#some of them are having more second thoughts than others | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bloatedandalone04 · 3 days ago

Text

My Drug is My Baby

➪the one where you and rafe can’t keep your hands off each other during your honeymoon.

Warnings: kook rafe/pogue reader, swearing, fluff (barely), smut, unprotected sex, semi-public smut, slight exhibition kink, hair pulling, dirty talk, size difference/kink, cock warming i think, spanking (whoops), rafe’s an ass man, i said what i said, he’s also a dom, bc obviously. (all i’ve been thinking about lately is rafe, so i’m doing something about it, yw).

Word Count: 2.5k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Rafe never thought he’d be one to get his life in order or find a nice girl to settle down with and get married to, but here he is in a stunning (and very expensive) resort in Florida with you by his side.

Wrapped around your finger were two rings, one holding a large, heavy diamond, and the other being a simple wedding band. ‘Simple’, yet it was embedded with smaller diamonds.

Around Rafe’s finger was a gold band that showed every girl at this resort who gave him the ‘fuck me’ eyes how committed he is to you and only you, and how they could waste their time all they want. He’d be a fucking idiot to ever let you go.

It was kind of crazy to think that less than a year ago, you were just another Pogue and he was a Kook who vowed to never do more than sleep with someone who was much less privileged than he was, but now he is married to you. Really, the standards of the society pretty much flew right out the window the second he saw you.

You were drop dead gorgeous, the most beautiful girl Rafe had ever seen. And though his friends told him to not waste his time with someone like you, Rafe was really fucking glad that he promptly ignored them and got you to go on a date with him, because less than four months after that date, you were engaged, and only five months later, you were married.

And now you were on your honeymoon and even more clingy and touchy than ever. Rafe never thought of himself as a very touchy person, but with you, he wanted to touch you all the time. Holding your hand in stores or on the street, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind when standing in lines, having his arm draped around your shoulders while sitting on the couch, or placing his hand on your thigh while in a car.

Right now, he was leaning back on a pool lounger with you in his arms, your back pressed against his bare chest as his fingers traced random shapes onto the skin of your stomach. For some reason, ever since that first date, Rafe couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you. You were so much smaller than him, but you fit perfectly against him, he couldn’t help but want to touch you everywhere all the time.

He had fallen so in love with you in so little time, he wasn’t sure if the honeymoon phase would ever end. And honestly, he didn’t want it to.

The sun was beating down on the both of you, but the breeze from the empty, still pool helped keep you from overheating. You sighed quietly, leaning more against him as you closed your eyes, the sun still very bright even through your sunglasses. “It’s so pretty here, Rae,” you mumbled, turning your head to place a soft kiss to his heated skin. “Makes me want to never leave. I want to stay right here, with you, for the rest of my life.”

That sounded amazing to Rafe, and he wouldn’t mind starting every morning exactly like this for the next week. He’d gone all out on both the wedding and the honeymoon, spending a pretty penny on them to ensure you’d have the best experience during both events. The room you were staying in was huge, and it has a huge bed that Rafe had fucked you in for a solid hour on your first night here.

He couldn’t help it and he couldn’t be blamed. You were his wife now. You were all his.

Rafe laughed, the deep sound vibrating your back as his breath tickled the shell of your ear. “I’d be more than willing to stay right here if you want to spend the rest of your life on top of me,” he teased, his fingers dipping lower to brush against the inside of your thigh. “We’ve got a whole week ahead of us, baby. A week of doing nothing but this all day. And you’re looking really fucking hot right now.” His other hand moved to grope your breast, his thumb brushing against your nipple through the thin fabric of your bikini top as his lips found your pulse point and kissed it gently.

“Rae,” you laughed quietly, pressing your thighs together as you leaned back against him more firmly, your sunglasses sliding down your nose until you just decided to take them off. “We’re in public…you can’t say that to me.” Your words were a feeble attempt at teasing him, because he had rented the room that came with the private pool and patio. No one was around to hear you, let alone see you.

Rafe smirked, licking and sucking at your neck before he lifted his head, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can say whatever the fuck I want to my wife,” he murmured into your ear, his hand sliding back up your thigh until his fingers grazed the edge of your bikini bottoms. His teeth gently tugged at your earlobe as his hand slid beneath the red fabric, his lips curving when he heard your sharp inhale. “Are you forgetting that this place belongs to us for the next eight days? No one’s around to see my pretty girl get all needy for me.”

“Rafe,” you whined, biting down on your lip as you arched your back and subtly spread your thighs a bit wider. You turned your head again and pressed your face against the side of his neck, brushing soft kisses along his skin. “God, you’re so hot, baby.”

Rafe groaned, his cock starting to harden as his fingers slid through your slick folds. “Mmm, you’re so wet for me,” he mumbled, his middle finger dipping inside your wet heat before he pulled it back out and brought it up to his lips for a taste. “So fucking good, baby.”

He leaned in and kissed you deeply as his hands gripped your hips, turning you on his lap so you’re properly straddling him. Slowly, he guided you to grind against him, the outline of his cock evident through the dark fabric of his trunks.

“Ride me, pretty girl,” he rasped against your mouth, his fingers playing with the thin strings of your bikini on either side of your hips. One pull, and your lower half would be bare, and the thought was becoming more and more appealing to him the longer you moved on top of him.

“Like this?” You asked, already breathless as you caressed his face in your hands, your clothed pussy rubbing against his cock through the fabric of his shorts.

Rafe groaned, tipping his head back on the chair. “Exactly like that, baby,” he muttered, his hands gripping your ass as he guided you to move a bit faster. “Just like that.”

The rough fabric of his swimming trunks brushed deliciously against your clit, making you moan a bit louder and brace your hands on his shoulders for more support.

You were so hot, Rafe couldn’t believe that you were all his. The sexy, shameless woman riding his lap in public was all his.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he muttered, leaning up and capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue brushed against yours, one of his hands tangling in your hair as he bucked up against you. He broke the kiss, his head dropping onto your shoulder as he grunted, “I need to be inside you, baby. Right now.”

With that, he wrapped his arms under your thighs and lifted you as he stood up, carrying you towards the sliding doors that lead back into the suite. You squealed, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist as you peppered kisses along his neck. “You love me so much,” you teased, nuzzling your nose behind his ear as he slid the door closed behind him, not bothering to close the curtains as he walked over to the bed and pulled at the strings of your bikini bottoms, letting the damp fabric fall to the floor.

“Yeah, I fucking do,” he agreed, giving your ass a firm squeeze before tossing you onto the king sized bed. You bounced a bit as you tried to steady yourself, a needy whine of excitement leaving your lips. “Get on your knees for me, baby.”

When you quickly turned around and braced yourself up on your hands and knees, Rafe stepped towards the bed, one of his hands running along the length of your spine. His other hand came down onto your ass, giving it a sharp smack that made a loud moan slip past your lips.

God, you were so fucking sexy and so perfect for him, Rafe would never get enough. “That’s for getting me so addicted to you,” he mumbled before pulling at the strings of his shorts and pushing them down his legs. He propped one knee up on the bed next to yours, keeping one foot planted firmly on the floor as gripped your waist. “You’re so perfect, aren’t you? My perfect girl.”

Rafe gripped the base of his cock with one hand, running his length along your wet folds before bumping his tip against your clit a few times. “Rae,” you whined, clearly getting more and more riled up from his teasing.

He smirked before guiding himself inside you, your soaked walls making him slide in with ease. Rafe groaned, his teeth sinking into his lip as he refrained from railing you like he wanted to. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered, his palm soothing your reddening skin from his previous smack.

When he pulled back nearly all the way and then slid right back in, you let out a loud moan, your hands fisting the sheets of the unmade bed. “Fuck,” you whimpered, your head falling forward as he began to slowly fuck you from behind.

“That’s it, baby,” Rafe grunted, moving his hips in slow, deep thrusts as he pulled at the string of your top, making the fabric hang loosely from your neck before you tugged it off and tossed it aside carelessly.

He leaned down and pushed your hair to the side so he could press open mouthed kisses to the back of your neck, one of his hands reaching around to squeeze your breast. His grip on your waist tightened as he increased the pace, the soft slap of skin on skin filling the room as he began to pound into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good. So wet and tight for me,” he panted, leaning over you as he changed the angle just slightly. Your moans grew louder, your arms shaking a bit as his cock reached even deeper inside you, making his lips turn upwards in a smug smirk. “You like that, pretty girl? You love being stuffed full of me, don’t you?”

Rafe’s mouth was filthy both in and out of the bedroom, something he knew you loved, and that was very obvious from the way you clenched around him and got even louder. “Yes,” you answered, your body jolting forward with every deep thrust. “Fuck…yes.”

It was hard to believe that ten minutes ago, you were simply in his arms by the pool, and now here you are, on your hands and knees for him as he railed you from behind, your body completely bare for his greedy eyes and hands. His perfect little wife.

“Fuck, listen to those pretty noises you’re making,” he grunted, his hand gripping your waist tightly as he guided you back onto his cock. You were so tight, he could literally see the way your walls hugged him and took him in so deep every time he entered you, and the sight had his abs tensing as he groaned loudly. His free hand slid up your back until he had a fistful of your hair, and he tugged your head back just enough for you to feel it but not hard enough to hurt you.

The bed, though sturdy, clearly wasn’t prepared for the rough fucking Rafe planned to give you every day for the next week since it creaked with every thrust, and he briefly wondered just how many honeymoon’s this suite had seen, and how many horny newly-weds this bed had fallen victim to.

One thing he knew for sure was that you were the prettiest bride that had ever and will ever stay in this room, and he was one lucky fucker.

When he gave your hair a sharp tug, you let out a whiny moan and clenched around him again, and Rafe knew you were close. “Yeah, that’s it. Cum for me, baby,” he rasped, speeding up even more until you were mumbling and moaning incoherently as your head tipped back onto his shoulder. He kissed all over the side of your neck and face as you came on his cock, his grip on your hair loosening as he fucked you through your high.

“Rae,” you whimpered, shaking in his arms as you relied solely on him to keep you upright.

“I got you, sweet girl,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw as he slowed his pace, his own high creeping up on him. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum too, baby. You feel too good.”

Your face turned a faint shade of pink as you leaned your head back on his shoulder, your arm lifting up as you tangled your fingers in his hair. “Cum for me, Rafe,” you encouraged weakly, nearly limp in his arms as you trembled from the sensitivity.

His hand groped your breast, his thumb and index finger gently pinching your nipple as he buried himself as deep as physically possible and emptied himself inside you. “Fuck,” he grunted, pressing his face against the side of your neck as his hips jerked and stuttered, his cock filling you up with ropes of white.

Once you had drained him of every drop, Rafe’s hand released your breast as his arm wrapped around your middle, slowly guiding you back on the bed as he leaned over you.

“You’re so perfect, baby. I love you so fucking much, more than anything,” he mumbled, peppering your sweaty shoulder in kisses as he carefully rolled onto his side, pulling you with him so he was holding you from behind. “Stay just like this…I don’t wanna pull out yet.”

His words were slurred as his body still thrummed with the aftershocks, his big hand splayed across your stomach as he nuzzled his face against your neck. You hummed, pressing yourself more firmly against him. “Then stay inside me,” you mumbled, “We’ll stay like this for as long as you want to.”

Rafe grinned lazily, holding you close to him. “I’m gonna hold you like this forever,” he said, his voice muffled against your neck as his thumb stroked along your stomach. “Never letting you go.”

Even though it was just past noon, you both had grown rather tired from that intense workout you just got finished doing. A quick nap sounded fucking amazing right now, especially if he got to stay connected with you and have your body wrapped up in his arms the whole time.

This was heaven, Rafe decided, and he never wanted to go a single day without you ever again.

And luckily, he would never have to.

571 notes · View notes

ukkoperkele · 1 day ago

Text

Just to share my own thoughts, I don't think that was the point. @fortunatelyginger

The article is not taking the male perspective into account since this time the writer is focused on girls. I doubt she was bringing up girls' and women's problems in her book about men's problems either, because that wasn't her focus. Not focusing on the male perspective in this article doesn't makes boys' and men's experiences with bullying from women any less real.

The article is showing one possible explanation why teenage girls are feeling unwell. These girls are telling about their experiences with harsh online and in-person bullying from these certain boys in their school. Not from men as a whole. It is also true that people who are struggling are more likely to take their anger and sadness out on others especially without proper support or knowledge about healthy coping mechanisms. Boys still often lack support.

Regular cruel comments and sexualization are undoubtedly a valid cause for someone to start feeling unwell. Teenagers are at an age where their identity and emotional regulation skills are still developing. Receiving this kind of treatment will usually take a bigger toll on teens than adults.

It's been a while since I was a teen, but I remember this kind of bullying from both girls and boys. Both also received it. Teens in general can be cruel as hell.

However, in my experience teenage boys were doing this kind of bullying more often, or at least they were generally more aggressive and open about it than girls. The worst bullies were usually from dysfunctional families. Girls also usually had, and most likely still have, more pressure than boys when it comes to looks, and that pressure is not only coming from boys. This is an indivual experience, but I wouldn't be surprised if this was still the case in some schools.

Andrew Tate has some good points when it comes to self-improvement, but he also has more harmful takes on human value and mental health. "This is why women should not vote, they're morons" comment after a (trans)woman was expressing stress over elections is not something I would like my own sons to hear or look up to. Someone like HealthyGamer, a Harvard trained psychiatrist focusing especially on boy's and men's mental health, would be a better choice.

Tate's followers from what I've seen are not usually the kindest to women, some of them being blatantly hateful online. When young impressionable boys who have no proper critical thinking skills or media literacy skills yet see this kind of content and comments, there is a risk they will absorb all the things they're fed, including hatred towards women, without a second thought. They don't have the maturity to pick the genuinely helpful tips and ignore the rest. This in turn can affect the way they treat girls and women in their close circle. I think this is what the article was trying to convey by mentioning Tate.

These bullies might not be the only or the main reason why girls are unwell, but it is certainly still a serious problem that parents and teachers should pay more attention to. Teenagers are old enough to understand right from wrong. Behavior like this needs to be corrected not only in boys, but in teens in general.

Social media is creating more apathetic and cruel kids. You can also see it from the way those boys reacted to a fellow boy trying to stand up for her. Basic human decendy shouldn't be ridiculed or seen as something negative.

Why are British teenage girls so unhappy? Here’s the answer (Caitlin Moran, The Times, Sep 13 2024)

"The report, by the Children’s Society, found that British 15-year-old girls are the most unhappy in Europe.

British girls aged 10-15 are “significantly less happy” with their life, appearance, family and school than the average boy — and their happiness is still declining.

Boys’ life satisfaction, meanwhile, remains broadly stable. (…)

But I still didn’t have an “aha!” moment about why this so disproportionately affects girls until… I talked to some teenage girls.

It was at a party, and I went to vape with them on the patio. Because I take my nicotine like children do.

“Duh — it’s the boys,” one said when I brought it up, as all the others agreed.

“The boys?” I asked.

My last book, What About Men?, had been all about how much boys struggle these days: their loneliness; their suicide rates. I’d spent the past year feeling very sympathetic towards boys.

“Yeah, well, who do you think they’re taking out their unhappiness on? It’s us,” another girl said.

“One boy at school used to draw a picture every day of how ugly I was,” a third girl said. “Every day for two years.”

“They’ve all got ‘Rate The Girls’ polls on their WhatsApps,” the first said. “They mark you down for weight gain, haircuts, what you say.”

“But then, if you’re hot, it’s just as bad, in a different way, because they’ll be talking about how they want to f*** you.”

The girls discussed coping techniques. Bad news: none of them worked.

“The only way you can stop them is if you become ‘one of the boys’ and hang out with them. But then,” the second girl said with a sigh, “all the other girls call you a slut. Because you’ve gone over to the boys’ side.”

“Surely it’s not all the boys?” I said. “There must be some nice boys?”

“Oh, yeah,” one girl said. “But they keep their heads down. Because… well, look.”

She showed me the Instagram account of her friend. Under every picture she posted of herself — smiling in a new dress; with her dog — dozens of anonymous accounts had replied with the most rank abuse.

“Fat.” “Slut.” “You gonna try and kill yourself again, for attention?”

“They’re all boys from her school,” she said. “And look, this one boy tried to defend her.”

I saw a series of messages from a brave teenage boy, posting things like, “You’re all big men, leaving these replies under anonymous accounts.”

As I could see, this boy immediately became a target too. Mainly accusations that he was “white knighting” this girl: “You wanna f*** her, bro?”

“So,” I asked, “you don’t think it’s social media pressure to be beautiful, or the economy, that’s making girls so sad?”

“Well, yeah, them too,” the first girl said. “But, Monday-Friday, 9-3, I’m not on social media. I’m not… in the economy. I’m just with these boys. And no one talks about how horrible they are.”

I thought about another recent report, showing a 30 per cent ideological gap between Gen Z men, who are increasingly conservative, and Gen Z women, who are increasingly progressive.

I thought about Andrew Tate, who has nine million mostly young male followers — and faces human trafficking charges, which he denies.

And I thought: maybe these girls are on to something. Maybe more people need to vape with teenage girls and ask them for the school gossip."

#I don't usually reblog answers but the comments were disabled #Taking this chance to promote Dr. K while I'm at it. He has helpful content for everyone but especially for guys.#My brothers and I have found his content helpful. Warm recommend.

19K notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 3 days ago

Note

And since you're such an angel, I would love some:

snow angels with doctor!remus

Thank you and please hydrate 💧

Awee you're too sweet to me, thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: blood (not a lot? if that helps), dizziness/lightheadedness

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 686 words

Remus cups your face in his hand, brows woven together in concern. “Did you eat lunch?” he asks you.

“Yeah.”

“What’d you have?” He swipes his thumb gently over your cheek before leaving you, going into the nearby bathroom.

“A sandwich.” You sound a bit defensive, which isn’t strictly fair. You know you gave Remus a bit of a fright when he came home to find you lying on the rug between the living room and the kitchen, too scared to get up. It was perhaps a tad dramatic—you could’ve walked over to the couch if you’d really wanted to, you’re sure—but you didn’t see any point in pushing yourself when you felt so dizzy and shaky on your feet. Remus has taken it as more cause for alarm than you have.

He comes back with a blood pressure monitor and a couple of other things, setting them on the kitchen table in front of you. “That sounds fine,” he murmurs, taking your arm to slide the cuff up it. You have the sensation of swaying in your seat, but you’re not sure if it’s really happening or only in your head. “And it’s been going on for how long?”

