” You whisper then, and he pauses, gulping down some horrible sense of guilt. Not only has he not been with a virgin, he knows he’s clearly not your choice for this.

What is it that's making him feel so much?

He hates it. He hates you.

Is it the fact that he can see you’re afraid, he lays with women who coo over him, who are soaking wet as he just smiles at them, women who drop to their knees if he snaps his fingers. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but he shouldn’t care, right? What are humans to a sorcerer?

“I know you need an heir, so just… put it in me.” You say, he chuckles then, shaking his head as he shoves you back on the bed, bouncing just slightly when he rests over you on an elbow, sucking on two fingers then.

It’s so lewd, how his mouth wraps the thick digits, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks on them, before he sinks two right in your tight little cunt, making you gasp at the stretch, and making him exhale, holding back a moan. You’re so tight, clenching him, your gummy little walls convulsing, making him picture just how good you’ll feel around his cock.

“Do you have to!? Just get it in.” You whisper, and he glares down at you, lips parted at your utter lack of knowledge and insolent mouth.

“I can’t, you’re too tight, stupid monkey.” You glare and shove at his chest, only making him chuckle more. “You think I wanna prep or even touch you?”

“You think I w-want those or that in me!? No, just do it. Stop that… touching me inside… mnh!” At the sound of your own moan you cover your mouth, gasping as your eyes shoot up to his, he tilts his head, long silky hair falling like a curtain to the side of you both, as he presses on that spot again.

This time your eyes roll back, and he knows he’s found it, that spot in your pretty pussy that is just a little spongier, as your cunt starts drooling, and his cock has to press against the bed, for any pressure. Not only do you feel so good, so wet, you’re also fucking gorgeous as your head falls back, eyes fluttering shut, and he looks down at the mess you’re making.

“Messy little thing, tsk.” He says then, and you’re struggling to form a word when he puts his fingers back in, building pressure in your tummy that feels far too good, making you hate him more. “Hear her, huh? Monkey that excited?”

“D-don’t hear shit, don’t even l-like it.” You manage to utter out, and he’s smirking down at you, kissing down your breasts far too fondly, moaning as your walls are fluttering around his fingers, sucking a pretty, puffy nipple in his mouth. “Just fuck me, would you?”

“It will hurt you… I-” You pause, blinking as he leans up from licking and biting your breasts, little trails of saliva, as you look at him with wide eyes.

“What do you care, you don’t need me to like it to give me an heir. Just get it done so I can go to sleep.”

Your words hit him then, why does he care? Suguru could slaughter a village but can’t imagine fucking you without preparing you properly, fuck he wanted you to like it, to want him. And why!?

“You won’t be able to take me, tiny pathetic little cunt can’t.” You scowl as he sucks on a nipple again, scissoring his fingers in your cunt now, making lewd squishing sounds as you feel you’re soaked, mortifying you.

“Stop sucking on them, you don’t need to.” You shove him again, and he glares, leaning over you now, intimidating as he curls slick fingers, making you gasp in pleasure, biting your lower lip hard so you don’t scream out how good it is.

“If I must breed you, I’ll do it how I wish to. Stop acting as if you can tell me what to do.”

“I hate you.” You smack him then, earning a psychotic glare, and you realize fuck you’ve messed up, as he takes his fingers out of your pussy and shoves them right in your mouth, making you choke on them.

“Will you shut up, stupid monkey, fuck.” He’s then lining up his cock with your entrance, shoving your thighs up high. “Fine then, wanna get it over with, huh?”

You nod eagerly, hating every second under him, even if your body betrayed you. “Sure do, fucking psycho.”

“Psycho, huh?” You nod again, then gasp in pain as he fills you, stuffing your cunt full in one stroke, making it burn even though you are soaked and prepared somewhat, nothing could really prepare for his huge cock inside you.

“Ah!” You blink back tears, tears that bother him, and they shouldn’t, but now he wants to tenderly brush back your hair, that’s fallen on your brow. He wants to pull back out and prep you more, but you’re an insolent brat who won’t even let him, and he shouldn’t want to.

But your pussy gripping him drives him insane, to the point he could cum in a stroke or two, it’s gripping that fucking good. He can’t take it, he rests his head in the crook of your neck, so you don’t see an already pussy drunk face when he pulls back, shoving his cock even deeper, and feels your nails in his back, digging, hears your little cries of pain.

He wants cries of pleasure.

What the fuck are you doing to him!?

Is it human to have a pussy like this, he wonders, biting back a moan and leaning up, grabbing at one of your thighs to sink deeper, and you hate that it starts to feel good, when he starts fucking into you. Thick cock stretching, as your cunt gushes around him, his tip dragging on some spot that makes your eyes roll back again in pleasure, and this fucker notices.

“She’s fuckin’ soaking my cock, huh? Like it, pathetic little monkey, a sorcerer over you?” You manage to glare, shaking your head, his attractive smirk widening, as he fucks you deeper and harder, and you’re a tremblind mess under him. “Oh no, you don’t hmm?”

“N-no, hate it. Hate you.” He scowls now, as you gulp down moans and cries he’s dying to hear, so he pays attention, to when you’re gasping, clamping down, realizing the spot and angle you’re dying over, so Suguru grins down at you, lifting your thighs up so high he slams your cervix. “Ah!”

“There it is.” He whispers to himself, pressing on the backs of your thighs and slamming your cervix, over and over, as you’re moaning so sexy, your back arching, while he’s folding you damn near in half now. “F-fuck… you feel so…” He stops himself, he can’t say that.

It feels so perfect.

Feels like you’re made to take his cock.

