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bratbby333 · 8 months ago

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choso kamo — the boy next door

synopsis you were completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. but choso liked it that way. cw nsfw, stalking, somnophilia, voyeurism, overstimulation, dirty talk, cream pie wc 4.1k

author note i received three separate requests for pervy!choso, dom!choso, and boynextdoor!choso so i decided to combine them into one story to celebrate hitting 250 followers! eeek i love y'all so much, i hope this scratches the right itch in y'alls brains ♡ proofread and edited up by my favorite person in the known cosmos: @remlionheart *+:｡.｡ thank you for pushing me to finish this

Choso was a constant fixture in your life. For as long as you could remember, it was always you and him. His house neighbored yours and your families had become close over the past fifteen years. Your childhoods were intertwined, filled with joint pool parties, barbecues, and movie nights. The two of you even shared a babysitter when your parents would go out on double dates. You carpooled to school, played in the cul-de-sac until the streetlamps came on, snuck through each other's windows when your parents thought you were sleeping; inseparable. You guys even ended up at the same university after graduating high school. You were finally home for the summer and you couldn’t wait to spend time with your best friend, uninterrupted by the hecticness of college.

A brisk knock resonated through your home, the door answered by your mother.

“Hey! It’s so nice to see you again,” Choso grinned, nodding gently as he stepped into your foyer. You perked up at the sound of his voice echoing through your house. It was difficult to see one another as much as you had wanted this semester; you both explored different hobbies and found separate friend groups while in college, but you always made sure to find the time. You hadn’t seen him in a few weeks, though; the stress of final exams kept the two of you apart. It had been far too long.

“How have you been, honey? How was your semester?” your mother chirped as she engulfed him in a quick embrace. The two of them shared genial words as they caught up with one another. They continued to chat before being interrupted by the heavy sounds of your excited feet thumping down the staircase. He turned to greet you, only to be entrapped in a bearhug, the momentum pushed his body into the wall behind him.

“Choso! Missed you so much,” you squealed, voice muffled as you buried your face into his chest. You breathed him in, the familiar scent of his cologne dancing through your nose. His cheek found the top of your head as his warm hands rubbed gentle circles into your back, rocking you side to side. Your mother smiled with adoration at the two of you. He squeezed you tight before he pulled away, peering down at you. You noticed a light dusting of pink that surfaced on his skin as you looked up at him, but chalked it up to the sweltered heat of summertime.

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” he replied before returning his gaze to your mother while still holding on to you. ”Exams were tough but I’m happy that it’s finally over,” he added.

His attention fell back to you as his hands rubbed against your arms, “But, I’m all yours for the summer!”

*ੈ ✩‧₊˚

You sat next to him on the floor, backs pressed against the foot of your bed. The two of you shared a pizza as a silly rom-com played on your TV. You took turns catching up on each other’s lives while the film faded into background noise. You felt renewed in his presence, the youthful glow of his features reminded you of how he was when he was younger. But your chest began to ache as you thought about how the time you spent with one another would become harder and harder to come by. The conversation lulled a bit, and you willed yourself to voice your concerns to Choso.

“Sometimes I wish we could go back to how things were,” you blurted, hands fidgeting with the pizza box. Choso quirked his eyebrow at the statement. You met his gaze, smiling softly, bringing your knees to your chest. You sighed deeply. Being away from him hurt more than you thought it would, and you never recognized how much you needed him until you saw less of him.

“I miss being a kid…I miss the way we were,” you continued, “Not a single care in the world. I feel like the older we get, the less we’ll see each other. I don’t want that, Cho,” you mumbled, reextending your legs. His heart thrummed at your earnest confession as he leaned forward and captured your hand in his.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere…I can promise you that, sweetheart,” he reassured, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

The conversation quieted, his words of consolation seemed to ease your mind enough for you to fixate on the screen. He watched you through his peripherals as you giggled at the corniness of the movie. Choso tried his hardest to follow along, but there you were, sat before him in a thin tank top and skimpy pajama shorts. He sent a silent “thank you” to the heavens; the record-high heatwave that plagued your city gifted him such a magnificent sight.

He side-eyed you, his vision tracing along your body. He took another bite of his pizza as he drank you in; dinner and a show. His vision followed every dip and curve of your almost fully exposed legs. He was thankful that you felt comfortable enough around him to dress how you pleased, but his dark heart wished you were sitting in just a thong, or better yet, fully nude. His eyes meandered north, hovering over the peaks of cleavage that your shirt didn’t cover. He swallowed thickly, nearly choking on his food when another giggle erupted from you, your breasts bouncing as you laughed.

He smiled inwardly, your fear of losing him warmed his heart. He wasn’t going anywhere. How else would he be able to see you like this; all nostalgic for him, the desperate expression on your face sent waves of arousal through his veins. His desire to know how you’d look splayed out underneath him rocketed through his body as he envisioned your fucked out face when he feathered hot, wet kisses along your neck and plunged two thick fingers deep inside you…how pretty you’d look just for him. What sounds would you make when his throbbing cock was fully enveloped in your gushy walls? Would you whimper and whine? Would you cry out for him? Rake your nails down his torso with your eyes blown wide? He so badly craved the answers to his searing questions.

Your laughter panged through his chest, snapping him out of his trance. You were completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. But he liked it that way. You continued to sit so good for him, eyes casted toward the TV. If only you knew the innocent relationship you had manifested in that sweet little mind of yours was one-sided. For him, it was dirty–downright filthy and sinful. But you would never know that.

Blood rushed between his legs as he shifted on the floor. The movie had about twenty minutes left; he was trying to hold out until then. He was desperate for release, anxiously anticipating the thick load he would shoot out at the thought of you, though he would pretend that it was going inside of you, instead. Oh, how he wanted to breed you. How soft you’d look carrying his spawn. He shook his head as he cleared his throat, single handedly fighting off every demon known to man that was telling him to pounce on you. He couldn’t. It would ruin the close friendship that took years to curate. It would kick him off the pedestal you placed him so highly on, tarnish the clean-cut version of him in your parent’s mind. He battled with his own thoughts as he mindlessly stared at the TV.

The end credits rolled and Choso stood abruptly.

“I’ll catch you tomorrow, okay? Gotta get some sleep,” he said, readjusting his pants. You looked up at him, confusion evident on your pretty face.

“I thought you were spending the night,” you pouted, before pushing yourself off the ground.

“I know…I’m sorry, sweetheart. But knowing us, we’d stay up all night watching TV and talking instead of actually sleeping,” he played off. The ache between his legs intensified at the thought of sharing a bed with you like you usually did when he slept over. But he can’t. Not tonight…not like this. Normally he was good about keeping his composure, but tonight was different. Your puppy dog eyes didn’t help, either. He so badly wanted to see those same eyes gaze up at him while his cock was shoved down your throat. His dick pulsated against the soft fabric of his shorts as he shadowed you toward your bedroom door, taking an internal note of how good your ass looked as your shorts rode up between your plush cheeks. He nearly lost it as you skipped down the stairs, your precious mounds bouncing in all the right places. You opened the front door for him, spreading your arms to hug him goodbye. He opted for a side hug, knowing damn well you would have been able to feel his hard on from the full-frontal contact.

*ੈ ✩‧₊˚

You closed the door, pressing your back against it as you wondered what had gotten into Choso this evening. He was always up for a sleepover. You shoved your hurt down, embarrassed by your apparent clinginess. A shudder ran down your spine at the thought of your neediness pushing him away. Your warm body glided toward the fridge, throwing it open and basking in the cool air as you grabbed yourself a drink. You shook the shame from your mind as you shuffled back up the stairs. You peered out your window and into Choso's room; it was dark. He must’ve gone straight to bed. You opened the bay windows to your bedroom. The cool air danced through the panes, swirling around the confines of your dwelling. You inhaled deeply before stripping down, settling peacefully atop your sheets; it was far too warm to be under the covers.

Choso surveyed you from the comforting shadows of his room. He did this frequently before the two of you had moved away, watching you get ready for bed with a firm grip on his shaft.

“That’s it, pretty…take it all off f’me,” he muttered. His strokes sped up as he watched you undress, the moonlight that seeped into your room illuminated your heavenly body so perfectly. He huffed as he watched you retreat to your bed, his hand stilling around his cock. The thought of you wasn’t enough for him tonight. He needed you.

An hour or so passed before he ascended the tree that stood tall next to your window. His clammy hands gripped the railings that lined your small terrace as he heaved his body over, careful not to make a sound. He had done this many times before, whether his presence was expected or unbeknownst to you. He crept through the open window and entered your room, settling himself in the chair next to your bed. Your nude frame emanated the most ethereal energy, your bare chest rose and fell rhythmically, the soft gasps that fluttered from your parted lips sent blood straight to Choso’s groin. He palmed himself through his pants, leaning back a bit to shove them down his legs. His hand paced up and down his length agonizingly slow, before he stopped dead in his tracks as soft groans emerged from your throat.

“-oso,” was all that was audible. His blood ran cold as he leaned closer to your slumbered body, ears ringing in hopes to hear more. Was that–No…it couldn’t have been. You shifted a bit, another moan breaking through the silence of your room.

“Mmm…Choso,” you whimpered dreamily, one hand moving to rest just under your navel. His heart rate spiked. He watched as your hand traced lower, snaking its way to your precious cunt. You rubbed sleepy circles in your clit as your head lulled to the side, soft, sweet whimpers dancing from your parted lips. It was now or never. He pulled his shorts back up as he situated himself on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hand against your shoulder.

You stirred a bit after a few gentle shakes of your body, your eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the room. Your body went rigid as your eyes focused on the outline of a person sitting before you, but the familiar smell of Choso met your nose and kept you from jumping out of your skin. You closed your eyes again, the hand that was playing with your wet cunt moved over your body to grab his hand, squeezing gently. Choso nearly broke down at the contact, the stickiness that he so badly needed graced his skin, numbing his brain.

“Hey, Cho…y’scared me. Thought you weren’t sleeping over,” you murmured. Choso’s conscious worked overtime to keep his composure leveled as he exhaled deeply.

“Seems like you needed me, though,” he chuckled. You hummed in response, your sleep-ridden mind not registering his comment. You began to doze off once again before panic rumbled through your body as you finally recollected the dream you were just immersed in. Then the realization hit. You shot upright, tearing your hand away from Choso as you grabbed for the covers, attempting to shield your naked body from him. You clicked on your bedside lamp, turning to Choso with your brows furrowed deeply. Your best friend just caught you in the middle of a wet dream. A dream about him. Embarrassment coupled with shame as you held the sheets tight against your body. You were thoroughly confused–what was he even doing here? How much did he hear? You wanted to protest, to plead your case, to interrogate him. A million questions buzzed around your brain, but his hand was quick to cover your mouth.

“S’okay, sweetheart. It’s just me,” he soothed. He kicked his shoes off and kneeled beside you, hand still firm against your face. Your shoulders were tense, but you relaxed a bit at the baritone voice that fell from his lips.

“Did you have a nice dream?” His question seemed rhetorical. He felt your face flush underneath his palm as you nodded slowly. He removed his hand and you spoke up immediately.

“How’d you know I–”

“Was watching you sleep,” he shrugged. “I’ve wanted you for so long…figured it was a lost cause. But it seems the feelings are mutual, huh, sweetheart?” he cooed, his body loomed over yours as his palm brushed your face, cradling your cheek.

“You were tryin’ so hard to fight it…to pretend those dirty feelings for me didn’t exist…isn’t that right?” He mused. You glanced down at his crotch, the heavy bulge pressed firm against his thin shorts. You audibly gulped, your breath caught in your throat before meeting his eyes. You nodded at him again.

“Bet you dressed like that on purpose…such a tease,” he chastised, thumbing your cheek.

“Gotta make up for lost time, yeah?” He ripped the duvet off of you and moved so he was hovering over you, your body laid out underneath him, his arms placed on either side of your head.

“Cho…I—we shouldn’t,” your voice wavered, suddenly unsure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. Your hands rested on his broad shoulders. “I don’t wanna lose you…don’t wanna ruin what we have,” you added, worry painted across your face, eyes fluttering back and forth between his. You were splayed out beneath him, fully nude, every dark secret of yours laid out in front of Choso. The hungry look in his eyes caused your arousal to drip onto the sheets beneath you.

“Wanted this for years, pretty girl. I already told you I’m not goin’ anywhere,'' his head dipped down to lick a thick stripe down your neck. “You gonna let me take care of you now?” he questioned, lips pressed against your flesh, nipping at the sensitive skin. Your back arched immediately at the sensation. You moaned softly in response as you ran your hands up and down his toned back.

“Tell me, pretty girl,” his fingers danced down your body, teasing the skin around your core. “Tell me you want me as much as I’ve wanted you,” he whispered in your ear.

“W-want you…Cho. So bad…needed you for s-so long,” you begged, your brain fogged and voice airy while your hands clawed desperately at his back. He smirked at you as he sat back on his heels, tearing his clothes from his body. Your eyes dragged up and down the man you had grown up with. A part of you knew how you felt about him, knew how much you needed him. But you didn’t understand the full depth of that need until he was kneeled before you, perspiration glistening along his toned body as he repositioned, laying himself along the bed, his face settled right above your dripping cunt. The way he looked at you through his luscious, jet-black lashes set your pounding heart ablaze.

You couldn’t fully comprehend what was happening. All you could feel were the sharp aches in your core as he teasingly ran his fingers through your slit. He smiled against your thigh as he plunged his fingers in immediately. You gasped at the intrusion before succumbing to the pleasure as the pads of his fingers massaged your sweet spot.

There was a sense of urgency behind his movements; the lack of time he gave you to adjust to the stretch, the way he was thrusting so fervently into you and how hungrily he bit at your flesh–it was overwhelming. He pumped into you, tirelessly working to coax an orgasm out of you. The first of many. He tilted his head down to watch his fingers disappear inside of you. He used his other hand to rub your sensitive clit, before quickly replacing it with his tongue. He wanted to drink you in for as long as he could, your juices satiating the hungriest part of him.

His eyes blew wide, “Fuck–you’re so sweet, pretty girl,” he breathed, lapping at your core. He needed more, needed you to fall apart on all of him–his fingers, his mouth, his cock. You were going to take everything he gave you. You cried out for him, your hips spasming against the bed. He grinned before latching back on to your clit, sucking harshly, working into you like it was his life’s mission to please you. And in his mind, it was. He was set on releasing a decade’s worth of pent-up frustration on your pretty little body.

“F-fuck Cho–ah!–I’m gonna…” your voice trailed off as your pussy clenched down on his fingers. He groaned at the tightness, tongue still swirling around your sensitive bud. A shudder ran down your spine as your orgasm ripped through your body. He continued to pump into you, suckling harshly against your clit before swirling around your entrance to ensure he drank up every drop.

He knew he should wait and give you time to recover. But the way your body twitched and writhed for him ripped away the sense of gentleness and morality that he usually had. It was all too much. He wanted to ruin you, to punish you for holding out on him for so long. He needed to be balls deep, needed to mold you around his cock–he had waited years for this. He sat up abruptly, wrapping your shaking legs around his waist as he lined himself up with your soaked entrance. Your chest heaved and your eyelids grew heavy while your body worked through the comedown. He pushed into you, fully sheathing himself inside your pulsating walls. Your eyes widened while your hands pushed against his abdomen.

“Wait, Cho–”

“S’okay, sweet girl. I got you…focus on me,” he soothed, his pelvis flush against you as he took a hold of your wrists, pushing them over your head and pressing them against the headboard. He found an unrelenting tempo in you. You body spasmed and squirmed at his pace, jolting each time his thick cock brushed against your still sensitive g-spot. He was stuffed so deep inside of you, savoring the way your messy pussy sucked him in. He released your hands and leaned back, finding his bearings on your hip bones, pulling you toward him to meet his thrusts. Grunts rumbled from deep in his chest as he felt you clench around him. He looked down to watch himself disappear inside you, the squelching sounds and labored moans that filled the room made him choke.

“Nasty fuckin’ girl…you’re lovin’ this aren’t ya?” he teased. You couldn’t fathom a response. Your body had passed the point of overstimulation as his brutal pace pulled another earth-shattering orgasm from your wrecked body, painting his abdomen with your squirt. He dropped his head back, animalistic sounds flying past his lips as the warm spray splattered onto his skin. He pulled out of you before shoving right back in. You cried out, body trying to squirm out of grasp.

“C-can’t…s’too much,” you sobbed out. You meant it, it was too much. But the pleasure that clawed its way through your trembling frame was unreal; addictive, even. He simultaneously numbed your body and made you feel every sensation in the known universe.

“Uh uh…almost done, pretty–stay right there,” he growled, “Just give me one more.” He wanted to live in this moment forever. Every stolen glance, dirty thought, and shameful ejaculation to the thought of you was nothing compared to the way your pretty little pussy clenched around him. He had ached over the mere thought of you for years and his body brimmed with arousal at his darkest dreams coming to fruition. And though he wanted to paint your sloppy walls with his thick seed, the wanton desire for you overpowered his need for release.

Your eyes rolled back in your skull as your shaking hands searched for any part of him to hold on to. You were a panting mess, fat tears running down your face. And it was all for him. He was drunk on the way your fucked out face lazily looked up at him as you fell apart on his cock. He made quick work of burning that image on the inside of his eyelids.

“Doin’ so good. Stay with me, sweetheart,” he grunted, his hips slamming into you. It was so sloppy now…so nasty. He fucked into you with feverish passion, and your body shook as the coils in your tummy crept up once again.

“C’mon…just one more. Know you can do it,” he urged, his aching cock absolutely obliterating you. His fingertips gripped your flesh so tightly, he prayed it would bruise. He hoped his mark would be left on you, an aching reminder that you belonged to him. You always had. He fucked into you, his tip kissing your cervix so perfectly. You cried out, clenching down on him again, your third orgasm crashing through you in a blinding haze.

“S-shit…so good. God–you’re fuckin’ milking me,” he growled out as he twitched inside, swears and praises cascaded from his parted lips as he chased his own release. It only took a few more thrusts before his hips stuttered against you and he finished deep inside, pumping you full of his cum. He remained sheathed within your walls, his palms running up and down your dazed out frame.

He leaned down, catching your lips in a needy, wet kiss. You were stunned into silence, your body cemented to the bed, convinced that you had lucidly dreamed this entire ordeal. You winced at the ache of Choso finally pulling out, missing the deep stretch of his cock as he leaned over to scour your drawers for a rag to clean you up. He feathered gentle kisses after each pass of the cloth. He laid by your side and you curled into him immediately, his arms snaking around your fragile body.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you whispered, breath shaking. He smiled before kissing the top of your head. “But I’m so happy it did,” you added, pressing yourself deeper into his side as his fingers brushed along your skin, soothing you toward a deep, satisfying slumber. Choso reveled in the dream-like trance he found himself in. His heart soared at his achievement that was years in the making, his body crossing the line that divided reality with heaven. He finally got you, and he was never, ever letting you go.

*ੈ ✩‧₊˚

author notes: thank you so so so much for 250 followers...i literally cannot believe it. if i could remove a piece of my heart and send it to y'all i would

my inbox is open and i'm always working thru my requests, feel free to send your suggestions here ☾

every like, comment, and reblog makes me sob uncontrollably...your support means the world to me xx

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drunk-person · 4 months ago

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Leather gloves, jealous and dragons

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: After the moons pass and Aemond and Lady Y/n's marriage becomes increasingly stronger, there is only one creature capable of keeping the prince away from his wife for more than a few hours, Vhagar. Sometimes Y/n cares, sometimes she doesn't, but if there's one thing she never cares about, it's the thick black gloves that her husband wears when he goes flying.

WARNING: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, gloves being used inappropriately (a lot of things have been used inappropriately on this blog lately, I'm talking about you training yard), fingering, clothed sex, dom/sub tones if you squint, no description for reader.

Word cont: 2.900 k

Author's note: Okay, I was just casually scrolling through Aemond's tag when this idea came up, and yes I was writing the bottom half of the fourth chapter of The Gossip, but I HAD to write this story! @peachysunrize I hope you like it, I added some inventions from my head in the middle of it 💕💕. English is not my first language so be kind if you can.

Y/n Arryn was a respectable and well-regarded lady, throughout Westeros there were men fighting for her hand as soon as she was old enough to marry. Proposals came from the North, the Rech and even Dorne, but the one that was of most interest to Lord Arryn was the one that came in a black envelope with red edges sealed with the Targaryen family crest.

The hand of the king had proposed marriage between Y/n and his grandson Prince Aemond Targaryen. The young woman felt her heart come to her mouth as soon as her father told her what he had decided, she would marry Prince Aemond in two moons.

The first time Y/n set foot on Kings Landing she was terrified, the idea of marrying a man she barely knew making her thoughts cloudier than water. And when she met Prince Aemond, this terror increased even more, something she didn't think was possible.

He was as scary and taciturn as they had told her, he barely gave her a look and only said two words of courtesy, other than muttering every now and then while looking down on everyone as if he were from a race superior to mere mortals.

Y/n's fear became even more overwhelming after she met Aegon, Aemond's older brother. Her heart ached as she listened to the gossip around the fortress about how he cheated on his wife, how he was always drunk, and how he spent more time in the brothels than in the fortress. Sadness took over her, and she imagined how terrible life itself would be from now on.

How wrong she was.

Things began to change on the night of the wedding when the prince vehemently denied a bed ceremony. Y/n was so nervous, the fear of the nuptials was already consuming her, combined with the fact that other people would be watching it made her tremble, until Aemond denied the ceremony and ripped that fear out of her.

The remaining fear was quickly extinguished when Aemond gently laid her on the bed and made her cry with pleasure in a way she never thought possible. Her hands tangled in his silver strands of hair as he touched her in places that made her blush with embarrassment as she remembered the other day.

From then on, little by little, she got to know her husband and every day she became more grateful for that. He still had that stoic and arrogant air, but now Y/n could see behind it, she saw the small acts of importance he gave her daily.

How he made a point of having at least one meal a day with her, how he asked how her day had been, how every now and then she would wake up after a passionate night and find an arrangement of beautiful flowers on the table in her room. And each of these things from the smallest to the largest warmed her heart until it was completely melted by her husband, to the point where she couldn't wait to be with him.

Little by little Aemond spent more and more time with her, and when they weren't tangled in the sheets so close together that you didn't know where one began and the other ended, they were sitting in the gardens talking, or reading together in some quiet place, or even just quietly enjoying each other's company. At a certain point, the only one who could receive more attention from Aemond than Y/n was Vhagar since he almost always went on long flights with the dragon.

That afternoon in particular Aemond was taking much longer than usual and Y/n was waiting for him impatiently as she walked around the room. He had promised to arrive before sunset so they would have time to walk around the garden, but now the sun had already set and the maids had even lit the candles.

The loud noise of the door suddenly invaded the room and Y/n promptly got up to wait for her husband, as soon as he entered her field of vision Y/n arched her eyebrows ironically.

-Did you decide to show up, husband? - Moons ago Y/n wouldn't have spoken to him in such a way in her wildest dreams, but now she was so familiar with him that she often didn't have as much politeness when speaking.

-I'm sorry, wife. - He said, removing the belt with the dagger and sword and throwing it on the couch. -Vhagar was a little sensitive this afternoon, she tends to want to fly longer distances when she is like this.

Y/n just made a humming sound with her mouth instead of responding, a habit she had picked up from Aemond without even realizing it. However, Y/n couldn't help biting her lower lip lightly when she saw him still wearing his riding clothes, she had never said anything to him, but seeing him returning from the flight always affected her mood and it was almost automatic so that she got excited.

-Wife… - Aemond murmured, approaching Y/n from behind and holding her firmly by the waist. -Are you by any chance jealous of Vhagar… a dragon?

His voice was incredulous and Y/n burned with embarrassment. Before she could respond Aemond laughed, something that rarely happened, which made her blush even more as she tried tried to free herself from his arms.

-You don't need to be embarrassed, I find it very flattering that you feel such appreciation for me to the point of feeling jealous. - He arched his eyebrow, still smiling. - No matter how unreasonable it may be.

-Husband.. - Y/n complained grumpily looking at her feet.

At that point she was no longer red only from the small misbehavior, but also from the thin, rough texture of her husband's riding gloves against her sensitive, soft skin. That was always a problem, she couldn't help but sigh every time she saw Aemond arrive wearing those damn gloves. And when he ripped them off and threw them haphazardly on the table? She felt a pressure between her legs that made her want to jump on him.

-What is it? Why are you all bristling, wife? - Aemond rubbed his hands against her arms and Y/n shivered even more making him arch his eyebrows again.

-They're your gloves, husband. - She said looking at the floor. – They are rough.

-I can take it off if you want. - He spoke, still gently stroking her arms, but after speaking he noticed that his wife lowered her eyes and didn't respond and then, approaching her lips to her ear, he spoke in a low voice, almost making her sigh. - You don't want me to take it off, do you?

-Do you like rougher things, dear wife? - And with the question he ran his hands down Y/n's body and slowly pulled the fabric of the dress up and accumulated them on her hips, making Y/n gasp as she felt the rough gloves passing over her thighs and squeezing them. slowly. Aemond couldn't help but smile when he noticed his wife's reactions to the roughest touch.

-Come here my dear, I'll show you how much I missed you. - He said, pulling her more and more towards him, sitting in one of the armchairs in the room while he placed her on his lap facing the large mirror and guided his hands to his wife's knees, slowly separating her legs, now being able to see the moisture that had formed in her intimacy.

-I haven't even touched you yet, dear wife, and you're already so wet for me. - His delicious voice sounded in her ear as he slowly moved his hands up her thighs, making her desperate for him to get to where she needed him most. The sight of his gloved fingers running up her legs made her roll her eyes with desire.

Aemond smiled mischievously and Y/n held her breath, not knowing where to look. His smile intensified as he brought his fingers to her cunt and at this point Y/n was barely breathing with desire.

Slowly he guided two fingers to her entrance and rubbed gently, pulling some of the moisture concentrated there and taking it to the pearl, which he began to rub languidly, eliciting sighs and moans from Y/n.

-You look so beautiful when you open your legs for me. - He murmured, brushing his lips gently against the shell of her ear, making her let out a louder moan. - So beautiful making these perfect sounds when I've barely touched you yet.

He then moved his fingers down and with a smooth movement that made Y/n roll her eyes, he penetrated just one gloved finger into her cunt. The sight of his finger disappearing inside her as he admired her with that look of pure adoration made her want to cry with desire.

-Very good beautiful girl. - He sighed as he slowly moved his finger teasing her, knowing very well that she needed more. - You always welcome me so well. How about another one?

He had barely asked and Y/n was already nodding her head practically begging for him.

-Such a needy lady my wife is. - He murmured as he inserted another finger inside her, making her moan his name with praise. - I can't leave our bed for a few hours because it becomes a meaningless mess.

Aemond guided his free hand to the front laces of Y/n's dress and pulled them tightly, loosening her wife's neckline more and more until her breasts were exposed to his pure delight, who guided his gloved hand to her erect nipple. of her gently pinching him as he admired her reflection in the mirror.

Meanwhile he moved his fingers slowly inside her and the feeling of the rough fabric of her husband's gloves against her own soft and wet insides made Y/n see stars and sigh in contentment with the double stimulation. As Aemond fucked her with his fingers he found that spongy spot that took her body out of orbit, and when she moaned uncontrollably he smiled even more mischievously against her neck, leaving kisses and bites there, pinching her nipples even more.

-So good husband. - Y/n sighed, leaning on his shoulder.

-You don't know how much I want to fuck you right now. -He murmured, biting her ear and sucking it while he nuzzled his nose in her hair.

Aemond penetrated her third finger making her whimper, but unlike before where he caressed her gently, he now started to get into a rougher rhythm, still slow but with force. And Y/n in turn just clung to his arms as she threw herself back, leaning against her husband's clothed chest, and moving her hips in search of more friction.

-So desperate my wife, throwing herself against my fingers like a beautiful filthy whore. -He brushed away a few strands of hair that had fallen across her face when he said that, so that Y/n could see herself better in the mirror, and the sight of her made her moan even louder.

His gloved fingers moving in and out of her cunt, his palm firmly massaging her mound, the fabric of the gloves slightly moistened and a white ring forming at the base of the fingers contrasting strongly with the dark color they possessed. The contractions of pleasure of her cunt crushing Aemond's skilled fingers as he smiled and bit her neck working even harder to coax pleasure out of her, he loved the feeling of her silky walls squeezing around him.

The way he curled his fingers and then moved them in and out made every nerve ending in Y/n burn. The roughness of the fabric was driving her crazy and she wanted so much more, she wanted to be set on fire.

-Husband. - She moaned, arching her back and pressing herself even more against him while turning her neck slightly to face him, taking one of her hands to his hair and removing the eye patch in the process. - I'm so close… so close. Please.

-I like it as much as you implore my dear. - He guided his other hand to her chin and squeezed it tightly, forcing her to keep her eyes exclusively on the mirror's reflection, the rough fabric of the glove making her gasp, while the sight of Aemond's now uncovered sapphire eye made her moan. - But I want you to keep your hungry little eyes on your pussy.

-See how wet she is for me, how well she takes my fingers, you are dripping my dear wife. - The movements became faster and stronger and Y/n felt some tears run down her cheeks as she moaned uncontrollably at the sight of Aemond's gloved fingers buried so deeply in her soaked cunt.

And when he accelerated the movements of both his fingers inside Y/n and his palm against her sensitive pearl, Y/n cried and screamed as she came against his hand, shuddering with pleasure.

Aemond was lost at that scene. He couldn't take his eyes off his wife's cunt writhing against his fingers as her juices oozed out between his fingers. Her face full of pleasure as she screamed and begged for his name was another thing that could easily kill him in that instant, he would certainly die happy with that scene.

-Look at the mess you make, my dear. - He said after removing his fingers from her trembling cunt. - Clean up for me like the good wife I know you are.

Aemond guided his hand to Y/n's lips and she lazily sucked on his gloved fingers. The taste of the fabric mixed with her own taste further numbing her mind, still clouded by the orgasm.

And Aemond could no longer contain himself when he saw that expression of contentment on her face as she sucked on his gloved fingers. And he quickly took her off his lap and bent her over the carpet, still facing the mirror, making her gasp from the abrupt movement.

Y/n had barely balanced herself and Aemond had already undid the laces of his own pants and guided his cock to her sensitive pussy. They both moaned senselessly as soon as he penetrated her completely. And he quickly brought his hands to the top of her dress, dragging it down and leaving her breasts completely free for him to massage and squeeze as he pleased.

He fucked her so well, and Y/n lost her breath with each firm thrust from Aemond and panted with pleasure as she whimpered for more with tears in her eyes.

She raised her head, looking towards the mirror again, and the sight of his hand massaging her hips and squeezing her nipples as he fucked her while still wearing those damned riding gloves made her eyes roll with pleasure, and she begged for him with Even more willing looking into his eyes and sighing when finding that blue glow that she had learned to love so much.

-I love that look you have when I'm inside you. - He groaned, rolling his eye with pleasure as he fucked her, and Y/n lowered her face once again. Aemond then guided his hand to her chin, forcing her to look at the mirror again, he wouldn't miss a second of that passionate look that his wife directed just at him and that made Aemond's heart race.

-No my dear, you keep those shining eyes on me while I fuck you like you deserve. - And removing his hand from her chin, Aemond went up to her hair and pulled it back, holding her firmly and keeping her gaze fixed on the mirror.

-Aemond, please. - She whimpered, enchanting him with those eyes that made him lose his head, and once again he guided the tips of his gloved fingers to the top of her thighs and caressed her forcefully, making his wife gasp and moan as she collapsed in front of him, who held her. by her hips as he fucked her with abandon looking for his own climax, which didn't take long to come when he came deep inside her.

The two remained motionless, their bodies pressed together and their breaths labored. Y/n brought her own bare hand to her husband's gloved hand and caressed it with gentle circles still completely lost in fleeting pleasure.

-You look even more beautiful when you're cumming all over my cock. - He murmured, still lost in pleasure against her hair, making his wife smile.

Y/n in turn, faced the mirror and sighed with contentment when she saw their reflection. Aemond behind her still panting with his usually stoic face relaxed in pleasure as he held her against him still holding her thighs firmly to keep her in contact with him as she squeezed lightly every now and then.

-Love you. - She said tiredly, still with her head lying on his shoulder, looking at him through the mirror.

Aemond didn't respond with words, he just mumbled like he always did. But Y/n no longer needed words, she had learned to distinguish every look, every touch and every sigh of her husband to know that he was also in love, especially when he pulled her even closer and left a soft kiss on her neck .

Tag list: @slut-for-m3 @fallout-girl219

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astrasng · 3 months ago

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SCRATCH || BANGCHAN

MINORS DNI!

pairing: idol!chan x female!reader

summary: thanks to chan's solo stage you finally made him yours.

warnings: blood (from scratches obv), handjob, spanking, petnames (baby, honey, angel, sweetheart) unprotected sex, cursing

author's note: from my previous breakdown post bc of chan got me in an inspired mood so i made a little somethin somethin. still what the fuck was he thinking. also, if you're a regular reader by any chance (ily) you might have noticed i write jealousy tropes, IDKK WHY THO SORRY

important!: this is pure fiction, the act in this story is by my imagination and not based off true events. please do not copy the work.

enjoy!

It isn’t like you’re not supportive of your boyfriend. You’ve always been there for every idea, even if you thought that it wasn’t the best one. The things you have to deal with him being an idol settled deep into your mind, already accepting the consequences that may come in the way. But it’s not like you would ever give up your relationship with Chan just because he’s doing risky things that you may not like.

To be honest, it kind of became an advantage for you.

You would watch him having fun on stage with the other members, sometimes splashing water at each other, making everyone in the crowd either cheer or laugh at their silly behavior. There were times when they got sentimental, wishing all the happiness for STAY and the members for the future. It made you emotional just in the same way as you would watch them through the TV in your shared apartment.

And then there were times where you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together and wait for him.

“Had fun today?”

The sarcastic tone caught Chan’s attention as he’s doing his everyday night routine, just as he’s finishing up his shaving session. He knows exactly why you’re talking and reacting to him this way, you’ve been all fidgety with him since he got home from the first day of the tour, and when he stepped inside the apartment he saw you still sitting on the couch, not welcoming him in with the usual hug he gets.

Chan looks a little bit to the side so he can get a reflection of you changing in the room, the towel you used laying on the ground after taking a shower. Without him.

“Of course.It’s always heartwarming to meet with STAY’s. And the kids were so hyped about getting solo stages too.”

Now that just boils your blood.

“Oh, were they?” You keep your back facing him,not letting him see how frustrated you really are about the game he’s playing. “They were doing an amazing job indeed.” You shut your eyes momentarily before putting on your velvet nightgown, and slowly walking towards the bathroom where your boyfriend is staying.

“Yeah, I assume you saw mine too, right? Did you see the special makeup they did on me?” With pride he chuckles while putting away his shaving equipment, patting his dry as he picks up his toothbrush. His question should have a very easy and simple answer, yet here you are ready to give him a brainwash about not caring about your mental health. Cause what the hell was that? You can’t even form the offensive words you want to say to him out of frustration, you could never say anything negative about his performances in general — but the way he’s talking about it, so full of himself, you can’t help yourself. “I wonder who made all that.” It slips out, biting down on your lip softly to stop yourself from further embarrassment.

“It must’ve been the makeup artist of course, but I could’ve done a better job if you ask me.” You step into the bathroom just as you finish your sentence, Chan unable to answer due to his mouth full with mint scented bubbles.

As you want to pass behind him, you swipe your delicate fingers on his defined back muscles, the photos of him painted in scratches for the performance fills your vision.

“Makeup was unnecessary,to be honest.”

There’s something glinting in Chan’s eyes as a lopsided smile appears on his face, looking at you through the mirror placed above the bathroom counter. As the words leave your lips, he licks his plump lips slowly, putting away his toothbrush he just used. “If I had asked you, would you do it?”

The air stops suddenly in your throat,taking your eyes off of him as you busy yourself with something else infront of you. “Well…it doesn’t matter now.”

“Oh it does, honey.” Chan says lowly, his voice suddenly closer as you want it to, and you know perfectly he’s only a step away from you. “If I only knew my baby just wanted to help me out in my solo,” He snakes his arms around your waist slowly, his bare chest pressing into your clothed back as he’s standing behind you, whispering in your ear. “I could’ve used some help.” With that, he pressed a slow open mouth kiss on the side of your neck. his hands caressing the skin on your stomach.

“Should we recreate it and show it to my makeup artist?”

Chan whispers against your ear, biting down slightly on your earlobe as he makes eye contact with you through the mirror. You look already disheveled just from his touch, your nightgown scrunched slightly up as he kneads your stomach, one of his hands slowly inching up to your breasts. “Would you like that, baby?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Chan – mhphm…” A small moan leaves your lips as he pinches your nipple in his slender fingers, continuing to make out with your neck as you try and compose yourself.

“How did you mean it then?” He grunts out as you push your backside on his crotch, his cock twitching already in his sleeping pants at the thought of you being jealous. “Tell me.”

“I–I just…” You try to form words, keeping yourself together and not yet falling for his words but then Chan sneakily slides his other down towards your waiting heat, his finger immediately meeting with slickness between your pussy lips. He groans again, grinding into your ass to ease the pain from being so hard. “Baby, if you want to scratch my back that badly just say it.” There’s something hiding behind his words which makes you shut your eyes from the pleasure he’s causing, your hands flying on the counter for support. “I kind of…wanted to..” Your breath hitches, cutting off your sentence when Chan flips your nightgown upwards to expose your wet pussy, your naked ass on display in front of him as he takes his hand away from your breast and caresses one of your cheeks. “You wanted what? Do you need some help darling?” He grunts under his breath when he feels you clench around his fingers, plugging it in and out to take your breath away. You moan out when you feel his fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot that makes your back arch.