“Since maybe two.” You lean sideways so your head rests on his chest. Remus’ free hand comes up to hold it there gently, pinkie stroking the baby hairs by your temple as the cuff inflates around your arm.

“You should have called me, sweetheart.”

“I was okay,” you tell him. “I didn’t really think I was gonna pass out or anything, I just thought it’d be safer to sit down.”

Remus’ hum conveys some disapproval, but he doesn’t seem to think it’s worthwhile to continue arguing with you. The blood pressure monitor beeps, and he leans forward to read it.

“Hm, that’s normal.” He takes the cuff off you with a satisfying ripping sound. You curl and flex your fingers against the odd feeling.

Remus holds your head to his chest with his free hand while he leans forward, grabbing something else off the counter. He takes your hand, but you pull it from his grasp when you see what he’s holding, sitting up.

“Remus,” you whine.

He chuckles at your tone. “Dove, it’ll be quick.”

You let him take your hand again, but don’t allow him to pull it near that clicker thing. “Is it going to hurt?” you worry.

“No.”

You make a low, petulant sound in the back of your throat. Ordinarily you might be embarrassed for it, but you’re feeling rather self-pitying right now and entitled to some sulking. “Really?”

“Yes, love. Relax.”

Still feeling mistrustful, you allow him to pull your hand closer. He pricks the pad of your finger.

“Ow—Rem!”

“It’s okay,” Remus shushes you. “All done.”

“That hurt,” you complain, vindicated, as he collects the bead of blood on a reader.

“I know,” he admits. “It does, a little. But only for a second, yeah?”

You make your displeasure known through your silence.

“Look.” Remus takes your finger, kissing the back. “It’s better now, see?” He brings your head to his chest again, and it’s difficult to keep from softening when he kisses that, too. “Sorry, dovey.”

“It’s okay,” you say, begrudging, only because he really does seem to feel a bit bad.

“Mm.” He reads your blood sugar. “You’re at ninety two.”

“Is that good?”

“It’s normal.” Remus holds your cheek again, looking down at you and stroking pensively with his thumb. You’re not sure if he’s feeling for something or just touching you; you’re happy either way.

He hums softly. “Do you feel tired as well?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Headache?”

You tilt your head back to see him. “What’s it mean?”

“I’ll take that for a yes, then.” His lips curve softly. “I’m not completely sure what it means yet, but I’ve got a couple of theories.”

“Can you fix it?” you ask, though really you have complete faith. Remus always fixes it.

He kisses your head again like he knows what you’re thinking. His lips make a soft landing just short of your hairline. “We’ll see.”

397 notes · View notes

acid-ixx · 19 hours ago

Text

mea culpa (again &. again mini chapter)

tw: allusions to self harm, depression and suicidal thoughts. sensitive content ahead. this happens in between the end of chapter 3 and start of chapter 4.

if you were to describe the first few years at the manor, the first word that comes to you would be...

well, regret.

at every attempt, at every woeful request, and the rejection that follows. their distant stares, as if looking elsewhere other than you, or the way some wouldn't even acknowledge your name, or presence; it would've devoured anyone else's hope, would've been an already telltale sign that they had no interest in the likes of you.

invitations to spend time with them, to hopefully gain insights about their interests— just for that sliver of desire that somehow, someday you wouldn't have to constantly be on your knees, asking pleases in the sweetest tone a six year old like you could muster to a butler who had more important duties to attend to other than a desperate child wanting to spend time with their family.

when you lose something dear, you begin to desire that very same treasure lost. your mother is no more, her kisses were no more, her lingering touches long since disappeared.

it's only after a few weeks did the grief register within you. only then did the desire to recreate all those soft moments with her manifested into the threshold of your mind; clawing, hungry appendages that disguise itself as innocent ambition ready to hurt you.

all you simply wanted was to meet your father, to see him outside of camera flashes, or in news channels and interviews that only capture one part of him. you wish to see the man idolized by hundreds of civilians for his charitable actions, admired by thousands; a man who you were lucky enough to have as a father.

the very same man who, after having to take you under his care after news about your appearance sparked traction in media— was never in the same room as you.

and if he was? he'd be gone as soon before you could quickly greet him with a hello.

you remember those days, though. the first time where you'd get to pass by your... dad.

a lonesome afternoon, with a storm transpiring outside, the thick gusts of air and heavy rain thumping against the expanse of windows. it was only a quarter to six, yet the scene outside portrayed a sky far darker the shade of blue, and looked almost as if it was midnight. only the dissonant patterns of beating rain guides you to wander around listlessly with nothing to do; bored and delirious after a day of simply being... alone.

but the erratic noises didn't stop you from ceasing in your steps upon the sight of the man, standing in a room and looking out. his silhouette casting against the chandelier's orange light.

it was enough to stumble over, and do a double take at the man in front of you, only a few feet away, before coming closer to his distracted form to further take in his features.

how tall he actually was, towering over your impish, malnutritioned body like a wall. slicked, black hair, some strands loose and freed. his was more intimidating in person. gruff voice you've never once heard on tv, demanding control and respect. thick arms that contrast your sinewy ones, with veins that protruding from jagged skin; all hidded with fancy business suits and a charismatic smile that beckons your eyes to look upon his face instead.

he was handsome in person, more regal than the street thugs you've seen out the windows of your apartment windows. and, for a second, you couldn't believe that this was your father, standing in a room looking as if he could be painted then and there; your fingers buzzing to catch your hands on your sketchbook to draw every detail of the man in question.

your father, your dad, your papa that you've always marveled upon. now standing right before you like a statue concocted by a renaissance artist.

though the most important aspect of your father is his piercing blue eyes. brighter than anything you've seen before, yet duller than the bleak colors of the manor's wallpaper; gazing endlessly outside with no acknowledgement of the way you shake, or how the thumping in your

after one year of begging alfred to see him in person, you get to see him now on such an unannounced day.

yet you're happy all throughout. because he's here now and that's all that matters to the mind of tiny you, gasping and exhilarated to near tears.

fingers shaking, eyes never ripping itself from the man who's stripped you away of all words you wished to say.

it's as if he fits within the gothic setting perfectly. hell, even annunciating its splendor; the sharp edges on his face that are perfectly shadowed by the lack of illuminated, yellowish light, his stiff posture surveying the room, and muscled form speaking volumes of how much he truly acts as a pillar of support for the city.

safe to say his beauty was ethereal.

seeing him up close was far ever a better spectacle. you weren't just enamored; you were in every bit frozen in your stance, burning the memories of your first union with him into every crevice of your mind. dumbfounded, breathless, and buzzing with ecstasy of being face to face with a man your mother must've loved.

after all, he wasn't just one of the kindest souls to bless all of gotham, he was more than that. he was, in most important of details, your father.

a father you haven't seen, nor met, in the first years of your life.

yet those same eyes squint at something, anything else, and never once looked down at you, who modestly tries to pull at his loose house wear to capture his attention after moments you were locked in place. too small, too stubborn and young to understand why his gaze never wandered below and kept to his thoughts instead.

"papa!" you call out to him in a high pitched voice with a wide smile, trying your best to overpower the sound of the raging storm outside. your actions prove fruitless, yet you still attempt to make him snap out of his trance, jumping and shivering in near childish excitement.

and this was all you needed: a single grunt in response was enough to make you all the more feel ecstatic. it washed away your prior somberness at the weather since you're unable to play in the garden, and was replaced with overpowering fulfillment to a single noise he produced.

it never once crossed your mind that the grunt you thought he reciprocated wasn't acknowledgement of your actions.

no, it was merely him seemingly too preoccupied at the thought of his dead son; mind lost, and with no direction to take other than the grief that's still instilled into the pools of his deep, blue eyes.

it never once occurred to you how he hasn't looked down at all, or heard the wispy intonations of your voice blending into the faint, whimsical tune of jazz music that does the least to ease the pain eating away at his chest every time he's given a moment alone to ponder ever-so deeper into his current world of worries.

a world where you don't exist, and you've never once come to realize that until it was too late.

whilst you were busy admiring every side of your father, the good and the bad, you were ignorant to the unforeseen implications of how he never reciprocated the love you've shown him that faithful day; forgotten and buried under lonely silent walls and echoing halls that could only echo a figment of your voice.

when he had left the room and you to find tim, you were left to your own devices once again. yet at that time, you simply bounced with joy and jumped to the nearest couch, allowing the delusions of an improving life shackle you to the deepest of regrets after.

and despite everything, the manor was colder still. and it is cruel and unforgiving to a child like you.

others would've given up, others wouldn't even try so hard after the first failed attempts.

but you? you just weren't them, and you continued trying, one after the other attempt all failing miserably; your first mistake, yet never the last.

it went on like that for 13 and a half years.

these occurrences where you thug at the fabric of the adults roaming around the hallways, only to be ignored or downright rejected. dick broke his promise about visiting your room a second time, but you still chose to bother him every time he comes to visit for anybody but you, tim was no better and preferred to keep his space all for himself; accustomed to the life of a being a single child and preferring it that way, alfred had butler duties, and secret identites he had to tend to every night, and your father was... just that.

thirteen.

an unlucky number in some cultures, a number that was too long when translated in the language of time.

a decade, and nearly a half spent trying and failing. even then, everything you do amounted to nothing. every sweet smile, every baked treats long discarded in the bin, every longing gaze, and effort to set about physical affections for people who were more like strangers to you than family.

strangers under the same roof, living and thriving whilst you wait for admission to be accepted into their comfortable circles and inside joke that raptures from their luminous eyes.

you remember every single moment you had when you were in close proximity with your siblings, and the moments they exactly leave and forget you were even besides them in the first place— quietly humming as if understood that you didn't wish to disturb their presence with yours, but happy enough that they could at least tolerate you.

even if that tolerance stems from the mere fact that you were akin to a ghost in their ever-so busy eyes.

even so, you still remember. young and forgiving, spite a foreign emotion on your tongue, not until you've met the youngest of your lot which would only be after a few years, when you were too late.

you remember the faint elation that courses off through your veins every time alfred promises to get you at least a sliver of meeting bruce again— but even that has barely any updates, you've long since given up the hope that you would see him beyond his busy days.

and you remember it very clearly when dick first introduced you to your room, the sheer brightness that emanates off of your idol, the curls of his hair that flow like ocean waves framing his chiseled face; and his smile, a grin that sports the brightest of teeth, which brings warmth that makes you forget why you were even taken in the first place, replaced with whimsy and giddiness that you get to meet your favorite person in the world, second to your mother.

the way his bright blue eyes contrast with bruce's, seemingly sunnier, more kinder in its approach that makes you drown deeper into the same gaze that forgets you a day after.

and those memories were stored in your heart, both good and bad, kept under lock and key to both haunt and tempt you throughout the entire months you had to deal with the loneliness clawing in your heart.

the pain was surreal every time you reminisce upon the windowsill, watching distantly in the garden that stretches far beyond thick fields of trees, flora and fauna; as tim spends his waking moments with his new group of friends who all praise the colorful array of bloom planted root-deep with love, and care and perseverance— all with soft, vibrant petals and sturdy stems that were a product of your hard-earned labor.

nobody truly acknowledged it was you who planted all those colorful arrays of flowers.

yet you remember everything, or at least recollections of when and how you came to realize just how truly invisible you are to the world.

the hope that flickers within once someone sets their eyes on you, family or friends. the heartbreak that settles within every fiber of pallid skin and sinewy bones every time those eyes leave your form after the slightest of seconds; you remember them all in record time and run to lock yourself in your room to write all these instances in an endless supply of diaries documenting just how miserable you truly are.

no matter if it pains you, and rips at the edges of thinly lined paper stained with black-inked pen writing down your harrowing rants; bleeding into the pages just like how your emotions run deeper than depression and ebbing anxiety.

dates were plastered as both a reminder and punishment for you to reflect upon— on all your wrongs, and ways on how to better yourself so someone, other than alfred, could finally acknowledge you for more than a few seconds.

you remember everything, you were sure of it, but not the first time you purposely drew blood from your skin, or when you contemplated ending it all.

maybe it was all stemming from pressure, or the constant subjection to emotional neglect paired with no support system helping you handle your instability to control your emotions.

or it came after you had first met damian, with your youngest brother threatening you with a damn sword that nicked your skin; making it his mission to torment you consistently your entire life. pushing you down the stairs, calling you and your mother names; a disgrace, mere baggage to the wayne's reputation— even if you glare at him with the slightest bit of bite does he retaliate with an even stronger approach. until you give up, until the fire in your eyes are washed away by the current of dizzying turmoil. until you couldn't even look at him eye-to-eye anymore, ignoring the wide stares he gives you and the way his hands reaches out to you after you run to a different room from his presence alone.

or it all probably fucking started when the lump in your throat had refused to go away, when the heavy boulder you call your heart weighs you down to watch in a corner as yet another member gets introduced into the family, when jealousy raptures and seers into your veins at just how easy...

how easy it is to actually integrate your presence into the wayne family, so why couldn't you?!

a week after you were integrated, it was tim who was welcomed warmly, who fits in so perfectly like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle whilst you were considered an exclusion, an extra who doesn't don a fucking cowl every night, who couldn't in your damn life break every bone and return in one piece, serving as a symbol inspiration for the media to set its eyes upon, and your smile most definitely doesn't brighten the entire room.

you're nothing compared to them.

to try so hard, to fail all the same— as your achievements, your successes and milestones all amount to nothing but heartbroken expectations and a pat of pity from your butler.

the hurt piles, and piles, and piles itself until the colossal infrastructure falls and obliterates around you in its torrid pits of flames and carnage, until glass shards erupt and pierce at your skin until it reaches bones— much like the blades you store and use to butcher skin until it turns into an unintelligible mess of bloodied lines flimsily slashed across the expanse of your body.

like an artwork, a canvas that pictures slaughter in the wake of tragedy. with blood that seeps and stains into the crevices of everything it touches, with you as both the painter and the muse of the chaos you chose to wreck upon yourself.

thick ropes, pill bottles, bottomless water, and sharp blades; they all became topics of interest within the pages of your flabbily designed sketchbook. there was a period of time where all you could do was subjecting each blank slate of ivory sheets with stabs of pencil lead and ruined brushes every time you handle things too roughly. you'd clench into whatever you're holding, and bite at your teeth until it draws blood that drips on grayscale sketches portraying you meeting brutal fates.

and it always ends in your ripping those sketches apart whilst curling in on yourself, pulling at unkempt hair and scratching at hollow, sunken cheeks.

with screams unheard, silent and voiceless through the halls of the manor you once considered a home— like a ghost with no words that come out its mouth, a robot with no voicebox, a doll whose mouth is stitched shut.

it was always silent every night, but the voice of doubt was always louder, and it beckons you to hang yourself, to end your life and to never look back at their wide grins as they spend yet another night together.

it convinces you to write a note for each and every member of the family, to bid them farewell and pass to the world; even if those letters would forego the same fate as you— neglected, stored at the dustiest corners of the room.

you're hurt, both inside and out, alone and deserted with only your thoughts; loud and unforgiving, terrible yet comforting. you feel hurt, at dick's broken promises and sideward glances, jealousy at jason's hold over bruce even after years of his death, spite at tim's brilliance and all the friends who come over at the manor, as if taunting you of his social privileges, and fear for damian to spring up against you, to kill you with his blades and serve your cold body upfront on top of the dinner table.

and you were hurting all the damn time. if not physically, then mentally and emotionally. you allowed the invisible shackles to scar you, trapping you with spikes constantly piercing through your organs. you let yourself be a victim to the past, subjecting yourself to punishment by remembering your mother, sprawled all across the floor in crimson carnage— as you're taken away from her by policemen scouring the area before you could even run to her limp body. it was enough to tempt you to draw sharp object on your skin, condemnation for a life that shouldn't be saved— you would've preferred if your mother lived, rather than you. she had so much more to do with her youthful life, you had nothing.

life was unbearable, you were always teethering on the edge of a cliff suspending in thin air; choosing to run for either hill, holding a string ready to break, for safety always required great risk. one you'd rather jump off of than expend anymore energy of your already weary life altogether—

until you had decided to change the course of your life. until, one day, through gradual thinking and contemplation, that they were the main source of your torment. that you needed to say goodbye, you need to live to honor your mother.

that was the only ideal part of your twisted world. all for your mother, who had sacrificed herself, her kind heart, all to keep you safe and contented.

when you had made the ultimate decision to move out of the manor, throwing away your past life and moving on with a different chapter, you thought your habits would've ceased. that you're cured, that nothing stands in the way of your developing independence and uprising confidence.

you are free, unchained to both the confines of your emotions and the neglect of your family.

happy, content, and living the best of your world despite the financial circumstances and... overdue bills. either way, you're satisfied and that counts. counts for the six-seven months you were away, meeting new friends, ignoring the prying eyes of a certain individual always watching you from afar, as you party and drink and come to only regret not staying sober the day after.

you were at your peak.

feeling the best of all worlds.

at least, not until dick's sudden messages flipped a switch, into a dormant part of your mind, adrenaline surging through your veins, your vision flooded with similar images of your past: of eerie hallways and lonely birthdays. those memories taunt you, and dick's gleaming pair of ocean eyes, that once bring comfort into your oblivious brain now traps you in his spiteful gaze.

and you really, genuinely thought you were no longer in need of anymore pain.

yet you were always wrong. of course you always are.

you're just you, remember?

now, in your current apartment, you stand hidden in the safety of your bathroom, staring at the mirror without thought, with only resignation; unprepared at your family's plans to take you back into their caging arms, but ready for the blade to once again reunite with the familiar lines long healed.

all to wash away your regret.

reblogs, and most especially comments and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: sometimes, the pain you bear is too much to handle alone. sometimes, it can manifest through physical means to overpower the anguish that hurts you from within. but that doesn't mean going through the notion is deserved; nobody should ever resort through hurting themselves. when writing this, i was projecting all my emotions into the mc. in truth, as much as i love goofy drabbles, or write for the pleasures of myself and others; that doesn't change any problems i have at all. chronic depression is a pain in the ass. releasing my emotions through writing helps me a lot. and i hope that whoever reads this little drabble know that this is a love letter both to me for how far i've come, and the readers who've supported me with comments and praises that helped me go through the day. i've nothing else to say, i feel indifferent to the draft.