You’re so pretty under him, perspiration on your forehead, eyebrows scrunched, lips red from you biting them, your eyes glazed over. God you’re gorgeous, as his cock is throbbing inside your tight walls, and you’re struggling so hard to act like you hate it, when he’s hitting that spot over and over, his tip dragging on it again and again. You moan out loud, whining when he rolls his hips bottoming out.

“J-just cum, finish it. W-wanna be d-done.” You whisper, he glares now at you.

“Not enjoying it at all?”

“Hate it. B-boring.” Suguru laughs now, shaking his head, slamming into you, and you’re screaming out, convulsing, feeling pressure build and build, realizing with a panic then.

You’re gonna cum.

Not for him, dammit!

You struggle to hold back, shaking your head and covering your face, when he lets your thighs fall to the side, yanking your hands off your face, pinning your wrists above your head with a strong hand, long fingers wrapping your delicate wrists like they’re nothing. You gasp at it, as his other hand yanks you by your hip, slamming you down his length.

“I’ll look upon your face.” He says through his teeth, dying to watch it when you cum, and fuck he feels it, you’re so close. He wants it then, he needs it, you to cum all over him, milking him so good, and your eyes go wide in shock, but they’re already so fucked out. He’s leaking precum inside you, dragging on that spot and watching you unravel for him.

“Why do y-you wanna- mnh, f-fuck!” You’re clinging to the sheets, when Suguru would like you to cling to him, as he sends you over the fucking edge, and he watches your gorgeous face screw up in pleasure, making his cock pulse.

Fuck you’re pretty.

Fuck he hates you for doing this.

He’s never even felt anything better than this.

“Can’t help yourself, huh monkey? Gonna cum all over my cock, aren’t you?” He whispers, you shake your head, still pinned under him, and he lays over you, grinding his cock inside you, dark hair on his pelvis just pressing on your neglected clitoris, then you feel it, and he moans. “There it is.”

“No, no, no… f-fuck you… hate… ah!” You’re shattering, cumming so hard you can’t even see, all while this psycho watches avidly, and you hate him more for it, for giving you this orgasm that almost makes you faint. “Sh-shit… mnh…”

Your cunt soaks his cock as the orgasm wrecks your brain, as you’re convulsing around his thick veiny cock, with its tip pressing into your cervix, and you’re twitching under him, pathetic. You gasp as he fucks you through it, disoriented and blinking rapidly at how euphoric you feel, listening to the grunts and groans of his and the squelching of your cunt.

“Oh my… f-fuck…” Suguru groans now, unable to hold back any longer, violet eyes so dilated they look black as they drink in your face, lips hovering over yours, cock fucking harder and harder.

You almost cum again, clenching around him, as he moves over you, stuttering in his rhythm finally, faltering just a bit, gripping you tightly as he moans out, his breath hot against your lips, lips he wants to kiss, a mouth he wants to spit inside, tongue he wants to feel on his skin. You’re maddening, he realizes then, as he gets closer to his release, his cock throbbing at your pussy milking him so good.

“Mnh… shit I hate… you…” You whisper, as you’re cumming again, and he grips your wrists so hard they’ve gone numb, starting to pump hot loads of cum inside, you, groaning out loud at how good it feels.

“Milking me, shit… f-feels so fucking perf-” Suguru holds it back, luckily you’re too fucked out to care, as his cum fills you, so hot and gooey, and you’re both gasping for breaths, the room quiet save front he sounds of his cock slipping inside you, and your hearts pounding. “Filled you so fucking good, monkey, hmm?”

“G-good, it’s over…” You whisper, damn near delirious as your aftershocks make your sticky walls grip him, he gasps at it, pumping even more, as he looks into your eyes, feeling too much.

“Y-yes. Over.” He manages to spill out, and you whimper when he kisses your neck, something he shouldn’t indulge in, easing off your wrists and looking at them, his hand left prints clearly.

You ease them down, fingers wresting on his shoulders for a moment, a moment that feels too good, too natural, before you press on him. “Can you go, then?”

“What?” He blinks in confusion, cock still inside of you, fuck he never even wants to leave, so hot and wet and-

“Your seed is inside me, we should be good for now. I’m… sore. Please get off of me.” You look away now, and Suguru’s pulse races, as you refuse to look at him whatsoever when he gets off, easing his cock out of you with a messy pop sound, tensing as he sees the evidence of your innocence between your thighs.

“Let me clean you up.” He murmurs, and you glare, shaking your head and closing your legs then. “Would you just-”

“Fuck you, get out. I don’t need you cleaning me up, we’re good until… I guess whenever we have to do this again.” You stand on wobbly legs, as Suguru stands, looming over you as you head to the shower adjoining the room, grabbing you by the top of your arm. “What!?”

“So eager to run off, monkey? You should thank me.”

You laugh then, ignoring the throb of your pussy and the pounding in your head, fuck him he felt so good in you, you’ve never even felt that good before, not from little orgasms you gave yourself. You hate him more for it, not only did your first time have to be with this ass of a man, a psycho killer, you also came when you didn’t even want to, making it all worse/

“Thank you!? For what!”

“For cumming inside you.” He presses you against the wall then, looming over you so tall, his sweet breath like the grapes of the wine as he grabs your chin, forcing your eyes on his. “For making a monkey like you cum.”

“You didn’t make me cum, stupid psycho.” You glare right at him, chest heaving as you speak the lies, but he laughs right down at you, thumb brushing over a lip with teeth indentations from how hard you bit it.

“Didn’t cum? You’re a fucking liar, on top of being pathetic. Useless.”

“Useless, yes except to have your stupid heir. I can’t wait to get pregnant, actually, so I’ll never have to get touched again.”

“Oh yeah, so fucking horrible?”

“Terrible.”

“And you’re disgusting to me.”