But Chan doesn’t give in that easily.

You suddenly feel a stinging pain on one of your cheeks, moaning out shamelessly from the sensation he just caused with his hand. When you pick your head up you see Chan already looking at you through the mirror, lust filled eyes raking over your already fucked out face. “Say it baby.”

You can feel his hand smoothing over the place he just spanked, the air in the bathroom so humid you can feel yourself getting sweaty again. His finger never stopped working inside you, with that spank almost knocking you over the edge.

When Chan doesn’t see you changing your mind and finally answer him, he only clicks his tongue and tilts his head to the side. Without a second thought, he slaps your ass again, his finger circling around your clit rapidly when he hears your pornographic moans echoing in the bathroom.

“I–I wanted to mark you!”

And there it is.

As you practically moan out the words, Chan’s finger is coated thickly with your cum as his words made you tip over the edge. Your whole body shaking in his arms as you come down your high slowly, trying to gather your thoughts and realizing what you just said.

When the words finally leave your mouth he can’t help but smirk, the possessive side of you finally showing for the first time in your relationship. “And why is that honey?” Chan teases you, seeing your ears red from the sudden confession you just made.

“Just so everyone knows that you’re mine..” You mumble quietly, shame overcoming you as it paints your cheeks deep red.

Something snaps inside Chan. He can’t help but groan out, his cock painfully hard against his pants as he turns you around and places his hands on your throat, slightly adding pressure on it. Before you know it, you’re pressed up against the wall, his lips already chasing yours.

“Do it baby.” He kisses you, his tongue sneaks through his lips to taste your lip balm you applied earlier he loves so much. “I want you to do your worst on me,” He whispers between kisses, his hand suddenly picking you up to put your legs around his waist. Your whole body welcomes him, your mouth opens as he slides his tongue inside once again, and your fingers landing into his freshly washed hair as he devours your lips. His hand scrunches up your gown once again before he presses his hardness into your slick core.

At the contact you moan out loudly, already wanting him inside you, to ease your pain that he caused.

“Feel that baby? It’s all yours. Nobody else has that but you.”

With a whine you throw your head on the wall, Chan’s lips continuing to leaves red splotches on your sensitive skin as he takes his hand and pushes down his boxers, hissing out the minute the air hits his precum covered cock, tip red from all the waiting and veins bulging with excitement.

He drags his wet tip over your puffy lips, spreading them open more to make room for himself when he circles around your clit. As he slides his length between your folds, you feel all emotions gather up inside you, the feeling too hazy as your vision becomes blurry from the need. “Channie,,please..”

“‘s okay baby,I’ll give it to you.” He chants when he finally pushes his tip inside you, groaning out from you uncontrollably clenching around his cock when he nearly settles halfway in. “You have to relax,angel. You make it impossible for me to–”

“Chan — I’m so sorry, I–” He hears you gasp out, your body all tensed up, your eyes wide open as you look into the mirror across you. He looks swiftly behind him to see your naked bodies melted into one, and then it catches his eye.

With one thrust he settles fully inside you, moaning from how incredibly tight you are around his length, keeping himself back to not buckle into you rapidly. He puts his hand on your chin, making you look into his eyes and not on his blood covered back. “I asked you to do this, right?” With a softened gaze, he makes sure you understand what he’s saying, not taking his eyes off of you until he sees your lust filled expression again instead of worry ones. “Right baby?”

“Y-yes..” You gulp when you see your fingers slightly covered in red around his neck. “But I didn’t want to-”

“It’s fucking hot.” He hisses, his voice whinier than usual as he puts his forehead on your chest, his hips starting to move. “You did such a great job sweetheart.” He pulls completely out before thrusting into you again, this time harsher as he hears your cries next to his ears.

When you take another look in the mirror, you see what you just caused. The moment you felt his cock hitting you so deeply you couldn't help but deepen your nails into his skin on his broad back, now covered with blood here and there. It softly dribbles down his defined muscles, and Chan is right. It is fucking hot.

So you clench around him again when you feel his fingers circling around your clit, his cock hitting the perfect spot as he moans out your name. “Do it again.” He demands, his hand flying on the wall next to your head to thrust up harder into you, making you roll your eyes. As you see Chan so deeply in emotions you scratch his back again, now only deep redness showing on his pale skin.

The pain on his skin makes him inch closer to his release. The jerks of his hips, slamming against your hips are quickening, becoming more erratic, intense and desperate. You cry out his name nonstop, feeling him twitching inside you.

“Give it to me.” He’s breathless as he chants into the side of your neck. “I need you to come around my cock baby.”

His demand tips you over the edge again, moaning out his name as you feel him curl against you, his shoulders on display for you to see what you painted on his back. His grunts are vibrating through your body, the pain melting into pleasure as he paints your insides with his thick cum, feeling so full of him, feeling him everywhere. Chan bites down softly on your skin,kissing the pain away quickly as you both come down from this high.

You are his. He made sure a long time ago, but now, you made sure he was yours too as you watch the crimson red blood slowly sliding down his back, gathering it on your fingers.

“It took a solo stage for you to claim me as yours?” Chan asks when he softly puts you down on the bathroom counter, a bright smile painting his face once again.

like and reblog is much appreciated! ♡

divider by:@enchanthings

#kpop #bangchan #skz #straykids #straykids bangchan #bangchan x reader #bangchan smut #chan what the actual fuck were you thinking #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz smut #stray kids dominate #skz world tour

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livwritessometimes · 20 days ago

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What Can I Say? I’ve Got That Charm

: Part 13 (Lando’s Version)

: Y/n and Lando film their first vlog together!

: Prev | Next

: Series Masterlist

: Main Masterlist

: Author’s Note- No sneak peek this time because I just could not think of 4 different photos for this chapter

…

gamerboilando added to their story!

seen by whoisy/nanyways, gamermaxonline and 3,720 others

As Y/n made her way upstairs, a chill ran down her spine. It was a cold night, which made her wonder what Lando was doing up there in the first place. Opening the door, she saw Lando peering over the city.

"Don't you think it's a little too cold for you to be here in a half shirt?" Y/n said as she adjusted the sleeves of her hoodie.

Lando turned to look at her, smiling softly as he said, "Maybe," before turning back to look at the city.

"So why are you here?" Y/n asked as she inched further towards where Lando was standing.

"Nothing, I just...like to come up here when I need to breathe," He said.

"Hmm," Y/n hummed as she stood directly next to him, resting her head on her arms.

It felt nice. It had been a while since Y/n had visited the rooftop; the last time was when she moved into the complex. It was nice to be up here–peaceful even.

So lost in her thought, Y/n almost missed what Lando was saying, "Huh," She said asking him to repeat his question.

"Do you ever think that maybe this isn't what you're supposed to do in life?" Lando asked, his voice low, leaving a heavy silence in the air.

"What do you mean?" Y/n asked, turning herself so that she was now facing the boy in front of her.

"Like, do you ever wonder how life would have been had you not taken the course that you did? If maybe you had done something that was more...valuable?" Lando asked, glancing at Y/n and then back at the view in front of him.

"Sometimes," Y/n answered truthfully. She continued, "I do think about what my life would have been like had I taken medicine like my mother or business like my dad."

Turning back to look at the city, Y/n said, "But you know what I've realized? There will always be these unanswered 'what ifs' that follow us all our lives. You can never escape that....the only thing you can do is have faith in your decisions, even if the future is uncertain. You just gotta believe you're doing the right thing."

Lando looked at Y/n, watching the city lights cast a soft glow over her face. "You know, I can be really philosophical sometimes. You just gotta spend more time with me Norris to know this side of mi-" Y/n was silenced as Lando cupped her face in his hands and pulled her into a kiss.

He could not help the sudden burst of emotions that took over him. Pulling away, he rested his forehead against hers. "Be my girlfriend," He said.

"What?" Y/n was thrown off guard by the sudden question. She could feel her heart racing in her chest as she waited for Lando to answer her.

"Be my girlfriend," Lando repeated this time, looking her right in the eye.

"Are you serious?" Y/n questioned. If you had told her a month ago that the noisy neighbor from the floor above her, whom she hated with a passion, would be standing in front of her asking her to be his girlfriend, she would have laughed in your face.

"As serious as I'll ever be," Lando said, his eyes glistening with sincerity.

"Yes," Y/n whispered, as she leaned in to close the gap between them.

...

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hereforthehitsbaby · 21 days ago

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Hail to the King, Baby | Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Synopsis: When Eddie Munson brought you into the Hellfire Club room on your first day of being new to Hawkins - you never expected to be on your knees for him. And Eddie never expected to see you the next day.

Warning: SMUT!!! Oral M!Receiving, Blow Job, Language, Public Sex, Cocky!Eddie, Reader is 18+, Innocence Kink, Praise Kink,

Rating: E - NO MINORS!!!

Author's Note: So I used to run a Stranger Things blog in 2022. I'm in a writing slump at the moment so I figured it would be cool to reupload my work from that time.

Word Count: 6.3K

How can the world fuse two people together who have not been on the best terms? Is it due to lack of understanding, or lack of care? It's funny when you think about it in depth. People are brought together everyday through different circumstances. Some work out and some don't, that is just how it is at the end of the day. But at the same time, those who don't have the intent on working out always do - for some reason or another. Opposite ends of the social spectrum - no matter social class or religion, they can make things work. Its the matter of setting your mind to the goal, to see where this whole ship can lead them - whether its a rocky start or a flourishing end. No one will ever know if there is no try. Life cannot strive forth without these instances. All you truly have to do is give the other a chance, and see how much they can change your world after all. it's easier said than done yes but, isn't that an adventure within itself?

That's always what you thought - no matter what walks of life you or others were in, the best and sometimes the strangest relationships/friendships formed. Each person you meet on the daily plays a role in your life, whether it is to be a background character for a moment, to stir shut up, or to even to bring you a whole new sense of living. All the ones you gave chances to are still around to this day within your social circle - whether they are rude and malicious, or caring and loving. You make space for everyone, and like to see the difference within each person. Sometimes it drained you to no extent, constantly having to feel the sense of putting your best front on or enveloping yourself within this person's life if they do not have the intent to stay. Maybe it has to do with you being such a people pleaser. There was something about having to have that acceptance with every walking creature on Earth - knowing where you came from, where you grew up - they never gave you the positive reinforcement you needed. Abuse laid in its wake; You wanted to break that cycle.

When Hawkins, Indiana became the hub of cursed activity - you thought it was in a metaphorical sense. The countryside almost, more greenery and wildlife than you were use to. Growing up in the big city didn't give you that freedom like this small town could. So, you did what you could in your 1978 Buick Regal - packed everything you had and made the trek close to 600 miles away. You always loved ghost stories, quaint towns, and lively people - Hawkins seemed to call you quickly. Graduating from High School, and College before the age of twenty was remarkable in cases, landing you great opportunities. But in a way it isn't what you wanted - you wanted to explore, to adventure - to do sporadic moments on whim. Exactly like you're doing to this day - Hawkins was your post-bachelor's trip, now becoming your permanent home. You had no idea what it was but, something about Hawkins just stuck out to you, a calling almost. As if a darkened voice invaded your ears to say come home, though you are not from there. It would be where you made your roots, you could tell. Away from the hustle and bustle - away from the world.

It's when you arrived in Hawkins that things took a turn - you couldn't tell if it was for the better, or for the worst. There was this oily sheen that ran over the city, masking it as if it once was, rather than what it currently is. Downtown Hawkins held strips of businesses directly next to one another, slanted parking spots and lively chatter. A normal, unconvinced small town. They were like everyone else - poofy 80's hair, jeans, windbreakers - the whole nine years. Everyone looked happy; Sane. The more you drove through Hawkins you got to see that it wasn't all business - but pleasure too. Lovers lake, the lush greenery of the roads. Hell, even the schools looked great. It reminded you that you were on your last year, and needed to graduate in order to move on with your life. Being as young as you are, its difficult to make a name when no one takes you seriously. You had to learn from the locals, the ones who everyone despises - how to get passed that tomfoolery of dismissing your achievements. You would make them see, how could you not?

A Wednesday night in Hawkins had to be bumping - considering the influx of cars maneuvering their way into the high school parking lot. Earlier in the day when you had taken a tour of Hawkins High, you didn't anticipate to be coming whilst in the midst of a tournament for basketball. Hawkins was in the semi-finals as of this moment, if they won this game they would move on to the finals. A big thing for a small town - a big thing for a town that has lost so much in the last year. What could have been a better way to see Hawkins, than in full bloom? So many of its residence were sporting orange and green - waving small pompoms as if they were the cheerleaders - their enthusiasm lighting up the world. You couldn't help but smile, to feel engrossed in the atmosphere of what this school holds. It was tempting, enticing, and gorgeous. Something caught your vision though, to your right as you made a descend towards the funneled doors everyone was flowing through. A tall, slender figure with leather and denim, a chain in their pocket and a bandana in the back pocket of their jeans made their way through the other set of double doors, disappearing into the school. For a moment you wanted to chase the figure, but assumed it was part of the curse.

"Welcome to Hawkins, kiddo," you sighed to yourself - knowing exactly what your dad would say if he was still on this Earth. You didn't know this whilst attending Hawkins but, this is where your dad grew up, where he laid his roots. The original family of the small, tempting town - that is why it drew you in close, and snuffed out your past. You slid into the large crowd gathering inside, schmoozing through the bunch as everyone got their ticket checked. You on the other hand did not have to thankfully - since the guard from earlier told you it would be fine. Walking through the metal detectors at the front you pushed your way into the halls - seeing how bumping they were with excitement, and readiness. It was nostalgic almost, never getting to experience this for your own - but now even with being a smidge older it was lovely. You smiled wide as you followed the crowd into the gym - standing on the side of the bleachers whilst everyone found a spot. You weren't much of a stands kind of person, you'd rather stand by the door in case anything happens. Luckily for you, the spot was wide open and not as confined.

The last of the crowd started to come through and stake their claim on the wooden seats, sporting the Hawkins school colors as face paint and clothing - the cheers echoing directly next to you. The cheering started to die down when the principle of the High School made his way to the middle of the court - halting the bands movements. "And now to sing our National Anthem, all the way from Tennessee, Tammy Thompson!" He cheered, causing everyone to erupt into applause. The woman was pretty, curled hair that was slightly pinned back and gelled on the right side, Her white puffy jacket, Madonna lace gloves, and dangly pearl earrings were a statement within itself - her singing on the other hand, no one was ready for. As she began to sing the National Anthem, within the first second it was atrocious. You'd figure if Hawkins made it to the finals they would bring Tammy out - but maybe she was there for the semi-finals due to how appalling her voice was. In all honesty she sounded like a Muppet, a cross between Kermit and Ms. Piggy for sure. That was enough incentive for you to leave before your eardrums bled.

You quickly shuffled to find the exit of the gym, pushing the double door open hard to make it known someone was leaving. As you approached the vacant hallway, you were met with a nice - chill vibe spreading throughout the school. With everyone shacked up int he gym, it was easy to roam and not get yelled at. Hawkins High wasn't too big to begin with, one floor mostly but still large enough to hide. As you made two consecutive lefts in the building - you were met with the Stereo sound of Die by the Sword by Slayer coming through, causing you to bop your head. The large blackened double doors were clearly to the auditorium - every high school had one like this, plus the little plaque next to it gave it away. If someone was listening to Metal music in this school - then you had instantly found your people. Though you may not dress like a metal-head, you most certainly were. It was that preppy, and quaint exterior no one expected with a music taste like that.

Placing your hand on the door knob, you steadily pulled the blackened door open - being met with the instant smell of marijuana, paper and cleaning products. It was a whole wave of smells you needed to acclimate to, but what made it feel creepy was the elongated table awaiting on the stage, what looked to be a board set up with little figures. At the end of the table was a large Victorian Gothic-esque looking throne, reddened velvet cushioned for the chosen one. You snickered as you mentally made the remark, starting to move closer towards the stage. Each pass of the rows made you weary, wondering if someone was going to pop out and scare you, especially with how hard it was. But of course nothing did as you hit the bottom step. The closer you got to the table you could see the Dungeon and Dragons manual propped up for whoever the Dungeon Master was. All these small customized figurines and die laid on the game board, causing your eyes to twinkle. D&D was a game you loved playing back home, ever since middle school. It was exciting to immerse yourself into such gnarly campaigns, and reign victorious. It made you happy seeing it becoming more mainstream.

"Woah, so fucking cool," you let out with a smile as you trotted up the steps, standing near the throne as you crossed the stage. Overhead lights dimmed orange for ambiance, the drones of Slayer progressively got softer as your mind drifted to what each character meant - what the campaign must have entailed and so forth. You ran your fingers over the sanded edge of the table, feeling how sturdy it was in your grip. As for the chair off to your side, it was beckoning you forth to sit - to claim this spot as your own, until the players did show up. It made you smile seeing the excellent craftmanship of the throne, the blackened wood carved so intricately and beautiful. The velvet blood red cushion looked so plush, so soft. You could nap in this chair easily, if given the chance. "Hey! Yeah, no. No, no normies in my Hellfire Club," a sharp voice sprang up near you, coming from behind the curtains with a whole twelve pack of Pepsi, and a few bags of chips. You jumped at the booming voice, clutching your chest as you squeaked.

"I-I'm sorry!" You responded without thinking, always afraid of being caught. As you looked up at the man who spoke, you were taken aback by who it was. A tall, lanky figure. Brown hair that was the same softness and length as a lion's mane. Dark, obsidian eyes that showed every emotion possible. Full, beautiful pink lips. Leather and denim clad his torso as the devil on his shirt stood out perfectly. Darkened jeans with a chain connecting to the belt loop and wallet, a pirate skull bandanna hanging out of the back of his pants. Your breath was hitched in your throat as you came to realize, this was the figure you saw earlier coming into the school. This is my Hellfire Club. It all made sense now - you heard about the D&D club earlier on in the day but never connected the dots. It made your heard waver knowing kids got to enjoy the game without the satanic panic to back it up, and to have such an attractive leader made all the difference. Your body was frozen as you stared at the man, truly incomprehensible in this moment. "I-I got distracted." It wasn't a lie, you did. Tammy Thompson's awful singing made you flee to the auditorium - and boy were you happy you did so.

"I heard Die by the Sword play and got excited because Slayer is one of my favorite bands and Show No Mercy has to be one of their best albums, I couldn't pass that up especially since its so nostalgic for me and Tom Araya honestly is a bass god-" you rambled, causing the man to hold his hand up, trying to comprehend the words you were saying. "You, like Slayer?" He cocked his brow, crossing his arms over his chest. It was almost as if he couldn't believe the facts you knew, or that someone dressed as preppy could possibly enjoy it. But it wasn't the truth - he was more or less wondering where you had been all of his life, and how someone so genuine could have just sprang up in his life today. You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks as you nodded, shy and innocent all of a sudden. "I-I do, I love Slayer. Second favorite goes to Iron Maiden. Judas Priest a close third. I-I'm sorry for interrupting, I will go. It was nice to meet you, though." You waved softly as you turned your eyes from the man, ducking your head and keeping your eyes down as you headed towards the stairs. "You don't...have to leave, if you don't want to," he replied, his tone softer than before.

Spinning slowly to gaze over your shoulder, you bit your lip gently, toying with it in between your teeth. "Are you sure? I-I don't want to intrude." You didn't but at the same time you wanted to know this man, see where he came from and what made him loved D&D, along with Slayer. He shook his head with a softened gaze, tilting his head to beckon you over. "I'm Eddie." Eddie, perfect in person as his name is in your head. You shot Eddie a bright smile, returning the niceties with your own name which made the pale man blush - smiling over to you gently. That tough boy exterior you were expecting did fizzle out quickly, and instead was placed by a giant teddy bear - the softest of men in Hawkins. "So, big Slayer fan - have you ever played D&D?" The question caught you off guard, the intimate silence both yourself and Eddie basked in was dissipating. Processing the question as you had, you nodded with a gleaming grin, ready to spurt off on how you loved the game, but decided to reel it back in. "I have - it's my favorite board game! I haven't played in close to a year but, my stats are pretty good - not to brag or anything." That seemed to light a fire under Eddie as he plopped down into the throne, sitting back whilst his elbows rested against the arm of the chair. "Oh yeah? Amuse me."

"Well," you started, moving closer to Eddie's side so you could tell him, running your fingers over the mimic figurines. "So my name is Thia Sondrall. I am a level 37 chaotic evil rogue dark elf with a range attack of 120 feet, who also wields the sun blade which is basically just a bitchin' lightsaber." The passion and happiness you had for Dungeon and Dragons truly beamed within your voice, causing Eddie's eyes to widen with amazement. He was not expecting you to be so high of a level, nor was he expecting you to have such amazing stats. "My nickname is Nat 20, because I only go for high with attacks." There was a brim of cockiness in your tone, which you had every right to be. It was fun after all, creating these sheets and bringing such a wonderful character to life. Thia was your first ever character you created, birthed into existence, she was your golden girl. It was official, you had blown Eddie's mind out of the water. D&D player, metal lover, he was in whatever heaven was said to be. "Where have you been all of my life?" He retorted without thinking, eyes shooting wide at his own comment. The redness on his cheeks amplified.

Your own eyes went wide with shock, but the smile on your face spoke other measures. "I was thinking the same thing," you beamed - tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you made your eyes connect with Eddie's. There was something else cascading through those mocha eyes of his - glints of golden flecks swimming in his irises. But besides the admiration, there was more. Desire. Lust. You couldn't differentiate the two - but you knew that he could sense it on you as well. "I saw you earlier when I first came in - honestly I was tempted to follow you and not attend the game. I am glad my instinct was right about that one." It sounded creepy in your mind but, it was the truth after all. You thought Eddie would have been skeeved out by your revelation but, he was not. In fact, his eyebrow slanted upwards as he tried to find the hidden message between your lips - trying to coax what you really meant out. Tilting his head back against the throne, he shot you a sly smirk, eyes wavering over your face and body. "Just my satanic powers bringing new victims in," he joked with a snort, waving his fingers around whimsically. It was an obvious joke but, you decided to play along with it.

Showing the shock of your face, you pretended as if Eddie was dragging your body forward, stumbling comically as you latched onto his chair. At first Eddie thought it was corny, but as you grew closer he laughed out loud - thinking it was the funniest thing he has seen in a bit. If someone could be as outlandish and funny as him, he loved it. As you snickered with him, he waved his fingers again, making them dance theatrically around your head. The closeness you two had was unmatched; A zing of energy flying through you to Eddie. You could tell he felt it as well, the way his eyes gleamed and glimmered for you. Bringing your eyes down to his lips, then back up to eyes - you signaled for what you were craving. The gap between your faces started to lessen as Eddie leaned over the arm on the left side, sliding his right hand to cup your cheek. Your eyes closed instinctively as you felt his supple lips pressed against yours, his hair covering your field of vision on the sides - engrossing you completely to his being. It had been a long while since you were last kissed, and you couldn't imagine a better person to do this.

The kisses slid from soft, sweet and shy at first - to pointed, passionate and direct. Eddie's lips moved feverously against yours, holding your face just a bit tighter to steady you out. Your left hand came up to his denim vest, harshly tugging on the collar to bring him closer. It's when Eddie's tongue licked at your bottom lip that you let out the filthiest whimper you could, causing Eddie to pull back, breathless. "Fuck, that was hot." The lust lacing his tone caused your eyes to dilate wider; Your breath started to pick up as Eddie ghosted his lips over the juncture of your neck and jaw, nipping lightly at the skin. A mewl released from deep down within your lungs, pulling you closer and closer to him. You could see your arousal soaking your panties beneath your jeans, rocking your hips slightly to break up some of the tension. Your hand found purchase on Eddie's leg, keeping you steady and from falling over. But little did you realize, you had grabbed a completely different section of him. The thick length, buzzing and throbbing within your grasp, twitched slightly at your grasp. It caused Eddie to omit a low growl, biting at your pulse point. A gasp ripped straight out of you whilst Eddie suctioned his mouth around the bite - soothing it with tentative licks.

You laced your free hand in Eddie's hair, yanking him back to see his lips swollen and glistening from kissing. Both of your labored breaths melded as one, his eyes as dark as the night above. Still in your crouched form, you slid your body around to the front of Eddie, pushing yourself under the table. Doe eyes of yours met his with passion, wondering exactly what the plan is. A charming, sensual wink was sent up to Eddie - giving him a small glimpse into what he is getting himself wrapped into. All Eddie could do was nod rapidly, moving both of his hands down to put your hair into a makeshift ponytail. The eagerness he placed helped out a lot; Your fingers moved to grab at Eddie's belt, pulling the opposite end through the loop and letting it fall open - moving nimble fingers to undo his top jean button, and yank the zipper down harshly. Upon opening the unzippered flap, Eddie's cock was already threatening to jut out of his red briefs. The strain providing his erection caused you to whine, wanting nothing more than to stuff your mouth full of the brunette. Quickly you slid your fingers into the waist band of his underwear, yanking down the fabric enough to let his thick length release from its constraint. A sigh of relief came out of Eddie, ready for whatever you'd give him.

Making your eyes look as innocent as possible was the goal, Eddie needed to see how soft you truly are. As he gazed down into your gorgeous eyes, he couldn't keep his mouth closed - he needed you to know; "So beautiful." The praise had your eyes almost rolling back, a fresh wave of your essence sliding against the cotton of your panties. You placed your hands in a triangle around the base of Eddie's heavy cock, stabilizing the muscular flesh whilst darting your pink tongue out. As slow as you could go, you placed one solid lick from base to top, sliding carefully over the thick vein. The underside of his cock binged and purged to your will, sputtering out some of Eddie's own seed. Right as your tongue came to lick around the mushroomed head of his penis, you angled it precisely to slot your tongue around his slit - lapping his precome up like it was nothing. Never did you once take your eyes off of Eddie's, watching how his whole face contorted with pleasure. His mouth hung open , eyes narrowing to keep his only focus on you. His thick, ring clad fingers grasped your hair tighter, swirling your head slightly to envelop his whole tip. "Sweetheart, I need you." You were not able to let Eddie fall to his own suffices, especially when he needed you.

Grabbing the base of his cock with your right hand, you sank your mouth over his length completely, sheathing it in between your lips. You felt the tip graze the back of your throat before you pulled up once more, swirling the first inch of him in your mouth. As you watched Eddie, you saw his eyes rolling into the back of his head, hips threatening to thrust up as you bring your mouth down again. Eddie was a goner; If he didn't get it before he got it now. The feeling of your tight, wet, warm mouth on him was driving him crazy. To keep you from gagging he had to do some serious intense holding, tensing his stomach so he couldn't thrust upwards. Each time you would pull back he wanted nothing more than to chase the feeling, engulfing his being with all of you. Between Eddie's grip on your hair and his sweetened sounds, you didn't know what was better. It was better than any song you had ever heard - he was truly magical. His moans slipped into whimpers and whines when you'd pull back - hearty and real when you would swallow him down. No one, and he means no one, gave head like you did. Though Eddie has only gotten a blow job once when he was fifteen, five years later you were giving his first a run for his money.

You created a steady rhythm with Eddie's hand movements and minuscule thrusts, meeting each one in tandem with the next. Sweat started to line the brow of Eddie, making his bangs stick thickly to his skin. The lights were warm around you, but your sexiness was making him clammy. He had never laid eyes upon a more perfect woman than yourself, and he was going to show you all the ways he saw your beauty. "Good girl, you are driving me crazy," Eddie let out a chuckle that slipped into a wholehearted moan the second you swallowed around his tip. That movement in itself made his hips snap forward, shoving his girthy length further down your throat. Due to rubbing against your uvula, it made you gag harshly as you pulled back, your eyes brimming with tears. You should've panicked but, you had to admit you loved it. As did Eddie, now holding your hair tightly to move at his pace. Your softness and delicate side was no match for him, it teased him, edged him beyond belief. Eddie promised himself he would make it up to you later, hearing the howls of Jeff and Gareth coming up the hallway. He realized in that moment, he was close to busting, but close to getting caught as well.

"Fuck me, sweetheart I'm so close-" Eddie let out before cutting himself off, gripping the back of your head. surging his cock deep down your throat. The action of Eddie made you moan quite loudly around his length, head so close to bumping against the top of the table. You loved the feeling of him deep within your mouth, using you for his own personal pleasure. You did not expect your first day in Hawkins High to be so dirty, but you were thanking whoever was listening for bringing you two souls together. Both of your hands rested flat against Eddie's parted thighs, digging your fingertips into the hardened flesh. You were willing to let Eddie ruin every hole your body had, marking them as his for all eternity. One day he would, after Hellfire he was going to show you what he was made of, and you would gladly accept. Hollowing out your mouth as Eddie's thrusts started to speed up, you were aiding in his release. He knew he would not be able to last; He needed you.

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" Eddie screamed, holding your head over his cock as his high erupted. Digging your whole palm into his thigh you felt your throat contract around him, forcing you to breathe through your nose. Garbled moans and mewls slipped around Eddie's thick cock as he worked himself through his high - the salty musk of his seed coating your tongue and belly. Looking up at Eddie with tear stained eyes, you were drinking in his orgasm face - the perfect O his lips created as his eyes fluttered shut. His labored breaths only made your nipples perk, wondering how they would sound at his home instead. Each spurt from the tip of his cock was immaculate, gathering his seed on your tongue. Once Eddie had started to feel himself soften he carefully removed himself from you, watching how a few drops of his spend dribbled down your chin, taking his thumb he cleaned up the mess, and pushed it between your lips. But what took him by surprise was how he felt his sticky seed coating your tongue, bringing your lips further in to capture his ring as well. A wink was sent his way under the table as you swallowed down all he gave you, listing his thumb clean as well.

"You naughty little thing," Eddie smirked, a bright - whimsical smile on his lips, wide and proud. Licking your lips to relish in the taste of this dungeon master, you pushed forth to give him a short, sweet peck on the lips, bringing it over to his cheek and slightly stubbly chin. At his words you pulled back and nodded innocently, puffing your bottom lip out as you tucked his softened member away. "Maybe you should take me back to your place, and teach me a lesson." Eddie was tempted to say the least; If your mouth was that good he knew your cunt would be even better. He almost said fuck it and dipped from Hellfire but, he would never leave his brothers hanging. "Holy shit - Eddie fucking Munson - you dog!" A somewhat high-pitched voice let out, causing you two to look over to stage right. Standing in the doorway were six guys, ranging in age. Your eyes went wide, as did Eddie's, as you saw the others of Hellfire club gawking. "You absolute legend!" One of them cheered, as the other whacked the kid named Mike. Smacking him was the one named Dustin - who just so have happened to spoke first.

"Gentlemen, meet Lady Thia - our new teammate," Eddie smirked, pushing the throne back so you could step out from under the table. With your hair slightly disheveled, you patted it down as much as you could, waving to the six men standing before you. It was your turn to now be smitten, as Eddie once was. Watching you take his cock like a champ, then use that filthy mouth to speak to his friends, turned him on once more. But as he buckled his pants back up, he puleld over a chair just for you, sandwiching you between himself, and Lucas. To say the least, it would be an interesting night.

-----

To say the night went by in a blink was an understatement - it flew by so quick you could've sworn you were in hyperspace. After the epic win that was D&D with Hellfire, Eddie had shucked you into his van - wanting to pick up where you both last left off. The trek down to the trailer park wasn't too far - and with his uncle working nights at the plant it meant you two would be undisturbed for the night. Eddie kept on his promise and showed you fifteen different ways he could make you come undone; On him, beside him, over him - it was the best night of your life. When you both were too sticky and sweaty to do anything else, he curled right on into your body, letting you look your arms around him. Going to bed holding Eddie was special, but waking up being held by him was way better. Though his alarm blaring into your ears was not the best wake up call - but him giving you head was. To that, you wrote down your number for him, and told him when you'd be free next. He couldn't wait to take you out, learn more about you, and show you how serene Hawkins can be.

You wished that you were still in bed with Eddie, instead of putting your lunch away at your first day on the job. Lucky for you to find such a great position for the money - and hours as well. The teachers lounge at Hawkins High was definitely spacious and breathable, you know when teachers weren't chain smoking. Covering your mouth so you didn't have another coughing fit, you proceeded to shut the fridge and make your way to Mr. Jefferies classroom - ready to help the senior level botany class. It was exciting, the tingles spread throughout your fingertips as you started to cement yourself within Hawkins. You could see yourself settling down here, now having a reason too with this job, and of course Eddie. As the bell rang to switch classes, you finally made your way into the botany class, waving to Mr. Jefferies as you wrote your name on the board. Body after body started to file in; You were told the class only had about twelve students, so it would be a great start. Still, the nerves bubbled up within your stomach.

"I told you Jeff, I am not spilling shit about last night - that stays between her and I." You heard the conversation ring out with a familiar voice, but decided against it. You just missed him too much, that was it. Plus, you could still feel the pulsing of his mouth on your neck, branding a perfect purple o - that was a bitch to cover with concealer this morning. The warning bell sounded as the door shut with the last student, causing you to place the chalk down and clap the dust off of your hands. "Good morning class - we have a special guest here with us for the rest of the year," Mr. Jefferies began, motioning over to you, and the board with your last name on their. "She will be joining us as my teaching assistant, while she finishes out her masters degree in Education over Indiana State University." You were lucky Hawkins High was about fifteen minutes away from ISU, making it easier to wrap up your last year in school. This was going to be it, the start of the rest of your life.

"Hello everyone!" You beamed as you spun around, looking over the fresh faces in your new class. Instantly your eyes were drawn to the back of the class where one Eddie Munson sat - eyes wider than they were the day prior, mouth hanging open in disbelief. You felt the same gut punch as you stared into his beautiful eyes, not realizing that he would be one of your now students. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you pressed on; Eddie watched you like a hawk as you spoke. Jeff on the other hand found that to be so rich, snickering as he punched Eddie's shoulder. "Eddie you are a fucking legend! You banged the hot TA! Dude no one will ever live up to this!" It should have felt like a notch on Eddie's belt, knowing he was sleeping with the hottest person in Hawkins High now. But he felt more tension approach, wondering if this meant you wouldn't want to see him again. That was until you made your rounds with the pop quiz for the day, leaving Jeff and Eddie for last. "Mr. Munson, I am advised you are needing a tutor for Mr. Jefferies class this year?" You hummed as Eddie looked at you in disbelief, slowly nodding his head to not seem rude.

"Good, follow these directions. We have a lot to learn about each other, and botany," you sent a wink inconspicuously to Eddie, pushing the index card with your office hours, and your sticky note for him closer to his hand. He got the gist quickly, slipping it into his pocket without anyone noticing. As you slipped back to the front of the class, Eddie spun sideways in his seat to open the sticky note, wondering what it could possibly say. Your delicate handwriting filled out the entire page; The first line making his cock twitch. "Eddie the Banished - for your first quest this school year, I command you to answer my question. Am I wearing anything under my skirt today? If you think you know the answer, meet me during study hall in Room 211." His eyes were bugging out of his head, desire-filled and staring directly back at you. With a devilish smirk he flashed his eyes over your legs, trailing to the curve of your backside, knowing for a fact your panties were currently in his jacket pocket.

This wasn't the end of what you two had created last night, but only the wonderful beginning.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

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cherry-leclerc · 3 months ago

Text

don’t lock the door ☆ cs55

genre: fluff, humor, smut, angst, thriller/suspense, mentions of depression, mentions of suicide, mentions of homicide, erotic literature, tragedy

word count: 9k

An oleander is beautiful—yet deadly. You’re beautiful—yet deadly. But Carlos has always been gentle, and has always known how to take care of things he loves. And even if he doesn’t, he’s willing to learn, just for you. But you can’t outrun secrets. Not when they have everything to do with the only thing he adores—you.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+... fingering, riding, car sex

STOP AND READ:

The story you are about to read is not meant to be admired or looked up to. Regularly, the types of fics that I like to present to all of you are light, humorous, and sweet. While I feel that this story does have occasional glimpses of that, it also deals with heavy topics such as; suicide, depression, and homicide. At the end of the day, I care about all my readers, so if any of you feel like this is not something for you then you are always welcomed to head over to my masterlist for much lighter reads. You all know me by now, so you must know that sometimes I like to mix a story of traditional love with a dash of real life struggles, such as trauma and guilt, in this case. With that, I hope you enjoy word for word.

cherry here!...did you miss me????

Tension is normally one’s enemy. It’s fairly simple, you try your best to avoid what makes your skin crawl. Isn’t that how the story goes?

Not quite.

There’s tension, yes, but it's only because you’re the opposite sex. Nothing beyond that. It could also be because you’re both introduced to each other as a pair of miserable singles. Lewis is the person you share in common.

She’s a close friend, he proclaims as you two shake hands. The touch is sticky, just like hot glue— and for a minute—it feels like a knife cuts this invisible strain in half. He lets himself salivate over your lioness stare; dark, sharp, amorous. You lean towards him just the same; dominant, mature, suggestive.

I’ve seen you race.

He hums, still attached to your desirable touch. Yeah? Why haven’t I seen you then?

Fingers press sternly against his warm skin, as if to provoke him more than he already feels himself falling into. It should be alarming the way his mind slips into a frenzy because of it, but likes it. The rush.

Maybe because I wasn’t rooting for you.

There. Right then, he disconnects. I was hoping that wouldn’t be the case.

You grin. Well, now you know.

“You know what? Mingle—”

“Who says mingle?” you and Carlos question at the same time, judgemental eyes staring coldly.

Lewis blushes. “I-I-Is that not a thing anymore?” Silence. “Fuck, I really am getting old...”

The night consists of mimosas, because according to you, it reminds you of your late-mother. “She liked something fruity, but also fun enough to make her head spin. It was entertaining to watch.”

“How so?”