379 notes · View notes

sleepy-steve · 24 hours ago

Text

pt 2 of steve "dies but doesn't stay dead" harrington and eddie "ferryman of the river styx" munson // 1.9k // pt 1 ♡

—

november 1984

Eddie checks. Of course he checks. Asks around, eventually to his superiors to make sure he wasn’t going to get in trouble for not collecting Steve. It’s uncommon, they tell him, rare, even. But not unheard of. People die briefly and come back to life. Usually only the one time. The answer should be good enough. Should be. Isn’t though. It frustrates Eddie to no end. Months of wondering and ruminating with the firm belief that he won’t get to see Harrington again anytime soon to ask.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

This time Eddie is on the boat. Leaning over the edge, a hand dangling low to the black water, staring at the same patch of grass he first saw Steve sitting. In fairness, all souls appeared in that general area. But Eddie is fixated on the exact spot Steve had shown off his deep chest wounds. It’s for this reason that Eddie jumps three feet into the air when Steve materialises in the same spot again less than a year later.

Sitting up with a rattling gasp and a look of fury on his bashed-in face—again?! Eddie briefly thinks—Steve yells, “Fucking Hargrove!”

��Christ, Harrington!” Eddie shouts, hand over his chest despite the distinct lack of heartbeat. “Could give a guy a bit of warning.”

Steve looks around, eyes surrounded by more dark bruising taking a second to focus on Eddie, chest heaving as he calms down. “Shit, sorry, man.”

They just look at each other for a few long moments, Eddie standing like a frightened cat on his still wobbling boat. He clears his throat to break the silence. “Who, uh. Who’s Hargrove?”

Scoffing, Steve drags a hand down the side of his face, then winces as it passes over bruising. “Douchebag new guy.” He sighs, settling his forearms on his knees. “His sister is friends with some kids I know. Was coming after them, so I…” Trailing off, Steve gestures to his face.

“What? Offered yourself up as a human punching bag and got yourself killed? Again?” Eddie says, trying not to sound too judgemental.

“Yeah, well,” Steve sighs. “I wasn’t just gonna let him beat up a kid. They’ve been through enough without some dickhead coming in and kicking the shit out of them.”

Eddie feels his brows pull together slightly as he sits back down on the bench of the boat, arms crossed over the edge. It’s not like Harrington was the big bully of Hawkins High, but defender of local kids is… new. “Sounds like a grade-A asshole.”

Steve snorts. “He is.”

“Kids were lucky to have you around as their… babysitter?” Eddie offers, cracking a grin.

Steve rolls his eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Something like that. Probably didn’t need me at all. Stuck around long enough to see her drug him, so they should be fine.”

Humming appreciatively, a thought moves across Eddie’s mind, and he can’t help himself. “…No monsters this time?”

“Ha, ha,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know you don’t believe me, but the monsters did actually come back, which is why I was with those little shits in the first place.” He sounds annoyed, but there’s a fond look behind those bruised eyes. One that gives Eddie a little spark in his chest. “But no, this death was just a regular guy.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to snort. “This death. So casual.”

A full grin breaks out on Steve’s face, contrasting heavily with the bruises and the blood under his nose. “Well, when it’s happened this many times, kinda hard not to view it as like. Just this thing that happens, y’know?”

Eddie doesn’t really know. Of everything he’s learnt about death—through his own and through everyone he’s met since—this thing Steve goes through is beyond him. Incomprehensible. He nods anyway.

“How many times have you died, Harrington?”

“Hmm…” Steve looks up as he thinks for a moment. “This would be… five? Or six?” He shrugs. “I’m not sure if it happened when I was a baby.”

He says it so casually, so matter-of-fact, Eddie almost wants to double-take. It sounds so truthful, he struggles to not believe him. Even though Eddie knows he’s not losing much by believing him, a small part of him still has doubts. And worries for his job. “You gonna get in the boat this time?”

Steve snorts. “Not this time, buddy.” Something jolts in Eddie’s chest at the familiarity. “Maybe next time though.”

“Next time,” Eddie mutters under his breath, shaking his head. “You anticipate dying again?”

“Well, no,” Steve chuckles. “But based on how things have been… and apparently I’m not too careful.” He gestures at his bruised up face, eyes bright with humour between the blues and purples and reds.

“The monsters?” Eddie supplies, just teetering on the edge of sarcasm.

“Monsters, douchebag guys, car wrecks… you just never know.”

The casual tone in which Steve talks about his deaths still has Eddie reeling. It’s been well over a year and Eddie is surrounded by death constantly, and he still struggles to think about his own. Tells himself he’d rather not dwell, which is true, but it also hurts. He shakes it off, shifting his focus to the bruised and beaten boy in front of him.

“Or… you could save yourself the trouble, and get in the boat now?” Eddie gestures down at his boat with a little hand flair. He’s joking. Mostly. If Steve did have the chance to go back to the land of the living, Eddie didn’t want to take that away from him. Not that he thought Steve was getting that chance. Not completely, anyway.

“Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” Steve grins at him, like they’re sharing a secret. And they kind of were. Eddie wasn’t sure how many people knew about Steve’s semi-regular dances with death.

“And since when have you ever been one to stick to the rules?” Eddie asks, propping his arm up and resting his chin on his palm. Looking at the boy on the grass. His hair is longer this time.

Steve laughs, head tilted back. “Fair point. But if you want me on that boat, you’re gonna have to come over here and drag me onto it.” He raises a brow at Eddie in challenge.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” He repeats Steve’s words back at him, mocking him.

“Well, well, well,” Steve says, tone playful. “Look who’s being a stickler for rules now.”

“I know,” Eddie drags it out, struggling to hold back his smile. “Crazy, huh? Divine punishment for being born the son of a criminal, I guess.” Eddie’s gaze drops down to the black water beneath him.

Steve scoffs at him. “Like you never smoked pot or broke speeding laws in that van of yours.”

Eyes widening before he can stop them, Eddie’s shocked Steve even knows about the van. Shocked that Steve knows anything about him at all. What world is he in where the king of Hawkins High knows about Eddie and his beat up old van? Even being in the grade below him, Steve had a popularity pull that was noticed by those in Eddie’s grade. Confusion and surprise subsiding, Eddie finds himself leaning forward even further.

“Coming from you?” Eddie challenges back. “We all know about the famous Harrington ragers, Mister Keg King.”

The title makes Steve roll his eyes. “Never saw you at one.”

It was true. Eddie hadn’t attended any of the parties, for fear of his reputation making him a target. He drops his gaze again. “Didn’t think I’d be welcome there.”

Steve doesn’t respond, and the silence grows between them. They haven’t moved, but Eddie feels further away from him. Like the weird little familiarity they’d developed was being forcefully shoved apart. Eddie doesn’t look up to see Steve’s reaction. Doesn’t want the pity.

“So, you really can’t get out of the boat?” Steve breaks the silence with a complete topic change.

“Nope,” Eddie responds, popping the P. “She’s my new baby, now that I don’t have my van.” He pats the side of the boat with his free hand.

Steve shifts forward until he’s sitting as close as he can to the water’s edge without getting wet. Close enough for Eddie to see the broken capillaries under his skin and the little green flecks in his eyes. He takes in the cuts on Steve’s jaw and forehead, the two black eyes, the blood under his nose. The way his knuckles are bruised and bloodied to match. Something in Eddie feels oddly… protective. Like he wants to jump in front of anything that might hurt this guy he doesn’t even really know that well.

“Change your mind about getting in the boat?” Eddie asks, voice low, now that Steve is so close.

“No,” Steve huffs a laugh. “But you can’t move, so I figured I should.”

“Just that desperate to be close to me, are you?” It slips out of Eddie’s mouth before he can think about it. And Eddie wants to punch himself in the face over it.

But to his surprise, Steve doesn’t recoil away or yell at him. Instead, he laughs softly, cheeks faintly pink beneath the bruising. “What can I say? The allure of your… baby…” He says it with a smirk. “Very tempting.”

Taken aback by Steve’s… flirting is the only word to describe it, but that can’t be right, Eddie immediately switches to joke mode. He won’t entertain the idea that Steve Harrington was honest-to-god flirting with him. He won’t.

“I’ll get you into this boat one day, Harrington. Mark my words.”

He knocks on the edge of the boat twice before smoothing his hand over the wood. Watches as Steve’s eyes follow his hand, seemingly fixated on it. Eddie briefly wonders what would happen if he touched Steve. Would that commit Steve to being stuck here? Commit him to moving on? Would Eddie even be able to feel him?

Gaze shifting back to Eddie’s face, a smile grows on Steve’s face. “Maybe. One day.” He shrugs, like his eventual death is a fun, whimsical topic.

Eddie is about to comment on Steve’s tone, but before he can, Steve’s head whips to the side, hearing something Eddie can’t. Just like last time.

Unlike last time, Steve doesn’t get up right away. “Looks like my time’s up.”

“How do you know?” Eddie is so curious, he can’t help but ask.

“I can hear—” Steve waves vaguely around his ear. “—stuff. From where I am. The kids are yelling. Hope they’re not too freaked out.”

“Guess you better get back then,” Eddie says, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Yep.” Steve pulls himself up into a standing position, now suddenly looking down at Eddie, who leans back on instinct, shifting back on the boat bench. “But I’ll see you next time.”

“I’ll be here.” Eddie gestures at the boat, palm up. Like he has anywhere else to go. “See ya, Harrington. Stay away from monsters.”

“I’ll try,” Steve laughs, walking backwards on the grass. Keeping his eyes on Eddie as he retreats.

“Try not to get that pretty face bashed in again,” Eddie calls after Steve’s already fading form, grinning wide.

Steve just laughs, the sound of it echoing even after his body disappears from Eddie’s sight.

#ohoho they're BACK my friends!!#i've been working on this between my EMBB fic for funsies #but yes there will be More of this too hehe #more of steve being a morbid little shit and more of eddie wondering what the fuck steve's life is #cira writes #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #stranger things fic #steddie

221 notes · View notes

darkbluekies · 2 days ago

Text

GOLDEN TRIAL PT2: A slippery slope

Part 1

Yandere!mafia x yandere!female!mafia x female!yandere x yandere!king x yandere!doctor x male!detective!reader

Summary: after your adventure on Normandie, you've been dealing with the consequences of the horror. Unfortunately, you start to realize that you might not be the person you think you are. It doesn't help when a certain doctor finds you again.

Warnings: lingering head trauma, identity crisis, kidnapping, mocking, dog collar (lol), syringes/drugs, forced tattooing,

Word count: 9.3k

You get off the subway in silence and push your way through the crowd, walk up the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. Blinking, you try to fix your blurry vision. Sometimes, even though it’s been three months since you were hit on the head with a glass bottle, you’re reminded of the events on board the liner Normandie. You had been running around over two days before going to the hospital about the blow to your head. It seems to have been too late. What could have been brushed off with some bandage and disinfection had now given you minor problems you are dealing with daily. Not enough to hurt or bother, but enough for your agency to hesitate sending you out on missions.

These last months have been weird, to say the least. Not only have you been forced to take a break from your job, you have been lonely. So very lonely. You haven’t done anything and the only time you’ve went outside the door is when you go to your doctor’s appointments and when buying food. After the ominous note you got, you have been careful about going outside, scared that you will meet them again. How long will your life be forced to be like this? Maybe you should leave New York and start over somewhere new, where you can live a normal life. No more detective work, no more hiding, no more … fear. Perhaps a farm on the west coast?

You open the door to the private hospital. It’s located in a house no other than any of the other houses on the street. The first time you were here, you thought that you had been given the wrong address and waked into someone’s private house. Quietly you walk into the reception. The young woman behind the desk has always been friendly. Her sparkly blue eyes and chestnut hair remind you of a squirrel.

“Good morning”, the receptionist smiles at you. “Name?”

“Y/N L/N”, you say. “I’m here for a revisit at eleven am.”

“Ah, yes, I remember you. Your doctor is currently on sick leave, so there will be another doctor taking care of you today. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Take a seat and the doctor will see you in a moment.”

“Okay, thank you.”

You sit down in one of the wooden chairs. The clock on the wall ticks like a doomsday clock. You can’t help but shiver.

Your eyes wander in the small room. A mother with her young son, a father with his daughter, an old couple. And you, alone. There’s paintings on the walls, as if to distract one from the horror they might have to partake in when they step through one of the three doors on the right hand side of the room.

You’re not sure why you’re here. You have been going to this doctor for three months and all he’s done is to confirm that you do, indeed, have head trauma. As if you couldn’t figure that part out for yourself. Sometimes you wonder if you still have shards of glass stuck in your head.

“The doctor will see you now, Mister Y/N”, the receptionist suddenly says. “It’s the middle door.”

You stand up and walk over to the doors on the other side of the room, opening the middle one. Behind the desk, a man sits. He looks up at you and you can feel your heart stop, and so does the clock. For a second, you wonder if it’s one of the side effects from the glass bottle, but you can still hear your heart pound loudly in your chest. He’s trying to hide a smile, trying so hard to make it look like you’ve never met before. What do you do? Do you close the door behind you and get into his office or do you make a scene and get away? Your hand still holds onto the door handle behind you.

“Close the door, if you don’t mind”, Doctor Kry says and raises his eyebrows testingly when you flinch back. “Don’t even think about it. Close the door.”

With a frustrated sigh, you close it, but remain by the wall.

“I figure that you’re not going to sit down”, Doctor Kry says and rises from his chair.

“Don’t come closer”, you say quickly. “I will make a scene.”

“I’m fine with that. Easier for me to get you into a lunatic asylum.”

You freeze.

“Your usual doctor is on sick leave, so I’m here today”, Doctor Kry continues as if the prior conversation never happened. “I hope that is fine with you.”

“I am not comfortable with having you anywhere near me”, you spit. “How did you even know that I went here?”

Doctor Kry leans back against his desk with his hands in his pockets. “I can’t take the credit for that, unfortunately. It was my dear friend miss Carter who managed to find you.”

“Hedwig?”

“Yeah. Who knew that a young heiress with a phenomenally large contact net and money would be able to find someone like you. Unbelievable.”

You don’t give in to his joke.

“Sit down, Y/N”, Doctor Kry says and pulls out the chair for you, “or I will get you dragged out of here in a straightjacket.”

Involuntarily you sit down in his chair. Doctor Kry walks around you and you follow him in the corner of your eye.

“I read your report”, Doctor Kry says. “Trauma to the head? What happened?”

“You fucking know”, you spit.

“Oh, right.”

You want to slap that smirk off of his face. He continues to smile as he puts on his gloves.

“Let’s get it under control”, Doctor Kry says and takes your head in his hands.

You flinch, silently praying that he won’t twist your neck and break it.

“Don’t touch my neck”, you say.

“How else am I going to treat you?” Doctor Kry scoffs.

You start to wonder if he’s messing with you when he’s just touching around. He’s too close to your neck, he could snap it.

“Can you hurry up?” The words just slip out, before you have the time to shut your mouth.

To your horror, he chuckles. You freeze in your seat.

“Why did you go so stiff all of a sudden?” Doctor Kry asks smugly, grabbing your shoulders. “Are you scared that I’m going to hurt you, Golden Boy?”

The familiar pet name sends a wave of nausea through your body. You feel how every hair on your body stands on edge. Terrified to meet his blue eyes, you concentrate on a point on the wall where it looks like a small bug has landed.

“You threatened me with a tranquilizer”, you breathe out. “You could have helped me with my head that night — you’re a doctor — but you didn’t. You could have prevented me from coming here.”

“I could have”, Doctor Kry says. “But why would I? Remember what I told you? I’ve never said that I was nice.”

You stand up, shaking off his hands.

“We’re done here”, you decide and start to move towards the door.

“Alright, I suppose so”, Doctor Kry says.

You grab the door handle with your shaking hand and open it forcefully.

“I guess that I will see you soon, Y/N”, you hear his voice say behind you. “Can’t let a patient go before they’re healed, now can I?”

You ignore him. Stumbling on trembling legs, you pass the patients in the waiting room, struggle past the receptionist and out of the house. You throw up in the nearest bush.

For a few moments, the world has gone silent again. You can hear your heart thumping in your ear, feel every nerve in your body beat alongside it and you have to sit down on a nearby bench to collect your spinning head. That eerie feeling you had on board the Normandie returns … as if you’re being watched. You look around in a dizzy, blurry haze. Everyone looked like each other. Anyone could be them. If Kry had found you, what says that the others aren’t around the corner?

Going home feels wrong. What if they follow you and see where you live? Where do you go? What do you do?

Your numb legs take you to a nearby telephone booth. With shaking fingers you call your boss and tell him about the incident.

“You told me that I’d be safe!” you shout. “I knew that it would end like this! I knew that this would happen!”

“Y/N-”

“If I die, it’s your fucking fault, okay? You sent me out on that ship alone and now I have to deal with the consequences of your choices!”

You throw the telephone back in its hold and scream in frustration. The sound doesn’t escape the little telephone booth, which is probably for the best. You don't want to go to that mental asylum Doctor Kry threatened with.

You stand still for a few seconds, breathing heavily. You feel like crying.

The coming days can't be described as anything less than torture. You look over your shoulder for every step you take, flinch at every sound. Just as paranoid as on board the ship. Those four days will haunt you for the rest of your life … and the ones who caused it will hunt you until you're in their claws.

To calm your nerves, you've had to drink strong whiskey. Nothing else seems to work. Should you leave the country? You shiver. The thought of stepping aboard another ship again makes your skin crawl. You take another sip of the whiskey. It doesn't burn anymore.

The world started to blend together in blurry waves ages ago. It's starting to shift into black. Finally you're going to fall asleep and not have to worry about anything in this world. You’ll be safe in dreamland.

A small sound reaches your drowsy ears, but you’re too far off to react in time, almost as if you’re drugged. The door opens slowly and a dark figure enters. Everything is fuzzy. The person says something, but you can’t hear it. A cloudy wall separates you from you and whoever has broken into your apartment. A cloud which quickly turns everything black.

When you wake up again, you feel every muscle in your body pulsating, hurting and a nauseating feeling roars in your body. You’re lying on a couch in what looks like a warehouse … or a basement.

“He’s awake!” a familiar voice gasps.

Hedwig jumps up from a chair right by your head and waves for someone to come over. You hear the sound of people move closer. You try to pull yourself up on your elbows.

“You son of a bitch, Y/N”, you hear Silas say, a clear smirk in his taunting voice. “You thought that you could get away. How naive!”

“I want to put it on”, Jerry says and takes something from Edmund’s hands.

“Fuck sake, Jerry!” he hisses and pulls his hand quickly away. “I've told you to trim those nails!”

Jerry doesn't bother to answer. She walks over to you and slips something around your neck. You're too dizzy to realize what it is before it is too late. A collar and a leash. Like a dog. Just like they had promised.