“Good!” You shove at his strong chest, slick with sweat, and pause there then, as does he, a hand now entwined at the nape of your neck, as he dies to kiss you, brutally, over and over, but he just holds you there. “Am I done for the night Lord Geto, or whatever the fuck you like to be called?”

He’d like you to scream Suguru.

Fuck.

“Will you just let me clean you up, it was your first time and-”

“Oh no, you’re not gonna play like you care at all. We did what we had to do, what we both had to do, neither of us wanted it, or enjoyed it. Right?” You demand then, raising a brow, and he scowls.

“Not right, and I’m just-”

“I remember it, meeting you, you were… sweet.”

He laughs then. “What?”

“You were, and him? I’d have been happy to do this, but you? I don’t wanna look at you and think of it. Let me go.” He scowls as he goes to grab his clothes now, and you lean against the wall, covering your face, not wanting him to see just how you are affected by him.

“I’ll be putting a curse at your door, to make sure you don’t run.” He says then, making you blink in shock, seeing he’s dressed finally, putting his hair back up.

“I have nowhere to run to.” He pauses at that, jaw locked. “But go ahead, maybe it’ll be better company than you.”

Suguru scoffs. “Clean up.”

“Get out.” You order, finally he turns, walking out, leaving you to step into the shower, letting the hot spray hit you, sore in places you’ve never imagined, thinking just how much you hate him.

You’re sobbing then, under the coverage of the shower, where no one would see you, see what he’s done to you, your mental state in ruins. You scrub everywhere his elegant fingers touched, everywhere his lush lips kissed, hissing when you wash your sore pussy, looking down at your fingers, finding his cum pouring out of you. Hot, sticky white cum washed by the shower.

Steam fills as you slide down to sit in the shower, resting your head on your knees, hating him so much you can barely breathe. Bad enough he fucked you, why did he have to make you enjoy it, why did he act like he cared for your pleasure, cared for you after even? A lie, all a lie, and it’s the last thing you need. 

You will hate him.

Outside your room, Suguru leans his back against your door, trying to catch his breath, head swirling with you, hands shaking as they brush back his hair. You have him shaking, you annoying, stupid brat of a girl, who wouldn’t even let him try to care for you, at all.

Why’d he want to though? You were right, your duty was fulfilled for the night, he should stop thinking of how he’d love to be in that shower with you, how he’s dying to be back inside you, imagining making you admit how good it felt. He could feel your slick on his cock still, wondering if you feel him pouring out of you, dying to breed you again, again, again.

He detests you.

Summoning a curse, a rather derpy looking one shaped like a bull with several eyes, he plops him next to your door now, this is a docile curse he’s had since his youth, bringing back too many memories. Of being happy, of laughing, of a girl named Riko, right before he’d snapped, her riding this curse on its back as they tried their best to save her.

It proved how disgusting humans were that day, lest he ever forget, his fist clenched as he struggles to gain his resolve, looking down at the creature now. “Guard this door.” It nods, tongue lolling out, Suguru sighs then. “Also make sure you… care for the girl in this room. Yes?”

It nods again, as Suguru does not know if you are safe really, surely no one would go against him, but there is much hatred already for humans, and many, many people hate you. But he wants you to be safe, otherwise he’ll just get another bride thrown on him, and who knows if he’d hate her more.

Suguru ends up in his room now, sighing as he sees Manami there with another woman from his cult, he shakes his head as they try to disrobe him. “No, I am not in any sort of mood for it.”

“But Suguru, it must've been awful.” Manami cooes, and the other girl nods, as they rub up and down his arms, making him feel disgusted.

How?

How do they, powerful women, make him disgusted now? He owes you no loyalty, he did not plan to only be with you, but the thought of anyone but you actually makes him sick. What sort of witchcraft do you possess, some new undetectable kind that he hasn’t figured out, to make him feel like this? Are you some weapon to destroy his fucking plans?

“Go. Now.” Suguru orders then, and they pout as they leave, but Suguru can’t get his mind off you, not when he’s washing you off in the shower, every vivid thought of making you enjoy it fills his mind.

Suguru hates you more when he’s stroking his cock to the thought of you whimpering, begging for him, on your knees with your tongue out. He’s moaning as he pinches his tip, he already came so much but he can’t stop how hard he is, thinking of how your eyes would cross as he fucked your throat, as he came so deep and you swallowed him greedy.

Thinking of you riding him, your tits bouncing right in his face, your thighs squeezing his face as he lapped his cup out of your pussy after. ‘F-fuck, you like it, don’t you’ he’s muttering, wet hair sticking to his back as water pounds down, and he’s stroking his cock faster and faster, eyes shutting, vivid pictures of you everywhere.

‘That’s it, good girl, cumming just for me, mine, aren’t you’ he’s stuttering, saying stupid insane shit, so high off your pussy he can’t even talk himself out of it, not when his big hand strokes his thick shaft over and over.

When Suguru cums again he moans out loud, hunching over and gasping for a breath, hating you more for what you’ve done when his sticky cum pours all out of his hand now. He rinses himself off, shaking his head and covering it with his other hand, realizing jerking off was nothing like cumming inside you, like fucking your perfect little pussy.

Just who the fuck are you?

******

The next day of being Suguru’s wife, you open the door and gasp, seeing some bull shaped creature who’s grinning at you, several eyes wide open as it licks your leg, making you squeak. “What!?”

“He likes you.” Comes Mimiko’s voice, she’s poking around on her phone, and you take a breath, smiling a bit.

Just because Suguru is a psychotic dick, it doesn’t mean you’d take it out on little girls, or oddly cute curses. “Can I pet it?” You ask, and Nanako giggles next to her sister, stepping closer.

“He’s docile.” She pets him then, and the thing damn near purrs, you bend down on your knees now, petting him yourself, sighing.