“She’d ramble on and on. Slurred about her dreams.” A sad smile. “That’s the only reason why I ever found out she wanted to become an author. She was fifty—five decades too old—but she said she wanted one last adventure before retiring. It didn’t even matter if she made it onto the New York Times Best Seller list.”

The way your eyes even out, round and almost doughy, makes him trip for a second because this is not the same girl he shook hands with nearly three hours ago. No, this version of you was almost childlike, but he supposes that's how everyone who loses a parent becomes.

It comes out shy—closed off—your laugh. As if you just caught yourself being too vulnerable. That was always the worst. “Look at me making you my therapist. I have got to stop doing that.”

His mouth opens lamely, ghostly scoff sitting upon his lips. And if it were to be released, it wouldn’t hurt your feelings. It was a weird thing to note. “I like hearing you talk.”

A beat. “We’ve only just met.”

Carlos grins, crinkles tracing the corner of his eyes like some beauty. “Then let's meet some more.”

The opportunity is there, the kind you’ve been looking for. With a sheepish smile, you nod. “I should warn you though, I’m a bit of a mess.”

Finally, the scoff escapes. And like envisioned, you laugh at the sound.

“Consider me warned.”

He fucked you that same night in the back of his car. It was late, so dark that you barely even had the chance to register the fact that you squirted all over his vintage Ferrari.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he pants as he snaps his hips up again, fast motion making you head loll bad. You wonder what he means, but as soon as his long fingers circle your swollen bud, you’re just as good as gone.

He asked you out an hour later, when he dropped you off right in front of your apartment. You happily accepted, unable to hide your excitement.

Your smile falters. “Give me a reason as to why I should say yes.”

“Um, well, you sort of already said…yes?”

The confusion that settles onto his handsome features makes you glow with satisfaction. “I could always change my mind. Pretend this night never even happened.”

Panic rushes harshly against his shoulders. He doesn’t even know why he cares so much, but he does.

Vulnerability is a bitch.

“Huh,” he hums, relaxing against his seat, head hitting the expensive cushion. And you can see it. The challenge. He clicks his tongue, bored all of a sudden. “Listen, I want you, but I certainly don’t need you.”

You realize right there and then—you met your match.

You realize right there and then—you two share the same green pride.

You realize right there and then—

“It was nice getting to know you.”

The only reason you’re even friends with someone like Lewis is because your mother married rich.

Filthy fucking rich.

Then, somehow, married richer by her third and last marriage. The man was twisted, but you never knew just how much. Not for a very long time.

He dabbled in stocks, or some boring shit like that, and later invested in some other crap. Somewhere along the line, you met the Brit.

The same Brit who now hisses at you through the phone.

“God damn it, what happened? Weren’t you two getting along?”

You sigh, rubbing your feet together as you admire the way the navy blue paint covers your pedicured nails. Stormy clouds match your mood as you shake the bottle of pills that lay on top of your desk.

“He’s too vain.”

He groans. “You my dear, dear friend, are looking into a mirror then, I suppose.”

A sharp gasp. “Are you insinuating I’m the same?”

“If the shoe fits…”

“May I remind you that you sit and stare at yourself for God knows how long before any race? Newflash, dickhead, you’re going to sweat, look like shit, and one out of ten times, you’re going to win.”

“I see I triggered something.” He sighs heavily. The sound tells you he’s not really upset or anything, but more so worried. Ever since she died, you’ve been that way.

Snappy. Defensive.

“Hey, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be. I know you.”

And although he can’t see, you still smile fondly. Rattling the bottle of antidepressants, you inch up higher and higher onto your chair until you face your own reflection. Shattered glass stares back at you as you feverishly look down.

“Do you still have an extra pass to this weekend's race?”

There had to be something wrong with you. Everyone could tell, and quite frankly, you could agree. Would you admit to it out loud? No, now that’s something different. Or maybe you’re just odd. That would also make sense. Whatever it was, it would explain as to why everyone around you screams with excitement as the fast cars fly by. You, on the other hand, simply stare with straight lips and empty eyes.

While all clap cheerfully when Lewis finishes on the third step, you cross your arms. While everyone runs out of the Mercedes garage to declare front row, you drag your feet slowly to the last.

While Carlos makes eye contact as he lifts his trophy—notably bigger than the Brits—you yawn.

You’re not impressed.

She’s not impressed, the Spaniard remembers thinking to himself as he smiles wider towards the stacks of cameras that turn him temporarily blind. He selfishly thinks you’re here for him, but he knows that's straight bullshit. Truth be told, it didn’t seem like you were here to support your friend either.

“It’s been so long,” Lewis huffs in disbelief as you stare across with vacant eyes. To him, you’re simply jetlagged. “Can you believe it?”

An exhale. “You did good.” Extending your legs outward, you admire the black tiles that shine back brighter than if it were to be white. “Drinks. On me.”

The Brit laughs. “Deal.”

Somewhere close by, they play jazz.

“Pretty,” you softly speak as you connect your lips to the glass. The live band sways back and forth, only adding to the charm you seem to like. And you like it a lot. “Dance with me.”

Lewis snickers. “I love you to death, but I’m gonna have to go with no.”

You frown. “Come on. I never ask you for anything.”

“You were born with a golden spoon and have used retinol since you were ten, you’re not allowed to ask for anything when you’ve already had everything.”

“Yeah…well not this.” You’re secretly envious of every lady in the room. The way they beam with sincere smiles at their husbands. Boyfriends? Flings? Affairs? Who cares honestly, you were jealous nonetheless.

The Mercedes driver watches as your fingers lazily tap against your lap, as if signaling you’re free. Guilt slithers down his neck as he sighs in defeat. “Fi–”

“Nice seeing you two here.”

Lewis wants to cry with utter thankfulness as Carlos inches closer with a lousy grin. “Hey! Oh God—hey.” You blink. “Wh-what are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining, of course, because I’m not.”

The Spanirad shrugs. “I won. Wanted to celebrate, I suppose.” Brown eyes flicker towards you like thunder and suddenly you feel naked under his gaze. You swallow. “You look nice.”

And there it is again—tension.

He cocks his head to the side, almost as if waiting for a compliment of your own. Instead, he finds himself being ignored. Crossing your legs, you lift the empty glass up as the bartender hurries for a refill.

Finally, Lewis speaks up. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay��”

“Who says hay?” you and the brunette spit out with snarkiness. You bite back a smile while he releases a chuckle.

The Brit stands up, chugging the rest of his drink as he waves you two off. “I’m not that old,” he shouts as he turns the corner and disappears.

Carlos takes the time to catch up on your appearance. Last time he saw you, you had longer hair, now it appears you’ve had a trim. He likes it. You were slightly tanner, but now appear a shade lighter. It could just be because it’s winter. It's nice seeing other versions of you.

“So, how have you be—”

“Why are you still here?”

He freezes. It takes him a while to find the strength to open his mouth.

“We never finished our conversation.”

He didn’t fuck you that night, no, he took you dancing. And maybe that’s why it worked this time around. Instead of taking the time to learn all the different types of moans you have, he took the time to learn all about your upbringing.

I learned how to bike when I turned six. Had severe trust issues for a year, so I tried again when I was seven.

That must be where your scars are from, he thinks to himself, but he finds them endearing.

I like long hair, I find it beautiful, but as soon as it’s starting to grow out I think it looks too weird on me.

That must be why your hair is shorter than he remembers, but he loves it. Has the urge to run his fingers through.

My favorite movie is How Harry Met Sally, but quite frankly, I don't find Harry attractive at all, so I never really understood why Sally settled down with him after so long.

And you’re honest. Brutally honest. And he finds that attractive.

“How about you, Mr. Singapore?”

I learned how to kart before I learned how to bike, actually. I, too, have scars on my hands from small crashes.

You blush as you hide yours beneath your coat.

I have two sisters, so I mainly learned how to dance because of them. I hated it at the time, but now I’m quite grateful.

Is it possible to swoon harder?

And I don’t have a favorite film, necessarily, but I’ve watched How Harry Met Sally, and I would agree. Sally was too good looking for him.

You have to laugh. “Is that so?”

He smiles. “The name Harry sounds so…” He winks cooly before running a hand through his locks. You giggle. “He looks more like a Bob.”

“Oh my God! Could you imagine? How Bob Met Sally?” You pause. “Wait, that actually doesn’t sound half bad…”

He chews on his bottom lip slowly, nodding in agreement. Silence engulfs you two as you stare at each other with round eyes. He’s the first to crack a loopy grin and you quickly follow with a sheepish one. Then, it vanishes and he’s left looking like he swallowed a frog.

“Listen, about last time…”

“Long forgotten.”

He halts, almost surprised by your response. “No, no, there’s no need to pretend, I was a—”

“Jerk?”

The Spaniard rolls his eyes. “Great, so you haven’t forgotten.”

You shrug. “I’m a girl. We remember everything.”

“Got it,” he declares. “Ask me again.”

Now it’s your turn to freeze. “What?”

“Ask me why you should say yes to a date with me.”

“You don’t have to do this, we’re good—”

“I know we are, but I still want you to ask.”

You lick your lip anxiously before relaxing your stiff shoulders. He tilts his head as if urging you and you nod. “Why should I say yes to you?”

Satisfaction settles. “Because you like a good challenge.” He leans closer. “And isn't that what this is?”

Carlos Sainz Jr. was made for you.

“Leave me alone,” you scream, veins throbbing, as you rush past him, heading towards the guest room. You’re glad his parents aren’t home at the moment because Lord knows the embarrassment you would feel.

“No. Not until you talk to me.” As simple as that. Your eyes twitch as you turn back, then bring your hands up to your hips. He adores it when you do that, though he probably shouldn’t right now.

“You want to talk?” You let out an unhinged scoff. “Oh, would you look at that, he wants to talk! Now he wants to talk. Well guess what, fuckhead—I don’t.”

With that, you march out into the balcony. His eyes follow the way you light up a cigarette. The way you drink the last drops of champagne that linger in the bottle gifted to you by his mother.

She was kind. She was beautiful. She didn’t deserve someone being this mean to her son.

You barely recognize him because of how blurry your vision is, but his scent does it. Musky. Woody. Calm.

He hands you the familiar pill, then a glass of water. He rushes the champagne away, then takes the cigarette and squashes it against the cold floor. He doesn’t so much call you out for being a lunatic, for upsetting his dogs with all your yelling, or for pushing him. No, he doesn’t do any of that. And you have never been more in love with him than now.

“I know I can be a bit much sometimes…” A sniffle. “I swear I try to catch onto it so you don’t have to deal with any of this, but—”

“You don’t mean it.” He tangles his fingers through your hair as you sob. And it’s soft despite spending the entire day near the ocean. It feels silky. He’s obsessed. “I know you.”

You were made for Carlos Sainz Jr.

“How do I look?”

“Like an angel.” He swears he turns bright red when you blow him a kiss. “Your name must’ve been Bonita in another life because look at you…” A hand flies up to clutch onto his heart as he makes a face. “Though, I must say, you do know how to make me look bad.”

You giggle. “Oh? This old thing? I thrifted it. Nice, eh?”

He groans. “Very, but you’re supposed to be rooting for Spain.” A gag. “Not Italy.”

You frown. “That's all I had. Plus, you’re basically Italian given your working status.”

“No, amor, they pay me to like Italy. It’s a cover up, think about it.”

You huff, popping your hip outward. “Still. I like it, so I’m wearing it while cheering for the opposite team.”

“Always over complicating things.” He laughs. “Can’t say I’m surprised, you’re a complicated person.”

A deadpan expression. “Suck your own dick.”

“Oi, relax.”

Spinning to face the mirror, you fix your jersey one last time before skipping out the door, tube socks sliding as you go. The Spaniard lets out a dreamy sigh.

Were you flawless? Not at all.

Were you put together? Not without a prescription.

But he loved figuring it all out with you. And that’s called love.

You’re in the middle of a rampage, during dinner. While everyone stares at you puzzled, he simply laughs at your cartoon expressions.

“I mean, I offered!” A pout. “I clearly stated I could get the cap signed for her and she gave me the nastiest, ugliest, dirty-looking glare! I for sure thought her face was permanently damaged.” You relax against the chair, your shaky hand finding its way to your water bottle. “Like sorry for riding your favorite driver…”

Charles laughs nervously. “I don’t think that was a necessary thing to include…”

You shrug, raising your brows over to your boyfriend who struggles to breathe.

The conversation flows easily, like most nights you're all together, but this time there’s a minor bump. You’ve been good about it; avoiding the question for so long. Over the course of time, you’ve managed to be so mendacious, that truly no one knew the truth. Not even Carlos.

“I hope it’s not overstepping, but how did your mum pass?”

He means no harm, Lando, but you just wish so badly that you could believe that. While Carlos and Lewis were the closest thing you have to a family nowadays, even they knew not to ask. You never laid the rules out loud, but they could tell it was an unwanted topic to have on your behalf, no matter how curious they got.

All of a sudden, your mood deteriorates. The look in Lando’s eyes makes sure to strike off as an apology, but you’re so busy looking down onto your lap that you don’t even pinpoint the meaning. The table grows awkward as time ticks by.

No one has the power to change the subject, save you the same way doctors tried to save your mother—because they, too—wonder.

You gulp, feeling small, but far too seen at the same time. It was confusing. “She, um…her last husband…” Everyone feels bad, like you’re some limping puppy, zigzagging down an empty highway, but remain quiet. Then, you look up, stone cold but the tip of your rosy nose and blotchy face is enough reassurance that you still have a beating heart.

“Husband number three strangled her to death.”

You say it like you don’t care. Like it hasn’t affected you at all, and that makes Carlos blink twice as fast as everyone else in the table. A droplet makes its way down your cheek as you let out a light laugh.

“I guess he thought he was some Superior God who had a say in cutting her time short.”

They all freeze.

“I am so sorry for asking—”

“I didn’t need to respond.” You smile lamely. “It’s fine, Lando.”

But it’s not, not even close. They ripped the confession out of your throat, at least that’s what it felt like. No one stepped up, no one said anything.

Your eyes flicker to the only man who makes your heart speed.

He reaches for your hand and you grip it hard.

No one said anything.

Not. Even. Carlos.

You’ve always excelled at holding a grudge. It came fairly simple.

But as you stare at him through the screen, for the first time—and only the first time—you struggle. Maybe it’s his puppy eyes that betray you, or his gentleness anytime he steps near you, you don’t really know.

And you don’t want to.

“I was thinking mariscos.”

Hair flies past your eyes as you squint. He looks particularly handsome today, wearing a linen shirt that drapes over him like some silver armor. Long waves brush against his temples as he returns the squint, slightly smiling at your lips.

“Sounds good to me.”

Soft music roams the isolated restaurant that almost seemed to belong to just you two, and that helps you relax. You could tell it helps him too.

“The car felt good today.”

“Yeah?”

He nods, biting onto a piece of shrimp. “Felt like I was flying.”

You let out a whistle. There’s a comfortable silence that lingers for a while before you raise a brow up to the open sky. “Hey,” you start as his orbs flicker up with all the attention in the world. “Do you believe in angels?”

A moment. “I’d say so, yes. Yes, I do.”

Hum. “You sound freakishly sure.” You inch forward with teasing eyes. “Why?”

“Easy.” Chocolate orbs swirl with adoration. “There’s you.”

“I don’t count.”

He frowns. “And why not?”

“Because you love me, of course you’d say that only to be nice.”

“I say so because I know so.”

“Love is blind, love is blind,” you chant, sipping on his open can.

A second ticks by. “Why do you ask?”

And like the first night he met you, your eyes merge into doe eyes. “Because I do.” A sheepish grin. “And sorry to disappoint, but it’s not you.”

“What’s his name?” he jokes.

But you’re not even listening. “My mom was pure. She was a good person, Carlos.” A beat. “She’s my forever angel.”

His heart physically hurts at your glossy eyes, immediately reaching for your hands. “You must really miss her…”

A wet laugh. “Is there a word stronger than ‘really’? If there is, then that would be one way to say it.”

And he has to apologize, even if it’s seven days too late.

“I’m sorry for not stepping in that night. I-I-I should have said something and you should have said nothing.” Thick brows knit in together. “You don’t know how shitty I felt, but—”

“You wanted to know as well.”

The way his features freeze is enough confirmation. And you can't be mad. Not even a little. Not even a lot.

“That doesn’t make you a bad person, Carlos. I should have been more open and honest with you first.” A gust of hot air slaps you across the face. “I tend to shut out people like you because…I don’t know.”

“Vulnerability is a bitch?”

You laugh. “That’s one way to say it.” Orbs scan his beauty with no shame before falling back. “You still have plenty of questions, don’t you?”

“O-of course not.”

Another laugh. “It’s okay. You caught me in a good mood. Go on.”

He’s awkward at first, but slowly eases with the sound of your breathing. “Why hasn’t he been arrested?”

“Because he’s a multi-billionaire.”

He gulps and you blink. “Why haven’t you sued?”

“Because I’m not a multi-billionaire.”

“So…he did a cover up with a wad of cash?”

“Mhm. No one dared ask whose hand shaped bruise was imprinted in her neck.”

He’s caught off guard by your bluntness, but he knows he needs this because he knows it will keep him up the same ways it’s kept him up since that god forbidden dinner.

“This was the cause of your…” He doesn’t even want to finish his sentence.

“Depression…yeah. Losing someone you love will do that to ya.”

But he wants to ask—he wants to ask more because he knows there has to be more. He’s lost people he loves too—and he loved them very much—and he never got this way. In a flash, he feels guilty for comparing his healing process to yours but quickly looks down onto his lap.

And the hot summer rain is enough warning for him not to question you any further.

The Spaniard shares a grateful smile. “Thank you for trusting me. To take care of you, and all t-that,” he stutters, blushing.

“I love you, Carlos.” A beat. “I’ve always trusted you. The only person I don’t trust is myself.”

“Be quiet,” she hisses, urgently signaling you closer. “And make sure to shut the door.”

Confused, you hesitantly push until you hear a click. Inching closer to your mom, you slowly become more and more lost as you eye the scattered papers all over your step-dads office table. “What is all this?”

Color drains from her normally youthful face. Even the brightest shade of red can’t help add life. “Proof of embezzlement.”

“What?”

She slides stacks of black folders towards you and you quickly flip through, to which you don’t understand a single thing. “He’s stealing money, that’s what. We’re not talking thousands, we’re talking millions,” she whispers frantically before growing green. “Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Okay, okay, hold on, you’re okay.” Rushing to be next to her, you clumsily tie her hair up into a messy ponytail before fanning her with the white sheets. You wince, quickly placing them back down. “How did you even come across this?”

Just as fast as a lighting bolt, she spins the chair. “I’m starting my book—” She gags, “I was supposed to start today, but I came in here looking for his typewriter. You know, the one with the tiny cherubs?” Across the office, you spot it, the tiny angels delicately painted onto the infamous typewriter. You nod. “Well, I started to search for some paper and instead found all of this…”

Even you grow dizzy as you eye the infinite zero’s that jump out against all types of sums. That’s not even enough to spend in ten lifetimes. It was no wonder he just recently made it onto The Forbes list. Her eyes—honest as ever—make you panic as you twirl your thumbs. “Wait…you’re not thinking of confronting him about it, are you?”

“I have to.” Pause. “Right?”

No. You don’t want her to. Not in any scenario. It’s taken you both so long to reach the life you deserve, and now that you were finally here it’s about to be ripped away from you? Your lack of words makes her glare.

“I don’t know why I’m asking you, I have to! It’s the right thing to do.”

Adrenaline. “Mom, just think about it—”

“I did not raise you to be avaricious,” she spits out, fire practically fuming out of her. You flinch. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“Y-you’re right.” There goes all your money down the drain. “I’m with you no matter what.”

Knock knock.

Like mother-daughter, you both freeze as your eyes flicker to the sound.

“Angelica, are you in there?”

You never liked the name Angelica. Not on anyone else that wasn’t your Angelica.

Running over to open, she finds herself face-to-face to Lucifer himself as he cocks his head in humor. “Locking me out of my own office now?” He enters. “Fun.” Dark eyes roam the messy area. “Fun.”

Her eyes plead with you in a language only you both knew, but never did you mean to obey. You wanted to stay with her—something told you to stay with her.

“Honey, give us some privacy, yeah?”

“U-uh…” He winks like that was the go-ahead. Like that was the last permission you needed to agree. And maybe it was.

Deep down it’s almost like you knew he had sinister intentions. Deep down it’s almost like you knew he was capable of committing those sinister intentions.

Deep down.

It’s like you don’t even care.

You smile, tight lipped. “Whatever you need.”

You heard the argument that night, you heard the threats. You heard her pleads, you heard her chokes. You could only imagine what was going on inside, but you were your mothers daughter. You could imagine quite a lot.

She could’ve been an author—with his resources she might just have hit the New York Times Best Seller list. She could have been a grandmother one day—surely your kids would have lived a luxurious life.

She could have been obedient. Why wasn’t she obedient? Was it so hard to brush it all under the rug?

He was sweating, just as much as a pig. Or maybe he’s glowing, he is smiling after all. Here and there he apologizes in a lousy manner, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was—

“How much money am I gonna get to keep?”

He’s intrigued. “How much do you want?”

“Enough to not have to worry.” You can still see it; cramped rooms, tin canned meals on paper plates. You could never go back.

An eye roll. “You’re just like her…” A beat. “Fucking greedy.” You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks. You’re embarrassed—-of course you were—who is he to judge? He sighs. “No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“It means I’m not transferring you anything. I want you out of this house no later than Sunday.”

Plump lips open, then snap shut, teeth gritting. “I’ll tell everyone that you’re a murderer. You’ll lose it all, w-watch.”

He’s not phased. Not even in the slightest. “And who’s going to believe you? Tell me, really, because I’d like to know.”

Fuck him for having everything. Fuck him for having everything. Fuck him for having everything.

And fuck yourself for having nothing at all—again.

Months swept by, the death was ruled a suicide, and antidepressant became your loyal friend. There was no one else, and sometimes you feared there would always be no one else.

Then—by some miracle—there was Carlos.

He was handsome. He was shy. He was sweet. He was kind.

He was rich.

You played hard to get, but so did he. You played the long haul, but so did he. You were a fantastic liar, but he was an ever better believer.

And it all clicked.

Just the way it was supposed to.

You’ve been accustomed to a certain lifestyle for years now, but somehow you’re always surprised about the sudden boost you’ve switched to ever since you’ve met him.

Chanel heels turned into red bottoms. Last season dresses turned into those that were not yet released. You loved everything about it.

“You look so beautiful, cariño,” he groans against your lips, desperate for more. His large hands play with the silky fabric, fighting to slide it up against your hips. You shudder. “I mean…come on.”

“Hey, hey—that’s sweet and all—” You push yourself closer to his toned body, immediately feeling his erection. You nearly whimper. “But why don’t you fuck me instead?” A kiss. “You missed me, no?”

And instead—he whimpers. “How dare you even ask?”

With that, he picks you up with ease, pinning you against the wall. You’re dizzy, because unbeknownst to him, he’s casted a spell on you. Never did you think you could fall in love, much less, have someone reciprocate.

Tender fingers make their way to your clit as you lunge forward, biting down onto his shoulder. It should amaze you how he holds you up with one arm, but you’re not. If anything, you leak more and more by every passing second.

His dirty pants make you fold as you clench around him. The way they curl, the way they pulse, all of it was your kryptonite.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you squeal, keeping your eyes trapped shut, feeling the familiar knot forming. He grins, pecking your sweaty forehead, digits speeding up. Berry lips form an O as you moan louder with every push.”I-I’m c-c-close—oh God.”

“Shh. It’s okay, let go for me, yeah? I’m right here with you.”

Gritting your teeth harder, you moan like some pornstar as you finish all around him. Almost like some rule, he desperately sucks his fingers clean. The Spaniard hums like he’s living his biggest dream of all before opening his round eyes.

“So sweet.”

You blush. “Yours tastes like shit.”

He laughs. “And yet you beg for me to finish all over your face, isn’t that so?”

Nearly choking at his bluntness, you fight back a smile as you play with his floppy locks. They’ve grown so much from the last time you saw him, so this was certainly eye candy to you. He sighs, relaxing as you continue to twirl thick strands around your fingers.

Soft legs still drape over his waist, hands still lay around your waist, and even breathing connects you both. Carlos feels like he’s nearly dozing off, but his hand remains firm, preferring to take a bullet than to let you fall.

You like to think that you like his lashes the best. But then there’s his eyes. And his nose. And his heart. And his lips. And his hands. And his sculpture body. And his jokes. And his laugh. And his freckles. So you never could choose, not truly.

Inching closer to his ear, you smirk slowly. “Wanna fuck my mouth?”

His eyes snap open, jaw clenching. “You’re such a tease.”

A shrug. “Want to or not?” You bite your lip, legs letting go of his hips as you slide down. “Because this offer ends in five…” He raises a skeptical brow. “Four…” You motion him closer to which he steadily follows. “Three…” He laughs. “Two, one!”

Sprinting up the stairs in a flash, you giggle as he chases after you. The sound of his steps make your heart beat faster as you jump onto your shared bed. Rushing past the corner, he cocks his head to the side as he clicks his tongue. Stepping into the room carefully, he swung the door closed before locking it. You frown.

“Reassures me that no one will walk in.”

“No one will walk in,” you whisper as your stomach drops. “There’s no need t-to—”

“No, yeah, you’re right,” he agrees, taking in your breathless state. “But I prefer it this way. Just you.” A closer stride. “And me.”

Palms are sweaty. Blood slithers down your throat and thighs. And yet your freeze. You feel hot and cold, all at once. You don’t like the feeling, any of it, but you try to ignore the inner monologue.

“You look stunning,” he states, finally reaching you. “You always do.”

Your speeding heart lessens. “T-thank you.”

A beat. “You’re not nervous—are you?”

Hastily, you shake your head. “N-no! Of course not!”

Thick brows knit together. “Because you normally aren’t.” His smile fades. “W-we don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to, you know that right?”

Physically, you’re cringing. Mentally, you’re spiraling. The act itself makes the Spaniard withdraw, taking a steady step back and shaking his head. Panic rises fast as you crawl closer to him, reaching the end of the bed.

“I just have a lot on my mind, but I want this.” A beat. “I want you.”

It’s as if you’re a blank sheet of paper, blinking up at Carlos with such innocence. So much so, it makes his heart stop. He looks for reassurance, which you give him, and he looks for it again, which you give again without hesitance.

“Come on, Carlitos…” you slowly whisper, batting your eyes. “I know you’ve missed my mouth.”

If you weren’t so breathtaking, if you weren’t so seductive, if you weren’t so goddamn tempting then surely turning you down wouldn’t be an issue. By alas, you’re here—and even better—you’re all his.

“Eres un sueño.” It seems like an eternity passes by before he finally steps close to you once again, getting rid of whatever distance you ever had. Like it was never meant to be there to begin with. “Can I kiss you first?”

It’s sweet that he feels the need to build up to fucking you sore, but sweet nonetheless. That’s one thing you love about him—and there’s a lot to choose from—his respect towards you. Smiling warmly, you extend your arm, inviting him like an angel before he smashes his lips against you like the devil.

The contrast. It’s just what you needed.

“God, I fucking love you.”

“I—” His lips press harsher as he continues marking his territory. All of it was making your head spin like a rollercoaster. “I love you too,” you manage to spit out as he makes his way down. You blush. “I-I-I sort of wanted to…”

He blinks. “Sort of what?”

“Well, you know…” You point towards his hardened cock.

And he actually snickers. “Cat got your tongue today or what, bella?”

A groan. “You’re so fucking annoying—”

“No, no, no,” he cuts in with a whistle. “By all means, go ahead.”

Desperate hands crazily reach out towards his belt in a nanosecond. You should be ashamed how hopeless you are, but you don’t find enough strength to care. Not when he was looking down at you with hungry eyes.

“Tan linda,” he whispered underneath his breath. As if you weren’t meant to hear him. As if he can’t quite believe it’s you he gets to keep. This must all be a dream to him, he thinks.

Just as you’re about to pull his jeans down, large hands get ahold of your wrists. Confused, you look up at him, head tilted and messy hair falling over your shoulder. He grins wickedly.

“Just one more kiss.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Are you kidding me—”

But his soft lips move with such urgency that you don’t even have time to bitch and moan. Not that you’re trying. You can feel it; the hunger, the lust. The way you run your fingers through his hair, or how he squeezes your ass. In a matter of seconds, the room grows steamy, hot breaths expanding with every peck. It’s as if Carlos was too afraid of being ripped away from you even for a second, scared your lips might change and he wouldn’t know a thing about it.

Not knowing you might be his biggest fear.

It happens without a warning, his grip. You feel it slide slowly up your ribs—you remember thinking how much you like it, how much it tickles. Then it reaches your chest, to which his eager hands squeeze your tits, pathetically moaning into your mouth. You can’t help but giggle, but still not separating. And then…

It reaches your neck.

As soon as he squeezes, your eyesight begins to blur, but he doesn’t notice. Your chest begins to rise and fall at an alarming rate, but he doesn’t notice. And you’re terrified.

But he doesn’t notice.

“Carlos,” you whimper, but he takes it as a good sign, mouth moving with ease. “Carlos, honey…”

“Yeah, baby?” His voice is deep. “You like that?” Large palm squeezes harder. “Bet you do.”

“Okay, stop!” you scream, arms flying like some madman. “Let go of me!”

Panicked, he releases you in a hurry, jumping off of your trembling body. Color drains his face as realization hits him, but it's too late. You’re sobbing hard, shoulders bouncing up and down. The way you crawl back with fear makes his heart break as he shakes his head, running a hand against his jaw.

“Fuck.” More cries. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—I am so sorry, baby…” Desperate eyes stare back at you as you hide your face against your shaky hands. “I’m so fucking stupid. I should have known, I should have known.” Inching closer proves to be a mistake when you leap off the bed, throwing a mountain of pillows like daggers.

“Stop it,” you demand. “Stay. Right. There.”

He flinches. “Are you afraid of me?”

The laugh that erupts from your throat is unlike the others he’s heard. It’s almost maniacal. It makes his skin grow with goosebumps. “Is that even a question?” Dark mascara runs down your cheeks as you breathe heavily. “You just tried to kill me.”

“No,” he pronounces. “No, you know that that’s not true. I-I-I thought you’d like it!” The glare you flicker is enough for him to wince, pinching the tip of his nose. “I should have known better, okay? Please, just…calm down.”

All your sniffles come to an end as you freeze. “Are you calling me crazy?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh my God.” Pushing your hair back, you release a chuckle. “You actually think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy, stop putting words into my mouth.”

A scoff. “Okay, wow.”

He doesn’t have a clue as to how he continues to dig himself into a hole—and yet—here he is. Digging his own grave. Exhaling hard, he licks his lips before looking straight into your glossy eyes. “I love you,” he starts, but you remain as still as a statue. “And I want us to work through this. I want to be able to talk to you, yeah?” A beat. “I’m sorry about…what I did, I should have never done it knowing you’re…traumatized.”

He’s almost scared to see your reaction, but it never comes. Instead, you blink hastily, as if you’re mortified.

You should’ve known. You should have figured that karma would catch up to you sooner or later.

I mean, all sins must be paid for, right?

As soon as he starts closing the gap, you’re thumping heart picks right back up. “I just want to talk—”

“No.”

Despite his hurt, he continues his march towards you. “I just want to be near you, please—”

“I said no!”

It happens almost in the blink of an eye, the sound of glass shattering. He sort of thinks he must’ve imagined it, your hand flying to punch the mirror right besides you, but the gentle blood that oozes out of your hand makes his heart stop. Suddenly, all the scars you have make sense. So much makes sense.

“Just…stay there, Carlos,” you say, voice trembling, small hand holding out a piece of sharp glass towards him like some wannabe knife. You bite your bottom lip. “Just—there.”

“Cariño…”

“Stop it with that,” you plead, teardrops slipping. “Stop calling me that.”

Somewhere in the shard, he catches his reflection. Half-scared, half-brokenhearted. He doesn’t even know how you two got to this point.

He gulps. “Okay. I’ll stop, I’ll stop, but please put that down.” You shake your head fast, splotchy cheeks flushing furthermore. Carlos sighs desperately. “Come on—you’re bleeding.”

“I’m used to it by now.”

Tension resurfaces once again between you both as you stare at each other, awaiting for the next challenge. Playing the silent game for a second, curious to see who breaks next.

“Why did you lock the door?”

He almost laughs. “We always shut the door—”

You raise the blade up higher as you begin to lose patience. Deep down, you know you’re not capable of harming him, but how could you ever let your guard down once again when he tried to strangle you to death?

History almost repeats itself, and you’ll be damned if you ever let it happen.

“You said it, we shut it but we never lock it.” A soft cry. “What were you planning on doing to me, Carlos?”

It’s like a knife to the heart, you’re sudden distrust. The brunette finds himself struggling to breath as he blinks like a lost deer.

“You know that I would never hurt you. Not on purpose, at least…”

You let out a wet snarl, shaking your head. “I don’t believe you.”

A flinch. “All of this was a mistake and I adore you.”

“You don’t, though,” you protest, the shaky vision intensifying. “If not you wouldn’t have tried to mur—”

“For the last time, I’m not your step-father!” It’s as if he’s finally reached his breaking point, just now. His body is tired. His mind is tired. Everything is just tired of trying. Carlos shrugs lamely. “If you don’t want to believe me…so be it.”

The pain that rains out of him should be enough for you to know that he’s telling the complete truth. He’s a good guy, with pure intentions. He’s not here to get even with you on your mothers behalf. None of what you’re imagining is true.

But you just can’t seem to understand.

“I don’t believe your lies, alright?” you spit out with deep breaths. You drop the blade, finally. “Open the door.”

With his head hung low, he complies, feet dragging with every step. And finally, with a hand on the knob, he turns to give you one last glance. He can tell you’re holding in your breath and he doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. Why it make him feel so much like a monster…

Click. The wooden door swings open as he pushes it gently.

“Now leave.”

A wave of nausea strikes with your words. “Amor—“

“Stop. Don’t even look at me.” Tension. “I don’t want to see you ever again—not even by accident.”

And that was the last stab that ended it all.

Every now and then, he wonders how you are. Hopefully better.

He hears your name mentioned once in a blue moon, but instinctively blocks it out, too disturbed at the thought of what occurred between you two.

What did occur between you two?

He could take a guess and say that you’re internally fucked. Straight and simple.

But it’s still annoying. The way he wishes to forget you with every passing birthday wish.

At first, it was because he missed you. He just wanted to forget you because he missed you—yes.

Later, it was because the memory of the cramped room suffocated him. The sound of glass breaking was stronger than the sound of his car crashing. And somehow the latter seemed better.

He just wanted to forget that day—yes.

Staring off into space has been his thing for a long time, often getting called out on it. Now, he finds himself with his eyes closed, too scared that someone might notice his feelings and feel the need to ask if he’s okay.

He hasn't been. Not since you.

“Grape or watermelon?”

Popping and eye open, he catches a glance of Lewis before rolling over. “I’m good.”

It’s tough, this silent war between both his friends. The break up simply made this…tough. Especially when no one really knows what happened.

Setting the electrolytes down, the Brit claims a spot next to the brunette. Groaning at the unwanted company, Carlos switches to sit upright. Brown eyes glare strongly before Lewis laughs it off.

“How you doin’, bud?”

Great, no yeah, just severely depressed thanks to your so-called friend. Would you mind asking her where she gets her antidepressants from for me? I mean, I would, but last time we saw each other she, uh, I don’t know, tried to stab me? And you know what’s the most fucked up shit? It’s the fact that I still love her just the same.

I just wanted to help.

He forces a shy smile. “Fine.”

A pity grimace. “I can tell she misses you, you know?”

Carlos hates how excited the thought of you alone—dreamily sighing for his return—gets him to sit up straighter, suddenly interested. It’s foolish, really.

“She would never admit it, but I can tell because I know—”

“Her?” The Spaniard lets out a mocking scoff. “Trust me, you don’t. Not entirely.”

That shuts Lewis right up as he sits there, staring blankly. A dark brow furrows. “Listen, I don’t know what happened between you two—not that I need to know—but she’s a good person. And so are you. So…don’t be afraid of reaching out.”

He flickers his brown eyes accusingly. “Why should I? Did she put you up to this?”

“She didn’t—“

But the fact is, the hesitation gives him away. Anger arises as the Spaniard rolls his eyes. “I knew it, God, I knew it!” A second. “I know her.”

The Brit drowns with nervousness as he waves his hands in despair. “She just wants you to apologize!”

A singular laugh. “Apologize for what?” He pauses, squinting at his friend. “She didn’t tell you why we broke up, did she?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t really know who’s fault it was, do you?”

Lewis looks down onto his lap. “No. Not really.”

“Great, then let me be the one to tell you that it was both of ours. I’m no saint but neither is she.”

An award silence lingers as the Spaniards voice echoes the room. Lewis nods. “Understood. I got it, okay?”

He sighs an irregular sigh. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t worry about it, man.” A sheepish grin. “It’s not my place to fix anything about your guys’ relationship, I get it.”

Carlos’ face switches to bright red as he nods his head once. “T-thanks.”

The Brit, ever happily, stands up firmly before patting his back. “I’m always here if you need to talk.”

“Gracias.” Lewis is just a few steps away when he clears his throat before he can even stop himself from asking. “How’s she doing?”

It came across almost softer than a mumble, and one might have missed it if not alert, but not Lewis.

Spinning to face the almost manchild with round eyes, he smiles as bright as the sun, and that makes his stomach turn. Because he knows. He knows you’re doing—

“Really well.”

Fluffy hair falls down as he tilts his head, clicking his tongue. “That’s good.” Sure. He returns the same smile with a twitch. “That’s really good.”

Lewis has known you two for a long time now. He’s unwillingly memorized your ticks. How the right side of your face slightly twitches before every lie, or how the left side of his does the same before every lie. Much like right now.