“What an obedient dog”, she snickers. “Letting me put it on without protests.”

She tugs on the leash, causing your head to rip forward. The air in your throat gets abruptly cut off. Their laughter feels your aching head.

“Golden boy deserves a treat”, Edmund smirks and holds a piece of chocolate to your lips.

You turn your head away.

“Don't touch me!” you cough.

“A little too late for that”, Doctor Kry says and shrugs. “How do you think we got you here?”

You try to get up from the couch. Nausea roars through your body. Jerry pulls the leash towards her. You stumble before falling down on your knees, catching yourself with your hands on the hard cement.

“Just face it”, she says cockily. “You're too hungover to overpower us, and once you're sober enough you will already be broken. Don't bother to try anything. Hm, maybe he should stay on his knees, or what do you all think?”

“Stop fucking around”, Edmund sighs in annoyance and grabs the leash out of her hands, pulling harshly. “Stand up.”

It's on shaking legs that you manage to get on your feet. You're the same height as the king, but feel unbelievably inferior. Is it the collar around your neck, the degrading look in his eyes or the fact that you know what they're capable of that makes you terrified? You can't meet their eyes.

“This is humiliating, can you stop?” you hear Hedwig asks.

She's standing on the far end of their little line, a few steps away from them, with her arms hugging herself. Disgust covers her face.

“I feel nauseous just watching it”, she mutters.

“Don't worry, Hedwig, we're just playing with him”, Silas smiles and ruffles your hair with his hand. “We're not hurting him.”

“Hedwig shouldn't take him”, Edmund says. “I don't trust him.”

“What do you want?” you ask, trying your best not to sound like a pathetic little puppy.

“What did you do with the list of names?” Silas asks. “The one behind the painting.”

“And where is my fucking painting?” Edmund asks.

“The painting, I don't know”, you say and meet Silas black eyes. “Your list was hidden on board the ship, but my contacts have found it. They're on the way to arrest everyone on your list.”

“Oh, are they now?” he asks deadly calmly. “And I suppose that you are still their shining Golden Boy thanks to that?”

You lower your eyes.

“Or did someone get put on an indefinite hiatus because they're a security risk?” Silas continues, moving closer, tugging ever so carefully on the leash. “Are you sure that you're their favorite? You never seem to have much protection, despite the threat against you. Don't worry, Golden Boy, we will make sure nothing ever reaches you. We will make sure you stay hidden.”

“If they don't want to give us our note, we won't give them their darling dearest”, Jerry says, shrugging.

You feel a lump in your stomach. Your contacts will never give over the note … and in that case they'll never give you. Wonderful.

A tug on the leash brings you back to reality.

“It's healing quite nicely, don't you think?” Jerry asks, tilting her head to get a better view of the back of your neck.

“It's still fresh, it's nowhere near healing”, Doctor Kry says with his monotone voice, arms crossed over his chest.

Their eyes turn to your neck and you gulp, realizing that part of the pain isn't coming from your head, but from the back of your neck, easily mistaken as the brainstem. You lift your hand and try to touch whatever is hurting you. Hedwig picks up a pocket mirror from her pocket and hand it to you. You’re in disbelief when you see black marks on your skin, drawn in a strange symbol you have never seen before. The skin is swollen and tender to the touch.

“What is this?” you question in pure fear.

“We told you that you would be tattooed, didn’t we?” Silas smiles. “That tattoo is the symbol of my group. It’s somewhat of a trademark. Everyone who sees you will know that you belong to me.”

“I hate that you are the only one getting associated”, Edmund mutters.

“Well, I am the only one with a symbol, aren’t I?”

“You are so self centered.” Edmund puts his hand on Hedwig’s shoulder. “As if we haven’t got one?”

“‘Self centered’, you absolute hypocrite”, Jerry scoffs.

“I did not consent to this!” you shout angrily. “How could you just tattoo me when I wasn’t even conscious?!”

“It was pretty easy since you were, as you said, ‘not even conscious’”, Silas smiles teasingly.

“Enough of this foolishness”, Doctor Kry cuts in. “We have things to do. The train leaves tomorrow morning and we still have things to do.”

Train?

“Give the poor boy some food and make sure he sleeps”, Silas says. “It’ll be a long day for him tomorrow.”

They start to move towards the stairs of the basement, all but Hedwig who have went upstairs to get you a plate and Edmund — the man who’s holding the leash.

“You don’t have to be here”, she says. “I can take care of him myself.”

“I don’t trust him”, Edmund mutters angrily and wraps more of the leash around his hand. “He knocked Jerry over when she was guarding him and — fuck it — she is tougher than you. I am not letting him anywhere near you alone.”

“Can you at least let go of the leash?” Hedwig asks.

Edmund lets it go with great dramatic effect. You sit down on the couch with a thumping heartbeat. Hedwig sits down beside you, turning towards you. Edmund stands behind her, towering over the young woman like a giant, glaring at you. It reminds you of a lioness behind their cub.

“Are you hungry?” Hedwig asks and looks down at the plate. “I’ve watched my maid cook ever since I was a little child but I don’t have much experience with it myself so I apologize if it isn’t the best.”

“I’m nauseous.”

“Then some sleep will do you good.”

“What train did he talk about? I’m not going on some train!”

“You are”, Edmund says, “and you’re doing it tomorrow morning. In a box.”

You look at him, baffled. “What?”

He looks at you with mockery in his icy blue eyes. “Nobody told you? You’re getting a first class ticket. I heard that they make those wooden boxes are quite comfortable nowadays.”

“I’m not going in some fucking box!”

You stand up in a swift, aggressive motion. Not only will they bring you onto a train going to who-knows-where, but they’re also stuffing you in a trunk? No shame.

“Where are you taking me?”

“My father has a house on the coast, by the beach”, Hedwig replies. “You’ll like it. Hey, If you’re not going to eat, then will you please go to sleep?”

“I will not be able to sleep. If I have to drink myself to black out, do you really think I will be able to fall asleep here?”

Maybe you shouldn’t have said that. You don’t want to see a sympathetic look from her. It’s their fault, after all. They took everything from you … and now she’s looking at you as if she’s pitying you.

You refuse to sleep, refuse to even sit on the couch. It doesn't take long before the door to the basement stairs open and the sound of footsteps fill the air. You look up, seeing Doctor Kry walk down. In his hand, he holds a transparent syringe.

“I suppose that you are familiar with this”, he says and looks at the needle. “I thought that it was finally time for you to get acquainted with it.”

“Don't come close”, you warn him.

He's quicker than you've anticipated. Before you know it, you're tackled onto the hard floor. It knocks the air out of your lungs. Doctor Kry is stronger than you could have imagined. He doesn't look muscular underneath his clothes, and he probably isn't as muscular as Silas, but he is strong with firm grips. You try your best to fight against the needle coming closer to your neck.

“Goodnight, Golden Boy”, Doctor Kry says and finally punctures your neck with the sharp end of the needle.

He gets off of you immediately and you try to get up and run. You manage to get a few steps forward before your legs give up and you fall down on your knees. You start to lose your hearing, and your sight start to darken. Doctor Kry grabs your shoulders and pull you over to the couch. The last thing you see before it all turns back is his blue eyes staring down at you.

You’re not sure if you have opened your eyes. You try to shut them tight, then open them again. It’s just as dark. Your knees are pressed to your chin, arms folded over your chest. Panic rises in your body, suddenly feeling every single cell of your body and what it touches. Painfully aware that you’re squashed together in a wooden box.

“Let me out!” you shout and try to bang on the walls, floor and ceiling.

A harsh slap on the side of the box makes you flinch.

“Shut the fuck up”, Silas voice hisses through gritted teeth, shocking you for being too close. “Do not make a single sound, whatever you do.”

You breathe heavily and crawl together. For these past months, you’ve felt scared … but never like this. The only thing you can compare it to is that morning when you ran around the Normandie with the painting tucked under your arm. Your heart has never beaten that quickly before. And here you are now, in a wooden box with a dog collar around your throat and a tattoo in the back of your neck. The leash is gone.

They won’t kill you before they have gotten the list, right?

You hear men's voices and suddenly the box jerks. Your head slams against the side and you groan, quickly biting your lip to avoid making sound. Silas will probably punch you if you disobey his command. You form fists.

Whoever is handling the box does not care for it. It seems to go back and forth, up and down, with you hitting your head with every jerking motion.

Finally, finally, it stops. The moving, the sound, everything stops. You breathe out, listening. Where are you? Can you get out of the box? You try to push the top of the box, but it won’t budge. Neither will the walls. With a frustrated yell, you kick and then, in defeat, sink down again.

Silence keeps you company for what feels like ages. Suddenly, the ground under you start to shake and move. You gasp. The train!

It takes a while before the top of the box is moved. Bright light hits your eyes and you squint.

“Good morning”, Silas smiles and pulls you up from the box.

Your muscles are stiff and aching, popping when you try to move. Your legs threaten to give out.

“Ouch …”, you moan.

“Did you have a nice time?” Jerry smiles and claps your back.

You look around, blurry eyes being met by a cargo hold. Silas and Jerry are the only ones here.

“What are you doing?” you ask, stressed.

“What do you mean?” Jerry wonders.

“What do you want? Why am I out?”

“Did you think that you were going to spend the entire trip in the box?” Silas asks.

“Edmund said-”

“And you believe a single word that stuck up manchild says?” Jerry scoffs and grabs your arm. “Come now.”

They take you out of the cargo hold and into a thin corridor. Running along your left are cabins and to your right are windows. Silas opens a door and directs you inside the cabin. It’s a suite, and a gorgeous one a that. A king sized bed, couches, big windows, drapes and your own bathroom. Hedwig and Edmund sits on the couch doctor Kry is leaning against the window. Behind him, America swooshes past.

“Here he is”, Jerry says.

“What’s going on?” you stutter. “What do you want?”

“We are not going to let you be alone in cargo hold”, Silas says. “We are not monsters.”

I have other opinions.

“We’ve decided that you are going to be by our sides so that we can keep an eye on you”, Hedwig says and smiles. “If you are in the cargo hold you could die.”

“You’re not going to wear the leash because that will cause people to be suspicious”, Doctor Kry says. “Yes, we are not the only ones on this train.”

“You will not talk to any of them”, Jerry says.

“You will stay here in my cabin”, Silas says. “My second in command will be in Jerry’s cabin, so don’t think that you can do anything towards me. He’ll be just on the other side of the wall.”

Why does he have to be here too?

Everyone leaves the suite but Silas. You sink down on the bed with your head in your hands.

“Why do you do this?” you groan.

Silas sits down beside you. “You did this to yourself”, he says, voice weirdly calm. “You put your nose into the wrong business, knowing that it could put your life in danger.”

“It was my job.”

Was.

“I still don’t understand why they sent you on that ship without backup … or any kind of protection at all besides that pitiful gun. Almost like they wanted you to get caught.” Silas furrows his dark brows and looks at you, unreadable hint in his black eyes. “Are you even sure if they liked you at all?”

This has to be some kind of scare-tactic. Don’t fall for it.

“Of course they did”, you mumble. “I had a high position, a good salary … they liked me. They did.”

“Are you saying that to reassure me or you?”

Silas stands up and breathes out.

“Let’s go eat lunch, I’m starving”, he says. “You must be hungry too, I heard from Hedwig that you didn’t eat dinner last night. Come now.”

Silas walks out of the room, holding the door open out to the corridor. His words ring in your mind. Who are you trying to reassure?

“I’m not waiting all day”, Silas calls out. “You’re not getting lunch if you stay in there.”

You hurry to stand up and follow him out to the corridor, having to pass him on the way. The thin corridor is big enough for one of you. He walks closely behind you, peering over your shoulder. You’re led into a restaurant car with tables of four, each having seats instead of tables. The carriage is divided in two with a with a glass wall with open space where a door normally sits. Silas chooses one of these seats.

“Sit down”, he says. “Now. By the window.”

You give him a questionable look before sitting down in the seat closest to the window. Silas sits down beside you, blocking your escape to the middle aisle. His second in command is already sitting by the table in the seat in front of you. Silas holds three menus laying on the set table in front of you, giving you one.

“Choose what you want”, he says. “I have money.”

“I don’t doubt that”, you mumble. “With your dirty businesses you must make a lot of money?”

Silas scoffs, but there’s a small smile tugging on his lips. “More than you can imagine, Golden Boy.”

You start to look through the menu for things you like. You are, indeed, starving and head for a grilled salmon while Silas chooses a medium rare steak. When a servant is taking your orders, you look out the big window at the blurry obstacles whooshing by. Where are they taking you? You’re not leaving much, but you can’t bring yourself to start over. New York is not for you, not anymore, but you don’t want them to force you to leave your home. What will they do to you? You can’t give them the painting, you don’t know where it is anymore, and you don’t have the list of criminal names. You’re not sure that you will be able to be switched with it. You don’t have anything to offer them, but yourself … but why would they want you?

“Pretty quiet today, huh?” Silas says. “You usually quite quick-witted.”

You pull your eyes away from the window and look at him. It’s almost comical, how a secret agent is having lunch with a mafia leader and his second in command. You have done it before, but under much different circumstances.

“I don't have much to say”, you answer shortly.

Everything in your body is hurting, which isn’t weird since you’ve spent the night crammed into a wooden box. Your broken head is not a help.

Silas converses with his second in command — a man you haven’t heard talk more than necessary.

The food is served by a servant in a spotless tuxedo and slicked back hair. You thank him. It'd be so easy to let the words slip out of your mouth. A simple ‘help me’. The words are soft and rounded, it wouldn't be hard to pronounce them, but the fact that Silas and his second in command are sitting right here makes it impossible. The words are so simple. But as soon as he arrives, he disappears.

“I've heard that the food on board is tasty, it better be”, Silas jokes and his second in command chuckles quietly.

He has gotten beef with grilled asparagus. You pick up your knife and fork and start to eat in silence. Silas is right, it’s delicious. Better than any of the food you have aten these last few months. It makes you guilty for enjoying it.

“I have some rules, Golden Boy”, Silas says from beside you.

You look at him. You are not a Golden Boy. He said that himself. Silas meets your eyes.

“If you disobey us”, Silas starts, “by either trying to talk to someone, or come up with some stupid idea to get off the train, I will handcuff you to me, got that?”

Imagining being handcuffed to him, forced to join his every step, not have a single second to yourself is enough to make you shiver.

“Yeah”, you reply shortly. “I understand.”

You let your eyes wander through the restaurant car, at the other passengers sitting and enjoying their meals. An older man is reading the newspaper while enjoying a bowl of soup, a mother and daughter pair are eating cheeses while chatting. How many on this train belong to Silas? He wouldn’t travel with only one man.

“I’m thinking about getting another car”, Silas smiles at his second in command and shoots a fork full of steak to his lips. “Any tips of a model?”

“One of those Ford models”, he replies. “It was good enough for Bonnie and Clyde.”

The news of the infamous couple’s death broke out in May last year. Some colleagues had been working on that case, from what you remember. For years.

“I’m not Bonnie and Clyde”, Silas says and smiles. “But I’m a bit jealous of them. Imagine having a partner in crime like that. I mean, more than just a brother in arms, a love partner. Or what do you say, Golden Boy?”

You look up from your plate. Your vision has started to blur again.

“Don’t you want a love partner, hm?” Silas asks, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Someone to back you up when needed?”

“I don’t want to answer personal questions.”

He exchanges a look with his second in command before smiling into his plate. “You’re shy, I see. Didn’t know that you were so cute.”

You ignore him.

When lunch is done, Silas decides that it’s time for you to get back to the cabin. You get up, from your seat and scootch out into the middle aisle. You’re not sure if it is the moving of the carriage or your balance that causes you to stumble. Silas catches you by the arm.

“That wine you had with lunch didn’t make you drunk, did it?” he asks.

“No”, you reply and gulp. “It’s my head.”

“I see.”

You’re sure that it isn’t meant for you, but you can see how Silas gives his second in command a murderous look. Doctor Kry had told you that it had been Jerry and Silas’s second in command who had hit you with that glass bottle that night.

“You should go rest, Y/N”, he says and places his hand on your back to guide you.

He leads you back to your suite. The second in command closes the door behind him. You sit down on the couch, but Silas pulls you up again.

“What do you think that you are doing?” he asks. “The bed is over there.”

“I’m not sharing a bed with you”, you mumble.

“You are. Stop being childish and go to sleep.”

You’re pushed towards the bed. He’s quickly after you to pull the neatly fixed covers before you can change your mind. The mattress is softer than anything you’ve ever rested your back upon.

“Sleep”, Silas orders. “I will get you for dinner.”

He asks his second in command to keep an eye on you.

The gentle rocking of the train both soothes you to sleep and wakes you softly. You sit up and yawn. The second in command moves his eyes from the window. You can’t help but wonder if he ever does anything for pleasure or if he can turn off his emotions and needs whenever he wants.

You reach for a glass of water on the bedside table and halt. After everything they’ve done, you wouldn’t be surprised if the water is contaminated.

“It’s not dinner time”, the man says. “Back to sleep.”

“I’m not tired anymore.”

“Lay down.”

You sigh and lay down again, listen to the gentle rocking of the train against the rail. Last time you spent a night in a cabin with them was when you were tied on the floor. You should never have taken that mission. Your mind involuntarily drift to what Silas had said and feel how your heart squeezes in pain. It can’t be.

Suddenly, the door opens.

“Time for dinner”, Silas says. “Get up, you need to eat.”

You groan and pull yourself up from the bed. The second in command follows closely to the restaurant cart. One table can only fit four passengers. They have to separate three and three, and then you’ll have to choose whichever combination is the least bad.

Hedwig, Edmund and Doctor Kry … or Silas, Jerry and the second in command. You sit down besides Hedwig. Edmund is quick to have her change seats with you, so that you’re by the window and she’s blocking the exit out to the middle aisle. The girl smiles at you and takes your hand.

“You look much better without that inhumane leash”, she says.

“I think he looks better with it”, Edmund mutters and inspect his silver knife.

She ignores him. “What do you want to eat, sweetheart?”

You shrug, telling her that she can choose for you. You don’t say anything throughout dinner, even though Hedwig tries her best to spark a conversation with you. She talks about the scenery swooshing past outside the window, the beautiful interior, how much she has missed you and how happy she is to have you back. You drown it all out to the point of wondering if her voice is all just a hallucination.

You’re barely active during dinner, only being able to think about your — former — job. Heart feeling unbelievably heavy.