“He’s kinda cute?” They burst out in laughter, leaving the hall then, as you find the first bit of comfort in one of stupid, psycho Suguru’s curses. “You like me?”

He nods, licking on your cheek, you swipe at it, wincing as it runs off, and suddenly Suguru Geto is standing right in front of you, as you’re just on your knees still, looking up at him. Vivid insane thoughts fill you, as you feel your tummy clench, pussy so sore from him still, thinking of the dreams you’d had of this ass of a man, and now you’re just… there.

He freezes when he sees your hair fall back, loose and flowing, shimmering likely from your shower, and you’re right where he pictured you, what he jerked himself to over and over. The urge to pull out his cock and fuck your pretty face was overwhelming, driving him so insane his cock responds violently, already leaking precum, annoying him to no end.

He’d turned down more women this morning, because now he’s coming to a really annoying realization- he wants you. Only you. He’s blaming his stupid body, for wanting a petty human, but it’s undeniable, while you just blink and look up for a moment, before you clear your throat, standing and grabbing the door way, looking away now.

“Where’d the curse go? I like him.”

“You like him!?”

“Better than you, I was right. He’s cuter.” You smile then, and he glares, grabbing you right by your throat, only making you laugh.

“Who’s the psycho here, me or you?” He whispers, and you grip his wrist now, as he looks how pretty your neck is with his hand around it, as he looks at glossy lips he wants to kiss.

“Gonna kill me before the heir?” You whisper, when he squeezes just so.

“Tempting to do so.” He whispers against your lips, and you come to a very annoying realization of your own, when your nipples tighten, when your pussy drips from him choking you.

You want this psycho.

Just your body, you’ll just blame that, but it’s undeniable, and it makes you despise him more. “Go for it, put me outta my misery. Won’t have to look at you.” You say, he squeezes harder, stepping a little further in the room, as you feel lightheaded, and fucking horny.

What’s wrong with you!?

“Why don’t we work harder on making it happen then?”

“Now!?” You demand, and he shuts the door, smirking, undoing his black robes as you rub your sore neck.

“Now.”

Taglist open for parts two and three if you're not on it already <3 Hope you enjoyed this, I know Geto doesn't hit like my Gojo or Sukuna posts, but I rly tried lol. Can't wait to see what ya'll think!

Taglist #1- @ur-1fav-girl @gradmacoco @arabellasolstice @saitamaswifey @rjreins @uarmyhopeworldwide @makkiihehe @dabisdolly @angelzrulez21-blog @espresso1patronum @juicu @meme848 @arcanedx @satxoru @jeon-blue @longlivegojo @silvarys @enhasrii @inthedarkshadows000 @shokosmokes @schlokki @ashdiamashi @socutesotall @staarflowerr @you-need-namjesus @tojicvmslut @pkcoleight @tasteofapplecider @erenspersonalwh0re @soyokosuguru @boobsbeesbongos @sjstg3 @msniks @hhhhhhhikariiiiiiii @l1v1ngzomb1e @lilbxtchsyndrome @voideddd @maddyhehehehhe @norikuna @yenayaps @alygator77 perm tags (rest in rbs) @honeybunnnnie @alt--er--love @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @makingtimemine @cuntphoric @loafteaw

[sceletaflores]

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss. 

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around. 

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.  

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway. 

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual. 

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant. 

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own. 

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly. 

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side. 

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned. 

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now,  his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.” 

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you. 

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. 

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing. 

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence. 

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin. 

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach. 

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back. 

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest. 

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind. 

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch. 

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need. 

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency. 

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours. 

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss. 

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness. 

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk. 

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth. 

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you. 

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. 

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure. 

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts. 

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits. 

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

tell me again that you hate me

a/n: i kinda just poured all of the filth ever into this one fic... you're welcome.

summary: “you know, I could help you. Pop that little cherry for you,” he shrugged as if he didn’t seem out of his mind for what he was brashly uttering, “you desperately need it, that fucking stick up your ass makes you such a bitch to be around. But no one is gonna wanna bang you, I mean, maybe you could be kinda hot if you weren’t such a fucking loser, if you didn’t dress like a fucking pogue, but I don’t think anyone would commit social suicide like that. So, I’ll take care of it. Fix that problem for the good of everyone else.” 

warnings: bully!stepbro!rafe cameron x virgin!reader, smut, dark content, dubcon/noncon, enemies to lovers, rafe is in college while reader is still in high school (everyone is over 18), blackmail, alcohol consumption, allusion to drug use, drunk driving, hidden cameras, panty stealing, references to somno, possessiveness, kissing, loss of virginity, size kink, belly bulge, pain kink, dirty talk, impact play, oral, pussyjob, just the tip, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, cumplay, no aftercare and not really any foreplay, public sex, rafe is mean and pervy and dark but it's all fun because it's just a silly fantasy

word count: 5153

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Your life had turned into a living nightmare.

You thought that when your high school bully graduated, you’d finally get rid of him. But little did you know what the future held in store, just who your own mother would decide to marry and what particular family you’d be forced to fuse with. 

Rafe Cameron had been the bane of your existence for years. Sure, when you’d first met him, you admittedly had a bit of a crush on him, but that was until he noticed you and truly showed you the notorious bully that he was. And now that he, the very person who had turned your teenage years into literal hell, had become your stepbrother, you couldn’t wait to get out of there, move halfway across the globe just to never see his face again. 

It also didn’t help matters that you got situated in the room right next to his, even had to share a Jack and Jill bathroom with him. 

Now what you didn’t know was how Rafe’s feelings truly were towards you. How he only started bullying you because you made him feel some type of way that no other chick did, but you came from the wrong side of the island, so getting those feelings out in the form of cruelty only seemed natural to a guy such as him. You had no idea that it was actually you whom he thought about every time he jerked off on the other side of that incredibly thin wall you shared, or even that his wicked fascination with you only seemed to grow now that you were a part of the family. 