The Brit contemplates for a minute, then two, then opens his mouth in the most hesitant manner.

“She’s moving to Germany.” Carlos freezes. “Only for a few months. Maybe a year, who knows. But…you should read her book.”

He unfreezes. “Her what?”

A faint smile. Eyes crinkled. “It’s a tough read, but I believe it was necessary. You know, to finally talk about it.”

He never quite believed you would open up this way, and yet here he was, in an unknown bookstore, spacing out. Your name jumps out like some shooting star, too difficult to ignore.

Without a doubt, you’d get a lawsuit from your step-father. Of course—you were only dragging the last name of what seemed to be the world's richest man.

For what it’s worth, Carlos is proud. This must mean you’re open to moving on. To get the necessary help you so desperately need. From start to finish, the pages are enticing. You go into gruesome depth, something you never seemed to have a problem in doing. From the mention of how her eyes remained open with no sign of life, only terror, to the fact that you got your many scars from punching the door, trying to get in on time. How he bribed his way against the laws.

Everything seemed to be coming out.

So then why, as he sits in his driver's room, staring at your picture in the back of the book, does he feel like doesn’t believe it?

Not even a generous half.

Angelica lived up to the first five letters of her name.

She was there for you in the moments you needed her the most. She braided your hair for playdates, she tied your shoe laces even when you were too embarrassed to ask, and she worked her way up, making sure you had it all.

Undeniably, she was one hell of a woman. Then again, she had more within her—pulled some trigger you never thought she’d pull.

You were going to lose it all, why couldn’t she foresee that? That conversation was going to rip your inheritance straight from your tight grip; the one that ensured your future vacations. How could she ever betray you? Her own daughter?

You were acquisitive. You were possessive. You were partially responsible for her death.

But call it naiveness, you really thought it’d work.

No one will truly know the way your soul left your body when you heard you wouldn’t get a single dollar. Not even a fucking cent. You had to find some other way to stay secure.

But Carlos was out to get you, you just know he was. You don’t have a clue as to how he found out about the truth, about what happened inside that stupid mansion, but he knew it all. And you had to get out of there.

Only it led you back to square one. With no purpose. With no money. Fuck men and their actions, seriously, too all hell with them.

However, you were your mothers daughter at the end of the day.

You could be a writer. An even better one that she could've ever been. If you wanted to, you could do it.

And that is exactly what you did.

You typed, and typed, and typed until your fingers would cramp up. The multi-billionaire was a leviathan and everyone would see that no matter what.

You, on the other hand, were an innocent bystander. Too weak to intervene, to fight back. Too young. Yeah. That was what happened that night.

But you also had your own perspective. One your mom could never match.

While she married for the illusion of love, you would’ve married for money with no shame. Carlos just happened to be the luckiest of strikes because you got both.

While she always was at the front of the room without having to try, you were always in the back with a bitter smile. Why did she get to have two dimples? All eyes would have surely been on you if you had at least one.

And while she never cared about reaching the New York Times Best Seller list—you did.

She would have jumped with joy just by selling ten copies, but not you. You always wanted more—craved more. Label it as ambition.

More copies sold means more money. A trust fund means more money. Playing the victim against your step-father means even more money. So yeah…

You did care about that stupid list.

Tilting your head back against your seat, you flinch at the taste of the pill, too familiar for your liking, but the wine helps. It always does nowadays.

Buzz.

Picking up with a level of indifference was all fake—you had been yearning this call for what seemed like your whole life.

“Hey.” His voice is almost raw. Like he could use a couple cough drops. “I-I-I read your book. It was incredible.”

And for the first time in a while, you smile. “Thank you, that means a lot, Carlos.”

You can hear the static against the line, indicating once again that you’re on opposite sides of the world and not together. You can almost bet that it will always stay that way.

The Spaniard coughs awkwardly into your ear.

“Oh, and also, congrats on making it onto the New York Times Best Seller.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

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anika-ann · 5 months ago

Text

Sweet and Ours, Tonight - S.R.

Type: one-shot, established relationship, domestic... filth

Pairing: Steve Rogers x wife!reader Word Count: 5,8k

Summary: You and Steve had a long, long week.

You both deserve a reward. Perhaps an evening with undivided attention to each other... and maybe to end the endless week with a bang.

The thing is, Steve has no idea about what’s awaiting him at home. Yet, you have a feeling he will like it - and he'll be happy to show you.

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, praise kink, slight authority kink, soft dom/sub elements (with a tad dominant Steve), a sprinkle of possessiveness, potential blasphemy, lingerie kink, marriage kink (if that's a thing), mention of (tender) hair pulling, mention of semi-public sex if you squint really hard, language, FLOOF

A/N: At the time of Cum Together: Community Revival Extravaganza hosted by @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420, there were two potential stories on my mind – the soulmate AU one, which I ended up writing, and this one, which fulfils multiple prompts from the list (see the end). The extravaganza is long over – but hopefully, you’ll enjoy 💕

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @saradika; enjoy, but it's smut y'all - read at your own risk and responsibility

Setting the half-full glass of water on the counter, you smiled to yourself as you heard the keys rattle in the lock. The sound meant one of your favourite things in the world: Steve was home.

‘Home’ was your spacious shared apartment near the new upstate Avengers facility, one you and Steve had chosen not because the large complex hadn’t included living quarters, but because you had wanted a place that was truly your own.

On days like this, you were more grateful for that decision than ever. Here, the work and the weight you carried from it could be left at the doorstep, and you could enter a truly safe space, shielded by your love from the outside world. World which could be loud, overwhelming, and at times, evil.

Today, it meant that Steve would try to leave behind the exhaustion and frustration of a week-long conference of the United Nations and adjoined organisations. You, you had left behind the very same sentiments lacing the endless week of extra shifts. Sometimes it felt like the work was never done; be it patching up international relations or patching up the dumbass of the day. Be it dealing with diplomats who barely even listened, let alone acted on their empty promises; or be it repairing damage to human body made by another supposedly human being, battling to keep alive agents who not so rarely held zero regard for their own safety in the process of saving the very world for whose safety Steve was advocating in DC. You wondered where the agents could have possibly got the inspiration for their reckless behaviour – but that was not the kind of thoughts you wanted to entertain tonight, especially since you knew the answer all too well.

Tonight, you wanted to cherish your husband’s company.

You had missed Steve; even when swamped with work, you both took care to stay in contact, confiding one another on as much of your longing for each other’s company as on feeling drained.

You were glad for having had enough wits to plan ahead and be able to come home before him.

It had been no surprise to you that Steve had called you that he was about to arrive home as scheduled, but crankier than planned despite finally leaving the self-contained self-important jerks behind. The relief in his voice had been palpable; and his voice had only grown warmer when he learned you were to already wait for him at home. Your lips had twitched at the guttural sigh he released upon learning, whispering he was really happy to hear that; as were you to hear that he was coming home in one piece, which was unfortunately not a rule.

He loved you, he had said too. So damn much.

You had told him the same, wondering if that was what would leave his lips when he’d see you. Especially since he had no idea what coming his way, should he want it.

The lock barely clicked open and you were already on your way. A rapid carpet-muted staccato of your heels welcomed Steve as he entered, his curiosity clearly piqued in an instant.

He had but a second to take in your appearance – the bloody red pumps, the peek of nude nylons, the beige trench coat reaching just above your knees, your simple but effective hairdo and make-up, dominated by berry-red lipstick – or get his suitcase through the doors and close them. Before he could say as much as hi, you were already cupping his face and kissing him softly, for once not having to stand on your tiptoes too high.

There was a significant part of you which was dangerously close to jumping on him with enough force to slam him against the door and pour all your enthusiasm at seeing him into the kiss. It had taken all your willpower not to do so since your body throbbed with the need – but you didn’t want him to feel ambushed, unsure about his mood. So you revelled in the precious opportunity to touch him, in the feel of the figurative and literal warmth he was radiating, in the taste of his lips you had missed so viscerally; and with the minute mental capacity left, you tried your best to read his reaction.

It would be a shame for your plan and efforts to go to waste; but the last thing you’d want was to push thoroughly exhausted Steve who’d just want some peace into something he’d… be willing but not excited to do.

Your worries were fruitless, however. Steve’s hands came to life immediately, one reaching for your waist, the other to cradle your cheek. His lips responded in kind, even as his smile tasted of surprise. The tension you had got a brief glimpse of melted away from his shoulders, fingertips caressing your skin, nose gently nudging yours as your lips parted, forehead to forehead.

“Hi,” you breathed out contentedly, feeling the tension leaving you as well, warmth spreading through every vein and nerve in your body at Steve’s gentle chuckle instead.

“Hi, love.”

“Welcome home.”

His smile was as nothing short of blinding when he retreated just a bit to look at you and grace you with a shining gaze roaming your face, as if taking in every feature, every line, every arch, every last eyelash for the first time. Your heart thump-thumped in your chest happily as your hands slid to his neck, unable to tear your gaze away from the beautiful image he made.

A man with love.

Your man.

Your husband.

Your extremely handsome husband; every suit, be it a formal wear or his tactical one, accentuated his wide shoulders and sharply cut jaw you couldn’t but run your fingertips over, marvelling at the pure delight in his face.

“I feel very much welcomed, sweetheart,” he assured you, squeezing your waist. Despite being clearly exhausted, his smile was radiant; until it fell a fraction. “Are you going out?”

Your heart hummed with a soft ache; it was impossible to miss his effort not to look disappointed as not to make you feel guilty for having a social life outside your marriage, even if rather inconveniently timed. Bless his good, good heart.

You shook your head with your smile lingering, barely hiding a smirk. “I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Rogers.”

His expression perked up again, his arm sneaking further around your waist as he observed you with playful curiosity. “Oh? Are we going out? Did you plan something, Mrs. Rogers?”

To highlight his indulgence in calling you that – and god knew hearing him say that still sent butterflies to your stomach even after months of that being a reality – his hand moved from your cheek to take you left hand, fingers interlacing; your wedding bands made a soft clinking noise as they met, Steve’s gaze flickering to their combined light with such undiluted joy in that little action you couldn’t but brush your lips over his again, something deep inside you trembling and preening at once.

Your husband.

“Would it be a bad thing? If I did plan something?” you asked, part coy, part genuine. “It’s okay if you’re not in mood for that.”

Steve only smiled wider, dropping a kiss to your knuckles and then your lips, before pulling back just a fraction. He observed you silently and almost absently, yet seemingly with mission-level intent.

The silence stretched as you awaited his answer, encouraging him – and yourself, because the silence was growing louder with every beat of your heart – with a suddenly unsure smile.

“Steve? Love?”

He blinked, shaking his head lightly. Before you could feel your stomach drop in disappointment at this being his answer, he spoke up.

“Sorry, you… you look beautiful. Got a little distracted here.”

Your belly did a funny flip-flop that had no right to be so deep within; but this gorgeous man had no right to be so perfect either. And you loved him for it.

“I don’t mind going out or staying,” he said softly. “I’m honestly just glad to be home. With you. That’s my favourite thing in the world. Being with you… here, in the home we made together.”

Tremble. Something within you trembled and it was almost comical how those words shook and soothed your soul, a sharp contrast to how very non-poetic your intention to seduce his body was. But that was how you seduced each other the first time and did so over and over again; body, mind and soul alike, tipping the scales in favour of one and then the other and back as the situation allowed.

It was your turn to blink now, fighting the burn of tears in your eyes, threatening to spill at the profound sincerity in Steve’s voice and the adoration in his beautiful blues; they turned all the prettier as a spark of mischief lit them up and he stepped back, releasing you from his warm embrace.

“But, since you got all dolled-up and clearly made plans, it would be a waste. Want to tell me what my orders are, ma’am?”

Excitement lighting up your nerves anew, you stepped back with a hum.

“Well… actually, I made plans to stay in…” Steve’s eyebrow arched a bit, but something beautifully dark flashed in his eyes – a mute understanding that whatever you had planned, you had dolled up for him. For him and him only. “And since you said those people there were all talk, no listening, no action… I thought that maybe you’d a like a change of scenery.”

As you took another step back further into the apartment, Steve discarded his shoes in a lightning speed, his gaze never leaving your face, hanging on your lips for every syllable.

You bit back a satisfied smile, something hot stirring in your belly. “That maybe, you’d like someone who can listen very well, and is willing to… act? Would you like to tell me my orders, Captain?”

His gaze went to roam – from the top to bottom, drinking in your attire, a perfect trap you had set for both of you to tangle in. The tall red heels. The coat for him to untie. The nylons – which Steve at this point must have understood were, in fact, thigh-highs, perhaps strapped to a garter belt. The hair. That lipstick. That damn lipstick that turned his eyes a shade darker and hungrier, his voice dropping two octaves.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart?”

You raised a challenging brow, a coy smile adorning your red red lips as you toyed with the hem of your coat; Steve knew you well-enough by now to know that you wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble if you hadn’t wanted that. You wanted.

You wanted him, with every fibre of your being, lit alive and reborn divine under his searing hot gaze. You longed to be his, however he pleased. To please him however you could.

At last, he got the message. He seemed to very much revel in that message, in fact.

“Let’s go to the bedroom then.”

He led you by the hand, even though you both knew the way and had walked it many times before, even when blinded by desire, with lips never parting, frantic stumbles and wandering impatient hands. Tonight, there was no rush; steps deliberately slow, you followed his lead, standing still by the doorway when he let go of your hand in favour of stripping his suit jacket as soon as you entered.

Your eyes followed his every move, indulging in the sight of his muscles rippling under the smooth fabric of his white shirt; indulging in the shudder of realization running down his body, coming after his brief confusion of finding you obediently exactly where he had left you.

You barely bit back a smirk at the way his breath hitched.

“Alrighte,” he breathed out as he walked to the foot of the bed, turning his back to it to look at you.

You had never had a man to look at you like that before; his gaze was like the most delicious shockwave igniting every cell in your body with desire and pride.

His. You were your own woman, but goddamn, were you his.

“Alright. Come here, sweetheart.”

You did. Hooked on his burning gaze as he seemed hypnotized by your every step, by every inch erased between you, you walked to him, only stopping when he settled his wide palm over your hip, his other hand soon joining on the other side.

For a moment, he simply observed you, your parted lips, your eyes blown wide, just as aroused by the dynamics as he was. Then, a warm yet mischievous smile lifted the corners of his lips, hands squeezing your hips.

You weren’t sure what you had expected – a kiss, a toss on the bed, his hands ripping the fabric, all things you had encountered and more – but of all options, he chose the one your mind had not offered at the moment. His hands slid lower, inch by inch as he kneeled in front of you, sitting back on his heels, the heat of his skin seeping into yours the second his palms slipped past the edge of the fabric of your coat.

Sensual. Steve was most definitely in mood for sensual tonight and you were not going to complain if for nothing else than for having trouble breathing as his fingertips traced the thin ankle strap of your shoe, warm fingers delicately circling your ankle, cupping your calf, sneaking past your knee to spread over the back of your thigh, inching your legs apart so he could move the coat out of the way and press a lingering kiss to your where the lace of your thigh-high met bare skin of your inner thigh.

Your breath hitched in your throat when his free hand reached for the loose knot on your coat, dextrous fingers undoing it with ease and tugging, all while his lips brushed over your sensitive skin higher and higher towards the apex of your thigh.

“Take it off, love,” he whispered into your heat, tugging at the hem of your coat, the index finger of his other hand slipping under the strap of your garter belt, nosing along your inner thigh and inhaling deeply.

A shudder ran down your spine at the huskiness of his voice, leaving you with no space to even consider embarrassment at your husband’s need to drown himself in the scent of your arousal; you busied yourself with stripping the coat in five seconds flat and dropping it on the floor, rewarded by his warm breathy chuckle.

“So good for me…” He looked up from his spot, caressing along the line of your panties, feasting his eyes on the delicate lace hugging your breasts, at the elaborate but feather-light pattern on your garter belt, at the barely-there panties covering your sex. The smoulder in his pupils as his gaze zeroed on his price was almost too much to bear. Whether you were shy or impatient, you couldn’t tell, but your chest was heaving with every breath, your back arching just a bit at the praise that stroked something deep within you. “My beautiful, irresistible wife…”

“Steve-“

He returned his attention to your thigh, sucking a lovebite just above the hem of your stocking, soothing the offended spot with a butterfly-soft kiss you couldn’t help but sigh his name at again.

He hooked his fingers at the front straps of your garter, urging you forward, closer, as he sat on the floor, back leaning against the foot of the bed, tilting his head back and resting in on the mattress; a content smile played on his lips as if it was the most comfortable spot in the apartment, his hands roaming appreciatively. Over the curve of your hip. Following the pattern of the lace. Along the straps, along the hem. But never, never where your need for him burned, soaking the excuse of underwear over your sex.

“Didn’t have such pretty view in D.C.,” he mused, gaze trailing over the thin fabric already shining with your arousal, trailing all over your body to your face, to your red lips painted just as you knew he loved them. “Never ceases to amaze me. Like a piece of art. So damn perfect… mine to touch.”

You didn’t have timefor body insecurities with Steve. Any imperfection you saw, it didn’t bother him; he’d kiss you everywhere, claiming and loving every piece of your body and soul and mind, as he hadn’t forgotten to mention when he proposed; and then followed up with proving the first part of his claim with intense but the softest damn loving.

The memory of him getting on one knee with a glimmer of tears in his eyes quickly dispersed when his maddeningly delicate touch finally brushed over your slit, your hips instinctively bucking forward; Steve instantly used the opportunity to spread his palms under your bottom, urging you closer and closer until the front of your thighs met the mattress, effectively caging him in, mouth not more than an inch from your mound. He smiled up at you wickedly, forefinger drawing nonsensical patterns over your clothed sex.

“Steve, love-“

You lost your voice when he guided your knee to prop on the mattress next to his head, a violent tug of desire gripping at your core at the implication of what he wanted – stirring as much want as insecurity and hesitance.

You voice was shaky as your gaze found his, the question on your lips so quiet he might miss it hadn’t it been for his enhanced hearing.

“Steve, are you… sure?”

One glance into his eyes told you was more than that.

And the mere thought of him doing what he was leading you towards felt like molten lava poured into your veins, nothing but smouldering heat left behind.

You had never done that. Not with him, not with anyone else.

It was true that Steve could get rather intense when it came to love making – or shameless fucking – but he always drew significant amount of his pleasure from your own. Your husband was but a giver, even as he always coaxed you to give it to him. He had sure been far from shy or prudish in the privacy of your quarters – or in certain cases no one must ever learn about, elsewhere – and he enjoyed all kinds of things, his mouth on you among them. You had explored together, dived into depths of pleasure you hadn’t thought were possible. But you hadn’t---not like this.

Not with you basically on top of his goddamn face.

“Are you?” he asked, pressing a brief kiss to the juncture of your thighs, looking at you from under his eyelashes with a challenge and a plea.

In your exploration, he had pushed your limits; but never you. He’d never do anything that seemed even tad too uncomfortable for you. As of consequence, there was virtually nothing you wouldn’t let him do, because you trusted him to stop at the first sign of your protest.

Okay. Okay. The utter wanton in his eyes shining through the sincerity was melting your brain. No choice to make.

You nodded, rewarded by a satisfied smirk that would have earned anyone else a smack to their face. But with Steve, there was something dangerously alluring about that instead; that smirk meant paradise aligning with hell awaiting you, whispered of you soon begging him – to stop or to continue, you’d never quite know yourself.

“Well then, remember you promised to listen… and do.”

Little shit, was as far as you got in your thoughts.

Because then he was wrapping a firm arm around your leg on the bed and pushing your panties aside and after a few teasingly careful licks, he began his feast like a starved man seated at the royal table.

Your hands found purchase on his hair and the bed, knees nearly buckling under the assault of pleasure, burning through your body like a wildfire. The way his wicked tongue played with you had you gasping his name in need bordering on desperation, chest tight as you were forgetting to breathe, core clenching so soon you couldn’t quite believe it as the tidal wave of bliss washed over you, hips rocking in aftershocks, knees eventually giving out.

It was only for a split second that you worried you might smother Steve or splatter ungracefully on the floor; because Steve had you. He always had you. His supersoldier part undeniable, he caught you, manipulating your body so he could cradle you protectively as you came from your high and literal height, holding you against his chest as you straddled him with seemingly boneless legs.

You were hyperaware of every bit of praise spilling from your lips, whispered to your skin warmly, but you couldn’t form words.

Not until his lips found yours, meeting in a soft kiss spiced with the tang of your essence, the most intimate kiss between lovers. He pushed the hair from your face tenderly, eyes both hungry and soft as if you weren’t soaking his dress pants where your core met his evident arousal and you weren’t both panting as if you had just run a marathon. His hand caressed up and down your spine, over and over, as if to ground you in reality.

A peck to your cheek. To your mouth. Your lips coming back to life at least, pressing to his jaw, to his smile.

“Could stay like this forever,” he whispered, nose trailing along your cheek, leaving a kiss under your ear, drawing a breathless chuckle from you. “With you in my arms, your taste on my lips, head swimming from your sweet perfume and everything that’s you… my wonderful wife… “

Blinking owlishly, you met his gaze as he cradled your cheek, hair a beautiful messy hallo from where you had tried to hold on when he was devouring you. His lips found yours again, a gentle murmur.

“You’re my everything, you know that?”

You did. By god you did. It was impossible not to, even as that fact was but a pure stroke of a miracle. He was your everything too. Your alfa and your omega. Your weakness and your strength. Your love, unshakable foundation even on days when everything including his own hands did shake. Your home, whenever you’d go.

You ran your fingers through his golden locks, expression nothing short of tender, touch nothing short of reverent – as one should be when in face of a miracle.

“And you’re my home,” you whispered back.

Seconds ticked by in soft silence, pleasure still tingling all over your body, but it was the overwhelming love and need in Steve’s gaze that consumed you completely.

You didn’t dare to blink. You didn’t dare to breathe. You simply watched him living through a moment as precious to him as he was to you, electric tension rising and almost audibly crackling in the air.

And then he was gripping your nape, mouth claiming and devouring, one hand sliding under your bottom to lift you in a display of strength that never failed to make you dizzy and blinded you with desire unmatched despite having just come down from your high. You returned his kiss with the same fervour, hands grasping at his shirt, frantically searching for buttons to undo and then simply tugging hard until the thread gave out and sent the buttons flying, a nip of teeth to your lips accompanied with Steve’s dark chuckle like the sweetest song of victory.

He sat down at the bed with you still straddling him, helping you strip the shirt without your lips ever parting, his hands leaving you but for the fraction of second necessary to get rid of the fabric in your way and then you were both sighing in relief when your palms met the burning skin of his sculptured chest, his wide shoulders, his clenching abs.

“Need you,” you confessed as soon as you got to breathe in, back at his lips the very next second, Steve’s large palm kneading your bottom, hips thrusting into yours and eliciting a wanton moan from you both. “And I want you in my mouth-“

A delicious growl rumbled in is chest, fingers tangled in your hair pulling just a little, tipping your head back to give him access to leave a string of kisses down the column of your throat, the deliberately slow bucks of his hips into yours never ceasing.

“You’re a wicked little thing.”

You chuckled, a cheeky remark on your painfully free lips, the delightful friction between your bodies not nearly enough to sooth your thirst.

“You do say I’m wicked smart. Why this time?”

The nip of teeth on your collarbone and the way his fingers dug into your flesh had you barely stifle a gasp, but his answer was a reward for a work well-done.

“Goddamn you, woman, you know what you do to me, especially that lipstick-”

“I know what it does to you to see it smeared in certain places,” you breathed out, silenced by a bruising kiss to your lips and a light sting on the back of your thigh as Steve pulled at one of the strings of your garter and let it snap against your skin. Your wandering hands reached for his belt, almost tasting the salty tang of him already as you’d get on your knees for him.

“Wicked,” he grunted against your mouth, lifting his hips – with you still on top – to help you strip his pants, “I thought I was giving the orders tonight.”

“Oh you do, Captain,” you assured him, revelling a little too much at the twitch against your core as you blatantly used his title against him. “Just informing you I’m willing.”

“Driving me crazy. Want you to want me just as much, to need me-“

“I do. Need to taste you-”

“Jesus Christ-“ he choked out, releasing you so you could press one last thorough kiss to his mouth and then slide down to your knees, grateful for the soft carpet.

Ridding Steve of the last piece of clothing, you took great care to maintain eye-contact as you stroked him, feather-light, and licked at the tip. The breathy sound resembling your name that left his lips when you wrapped your lips around the head sent a jolt of heat down your spine, hot satisfaction pooling in your belly and making your heart thunder in your chest.

Nothing had ever made you feel more powerful and treasured than Steve looking at you with half-lidded eyes, groaning as you took him deeper and bobbed your head, closing your lips tight around him as you pulled back to smear as much of the sinful red colour down his cock, his hands gripping the sheets so hard the fabric might tear.

God, he was gorgeous; a wrecked angel-like figure made for worship and sin, they only deity you needed, sculpted to divine perfection.

His fingers tangled gently at your hair, only to twitch repeatedly as he was holding back the strength he wanted to use keep you right there, always making you want to swallow around him harder to make him lose that control; the curses, the deliciously prolonged fuuuck tasting like a victory, the fuck-- sweetheart, you feel like heaven a blessing that stirred pure lust deep within your core.

He was done for almost too soon; a little work, a hint of a sinful smile in the corner of your lips as you watched him lose layer after layer of control to reveal the primal drive that made him just as human as any. Once your hands joining your efforts, he was spilling down your throat, eyes squeezed shut in an image of absolute heavenly ruin.

You waited for him to flutter his eyes open; not having even gone soft in your mouth, you dragged your lips down his length to leave the last red and glossy mark, the string of blasphemy leaving his mouth telling you he didn’t give a damn thing about your tear-smeared mascara but cared a whole lot about the prettily ruined lipstick. When you licked your lips as if he had just given you your favourite treat, he practically dragged you back to his lap, seemingly torn between proposing all over again and lamenting you were going to be his death.

Yet, he kissed you tenderly like a precious porcelain doll and reached for the wet wipe in the nightstand drawer to gently clean the black smears down your cheek. The smudged lipstick he indulgently wiped with his thumb before his mouth slanted over yours again, the thrumming passion between you growing louder again; you were dripping down your thighs from the appreciative gaze and the taste of him alone and Steve was rarely ever sated with climaxing just once. Especially after a week apart.

With his most acute hunger sated, however, he took time to admire the view again, even with your shoes finally discarded, indulging in the delicate lace instead, in the warmth of your body, in your perfume and the scent of your skin. His voice dropped low in volume, intimate whispers of how he wanted to see you take him deep and make you his, fingers gently stretching you to accommodate his impressive size before he led you to sink down on his length at last, filling you up so deliciously and completely.

With bodies stilled, the time seemed to slow down too. Eyes blown wide and dark, but with a sweet curl to your lips as you tasted each other over and over again, you both revelled in the sensation of being connected; brushes of fingertips, kisses to your lips, to your neck, to your sternum and breasts; to his chest, to his shoulders, to his kiss-swollen lips, wherever you could reach.

“I missed you, sweetheart,” he confessed between encounters of lips, the softest voice with a husky aftertaste. “Missed this. Never going to another conference again.”

You almost chuckled at the unrealistic prospect, touched all the same.

“Missed you more… might go to a conference every once in a while. For science.”

Steve grunted in protest, palms framing your face as he observed with a slightly amused pout to his kiss-swollen lips.

“Hm. Sounds like your argument contradicts your hypothesis there, Doc.”

This time, you did chuckle a bit, raising an eyebrow even as you caressed his cheek, index finger tapping the pouty lower lip. “Well sue me, I’m a little dazed. I’m allowed. I finally have you for myself after a week, Steve.”

He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to the pad of your finger, something devilish flashing in his eyes.

“That you do. I’m all yours. My smart, beautiful wife…” he coaxed with a kiss, hand landing lightly on your waist, hips thrusting up to encourage you to roll yours. There was no need to do so twice. You rocked your pelvis, jaw falling slack at the delightful sensation. A single movement and pleasure was spreading to every nerve ending, coil in your belly forming; Steve responded in kind, urging you on to keep going and set a pace.

“So good to me, sweetheart… so precious.”

“That’s it. So damn gorgeous like that--- look at me, love.”

“Making me feel so good… love having you like this. Never gonna get enough of this, of you…”

Golden. You felt so damn golden under his touch, from inside out, caressed with every single appreciative word spilling from his lips so naturally.

God, you had needed that. You needed that more than you had realized, having pushed down all the unpleasant interactions that had piled up during the week, interactions that made you feel everything but good, precious, brilliant or gorgeous. With every word, Steve poured his faith and love into the cracks in your being and healed them, silencing every doubt, grounding you so profoundly in the pleasure you shared that every single cell in your body ignited with something divine. The coil in your belly was strung so tight you almost felt yourself falling, if you’d only--- if he’d-

“Steve, please, I need-“

“I know what you need, love. I’ve got you.”

Your climax erupted through your body with Steve’s mouth wrapped around your nipple, his dextrous fingers digging into your ass and playing with your clit.

He found his release as he kneeled behind you and caged you to his front, one hand around your throat to angle your head for a sloppy kiss, the other spread wide over your lower belly, sneaky fingertips having coaxed another Earth-shattering orgasm from you.

Somewhere along the way, your lacy attire had ended up in shreds where Steve pulled a little too hard; the remnants of garter belt and stockings were carefully stripped by Steve’s tender fingers as he cleaned you up with a warm cloth before covering you with several kisses and only then with the comforter.

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you to his side and simply holding you as close as humanly possible, living and revelling in the moment just until his stomach growled.

After a semi-serious joke about taking you as a dessert for the second time, you lazily ordered take-out for three since you had worked up an appetite, moving to the couch. A movie in the background, Steve shared some of the highlights and escapades of the past few days from the conference and DC – as much as he could anyway. In return, you shared your own – as much as you could anyway. When in each other’s embrace, the trouble seemed far away; and what had felt like a path to the next Armageddon suddenly appeared considerably more manageable.

You were practically asleep, half-sprawled over Steve’s chest, when he pressed another kiss to your scalp, this time lingering.

“I love you… and thank you. That truly was a nice welcome home,” he said, bringing a ghost of a tired smile to your lips.

“It’s our home, Steve… You should always feel welcome. Loved.”

“And I do. Coming home to you is the most precious thing,” he mused, caressing your hair when you snuggled impossibly closer to him, inhaling the comforting scent of all that was him. “But you walking the extra mile… that truly makes me the luckiest guy in the universe.”

You hummed, his words warming you more thoroughly than his body and the blanket combined. You pressed a kiss to his sternum over his sleepshirt.

“And I’m the luckiest woman. I love you, Steeeve… I’m sorry-”

His chest shook under your cheek softly as your confession turned into a yawn, but he took it as a sign. He half-carried you to the bathroom and carried you entirely by the time you were done with your nighttime routine.

You murmured another love you, sleep well as you laid your head on the pillow, cradled in Steve’s protective embrace, his words reaching your ears from a terrible, terrible distance, but tasted just as sweet as ever.

“I will, love. I most definitely will.”

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Aren't they just sweet? 🥺 Happy belated birthday, Stevie 💕 I hope you enjoyed - feedback is always welcomed💕

Prompts, as promised:

Pouncing on your partner as soon as they arrive home from a trip away

“My favourite thing in the world is being here with you.”

Kinks: praise, soft!dom, oral

Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go bath in holy water and pray to my muse that she'll let me write longfic too 🤭

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x you #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #sweet and ours tonight #anika ann

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paddockletters · 2 months ago

Text

unseen | jude bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x reader request: yes / Reader who was bullied when young and then jude and her go to her hometown and everyone feels out cause that freaking jude bellingham and they get like, impressed by reader success as an f1 engineer and that she bagged jude? Sorry its way too specific author’s note: Hope you liked it!... as I always say... english is not my first language so pardon me if there are mistakes —feel free to tell me— and my requests are open!👀

The memories of my school days never really left me. Every now and then, they’d come creeping back — a careless comment someone made, or the way people used to whisper when I walked past. I could still picture the sneers, the cold stares, and the cutting remarks. The bullying wasn’t always physical, but the emotional scars felt just as deep. Being the quiet girl who loved math, cars, and physics made me an easy target. I didn’t fit in with the other girls who were into makeup and parties. I was more interested in tweaking engines and dreaming of Formula 1. That difference marked me.

It all began in middle school when I started to realize just how out of place I was. My grades were high, my social skills not so much. Every time I raised my hand in class, there’d be snickers. Every time I’d walk down the hall with my oversized glasses, someone would mutter a snide remark. The bullying wasn’t brutal, but it was consistent, gnawing at me bit by bit. High school wasn’t much better. The teasing continued, though by then, I had learned to keep my head down and drown out the noise by focusing on my dream of working in Formula 1.

Fast forward a few years, and here I am — an engineer for one of the top F1 teams. The transformation was surreal. Sometimes, I still have to pinch myself. Who would’ve thought that the same girl who spent her lunch breaks in the library, sketching out car designs, would one day be standing in the pit lane at Monaco?

But something even crazier happened along the way — I met Jude Bellingham.

It wasn’t some grand, love-at-first-sight story. I wasn’t starstruck when I first saw him. In fact, I didn’t even know who he was. We met at a charity event, one aimed at inspiring young athletes and professionals from underprivileged backgrounds to chase their dreams. Jude was there as the football star, while I had been invited to speak about my journey into F1. He seemed genuinely interested during my talk, but we didn’t interact much that day. It wasn’t until I received a DM on Instagram a few days later that things really started.

“Hey, I loved your speech at the event. I’m Jude, by the way — football player. Would love to grab coffee sometime if you’re up for it.”

I remember staring at my phone, thinking it was a prank. A football star wanted to get coffee with me? It felt like a joke. But I responded, and we met. Coffee turned into long dinners, long dinners turned into walks in the park, and those walks turned into a relationship.

Jude wasn’t what I expected. Sure, he was famous, but he was also kind, funny, and remarkably down-to-earth. He never treated me like I was less important than him. If anything, he seemed fascinated by my work. He’d ask me endless questions about the F1 cars, the strategies, the engineering behind the speed. I’d tease him about football, asking if he really knew what went into designing the perfect car. We just clicked.

Still, going back to my hometown was something I hadn’t done in years. The memories were too bitter. But Jude wanted to go. He wanted to see where I grew up, to meet the people who had shaped me, for better or worse. So we planned a trip. I was nervous as hell, but Jude? He was excited.

The car ride to my hometown felt like an eternity. As Jude hummed along to the soft rhythm of the music playing through the speakers, my mind was far from the road. I hadn’t been back here in years, not since I’d left for university. The thought of returning had always been… daunting. I wasn’t ready to face the ghosts of the past. Or, more specifically, the people who had made my life a living hell when I was younger.

I glanced at Jude, who was focused on the road, one hand casually resting on the wheel, the other on my leg, giving me an occasional reassuring squeeze. His presence grounded me, but that nervous pit in my stomach kept growing the closer we got.

“You’re quiet,” he said, glancing at me.

I forced a smile. “Just... thinking.”

Jude raised an eyebrow, his tone soft as he asked, “About?”

“About how weird this is going to be. I haven’t been back here in years, Jude. People… they remember things. They remember who I was.”

“And who you were is exactly who I love. You know that, right?” he said, giving my thigh another squeeze.

I chuckled softly, leaning back into the seat, trying to push the anxiety down.

“I know. It’s just that, back then, I was the awkward girl who couldn’t fit in. Now I’m walking into town holding hands with Jude Bellingham. People are going to freak out.”

“They’ll freak out because you’re a freaking Formula 1 engineer, not because of me,” he said, grinning. “I bet half the people in town have posters of you in their garage next to their Ferrari die-casts or something.”

“Oh please,” I laughed, rolling my eyes. “No one from my town cares about F1.”

“They should. You’re a genius.”

Jude’s words were always so simple, but they held so much weight. He had a way of making me feel seen, really seen, in a way no one else ever had. That’s what made everything with him feel so different. He wasn’t just the football star that millions of people idolized; he was my Jude, the one who asked me about race strategies and remembered the names of the engineers on my team.

We arrived at the town square just as the afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the small, familiar streets. The sight of it brought back a wave of memories — good and bad. It was strange how everything looked smaller now, less intimidating. The buildings I used to walk past with my head down, trying not to be noticed, now seemed so ordinary.

Jude parked the car, pulling his baseball cap down over his head as we stepped out. I could already see a few people glancing in our direction, their eyes widening with recognition. They weren’t just looking at him, though. They were looking at me.

“Hey, you okay?” Jude asked, stepping closer to me, his arm wrapping around my waist.

I nodded, even though I wasn’t entirely sure. “Yeah, it’s just… surreal.”

We started walking through the town square, hand in hand. I tried to ignore the stares, the whispers. But they were everywhere.

“Oh my god, is that… Jude Bellingham?”

“Wait, isn’t that the girl who used to go to school here? She’s, like, a big deal now, right?”

“I heard she works in Formula 1. How did she end up with him?”

I bit my lip, feeling the familiar wave of insecurity creeping in. But Jude seemed unfazed. If anything, he walked a little taller, as if daring anyone to say something negative. He pulled me in closer, planting a kiss on my temple as we crossed the square.

As we walked into the shopping center, we decided to stop by a café for a drink. I could already feel the buzz of recognition in the air as people realized who Jude was.

Jude sat across from me, casually sipping his drink as if we were anywhere else in the world. He had his cap pulled low over his face, trying to avoid drawing attention, but it was hard not to notice him. He was Jude Bellingham after all.

The stares had started the moment we walked into the square, but he didn’t seem to mind. He had this effortless calm about him, the way he handled attention, fame. Meanwhile, I was doing my best not to feel like I was under a spotlight, even though I knew people were whispering and pointing, probably trying to figure out why he was with me.