“I have to leave”, you whisper to Hedwig. “I have to be alone.”

“Are you okay?” Hedwig asks worriedly and watches how you stand up.

“I need to go.”

“I’ll come with you.”

She excuses the both of you from the table. You can feel the others eyes linger on you, burn right through you. You’re sure that Edmund wants to say something, but he keeps his mouth shut for once. Hedwig takes your arm and leads you back to the cabin carriage.

“I don’t understand why they’re so afraid of me being alone with you”, Hedwig giggles and opens the door to Silas’s suite. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

At this point you’re not sure what you would and wouldn’t do.

“Do you want to sleep?” Hedwig asks and walks over to the bed. “I can tuck you in.”

You lay down in bed and Hedwig makes sure that none of your body parts escapes the covers. She looks pleased with herself and lets her hand caress your cheek. Her hazel eyes look down at you with immense love and for the moment that is the only thing you can believe. That kind of look can’t be mistaken.

“Are you tired?” she asks softly, continuing to caress your cheek.

You nod, despite not feeling the slightest bit tired. Exhausted, but not tired.

“I will let you sleep”, she says and kisses your forehead.

You close your eyes, hoping that she will think that you’re asleep and leave the room. You need to be alone, but Hedwig is making it impossible. As long as she knows that you’re awake, she will cling onto you like a leech. She’s like a dog, a puppy.

But she doesn’t leave. You can feel her sit on the side of the bed, and without opening your eyes, you know that she is staring at you with that same look of extreme love. As if you are the most important thing in the world. Her sun, her solar system.

Eventually, she leaves. You wait a few seconds before opening your eyes and letting out a sigh. Lying down makes it hard to breathe. You try sitting up, but the pressure over your chest remains. You pull at your tie to open your airways, but neither that or buttoning up the first buttons on your shirt help. Your fingers claw at the window lock, but it remains in place. God, how badly you need air. You hurry over to the door and open it, exiting out to the corridor. They can get you, you don’t care. You need air and you need it now.

You walk through the claustrophobic corridor in the opposite direction of the dining hall. You reach a door with a window. The rails run away from the train, towards the horizon. You rip the door open and find yourself on a balcony. Fresh air roams around you and you grab onto the oval railing, breathing in deeply until your lungs can’t take anymore, welcoming the pleasurable feeling of light headiness. You sink down on the floor with your back towards the train’s wall, watching the surroundings disappear further away. The sun is setting in the horizon, like in a painting.

The thoughts return. Was everything a lie? Were you nothing more than a pawn? Why were you put on that mission? Did they know that you would be taken? Broken? Damaged? They didn’t bother give you any security or backup, and when you weren’t killed or taken, they use the trauma they caused to put you on hiatus and made you look at fault. You have worked for them since you left school, given them your everything. Did they want to get rid of you? Were you worth nothing more? Did they ever care about you?

Suddenly you’re aware of the tears running down your cheeks.

“There you are”, a voice sighs.

You flinch and look over your shoulder. Jerry is standing in the doorframe, holding her hands on either side. Out of all the people who could find you, why did it have to be just Jerry?

“Everyone is looking for you”, Jerry says.

“Didn’t mean to”, you mumble.

“You better have a good explanation.”

She sits down on the other side of the door, in arms reach of you. The door closes behind her, leaving the two of you on the balcony platform. It’s first now that she seems to notice that you’re crying.

“Oh, what’s wrong?” she asks in a sarcastic tone, clearly mocking you. “Feeling homesick?”

“No”, you sigh and look down at your hands. “Just leave me alone.”

“Can’t do, princess. You are not allowed to be alone, you know that very well. But sure, I can leave. I can tell the other that you have attempted to escape.”

Your hand shoots forward to stop her from leaving. “No, don’t say that!”

“Then tell me. Hurry up, princess, I don’t got all night!”

You sigh and rest your head back against the wall. She’s doing it on purpose, you think, riling you up to the breaking point so that she has something to punish you for.

“Jerry, stop”, you plead and hold your head in your hands. “I’m asking you nicely. Don’t do that.”

“In what position do you think you are to speak to me like that? Do I need to go get the leash to remind you who you are? Hm? Is that what you want, Golden Boy?”

The name breaks something in you. You feel so stupid. Like an absolute fool!

“Don’t call me that!” you shout. “I never was a fucking ‘Golden Boy’! They just used me! And I just let them do it! Like the idiot I am!”

Your head pounds worse than ever. You’re afraid that it is going to rip out of your skull. You can feel how Jerry moves closer.

“They never fucking cared about me”, you hiss. “No one does!”

“Now, who told you that?” Jerry sighs.

“It’s obvious! Just look at how they’re treating me! They wanted to get rid of me, that’s why they sent me on that ship, wasn’t it …?”

Jerry sighs heavily and runs her hand through her black hair. “Well, fuck … I don’t know what the fuck to say.”

“Be quiet, then.”

You don’t want to hear her ‘I told you so’ mantra. You’ve understood how much of an idiot you are, you don’t need her to remind you. She removes your hands and forces you to look at her.

“It does not fucking matter what they thought of you, okay?” she says. “I get that they tricked you but you’re never going back there, so drop them. They’re not worthy of your attention. Just look at what a mess you become when you think of them! And I don’t want to hear that shit again, about no one caring about you. We have looked for you day and night since that last night on the ship!”

“That’s different. You know that. You won’t get the list or the painting. If they wanted me gone, they won’t trade me for it. I’m useless to you.”

She sighs frustratedly and runs her hand through her black hair again.

“Fuck, I am not made for this”, she mutters and looks around for help, but the only thing nearby are the passing landscape. “Listen, Y/N, we could have done things a whole lot differently. We didn’t actually need you, alright? Not for business. Hell, we don’t even want the same things! Me and Silas are the only ones wanting the list. Edmund wants his painting. I don’t even know what the doctor and Hedwig want, but do you know the only reason why the five of us stay together? Because of you, dumbass.”

She grabs your head and holds it to her chest, letting you cry.

“The term ‘Golden Boy’ isn’t just because of your job, it’s more than that. Don’t take it the wrong way. Now stop talking like that, it is getting on my nerves. Pity yourself to someone else.”

Silence. You listen to the rattling sound, the wind and Jerry's irregular breathing.

“What did I do wrong?” you ask quietly, emotionlessly. “Why did they do that to me?”

“I don’t know, Y/N”, Jerry answers softly. “Some people are horrible. There is a difference between people who's openly bad, and those that pretend to be good but are rotting on the inside. I can’t stand those people. If you’re going to be a bad person, at least stand for it.”

“I feel like a fool.”

“You are a fool, but it isn’t your fault. You did what you had been told, like everyone else.”

“I wish that I knew why they decided to let me go … I mean, that way I could have prevented it … or fixed it.”

“Stop thinking about it. I told you that you’ll never deal with those people again. You’re with us now.”

You sigh. Listening to Jerry’s heart beat makes you want to laugh at how hard it is beating when she has acted like she doesn’t have one.

“Get up”, she says after a while. “We can’t sit here the entire night. It’s starting to get cold.”

You drag yourself up on your feet. Jerry takes your hand and leads you back inside. Warmth hugs you the second you reenter the thin corridor. She takes you back to Silas’s cabin where you find him arguing with his second in command. You catch something along the lines of ‘you hit him so hard he’s lost his mind’ and don’t have to think twice to know who he is talking about. A new punch in the chest. Does everyone view you that way? As a loser who can’t take care of himself after what happened? As a dog?

“Where have you been?” Silas asks angrily. “Wasn’t I very clear what would happen if you tried to leave?”

“I didn’t fucking try to leave!” you burst out, unable to do anything else beside matching his energy. “How could I when the train is moving at two hundred kilometers per hour?!”

“Yeah? What were you doing then?”

How dense is he?

“I tried to get one second to myself to try to think! My life is falling apart and no one is caring! Everyone is just mocking me!” Tears blur your vision. “Why is no one treating me like an actual human being?! No one respects me!”

Your knees give out. The carpeted floor does nothing when you fall. A few seconds pass where you’re left to sob in silence before a pair of arms wrap around you. They’re too muscular to be Jerry’s and the second in command would never touch you. It has to be Silas.

“Get up, Y/N”, Silas says. “You need to sleep. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

He tells Jerry to get the doctor and she disappears out of the room. Doctor Kry comes in two minutes later. In his hands he holds an identical syringe to the one he injected you with before you got onto the train. Silas holds you down as the sharp needle pricks your arm. You can feel the foreign — yet painfully familiar — substance enters your bloodstream. Damn them, you think before the darkness swallows you, damn all of them.

You wake up with him sitting by the round table. He’s already dressed. You wonder how long that syringe makes you sleep.

“Good morning”, Silas says.

“Hi”, you mumble as memories from yesterday wash over you, like an ice cold shower.

“I thought that you’ll stay here for breakfast. I’ve already ordered room service.”

Your eyes lay upon the silver tray with coffee, toast and waffles on the table, when you sit up.

“Jerry filled me in about what you talked about”, Silas says. “I don’t want more of that, got it? You don’t get to run around causing havoc like that. You need to tell us instead of getting a melt down. Surprise, we might actually help you.”

You scoff and roll your head against the headboard. “You don't want to help. You just want to hurt me.”

Silas sighs.

“Is that why I have tattooed my symbol on you?” he asks. “To hurt you?”

You don’t answer. How should you know?

“It never crossed your mind that I tattooed that on you so that you wouldn’t leave?” Silas asks. “Maybe because I want you here?”

“It doesn’t excuse what you have done.”

“Okay, maybe not, but ask yourself something, Y/N: where would you go if not here?”

You try to avoid his dark eyes. They burn right through you, confirming everything you have been thinking. You have nowhere to go, nowhere to stay. Nowhere where you are safe, nowhere where you feel like home. Not anymore. The only thing that kept you in New York was the pride in your job and now, if you go back, the only thing that is associated with that city is shame and hurt. With Silas tattoo on your neck, no one will want to have anything to do with you, for fear of him.

Silas leaves you be. He doesn’t ask you questions, doesn’t try to get you on better thoughts or distract you. He lets you sit by the table with him, lets you feel your feelings. Lets you try to sort out the fog in your head.

“How long do we have until we reach Hedwig’s house?” you ask after a while. “I’m getting tired of people.”

“Two days”, Silas answers. “You’ll like it. It’s far away from everyone and everything. You’ll be able to go somewhere quiet, where you can rest for once.”

The thought of resting makes you almost tear up. You can’t recall the last time you actually had a moment of peace.

“I don’t know what you want, I don’t have anything more to give you”, you mumble. “I don’t have the painting, or the list of names, or any contacts. You can’t trade me for the list, and it’s too late now. They’ve already seen the names.”

“We don’t care about the list anymore”, Silas says. “When are you going to realize that?”

“I don’t know. I can’t seem to … think.”

Silas grabs your neck and pushes your head onto his shoulder. You let him. And there it rests until you’re feeling better.

You decide to get out of the cabin before it’s going to swallow you whole. You make your way down the carriages until you get to the lounge. People sit chit-chatting in their seats, drinking tea. You wonder how many of them belong to Silas, how many eyes he has on board. You do your best not to stare at any of them. Instead, you walk towards an empty table and sit down by the window, staring out towards the horizon. You’ve never been so … lost before. And yet, you feel better — just a tad bit. One day at a time. Things will be fine. Hopefully.

“Good afternoon”, you hear a voice.

You look up to see Edmund carrying a deck of cards.

“ Have you finished sulking now?” he asks.

You don’t answer. Not even these kinds of stupid questions deserve stupid answers.

“If you have, why don’t we play a game of cards?” Edmund asks and sits down in front of you.

“Sure”, you sigh. “What do you want to play?”

“What can you play?”

“A little poker, I suppose.”

“Good. Let’s play.”

Edmund starts to sort the cards. He shuffles them skillfully.

“What do we play about?” he asks. “What do i get if I win?”

“What do i get if I win?” you conquer.

A spark ignites in Edmund’s eyes and for once, it gives him a human touch. He leans forward, over the table, and smirks.

“What do you want, Golden Boy?” he asks.

You think about it. What do you want?

“I don’t know”, you reply and when he rolls his eyes, you add: “I actually don’t know. A bit more freedom, maybe.”

“Oh, as in?” Edmund asks.

“Be able to walk around freely without anyone going insane, like yesterday. I can’t run anywhere on here, now can I? Just being able to go wherever I want on the train whenever I want would be a comfort.”

“Alright, I can work with that. And if I win?”

“What do you want?”

Edmund leans back in his seat and looks out the window, thinking.

“You need to call me ‘your majesty’ or ‘your royal highness’ from now on”, he says, looking pleased.

Any traces of humbleness is gone.

“Haven’t I been humiliated enough?” slips out of you before you have the time to stop yourself.

Edmund smiles boyishly. “Nope. Not nearly enough.”

There’s a small tug at your heart, and your first instinct is to feel offended … but you can’t help but feel relieved that, while the others are trying to keep you from breaking down, Edmund is still the same.

You smile slightly.

“Alright, let’s start”, you say.

He’s a skillful player with sharp eyes. You wonder who he has trained with.

“Oh, you’re an idiot, Y/N.”

Doctor Kry stands by the table, watching the table amusedly with his arms crossed over his chest. Edmund grins up at him.

“Aren’t I smart?” he asks and nods at you. “This dumbass has to call me by my title — as he should have from the start — from now on.”

“The game isn’t over yet”, you remind him.

“Just throw the towel in and die a hero. That way you’ll have some dignity left.”

“No.”

Edmund shrugs. “Alright.”

You’re not sure how, but you manage to beat him. Doctor Kry laughs behind his hand. Edmund glares at him.

“Beginner's luck”, he insists.

“Good job, your majesty, now you've given him free roam over the entire train”, the doctor says.

“Don't get so fucking happy, doc, I can still have you executed”, Edmund warns him with dark eyes. “I don't care if Silas has you under his protection.”

Doctor Kry doesn’t seem affected. “It’s just a day.”

“This motherfucker did quite much in a day last time.”

“I’d like to see our friend Axel Ainsworth trying to do his stunts here.”

You rise from your chair and bid farewell to the two men, happy to show that you are allowed to walk away. Your last day on board won’t be too bad, you reckon.

You take the time to sort out your thoughts and think. Sitting in the lounge, looking out the window with a glass of whiskey, listening to the sounds of the train moving and the other guests chitchatting. Your head starts to make sense, for the first time in months. Your heart beats in your chest. You hate them, hate what they did to you. How they played you. How they used you for bait.

“Can I sit down?”

You’re pulled out of your thoughts. Hedwig stands by the armchair in front of you, wearing a sweet pink dress. You nod. She squeals and sits down, looking giddy.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” she asks. “Maybe something to dilute the whiskey with? Drinking on an empty stomach isn’t good, you know?”

“What do you know about that?” you ask. “Are you a heavy drinker?”

“No, but Edmund is … and I guess that you can imagine how ha is when he is drunk.”

“I’m not drunk … but yes, i can imagine how he would be. He’s not the politest sober either.”

“He’s nice, in his own way.” She shakes her head, as if she’s shaking herself free from thoughts. “How are you feeling? I heard that you had some troubles. Do you want to share them with me?”

“No, I’m okay, I think I got it now. It’s been nice to sit and think … to deal with it myself.”

“What have you come up with?”

“That I don’t want anything to do with those bastards in New York anymore. If I had the list, I’d give it to Silas and Jerry. I wish I had written down the names.”

“You remember some of them, don’t you?”

She picks up a notebook out of her purse and places it on the table. A golden pen is connected to it.

“Write them down”, she says.

You stare at the notebook, questioning if you really should give away the little information you know. You would never have done that before. An old saying pops into your head — my enemie’s enemy is my friend.

You pick up the pen.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere oc x reader #yandere doctor #yandere oc #yandere king #yandere female #female yandere #yandere rich girl #male reader

293 notes · View notes

hedwig221b · 2 days ago

Note

Witch or magical Stiles recs..?

Hi! I did magical!Stiles fic recs here! This time, let's focus on witch!Stiles (my beloved)

A Thousand Fiery Suns of Angst - Just Press Play by apocryphal

All Stiles wants from life is to learn to control his magic, keep his grades up, and not die horribly while saving Beacon Hills from supernatural threats. It's all going pretty well until Derek Hale, werewolf extraordinaire, has to go and ask him on a date. That asshole.

The Wolf in the Tower by exclamation

Too many people are scared of witches so when Stiles accidentally sets a building on fire with magic, he is taken prisoner and dragged before Lord Hale. Rather than leave an untrained magic user free, Peter Hale thinks he might be able to make use of Stiles' skills and hands Stiles over to his sorceror Deaton to be trained. Stiles is still unsure about his future, but he's even more confused when he finds out that one of his new duties involves feeding the black wolf imprisoned at the top of one of the towers. There's something very strange about this wolf and Stiles can't help wondering if magic might be involved.

Dead Things by standinginanicedress

Derek blows some more smoke out. He chooses to look at Stiles’ mouth instead of in his eyes, again. “I need you to bring someone back.” “Back.” “From the dead.” “Absolutely not,” Stiles scoffs, shaking his head. “Not for you, not for all the money in the world.” Derek looks at him, just looks. He is not going to accept no for an answer, and Stiles knows it, but it doesn’t matter, because Stiles will not do that. He cannot do that, not again. “Why not for me in specific?”

For My Flesh Had Turned to Fur, and My Thoughts Had Turned to You by literaryoblivion

They’ve known about the other pack for quite some time now. They know the pack is young and small, formed together more by accident and necessity than anything else. But, they haven’t done anything about them because they’ve been fairly quiet, kept to themselves, and haven’t caused any trouble. That is until the Hales start hearing rumors about the McCall pack acquiring a very young and inexperienced but powerful witch. So Alpha Hale sends her eldest son, Derek, for all intents and purposes, to spy on the McCall pack and their so-called witch, to see what the truth of the situation is.

The Ink Under My Skin by rainsoakedshoes

Derek is looking for an Emissary. What he finds is Stiles Stilinski; resident witch. Stiles would do whatever it takes to protect the Hale pack and his Alpha. “I want to protect my pack as well as I can,” Derek continued. “Emissaries traditionally keep balance, having someone who wants to tip the odds in our favour may come in handy.”