The impatient knocks were no use, so swiftly you swung the door to Rafe’s bedroom open. He was nowhere in sight, but before you could turn around to search for him in another place, the light that his computer monitor blared out into the space caught your eye.

Your vision however grew wide as soon as you saw the taboo tab that was open. It was porn, but not just any porn. The open page was littered with rows and rows of graphic videos that all fell under the stepsister search he had typed in. 

Frozen in your stance, you wanted to sprint out of there, though at the same time, some part of you wanted to inch closer and snoop further. 

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” a voice blared from behind you and caused you to jump.

Skittering away from the desk, you spotted the familiar buzzcut standing in the doorway. 

“I–, uh,” you swallowed and recalled the reason for your hunt, “my mom’s forcing me to go to that party at Topper’s tonight.”

“Okay, and?” he scoffed. 

“And so, because I don’t really do that sort of thing–”

“Because you’re a fucking loser who never gets invited.”

“Because I have better things to spend my Friday nights doing, your father wanted you to keep an eye on me and to make sure I got home safe.”

The only way you were gonna get through the night was if you got as wasted as possible.

Which is exactly what you ended up doing. 

When the clock chimed two, the raging headache you were developing from the blaring music convinced you to finally call it a night. You’d given it enough of a chance, enough experience to go home and state that partying simply wasn’t for you. 

But if you didn’t find the literal demon of a stepbrother and let him complete his end of the bargain, then maybe your mom wouldn’t believe you alone and force you to go to another. 

However, locating him turned out to be a much more difficult task than you’d thought. As you stumbled around the massive house, supporting your wobbly weight on the walls as you peeked into each of the rooms where some partygoers had migrated to, you soon dug your phone out of your jeans and dialled up his number. 

It was on the third attempted call that you finally stumbled into him. Sitting with a random blonde on his lap and the remnants of a mysterious white powder dusting the coffee table separating you from him. 

“There you are,” you grumbled, “I’ve been trying to call you!”

His expression turned sour as he noticed your presence, swiftly flipping his phone around as it layed on the table, though the caller ID that lit up the screen wasn’t of your name as your phone still buzzed in your palm to get through to him. Instead, it spelt out fleshlight in big bold letters. 

“So, you have,” he exhaled, “what do you want?” 

“I wanna go home,” you shoved your phone back in your pocket. 

“So, go home. What do you want my fucking permission? Are you that obsessed with me?”

“You have to take me home,” you reminded him, though when he began to laugh in your face, you shot back, “or you can just deal with your dad yourself when you get home. Your choice if you wanna keep being in his good graces or not.” 

That managed to shut him up. Though as he reluctantly pushed the blonde aside and got up from the couch, he muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “fucking prude,” like a curse on the wind just before he marched passed you and grabbed a hold of your arm to drag you with him. 

“Ow, Rafe, you’re hurting me!” you tried to tear yourself free of his grip. 

“Oh, shut up you baby, no I’m not. You wanna feel what does hurt?” his long fingers then dug further into your flesh and caused it to actually ache, “this.”

As he pushed open the front door, you whined, “ow, please stop,” but when he finally did, he only traded the grasp out with a light shove to your shoulder, directing you further towards his parked car. 

When you were planted in the passenger seat with your gaze firmly fixed out the window as the dark streets rolled by, you crossed your arms and mumbled, “I hate you…” gaining enough courage from the dizzying alcohol ravaging your system to utter it out loud. 

“What was that?” Rafe cast a glance in your direction.

Twisting your neck to glare back at him, you hesitantly repeated, “I hate you,” though the faint flicker of bravery you’d acquired was snuffed out as swiftly as it ignited when you saw the smirk that bloomed on your stepbrother’s features. 

“Aw, don’t tell me that, princess,” he chuckled, “you’ll just make me hard.” 

Eyes widening, they briefly fluttered down to the crotch of his trousers before you blinked away, a reaction that was evidently satisfying enough for Rafe to cause him to keep going. 

“But you probably wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway.”

“I know what to do,” you said defensively, though regretted your humouring him as soon as the words slipped out past your lips. 

“Oh yeah? Just how would you know that? Everyone knows you’re a fucking virgin,” something he was to blame for, though that wasn’t a fact you ever had to know. You didn’t have to be aware of just how many times he had stopped guys from asking you out, just because he wanted you all to himself, “but are you secretly a perv, sis? Is that how you think you know what to do?”

“Don’t call me that,” you cringed lightly. 

“What? A perv? Or sis? Don’t you wanna be reminded that you’re my stepsister?”

“Not particularly...”

As the car curved into the driveway to Tanny Hill, an offer suddenly rolled off Rafe’s tongue. 

“You know, I could help you. Pop that little cherry for you,” he shrugged as if he didn’t seem out of his mind for what he was brashly uttering, “you desperately need it, that fucking stick up your ass makes you such a bitch to be around. But no one is gonna wanna bang you, I mean, maybe you could be kinda hot if you weren’t such a fucking loser, if you didn’t dress like a fucking pogue, but I don’t think anyone would commit social suicide like that. So, I’ll take care of it. Fix that problem for the good of everyone else.” 

Your mouth hung agape as the vehicle rolled to a stop, the sudden shift made you fear that your latest drink would come up again. 

Utterly stunned, you couldn’t form a single word as you stared back at him. 

“I mean, it’s what you want, isn’t it?” he went on, turning in his seat to gaze over at you, already undressing you with his eyes, “haven’t you always had the hots for me?”

“I–…” it felt as if the car was swaying around even though it stood completely still, “…I drank way too much tonight, and I think you might have as well.”