I caught a glance from a group of teenagers at the table across from us. They were huddled together, looking our way, giggling and whispering. I sighed, already feeling a bit on edge.

Jude noticed. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle.

I forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, just... weird being back here.”

“I can imagine,” he said, reaching across the table to take my hand. His thumb brushed over my knuckles in that soothing way he always did. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

I took a deep breath, glancing around the café. “It’s fine. Just... a lot of memories, you know?”

He squeezed my hand, his gaze soft and understanding. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” I said, surprising myself. I had never really told him the full story before.

He knew bits and pieces, but I had kept most of it to myself. Maybe it was time to let him in.

I looked down at our intertwined hands, thinking back to those years.

“I wasn’t exactly the most popular kid,” I started, my voice quieter than I intended.

“I was the one they picked on. The ‘geeky’ one. I loved math, engineering, all the stuff no one else thought was cool. I spent more time in the library than anywhere else. They made fun of me for it—my glasses, my clothes, the fact that I never fit in.”

Jude’s expression softened. “Kids can be cruel.”

“They were,” I agreed, a bitter laugh escaping me. “It wasn’t just teasing though. It got pretty bad at times. I used to dread coming to school. Every day felt like walking into a battlefield. I just wanted to disappear, you know?”

Jude’s grip on my hand tightened slightly. “I hate that you went through that.”

I shrugged, trying to play it off like it didn’t matter anymore.

“It’s in the past. I got out. I became an F1 engineer, so jokes on them, I guess.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t have to act like it doesn’t still hurt. It’s okay to feel that.”

I looked up at him, my throat tightening with the emotion I hadn’t realized was building up.

“It does, sometimes. I mean, I know I’ve made it, but coming back here... it just brings all that stuff up again.”

He stood up then, coming around the table to sit beside me. Without a word, he pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me protectively.

“You’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit for,” he whispered into my hair. “You’re brilliant, and you’ve worked so hard to get where you are. They didn’t see that back then, but it doesn’t matter. I see it. The world sees it now.”

I leaned into him, letting his warmth and words wrap around me like a blanket.

We stayed like that for a few moments before pulling apart slightly, Jude resting his forehead against mine.

“You’ve got nothing to prove to anyone here,” he said softly. “You’re you, and that’s more than enough.”

I smiled, squeezing his hand. “Thank you. For always knowing what to say.”

Jude grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Well, you did bag me, so I’d say you’re doing something right.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s part of my charm,” he teased, flashing that trademark grin.

As we sat there, talking about everything and nothing, a few more people came up to us. A couple of them recognized me from school. I could see the surprise in their eyes, like they couldn’t believe the girl they used to tease was sitting here with a world-famous footballer.

“Hey, I remember you,” a girl of the group said, her voice laced with nostalgia. “You were in my physics class, right?”

I nodded, offering a polite smile. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Wow,” she said, glancing between me and Jude. “I heard you’re doing big things now. Formula 1, right?”

“Yeah, I’m an engineer for one of the teams.”

“That’s… amazing,” she said, looking genuinely impressed. “I always knew you were smart, but I didn’t realize… well, you know.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond, but Jude jumped in, his arm draping casually around my shoulders.

“She’s a genius. She’ll never admit it, but she’s probably the best engineer in F1 right now.”

I blushed, nudging him playfully. “Stop exaggerating.”

The girl chuckled awkwardly, clearly a bit starstruck by Jude’s presence. “Well, it’s great to see you doing so well. And… with him. That’s pretty cool.”

After she left, I turned to Jude, who was grinning like he’d just won the Champions League.

“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jude grinned. “See? People notice. They’re impressed, as they should be.”

I rolled my eyes playfully. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” he said, leaning in to kiss my temple. “But I’m also right.”

As we walked through the shopping center, I could still feel people glancing our way, some whispering, others taking quick pictures on their phones. But for the first time, I didn’t feel like the awkward, out-of-place girl from school. I felt like someone who had earned her place in the world, someone who had worked hard and made it.

A few more people came up to Jude, asking for pictures or autographs, but he always made sure to include me in the conversation, making it clear that I wasn’t just the girl on his arm. I was someone in my own right.

At one point, a young girl, probably no older than ten, approached me shyly. She held a notebook in her hand, her eyes wide with admiration.

“Excuse me,” she said quietly, “are you the F1 engineer? The one who works with the cars?”

I blinked in surprise, glancing at Jude before nodding. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Her face lit up, and she held out her notebook. “Could I have your autograph? I want to be an engineer one day, just like you.”

My heart melted, and I took the notebook from her, scribbling my name with a quick message of encouragement. “You can be whatever you want to be,” I told her, handing it back. “Just keep working hard and never stop believing in yourself.”

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Thank you!”

As she ran off, I turned to Jude, who was watching me with a proud smile.

“See?” he said softly. “You’re a role model.”

I smiled, leaning into him. “I guess I am.”

As we walked, Jude nudged me with his elbow.

“You handled that like a pro.”

“I don’t know how you do it all the time,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

He laughed. “You get used to it.”

Jude looked over at me, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

I glanced up at him, my heart swelling with affection. “For what?”

“For being you. For everything you’ve accomplished. And for putting up with me,” he teased, nudging me playfully.

I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in years. “It’s not always easy, but I manage.”

As we left the shopping center and headed back to the car, I realized something important. This place might have been where my story started, but it didn’t define me anymore. I had moved on, grown, become someone I was proud of. And with Jude by my side, I knew I could face whatever came next, even if it meant coming back to the place I once tried so hard to leave behind.

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham oneshot #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham blurbs #football blurb #football imagines #football imagine #real madrid #jude bellingham fanfic #jb5 #hey jude #jude bellingham one shot

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satxnsupreme666 · 1 month ago

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You don’t need to be alone anymore: Agatha Harkness/Agnes x fem!reader

Masterlist

Requested by: @midnight-lestrange

Summary: You´re a lonely witch who was never accepted in any coven because everyone was afraid of your dark powers, you got used to live alone for many centuries, but when you meet Agatha in Westview you fall in love with her, you´re scared of getting attached to her so you try to ignore her, but Agatha never gives up.

Words: 7k+

Warnings: Angst but fluff in the end.

Author´s note: Hi, this was a requested story, I do not know if I should tag the people who requested at the time, I want to be respectful, so I am not sure if I should tag them, I will try and do it since it was their request and their idea and if any of the people who requested back at the time now feel uncomfortable being tagged, please let me know and I will delete the tag.

This was one of the first stories I wrote three years ago, I had posted them on Tumblr on my old account, but due to my mental health, I had to take a break from Tumblr and the toxicity and hate that had suddenly increased, I deleted all of my stories and my old account, now I have decided to upload them again here on Tumblr and also on Ao3.

Again, as this was one of the first stories I wrote for Agatha Harkness is a little bit short, I will be uploading the rest of the stories from time to time, I have to edit them and make sure they are legible enough and with not a lot of grammatical errors.

I hope you like it!

If you enjoy, could you comment, like or reblog? it would help a lot really ♥️

Taglist: @midnight-lestrange @eliscannotdance

Doing everything on your own wasn’t a big deal for you, passing all your life alone had made you stronger, you didn’t need anyone in your life and you were alright by just being on your own.

At least that was what you kept telling yourself at nights when sometimes the only thing that you needed was a hug.

The feeling of a hug someone had gave to you felt so far away, almost like a dream as if it was something unreal, dreaming about the feeling deep down you craved the most.

But then just as the thoughts of needing comfort came to your mind they quickly vanished too.

Now that you were trapped in Westview playing the role Wanda had given to you it wasn’t too hard.

The fact that Wanda had given you the role of a lonely girl living by herself and from time to time having to attend to Dottie’s meetings wasn’t a hard thing to do, it was not far from who you really were, so it was not a big thing to do.

Eastview was a really grey and kind of a sad place to live in, it had been some centuries ago when you arrived to the town, by the time you first stepped in, it wasn’t even called like that, and it was a really good thing that there were no other witches around when you arrived.

Witches were afraid of you because of you dark powers, and not just a few witches, centuries ago you had looked for a safe coven to be part of and at first, they all had accepted you with open arms but just as soon as they saw your powers, they became afraid.

Being the daughter of a witch who had practiced dark magic for most of her life well, you had inherited dark magic as well, you were not sure how that was possible but it had happened and you couldn’t get rid of your magic.

You really didn’t understand why all of the other witches were so afraid, you were not a bad person and you thought that you could help people even if you had dark powers, but your opinion didn’t matter to them, they just wanted you away from them and that hurt a lot.

Going from coven to coven with high hopes that maybe in the next one they would help you control and understand your magic, but none of that happened, no one wanted you near, so you just accepted your faith.

You realized no one would ever be there for you and no one would ever stand up for you, so you decided that you didn’t need someone and that no one would ever hurt you or abandon you again, this time you would ignore everyone.

Two days ago, when Wanda arrived at Eastview you sensed her magic and before you could even understand what was going on, everything changed, your house and your clothing had changed too and, in your mind, there were pictures of a different life you had never had.

You quickly understood what was going on, someone was trying to implant fake memories but your magic was stronger than this new magic, so this didn’t get to you.

Wanda’s magic hadn’t affected your mind but it looked like it had affected all of the inhabitants of what was now called Westview, you found it interesting how this could have been possible? You brushed the thought off maybe it was not so bad.

The clothes were pretty cool and maybe a little change in the town wasn’t so bad, you just had to play along the memories that were supposed to be real and you even got a new name as well as everyone, but you were a bit curious, had the personality of your neighbors changed as well or did it remain the same?

It was kind of late and you wanted to rest, and according to your new memories and the calendar tomorrow you had a meeting at the club so tomorrow you would find what else had changed.

Now you were just waking up and the weather was nice also you will have a meeting with other girls so now you would know what really was going on, feeling quite excited to know what else was new you prepared yourself for the day and after getting everything done and giving a final check at yourself in the mirror you left your house, walking down the street you already knew where you were walking as if there had been always this club and you had attended hundreds of times, yes it was weird but at the same time interesting.

Arriving at the club you noticed that just three women were sitting in the poolside benches but you were sure the others would arrive at any moment, so you just sat at one of the chairs that formed kind of a circle.

One thing you noticed was that the other residents had a dim red light around them, if you put enough attention you would see it around them that’s how you know they were being controlled.

When everybody start to arrive at the chairs you noticed they were walking behind Sarah and they were talking to her as if she was a celebrity, so her role was to be in charge of everything and the other women just followed her, you found this funny, Sarah was usually nice to you but sometimes she could be a little mean to other people but actually she was not that bossy so you didn’t mind, still you wanted to know more.

You were looking at all the other women and how some of them were acting far from how they really were, some of them used to be really nice and now they were just like some kind of mean girls, one of them was really shy when normally she would be making everybody laugh, you were so focused on examining everything that you didn’t notice some sitting right next you.

Now you just learned that Sarah’s new name was Dottie and everyone wanted her validation, even though you found this funny you were not a person who would usually express how you were feeling, it was something you had learnt to cover over the years.

The meeting kept going mostly with Dottie speaking all the time you were really not paying attention until you heard someone at your side

“This might help a little” Your heard someone saying that beside you and when you turned your head to look at the owner of the voice you saw a woman with dark-brown hair showing you what it looked like a small alcohol container, you were trying hard not to laugh but her comment had been really funny, you just looked at her and tried to ignore her quickly putting your attention or at least you tried to, back at Dottie, but what it was interesting is that this woman didn’t have the red tint around herself, also you had never seen her, but you tried to ignore that fact too.

After 10 minutes later you heard the same voice of the pretty woman whispering again

“Really, how is anybody doing this sober?” This time you had to bit your lip not to laugh, she was really funny, but you had to maintain a serious face.

You noticed this woman was eyeing you by the corner of your eye, she was looking at you, she was trying to see any type of reaction at her words, she was interested and just as you notice the red mist around the people, she had noticed the same and she could see that you didn’t have any, and by the time she was entering the club she felt a strong magic coming from the place, it was dark but at the same time she didn’t feel any type of danger coming from this magic.

When she noticed you sitting in the chair, she became aware that the power was coming from you, it was strong, how could Wanda not notice it? Well, she was immersed in her own made up world so it would be hard for her to notice there was something different around this town.

She wanted to catch your attention but you seemed like you were not interested in her at all.

Finally when the meeting finished you saw Dottie walking towards you and you wondered what she wanted, maybe a little help with the organization of the talent show, you noticed that the two women next to you were still sitting there, the woman who said the funny comments and the other one, now you could see the other woman you realized she had been the one who had changed everything in the town, you could feel her power and the same red mist that emanated from her.

“Sweety would you like to help decorating the place?” Asked Dottie, you nodded you really didn’t have anything else to do and this was quite interesting.

“Hey Dottie I can help her to decorate the place, many hands can do better things than just a pair” The humorous woman said winking at you, deep down you were laughing internally but physically you just sighed and kept looking at Dottie

“Great, now my favorite girl won´t be alone, right?” It was curious, Sarah the real person, when she first met you she wanted to get close to you, she wanted to be your friend but of course you didn’t want that the story of someone leaving you would repeat again, so you just acted cold towards her and in the end she decided to distance herself, but now with the new personality, Dottie treated you like when she first met you.

“ OH, her favorite girl huh? Why is that, are you two, you know?” Said the dark-brown haired woman with a smirk in her face, Dottie just rolled her eyes at her

“Now Agnes that doesn’t concern you” So her name is or more like her role was to be Agnes, you thought, who was she really?

“So now that Agnes offered, you two can deck out the garden and I will make sure that everything concerning the chairs and the tables is in order” You nodded saw that while Dottie was leaving the woman that was next to Agnes followed Dottie.

You were about to leave to go to the place where everything was supposed to take place and you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Now darling I think we have a lot to talk, don´t we? We really don´t have to decorate anything it was just something Wanda-“ Agnes pointed at the woman with the red hair before speaking again

“Wanda made Dottie say, I think she wanted to talk to her alone, you´ll see there will be more people decorating, now I need to talk to you, let´s go to a more private place away from Wanda, shall we?” So now you understood that she knew you were aware, you saw her stretching out her arm, it looked like she wanted you to link her arm with hers, you were not about to do it.

“Let´s go to a different place but please do not link your arm with me, we can just walk side by side, but that´s all, alright?” You started to walk towards the exit and you didn’t see Agatha squinting her eyes to look at you, she was curious, you were a little different, and she wanted to know what was going on with you, how had you ended up here in Westview and how you had dark magic.

Agnes placed herself next to you, she was a little taller than you and she eyed you again, she didn’t understand why you were such a serious person.

“Maybe we could go to my house darling, no one will interrupt us there, is that alright with you?” You just nodded you really didn’t have anything to lose.

Agnes guided the walk you just followed her through the streets, her house was not so far from the club.

Arriving at her front porch she opened the door and let you in first, you found this very cute and charming from her part but you were not about to say that to her you also tried to hide the slight blush that appeared in your face.

She smirked she could swear she had seen you blush but she decided not to say anything.

Agnes closed her door and she saw you standing there in her living room, you looked lost.

“You can sit darling this will take some time” You nodded again and decided to sit in one of the couches, just when you sat down Agnes went to what you guessed was the kitchen, you took a deep breath and tried to stay calm, rubbing your hands against your dress trying to soothe yourself, being around Agnes who is a really pretty woman you couldn’t help but to be nervous, although you were pretty good at hiding what you were actually feeling, when you heard her footsteps coming closer you sat straight and put on your serious face.

“Here you have sweetheart a glass of cold lemonade, I did it myself” She said handing to you the glass, you took it from her and took a quick sip, it was great.

“Thank you” You said without looking at her, she waited some minutes, waiting to see if you were going to say something else, but when she realized you were not going to say something else, Agnes sighed.

“Alright I can see you´re a quiet girl, but that´s alright I have a lot to say for both of us” She said looking at you all the time, you just nodded and finally you stared at her, now that you were looking cautiously you noticed how pretty her blue eyes were, she was really pretty and her power was really strong you could sense it, you felt drawn to it, maybe because her powers were like yours, both of your came from dark magic.

Agnes sat herself in the couch in front of you, never taking her eyes off you.

“My real name is Agatha Harkness, buttercup, and I´m a witch but I´m pretty sure you already know that, I can sense your power, is strong, really strong and I can feel the darkness coming from you, but I´m curious dear, I don´t feel any danger coming from your magic, what is it? Who are you? Just a few witches are brave enough to embrace the beauty of dark magic”

You were lost for words, she was not afraid of your magic, she was interested and everything she had said about dark magic was simply beautiful, no one had ever spoken about dark magic like her, you felt something breaking inside you, you wanted to tell her everything, suddenly you just wanted to tell her so she could hold you, denying yourself a simply thing like a hug for centuries now was taking its toll on you, you just wanted someone to hold you.

Agatha never stopped watching you, and she could swear that she saw you struggling with your own thoughts, you were not a threat and she could feel that even though you had dark magic you wouldn’t be able to put someone in danger, you looked so broken but you hide it behind that cold mask, Agatha had seen all of this by just looking at your sad eyes.

The feeling didn’t last longer, you quickly composed yourself and took another sip of your lemonade.

“My name´s y/n, and it is not my fault that I possess this dark magic, it was my mother´s fault, she was pregnant when she started to play with dark magic, and I´m not sure how but my mother told me that when I was born, dark magic was already running through my veins”

You told her trying to act as if that hadn’t doomed you to be alone for the rest of your life.

Agatha was surprised, she had never heard of someone who had been born out of dark magic, this was strange, how could you have dark magic within you but at the same time you were not interested in your powers, you seemed as if you despise them.

“Have you used them to obtain something? Dark magic can be very powerful dear” The pet names she was calling you were too much for you to handle, no one had ever called you like that, and you were dangerously liking the way she was talking to you.

Should you tell her that you didn’t know how to use your powers? No one taught you how to use them, all the witches were afraid of you.

“I´m not interested in my powers” You told her looking right into her eyes in order to make her believe that you were telling the truth.

Agatha of course didn’t believe you; you had a great power within you, how could you not be interested in it? This was unbelievable, but she realized that you were not going to tell her the truth, so she had to try something else, Agatha sighed again and she placed her hand under her chin, examining you.

“Alright, then how did you arrive here? Did you feel Wanda´s power too?” You just blinked, so you were right she didn’t live here, she arrived after Wanda came here, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

This look didn’t go unnoticed by Agatha and just kept staring at you.

“I already lived here; Eastview has always been a peaceful place to live” You simply answered not wanting to keep talking, you stood from the couch and Agatha was confused, then how a powerful witch like you had ended up here?

“I think I should leave; the talent show will be ready in a few hours and I think this woman Wanda wants all of us to be there”

Agatha quickly stood and placed herself in front of you touching slightly your arms and you tensed.

“Hey you know, maybe I could help you with your magic, I know a lot about dark magic, we can work together, I can help you to develop more your powers, I can be your mentor” Agatha said with a genuine smile, that was what you had wanted the most years ago, if only someone had offered you help, you hesitated for a moment, you really wanted her help but what if in the end she just leaves like everyone did?

Agatha sensed your hesitation, now she really wanted to help you but she couldn’t understand why you couldn’t accept, what was stopping you?

“Thank you but no, I´m really good on my own, I really don´t need the help of anyone” Once again you were hiding behind that cold mask.

Agatha wanted to insist but she didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable so she decided to give you time to think.

“Alright, then I will see you at the talent show angel”

“See you there Agatha” Agatha gave you a half smile why wouldn’t you let her help you, with a confused look on her face she went to the door to open it for you, you thanked her and stepped out of her house, however Agatha couldn’t stop thinking about you, the way you looked so sad but at the same time so strong, what had happened to you? She had been interested in Wanda´s magic but now you just had drawn her attention, she wanted to get to know you better.

Some hours later you decided to go the talent show, you had never attended to one and even though you had seen real magic in action you were excited for this, it was something new.

Arriving at the place you saw some of the women who had attended to the club already sitting in the chairs, seeing some chairs in front a table that were not taken you sat down there waiting for everything to start.

Putting your elbows on the table you placed you chin on your hands, and minutes later you heard someone sitting next to you, turning your head a little you saw it was Agatha, she smiled gently at you and you waved your hand a little.

“Are you ready to see some dumb fake tricks darling?” She asked winking at you, you just nodded for what it felt like the tenth time in the day.

You noticed Agatha kept looking at you, her glance was so intense that you were afraid she would burn a hole in your face.

By the time the show started you saw Wanda on stage accompanied by a tall man, you didn’t know who it was.

“That’s Wanda’s husband, Vision, dear” Agatha whispered in your ear and your body shivered, this time you couldn’t hide your reaction and Agatha noticed it.

“This is boring, wanna see some real action there darling?” You couldn’t answer because you saw Agatha moving her hands and smoke purple emanated from her hands and quickly you saw what she had caused on stage, you really couldn’t help but laugh, this was really funny and even if you wanted not to laugh you couldn’t help it.

Agatha found it so cute the fact that you were trying to cover your laugh with your hand, she saw the movement on your shoulders and she smiled, she thought your laugh was so sweet and she wanted to make you laugh more.

You couldn’t ignore Agatha; she was a really funny person.

When the tricks and Vision’s act ended you heard him saying he needed a volunteer and Agatha was faster than anyone to make a comment

“Are you sure you don’t want an audience volunteer named "my husband Ralph?” That cracked you up, and this time you laughed, hard, she was hilarious and the other people who heard her laughed as well.

Agatha heard the sound of your laugh and her heart melted at the sound, she looked at you and saw the way your eyes squinted when you were laughing, she had never seen someone so beautiful but with a lot of sadness at the same time, she wanted to do something, she wanted to see you happy and even though she had met you some hours ago, she felt something warm growing inside her chest.

“Darling, you have a beautiful laugh” When you heard that you instantly froze and stopped laughing, your face became serious again and you cleared your throat.

You just turned your head a little you look at her to give her a shy smile

Agatha smiled back at you with a sad smile, you were so beautiful why were you trying so hard to hide yourself? Why didn’t you want to be seen?

When the talent show ended and everyone else clapped you decided it was time to leave, standing up from the chair Agatha stood up as well

“Hey darling do you want me to accompany you to your house?” She asked while trying to grab gently your arm, but you stepped back a little

“No, it’s alright, I can walk alone, have a goodnight Agatha” You said in a rushed you didn’t want to spend a lot of time with her, you couldn’t let yourself get attached to her, if she decided to leave she wouldn’t even think about you, so it was better to evade any other type of interaction, she was just here because of her interest in Wanda’s magic, and she could leave any time, you were not about to fall for a woman you had just met.

Walking alone through the street you arrived at your house, once again the loneliness and sadness took over you, talking to Agatha felt so risky, you didn’t want to end up with your heart broken, she was just so sweet and you couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Agatha wanted to be close to you she wanted to help you with your powers, but you just pushed her away, she felt disappointed because she really wanted to help you one way or another.

Later that night you noticed Westview changing again, and once again the furniture and the decorations changed too, it was a nice change and you notice right away the era had changed you were pretty sure now it was the 70´s, you had already passed through that time years ago.

Days kept passing and Agatha tried to talk to you, she would always come to your house just to ask if you were doing fine, you weren’t sure how she had discovered where you lived but maybe she had just asked Wanda where was your house, of course Wanda knew where everyone was.

During her quick visits, sometimes she would give you little gifts, one day she gave you flowers, you still blushed at the memory, that day you couldn’t stop thinking about her, she looked so pretty with her straight hair you had seen her passed by your street riding her bike, you had been looking through the window thinking about how things were going on Westview and what had caught your attention had been the sound of the bell in her bike, when you saw her you smiled, whenever she was near you felt happiness but that was something you wouldn’t let her know.

After the first time she passed riding her bike in front of your house, then minutes later she passed through again and you laughed, you were sure she knew you were in the window, 10 minutes later again she passed again and this time she waved her hand at you just to disappear again on the other side of the street, you waited another 10 minutes because you thought she would pass again but this time she didn’t and you felt disappointed so you walked to your couch to take a nap or at least to try, but when you had placed yourself in the couch someone knocked on you door, you went to answer the door and this time you couldn’t hide your smile, Agatha was standing in your door with a bunch of flowers in her hands, you looked at them and they were so pretty.

“Hello angel, I was on my way to my house and I decided to bring you these, I hope you like them dear” Agatha handed the flowers to you and you took them, Agatha saw you biting your lower lip and she smiled too, little by little she was starting to see a change, she just wanted to make you smile and wanted to be near you, and this was what she started to do.

“Thank you seriously, you didn’t have to but I´m glad you brought this to me, they are really beautiful” You said while smiling, a genuine smile, for the first time you didn’t feel like hiding and Agatha was glad that she could finally see you smile.

“ I wanted to baby girl, now I have to go back to my house to make sure everything’s in order, see you later sweetheart” Your heart melted, you really liked when she called you like that.

You laughed at the memory of that time when you had gone into town to buy some things you needed, and how weirdly it had been that Agatha had bump into you, you couldn’t help the smirk in your face that day.

“Hey sweetheart isn´t amazing that we just met again? I didn’t know you were coming to the- uh, to the grocery store, I came here for some things as well, you know things to prepare dinner”

That day you walked side by side with her, you felt really comfortable around her and that day you realized how much you had fallen for her, how couldn’t you? She was so sweet, she treated you right and she was always making you laugh and just with her presence you didn’t feel the need to hide again, you really wanted to express to her how much you loved her, how much she had captivated you.

After that day full of quick glances towards each other, shy smiles and gentle brushes against each other you realized you loved her, a lot.

Agatha brushed her hand against your hand and even you could feel her fingers touching yours, it was such an innocent move that left you yearning for more and what made you feel happier was the fact that Agatha didn’t even buy a single thing, she just helped you put things into the shopping cart at the same time she said funny things that cracked you up, she had completely forgot to actually buy things, she had done it on purpose, the fact that she had bumped into you that day on purpose made you feel happy, she just had wanted to spend some time with you, and for the first time in your life you felt loved.

But the feeling didn’t last longer, when you said your goodbyes and you came back home, all the memories of the people you had loved, your mother, your sisters of the coven, your witch-friends, they all had abandoned you, they had forgotten about you, no one ever helped you, you had to learn to stand up for yourself because no one would have ever done it for you, you learned how to stay away from everyone because deep down you knew everyone would leave you.

You really wanted to be close to Agatha, you wanted to hug her and to kiss her, but what if she in the end just leaves you like the others? You wouldn’t be able to bare another heart break, you couldn’t and you wouldn’t, but the feeling of loneliness for centuries that had never gone away, it felt like it was coming back everything at the same time, you couldn’t bare it anymore, you wanted to be loved but at the same time you were just so afraid of the many what ifs.

It had been three days since Agatha and you had gone shopping together and since that day you didn’t dare to leave you room, you couldn’t control the way you were feeling you just wanted to cry, you wanted to yell to break things, finally someone showed interest in you and you kept pushing her away, you couldn’t help it the constant fear of being thrown away didn’t leave your mind, you were not happy being alone but it was the only thing you could do in order to protect yourself, you kept saying to yourself how good you were just in your own, but deep down you knew you craved for a hug or just a simple touch of hands, you wanted to hold Agatha´s hand you wanted to tell her everything but the fear you felt didn’t let you.

Agatha was worried about you; had she crossed the limits? She couldn’t guess but she was worried, you hadn’t left your house in three days in a row, and you usually went for a quick walk, it was not that she had been spying on you, well, maybe just a little, but she wanted to know if you were ok, she worried about you a lot, and she had fallen for you, she knew you were just broken and she wanted to help you fix the broken parts of your heart, she was just waiting to be sure that you were not afraid anymore, and she had thought that the shopping day had been the right path, Agatha thought that you were finally opening yourself a little, but now after three days of not knowing anything from you she couldn’t help but to be worried sick.

So of course she became worried sick when she hadn’t heard anything from you, the first day after the shopping, she waited for you at the sidewalk, she knew on Mondays you always went for a quick walk, but after 30 minutes of waiting she realized you were not coming, it was strange, maybe you were running late but after waiting 15 minutes more she decided to go home, she would look for you later.

Agatha started to walk towards her house when she saw Dottie walking to the direction, she was coming from

“Hey Agnes, when you see your girlfriend can you say hi to her for me? I really like her but now that she’s so smitten by you, the only person she talks to is you, Agnes I must say I’m kind of jealous, you’re a lucky woman Agnes, please say hi to her for me”

Agnes was dumbfounded, she was not expecting Dottie to say that to her, but at least she was happy that someone had said to her that she could draw your attention, with that she kept walking to her house with a big smile on her face, she couldn’t wait to tell you how she felt about you.

The second day she went to look at your house again, but the feeling that something was wrong took over her, she knocked on the door and you didn’t answer that was something strange, whenever she visited you, you didn’t make her wait too much, she stayed there for over twenty minutes more and even though she wanted to enter to make sure you were alright she didn’t dare to do it, what if you were mad at her? Or what if you thought she had crossed the limits? Frowning she decided it was better to leave, maybe think about what could had gone wrong between the two of you.

She wanted to see you so bad but now you were nowhere to be seen, no one had seen you left your house, of course Agatha asked the neighbors but they told her the same, that you hadn’t gone left your house.

The third day she felt something different in the air, she could sense something was wrong and of course she could sense your magic in it, she had to go look for you, there was something wrong she was right, leaving her house in a rush she almost ran to your house, this time she didn’t knock on you door, Agatha simply used her magic to open it and when she entered a hit of dark magic almost made her step back, it was strong, your magic was really strong.

Looking around your living room she didn’t see you in there and all the lights were off, the room was eerily silent, and for the first time in her long life, she was scared, scared that something had happen to you, quickly she went upstairs and in the middle of the stairs she notice something there.

Scrunching down a little she saw some type of vines, they were completely black, she followed the vine and they ended in a room and she supposed it was your room.

She took a deep breath preparing herself to enter, she reached for the doorknob and frowned a little, Agatha opened the door in a hasty movement, she had been preparing herself to fight whoever may be hurting you, but she had not prepared herself to see what was in front of her.

Inside the room there were many vines around your body, you couldn’t move and you had tears streaming down your cheeks, she gasped, you were trapped under your own magic, you were lying in the bed but the black vines were all over your body and some of them were even hanging on the walls and the ceiling, she wanted to cry, she couldn’t believe you were doing this to yourself, taking her hand to cover her mouth and walked towards you.

Agatha crouched down on the floor near your bed and she placed her hand on your forehead.

When she touched you she could feel all the sadness and sorrow you felt, all the pain that you had been hidden through all the years, all the loneliness and fear you were feeling all the time, it was too much pain and her heart clenched, you had passed through horrible things alone, now she understood why you were so afraid, you had been abandoned by everyone in your life, she wanted to help you, she would never leave you, she would never leave you alone.

Agatha used her magic on you, purple smoke covered your head, and she could see that it was working, slowly all the black vines started to disappear and the ones that you were trapped in disappeared after some minutes of her using her magic on you.

When you opened your eyes again you saw Agatha staring at you with a concerned look on her face, you felt the soft touch of her fingers in your temple, you were shocked, you had been trapped on your own memories that you didn’t notice your magic had reacted at your feelings, the vines were protecting you from the outside.

Blinking a few times, you stood from the bed to throw yourself at Agatha, you hugged her putting your arms around her neck, Agatha caught you and she placed her arms around your waist, now the two of you were on the floor, hugging each other.

You were sobbing you couldn’t contain the tears that kept coming from your eyes, you were in pain form all the things that happened to you, but at the same time you felt happy, Agatha had saved you from yourself, she cared for you and what she had done meant the world to you, while you were trapped in your memories, you could feel Agatha´s magic, helping you, her magic was calling you to wake up, and what you felt was love.

Agatha soothed you while you cried, she gently stroked your hair and she placed a kiss on your forehead, you were hiding your face in her chest and for the first time in many centuries you finally felt the warm feeling of a hug.

When you calmed yourself a little you separated yourself from Agatha to look at her eyes, oh how beautiful her blue eyes were, without thinking twice you leant and kissed her, she captured your lips on her own, and she kissed you back, it was a soft kiss, she wanted you to feel all the love she felt for you, Agatha pulled you closer to her, she wanted to feel you, she wouldn’t never leave you.

Breaking the kiss to look straight into her eyes, you smiled you wanted to say many things to her but you were lost for words, you opened your mouth but closed it again, you didn’t know how to start and before you could say something to her, Agatha lifted your chin and gave you a soft peck on your lips again.

“Oh angel, I just felt what you feel all the time and I caught glimpses of your memory, I know what you had been through and I´m really sorry that they were afraid of you, but please let me help you, if you let me, I will make sure to always be by your side, guide you and teach you about your magic, like anyone else have done it before, let me hold you and care for you, I promise to never leave you, please let me be in your life doll” You wanted to cry again, but this time out of happiness, everything she had told you was real, you could feel it, she was offering you what you had craved for a long time, you have never felt as happy as how you were feeling, Agatha could be your home, something you had been looking for a long time, and now this was your real chance, you could have it all with Agatha.

“I want to be with you, I have fallen for you quite deep, and what I feel for you is pure, I tried to push you away because I was scared but this time, I won´t make the same mistake” You rested your head on her chest again hearing the thumping of her heart, Agatha was amazed by you, she was mesmerized, she had never felt the urge to be with someone and now she just wanted you to be with her and she wanted to hold you so much, she would never hurt you and she would make sure that you always feel loved, kissing your forehead again she stroked you back with her hand.

“I know honey, and now you won´t need to push me away anymore, I will be with you and no matter what I will always be there for you, I want to make you happy and I will make sure to always show you how much I love you, you don´t have to hide anymore”

You felt safe in her arms and you knew this was the start of something beautiful, now you didn’t feel scared, for once in your life you felt brave enough to let someone love you and you were going to love her just as deeply as you knew she loved you.

You lifted your head an Agatha saw you had a beautiful and real smile on your face, she liked seeing the real you, now you wouldn’t need to hide your feelings, not anymore, you knew your feelings and you were safe with her, and she would never do something to hurt you, how lucky you really were, she couldn’t take all the memories again, but you were sure with time all these memories wouldn’t hurt as much, and with her help one day all the memories wouldn’t hurt and affect you anymore, finally you had found your home and your place in the world, and that place was with Agatha, finally you felt at peace, you were sure Agatha will make you fix the broken pieces of your heart, Agatha would never leave you, you wouldn’t have to be alone again.

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha all along #mcu imagine #mcu x reader #wandavision

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gabrielleragusi · 2 months ago

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For Artists: My Experience with Commission Platforms and Illustration Agencies

Hi there! I’ve been wanting to compile a list of commission platforms that I’ve personally used for the longest time, and I finally did it! I’ve highlighted the still-active commission platforms in bold and struck those that don't exist anymore so you can jump to the sections that interest you without needing to read my entire story.

Let me start by briefly introducing myself.

I’m Gabrielle, a fantasy illustrator. Since 2014, I’ve been working on book covers and illustrations for publishers, authors, and book subscription boxes. Early on, work wasn’t as frequent as it is now. I had to search for opportunities myself, and even small private commissions were important for building my portfolio and earning some money, which I’d spend on materials, books, and online courses. Like many other artists, I started out by trying my luck with the biggest art community available at the time.

DeviantArt

2009-2018

Once upon a time, there was a virtual haven called DeviantArt. To my teenage self, it was a magical place. I signed up in 2009 and thought I’d never leave!

At first, I created an account just to share my work and learn. I didn’t even think about commissions for four or five years. But when that first inquiry finally landed in my inbox, things took off! My mum swears she remembers my excitement when I got my first commission, but for some reason, I’ve completely forgotten about it. I can't remember what it was or how much it paid. It might have been a portrait of a fantasy character.

Commissions on DeviantArt were fairly frequent, especially considering my cheap prices at the time. I used to offer discounts and post my rates in my DeviantArt journal, or in Commission groups that featured artists either monthly or weekly. After checking out my profile, a client could simply send me a private message and from there, we’d discuss payment, deadlines, and other details, and the platform didn’t take any fees, much like how ArtStation works today. Everything happened through private messages or email, with direct contact between artist and client.

The downside of this process was that there was no dispute resolution system on the platform. I had to handle all issues myself, and unfortunately, problems did arise sometimes: there were clients changing their minds about commissions, asking for refunds after work was delivered, refusing to pay, or just ghosting me. These issues didn’t happen because clients were evil, but rather because I was inexperienced and allowed some to take advantage of my naivety.

However, all that frustration helped me develop my commission process through trial and error (mostly error). And despite the challenges, I can say with satisfaction that most of the commissions I received through my DeviantArt profile were positive experiences.

DeviantArt eventually introduced a commission feature for Core (Premium) users, which came with a platform fee, but I didn’t use it much, and I’m not sure if it still exists.

The real beauty of dA, though, was the connections I made. I was able to meet people, both artists and clients, that I’m still in contact with today, and some of whom I still collaborate with.

I closed my account in 2018 or 2019, but by that time, I hadn’t really used it for a couple of years. The new user interface was a bit of a turn-off for me. I had always loved the geeky, and dare I say cozy, look of the old green and grey aesthetic, with its customisable panels that you could move around and personalise with HTML code... But I digress.

Artists and Clients

2013-2016

While taking small commissions on DeviantArt, I discovered Artists & Clients. It was a nice platform for clients to get things like their D&D characters or groups illustrated for relatively cheap. I think my highest price was $50 for a single character portrait, with the platform taking a 15% cut. I used it for about two or three years before the platform started to change.

As more artists with hentai art styles flooded in, the homepage shifted, and so did the clientele. There’s nothing wrong with drawing naked anime girls, of course, but you can understand that if a client is looking for a fantasy, semi-realistic painting of their female orc character, or a realistic portrait of their spouse, it's more than likely that they won't bother sifting through a sea of anime girls to find the style they want, imagining it isn't here. Let's just say that, at the time, the website took a definite direction that wasn't in line with my genre, but this direction didn't make the different, more realistic art styles stand out either.