Destiny is the Rising Sun by asswords

Stiles and Derek are best at keeping secrets – the biggest one being the fact that they knew each other long before Scott had to go and become a werewolf. (The second biggest secret belongs to Stiles, something about how he’s not allowed to tell Derek he’s the trusted advisor and kind of a witch.)

your fangs against my skin (the sound of your bones)

This was it, then, huh? It was that easy for Derek to invite someone to his den. Someone other than Stiles. He healed the wolf. Stiles killed his tormentor, mended his blood and bones, and let him sleep beside him. But none of it was enough. He wasn’t a spark, after all, but a witch — evil and alone, locked up in his tower. Witches didn’t get happy endings.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm

There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life. There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

These Scars Tell A Story (But It’s Not Mine) by HappyJuicyfruit

Derek’s eyes widened in confusion as Stiles babbled at him. “I know it’s not up to you, but you’re like, my guard, right? You’ve been keeping an eye on me? Tell your mom I wouldn’t lie about this, my dad deserves to stay here. He’s happy here, please let him stay!” Guard? Keeping an eye on him? “Stiles, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Stiles face crumpled, his hands clung to Derek’s shirt tighter as tears and snot dripped off his chin. Derek frantically tries to think of the right thing to say. “You think- you think I’m your guard? That I’ve been watching you to, what, make sure you don��t do any magic? Stiles, that’s ridiculous. Beacon Hills is a sanctuary for supernaturals. We allow people to use their magic. I was just trying to be your friend.” Stiles breath hitched. “My friend?”

#sterek #sterek fic #stiles x derek #eternal sterek #sterek fanfic #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek fanfiction #sterek fic rec #teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fic rec #derek x stiles #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf derek #hedwig221b replies #anon asks

187 notes · View notes

runnning-outof-time · 2 days ago

Text

“You Came.” “You Called.” | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Solomons Sister!Reader

Summary: Tommy Shelby and (Y/N) Solomons despise each other…….or do they?

Warnings: language, slight sexual situations, weapons, threats

Word Count: 1304

A/N: I’m sorry this isn’t as long as the others have been. I need to get these requests finished and this is what I was able to come out with. I hope you’ll still enjoy! Also I’ve tried something a little different at the end - hopefully you’ll participate and not be too mad at me for it! :)

A/N 2: Oh and this is the story where the Solomons!Sister won the poll — I’m not sure if it’s angsty enough…I tried my best with it. Also I’m sorry if Alfie seems ooc here…it’s been a bit since I’ve written him and I’m rusty.

COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! — I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THE STORY!

comment/message me if you’d like to be tagged!

"You came," she sounded surprised.

"You called," his response was nonchalant.

"Yeah, but I didn't call you."

The story of Tommy Shelby and (Y/N) Solomons is a long, complicated one.

To give a quick summary: they first met the day that Tommy showed up at Alfie's 'bakery. She was the first to greet him and instantly was able to realize that there was more to his motives than what he was letting on.

She was cautious when dealing with him at first, but his charm soon enough chipped away that hesitant exterior she'd put up.

Neither could help but cross the line one late evening after a successful business dinner.

She thought that that would be the end of Tommy Shelby. But now he'd shown up at her door...when she was expecting her brother.

"Where's my brother?" (Y/N) asked, looking to either side of the doorway, hoping that Alfie would be close by.

He wasn't.

"He's busy," Tommy answered.

"So he sent you?" she asked, her brows furrowed.

"Not exactly," he shook his head.

"I'm not understanding what you're saying. Ollie told me that he'd take a note down for Alfie and that he'd inform him as soon as he became available." (Y/N) was confused now.

"I saw the note," he began, "took it upon myself to see what was needed to be discussed."

(Y/N)'s jaw just about dropped. "Tommy, why did you...would you, you shouldn't, you..."

"My name was on the note, love," he cut off her attempt to string words together.

"Just because it was on the note does not mean you were to be involved!" she couldn't stop her voice from raising, her eyes widening as she spoke. Now she was wondering how Ollie had phrased his note to Alfie. A few beats passed before a sigh escaped her lips. She ran a frustrated hand across her face before asking, "what...what did the note say?" Her thoughts had gotten the best of her.

"It said that you needed to speak about Shelby...had some information you wanted to be made known," he answered her, his eyes boring into hers. (Y/N) opened her mouth to say something but he didn't let her, taking a step inside, making her back up in the process. "What is it you wanted to tell him, hmm?"

His close proximity made her heartrate increase. She was quickly losing her ability to think. "Tommy, I..."

"What really was your goal last night, (Y/N)?" he asked her, his brows raising.

The willpower to keep her hands by her sides and not reach out to take hold of him was leaving (Y/N) by the second.

"I thought your intentions aligned with mine..." he trailed off, raising his hand so that he could run it down her jawline in a slow, teasing manner, "at least it seemed that way when you brought me back here."

Instead of dropping his hand when he reached her chin, he grasped it; taking it between his thumb and index finger so that he could raise her fleeing eyes to match his. This action made the breath get caught in (Y/N)'s throat, and every valid argument left her mind the second her eyes locked onto his icy blue ones. All hope was lost now.

"What are your intentions with me, (Y/N)?" he asked her.

"You know them, Tommy, I.." she couldn't quite string a thought together.

"Tell me."

"I.." she paused again, interally freaking out. Think of something, anything, (Y/N), come on! "I wanted to tell him about you...about us," she decided on telling him a lie, hoping that he would take it as the truth.

"Yeah?"

She couldn't decipher what he was truly thinking from his one word response. His widened eyes didn't help either, other than making her fall deeper into his trap with each second that passed. Now she was wracking her brain to think of ways to sell this.

The last thing she wanted to tell him was that she was going to sell him out...to tell Alfie what she felt his true intentions were.

"Yeah," she breathed, nodding her head as much as she could with his fingers still holding her chin. Sell it, (Y/N)!, her mind screamed before she raised her hands up to grip his lapels. All coherent thoughts flew out the window as she leaned in and kissed him.

This wasn't a loving kiss. It wasn't a slow one, unlike the ones they shared last night. She kissed him hard, hoping that the passion she put into it would be enough to get his mind off of the damn note and seal her lie for good.

His hold tightened on her chin, but he didn't break the kiss. In fact, his other hand moved from his side to her hip, where he began bunching up her skirt in order to make contact with her bare skin.

Success.

(Y/N) also became absorbed by the passion that they both were showing. It was hard not to given the fact that he was Tommy Shelby. The night they shared was one of the best she'd ever had. Conniving business man or not, she would remember it for the rest of her life.

"What in the bloody fucking hell is going on here?!"

What (Y/N) did not remember before getting sucked into this situation was to shut the door to her home.

Her eyes shot open and she became frantic, trying to break the kiss and move away from Tommy as quick as she could. "Alfie!" she shrieked, surprise clear on her face.

"Why're you fucking kissing my sister, mate?!" Alfie asked Tommy, speaking with a seething anger.

While (Y/N) was just about shaking from the shock of her brother showing up, Tommy didn't seem to be phased.

"Alfie he...he was just..."

"No," Alfie cut (Y/N) off, shaking his head and stopping her attempt to cover for the man now standing beside her, "I asked him not you. He knows family is off-fucking-limits, so I want him to answer me why."

Tommy said nothing. (Y/N) shrunk into herself more and more with each passing second. She'd never seen Alfie this angry.

"I said fucking answer me!" Alfie bellowed, drawing the revolver he had tucked into his waistband. He wasted no time in cocking it and holding it in Tommy's face.

Tommy still didn't move; didn't even flinch.

"You're going to fucking answer me," Alfie demanded, his voice low and menacing, "yeah, you're going to fucking answer me or it'll be your fucking brains blown out all over (Y/N)'s fucking foyer."

"Alfie, don't," (Y/N) begged her brother, reaching a shaky hand out in hopes that he would see it and lower his weapon.

"She called for you," Tommy spoke, his voice level and stoic.

"She fucking what?" Alfie asked, his brows furrowing slightly, confused by why Tommy was saying this.

“She called your office. You weren’t around. But my name was on the note,” Tommy shared more details.

“And what does that have fucking anything to do with you fucking kissing my sister?!” Alfie’s anger had returned.

“It has everything to do with it,” Tommy was still level-headed. “You see, she was going to tell you about this, about us,” he then dropped the bomb, motioning between himself and (Y/N) to emphasize the point he was making.

“I can explain,” (Y/N) was quick to blurt out, her eyes trained on the gun in Alfie’s hand, which he’d - thankfully - lowered from being aimed at Tommy’s head.

She couldn’t read the look in her brother’s eyes. The seconds felt like hours as they passed. She stood frozen as Alfie rose the revolver again and…….

Ok I’m evil, I know but……..

Don’t fret, if the poll’s closed by the time you’re reading this, you’re still more than welcome (and I’d encourage you, actually) to share what you think would happen next!!

p.s….this story won’t be getting continued. I’m just curious as to what y’all think.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings

@just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @mischievouslittlecreature @stevie75

@lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick

@dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety

@justrainandcoffee @dragons-are-my-favorite @mrs-bond @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader

@red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

@ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo @novashelby

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

190 notes · View notes

whateverloomis · 2 days ago

Text

Dilf!Billy Loomis x AFAB reader (Stepcest)

I honestly think Billy would be hella single as a grown ass man but for this one let's imagine he's maintaining a shallow relationship to get away with another killing :p

Warnings: Stepcest, predetermined family, fingering, teasing, p in v, roughness, infidelity, unprotected sex, dirty talk, daddy kink, slight degradation, mentions of Stu, age gap (middle aged Billy and reader in their 20s,) AFAB reader (no pronouns,) unedited

Your mother had never been shy with her love life. She's had multiple partners after your dad passed away. Random hookups with attractive older men happened pretty often too. You're sure it's all been to fill the void and drown the unwanted emotions.

You've never really had the best relationship with her, you bud heads a lot and have grown distant since your biological dad passed, not to mention the countless arguments about every little inconvenience.

For that reason and many others you haven't been secretive about the attraction towards your step father, Billy Loomis. You don't care if he actually loves her or not. You'll let any selfish thoughts cross your mind and oh boy, you want that man inside you as soon as possible.

He's been living with you and your mother for 2 years and as time went by it got more difficult to contain yourself around him, especially since he openly flirts with you and you swear that one of these days you're going to jump on his cock the second you find a chance.

One particular day your mother left for the weekend on a business trip. You were more than sure that she'd been cheating on Billy with his best friend, Stu Macher. They've worked together for years and it's so obvious that they've got something going on.

To be completely honest, you wouldn't mind having Stu as your next step father. He's just as hot as Billy and you never miss the way that he checks you out whenever you're around him. Gosh, if you could have both of them at the same time you know you'd cum the second they both lay hands on you.

Being alone with Billy for the weekend was going to be difficult. You haven't hooked up with anyone in so long and touching yourself isn't satisfying anymore. The way he shamelessly walks around shirtless with sweatpants that highlight his cock drives you crazy and you don't know how you'll survive around him.

Because of that you were feeling bold. You wanted to risk it all, and you did.

It was a Saturday morning and you wake up ready to take the day off to relax after a long week. After you brushed your teeth and showered, you went to the kitchen in just a thong, a thin cotton crop and knee high socks. You knew Billy would walk in the kitchen any second after hearing the water turn off in the shower and were ready to pounce at any moment.

"Well good morning to you too." The sound of his deep voice instantly sent shivers down your spine.

Billy was standing against the countertop behind you shamelessly looking at your exposed ass and gorgeous legs. His hair was damp from the shower and slicked back. No shirt on. Grey sweatpants. He was out to hunt and you were his easy prey.

Turning around, you smiled innocently at him and pointed at the stove, "You want pancakes? I'm making myself some."

Billy could see right through you and he wasn't playing your games.

At your question he chuckled and walked towards you. His hands instantly found your waist and his eyes captured yours, "I'm hungry for something else," he said and squeezed your flesh slightly, his eyes lingering on your tits before scanning your face.

He was driving you mad. You couldn't help but bite your lower lip to suppress a pathetic moan that threatened to come out of you.

Billy seemed to notice and smirked at your reaction, "I don't think your mother would like knowing you're walking around the house looking like that while I'm here," he said and it was your turn to chuckle at his nonchalant comment.

"I don't think she'd like to see her husband grab me like he is right now but here we are," you answered and he lost it.

Billy ran his hands down and under your ass cheeks before picking you up. He sat you on the counter and positioned himself between your legs. His large hands rested on your thighs and he occasionally squeezed them.

"Don't use that tone with me," he said half serious and you laughed teasingly as his words.

"Why? Is daddy gonna ground me? Hm?" you teased further and Billy grabbed your face with his right hand under your jaw, making you look into his eyes. You smirked at him and that was enough, the man crashed his lips against yours and kissed you hungrily.

You were desperate. Both of you were. Your hands were tangled in his hair and he was holding you impossibly close to his body. He groped your ass as you rocked against him slowly.

He was hard and needy before, but having you like this was going to make him cum right then and there if he wasn't careful.

Billy slid one of his hands from your ass to your hip, down your inner thigh and finally over your core. He felt the wetness through the fabric of your thong and he gasped at you mockingly, "I've barely touched you and you're already soaked," he said and you whined softly. So desperate to feel him inside you. Your body ached for his cock.

The man couldn't contain himself much longer. He was already pulling your panties to the side and playing with your cunt. Rubbing your sensitive bud in circular motions and running his fingers down to your throbbing hole, dipping them just enough to pleasure you but not enough to satisfy the craving. He was torturing you. Torturing himself.

"Mm... Billy please," you moaned and grabbed his big hand, pushing his fingers all the way inside you and whining at the feeling of finally being filled up. It still wasn't enough but fuck did it feel amazing when he started to fuck you with his fingers.

You throbbed around him and he groaned at the feeling.

"Fuck baby, you feel so good... I bet you'll feel better around my dick," he whispered in your ear as you fucked yourself with his fingers.

You grabbed his cock and felt how big he is. Gosh you were so right when you imagined him as you rode your dildo in your room alone at night.

"Mmphh... Please fuck me," you begged and Billy pulled his fingers out of your cunt, sucking on them teasingly and moaning at your taste.

He pulled you towards him by your thighs and you wrapped your arms around his neck instinctively. He held your legs around his middle and carried you to his and your mother's bedroom.

After he released you, you crawled on the bed and positioned yourself on the edge on all fours, giving him a perfect view of your behind. You slowly removed your thong for him and revealed your glistening cunt.

Billy groaned at the sight and pulled his sweatpants down just enough to release his throbbing cock. He wanted to eat you up and taste your whole body but right then he couldn't handle the sight of your waiting hole. He'd been wanting to bury himself inside you for so long, and when he finally did you both moaned at the same time.

He didn't bother to wear protection and you honestly didn't give a fuck at that point. You didn't care if your stepfather knocked you up, as fucked up as it sounds.

"Ahh fuck... Harder Daddy, harder!" You nearly screamed, and to that he complied.

Billy grabbed your hips harshly and pounded you hard enough that you felt his cock all the way up your stomach. He pressed your head against the mattress, your back arched perfectly for him and the sight of your ass cheeks bouncing against him was nearly enough to make him cum inside you, but he was smarter than that of course.

"Getting fucked by your stepfather, who does that?" He shamed you and it made you throb around him. You were nearly going to cum just by hearing his words, it was a chase for release between the two of you.

After a few more thrusts the knot inside you finally broke as his tip brushed against your gspot. You came around him and screamed at the feeling of the intense waves that were coursing through your body. You had one, two, three mini orgasms after the big O and fuck you needed more.

Billy nearly bust his load inside your sweet pussy, but he managed to pull out and cum all over your back. He took a mental picture at how good your body looked covered in his seed.

"I'll clean up the mess for you," he whispered teasingly before giving you a lingering kiss.

As he walked into the bathroom you heard the front door open. Your mom and Stus voice echoed in the living room.

Fuck.

"I'll take care of it..."

•

I know I know, we hate cliffhangers but I love teasing y'all :p ;)

Hope you enjoyed reading <33

#billy loomis smut #billy loomis x reader #ghostface smut #ghostface x reader #ghostfacesmut #billy loomis x you #scream (1996)#stu macher smut #stu macher x billy loomis #stu matcher x reader

180 notes · View notes

puckinghischier · 22 hours ago

Note

What do I have to do to get some filthy Nico thoughts this morning? Xoxo

not much, honestly

was thinking about how absolutely rabid he’d be after that canes game, all high on winning. but unfortunately for him, you’d be out of service for a few more days, mother nature having paid you a visit a couple of days ago. of course you’d help him out, giving him a nice, long, treat on your knees to reward him for the victory, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until he could have all of you.

he’d be such a little menace about it too. snaking his arms around you while you’re in front of the mirror, doing your hair, letting them rest dangerously low on your waist. little smacks to your ass anytime you pass by him. waking you up in the morning by rutting his morning semi against your ass.

and when the two of you are out in public? god, he’s almost worse than when you’re at home. drinks with the guys turned into you being trapped in the booth, nico’s hand resting high on your thigh, fingers brushing you over your underwear. you knew wearing this dress was risky, especially with how he’s been the last couple days, but you figured since you would be out with the guys he’d be on his best behavior. but of course you were wrong. his long pinky makes long, drawn out circles on your barely covered clit, working you up continuously just to casually slide his hand away. only to do it all over again every ten minutes.

then, when you came to visit him at the rink for lunch, he was dragging you into a random corner, kissing you like he was trying to take all of the oxygen from your body. his heavy frame pinning you against the smooth wall of whatever deserted hallway you were in. he knew you were close to being his again, having his own tracker app on his phone for your cycle. which also means he knew you were in the stage where you were becoming increasingly more desperate and horny as the hours ticked by.

“nico…not here. please. you know we can’t. just another day or so,” you’d pant out, so close to just letting him have his way with you anyways. his response would be a hand coming up to cup over your sex, digging the palm of his hand into your clothed clit. “just think of everything you could’ve had already. all the fun you’ve missed out on, caused me to miss out on” he whispers gruffly in your ear, biting the sensitive skin there. “don’t you think i finally deserve my reward for having such a good game the other night?”

you let out a harsh gasp, the sight of your open mouth and perfect tongue poking out combined with your wild eyes nearly enough to make him start ripping clothes off right here, not a care in the world if anyone would see the two of you or not. he brings a hand up to pinch your bottom lip between his fingers, pulling the skin out. he has the urge to do something he never has before, which is letting a dribble of spit drop directly from his mouth into the small pocket created by your outstretched bottom lip.

he watches your pupils dilate in surprise, releasing your skin so it snaps back into place. he looks down at your throat, watching you swallow the saliva he just transferred to you. he smirks, knowing by the look on your face, and clench of your thighs, he’s almost got you.

you hear footsteps approaching the two of you, straightening up and pushing nico away from you only slightly, not wanting to get caught in a compromising position in his workplace. an equipment manager rounds the corner, looking up when he notices the two of you and waves.