“You’re drunk?” darkness glinted in his eyes, “well, I honestly don’t know if I should be impressed or run inside and wake everyone up so you can get grounded for fucking ever,” he laughed. 

“No!” you gasped, “You can’t tell them, please! I–…” you felt tears begin to sting the corners of your eyes and blur up your already hazy vision, “fuck!” 

Leaning even further back in his seat, he cocked his head, “I mean, I could also keep it a secret…” the tip of his tongue mischievously slipped out to poke his lip, “for the right price, that is.”

“Seriously?” you glared back at him, “are you serious right now?”

Capturing your hand, he swiftly brought it to the palpable tent in his pants, “do I not seem serious?” his eyes narrowed ever so slightly to a squint. 

Your lips parted in shock, stare flickering away from his eyes to spot how he ever so slightly pressed your palm down against him. 

He was so hard that you could nearly feel his pulse through the fabric of his trousers. 

“I mean, really I’d be helping you out,” your gaze stayed glued to how his broad hand engulfed your own a moment longer before you glanced up to find his unwavering stare once more, “so you should really thank me for both keeping your secret and doing you such a massive favour…”

As a shaky breath escaped your lungs, you whispered once more, “I hate you…”

But the proclamation only conjured a smile to appear on his lips, “tell me again,” and he leaned in a bit closer.

“I hate y–,” but you didn’t get the last bit out as Rafe then crashed his lips against yours.

It took a second for you to react with anything other than a surprised whimper, but when you did, it was slow and cautious compared to his boldness. 

A string of saliva strung you together as he eventually parted from you. Offering himself a small caress, he pressed your palm down against him one last time before he let you go. His breathing was heavy as he momentarily let his thumb trace your bottom lip, briefly slipping it crudely in your mouth, before uttering, “get inside.”  

Why, after all of this time, after all of the pain and torture he alone made you go through, why did he still have to give you butterflies the way that he did?

It was your room that he led you to, a hand ever rooted on you as you made the journey. At first, you thought it was because he saw the way you occasionally stumbled over your own feet, but perhaps it was just in case you wanted to make a run for it, just a precaution, a safety net already halfway over you. 

“Take your clothes off,” he commanded in a cold tone as he shut the door behind you. 

“W-what?” you turned to look back at him.

Sitting down on the edge of your bed, he repeated, “take your clothes off,” though they came out sounding slightly impatient. 

He palmed himself through his pants as you slowly began to strip. Though as you’d shyly peeled your t-shirt off and dropped it to the floor, his voice halted you just as you began to undo your jeans. 

“Stop,” his voice cut the thick air like a knife, “turn around when you pull those down,” you twisted away from him as your thumbs sank into either side of the waistband, “and do it slowly,” he made you put on a show, ogling as you gradually revealed the curve of your ass, “that’s it…” he nearly moaned as your pants crumbles to the floor, “bra and panties too, princess. Unless of course, you’re backing out of our deal already.”

Clenching your jaw, you squeezed your eyes shut and shed the rest, ignoring his soft wolf whistles and crude comments as you exposed yourself. 

Slowly turning back around to face him, your hands were clasped before you out of sheer timidness and not knowing what to do with them. 

“You gonna stand over there all night?” he raised his chin slightly.

When your feet stood rooted right before his seated position on the bed, your hands began to fiddle as he pulled his shirt over his head and caused your pulse to somehow beat even harder than it already did. 

One of his palms then scooped up your stomach and briefly grabbed one of your tits before scooping you closer, “come here,” and utilised his leverage to toss you down on the bed beside him, “let me get a good look at you.” 

Grabbing for the bedsheets as the mattress momentarily bounced beneath your spine, you blinked up at Rafe as he sat next to you, twisting his form and craning down to near your core. 

You tried to clamber your legs shut, embarrassed for what his cruel reaction might be, but he was not only faster, but stronger than you, and grabbed a hold of your thighs. As he split you apart, his lips curled up into a grin. 

“Look at you… fuck,” he let out a short chuckle, “this is gonna be fun.” 

A gasp curled out of your frame as he then grazed his thumb over your folds, smearing some of the mortifying wetness that seeped out and made you feel even more intoxicated than you already were. He lightly spread you apart and studied intently your dripping pussy, how it looked, how it glistened and how your little hole twitched when he lightly circled your clit. 

“Oh, you like this, don’t you?” he rubbed your puffy pearl with a mean lightness that caused your hips to buck slightly, “you like it when your big stepbrother touches you like this?” but when you didn’t reply, he reached down and grabbed your jaw, angling it for you to meet his eye, “answer me.”

“I–… y-yes,” you quietly admitted, feeling as if you were in some strange dream. 

“Of course you do, you dirty little girl,” he bent down again to gaze at your pussy a little too close for your taste, “I knew you were a slut since the moment I met you.”

Letting go of your face, he then snaked his free hand down to give himself an ounce of relief. 

“You know, part of me doesn’t even wanna prep you with my fingers first,” he smirked and let his fingertips sweep down to tickle your entrance, “I like the idea of not stretching you out first and letting my cock do all the work, let it feel just how tiny and pure you are for me.” 

“But isn’t that gonna hurt?” your breath caught in your throat. Sure, you’d played with yourself nearly till your hands fell off, but that idea still managed to scare you. 

“God, I hope so,” he groaned and briefly leaned down to press a hot kiss to your clit, sucking it into his mouth and sloppily making out with it. 

When he then stood up and pulled his pants down, your jaw nearly hit the floor as well when you saw how thick his dick was. Fat and veiny, curving proudly up towards his abs. 

Seizing your hips, Rafe yanked you closer to where he stood, nearly letting your ass dangle over the edge of the mattress.