Soon, commissions slowed down for me, so I closed my account, but by then I was already working elsewhere.

That said, this platform could still be a useful tool if you’re looking to take on smaller commissions.

DreamUp

2014-2015

DreamUp wasn’t an AI generator back then. It was actually a subsidiary of DeviantArt, where clients could post projects and artists could apply. It was a competitive platform that offered well-paid work–very well-paid. I remember seeing jobs posted that ranged from $300 to $1,200. DreamUp was a very professional platform for clients with a mid to high budget.

I believe I landed my very first book cover commission through this website when I was in my last year of high school. I remember getting the job and going to school the next morning, excited to share the news with my classmates. Everyone was super thrilled for me (we were a really close-knit class!), and I felt like I was walking on air.

Unfortunately, as far as I know, that book was never released, but it didn’t matter because I was moving forward, and fast.

I’m not sure when DreamUp was shut down, but I do know that DeviantArt held onto the copyrighted name, assigning it to something so anti-old DreamUp that it still boggles my mind.

ArtCorgi

Now Artistree

2014-2019

When I received an invitation to join ArtCorgi from its founder, I already had a somewhat consistent portfolio. I was painting portraits and fantasy illustrations, and the clients on this platform were looking for both–your typical wedding and pet portraits, as well as book covers, which were what really interested me. To get to the latter, I had to do the former. Over the years, I’ve painted so many realistic portraits that now I have a strict rule for my own sanity not to do them any more. I have great respect for portrait artists, but it’s just not me.

When I first submitted my prices to the person I was in contact with, she kindly suggested that I raise them... a lot. That was a major step forward in my professional career. I went from charging $50 to $100/$200 overnight. And to my surprise, people actually wanted to commission me at those prices!

From 2014 to 2019, I took nearly every commission that came my way. I never spoke directly with the clients; all instructions and feedback went through my point of contact, which helped maintain a level of professionalism, although now that I’m used to working directly with clients, I’m not sure I’d want to go back to having an intermediary.

Sadly, as with all good things, this chapter came to an end. My point of contact eventually left communication in the hands of someone else, and shortly after, the commission fee changed to, I believe, 30%.

Simply put, 30% is an unrealistic cut for a website like this. For an agent that gets you all kinds of big work in the publishing industry, sure, but since this was not the case I had to stop taking commissions. Despite that, my overall experience with ArtCorgi was very positive.

Today, ArtCorgi joined another platform, Artistree. As far as I can tell, Artistree doesn’t take any fees from artists, with clients covering a small cost instead.

Sketchmob (?)

2016-2020

This was probably the platform I used the most. I’ve lost count of how many commissions I received through Sketchmob. Many. Enough to generate a steady income at the time. With reasonable fees and a variety of art styles available, clients contacted me almost daily. Communication was direct between artists and clients, and payments could be split. The review system also worked very well… for a while.

Once I raised my prices, requests became fewer and farther apart. But by then, I was already working with my own clients.

Is this platform still active? Who knows. The website is still up and the chat feature works, but I’ve seen users complain that money available for withdrawal never arrived via PayPal (the only payment method the platform accepted, if I remember correctly). Personally, I wouldn’t risk completing a job through Sketchmob right now, at least not until they release an update.

If you’ve used the platform recently and successfully received payment within the last six months, please let me know, and I’d be happy to update this section!

Upwork

2017-2019

In 2017, I was determined to break into the book publishing industry. After trying out Fiverr and Freelancer.com with no success (the competition was too fierce for someone just starting out), I decided to give Upwork a shot. The platform looked very professional, and while the process sounded a bit complicated, I wanted to land the interesting projects I saw featured in my category. I really wanted to work with a big client… but big clients didn’t seem to want me, despite having the Rising Talent badge.

In two years of bidding for jobs and submitting proposals, I only landed two projects: a small commission from a private client who actually reached out to me, and another project that I bid on.

Don’t get me wrong, I was ecstatic at the time and truly appreciated every opportunity that came my way. But looking back, I can see why Upwork didn’t work out for me. The platform just wasn’t the right fit for my style and niche, which is fantasy illustration. Graphic design, however, was (and still is) in much higher demand.

The commission process on Upwork wasn’t as simple as on other platforms. For instance, at the time, costs were calculated hourly, which was a challenge for someone like me who prefers working with flat fees (having already calculated my average hours spent on an illustration). From what I’ve seen, this has since changed.

One positive aspect of Upwork is its current 10% cut on what artists earn. I don’t recall if this has changed over the years, but 10% is quite reasonable in my experience. Of course, 0% would be even better, but for a platform as large as Upwork, 10% is fair.

Illustration Agency

2019-2021

By 2019, I had built a solid, consistent portfolio thanks to my personal work and commissions. I had a simple website in place, my Instagram following was growing… I was steadily working toward my goal of illustrating covers for big publishers (which didn't happen until two years ago).

So, when an illustration agency reached out to me one day, I was over the moon. I had always heard that artists were the ones who had to approach agencies, not the other way around.

Well, that should have been my first red flag.

I won’t name this agency because, unfortunately, I have nothing positive to say about it. In fact, the word “nothing” perfectly describes my involvement with them. Nothing came of this barely there experience.

The agency invited me to sign up, not on an exclusive basis, but they assured me they’d get me work. That work never came. Once in a while, I’d receive messages saying they were trying to pitch my portfolio to a French publisher or another client, but... nothing.

Please understand that meanwhile I was already working directly with shops and authors, so I don’t believe my portfolio was the problem. The real issue was something I didn’t realise at the time: some agencies do this. They feature talented artists in their catalogue without having actual clients lined up, just to appear more professional and credible to potential clients. Did this strategy work for them? Maybe. I’ll never know.

In 2021, I politely asked them to remove my portfolio from their website, and that was the end of it.

After that, I never actively sought out an agent again. By the time my portfolio was strong enough to approach a serious agency, I just didn’t need representation anymore.

Hireillo

2019-2022

My experience with Hire an Illustrator, or Hireillo, is mixed. At the time, Hireillo was a platform that hosted artists' portfolios, featured artist-submitted news, provided useful articles, resources, and directories of artists and agents. I joined the site hoping to catch the eye of publishers, but I was mostly contacted by authors and one fellow artist for a graphic novel.

Unfortunately, most inquiries didn’t go beyond the first couple of messages due to budget constraints. I did, however, have fun sharing news about my painting process and projects I landed on my own, which were often featured by the website. Additionally, if I had questions about 'complicated' things like copyright, or just needed advice, I could ask the website’s owner and that was incredibly helpful.

Despite these benefits, I didn’t see any real results, which was a little disappointing. The subscription fee was also... odd, for lack of a better word. $5 per week. In the end I just couldn’t justify the cost, so I stopped using the website altogether.

Reedsy

2019-2022

Finally, we come to the turning point.

I remember stumbling upon Reedsy randomly. It wasn’t very well known at the time, and I think it still isn’t. I was nervous when I submitted my portfolio because their catalogue features the best of the best: designers who’ve created covers for bestsellers, THE bestsellers, people who’ve worked on Stephen King covers, or George R.R. Martin's. Designers, editors, and marketers who are veterans. I didn’t have high hopes for my application. So, I was in shock when it got accepted.

I had an introductory Skype call with a representative from Reedsy, who explained how everything worked. Before the call ended, I remember asking if there was a good chance I’d get work through the platform. The rep laughed and said, “Yes.”

A few weeks in, I understood that laugh.

Reedsy has an overwhelming demand for book covers and commercial projects. For every designer there are many more clients. In peak seasons, I was getting requests almost every day. I’m not exaggerating.

Reedsy transformed my portfolio and my pricing structure. Thanks to the income I earned through the platform, I was finally able not to take everything that came my way but be selective and choose only the projects that really interested me.

The commission process is simple: artists pretty much decide how to split payments, what to include in agreements, and the best part, the most beautiful and helpful feature of all, they can request and adjust deadlines. For someone like me who's terrible with deadlines, this feature was a lifesaver. The admins are also very kind and responsive, available via email or chat.

Unfortunately (this is my last 'unfortunately', I promise), my time on Reedsy came to an end for personal reasons. I’ll explain since it’s no secret.

All my images on Reedsy were watermarked with my signature (my full name), which apparently violated the platform’s rules. Why? Because if a client saw my last name, they could contact me directly and bypass Reedsy, which meant the platform lost potential fees. I’ll admit this did happen a few times, but I had the good sense to redirect the client back to Reedsy.

After three years, an admin finally noticed and asked me to remove my full name from the watermark and any text on my profile. It was a simple and reasonable request, but here’s where the problem started. Profiles on Reedsy are public, and images appear in search engines like Google Images, meaning anyone could download my work and use it without permission. Sure, watermarks can be removed, but uploading my work without one in the first place felt like a bad idea. Btw, not only do I use watermarks, but I also use Glaze to protect my illustrations before sharing them online.

Anyway, for this reason, and also because I couldn’t get over the fact that full names were public at the time, something I won’t get into because, believe me, I tried over email, and my reasons went into the void (now, last names are just initialised, like Gabrielle R. Okay. Sure.), I had to close my account–they would have done it anyway because it was already 'flagged'.

Overall, if you’re willing to overlook the last name conundrum, I can’t recommend Reedsy enough. If you have a killer, solid portfolio and a love for books and editorial projects, go for it!

--------------------------------------------

I hope you'll find this useful! If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask (: Oh, and here's an old article I wrote in 2020, titled:

Tips to freelance illustrators to avoid being screwed over

Who knows, maybe I'll write another 'article' post in four years!

Instagram - ArtStation - Website - Inprnt - Etsy - TikTok

#art #artists on tumblr #Article #For Artists: My Experience with Commission Platforms and Illustration Agencies #Commissions #Illustration #Design #freelancer #gabrielle ragusi

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lullabies-blue · 5 months ago

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Thomas Hewitt/ Reader

𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢, 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔬��𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔱? 𝔑𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔱𝔰 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔯?

Written in third-person limited POV, focusing on Thomas. Content tags: Neurodivergence, Cannibalism, mentions of rape, Canon typical violence, self harm, Mommy issues, child abuse (mentioned), good vs. evil with nothing in between, religious trauma. Author notes: I honestly intended this to be short and to the point- but here we are. I read a lot of Thomas/Reader stories where Thomas is portrayed as neurotypical and I don't know why it bothers me so much- it's just fanfiction after all, but I wanted to write a short "love" story where Thomas is violent and scared and lonely. He's nonverbal, he's mentally disturbed but not 'slow'. His world is very black and white and full of violence, so that got me wondering- what would love look like for him? What would happen if this man, who has only ever known darkness, met someone who was nice to him? Fair warning, lots of rambling ahead. I also just want to say that I am Autistic and that influenced a lot of this story- from the way that I write, to how I portray characters, to certain interactions. So if anything seems weird to you, I apologize- my mind works in weird ways. If I need to clarify anything, just shoot me a message. I would love to talk about the writing process and why I included certain things. Important: This is about 15k words and NOT even half of it. I had to cut it into pieces, will update the rest in another post.

Thomas brings the axe above his head, his breath ragged as he swings it down and cuts the piece of firewood in half with a low grunt. He’s hot, even though it’s the middle of winter- the weather low even with the sun that hid behind the clouds- and his shirt is sticking to him uncomfortably, the sweat doing nothing to cool him down.

He lodges the axe into the tree stump, grabbing the two pieces of wood and throwing them in the wheelbarrow before he wipes his forehead with dirt covered hands. It was the last chore of the day, and he was tired and sore- a tightness in his shoulders that seemed to spread all the way down to lower back and made him want to get in bed. His mask is damp and tight against his face, the skin underneath irritated. He wants to go inside and change, the thought of taking a shower was frustrating but he knew that he needed one. He could smell himself- bitter with sweat and the slightly suffocating scent that seemed to stick to chickens now clinging to him from when he had cleaned out the chicken coop. His nails were lined with dirt- hands and arms caked in grime. It made him feel heavy and slow.

Uncle Hoyt would drag him to the back and hose him off if he saw him, and he hated that more than he hated cleaning himself off- the feeling of water on his skin something he had never got around to liking. He could handle other things- blood never seemed to churn his stomach, or when Momma or Uncle Hoyt used to ask him to go clean out the pig pen- back when they could afford to have pigs, they were empty now, the whole farm seemed to get emptier and emptier as the months passed- he hadn’t thought that shoveling pig shit into a bucket was all that bad. But he had trouble smelling sometimes, especially with the leather pressed so tight against the place his nose had once been.

He takes the handles of the wheelbarrow, filled with enough dried out wood for the weekend- maybe Monday, if the weather stayed where it was at- and began to haul it towards the house. Momma would need some in the kitchen, to boil water and heat the ovens for Supper when she got back from town. He’d have to check the fireplace on the main floor- sometimes even on the coldest days of winter that room stayed warm enough that if they were to turn on the fireplace it’d be too uncomfortable to sit in. He would wait until Uncle Monty asked for more- he didn’t like it when any of them made decisions for him, more so now that he was stuck in that wheelchair.

There were no fireplaces upstairs, just piles of blankets to layer and hope they did enough to keep them warm. Sometimes it would be enough for him, but there were nights that even with two or three of the ones Momma sewed together for him; he would still lay awake, teeth chattering from the cold. It’s why he hated the cold- he could manage the heat, but winter was unpredictable even in the deep south of Texas.

Uncle Monty is in the living room, asleep in his chair as the TV keeps playing, almost as loud as his snoring. He walks past him, noticing the almost empty fireplace. His footsteps are heavy and loud from the metal on his shoes as he carries an armful of wood into the kitchen. He sets it down on the dining table, right on the white plastic cloth momma had set out before she had left, dirt falls onto the floor and he makes a low, grumbling noise of frustration, hoping that she didn’t see it when she got home.

He had forgotten the plastic mat last time and gotten her favorite tablecloth dirty -the mud staining the light blue cotton forever. He didn’t see why it was such a big deal, Momma had once told him that life was messy, that’s how one knew that they were living it, but she had been so angry at him then- sending him out with the bucket and soap, shouting about the mud he had tracked inside their house. Supper had come late that night- Hoyt growing angry at him. He liked it when it was ready and waiting for him when he got home- shouting at momma that working men weren’t supposed to wait for food.

He had gotten into an argument with him that night- he didn’t like it when people were mean to momma. Uncle Hoyt had called him a bad name- making his blood boil.

He didn’t want that to happen again. He didn’t like how badly he had wanted to hurt Uncle Hoyt at that moment. Momma said that family fought all the time, but he had to be careful not to do anything that he would regret. Maybe he would regret it when his blood stained his clothes, but part of him wasn’t so sure. He liked him better when he was Uncle Charlie. Uncle Hoyt reminded him of the bad men.

He tries not to think about it anymore when he heads back outside to grab a few more pieces of wood for the living room. He didn’t like thinking back on the things that made him angry, sometimes he couldn’t come back from them, and he’d end up doing something bad.

By the time he’s pushing past the double front doors, Momma’s car is pulling into the dirt path off to the side of the house. It’s an old one- rusting from the heat of too many summers, but momma didn’t mind it.

The car comes to a stop as he picks up another armful of wood and takes it inside.

Ever since Hoyt became Sheriff of the town, things had gotten better for them. There were never days where they went to bed hungry, the meat freezer down in the basement always seemed to have enough for them. If it ever ran low, a Hoyt always seemed to find a way to get it restocked. Momma had taken over the shop in town after the owner had passed away and Hoyt made sure that his son- one of the bad men- went right along with him. He had filled the bellies of those who still stayed in town, too hungry to care enough to question them. Sometimes she brought back what didn’t sell that day and they’d have themselves a little feast. There were days Uncle Hoyt brought a guest with him- always a woman-, other times he’d ask momma to bring his food up to his room- the muffled screaming drowned out by Monty’s TV show.

He liked to stay in the basement on those days. It was harder to hear the pleading and begging as Hoyt played too rough with them. He would always get stuck with getting rid of them afterwards and he was starting to dislike the chore.

By the time he finishes stacking the wood, Momma is calling out for him, the front door swinging open. He freezes- his shoulders squaring and his breath suddenly heavy as he looks up at the hall, hidden between a wall and the fireplace. There was someone with Momma. He could hear the footsteps- Momma walked with a purpose, heavy and loud like him. She said that she did it so God would hear her better, but he wasn’t so sure that God was with them anymore. The ones that came after her were lighter, nervous.

He didn’t like guests. Didn’t like that Momma and uncle Hoyt had developed a habit of taking in strays that would just end up in the basement with him later. They would scream when they saw him- call him those names that made the anger come. Some of them liked to hurt him, momma taking him to the bathroom afterwards and stitching him up.

“You’re going to love my Tommy. He’s a little bit shy but he’s got the sweetest heart.” Momma says and he hears the other person laugh. It’s a soft noise- gentle in a way that manages to make his heart race faster as he tries to crawl deeper into the tiny space. “He’s here around somewhere… but let’s get you set up in your room then you can come down and help me with supper, okay?”

Another laugh, his heart racing uncomfortably in his chest. He didn’t want Momma to find him, he was already so tired.

“Of course,” the stranger says, and she- the thought of a woman in the house irritates him- doesn’t talk like Momma or Hoyt or Monty. Her voice is quiet, it doesn’t drawl out. He’s heard it before- she must be from out of town. “I would love to!”

For a moment, he feels bad for the woman as he hears them go up the stairs. He always feels bad for them at first. Momma said that his heart was too kind. Hoyt called him a pansy boy, in need of toughening up. He doesn’t know why he feels bad, the guests were never good people- he’d always come to learn that, but it never seems to do anything to make the twitch of guilt go away from his heart. The steps grow quieter the farther up they go- until he hears Momma’s muffled voice and then her footsteps coming back down.

She spots him, curled into himself in that tiny, dark space and she sucks her teeth, shaking her head. “Thomas Hewitt, what in the lords name are you doing there?”

He feels embarrassed all of a sudden, getting caught like this. He makes a low noise in his chest, pointing to the firewood.

“Come on and get on out of there if you’re done then, we’ve got company.” She comes down the rest of the steps and makes her way towards him. When she holds out her hand he takes it, a comfort that has his heart slowing down.

“I need you to go and grab the rest of her stuff from the car- poor girl don’t got no power in her home.” She says with a shake of her head as she pulls and helps him to his feet. “She’ll be staying with us until her electricity gets put back up.”

He shakes his head, this time the noise he makes is in protest, a deep groan of anger. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want her in his house.

Momma frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now listen here Thomas, not everyone is as lucky as we are. Sometimes we have to help those in need.”

He wants to believe her- Momma wasn’t one for lying, after all- but this isn’t anything new. He knew how this would end; with the woman in their bellies and her screams in his head, keeping him awake at night. She would make a mistake and then she’d end up in the basement, begging for her life.

It was like Momma had set her up to fail, like a game that promised a prize that would never come, and Thomas didn’t want to play. Not this time. He shakes his head again, his way of telling her no.

Momma and Uncle Hoyt have a lot in common, no matter how sweet and gentle Momma tried to be, her anger was almost as bad as his. He doesn’t like it when she gets angry at him- everyone was always angry at him- and he can see it in her eyes, making him bend his chin against his chest as he let out a whine, glancing down at the ground. She never hit him, but she would ignore him and that hurt a lot more.

“Then you go on upstairs and tell the poor girl that she’s got to leave. I won’t be the one to break the bad news.” Momma huffs, stomping over to the kitchen. “Tell her you would rather see her freeze than offer a small kindness.”

There it is, that harshness in her voice that makes him tremble, his heart picking up its pace until he feels like he can’t breathe. He shakes his head again, digging his fingers into his arm. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the woman. Didn’t want to be forced to deal with her later but if this is what Momma wanted, then he would do it. He would make her happy.

He lets out another noise, smaller this time and turns towards the door. Part of him is angry- angry that he wasn’t allowed to be angry without being punished. Angry that sometimes it seemed like he wasn’t allowed to have a say when it came to things. He felt as if momma sometimes liked to hurt him on purpose- pushing and pushing until he snapped.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he feels the guilt settle in his stomach, hot and suffocating. Momma wasn’t like the bad people. She wouldn’t hurt him. Sometimes he just made her so angry- he knew that. He knew that he was difficult and stubborn and sometimes she got tired of dealing with him.

It wouldn’t be long before the woman disappeared anyways- Hoyt will see her at supper and he’d take her upstairs. The screaming will start, and everyone will act like they couldn’t hear it; Momma would knit, and Monty would turn the volume on the TV up until it was too much. He’d end up sleeping in the basement again, picking at his skin until it was raw and bleeding- the crying twisting his stomach and threatening to swallow him whole.

He just had to wait until then. He would be good until then.

The trunk of the car was left open for him, and he finds the woman’s things waiting for him. It’s not much- a simple backpack, filled with so many things that it ballooned uncomfortably. He grabs it, grunting at the fact that it was heavier than he thought, and slams the trunk close. The car shakes and squeaks at his aggression as he carries the bag inside. He doesn’t like the fact that he’s touching the stranger’s things.

He’s dirty- his fingers staining the bag- but he’s also dirty inside. Rotten from the anger, the bad he’s done. The bad he was going to do. He can feel himself soiling the items inside- turning them just as dirty as him as he walks into the kitchen and sets the bag down on the floor. Momma had taken the firewood he had left and put away the mat. He could feel the warmth of the fire even from where he stood across the oven- filling the room with the scent of smoke. He grunts, wanting Momma to turn around and see that he had done what she asked. He wanted her to smile at him- to ease the way his heart still hammered in frustration.

She turns, but the softness in her eyes isn’t directed at him- she barely looks at him and his heart sinks further down into his stomach, tension building in the back of his neck. He can hear her footsteps now- the creaking of the staircase as she came downstairs. He’s standing in front of a wall, the staircase on the other side. For now, he was hidden- but it wouldn’t be long until she stepped into the kitchen, and he couldn’t hide anymore.

“We’re in here dear,” Momma calls out to her. “Tommy here’s got your bag for you.”

He sees her for the first time out of the corner of his eye- spotting her before she spots him, her eyes on Momma. She’s short- shorter than momma by a bit, and clean and well dressed. Her sweater is thick and colorful, the cuffs of her sleeves neatly folded against her wrists. Something there catches the soft yellow light of the kitchen- a thin golden bracelet halfway hidden beneath the fabric. Her jeans look like they’ve been around for a long time- a different shade of fabric stitched into one of the knees. Her boots are old and worn out, reminding him of his own.

He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like this feeling that runs through him as he inspects her.

“I really like your house!” she says- voice light and full of excitement that made his mood worsen. “Its-” whatever she was about to say dies in her throat as she turns her head to the left and spots him for the first time.

He doesn’t let her look at his face- turning his head to the side as he folds into himself, chin against chest. He doesn’t like this- doesn’t like that she stares at him without saying anything. He can feel her eyes on him- inspecting him- an animal on display. His chest rises and falls painfully, his breathing hard and loud in the silence. He can feel his hands twitch- his thumb nail grazing along the length of his finger.

“This is my son,” Momma’s voice is tight as she talks. “Tommy this here is our guest. Don’t you want to say hello?”

He shakes his head, his hands trembling. Something wet lands inside the sink and he startles. He hears Momma suck her teeth and he can see her in his mind- shaking her head like she does whenever he does something she doesn’t like.

He doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like that Momma is getting mad at him, that the woman still stands there, watching him tremble in fear. He could already hear it- her laughing as she called him an idiot. They always called him something. They always laughed at him.

“It’s okay,” her voice shakes a bit as she breaks the silence, and she coughs and clears her voice. “I, um, I’m a little shy myself so I know how hard it can be sometimes.” She speaks slowly, her voice almost a low whisper. She tells him her name. Tells him that it’s nice to meet him.

He doesn’t say anything- not that he can, he’s never spoken a single word- but he nods his head, his eyes quickly glancing over at her. She’s still looking at him and his heart almost beats through his ribs. He expects her to be looking at him like they always look at him- filled with disgust and hatred, looking for any excuse to leave, to get as far away as possible from him- but he doesn’t find that in her face.

He finds her mouth twisted downwards and her eyebrows pushed together just a tiny little bit, her eyes gentle and wide. She looked at him as if he was a dog out by the side of the road on a hot summer afternoon refusing help and she had been chasing him with a bowl of water.

She looks at him like there was nothing scary about him. Like he was a man, dirty from a long day at work and not a freak- poor and disfigured- a monster. He had never seen that look from anyone who didn’t live in this house, and it scared him. It terrified him that someone would decide to look at him like that.

But as soon as he met her eyes she looked away, towards Momma- a smile in her voice.

“What are we making for dinner?” she asks, stepping farther into the kitchen and pushing her sleeves up towards her elbows- ready for whatever Momma tells her to do.

The tension disappears just like that, Momma laughing lightly as she places her hand on the woman’s back and pulls her close. “You’re such a darling, helping me out like this. How about you start getting out the pots and pans? They’re over there by the pantry.” She pointed to the cupboards by the fridge and the woman nodded and went straight towards them.

With her back to them- Momma turned and looked at him finally. He could still feel his heart hammering away at his chest, but this was more manageable. He was still waiting for the names to come, for the screaming and the disgust to appear in her eyes. Sometimes when Momma was around people hid it a bit better, but he knew that it wouldn’t be long until they couldn’t hide it anymore.

He expects Momma to still be mad at him- blue eyes dark with anger- but instead she sighs and puts her hand on his shoulder, a silent apology that has his muscles relaxing. The woman pays them no mind- bending down to inspect the cupboard down there.

“Go on and take her bag up to her room and get yourself cleaned up, okay?” She tugs on the collar of his shirt before fixing his hair out of his face. It’s damp from his sweat, but she doesn’t flinch. “She’s a good girl- try to handle her with care, alright?” Her voice is a low whisper- something the woman wasn’t supposed to hear. It unsettles him as he nods along with Momma- not quite understanding what she meant. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to nod along with her or shake his head, but Momma doesn't wait for an answer, patting him on the cheek before she turns her head and calls out to the woman.

“Honey, Tommy is going to take your bag up to your room- is that alright?”

The woman rises from the ground, two pots neatly stacked in each other in her hands. “Yes,” she says softly- her eyes meeting his. “Thank you, Tommy.”

She smiles at him shyly and his heart begins to hammer against his ribs again. He feels his skin begin to burn- his flesh raw and exposed to her. Even underneath his mask he can feel himself heating up as he looks away, scrambling to grab the bag.

He needed to get away from her- from Momma and her words that he couldn’t understand. He felt like he couldn’t breathe with her here. He stumbles up the steps- feet so heavy against the wood that he swears he can feel the house tremble underneath him.

Momma gave her the room across his- the empty one where she liked to keep the extra bed sheets and towels. But it’s cleaner now as he turns the knob and goes inside, the curtains pulled open to let in the bit of light that still shone from outside- the sun close to setting. The piles of blankets that were on the bed are gone- the sheets neatly tucked into the space between the mattress and the boxspring. There’s a jacket thrown on top- red and faded, the cuffs ripped up on one arm.

He sits the bag right next to it- on the floor, wiping his hands on his jeans. It topples over and he lets out a grunt- fixing it so it sat upright again. He decided that he would stay up here until Momma called him for supper. He wouldn’t go down to the basement while the woman was here- he was worried that she would be stupid enough to follow him down there. That would be the end of her. Blood and flesh and sinew torn from her bones for them to feast on.

He’s careful when he’s leaving the room- closing the door gently so that it doesn’t slam before he hurries off into his own- locking the door behind himself.

Here it’s dark, his windows covered in greased up newspapers. He didn’t like it when it got too bright- when the sun shone through and reminded him of the mess around him. His room is small and cramped and full of things that he had hauled up from the furnace room so that he wasn’t stuck going up and down all the time. Uncle Monty said that he sounded like a ‘goddamned bulldozer,’ stomping around the house when he was trying to sleep. So, it was better this way- even though sometimes he got irritated that there were too many things. But it meant not being bothersome, so he tried not to mind much.

He checks the door again- making sure that he had really locked it, pulling and twisting at the doorknob just to be safe. He knew that no one would come up here and go into his room- Monty was stuck on the first floor, Momma was with the girl in the kitchen preparing supper and Uncle Hoyt wasn’t home yet. But he was always a little paranoid, just the tiniest bit afraid that someone would knock down his door and see everything about him that he had tried so hard to hide. Not even Momma was allowed in here. This was his- the only place where he could hide from everyone, where he didn’t have to worry about anyone disturbing him.

He takes his mask off and it’s not quite the relief he was expecting- the leather inside has gone stiff, his face raw and tender and aching from all the sweat and dirt that had managed to get in. He can feel it as he runs his fingers across his face, a cut on the corner of his lips that wasn’t there last time. It blends into the sores and scarred tissue already there, his skin long ruined. It shouldn’t bother him- but as he opens his mouth and feels the skin stretch and crack, a drop of blood welling up and rolling down his chin- he gets upset, grunting in frustration. He had wanted to clean the mask and add some petroleum to try and soften it up so it wouldn’t bite at his skin anymore- pinching and scratching and making the pain worse. It would have been something to do, something to keep him busy and distracted until he had to face the inevitable, but now it was something that he no longer wanted to do. Why would he? What would it change?

It was never this bad- but ever since his nose began to fall away, it only ever seemed to get worse- no matter what he did or how hard he pleaded for it to just stop and go away- nothing ever changed. There was no one there to listen to his pleas.

With a low groan of frustration, he tears his hand from his face, wiping the blood on the front of his shirt. He hates himself. Hates everything about himself. Momma liked to say that the bad people were liars, that people who were hurting only ever knew how to hurt others- but he knew that wasn’t true. He was a monster. He saw it, looking back at him in the mirror- wild and ugly and evil, everything that he did not want to be. He hated taking his mask off- hated knowing that the man that existed underneath it was the same man that he was trying to escape from.

Coming here was a mistake. He should have stayed downstairs, should have gone out back to the barn- there he would have found something, anything, to do.

He takes a breath like Momma showed him, trying to push the anger away- down, down, down, until he couldn’t feel it slithering through his veins and pounding in the back of his head. He just had to focus on something else-he liked it when he had chores, things to do that kept him busy and away from the bad thoughts. He takes another deep breath through his mouth- dirt and salt on his lips as he picks up the mask and tries to clean it off on his clothing. It does nothing but lift the dust off into the air as he places it on his face, tightening it too much across his head, leather digging into tender skin. He would take a bath, change his clothes, then sit in bed and wait. Uncle Hoyt would come an hour after the sun disappeared and then he would have to go downstairs. He didn’t want to go downstairs.

He didn’t want to feel the bad feelings anymore. The fear, the anger. The woman would look at him and his throat would tighten, and his heart would beat painfully. He hadn’t liked that feeling- trapped in his own skin, unable to get away. Yet at the same time, he wanted her to look at him. No one ever looked at him.

He could still feel her eyes- soft and warm on his skin, simultaneously calming and worsening his anger. He was half embarrassed- covered in dirt and sweat stains, his clothing old and faded- Did she think that he was disgusting? He was always messy in everything that he did- always having to teach himself how to do things. Filth had never been a stranger. Had never bothered him. But he finds himself wanting to wash the grime and sweat from himself- even if he was just going to put the same clothes back on.

His stomach growls, empty and needy as he unlocks the door and roughly pushes it open- he finds the woman outside of it.

The door swings open, the gust of wind pushing her hair around as the door barely manages to miss her. She’s looking up at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open- her arms up by her chest. It scares him, seeing her there and he makes a messy, garbled noise of surprise.

“Sorry!” she speaks fast, her words all pushed together. “I was just trying to find the bathroom!”

He feels his heart beating in his throat, muscles tense and solid as he stares down at her. She’s so much shorter than he thought- he could reach out and crush her throat in his hand and it wouldn’t take much force to do so. He’s almost tempted to, his fingers twitching at his sides. Momma would get mad at him when he dragged her body downstairs- but she would forget eventually.

“I’m in your way- I,” she takes a step back, her eyes finally releasing his. “I’m sorry, I’m just-”

He grunts. Low and short- his way of telling her to stop talking. Nothing she says is making any sense to him and the sound of her voice makes his heart hammer at his chest. Thunderous and loud and painful. It scares him how easily she does that to him. Such a small thing like her, carelessly walking into a house where God was nowhere to be found without a single ounce of caution. He could take her to his room, and no one would hear her scream. He could scare her more than she scared him.

She squirms in the silence like a rat stuck in a trap. She tugs at her sleeve, at her collar- his breathing loud as he watches her- watches her chest rise and fall with every breath, her eyes on the space between them.

Another grunt and she startles backwards, looking up at him. This time, when her eyes meet his own, he doesn’t cower even though his body tenses and he can already feel her pulse beneath his hand.

His body is stiff as he steps out of his room and moves out of the way of the door- he has to turn his back to her and for a split-second, panic runs cold and fast through his veins as he remembers the woman who had stabbed him. The door slams close as he turns around quickly, eyes wide and wild as he looks down at her hands.

He expects to see a knife pointed at him- the scar on his shoulder aching from the memory of being sliced apart, the pain still there even after all the months that have passed since. He hadn’t done anything to deserve that pain- the woman and her friends had attacked first, had tried to hurt his family. Uncle Hoyt had told him, so had Momma with tears in her eyes and blood splatters on her dress. They were bad people who wanted to do bad things to them, and it was his responsibility to protect them- to keep them safe. It hadn’t mattered that his hands shook so hard with fear, and he could taste vomit at the back of his throat, vile and burning, he had to protect them. They were all that he had. He couldn’t- wouldn’t- lose them.

He was panting as he searched the woman and finds nothing in her hands, her eyes widening as she takes another step away from him.

Was she scared?

Did she finally see it? The evil that radiated off of him that others seemed to see- always scared of getting too close to him- He was a disease on this town. A burden. Did he finally scare her?

Would she scream?

Was she going to hurt him- just like everyone else? Drive a knife into his flesh- a pain that would only last for so long before it faded into a memory that he refused to think of. A pain that wouldn’t be so bad compared to the shame that churned his stomach whenever a stranger screamed when they saw him.

He waited- teeth clamped together as he stared her down in the heavy silence.

He watched as her lips part, lower lip trembling slightly. If she screamed, he would hurt her before she could hurt him. If she screamed, she would be nothing but a pile of bones, tossed into the fire by the time the sun rose tomorrow.

Scream, he thought, fingers twitching at his sides. Scream already and let this end already.

“You’re scared of me, aren’t you?” she whispers and her voice trembles even as she keeps talking. “I can tell- you’re looking at me like I just pulled out a gun on you or something.” She lifts her hands towards him and moves them back and forth, as if she was showing him that he had nothing to worry about. “But my hands are empty-”

She lifts her hands, palms facing him, and wiggles her fingers. “If it makes you feel better, apart from a kitchen knife I don’t think I’ve ever held a weapon.” She smiles oddly at him- as if she wasn’t sure how to do so, her eyes still wide and unblinking. As if she was worried that he would lunge at her at any second.

He doesn’t like how his body seems to let go of its worries and fears so fast, his shoulders drooping and his heartbeat slowing down until it’s no longer pounding against his ears as the ringing slowly starts to disappear. He unclenches his teeth, the pain still lingering in his jaw and neck, and suddenly, he’s no longer thinking of hurting the woman- of how easy he would have snapped her neck. He still could, part of him even ached and begged for him to do it. To get it over with.

But he doesn’t listen to that part of him that never truly seemed to go away- always begging for blood, for a voice that would finally be heard. He’s staring at her hands instead, focusing on the tips of her fingers that are flushed pink. He notices the birthmark on her left middle finger- a tiny dot right underneath the crease of her knuckle. He notices all the tiny little lines that make up her palms and the way her thumb trembles lightly.

He did not like her.

He did not like the way something as simple as her hands was enough to draw his attention- his eyes seeking out the tiny little patterns between her fingers. He did not like how her voice could soothe him so easily when he wanted nothing but to crush her- to take her, to taste her flesh on his tongue and her blood on his lips.

He did not like how she called out to him as he just stared at her- stared through her, voice gentle with his name. It wasn’t the same as when Momma said it though. This felt like a spell, a bad omen- Satan’s own voice whispering temptation in his ear. Sweet and gentle and unfamiliar.

She made him feel the same way he had felt that one night he had snuck upstairs to watch Uncle Hoyt and his new friend. He had pushed the door open just enough so that he could see but still stay hidden from the light. He hadn’t made a single noise as he watched Hoyt undo his pants and pull the woman’s legs apart. He hadn’t been able to see much from his hiding place, but what he heard had sent a shock of electricity through his body- blood boiling with need as he listened to the crying and the begging and the sound of something slick being hit over and over again. His stomach churned the same it had that night- tight and hot and restless for something that he could not give it.

He lets out a whine- deep and guttural and full of frustration. Go away, he wants to yell at her. Go away before you ruin everything.

“Tommy…?” she asks again, not understanding his plea.

He whines again and it takes him a second to realize that he’s scratching at his arm- digging his fingers into the old scars there and agitating the skin. It hurts. But that pain is familiar and calming and helps him focus on something other than the panic rising in his throat.

She was messing it all up.

It’s supposed to just be the four of them- Momma, Hoyt, Monty and him. It’s always been just the four of them. There wasn’t enough space here for her. She was too much of a change to get used to- too loud, too much. Even if he went and hid in the basement until Momma got tired of her, he knew that he would still be able to feel her through the walls, a choking weight in the air that would only poison him until he forgot what it was like to be ignored and cautious even in his own home. He’d be able to hear her- hear her laugh, her steps, the tiny little noises she would come to make the more time went on. She would fill this house with her until she soaked the walls and filled in the foundation. Until everyone forgot that she had a stranger at one point- a spontaneous good dead in all the bad they dealt in.