“hey cap! got that new stick in you were wanting! on my way to go pick it up now, actually. meet me out on the ice?” he waves in greeting, cheery attitude showing he’s excited about the delivery.

“sure thing! see you out there in a few!” nico responds just as enthusiastically, a stark contrast from his demeanor mere seconds ago. you both watch the man retreat down the hallway, having given you a small wave of goodbye, which you returned.

“okay well…i’ll…uh…see you at home, yeah?” you clear your throat, hardly able to concentrate on the words you’re speaking.

“mhmm. see you in a bit,” he places a kiss to your forehead, backing away from your still stunned figure. “oh! and stop by the kitchen on your way out. grab a water, you seem a little…thirsty,” he smirks at you as he walks backwards, teasing you for just how quick you were to accept and swallow his spittle moments ago.

that night when he returned home, he couldn’t find you anywhere. you weren’t in the living room on the couch, in the small kitchen, in the bedroom. when he called out your name you emerged from the shared walk in closet, clad in his favorite lingerie set of yours.

“good news, neeks,” is all you managed to get out before he was stomping towards you, backing you against the floor-to-ceiling shelving of the closet. a few shoes dropped off the shelf at the force of his actions, but that was the least of your worries right now. you could fix them in the morning, considering the two of you never managed to leave the space the whole night, waking up on the carpeted floor to his soft snores, one of his suit jackets draped over your naked body as a makeshift blanket.

184 notes · View notes

missingininaction · 2 days ago

Text

alright, friends, i might say something you don't like but i think it's important. not just to defend a character, but because i think this is literally making people's experience and relationship with this game worse.

give jimmy like two seconds to exist.

by hating jimmy so much you refuse to even say his name, and judge real, living people for liking him, you are cheapening your experience by boiling down the main character to the most ~yuckiest~ moments. and, by not making a seperate space for hating on him, you are drowning out the voices of people who actually have nuanced things to say about his character. you know, the skilled writers and artists that feed the fandom? limitation is what kills fandoms, you have to know that.

is jimmy a good person? no. is he a good captain/companion/worker? Absolutely Not! he crumbles like dust under any pressure and he immediately shifts blame off of himself, he is an actively harmful individual and it's right to be upset by his actions. i literally had to stop myself from saying "man FUCK jimmy." multiple times because i didn't want to spoil how terrible he got to my friends when i showed the game to them.

but you have to understand; people are more than their actions. thats part of the entire point of the game. thats why its so abstract. you are meant to think about the nuances of their situation.

we can agree that anya was way more as a woman than what happened to her and what she did as a result of it, right? that despite her best efforts, she was a victim of circumstance, and she deserves to be understood and analyzed fully?

then why, seeing a fictional man who has done immoral things, are you so disgusted you won't even draw, write or discuss him outside of hate? what is that doing for you, to ignore literally the main character of the game because of his actions?

now, this is not to say people can't hate jimmy. i understand it! as someone who has been a victim of s/a and abuse, i understand if you hate him and are even triggered by him to the point of avoiding mention of him. (but...why are you in this fandom? ((not aggressive im genuinely asking)))

you can feel however you want about any character, my goal is not to control people. but i thought it was common knowledge to not hatepost about someone in their tag? over actual insight into his character and, you know, the main themes of the game?

jimmy is a man who has struggled his whole life. both him and curly confirm that in the game. he's unable to control his emotional outbursts, and he likely had no idea what to expect from being in fucking SPACE for over a year with people he probably didn't even know before that trip. and pony express and their corporate safety corner cutting certainly didnt help, did it?

for one reason or another, he most likely was never actually taught how to manage his emotions. that's just how it is sometimes, growing up as a man. and it would make sense if he was forced to deal with everything himself, no? he always complains, but he still says he'll handle it. because that's what he's always had to do. and this is just the start of what i could say about what made him the way that he is.

he's a victim too, not only of his own actions.

surprise surprise, people who do awful things can also be victims.

honestly, this entire situation baffles me. how are you going to avoid one of the main characters of the game, let alone the one you play as ninety percent of the time? mind you, curly is also guilty, and i am happy to see at least some people giving him space for nuance. because he is also a victim!!! why is it so impossible to see jimmy as nuanced, when literally every other character also has incredible depth to them??

you're tarnishing and spitting on the beautiful writing of this game just because one character is too icky for you to feel comfortable thinking about for too long. it's horror, you absolute morons. it's supposed to make you uncomfortable.

if you hate jimmy, i dont blame you. but please, please, make your own space for it. be kind to people who want to explore jimmy and the darker themes, and like him for what his character represents. this is a video game fandom, not a witch hunt. and please, learn some fandom etiquette while you're at it, okay? okay. thank you

also just say his name. its not a slur youre not gonna go to hell if you say jimmy. like this isn't as important but still it just feels like a microcosm of this whole thing.

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing jimmy #jimmy mouthwashing #mouthwashing crew #mouthwashing spoilers #mouthwashing anya #mouthwashing analysis #i am seriously so tired of seeing this #i tried to word this as nice as possible but #GggRRRAAHHH #HES A FICTIONAL CHARACTER HE IS MEANT TO BE EXPLORED.

160 notes · View notes

01zfan · 3 days ago

Text

good luck charm | l. sh

basketball player!sohee x physical trainer!reader | 7.5k words

finally a happy sohee fic who cheered? anyways every since the we riize basketball episdoe i've been jonesing to write a basketball player sohee fic.

contains: fwb relationship, pining kinda, sex without a condom (don’t be like them)

You were trapped in another period of doom scrolling when you heard the whistle blown in the gym. Instantly you turned your phone off and got down from the table, throwing your backpack over your shoulder before heading to the door. You did a once over of the room, looking to make sure everything was in its place before turning off the lights and locking the door.

You heard the projected voice of the coach in the gym over the music in your earbuds, but you didn’t rush yourself to hear the ending notes of the practice. Each time it was the same—Get rest, Show up on time for the game tomorrow, Don’t embarrass our team—said to a group of sweating boys who wanted nothing more than to leave.

You put the keys to the examination room in your pocket the same time you used your body to open up the door to the gym. The door never seemed to get lighter or quieter, the sound of it unlocking echoed off the walls. The team barely spared you a glance as you came in, hearing exactly what you thought you would. The janitors were already coming in to clean up the sweat off the floor and prepare for the game tomorrow. The coach insisted on talking even when the buffer machine came in, whirring and loud on the waxed floors of the court. The basketball team tried their best to focus, but you could see so clearly their minds were starting to wander as their bodies became restless. Some of them sat on the court and others stood, some of them still had their jerseys on and some of them were completely shirtless as they waited for their coach to finally be done.

“I’m surprised you’re still here.”

Giselle, the student manager, whispered into your ear when you went to stand beside her. She was off to the side, putting away the rolling cart filled with basketballs into the supply room when you started making a beeline to her. Standing next to the coach was just asking for him to put you on the spot, telling you to instruct the team on how to properly take care of their bodies. Ever since that incident you settled for standing off to the side towards the bleachers, out of his line of sight and ear shot.

“Someone has to stay.” You adjusted the strap on your backpack as you both sat down on the bottom row of the bleachers. “I was the only one left.”

“Doctor Kim left early?” Giselle turned to you and you nodded. She scoffed before leaning back to grab her duffle bag, putting it over her shoulder. She smoothed out her hair and continued looking forward, speaking to you quietly. “I can’t blame him. No one had been getting injured lately.” She said.

“It makes my job really boring.” You added honestly.

Sohee was pulled from another tirade from his coach when he heard Giselle’s laugh. A few members on their team faced the two of you on the bleachers before going back to the coach, but Sohee lingered on you. Honestly he never stopped giving you attention, the moment you walked into the gym he watched you in his peripheral, looking at his coach but focusing on you. It was harder to pull away from your face as you smiled proudly at making your friend laugh before telling her to quiet down. He felt himself smile just by looking at you. He absentmindedly played with the lace of his shoe, his coach’s words being banished to the furthest part of his mind.

“We have a game tomorrow, don’t forget to rub your good luck charms and pray to your God’s tonight.” He said.

Sohee’s attention was all focused on you that he noticed how quickly you snapped your head towards the coach. As if good luck charm was your name and he shouted it, your eyes were widen in attention for a split second before you relaxed. After your eyes found the coach it drifted to Sohee, as if you felt him already looking at you. The sudden eye contact caused you to look away and it caused Sohee to look down at the basketball court. He sat right on the half court line, his finger traced over the thick line before leaning back on his hands.

“I’ll see you boys tomorrow.” The coach said.

Instantly the atmosphere of the gym changed. As if someone let out a pensive exhale everyone relaxed, someone even cheered that practice was finally over. Sohee stood up from the court and his teammates started going through the doors, filtering into the locker rooms to shower and head home. Sohee watched you and Giselle get up from the bleachers, talking to one another as you two headed straight for the exit. He barely moved from his spot on the court before you were out, pushing your body against the door and leaving it opened with one hand so Giselle could follow after you.

When Sohee made it to the locker room, people were already showering. Some of his teammates omitted the shower entirely, just throwing on their sweats before heading back to their dorms. Sohee couldn’t blame them, many of his teammates were actually going home to rest before the game. Sohee on the other hand didn’t have plans to sleep until way later into the night. He was technically only here in the showers buying time, waiting for you to get to your dorm so he could send you the infamous text.

Before pulling his change of clothes from his duffle bag he pulled out his phone, fingers sliding and tapping over the glass screen before pressing send.

Sohee: i have a game tomorrow.

Almost immediately, he saw you typing a response.

i know sohee

His teammate went to a locker beside him, opening it up before closing it loudly. Sohee was sure he said something to him in passing, but he only offered a head nod before going back to the conversation. He was biting his lip to hide his smile as he thought about you texting him while walking with your friend. He’s made tremendous progress, before you used to not bother texting him until you were completely alone.

Sohee: you know

Sohee: you’re my good luck charm

Sohee: my biggest fan

Sohee: so i should come over

Sohee: so we can win tomorrow.

The trick was to send you a flurry of texts at once. He didn’t know if multiple messages loosened you up but it always worked in his favor. Sohee leaned against the open door of his locker seeing the text bubble appear at the bottom, already knowing what it was going to say. He already had the response locked and loaded, his finger resting over the send button.

my place is a mess.

Sohee: that’s okay.

alright.

knock when you get here.

Sohee was giddy as he closed the door to his locker and headed to the showers. He couldn’t get rid of the smile on his face as he showered, he grinned while shampoo ran down his face and smiled like an idiot when he was done. He went over your text messages a million times as he walked across campus. To anyone else the alright was ordinary, maybe even less than that. But to Sohee, being able to see your place in disarray or anything else than perfect was the highest honor.

In the beginning when you first started seeing Sohee, he remembered that you apologized profusely for any semblance of a mess. You apologized for a few dishes in your sink and unfolded hand towels. If you couldn’t drop a quarter on the taut sheets of your bed you equated your place to a pig sty. One time when he came over you forced him to wait outside as you cleaned your place. Sohee remembers waiting in the courtyard of your dormitory building, counting the minutes until you finally sent him the text that he was good to come in. You answered the door disheveled and breathing heavy, and when he tried opening your closet for a spare change of clothes you nearly screamed Wait! so the pile of things you couldn’t put away properly wouldn’t be revealed.

Sohee couldn’t believe it took him three weeks to finally see a mess in your room. He also couldn’t believe how excited he was to see it. He would’ve never thought seeing clutter on your counter space for the first time would bring a smile to his face, that your unmade bed somehow seemed more comfortable than when the sheets were tucked in neatly at the corners. He liked seeing your open textbooks with your messy notes and a week’s worth of unfolded laundry pushed to the corner of your room. He enjoyed seeing your dirty dishes a little too much and seeing your shy face when you quickly bent over to pick up dirty laundry you forgot was there.

He blames what Anton dubbed his “mess-kink” on the fact that he spent half of the season trying to see the inside of your room. You guys met in too open of a setting, shoulder to shoulder in the living room of a cramped house party one of his teammates threw. For some reason the team thought that the best way to start the season was to pack everyone like sardines into an off-campus apartment and supply everyone with shitty liquor. There were no snacks, no chasers, just extremely cheap vodka and loud music. It was a perfect storm and it pushed you right into Sohee, or made you fall into him. One second he was talking to his friends and the next he was turned away from them completely, holding onto your forearm to keep you upright.

“You good?” Sohee slurred.

Sohee turned quickly to his friends, but they didn’t notice his absence in the conversation. No one could’ve noticed anything. people were practically stacked on top of eachother in the tiny space, pushing one another as they rocked to the music. Sohee truthfully wasn’t all the way there either. He was never the drinker but he wanted to have a good season, even if it came at the cost of being sick at early morning practice the next day. He was already feeling the effects from the tiny amount he had, and he tried forcing moments of sobriety when he heard the syllables of his words drag. He didn’t know you were even further gone until you were upright but still kept your eyes on the side of his face instead of looking at him in the eyes.

“You good?” He repeated.

“Your moles are pretty.” You said.

Sohee couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Here you were, halfway to the floor but you found more important things on the side of his face, letting your eyes run up and down his cheeks like you were trying to map something. Sohee pulled on your arm but you seemed to be in a trance, only snapping out of it when he spoke to you again.

“Thank you.” Sohee said.

When he lightly pulled on your arm you finally stood up. Sohee looked at your lips, how you chewed on them when you finally started looking at the other parts of his face.

“Are you alright?” Sohee asked you again.

You nodded your head, but Sohee still wasn’t sure if you heard him or not. You had a far off look in your eye, bleary and glassy from all the alcohol. He was sure he matched you, the longer he looked at you the more tipsy he felt. His brief moment of sobriety came and went as you got closer to him, entirely too close for strangers.

“Your moles are really cute.” You said it again, this time right in his ear.

Sohee nodded, and leaned his head closer to yours so he could talk directly in your ear. He focused on the gold jewelry that dangled from your ear and moved each time a swaying body bumped into yours.

“You told me that already.” He laughed.

You seemed to remember, because you giggled right into Sohee’s ear after a beat of silence. He didn’t know when his hand found the small of your back to hold you close or when your hands went to his shoulder to keep him in place. Both of you were giggling drunk messes, strangers with their cheeks touching in the middle of a house party that was going to get busted by cops any second.

You pulled away from Sohee first. He didn’t know then that he was hooked on you and that his face felt cold without your warm cheek pressing against his. He felt the heat dust across his face when you looked at him. The same bleary eyes that stared at the side of his face was wide and alert now, staring right through him as you gripped his shoulder a little tighter. You brought another wave of sobriety, and he used his consciousness to let his hand splay even further across your skin.

You said something, Sohee knew you did. Your bitten lips moved and then they stopped, and when you were done your eyes scanned his face waiting for an answer. He tried focusing his swaying vision on your lips, but he only found himself getting more distracted. Eventually he shook his head and brought his face close to yours again.

“I can’t hear you.” Sohee took his chance to press his cheek against yours more than he needed to. “The music is too loud.” He said gently.

He felt you nod against his head and suddenly the red solo cup that was in your hand was gone as you brought your newly freed hand to his face. You turned his head slightly and came even closer than before. Sohee could feel your lips against the shell of his ear as you spoke.

“I asked if this was your place.” You said.

Sohee felt one of your hands drift to the crook of his neck, resting there heavily as you spoke. In the midst of the party he was able to still focus on your words, even if they registered slowly. He shook his head against your face, and Sohee felt your warm breath fan his ear as you let out a breathy giggle.

“Do you know somewhere we can be alone?” You asked.

Sohee didn’t need anymore hints from you before he was pulling you through the packed crowd by your hand. He told himself he would just have to ask for forgiveness from Anton later when he opened his friends locked bedroom door.

The door barely closed behind Sohee before you had your hands on him. Within seconds the back of Sohee’s legs bumped against the couch, and you used clumsy drunken force to push him down the rest of the way. The surprise nearly knocked the breath out of him, his hand instinctually went to the armrest of the couch for some stability.

He watched you walk towards him from your place, something between a lion stalking its prey and a newborn deer taking its first steps. You giggled realizing the sway in your steps and Sohee did the same after readjusting himself in his seat.

He realized quickly that nothing was funny when you put your knees on either side of him to straddle his waist. He took in a breath when your hands clasped together behind his neck. He held you steady despite the thudding in his chest and the look in your eyes that became even more hungry. When you leaned further Sohee took the chance to snake his hand underneath the fabric of your tight shirt, feeling your soft skin the material clung to.

When Sohee let his hand drift up further and you preened further into his touch he looked up at you fully. When his neck exposed you stared at his bobbing Adam’s apple before licking your lips. Your eyes went even lower, and he settled into the couch to get a better look at you. He held onto this wave of sobriety, trying to not fall back into the drunk haze he was drifting in and out of. But he couldn’t stop the dim light behind your head from swaying. You moved and the light casted a shadow behind you that looked like a crown; Sohee dug his hand deeper into your waist to try and ground himself as he tried remembering what it felt like to be sober. He felt your hand tug at his hair and he started gripping at whatever flesh he could grab.

Both of you were smiling at eachother like drunk fools, neither of you making a move. When Sohee finally made it to your chest he palmed it, pressing deep over the padding of your bra. You reacted like there was nothing separating the two of you, leaning back so far that Sohee had to wrap his full arm around you to keep you from falling backwards. You leaned into his touch fully, coming so close that his face pressed into your stomach. Sohee placed an experimental sloppy kiss on the exposed skin, patting himself on the back when your breath hitched. You came close and pressed an equally sloppy kiss to his hairline, then to his cheek, then to a mole. You ended at his ear, your hot breath fanning the shell as you poked your tongue out. Sohee shivered underneath you and pulled you closer, widening his legs so you had more space to sit. He waited in anticipation when your face settled into the crook of his neck.

But he felt nothing.

Sohee thought that you were building up tension, or that you had another wave of sobriety that made you realize you were about to have a drunk hookup with an equally drunk basketball player in a not so secluded space at a house party. Sohee was getting ready to pull away from you and ask you if you were okay, but then he heard the unmistakable sound of snoring. Sohee laughed in disbelief on the couch with you snuggling deeper into him and even groaning that he was disturbing your sleep.

Your encounter that night ended then and there, with Sohee delicately taking you off his lap and going back into the crowded house party to find your friends and lead them to you.