“Wait,” you suddenly reached out to touch his forearm as he gave himself a few lavish strokes, staring down at your cunt, comparing the obscene size of him to your puff, “what about a condom?” you squeaked as he flicked his leaking tip down to tap your core. 

Sucking in a fierce breath through his nose, he glared down at you and shot back, “what about you shut the fuck up and just be grateful,” before he sent his open palm down to smack your pussy. 

“Ah! I’m sorry, I just–, fuck!” you shuttered beneath him as he soothed the slap with the nudge of his length, rubbing it against you and teasing your cunt before he started sweeping it through your folds, nearly fucking your soppy slit, the tip of him kissing your little pearl on each silky advance.  

A dollop of spit dropped from his lips and joined the mess he already tickled at between your parted legs. 

“It’s too big…” you murmured as you stared down at how his fat girth parted your pretty petals, though the observation only conjured a smile on Rafe’s lips, “maybe you could just put the tip in?” you tried through your foggy mind, “that would still count.”

A rumbling chuckle bubbled out of him as he stared down at the two of you together, “just the tip…” his movements then grew more erratic as he slid through your folds, “is that all you think your little virgin cunt can handle?” shy gasps escaped you every time he deliberately let his cock catch at your opening, “just the tip?” 

As he slowly pressed just the flush head of his length in to breach your entrance, your brows crinkled up at the mind-numbing stretch. 

“Like that, baby?” he only moved ever so slightly, “is that all you think you can handle?” and you nodded foggily in return. But as you let your eyes flutter shut and breathed through the staggeringly wonderful sensation, Rafe’s voice once again washed over you, “nah,” like a splash of cold water while you were licking up warm sun rays, “that’s not good enough. This is,” and he then slammed the entirety of his length into you.

Your eyes instantly shot back open and your legs curled up even further on either side of you at the shock. 

“What?” he cooed at you mockingly as he slowly dragged his dick back out for just the memory to remain, “does it hurt?”

You were a blubbering and cursing mess, trembling beneath him as your pussy tried to accommodate him.

“Come on, princess,” he bent down over you and let his nose ghost against yours, “tell me that it hurts.”

“It h-hurts,” you whimpered as his hot breath fanned across your blazing cheeks. 

It did sting, a lot, but though you hated to admit it, a part of you loved it, a part of you sank even further into the pit of pleasure he so slowly dunked you into. 

“Tell me that it’s too big for you,” he nuzzled his nose against yours as he plugged you back up. 

Your body shook beneath his every time he moved as much as a millimetre inside you, “i-it’s too big.” 

Letting out a low moan of satisfaction, he then leaned down to press his lips to yours, stealing your breath away even further. 

You tried, but couldn’t really focus on kissing him back, not that he seemed to mind much as he moaned into your mouth, soon letting his sloppy kisses dance over your cheek and down your neck, letting hickeys bloom in his wake and mark up your skin like a brand.

As he sucked down on the spot where your pulse went wild beneath the skin, his hips drove against yours harder, causing them to collide in a sticky smack, as well as letting the tip of him bully the deepest part of you. He didn’t just do it once, but kept it up as he enjoyed the little squeaks you let out every time he bumped against your cervix. 

Kissing his way back up to your lips, he only offered them the briefest of pecks before raising himself off of you, just ever so slightly, and one by one, grabbed your already wide-spread legs and rested each one of them onto his broad shoulders, efficiently folding you in half. 

“H-holy shit,” you panted as the mattress rippled beneath you at every one of his rough thrusts, “Rafe–”

“Yeah?” he smirked down at your melted form, the vein in his forehead popping from the strain, “are you gonna cum? Are you gonna cum on your big bro’s dick?” one of his hands swept up to squeeze your tit, then gave it a swift tap before growling, “come on, princess. I can feel you squeezing me so fucking tight. Do it, I fucking dare you. Be a good girl and cum on my cock.”

You almost screamed as you tumbled over the edge, your head curling to the side to hide yourself in the crumbled duvet beneath you as your pussy gushed all over his fat girth. 

“Oh, fuck,” Rafe croaked as he straightened back up to get a good view. Pulling out of you, he briefly flicked his dick through your folds to urge more of your nectar to leak out, before he slid it back inside and asked in amazement, “you ever squirted before?” 

Trembling from the overstimulation, your eyes rolled in your skull as you shakily mumbled, “maybe twice, I think.”

“Such a good fucking slut,” he growled proudly, “squirting all over me like a proper whore. Just look at you,” his grip dented your thighs as he pressed them further down against the bed, “you’re already a pretty little cockdrunk mess.”

“I–, I–,” you blubbered as you felt drool begin to trickle down your cheek. 

“Oh, fuck,” he then groaned, glancing down at where he split you apart, “hold your legs back,” he requested, though had to help your sluggish hands find their way, “look at this, baby,” he scooped a palm behind your head and ushered you to spot what he had noticed. Splaying a wide hand over the lower part of your stomach, he traced the faint bulge that rhythmically appeared, “sure as fuck not a virgin anymore, are you? Fucking ruining that perfect little pussy of yours. Now that’s how you pop a fucking cherry. Aren’t you happy I was in such a charitable mood tonight?” he then pressed down on the imprint rudely, the overwhelming sensation causing your pussy to drizzle a little more around him, “aren’t you, sis?”

“Yes,” you mewled, feeling as if you were floating on a cloud and not getting your guts rearranged. 

“You’d let me do anything I’d fucking want, wouldn’t you?” he smirked down at your dazed form. 

“Y-yes,” the word flowed out of you, though you couldn’t quite comprehend all of his dirty talk any longer. 

“Hold on,” he briefly slowed down and stretched over to reach a small apprentice obscured and hidden in all of the cluttered decor on your nearby dresser. Turning it in his hand, he pointed the discrete camera down to film you, “say it again,” he picked his pace back up, “tell me that you’ll let me do anything I want to you.”