And even then- what would stop Hoyt from taking her to the room where almost all of the women ended up in? From the emptiness of their bellies that might make them remember that she wasn’t one of them- that she was the answer to their starvation?

He's sinking his nails in harder- the thin skin underneath breaks and he itches at the spot as if there was something alive and buzzing under the flesh. He doesn’t feel the pain as the blood begins to gather underneath his dirty nails. He can see it, even in the dim light- but he can’t feel it. Can’t stop. He digs and digs and digs, hoping for the thoughts to stop- for the voices to stop telling him that he had to kill her. That if he didn’t, he had to make sure that she never left- that this house swallowed her whole and kept her from running, from leaving them. Leaving him. If she tried to run, he could keep her in the furnace room; could tie her up and warn her that if she wasn’t good, she wouldn’t be able to stay.

He could be good to her. He would learn if he had to, would ask Momma to teach him to be gentle and kind. He would not make her angry, would not make her cry or scare her away as long as she listened to him. As long as she stayed with him.

He’s lost, stuck in the farthest corner of his mind, in a future that would stop existing if he simply reached out and touched her. All he had to do was cover her face with his hand, she would be too surprised to fight him off when he pressed her against the wall and kept her there-the weight of him against her back. He could already feel her as she squirmed against him- her body unable to stand still as her lungs began to burn. He could already feel her warmth through his clothes, feel the way his heart would race as she sank her fingers into his skin, drawing blood from fear and desperation. His fear would seep into her flesh, make her lash out more. Her pain would become his and they would be inseparable in that moment.

It’s when he feels her- fingers cold and desperate as she prods and pulls at his arms, forcing them apart that he returns to reality- to the dimly lit hall, the heat of the fireplace already seeping through the cracks in the foundation. He can feel the way her arms tremble, her fingertips burning holes into his skin.

The woman’s eyes are wild when he looks at her, all wet and round- something in them, in the way she looks at him, makes his heart fill with lead- knocking against his ribs painfully.

“It’s okay!” she says, her voice panicked as she keeps repeating it over and over again, almost as if she’s trying to convince herself- or maybe she thinks that if she says it enough times it’d become true.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” she repeats, her eyes on his as she pulls his arms towards her. “We just have to get this cleaned up and it’ll be okay.”

He doesn’t budge when she tries to pull him towards the staircase- instead, he watches as she stumbles over her own feet, her hands sliding down his arms.

“We need to get this clean,” she’s pleading now, tugging at him to get him to move. “It’s going to get infected if we don’t and there’s no doctor in town anymore-” the more she talks, the more hysterical she begins to sound, her voice growing higher. “I don’t know where the bathroom is, but we can go down to the kitchen, Luda M-”

He doesn’t let her finish, easily pulling his uninjured arm free from her. He didn’t want Momma to know. To see the mess that he made of himself. She would yell at him if he was lucky- tell him that he was sick in the head, hurting himself like a damn fool again. But he knew that Momma wouldn’t be kind like that- she would take one look at him, dripping blood on the floor and she would blame the woman for his pain.

He could already hear her yelling, the shrill sound bouncing through his head. Momma wouldn’t care to listen, to see anything other than what she wanted. Momma was like that- kind and sweet and quiet until someone was stupid enough to go after the family. He was like her in a way, protective of them all. He liked to think that he got it from her- that he couldn’t possibly be bad when Momma’s blood ran through him, sweet and caring.

He couldn’t let Momma find out. Not now- not when he had decided that the woman standing in front of him was worth more to him alive than chopped up into pieces that would fit into the deep freezer.

With a grunt that shuts the woman up from her rambling, he grabs her arm. She’s soft and small under his touch- her sweater itching at his palm as he begins to pull her deeper into the hallway, into the darkness. Away from Momma. Away from a future he wanted no part in.

“No, Tommy we have to go downstairs. I don’t know what to do.” Her voice is shaky as she takes a couple steps forward before planting her feet and refusing to keep going. “Your mom might me better at this than me, please.” She pleads even as she begins to walk again when he refuses to stop.

He tries to tell her that Momma couldn’t find out. That if she did then he wouldn’t be able to protect her- to keep her safe. Momma would tell him to get rid of her and he always did what Momma wanted, even if sometimes he didn’t want to.

He loves Momma. Loves her more than Uncle Hoyt or Monty. He loves her more than anything or anyone- even himself. He could suffer through any pain as long as Momma was with him- as long as she was happy with him.

He tries to tell her that he knows exactly what he’s doing, but all his words come out as a garbled mess of a groan, the muscles in his throat too weak to form any actual words. It frustrates him- hearing himself talk in a way that no one would ever understand.

He lets out a low howl, that frustration growing when she stops walking again. He has to be careful not to hurt her- he didn’t want to accidentally pull her arm too hard if she was going to make this a habit. He just needed to get her to the bathroom. She had to wash off the blood on her hands before she went back downstairs. He could take care of his injuries himself- Momma had taught him how to clean and bandage cuts and bruises. Though he wasn’t concerned with the open wound dripping blood down his arm.

Right now, he needed to get the woman to understand that Momma couldn’t find out about this. That if she went down those steps, stained with his blood, then there was nothing he could do to keep Momma from lashing out. Facing her, he points to himself- finger beating against his chest twice before he points at her.

He’s watching her- his eyes on her as she watches him repeat the action two more times. Her face is flushed, her eyebrows pushed together, and he begins to worry that she’s not understanding him, that now that he’s let go of her, she was going to be stupid and try to push him back towards the stairs.

Letting out a small whimper, he grabs at her wrist. She’s pliant under his touch- her skin cool and soft. Touching her reminds him of the Cattle fences that were used back when the Slaughterhouse had been open. He had touched one by accident, not fully understanding why they had so many warnings signs- and just like back then, something hot and quick ran through him. Back then, the muscles in his fingers and arms had tensed and burned, taking away all his strength. But touching her, feeling the way his scarred thumb slid against the thin skin on her wrist- felt like a shockwave of warmth had run through him- intense and disorienting and addictive.

It scared him, but he didn’t let go of her even though his brain was yelling at him to stop touching her. He couldn’t. He had to keep her safe. Slowly, he began to raise her hand towards him, his mouth opening as he made a noise from the bottom of his throat.

He looked at her face as he pressed the back of her hand against his chest. She was already staring at him, her lips twisted into a frown. He couldn’t look into her eyes for too long, something in him ached when he did, so he kept his eyes on her mouth as he tapped her hand against his chest. That same warmth that was spreading through his arm poisoned his chest. He could feel it in his throat, in the depth of his belly- It knocked around in his head until he was dizzy.

For a moment, with her hand on him and his eyes still glued to her lips, he forgets about the bad people who called him all those bad words. He forgets all of the evil that he’s done, all the screams that haunt him, all the blood that he can never wash off.

He finds the confidence to raise his eyes to her own and part of him is scared that in them he would find disgust at having to touch something like him. A smaller, quieter, part wonders if she feels it too- the electricity that flows out of her and through him. He wants her to tell him that she feels him in her- that he’s also warm and electric through her veins. He wants her to tell him that a real monster wouldn’t feel the way he did- that if he really was a monster, the softness in her eyes wouldn’t be affecting him so much.

Dropping his eyes, he taps his chest with her hand twice before pointing it towards him. He does it one more time before he lets go of her. He expects her to pull her hand away, but instead she lets it linger on his shirt, the dirt and stains not bothering her. He wonders if she can feel the way his heart knocks against his ribs.

“You want me to follow you?” her voice cracks a bit as she takes her hand away.

He nods, grunting as he motions to a door off to the side behind him before he lifts his bloodied arm and runs his hand over the scratches- they’ve stopped bleeding already, his arm a mess of blood stains and dirt. Pointing behind here, towards the staircase he shakes his head, bringing his hand back towards his arm and covering the mess he made.

She doesn’t say anything as she tries to piece everything together- her face twisting into itself as she thinks. He repeats the movement, groaning when he points at the staircase and once more when he covers the cuts. ‘Not safe,’ he tries to tell her, ‘Take care of it here.’

Realization makes her eyes brighten, her features smoothing out. “You don’t want Luda Mae to find out?”

It’s not exactly what he was trying to say but he lets it be, seeing as it was close enough. She could have thought that he wanted her to go down and grab Momma- and he was worried that with how small she was she would take off running before he could stop her. In trying to help she would run straight into her end.

The thought made his stomach drop- a sudden chill rocking through him.

“Tommy- I don’t know if I can do anything about that…” she pauses, and he watches as she reaches for him, taking his arm in both of her hands. Her touch burns him again, and this time he can’t stop the small whine of delight from escaping his lips. Her mouth twists down as she inspects his arm- and he tenses, waiting for her to start yelling at him, for the bad names to come. But they don’t- she stays silent, her eyes glued to his arm.

The damage isn’t bad- compared to the collection of scars that line both of his arms, this was nothing. He had scratched a small hole in his forearm- breaking the skin and tearing apart the bit of muscle and fat there. He was lucky that he hadn’t hit anything vital- that he had stopped when he did.

When he was younger, he had taken to cutting- tearing flesh from his body and slicing himself open as a punishment for his mistakes, for his bad thoughts. He had done a good job of keeping it from Momma until the night he had cut too deep, and the blood wouldn’t stop. He had ran to her, howling in fear- bloody arm pressed against his chest. She had made Uncle Monty hold him down while she stitched him together, only a glass of whiskey to keep the pain away. She had yelled at him the entire time-first with tears in her eyes then when they had dried up and she had finished sewing his skin together- she had taken the belt and beaten him raw. When she got tired of beating him, she had told him that this was all Satan’s fault- that she had no choice but to beat the devil out of him. God was gonna soothe his pain, his fears, his anguish. He would see, Momma liked to say. She had kissed him on the forehead, and he swore he had seen the devil on her shoulder, laughing at him.

The pain hadn’t convinced him to stop- he simply learned how to hide it better, how to keep things clean, how to stitch himself together on those nights that he fantasized about finding peace in death. He learned where to cut and how deep to dig- and eventually, Momma made herself forget it ever happened at all. Sometimes, he thought that she was afraid of God- of making him angry, of him turning his back on her. It’s why he didn’t tell her that every once in a while, he could feel the devil itself pumping through his veins. Taunting him.

The woman gently turns his arm, and he pulls himself from the memories, watching as her fingers caress his skin. She’s too trusting- doesn’t she see the danger that she’s in? How easily he could overpower her? This was a Godless house, no matter what Momma and Hoyt thought- he knew the truth. He knew that they were all rotten, inside and out. She would be ruined by them all if she stayed. He would ruin her with his sins-but his guilt wasn’t strong enough to stop his desires.

“It looks a lot worse than it is, doesn’t it?” she asks him, but he doesn’t answer- too busy watching the way she touches him- her touch making his breath deepen.

He likes the way she doesn’t mind that his blood is on her hands- twisted into the tiny cracks of her bracelet. She’s careful and slow as she traces the tip of her index finger above the crater he had created in his flesh. He’s almost tempted to push her hand down- to feel her flesh against the inside of his own, to have her hurt him before he could hurt her- but she moves her hand away before he can make up his mind.

“Okay…” she sighs, not letting go of him. “Show me what to do.”

He grunts in satisfaction, the weight of Momma finding out and the woman being punished lifting from his shoulders. Slowly, he turns the arm she cradled in her hands so that he was grabbing her instead- his hand swallowing hers.

He tries not to think about it too much as he tugs gently and finds no resistance in her steps. He almost smiles- lip twitching against the leather on his face as he leads her to the bathroom. Inside him, the devil starts to dance in glee.

The room is cold as he pushes open the door and pulls her inside before he follows. He can feel the cold seep into his thin shirt, see it with every exhale when he turns on the light and shuts the door, dropping the woman’s hand. She shivers and he wants to know if it’s from the cold or the fact that he’s no longer touching her.

The light flickers and dies for a couple seconds, leaving them in darkness before it turns back on- low and yellow like all the others in the house. It makes the woman’s skin look sickly- washing her out as she blinks and tries to get used to the light.

“We have to clean it,” she’s already walking around him, towards the sink. It’s a small one, too low for him to reach without having to bend his knees uncomfortably. Maybe that’s why she pauses mid-sentence- was she trying to picture him, hunched over as he scrubbed the dirt and blood and sweat from his arms?

The thought of her thinking about him- caring about him- splits him in two, a feeling that he’s never experienced before.

“Where are the towels?” she asks, turning around to face him. “If we lay some down on the floor it should keep the mess down a bit, right?”

He doesn’t tell her that it’s not a good idea- that a pile of soaking towels would raise questions that need to stay buried instead. So, he shakes his head, already closing the small distance between them.

The bathroom is small- all of them are. The tiles on the walls are a faded green color, some of them cracked- some of them are separated by mold- the caulk so old and weathered by age and neglect. He hopes that she doesn’t see them- his blood warming in embarrassment as he tells himself that he would fix them later, before she realized that this house was falling apart right under their feet.

The toilet and sink and the bathtub are old- not quite as stained, but still the same faded shade as the tiles that surrounded them. Under the harsh yellow light, it all looked a mess. At least it wasn’t like Hoyt’s bathroom- with too many colors and carpet all over the floors that trapped the smell of tobacco and sweat and soap, the steam that seemed to linger and stick to the walls doing nothing to lessen the stench.

He’s careful as he walks around her- suddenly aware of just how close they were. In here, with the door closed, being near to her seemed almost intimate in a way that he could not quite grasp.

He was used to being alone with people- usually they were screaming and begging, or already half-dead, delirious and confused from the pain and the blood loss. He was used to them thrashing and running and fighting back- hitting him with their fists, kicking him, throwing whatever they managed to get ahold of. They would always scare him when they did that- the pain eventually making him mad until he lashed out and hurt them on purpose.

They didn’t seem to understand that he didn’t want to make them suffer- that he was being kind- taking their lives quickly so that they didn’t have to be so afraid.

He was used to the screaming, the name calling- no matter how scared or afraid he got, he always knew how it would end.

With the woman, he had touched her- she had touched him- without screaming, without her begging or flinching or trying to run away. Out in the hall there had been enough space for him if he needed to get away, but here it was just the two of them- existing in a space that no one else seemed to belong in.

It terrified him just as much as it thrilled him. It made him feel the same way as when he had to chased down someone that had slipped out of his hold- but this time his mind wasn’t telling him to kill. This time, as he stood besides the woman, her eyes on him as he turned on the faucet and waited for the water to warm, something inside of him was telling him to chase her down in a completely different way- to keep her at his side.

Even if he had to chain her and train her- he did not want her to leave. He would not let her leave.

He remembers when he had first started at the Slaughterhouse, when he had been put to work with the cows- separating the babies from the mothers as soon as they were born. He would take them- carefully scooping them up in his arms, a child at the time, not knowing better, not knowing what it was that he was doing- and carry them to another part of the barn where he would drop them into cages so small that even he couldn’t fit inside.

They would cry and shake, unable to stand, unable to realize what lay ahead of them. He would feed them scraps he had stolen from the feeding center- oats or barley or even handfuls of grass from outside- shoving his hand through and letting them eat from his hand. They would calm down, even though they could not stand fully- their heads hunched over and pressed against the metal. He would show them that even if they weren’t going to live long- even if the world around them didn’t seem to care for them- they weren’t alone.

She did not have to be caged like them- though if he had to, he would keep her locked up if it meant keeping her beside him. Down in the basement where no one would hear her- where no one would disturb them, he would get her to see that he was a kind man, that he only wanted what was best for her.

She was already so much like the calves from back then- stupid and small and too trusting of him. It wouldn’t be hard to break her, to convince her that it was all her fault- that there was nothing left for her outside this home.

When the water heats up- steam rising and filling his lungs- he runs his fingers under the stream. Dirt and blood stain the sink, the hot water turning his fingers pink. It hurts, but not enough for him to stop. He rubs his hands together, the water turning pink as it drains. He can feel her eyes on him as he scrubs the grains of dirt from his skin.

For some reason, it embarrasses him- having her watch him do something so mundane and ordinary. He almost swore that he could feel the warmth from her eyes on his skin- hotter than the water. It makes the simple task suddenly seem foolish, makes him feel as if this was the first time he was doing it and he wasn’t sure if it was right or wrong.

With a grunt he tries to push the thoughts from his mind- cupping his hand and filling it with water before he splashes it onto his arm, onto the wound he had given himself. It makes a mess- water splashing onto his rolled sleeve and onto the floor, the sink too small to prevent the mess.

“Can I?” she says- and she’s suddenly closer than he had thought, her body pressed against his side. He can feel her through his shirt, through the thick fabric of her sweater. He swears that he can feel the softness of her body, the beating of her heart, the blood rushing through her veins on his very skin. It makes his heart leap into his throat- the sudden touch making him want to push her head into the glass of the medicine cabinet or pull her closer- he wasn’t sure which one he wanted to do most.

He stands still, body tense as she reaches for him, grabbing his arm and lifting it closer. She must have found the linen closet- an old, red washcloth in her other hand which she places underneath the running water. She hisses, pulling her hand away and opens the cold water.

“Doesn’t that hurt you?” she asks- and there’s no anger in her voice, no underlying judgement that has him tensing up, muscles rippling with dread that he had done something wrong. Momma liked to talk to him like that sometimes. She liked to ask questions that made him feel bad, that made him regret coming to her- guilty that he had bothered her. Hurt that she saw him as something bothersome.

He shakes his head, his way of telling her that no, it wasn’t hurting him. If he had a voice, he would tell her that his skin is so damaged that he could barely feel it, that some days he even preferred it- he liked the way his skin turned red and pulsed in a way that was almost comfortable, soothing.

“This will feel much better,” she holds her fingers under the water, and once it’s at a comfortable temperature she lets it run over the washcloth. “Tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?”

He nods sharply and she smiles at him- the corners of her mouth lifting. He expects her to rub the wound directly, desperate to clean it off before infection sets in. Instead, to his surprise, she wipes around the length of it- scrubbing gently at the blood matting the hair on his arm. The hand holding his arm is gentle, her fingers sinking into his soft flesh and holding him still.

He watches her- watches the concentration on her face that has her eyebrows knitted together as she wipes and rinses, repeating those two motions over and over and over again until his skin is cleaner- until the dirt is gone and there’s nothing left to hide the many sins he carried on his skin.

She pauses- and he can almost read her mind at that moment. He can see it in the tension in her wrist, feel it in the way her fingers tremble just a fraction of a second before they dig a little deeper into his arm. The feeling of her nails scratching at him isn’t painful, but it startles him just the same as if it were- a warmth growing in his chest that travels down to his belly and pools there- filling him with a different sort of sin.

He expects her to say something about the hundreds of tiny little cuts and bruises that she’s unearthed- he can feel it hang heavy in the air- his lips tingling from anticipation. From the worry that she would open her mouth and ruin it all.

It would either be disgust or pity- and he wanted neither. The scars were his to carry- his own punishment for his terrible deeds. Uncle Hoyt always cringed and acted like he didn’t see them- even though his mouth and face twisted as if he had eaten something sour. The pity always came from Momma- her hands on his as she prayed to God to take away whatever burdens he seemed to be carrying around in his heart. She wouldn’t touch them- maybe out of fear, or anger, or maybe just like Uncle Hoyt, she was disgusted as well- scared that if she touched the scars, they would somehow ruin her as well.

The corners of the woman’s mouth are still twisted down when she glances up at him- her eyes too dark to read. He wonders what he looks like in her eyes- what is it that she sees in him that no one else seems to see?

He waits for her to talk- to break the tense silence that’s choking him- but she doesn’t say a word, dropping her eyes as she picks up the bar of soap that’s been there for months. It almost slips out of her hand, and she lets go of him completely- his arm frozen in place, his body already missing hers. The tension disappears, as if nothing had ever happened, as if it had never been there to begin with. It rolls from the points of pressure that she had left behind on his flesh and up his arms. It moves in his veins, thick and syrupy- coating all of him in a feeling that’s doesn’t sit right.

Maybe he did want her to speak- to pity him after all. But the moment is gone, and he doesn’t have a voice to bring it back- to tell her what he was feeling, so he lets the discomfort drown him just a bit as he watches her act like nothing wrong had happened.

She rubs the bar between her hands, underneath the stream of water and his heart sinks at the thought of her cleaning all traces of him from her skin- he wanted to coat her in all that he was- his scent, his hatred, the bitter taste in his mouth that never seemed to go away- he wanted her to have it all, to carry him even if they were apart for a split second. An extension of him- equally as fearsome.

“Come here,” she motions for him to bring his arm towards her hands, letting the bar fall into the sink. Her hands are covered in soap as she takes his arm in between them- gently scrubbing from his wrist to the inside of his elbow, where his rolled-up sleeve sat. At first, she doesn’t touch the wound- and he can feel the hesitation in her fingers as she scrubs at his arm, circling around it. She scrubs at his skin, at the spaces between his fingers, taking his hand in her own and gently massaging it.

It's the first time anyone has done something like that to him- and while he can’t understand why she was being so thorough when it would have been easier to just hand him the soap and let him do it, he has no intention of stopping her.

He simply watches and enjoys- his mouth twisted into the closest thing of a smile that he could manage underneath his mask.

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” she says quietly, and it takes him a second to understand her words, his mind lost even to himself- her fingers lightly press against the cut as she speaks, drawing him back into reality. He tenses as she begins to clean it out, rubbing soapy water into it. It doesn’t hurt- not with how light and slow she moves her hand, her finger dipping into the hole he had scratched open. He expects it to hurt or sting or startle him- but pain doesn’t come. Instead, he groans in delight- enjoying the way her finger seems to be tearing into him, stretching his skin open. It’s like she’s making space for herself inside of him- forcing herself into the parts of him that held him together, sinew and muscle and blood- now poisoned with whatever sickness the woman had inflicted in his heart.

“Sorry!” she says quickly, pulling her hand away from him. The once white bubbles between her fingers are now a soft shade of pink, mixed with his blood. It all disappears down the drain as she rinses her hand, drying them on the front of her jeans.

He grows frustrated at the fact that there’s no way to tell her that she hadn’t hurt him- that he wanted her to do it again. That the pain she caused him was almost addictive- sweeter than the whiskey Uncle Monty sometimes let him have whenever he was in a good enough mood to share.

The woman motions for him to rinse his arm, already cupping her hands together under the faucet and letting the cool water pool between her hands. He angles his arm awkwardly into the sink and she lets the water trickle from between her fingers over his arm slowly. He watches as she repeats the motion, rinsing his arm- it’s so trivial and boring, yet he’s in awe as she takes care of him.

Without a second thought, the woman is already devoting herself to the mundanity of life with him. He could see it as she turns the water off and tells him to wait- as if he would leave her side, as if he could do something so absolutely stupid- subjecting himself to an agony he had no intention of experiencing firsthand.

He hears the closet door open behind him, making him turn around and look at the woman as she rummages through old fitted blankets, washcloths and towels until she finds what she needs. With one hand pressed against the pile of folded towels she pulls one free, tossing it over her arm. “I don’t know how long this has been here for-” as she talks, she moves onto her toes, stretching her arm out as she reaches for something on one of the top shelves.

He almost moves to help her, his body already swaying in place, eager to move, to make himself useful to the woman. But he spends too long trying to decide- her hand closing around whatever it was that she had seen earlier. She lets out a small noise of delight as she drops down to the balls of her feet, and it wracks through him, sending a shiver of warmth up his spine that spreads across his chest- tightening the muscles in his lower belly.

“Expired medicine and antibiotics are better than nothing, right?” She asks as he turns and faces him- lips curved up into a smile and he almost finds himself mimicking it- the corners of his lips twitching. He catches himself, hot embarrassment forcing his eyes to drop from her face- down to the small plastic medicine bin in her hands. It did not matter that he had his mask to hide behind, the way she looked at him made him feel as if she could somehow see through it- his face exposed for whatever ridicule and insults she would eventually throw at him.

There are bottles of pills stacked on top of one another- the type that Momma used to give him when he was feverish. It would take his sickness as well as his hunger- leaving him too heavy to do anything but lay in bed until the heat of his body burned through the drug. There are other things as well- gauze and bandages, silver packages of pills he couldn’t identify, the label worn off a long time ago- a bottle of Vaseline, faded from the years sits next to a glass jar of Vapor-Rub. Looking at it, he swears that he can smell it even with how far away from the jar he was- even though his nose hasn’t worked properly for months, he feels the ghost of it wrinkle as he cringes from the offensive smell his mind reminds him of.

Momma used to slather him with it when he had first started working at the Slaughterhouse. He hadn’t been used to the smell of it back then and every day he went back had been miserable. The scent of death and blood and shit had soured his stomach until he had gone and thrown up the oatmeal Momma had made for breakfast all over his worktable. All over the slab of meat he had been told to break down. He can still remember the taste of animal blood on his tongue after he had wiped his mouth- forgetting that his hands and arms and chest had been covered in chunks of offal. His boss had called him every bad word under the sun-some were words that he had never heard before, now fully engrained in his mind, tearing at his heart once Monty had told him what they meant.

When he had gone home that night, after scrubbing his station clean- the blood mixing with his waste underneath his nails, in the strands of his hair and in between the cracks of his boots, Momma had slapped him. She had been waiting for him on the porch, her face twisted down in anger, the blue of her eyes dark and cold behind her glasses.

She had called him a great big idiot- uncaring of how dirty he had been, of how hard he had silently prayed to God for the day to hurry up and end so that he could leave and go home. At one point, when the bell for Lunch had rung and he was forced to stay and catch up to everyone else- his boss throwing what Momma had packed for him in the garbage before spitting on it with a laugh- he had wanted to die, his chest burning every single time he brought the cleaver down. He had wanted to die right then and there- to stop existing all together. To be nothing but the air around him- free from the bad people, from the stares, from feeling like all that he did was somehow inherently wrong. No matter if it was an accident or not, no one ever seemed to care enough to listen to him.

Momma had gotten a call from the Slaughterhouse- telling her that because of his careless mistake he would have to be let go. Momma had told him, as she dragged him to the hose out back, that she had begged and begged and begged for them to give him a second chance. They couldn’t lose his income, not with Uncle Monty getting less hours at his job and the Government cutting Uncle Hoyt’s veteran checks so suddenly. They were barely making ends meet as it was- this would ruin them.

She had yelled and shouted, spraying him with cold water until he was a shivering mess, the blood no longer crusted over on his skin. He could feel the cold water pooling in his boots, making his socks stick to his toes. It hadn’t even mattered to him then, his heart hammering away at his chest at the thought of never having to go back. Of not having to wake up so early to walk all the way to the other side of town in a place that he hated.

He didn’t even mind when Momma had beat him, welts forming on his wet skin from the belt she kept exclusively for punishments. The pain was nothing in comparison to when Momma had told him that she had made sure that he had kept his job.

They were going to cut his pay, a little every check, until he paid off the cost of the half cow he had puked all over. But he still had a job, he was still able to help the family out- wasn’t that good? Momma asked him, smiling at him like she hadn’t just beat him tired.

Momma warned him that he couldn’t mess this up again. That there were no more chances after this- sending him up to his room with no dinner, his stomach already empty and rubbing against itself.

The morning after, when she had woken him up- his body sore from all the walking that he had done and the bruises forming on his back and legs- Momma had twisted open the jar of Vapor-rub for the first time, filling his room with the slightly sweet- minty smell.

She had bought it last night, right before the shop closed- with the bit of lose change she had managed to scrap together. It’s gonna help you from making another mistake she said right before she shoved a finger full of it into his nose. It was thick, and cold, burning the inside of his nose as he moaned in pain, trying to push Momma away before she shoved more into the other nostril. She had smacked his hand away, telling him that this was for his own good. That this was only until he got used to it.

He had moaned as tears began to form, shaking his head- trying to empty his nose, the burning crawling up into his head and making his eyes water painfully. Every inhale he took through his mouth burned its way to his lungs. Momma only slapped him again- telling him that this was his fault. That he had to do this for the family.

“You’re so selfish Thomas!” she shouted at him, holding his jaw and shoving another finger into his empty nostril. “There’s no room for useless boys in this house, do you understand?”

He couldn’t remember anything after that. His memories about that day lost to the pain he had put himself through. He remembers bits and pieces- the hunger. The burning. The anger.

He always seemed to remember the anger. Flashing through him- hot and cold, boiling his blood.

Something outside of his thoughts rattle and he’s once more standing in the bathroom, a man three times the size of the child that he had once been. Beside him, the woman had set the medicine bin on top of the toilet tank and was rummaging through it- the source of the noise that had brought him back.

He’s tense, the muscles in his neck thick and tight. He doesn’t like how he seemed to live more in his memories- constantly remembering all the things that he just wanted to forget. He didn’t want to remember, to be reminded of the pain he carried.

The woman glances at him, holding a small yellow squeeze tube and a roll of self-adhesive medical tape in one hand. Their eyes meet and she smiles at him, even though he can feel the way his face is twisted down into a scowl- his eyebrows heavy over his eyes.

He doesn’t mean to glare at her- to make her smile falter slightly as her eyes widen just a fraction. He could almost see himself in her eyes and he doesn’t like the him that he imagines. Large and imposing- a thing that only knows how to hurt, how to cause fear. He waits for the woman to realize her mistake- to realize that she was trapped in a small room with a monster.

“Give me your arm?” she asks him, holding out her right hand. “Let’s get you all wrapped up, okay?” her smile is still small, and he can see the wariness in her eyes, but when he places his arm in her hand she doesn’t flinch, she doesn’t rush him- wanting to get this over with.

She pulls him towards her instead, slender fingers wrapping around his forearm as much as possible. She tugs, and he moves- lightweight in her hold.

He’s aware of the muscles in his face- of how, even if he’s partially hidden behind his mask, his face sits. He makes himself relax- something that comes easy with the warmth of her hand on his body, easing the tension that he still carried from his memories. Her touch burned into him, filled him until he swore that he could feel her in his blood- pumping through his heart.

Her eyes don’t leave his as she pulls him closer, and motions with her head for him to sit down on the toilet. “It’ll be easier, that way you don’t have to keep your arm in the air.” She explains, shuffling out of the way to make space for him.

Underneath his weight, the toilet squeaks and shifts as he does as told, awkwardly sitting down. She’s taller than him like this, his head at the same level with her chest, making him have to tilt his head back just a bit to meet her eyes.

Her smile had grown in the time he had looked away- and he can’t help the heat that spreads across his face, his ears growing hot. Could she feel it? The warmth that she caused him? The uneasiness thrumming through him that had the tips of his fingers aching to touch her? To hold her like she held him?

“Can you hold this?” she asks, already dropping something into his expecting hand. It had been resting on his lap, calloused covered palm open and waiting- a beggar’s pose. The ointment and tape weren’t what he had been waiting for, but he takes them, closing his thick fingers around them.

What he didn’t expect was for her to lean over him with a mumbled “sorry”, her hand falling onto his shoulder as she reached for something behind him- inside of the medicine bin.

He doesn’t know what to do- his body freezing underneath hers as her neck grazes his mask covered face. It doesn’t last long- maybe a fraction of a second before she’s pulling away and dropping the hand from his shoulder, but it was enough.

Enough for him to inhale the light scent of her- woodsy and sweet and nutty- just the smallest hint of sweat underneath that. It reminded him of the baked goods Momma used to make for him on his birthday when he was small. It was comforting in the same way that it twisted his stomach with the pain of remembering something that used to make him so happy, something that had been taken from him so abruptly once Momma decided that he was too big to celebrate his birthday. Too old to be cared for.

The woman had been so close that he swore that he could almost hear the blood pounding through her veins. He had almost been tempted to turn his head and feel its pulse with his lips. To scratch her skin with his mask- the scent of her tainting it the same way it has already ruined his senses.

He could picture it- his teeth sinking into the warm and thin flesh she had so stupidly given him access to. It was almost scary- the way his mouth began to water at the thought of her blood on his tongue, raw flesh between his teeth. He wanted to fill his belly with it- to make her a part of him in a way that no one could take from him.

Would she taste as sweet as she smelled?

He swallowed down saliva, clearing the bad thoughts from his mind- scared that if he kept focusing on them, he would do something that he didn’t really want to do. Something that he wouldn’t be able to take back, no matter how hard he begged and prayed and tried to undo.

He didn’t want to hurt her right now. No matter how hard his mind was telling him to do it- replaying all of the times that he could have done so. Showing him all of the ways that he still could.

He feels ashamed of his thoughts, of the temptation that he was barely keeping at bay- and finds himself unable to look at the woman as she rips open a piece of plastic, tossing it in the garbage can between the toilet and the sink. He keeps his eyes on the space between his legs, on her beat-up boots as she stands in front of him- sweet and unaware of what a horrible person he truly was. Of all that he was struggling to not do to her.

“Do you think Luda Mae is getting suspicious?”

The question startles him, reminding him of the world outside of the bathroom, outside of the woman in front of him.

“She’s probably thinking I ran away; don’t you think?” the woman’s laugh is small, feathery light. He doesn’t know how to answer- not knowing how long they had been up here. There was a possibility that Momma had grown suspicious, or maybe she thought that he had snapped and taken care of her in the only way that he knew how.

Vaguely, he shakes his head. Whether it’s to disagree with her or to tell her that he wasn’t sure- he let’s her decide on which one he’s trying to communicate. If Momma had been concerned, she would have come upstairs to check on her already, so he wasn’t too worried. He shrugs, and her laughter fills his ears again.

“Right. If you’re not worried, then I won’t be either. I just don’t want her to think that I’ve been a horrible guest- running off in the middle of helping her with dinner.”

He shakes his head again and this time its to reassure her that Momma wouldn’t think that. At least he hoped that she wouldn’t. The thought of Momma angry at the woman made his chest burn uncomfortably. An ache that slithered in the tight spaces between his ribs- hot and uneasy in its slickness.

“Well, what’s done is done, lets just get your arm bandaged. I might need your help facing her again.” The woman likes to talk with a smile, he’s noticed. It was as if her mouth had no other way to rest- the corners turned up towards the heavens, towards her eyes that liked to seek him out- unafraid of what she saw, of what others liked to look away from.

He wondered if she was joking- if she was just talking in order to fill the silence. He knew people who did that- people like Hoyt and his old boss at the Slaughterhouse, who had to keep their mouths moving or they would stop existing all together. He liked to think that if he had a voice, he would be like that too- not quite as annoying, but loud enough that people were forced to look at him, to listen to what he had to say.

He would tell the woman that he would keep her safe. That he wanted to go down with her and show Momma that she had done nothing wrong. That if anyone was to blame, it was him. It was his fault that she had stayed away for so long. He would hide her away from Momma’s anger- keep her tucked behind him- safe.

If he was being honest, he wasn’t sure that he wanted her to leave just yet. They could stay here a little longer- everything behind that door non-existent. He could make believe that Momma was still at work, busy with too many customers- outsiders who were just passing by, headed for more than the meat hooks in the basement of this house. That for a bit his uncle’s Monty and Hoyt didn’t exist. That the world was just for him and her.

That would be enough for him. He was almost tempted to ask God- to check and see if he was still paying attention to him after all that he had done.

The woman moves from in front of him and takes a seat on the edge of the tub, her knees rubbing against the outside of his thigh as she grabs his arm and places it on her lap. He can feel the buckle of her belt against his knuckles- his arm suddenly a solid weight as he feels the warmth that radiates from the space between her thighs.

It crawls along his skin- up to his shoulder and through the space in his chest. It reminds him of the times that he’s stayed in one spot for too long, his limbs falling asleep. Though there was no uncomfortable pain this time- Instead it felt like a million little bugs were crawling around inside of him- a buzzing under his skin that he was unused to, but not disgusted by. It was something that maybe he could get used to.

It settles in his belly- thick and heavy and hot, stirring awake thoughts that felt too uncomfortable to focus on. Shamefully, he raises his eyes from the woman’s lap, trying to think of something other than the way her jeans clung to her thighs or how close his fingers were to the space between her legs- somehow hotter than the rest of her, the back of his hand burning pleasantly. He wanted to keep it there- to soak all of himself in her warmth until he knew nothing more.

He pushes the indecent thoughts from his mind, suddenly growing paranoid that the woman would find out what he was thinking about her. He didn’t want her to think that he was disgusting. Rotten just like Uncle Hoyt, who was obsessed with playing with their food.

“Is this uncomfortable for you, Tommy?” maybe it was because the silence had gone on for too long, but the woman whispers her question- her voice only for him, distracting him slightly as she reaches for the things she had given him, plucking them from his hand before he even had a chance to register the movement- her hand too fast that he barely feels the way her fingers skim his palm.

She’s already twisted open the bottle of ointment by the time he shakes his head- the cap balancing on the edge of her knee. With a hum she nods- her eyes focused on her own hands even though he wants her to look at him again. He wanted her to ask him more questions- her voice tender and sweet whenever she spoke to him. He wanted her to distract him for his thoughts that liked to pull him away from her- and right now he wanted to stay right here, to not miss a single moment.

The ointment is cold against his skin- the woman squeezing a light amount right above the wound. He can feel it cleansing away all of his wickedness- her finger swiping at it until it’s in the deepest layer of his flesh, leaving nothing behind but an oily residue that coated her thumb. Without a pause she sticks a piece of gauze on top- taping it up until the gauze is well hidden under flesh colored medical tape.

He had found it in the pocket of one of the first of Uncle Hoyt’s guests- setting it aside for Momma along all of the jewelry he had collected. Maybe it was for a reason that he had second guessed his decision to throw it away. Maybe that had been a sign from above that you were on your way- that God hadn’t abandoned them after all.

The woman is gentle as she pats the covered wound and leans back a bit to meet his expectant eyes. What does she see in them- in him- that makes her look at him so sweetly?

“You’re all set. How’s it feeling? It’s not too tight, is it?”