He thought that he would never see you again, but he heard from you shortly after. Your first message to him was over Instagram direct messages, apologizing for how you behaved the night prior. After he accepted your apology, he came to the realizationg that you were going to be his teams trainer and he would be seeing you everyday of the season.

From the first day of practice, Sohee could tell you were so put together. Even when put on the spot by his coach you spoke evenly, inviting his team to come to you if they had any questions about keeping their body healthy. You were also so elusive, tucked away in the examination room everyday while practice was happening. The only time Sohee was actually able to see you was during parties when the two of you would sneak off together to secluded rooms.

For a long time Sohee believed that he was destined for a life of fucking you on sofas at crowded college parties. He didn’t know how many That doesn’t look like dried cum’s and No, it doesn’t smell like sex in here’s he had left in him. But as if the God’s shined down on him he got the unmistakable hey, are you up? text right when he needed you the most. Instead of sleeping Sohee threw on a pair of sweats and cleared the campus to get to your place embarrassingly fast.

You let him in that night without actually letting him in. Sohee was only shown the sparkling bits of your personality, you two truthfully only really spoke when you were having sex. He found himself asking casual questions about your life in between moments of you two making out and grabbing at eachother.

He spent the season chiseling away at you through teasing to try and get you to be comfortable. So coming into your room and seeing the unfolded clothes was arguably more rewarding than a flawless basketball season.

He had to fight the smile when he made it into your room, his hands running over and screwing with anything he could touch. He always picked up your keys from the dish beside your door and messed with the trinkets you had hanging down. He started locking and unlocking your door repeatedly, just to hear the metal bolt ring through your entryway.

“The season is almost over.” Sohee walked past you, already putting his hands on your dresser.

He ran his hands over the top, not caring that he bumped the items that rested in his path. He only turned back to you with a gloating smile. Sohee turned back to continue messing with your things. After he ran his hand over your dresser he went to your desk, passing by you as you stood in front of the door. He got to your desk and started pushed your pens, messing up their order and dragging your papers from one end of your desk to the other.

“I know Sohee.” You said as you started putting everything back in place behind him.

Each time Sohee’s finger pushed a pencil you put it back in its case and when he opened one of your textbooks to a random page you reached across his body to close it. He leaned into your pushes, he even played it up like his body was actually being knocked around by your gently bumping.

Seeing how far he could push you was always a game to him, he only giggled when you smacked away his hand when he started fiddling with the straps of your backpack that hung off your office chair.

“We’ve had a nearly perfect season.” He said.

“Congratulations.” You neatly stacked your textbooks back on top of eachother. “I told you that you’d do great this season. Alot of really talented athletes.” You said while fixing the straps of your backpack.

“You know why right?”

Sohee felt the corner of your desk poke into his leg as he leaned against it. He caught your eye for a second before you turned back to your desk, fixing the things he touched.

He was relaxed even from the dull pain of the wood, looking down at the furrow in your eyebrows while you carefully reorganized everything back to its place. He silently watched you go from your desk to the space surrounding your bed, moving things from one side of your room to the other. You had your unfolded clean clothes resting on top of your bed, and Sohee watched you gather the clothes in your arms before walking over to your office chair that he stood next to.

“If you say it’s because of me, I’m going to hit you.” You say.

Sohee eyed you with the large mass of clothes in your hands, the pile obstructing your line of sight. He put his hand on the armrest of your chair, getting ready to push it out of your way right before you dropped the clothes onto the seat. Before he could, he saw a pair of your underwear fall from the large pile of clothes. He took his hands away from the chair and grabbed it, balling it in his hands before showing you what he caught.

“Can I keep these?” When you put the clothes in the chair you narrowed your eyes at Sohee and reached for the pair he quickly pulled it out of your reach. “For good luck?” He added.

You let your pile of clothes fall onto the chair before grabbing your underwear out of Sohee’s hands. You put your underwear on top of the pile of clothes. When Sohee pouts at you you close the distance between the two of you. You don’t hesitate to put your hands on either side of his body, caging him between your desk and you.

Sohee tries to be all talk. His teammates constantly comment on his attitude and habit of snarky comments. He always blames it on the fact that he is the youngest sibling out of sisters, he basically can’t help it. But when you get too close and are pressed up against him like this, he loses his train of thought. He doesn’t have a comeback when you look down at his lips and stay there, he doesn’t have anything to say when you fake pout before looking back up at him.

“I thought I was your good luck charm?” You say.

Sohee nods his head. You somehow find a way to get even closer to him, despite still feeling so far away. He sees the remnants of your lipstick, he feel the warmth coming off of you in waves. Sohee finds himself inching closer to you, then he feels you finally touch him. Your hands let go of the edges of your desk to go to his forearms, then slowly all the way up to his shoulders. All cockiness Sohee had dissipates from his body when he feels your hands travel the plane of his shoulders, ending right at the base of his neck. His hands instinctively go to your waist, and he fully leans against your desk to slot his leg between yours. Instantly, like Sohee’s thigh is a seat made just for you, you put your weight on his leg. Sohee sighs at the feeling of your warmth against him, and you sigh from the pressure.

You were still feeling Sohee up when you started dragging your hips against his. He wasn’t sure why watching you grind on his thigh was doing so much to him, but he was already feeling the ache. He felt you clutch at him, then he felt your hands leave his body to go back to gripping the edge of the desk. You were clumsy this time, your hands wrinkled papers underneath the pads of your fingers and your dragging thrusts on Sohee’s thigh disrupted the perfect order you had set on your desk. Pens and pencils and journals clattered over the sides and fell to your wooden floor, the wood creaked underneath your shared weight. Sohee watched you press your head into his shirt, he could feel your spit seep through the thin material and your tiny whines fill the air. Sohee was beginning to feel himself need more but you were becoming so reckless that he had to move his hand to grip the edge of your desk too.

His palm hurt by the time your moans became too whiny. His other hand reached forward to still your hips, and you pulled your face from his chest to look at him. Your eyes were already so wet, your face was already getting the light glow caused by a thin layer of sweat.

“Slow down.” Sohee was just as overwhelmed, each look from you left his dick pressing against the fabric of his sweats. “You don’t wanna cum from just that.” He said.

“I want more.” You said.

Sohee didn’t have a chance to calm you down before your hand reached underneath the waistband of his sweats. He could barely wrap his hand around your wrist before the other was working his pants down his body. Any sounds of shock or teasing was swallowed up by your lips smashing against his again.

When your hands pushed his pants down to his thighs Sohee took the initiative to move them the rest of the way. He stood up from your desk and let you continue devouring his face as his hands greedily pushed down his pants the rest of the way.

He was admittedly wound up by you. Feeling you abandon your inhibitions in your messy room made him reckless. He almost fell when he tried stepping out of his sweats and his imbalance caused you two to stumble through the tiny space in your room. Sohee was only able to regain his balance when he leaned up against the edge of your desk again.

Unfortunately any attempt Sohee was trying to make to get you to slow down was futile. Him leaning against the desk gave you a slight height advantage on him, and you somehow found a way to kiss him even deeper. With your hands on his face moving him the way you wanted to while you were fully clothed and he was pant-less made him red in the face.

“There’s too much shit on my bed.” You said in between kisses.

That wasn’t the first time Sohee has heard those words fall from your lips. Sohee has fucked you on your couch when there were clothes piled from one end to another. He’s fucked you on your desk while you were in the middle of an assignment, papers stacked high and textbooks cracked open as he bent you over the wooden surface. He’s fucked you in the bathroom you shared with the people on the other side of your wall when your room was messy. At this point he was used to the chaos he was starting to think he preferred it.

But before Sohee could tell you he didn’t care, he felt your hands pull him from the edge of your desk down to the ground.

This was new.

“You wanna do it here?” Sohee asked breathlessly.

You nodded in between the kisses your placed on his neck. He couldn’t argue even when the wood floors were already becoming a pain on his bent knee. Sohee couldn’t deny the sureness in your eyes or the way your hands went to the bottom of his shirt before pulling upwards.

By the time Sohee took his shirt off you were already undressing yourself, pants and underwear gone in one go before you took your own shirt off. Sohee took off his boxers and tossed his clothes on the same pile you made, right next to another pile of clothes he assumed to be dirty.

“Right here.” You answered.

When he was unsure what to do next you went ahead and pushed him by his shoulders, leading him down until his beck was flush with your cold hardwood floors. Sohee let out a shiver and a breath.

“You cold?” You asked.

Sohee nodded as you started straddling him. He could feel the warmth from your naked body, warming the areas of him that were cooling from the nervous sweats across his skin.

Your smile when he nodded was almost sinister. Sohee still couldn’t stop himself from smiling back at you.

Sohee’s cold hands find your thighs as you bring your hips to rest on his. The sudden change in his body temperature causes him to shiver again, the feeling of his dick between your warm cunt causes more precum to leak onto his lower stomach. He doesn’t think he can handle you grinding on him, not if he wants to maintain the last bit of the composed demeanor he tries to present to you. He just grips your thighs harder, and his outstretched leg bumps into the edge of your desk.

He can see you trying to figure out what to do next. If you should draw out this torture or have mercy on him, if you should coo at him affectionately or taunt him some more. Sohee watches your eyes flicker to the top of your dresser, where there was always a pile of condoms stacked on top. Every week you’d snag a handful from the on campus clinic in between your classes. Stuffed in the depths of your backpack just to be carelesslt dumped on your dresser. Preparation for when you’d bless Sohee for his basketball games, preparation you were disregarding now.

For a moment you’re silent. Sohee is too, letting you decide how he gets it tonight. He won’t complain unless you want him too, he won’t beg unless he sees that glimmer in your eyes that eggs him on. Your hips slowly drag forward, and his eyes instantly screw shut. He can feel your slick coat him, and the wet sound causes Sohee’s dick to twitch.

“I’ll warm you up.” You say.

Sohee’s hips lift to follow yours when you raise them off his lap. His dick twitches upwards right into your soft hand.

“Baby.” Your hand dragged the tip of his dick over your folds. He could feel how wet you were on his sensitive skin, causing his hand to dig deeper into your side. Sohee looked up from where you had your hand wrapped around him to the smile on your face. “You ready?” You purred.

Sohee can no longer speak. His mouth is too dry and his brain is too jumbled to form a coherent thought. He only nods slowly and grips your waist tighter, your skin peeking through the gaps of his fingers as you nod back to him. There's a stillness, where you are moving your body slightly forward to be directly above him. Then, holding intense eye contact, you slowly start sinking your hips down. Sohee can feel your walls wearing on his tip first, tight and constricting before you two let out twin sighs. Then, when you adjust yourself on your knees and place a hand over his you loosen up. The rest of Sohee's dick slips inside of you with ease, and when he is completely inside of you he can feel your walls close around him snug. Being inside of you is the same as a weight getting lifted off his chest, so soothing but titillating it causes him to let out another sigh of relief and cinch his eyebrows together.

For a split second he lets go of you completely, all of his strength is focused in not embarrassing himself right there on the messy floor of your dorm. He rests his hand in a balled up fist over his thudding heart, eyes still screwed shut as he feels and hears you sink down lower. Your sigh was prolonged and ended with a cry when your hips meld with his. Sohee opens his eyes when he feels your hips grind, he watches you selfishly chase stimulation while he gets used to the raw feeling inside of you. He dares to look down where the two of you meet, and almost instantly the dizzying feeling is back.

“Keep going.” Sohee says in a daze.

You nod your head as you raise your hips again. The second time you sink down is louder than the first, and you lean forward to put your hands on Sohee’s chest to stabilize yourself. Your socks rub on the sides of Sohee’s thighs as you slowly find your rhythm, alternating between bouncing and grinding on his dick.

After finding a rhythm you get lost in the speed. Sohee watches the momentum you have on your chest and your desperate attempt to keep them in place. When your arm spread across your chest fails to do the trick, Sohee finds himself regaining his sanity to come to your aid. Almost instantly his hand takes your place, holding a handful of your chest in each of his palms. He almost uses the hold to guide you up and down, following your body with each flick of your hip and each bounce.

“So soft.” Sohee says.

“Can you suck on them?” You ask.

With your hands moving to his shoulders and guiding him up it’s easy. Sohees’ core muscles are no longer sore from months of practice when he closes the distance between your chest and his mouth. Your nipple lays on his tongue perfectly, and the arch in your back is made just for his hands as you preen into his mouth.

“Feels good.” You sigh.

He can’t stop his dick from pathetically throbbing inside of you when the praise falls from your lips. He can’t stop himself from sucking harder when he feels your hand go to the top of his head to rub his scalp. Sohee knows that you’re far away from ever calling him your good boy, he’s knew you for the better half of a year before you let him see your inclination for disarray. But he hopes that fucking you raw on the floor of your messy room is helping bridge the gap. Maybe by the end of next season he could get you to say one of the things you so clearly wanted to say during sex. Maybe your room was always so dirty to compensate for the absolute filth you kept suppressed in the depths of your mind.

But that was all just speculation. What Sohee knew for certain was that when you slightly pulled at his hair was when you wanted him to switch sides. So he unlatched from one side of your chest with a soft wet sound to move to the other. He still gave the other side attention, rolling the wet bud between his thumb and index finger. Sohee felt himself lose his bearings when you continued to ride him. With your hands braced on his shoulders he bent forward to follow you, and when you clamped around him his teeth grazed your sensitive nipple. You seized around him again and your hand in his hair pulled at his roots. For a second the sudden pain almost made Sohee’s teeth latch onto you harder, but with his last shred of common sense he detached from your chest entirely. The sound he made the second time was alot less quiet, a lewd sound mixed with your moans and the slick sound of your cunt riding his dick.

He got the courage to look down at where you two met again, with one hand keeping himself propped up Sohee watched you take him again and again.

“My God.” He didn’t hide his amazement. His jaw was slack as you rode him with a vigor he has never seen before. “Keep going, baby. Just like that.” He said quietly.

Sohee watched you pull one of your hands that was shoulder move forward. Before you got the chance to rub tight circles on your clit Sohee reached first, bumping your hand out of his way in the process. Your heavy lidded eyes perked in amusement, right before they screwed shut from Sohee’s ministrations.

“I thought you were going to make me do all the work.” You whined.

The teasing edge to your voice was all the way gone as Sohee continued working his fingers. You missed him shaking his head, you missed him biting his bottom lip in concentration.

You didn’t open your eyes until Sohee started flicking his hip upwards to meet your dropping hips. He was almost compelled to look away from how intensely you were staring at him. Despite being laid bare he felt naked underneath your gaze, like you stripped him of everything. Sohee suddenly had no other purpose besides fucking you, moving his fingers in a tight circle, and keeping his eyes on you. You abandoned your job of bouncing on him, instead only grinding on his dick and clutching his legs even tighter.

“Close.” You moaned.

Sohee nodded and told himself a million times to not speed up his fingers. He kept the same pace despite wanting to bring you to the edge as fast as possible. He kept his eyes on you and your body, looking for the signs in your hips that were becoming more erratic and your fingernails that were digging into his skin. In your pursuit of pleasure your guard fell all the way down. You were naked for him too, your hopeless pout and unbounded sounds were winding him up beyond his control.

“I’m close too.” Sohee said quickly.

His fingers didn’t stop and neither did your hips. His mind went to the condoms on your dresser but your eyes stayed on him, big and glossy as his words registered. You licked your bitten lips, opened your mouth just to shut it and then opened it again.

"Inside. Please.” You said.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

Just the invitation made Sohee ready to burst. He spoke fast and in a haste, wanting to give himself enough time to lift you off of his dick in case you changed your mind. But your hips showed no signs of stopping and you lazily pitched your body forward to press your lips to his.

Sohee only felt a sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth and his cupid’s bow before you cursed against his lips. He felt your hips freeze and your walls clench around him. He was no match for the sudden flood of wetness from your cunt and the hot pants of air in his open mouth. He felt himself spill inside of you less than a second later. His hands left your clit and inside wrapped around your waist, bringing your chest to his as his back went to the ground.

Both of you desperately rode out your highs chest to chest while Sohee’s back was to the floor. He felt garments of clothing underneath his back as he rutted into you, and your hand reached forward to grab onto the wooden frame of your bed.

The time it took you two to ground yourselves was embarrassingly long. Your chests were practically glued together from sweat by the time your breath evened, and it happened all over again when you weakly lifted yourself off of Sohee’s dick. His shaking hand on your waist guided you to the ground next to him, and for a minute you two laid together in the mess Sohee was lucky enough to be invited into.

Both of you stared at the same place on the ceiling before Sohee turned to face you.

“You’re gonna be at the game tomorrow, right?” Sohee asks.

“Sohee, I am the trainer. I have to be there.” You answer.

Sohee watches you pull a new sweater back over your head, covering up your bare chest. The sweater has his basketball teams name, it’s the one he gifted you that has his number and name on the back. He can’t hide his smile as you lay back down next to him on the floor.

“Would you still go?” Sohee looks at your fallen pens and notebooks on the floor. “Even if you didn’t have to be there?” He asks.

You think about it for a moment. Sohee looks at the messy pile of clothes that fell from your chair at some point, the untidy stack of books that rest on your dresser. He doesn’t want to leave. He’s too comfortable here, too happy staring at you carefully think of an answer to his question that wouldn’t let him know what you’re thinking.

“I’d still go.” You uselessly kick towards some of your clean clothes that fell from your chair at some point. After you get a sock successfully back on the chair you turn to face him. “I’m your good luck charm. I think you’d lose without me.” You say.

Sohee will take it. He will gladly take him being the one and only person in your life that you bring good luck to. That is something akin to more than friends with benefits, or maybe it’s the purest form of whatever this arrangement is. Whatever the case may be it brings Sohee enough peace to sleep soundly, and he feels like he has enough luck to win the game all by himself. He leans forward to kiss you and you don’t turn away. You let the kiss be planted right on the tip of your nose before he faces the ceiling again, and Sohee ends up having to hide his smile behind his hands the same way you hide it by clearing your throat.

“Maybe if we win.” He goes to his tiptoes before going back to the balls of his feet. “Maybe if we win we could go out somewhere. Like watch a movie or something.” He says.

Instantly you shake your head, reaching to the side to playfully smack his shoulder. Sohee fakes like you hit him roughly, taking a step backwards with a faux pained expression on his face.

“Even if you lose. Which I doubt will happen.” You take a deep breath and turn your head away. “I’ll think about it.” You say quietly.

There is absolutely no way he’s losing his game tomorrow.

#01zfan: sohee #sohee smut #riize smut

150 notes · View notes