“Anything,” the words bubbled out through your moans, “anything you want.” 

“Say that you’re my little slut.”

“I’m yours–, I-I’m your s-slut.”

Tilting the hidden camera down to get a few close-ups, his voice then seeped into you once more, “now tell me again that you hate me.” 

One of your hands fluttered down and began to rub your puffy clit.

“I hate you.”

“Again,” he reached down to give your left nipple a harsh pinch.

“I hate you.”

“Keep going, princess.” 

And the more times the phrase flowed out past your lips, the more it began to lose its meaning and morph into just another sound, one that was almost akin to the complete opposite kind of proclamation. 

Just like you barely noticed when Rafe dug out the hidden camera, so too did you miss it when he put it back down, obscured somewhere among your things, possibly not even the only one. 

When you came once again, Rafe didn’t so much as pause when you creamed around his cock and drenched the sheets beneath you that much further.

“There you fucking go,” he sent a palm down to smack the sensitive skin on your inner thigh, “god, you’re so hot. I can’t believe you actually let me do this,” he grinned as your fingers stretched out to graze his wild hips, trying and failing to slow him down, “you’re such a little freak,” he glanced down at the ring of your essence that marked the base of his throbbing cock, “so fucking nasty for your stepbrother. I bet you’d even let me keep using you after you fall asleep. I mean, who’s to say I haven’t already,” he chuckled, “you’re so fucking cute when you sleep. No annoying remarks, no dumb comments… I think I might prefer you that way…” his slamming grew sloppy as he soon moaned, “fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum.”

“Pull out,” you begged through your hazy pants. 

And just when you thought he wouldn’t respect your wishes, he yanked out and furiously stroked himself before your winking and wrecked hole as it slowly retraced from the severe stretch. Moaning loudly, he swiftly painted your pussy with his load, getting it all over your puffy petals till he was panting above you. One hand rested on your thigh as he brushed the sensitive head of his cock over the cream, messily tapping the hefty weight of him against your aching clit and making you jump a few times as he smeared it in. 

Throwing himself down on the bed beside you, he let out a long sigh and said, “you’re welcome.”

You felt like you couldn’t move, like you might never be able to move again. Your breath still came in ragged as the only thing you could focus on was the sore throbbing centred at your core, that blossomed out through the rest of your nerves. 

“Well,” Rafe huffed as he soon lifted himself up to a sitting position, “night,” and without another word, slipped out through your shared bathroom into his own bedroom. 

“I can’t believe they made you take me,” you grumbled as you watched Rafe shadow you in the clothing store, “I could have just gone to the mall on my own.”

“You don’t have a car though–, also, why are you the one complaining? I’m the one being forced to go fucking shopping with you of all people.”

Somehow, for some mysterious reason, since you’d moved into Tanny Hill, your collection of underwear had shrivelled down till you barely had enough to get you through the week. Guess that was the price you had to pay for letting someone else do your laundry, though you’d always assumed it would more just be a single sock that commonly vanished in the wash…

When you dipped into the fitting room to try a few of the gathered options on, you only managed to test out two of them before the curtain slid back open and you swiftly scrambled to cover yourself.

“Rafe!” you let out a hushed screech, “what do you think you’re–”

“Try these on,” he handed you a wide stack of hangers. It wasn’t just underwear dangling from them, but also some clothing, though all of it way too revealing than you were used to. 

Glancing down at them, you refused to grasp the items and simply stated in a clear tone, “no.” 

Letting out a low sigh, he then turned to close the curtain back up before he twisted back to face you, “do you need me to have a little talk with your mom and my dad?” he took a few steps towards you, slowly pushing you into the corner by the tall mirror.

Glaring back at him through your pout, you huffed, “no…” 

You stayed in the corner as he then hung the clothing up on the hooks before taking a seat on the small stool where your purse was resting before he swept it to the floor. 

“Are you just gonna sit there and watch?”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, “it’s boring as shit out there. At least in here, I might get a moderate amount of entertainment.”

Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly began to try the attire on. 

“I hate thongs,” you muttered as you tugged a pair into place over your hip, trying not to catch your stepbrother’s stare as his gaze wandered from your reflection to the perfect view he had of your backside. 

“I recall you hate a lot of things you still don’t hesitate to jump on.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, “you have your fun, enjoy this little fashion show, but I’m sure as hell not getting any of these.”

“Well, good,” he uttered demeaningly, “because I’m buying them for you.”

Catching his eye in the mirror, you told him, “I’m still not wearing them. You can’t make me.” 

“Yeah,” he puffed out a smirk, “we’ll see about that,” and then tore his gaze away from you to gesture to one of the hangers, “try that dress on, but keep the pink thong on underneath, only the thong though.” 

You had to shut your eyes in annoyance a moment before you fulfilled his request, soon standing before him in a scantily cut, pastel mini dress, crafted in a fabric so thin that you could see the faint shadow of your nipples poking through them, especially after they’d turned all pebbly after Rafe had torn that privacy curtain to the side. 

“You happy now?” you turned to face him and propped your hands on either side of your hips. 

“Hm,” he cockily pursed his lips as his gaze studied you, “I was right…”

Your brows stayed furrowed till you watched his palm slide down to squeeze himself through his shorts. 

“What are you doing?” you hissed, eyes growing wide. 

“You do look hot in normal clothes.”

“I don’t think any of this is normal…”

“I think it’s time you learned how to suck a cock,” he suddenly announced, eyes still glued to the dress’ low neckline as he unzipped his slacks. 

“Rafe…” you breathed. 

His eyes flickered up to find yours, “get on your knees,” he tilted his head, “come on, princess. You’ll love it, trust me.” 

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