#texas chainsaw massacre #thomas hewitt x reader #leatherface #thomas hewitt #slasher fandom #slasher fanfiction #slashers x reader #slashers #slasher community #leatherface x reader #the texas chainsaw massacre

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trippinsorrows · 1 month ago

Text

looking through your eyes + twenty two

authors note: this one may leave people a bit confused by certain things.....that's intentional.

cw/tw: fluff, angst, and smut

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 9k

“Nu uh!”

“Uh huh!”

“Nu uh!”

“Uh huh!”

“Girls.” To his credit, Roman does his best to not interfere or get involved in the midst of his girls arguing. He prefers letting them work it out among themselves, and they typically do. But, there are times, like this, where he just doesn’t have it in him to listen to their bickering. “Stop arguing.”

Lina is the expected one to protest, and she doesn’t disappoint or prove his prediction wrong. “But, daddy—”

“Lina, be nice to your sister.” He looks over at his other twin daughter. “Leya, you have to share.”

The quieter of the two looks less than pleased at his instruction and is clearly in one of her few talkative moods, protesting like her sister, “But, it’s mine, daddy.”

“It’s gonna be mine if ya’ll don’t stop fighting.” Rarely does he have to be strict with them, but they’ve both been on one all day, and Roman is going off barely four hours of sleep because their baby brother decided to make it one of those nights for his parents. “I’m not gon’ tell ya’ll again.”

A shared set of downward gazes followed by another shared ‘yes, sir’ leads to them both switching their attention from the tablet to one of their playthings in the backyard.

Roman runs his hand over his face as the backdoor opens, revealing Solana’s smiling but tired face. She’s operating off just as many fumes as she is.

“He finally go down?” She nods at his question, moving to sit on his lap, Roman wrapping his arms around her.

“Eventually.” She chuckles, placing her phone on the rattan chair next to them, Roman seeing the footage of the nursery showing their son sleeping. Finally. “Could be worse. Remember when we had to do it with the both of them?”

Roman offers a small smile. He certainly does. “He takes after his sisters.”

Solana’s smile dims a bit as she caresses his cheek. “You should go try to take a nap. I can watch them.”

That’s an immediate no. “I’m fine.” A default answer for him. He gestures to the now laughing twins, explaining, “especially since they seem to be in one of their moods.”

Solana frowns and then rolls her eyes. “Wonder where they get that from?” Giggling, Solana kisses his cheek and again tries to convince him to do what he’s absolutely not going to do. “Seriously, Ro, I can handle it. They tend to get like that sometimes when you’re out of town anyway.”

At that, he looks over at her. “Really?” She nods. “You want me to talk to them?” Cause as much as he loves his girls, he has never and will never put up with them disrespecting their mother. That will always be where he draws the line.

With anyone.

Solana shakes her head and instead moves to settle her head in the crook of his neck. “Let them just be kids.” Roman grows quiet, picking up on the underlying meaning to her statement. An agreement they both made with each other during her first pregnancy.

That they would give their kids the childhood they never had.

“They’re happy, baby.” Years of being together has allowed both husband and wife to practically learn and know each other like the back of their hand, which is why Solana is so easily able to hear Roman’s unspoken concerns. “We all are.”

Her words, like her mere presence and everything else about her, are comforting to Roman. He holds her a little tighter, lips gazing over her temple.

Solana, however, overhears the return of the argument between their twins, the sixth or seventh time this morning alone. And right as Roman goes to handle it, she shakes her head. “I’ve got it.”

Watching her walk away, Roman allows his gaze to linger on her a little longer. One thing for certain, two things for sure, Solana only gets finer with age. Three kids later, her already curvy body has filled out even more, giving him all the temptation and stripping him of all resolve whenever she tells him she’s ready for another baby.

He’s just counting the days for that request, already accepting the fact that it’ll only be a matter of time before she’s showing him the next sonogram.

It’s just a continuation of his inability to ever deny her of anything she wants.

Roman grabs his phone, hearing it vibrate. Most likely an update from—

“Roman!”

The phone is dropped, and Roman has never moved so quickly, shot up so fast as he sprints off in the direction where Solana went only to find there’s a vacant space, yard void of any and all items, play equipment, greenery, even the pool.

What remains is the girls sitting on their knees, on the dirt, a piece of clothing between the two of them, but it’s the red dampness of the clothing that makes his heart stop. That makes Roman go dangerously still.

Blood.

It’s blood.

Dropping to his knees, the girls are on either side of him, his voice is eerily calm as he asks, “where is she?” Unlike his tone, Roman is anything but calm. Every single vile, evil, violent thought is crossing his mind at just the thought of someone daring to hurt his wife.

To take her.

Leya sniffles to the left of him. “You have to save her, daddy.” His head snaps to her, confused by her words, confused by the fact that he’s not freaking out more, by the fact that he just somehow knows that Solana has been taken. “She won’t have much time.”

“Mommy can only fight with us for so long.” His attention switches to Lina, her comment leaving him just as perplexed as her twin. “You’re gonna have to trust them, daddy.”

“What?” He breathes. The weight on his chest is intensifying by the fucking second. “I don’t—”

“It’s the only way to save her.” Leyah reaches for his arm, her little mouth formed into a frown. “They’re gonna kill her if you don’t.”

His chest nearly explodes at that one word.

Kill

But, it's when the next statement that leaves their mouths, at the same time, that does him over.

“And they’re gonna kill us too.”

Roman shoots up from the bed, half expecting to find Solana startled awake by his sudden movement, only for him to snap his head to the right to see the normal rise and fall of her body as she continues to sleep. Peaceful. Content.

Alive.

Roman shuts his eyes and runs his hand through his wavy hair. What the fuck was that?

Taking advantage of the fact that she’s still asleep, Roman is careful with how he peels the blankets off of him. He grabs his phone off the nightstand and makes his way out the room. Down the hall and descending the steps, Roman finds placement outside on the patio, away from it all so he can try to make sense of what just occurred.

The dreams of what feels like some type of alternative reality have become the norm for him. He has them at least a couple times a week, and while he’s still not sure what to make of them, they haven’t really bothered him. Until now.

Because how can a dream–turned–nightmare in which his wife is taken and possibly worse not bother him? Not to mention the strange, almost foreboding warning of his fictional children.

Trust? Roman doesn’t do trust. Shit like that gets people killed in his world.

It has gotten people killed in his world.

But despite the heaviness of the latter half of the dream, there is one thing that Roman picked up on. That he has this weird almost sentimental reaction to.

Lina.

Leya.

This is the first time in any of the dreams that names for the girls were used.

There’s a strange sense of contentment he feels at the thought of it, a sense of clarity provided at no longer dreaming about two nameless children but two children, named and identified.

Lina and Leya

Pretty names. Roman can admit that, but they feel…..shortened. Like that’s only part of their names. Nicknames.

It makes him wonder what the full names are.

And before Roman realizes it, he’s grabbing his phone and opening up the notes app.

Lina Reigns

Leya Reigns

He’s not sure why he’s writing them down. He just knows that he wants to.

“Roman?”

Solana stands before him in one of his shirts, arms crossed over her body, a worried expression on her face.

She doesn’t wait for the usual invite, for Roman’s long arms to extend and settle her on top of his lap. She does that all on her own. Brown eyes searching his face, she pushes back some of his hair. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

His answer is more default than anything, not an intentional deflection but still one nonetheless. “Nothing. Just….can’t sleep.”

“Bullshit.” Solana cussing is such a new experience for him, Roman having to fight back a small smile at how innocent the profanity sounds leaving her mouth. Like it’s too lewd for someone so innocent to be stating. “Talk to me.” She shifts on his lap, asking in a gentle tone, “was it a bad dream?”

Bad is an understatement, but he’s not too keen on letting her know the depth of what it included. Nor does he necessarily want to reflect on it. “Something like that.”

“Roman…..” And right away, without her even needing to say it, he knows. Knows what she doesn’t need to say.

He’s not entirely ready to tell her the extent of these dreams, so he’s intentional with leaving out the not so little fact that it includes them having children and focuses on a part of this latest one. “It was about you.”

She looks taken back by that but still encourages him to continue, her fingers now moving to massage his scalp. “Go on.” But he’s certain that it’s when he looks away, when he focuses on the dark, almost obsidian night sky that obscures the forestry surrounding the house, he knows that she knows. “Oh….”

“Yeah.” Roman doesn't know what else to say. Doesn’t want to say anything else. He doesn’t even really want to fucking talk about this, wants to forget the damn ‘dream’ ever happened, wants to just go back to bed and try to get some fucking sleep.

But, that would be too easy, and rarely in his life are things ever easy.

“Roman, look at me.” Solana’s soft, caring tone pulls him from pessimistic cognitions. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, Ro,” she whispers, bringing her hand to his bearded chin, forcing his unsettled gaze on her. “I promise.”

He wishes that her words provided more comfort. There’s some level, just not a lot, because Roman has had his fair share of nightmares over the years. Most from after that night. Some…..some before. Some he’s never once spoken about and never plans to. Too…..too many bad, difficult, unmanageable emotions attached to them.

“You’re thinking a lot,” she whispers. The way she’s learned to read him so well feels almost too impossible to be true. He’s always prided himself on being an enigma, but with her? His inscrutable disposition melts away into something transparent and lucid.

He chuckles, but it’s void of any emotion. “I’m always thinking, Sol.” Always thinking. Always planning. Always strategizing. Just always in a state of always.

Solana shakes her head, gently protesting. “Not with me. I don’t….I don’t want you to think when you’re with me….just…..just be.”

Be.

Roman is unsure if he even knows what that is anymore.

If he ever did in the first place.

And he admits as such. “I don’t….I don’t know how to do that.” A strange, uncharacteristic admission from the man who always has everything together. Because he has to. Because he’s never been granted the space to not have to.

Solana ghosts her lips over his forehead, his eyes shutting as he holds her a little tighter. “Then we’ll learn together.”

________

Roman has a high sex drive. This is something Solana has always heard through the grapevine, among…..other things. But, her finding out about his sex drive is something she’s experienced herself. Is currently experiencing.

His large, strong hands remain placed and seated on her back, exploring her soft skin that has a soft sheen of sweat that’s built up from the exertion of her body. Her thighs ache a bit as does that sensitive space between her legs, both from the current stretch of him inside her as well as not being entirely recovered from their passionate lovemaking session just hours prior.

Truthfully, Solana hasn’t a clue just how she’s ended up engaged in intimacy yet again, possibly him needing a distraction of sort form his dream. But Roman occasionally sliding his hands to her hips, guiding her up and down, back and forth on his impressive length seems to be just enough, more than enough, to keep her hands on his shoulders, her fingers pressing into his skin, her teeth gnawing into her bottom lip to keep her from alerting his aunt and cousin just what they’re doing this fine early morning.

But, it’s that thought that has her trying to express said concern, to share the slight level of guilt she feels at doing this under his aunt’s roof. It feels almost….disrespectful? And maybe that’s too strong of a word. Regardless, she just has a feeling about it.

“Roman…..” Solana hates that his name on her lips is more carnal than anything, a moan, essentially. Far from what she needs. Still, she pushes through. “We—we can’t—”

His deep chuckle under her followed by another slight lift of her body as he continues to fill her, physically and figuratively, “can’t what?”

Damn. It’s so hard to resist the devil when he makes the sin feel this good. “Th—this.” She’s not sure she’s even making any sense right now. “It’s—disresp—shit.” Roman is forever adroit, knowing just what to do and how to do it, because one minute he’s licking his bottom lip, the next minute his mouth is latched onto her breast, sucking on her areola in a way that makes it exponentially more difficult to not scream her pleasure from here to kingdom come.

“Ro….” Her hand shifts to the back of his head, his soft, wave locks intertwined in her fingers as Solana manages to keep her steady pace rocking atop of him. He’s so deep inside of her, reaching her stomach it damn near feels like. “Oh my god.” Head thrown back from the erotic of it all, a deep chuckle leaves his talented mouth as he detaches and switches to kissing along the swell of her heavy breast.

“You really wanna deny me this?” His voice is both teasing and curious, hands massaging her sides, gently helping her continue to ride him. “Could watch you and this beautiful body ride me for the rest of fucking time….”

Solana seems to hone in on two words. Beautiful body. She still somewhat struggles to wrap her head around just how a man who looks like Roman could be so enamored with her physically. Even with all the scars, the cellulite, the stretch marks, the fat, he looks at her like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He makes her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. It’s overwhelming and fills her with so much love, Solana bringing her hands to his bearded face for a sensual kiss to express that love and adoration.

Kissing Roman is also moving its way up her list of favorite things to do. A list that almost entirely includes him, because as much as he indicates and even shares how he can’t get enough of her, she feels the absolute same way about him.

Roman deepens the kiss, Solana loving the feel of their chests pressed together, how he almost protectively clutches her close to him. They hold onto each other almost, so deeply entwined, two troubled souls who somehow found each other in the midst of chaos and sorrow. A joint healing of sorts.

Not even half an hour later, both having found their release, Solana lays on his chest, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns of the tattoos that’s etched onto his chest, one of her favorite things to do when they’re together like this. She loves everything about Roman, his body included, but his tattoos hold a special place for her. She knows it’s part of his cultural background, but a large part of her would guess that the placement was intentional. The ink on his arms to help shield bad memories, a night of unfathomable loss and trauma.

She knows what that’s like. Knows what it’s like to carry around those scars. Another area where they can relate, shared loss that they can find comfort for, in each other.

Eager for her spent body to be one with his, she moves even closer, a small smile on her face when he tugs her nearer and kisses the top of her head. His affection with her always adds yet another layer of safety and protection she feels with him.

Feelings she hasn’t had in forever. If ever.

“I wanna ask you something, but if it’s triggering for you, then we dead it, okay?” Solana is obviously taken back by his statement, and while there’s a small chunk of her nervous about what he’s about to ask, she doesn’t want to shut him down.

Eyes focused on the window beside the bed that unveils the rising sun and subsequent kaleidoscope of dawn colors that paint the sky, she answers, “okay.”

“How were you mentally on our wedding day?”

Solana frowns. That’s the last question she expected to leave his mouth, but the more she thinks about it, thinks about the worksheets Gail had told her she showed Roman, Solana can almost bet she recalls one of those questions asking about the last time she felt suicidal prior to her attempt.

And she’d answered honestly.

On her wedding day.

Something she’s almost certain he knows and is referring to. In a slightly indirect way. To avoid being too……raw. “Roman—” She doesn’t quite know how to address this, how to explain it in a way that makes sense to him but is also not too heavy for her. “I—there was just….there was a lot going on.”

“Because of me.” Her eyes shut. She hates the tone of his voice. Low and subdued. Like he feels guilty about something, like he did something wrong. “Because I sped everything up without actually giving you time to….” Roman takes a deep breath, and she opens her eyes to look up at him. “If I had known—“

Solana sits up and brings her hand to his face. “But—but you didn’t—” She wets her lips, hating that he seems to feel somehow responsible for years worth of trauma that brought her to that place mentally. Not him. “I—I struggled for years with those thoughts, and it was just…..it was a combination of things. I was scared and confused, but mostly because of the plan and what they wanted me to do. I hadn’t eaten in days. I just…..it wasn’t your fault.” She kisses him, lips hovering over his as she whispers, “at the time….it felt like the saddest day of my life, but—it was the best, Roman. I got you….and that’s all I need.” She moves to lay on top of him, burying her head in the crook of his neck. “Te amo, mi amor.”

He still sounds guilty. "But, it's not the wedding you deserved."

"I don't care about that, baby." She moves her hand to his arm, gently massaging up and down his bicep. “Roman, I don’t—I don’t want you worrying about me. I’m better, not all the way, but I’m safe, and I want you to focus on you.” And she means that with everything in her. He puts so much into everything else. It’s beyond time he shifts some of that focus onto himself.

“Solana—”

“I mean it,” she cuts him off, a hint of determination and borderline assertiveness present, something that takes them both by surprise. Truly. “Healing is…hard work, but it’s….it’s worth it. And you deserve it just as much as I do.” A thought crosses her mind, prompting her to share it with him. “Photography.”

He looks skeptical. “What about it?”

“I want you to start doing it more. You’re good at it, and it…..you looked happy doing it.” Because he is. Because there’s so many things that Roman is good at that he has to do. She wants him to have something that he gets to do.

“I was happy because I was with you,” he corrects. It’s kind but also not entirely true.

“It was more than that, Ro,” she counters softly. “If you want….you….you can take pictures of me.” In taking and sharing occasional selfies of herself while away from Roman, that discomfort has waned ever so slightly with having her picture taken. Enough to have her willing to be his muse, if that's what it takes.

Roman chuckles underneath her, his hand on the small of her back. “You know I can’t say no to you, right?” Solana giggles, pleased mostly at his less solemn tone, at his agreement, at what type of relief it could provide to him. Even if they both know it’s something that obviously can’t happen until she’s done with treatment. Regardless, it’s something, and that’s all that matters.

But, it’s when Solana settles back on top of him, head on his chest that she feels it. Feels his semi-hardened length against her, prompting her to gasp.

They just….

Confused, she looks at him, brows furrowed. “How are you……do—do you have an addiction?”

Roman’s laugh is deep and makes her smile. A rarity but one she hopes to one day to increase the frequency of. “To sex? Shit, maybe.” She’d say definitely given the fact that they’ve already gone three rounds, and yet he’s still looking at her like that. “To you?” Solana’s breath is sharp as he carefully switches their position so that he’s hovering over her. “Absolutely.”

“Roman….” His mouth is already on the move, trailing down and in between the valley of her breast. “I’m—I’m sore.” And this time, it’s to the point where she can’t afford to bypass it, to push past it, even if there’s a small part of her that isn’t entirely opposed. That feels an almost…..excitement at being with him again in that way.

Even if it will be the fourth time in less than 24hrs. Not even 12.

“I know.” And yet as he continues downward, Solana realizes he already knows this and is well aware of this fact. Hence him desiring an equally desirable alternative. “But, it’s like you said, baby….” She moans when he braces his big hands on her hips, his mouth kissing her inner thighs, thick fingers separating her swollen, tender lower lips. “I’m addicted.”

________

By the time Solana convinces Roman that they can’t spend the rest of the day locked in his bedroom, thrusted in the throes of sweet intimacy, it’s nearing 11am, and Fetu and Ava have already consumed their breakfast, discussing what they’ll have for lunch.

Solana walks in first, wearing a warm smile aimed toward the two women, one of which she’s now seeing for the first time.

Ava stands up from the kitchen table and walks over with a small smirk. “My cousin finally got off you, huh?”

Roman rolls his eyes, muttering, “fuck off, Ava.”

Solana blushes. Ava is tall, only a few inches shorter than Roman with a thin build but soft curves. Her onyx black hair is shoulder length, and her smile and brown eyes give away her kinship to Roman. Even Fetu. They all look related.

“It’s—umm, nice to meet you.” Solana is taken back a bit when Ava hugs her. It’s so interesting to her how the women in Roman’s family are so physically affectionate. It seems almost ironic given just who their family is. The way the word Bloodline strikes fear in the hearts of even the strongest. “I’m Sol—”

“Solana,” Ava laughs, stepping back. “I know. Heard a lot about you, and like I said last night, I’m sorry you got stuck marrying big ears over here.”

Roman is quick with it, retorting back before he downs the coffee he just brewed, “not as big as that big ass forehead.”

“Children. Literal children.” Fetu shakes her head, looking over at Solana. “Do you see what I have to deal with? Why I need you Solana?” She gestures with her thumb, “if this damn disease doesn’t kill me first, Dopey and Tyra Banks over here damn sure will.”

At that, both Roman and Ava look slightly irritated. “Don’t talk like that, Uso o le tinā.” She glares at Roman, lifting up her middle finger to flip him off. “Who else is going to keep me from killing our Tribal Chief?”

Roman scoffs, big shoulders lifting as he shakes his head. He sounds and looks so amused at just the thought of it. “You can certainly try.”

Ava sucks her teeth, angling her body towards him. “Don’t tempt me, asshole.”

Roman smirks, looking at her over his mug. “You know I love a good fight.”

“I’m about to kill both of you if you don’t shut the hell up!” Fetu snaps, Solana looking over to see she’s holding her slipper in her hand. “Embarrassing me in front of my friend, sweet Solana.”

“It’s—it’s okay,” Solana cuts in, unable to contain her smile. She’s not used to seeing Roman like this, so…..relaxed, almost…..almost like he’s at peace. She likes it.

She likes it a lot.

“It is not.” Fetu drops her slipper back on the ground, shaking her head. “Since both of you have so much to say and clearly energy to expel, you can handle the wood in the back that needs to be chopped up?” Solana’s confusion must be evident as Fetu gestures to the living room. “Wood burning fireplace. I don’t like that new shit.”

“You mean the safest shit?” Roman mutters.

Ava shakes her head, whispering to Solana. “Our aunt can be a little……old fashioned.” Solana says nothing, seeing no issue. With everything she’s been through, she truly deserves whatever she wants, in Solana’s opinion. “Roman’s been trying to convince her to let him replace it with an electric one for years.”

“And my answer will keep being no!” Fetu calls out, clearly eavesdropping. “Now, I mean it, I want that wood chopped. Both of you.”

Roman scowls. “I don’t need her help.”

Ava glares in his direction. “And I don’t need help from Samoan He-Man over here.”

“I–I thought you guys actually liked each other?” Solana intended to keep that in her head, but it somehow bypassed her speech defenses. Immediately, she feels bad, going the recompense route. “I didn’t mean—”

“They do,” Fetu answers, sharing. “It depends on the day. Today is just clearly not one of those days.” She plasters on a sickeningly sweet smile. “Now get to it, before I embarrass both of you.”

It’s slightly comical to Solana how both people, formidable in their own right, fold so easily at the direction of this older woman. Solana goes to fix her late breakfast along with Roman, the two sharing it at the table along with Ava and Fetu until it's time for them to depart and get started on their joint task.

That leaves Solana with Fetu, a wonderful arrangement because it allows her time to get to know the woman who means so much to Roman better.

And that is done in a way Solana didn't expect, because she ends up in Fetu’s room, a large bin that Solana pulled from her closet exposing a world of welcomed surprises.

Solana is overcome with an abundance of photos, a mixture of dated polaroids' and the type of photos one got developed at a kiosk or drugstore back in the day. She’d like to say that they’re photos of smiling, happy faces, but that would be a lie. Many of them are clearly of people taken off guard by a camera in their face.

One in particular captures her attention, Solana reaching for the polaroid that shows a tall, handsome man. Sharp facial features with an almost stoic expression. Familiar. Very familiar.

“Is this…..”

Fetu chuckles, nodding, “it is.” There’s a sadness both in her gaze as well as her voice. “He looks so much like him….”

Solana swallows. She agrees. Roman shares a striking resemblance with his father. It makes her wonder if they have similar personalities as well, but another photo steals her focus. A tiny gasp leaves her mouth as a small smile grows. “That’s—”

Fetu also laughs, nodding and reaching for the photo, handing it to Solana. “You can tell by the big ears.” Solana giggles, holding the photo and staring with borderline amazement at Roman when he was a boy. He couldn’t have been more than 6 or 7 years old, so young, so innocent looking, but she knows better. Knows that his smile in the photo was probably short lived.

“I had taken him and the twins to the water park. They had so much fun that day.” One glance at Fetu, and Solana can see she’s reflecting back and mentally reliving that day. “I did my best to give him as much of a normal childhood as possible.”

Solana is quiet, her own sadness seeping in at the depressing reality that as much as she didn’t have much of a childhood, neither did he.

He never stood a chance.

“Look at this one.” Fetu reaches her another photo. It’s Roman, but it doesn’t look like him. It’s of him as a child, looking far too serious for a boy no more than 8 or 9 years–old.

Studying the photo a bit more, Solana shares with all honesty, “he looks…..little?”

Fetu laughs. “Because he was.” Solana gasps quietly, as the woman explains. “Believe it or not, that big, strong husband of yours was the runt of his siblings. He was small for his age, and it always bothered him.” Solana has a hard time conceptualizing any part of roman being small. Fetu's lips slip into a small, forlorn smile. “I always knew he would be something special. I just—I wish it could have happened differently.”

Solana says nothing, already knowing what she’s referring to. What she doesn’t need to say. “He’s…..he’s a good man.”

“He’s a better man with you.” Fetu places a comforting hand on Solana’s knee. “You are good for him, child, and I think he’s good for you too.”

“He’s the best,” Solana murmurs, emotion building at just the thought of the man who’s completely changed her life around. For the better. “He’s—he’s everything to me.”

And even that is putting it lightly, fails to fully encapsulate just what Roman means to her. What he is to her.

Fetu’s grin shifts into something appreciative. “You know….I always prayed he would find someone before I closed my eyes. Someone he could love and who would love him back the way he deserves. The way anyone deserves.” Solana’s stomach coils a bit, a strange foreboding sense coming over her. “You’ve given this old woman a tremendous amount of peace, and for that, Solana, I cannot thank you enough.”

It’s been relatively easy to pick up on how close Roman is to his aunt, largely due to his own vulnerable worlds. She’s the closest thing he has left of a mother, and the thought of her no longer being here….

No.

Roman can’t lose anyone else.

Especially Fetu.

“Solana.” Pulled from her thoughts, Solana looks down to see that Fetu has moved their hands so that Solana’s palm is outstretched. “I need you to do something for me, but I need it to stay between us for now.”

And just like that, goosebumps sprout all across her arms. “You—you don’t want me to tell Roman?”

Fetu shakes her head, Solana looking down when she places a white, sealed envelope in her hand. “I need you to give this to him when the time is right.”

Questions. Solana is full of them. What is contained within this envelope, and why is Fetu giving it to her and not Roman? And why can’t he know? Just so many questions, but for some reason, Solana can only settle on one to ask.

“How—how will I know when the time is right?”

There’s despondency in the older woman’s eyes that contrasts her smile. “You will.”

Something about this rubs Solana the wrong way, and not in a bad manner, per se. Just something very heavy. Very sad. “Fetu, what—”

“Enough of all this sentimental shit.” Fetu clears her throat and wipes at her eyes, changing subjects as she goes on about something Solana can only partially pay attention to. There’s a bit of envy there. Envy at how she can carry on like nothing just happened.

If only Solana could do the same.

________

The conversation with Fetu is something that weighs heavy on her chest, something she wants to inquire more about from her husband’s aunt but knows won’t give her the answers she’s looking for. It’s why the younger woman is grateful for a brief respite, one that she hopes will serve as a much needed distraction.

Solana settles herself onto the chair outside, looking over her shoulder to make sure the door is closed.

She props the phone up against the back of the chair and adjusts her top just as the screen fills with smiling faces.

“Solana!” She smiles at Mickie’s excited greeting. “Oh my god, I told them he didn’t kidnap you!”

Solana giggles and shakes her head, frowning a bit as she explains, “no, I’m—I’m sorry. We….we had to leave suddenly.” That’s a nice way to put it. To refer to the way that Roman escorted and signed her out of the facility without her having a chance to explain to her newfound friends what was going on.

And unlike herself, Mickie, Cam, and Melina don’t have mafia head husbands who are allowed to break and stretch the rules for her the way Roman does. So they don’t have their phones at all times with unlimited and unmonitored usage.

It’s why Solana has made the active effort to break away and call them during the slot of time she knows they’re allowed phone time.

Melina moves into the frame of the phone camera asking, “are you okay?”

An easy answer. “I am now.” Because had they asked just slightly over twenty-four hours ago, her answer would have been very different. “Just needed to handle something, but I’ll be back sometime tomorrow afternoon.” Roman shared they would have to get on the road tomorrow morning, something she could tell he wasn’t happy about. He clearly enjoys being here. Enjoys the freedom here. It’s a palpable thing, and she loves it. She loves seeing how at peace he seems in this safe space.

“Good,” Melina nods, clearly pleased by this. She smirks, “we miss you.”

Cam scoots closer so she can share, “it’s boring without our residential artsy bae.”

Mickie gasps, snatching the phone, sharing with an excited tone, “And Paxley had a total breakdown, ripped the head off her dolls and everything. Apparently her girlfriend broke up with her.” It’s clear she’s trying to hold back an amused smile. “It was actually kind of funny.”

Cam sucks her teeth and shoves the woman next to her. “Mickie, please.” She directs her focus back to Solana, adding, “Dr. S had to have her sedated and everything.”

Solan frowns. She knows what that’s like and wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Melina snatches the phone away, expression shifting into something almost concerned. “You’re gonna finish out the program, right?”

“I am.” It’s something Solana has actually thought about since Roman’s confession. She hates that he’s been struggling, but what she hates even more is that she hasn’t and won’t be home to help him in the way that he deserves. Maybe even needs. But, she also knows that she’s not exactly where she would like to be yet. Getting there. But not yet.

And she wants to be at her best when she comes home. Roman deserves that much. But, so does she.

So, as much as a part of her would like to come home now, she knows that what is best is ultimately her finishing out her treatment.

Melina looks relieved, offering a small smile. “Good.”

Solana picks up on it, the unspoken thing hidden behind her question. “What is it?”

And the frown is back, Melina sharing in a solemn tone, “there…..there are whispers that the facility is shutting down at the end of the year. Something about lack of funding.”

‘What?” Solana didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t that. “But—but it….what about….what about people who need help?”

Cam scoffs, almost bitterly. “Three steps forward. Eight steps back.” Solana feels for her the most. She knows this is the second time Cameron has entered residential treatment at the very facility where the four women seem to be finding so much healing.

Mickie shrugs. “There are other treatment places…..none that are reasonably close and for women only.” Solana winces at that, at the almost bitterness that laces her tone at the end of the sentence. Being in a place to heal surrounded by women only truly makes the biggest difference when tackling sexual trauma.

Trauma caused by men.

“I heard Dr. Stratus is seeing if she can get another grant or investor, but….” Cam shakes her head. “I don’t think we should hold our breath.”

Melina rolls her eyes. “Especially with how much money she probably needs to keep this place running. Has to be in the millions.” She smirks, sarcastically remarking, “and you know investors are just dying to put all their sweet money into a bunch of unstable bitches.”

Solana’s frown deepens. She wasn’t expecting to hear this news. Definitely didn’t expect it to have her heart feel so heavy at this update. It almost seems silly, like she shouldn’t be so sad about a place closing that she only ever heard about a month ago, that she plans to never once again visit and be entered into.

It was a one time program that’s clearly serving its purpose.

And maybe that’s the thing that makes her sad. To know how helpful its been for her, a type of healing occurring she never thought possible. Healing that she knows so many more people need and will need. So many women.

Melina manages a grin that doesn’t meet her eyes. “Well, we started this together, at least we’ll get to finish it together.” And Solana gets it, understands why Melina wanted to see if she’s coming back. Because if this is the last time they’re all in the same setting, as strange a setting as it is, she wants it to be something they can do together.

“And we can still connect once we’re out of the hammer,” Mickie suggests with the biggest, brightest smile, “assuming we don’t get locked up again.”

Solana can’t help but to laugh. Mickie is a hoot, but she never fails to put a smile on her face.

They all do.

And in some strange connection that she doesn’t quite understand, the smile and sisterhood of it all, it brings about a thought, spurs an idea that she otherwise would never consider. It’s a massive ask, much beyond a favor, the biggest and grandest thing she could ever ask for.

And yet she’s going to do it.

Going to ask it.

Going to ask him.

________

“Get the hell away from me!”

It’s the first thing Solana hears when her eyes snap open. The second thing she notices is the absence of a set of strong arms around her or the equally strong chest she was laying her head on when she fell asleep. Confused, Solana rubs at her eyes and tenses at the next sound to make its way to her hearing.

“Go away!”

It’s this second time around that Solana realizes she recognizes the voice, and it has her hopping out of bed and heading for the door.

“Uso o le tinā, please, it’s me, Ava and Roman—” Solan’s concern grows to match her confusion as she follows the source of the voices, having a good idea of what's happening without even needing to see it. “Just let us—”

“I don’t know who you are! Help!”

Solana finds the three of them in the living room, the sight similar to what she had already guesstimated. Ava and Roman are on opposite sides, both wearing pained, concerned expressions, focused on Fetu who’s in the middle of the room, in her robe, crying, a knife in her hand, arm stretched out toward them. However, Solana focuses on the red liquid pooling on the handle of the knife. Fetu is cut, most likely a self-caused injury when she went for the knife.

Solana’s stomach drops. She’s clearly in the midst of an episode, unaware of who she is, who they are. And it breaks her heart. The amount of pure fear and terror in her face toward the two people who would no doubt lay down their lives for her.

Solana takes a step forward, and Fetu’s frantic eyes land on her, shifting into something almost relieved. “Please—you can help me!”

Roman is the first to pull his attention away from Fetu, focusing on Solana who can so clearly see the distress in his eyes. How difficult this situation has to be, to see her like this and not be able to do anything.

He reaches his arm, clearly trying to keep her back. “Sol, go back—”

“No!” Fetu cries out, bringing both husband and wife’s gaze onto her. Solana swallows as Fetu begins to cry again, shaking finger pointing back and forth between Roman and Ava. “They—they want to take me!” Her crying intensifies, Solana slowly starting to make her way toward the older woman, ignoring Roman’s subtle attempt to keep her away. “Please—please don’t let them hurt me.”

Fetu’s pleading breaks Solana’s heart and would bring tears to her own eyes if not for the fact that she’s focused solely on the scene before her. “I—I’ll help you, okay?” Solana doesn’t take her eyes off Fetu, mindful of any sudden action she could take, movement that could potentially and unintentionally injure her. “I’m—I’m Solana.” She introduces, offering a warm smile when she’s closer, very much aware of Roman and Ava whose eyes are burning into her back. “Can you—can you tell me your name?”

Fetu seems to try to think for a moment, her face painted in terror, only to shake her head. “I—I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” Solana immediately reassures, tensing a bit when she feels movement behind her, Ava and Roman trying again to approach, which only prompts her to hurriedly wave her arm to shoo them back. To tell them to leave without actually telling them to leave. “Well, I’m gonna help you, okay?”

She understands they just want to help, but their attempts to help will only exacerbate the situation. Fetu doesn’t recognize them, sees them as threats. But for herself, that is not the case. Thus, Solana needs them away to deescalate the situation.

Solana is relieved when she’s finally able to stand directly in front of Fetu, gently reaching to move some hair out of her face. “It’s okay. You can trust me. I won’t hurt you.” The words seem to be registering, Solana gesturing to Fetu’s cut hand. “Looks like you hurt yourself.” She smiles warmly, gently, and patiently. “How about I clean that up for you and then maybe we can have some tea? Hmm?”

Standing in front of Fetu, obscuring her vision of the niece and nephew her disease has her convinced are strangers, Solana briefly turns around, catching both of their gazes. “Go.” She mouths it, eyes pleading in a way her voice cannot. “I’ve got her.”

Both look torn, Roman especially, but when Fetu drops the knife and reaches for Solana’s arm, clutching tightly, both indifferent to the blood that’s now stained on Solana’s skin, it seems to send a message that she is very much in good hands.

Solana gives the cousins a nod and refocuses her attention on the elder woman. “It’s okay,” she comforts, offering a warm smile as she moves her arm around her, pleased to see that the other two have left.

It’s for the best.

Solana is able to escort her into the kitchen and pacify her enough to get her seated at the kitchen table while she pulls out the medical kit under the kitchen sink.

“Jealous.” Solana turns around, necessarily supplies in hand as she faces Fetu. “I—I told Nakoa we couldn’t trust him.” The next fit of crying returns as she shakes her head, injured hand formed into a fist that she hits on her thigh repeatedly. “I told him!”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Solana drops to her knees in front of Fetu, placing the supplies on the floor as she reaches for her hand, trying to stop her from further injuring herself. “It’s okay. I know—I know you did.”

Solana, in fact does not know, has no idea who this Nakoa person is nor the other unnamed man. Nor does she necessarily care very much right now to know. She just knows that her number one priority is keeping Roman’s aunt as calm and stable in this position as possible.

“He was…..he was jealous. Always jealous.”

“I know.” Solana nods, determined to not invalidate her, even if she’s making no sense. “Is it okay if I wrap up your hand?”

Fetu seems to take a second to think about it, eventually nodding. “Y–yes.”

Pleased at this acquiescence, Solana finds herself humming and singing softly as she works to clean, disinfect, and tend to Fetu’s wound. Fetu, who, in a much calmer voice comments, “you—you have a pretty voice.”

Solana’s smile is warm. “Thank you.” She’s happy it worked, worked to settle some of Fetu’s fear and anxiety. “My mother used to sing me to sleep.”

“Your…..mother……” Her voice is distant, as if she’s trying to put the pieces together. “I—I was never a…..mother.” She swallows, opening and closing her mouth a couple times before she speaks again. “Are you—are you a mother?”

A question she’s been asked twice now. Each time bringing up a sense of sadness. “N—n–not yet.”

Fetu makes a sound, head tilting a bit as Solana clears her throat of the emotion that’s suddenly built up. “You will be.” The younger woman stills, lifting her eyes to meet those of Fetu’s that suddenly seem so knowing and insightful. “Nakoa….he…..he will be a good dad.”

Again, Solana is confused and suddenly a bit more curious about who this person is. And what connection he has, or Fetu thinks, he has to her. Regardless, she just continues to work seamlessly transitioning into her next task, fixing the older woman a warm cup of tea.

Solana sits silently in the chair next to Fetu, stifling a yawn as she catches a glance at the time on the microwave. 4:45am.

Her mind gravitates to Roman and Ava. Ava more than Roman. How often does she have to deal with these sorts of episodes? Roman as well, but with Ava living here with Fetu, surely, she has to face them more.

It makes her heart heavy.

And it stays that way even as Fetu finishes her tea and asks to go “lay down.” Solana holds her arm, carefully helping her up the stairs and into her bedroom. She’s pleased when Fetu asks her to braid her hair for her, Solana feeling a sense of nostalgia, reminiscing on times when she was younger and her mother would braid her hair before bed.

Some of her fondest memories with her mom.

Solana is helping Fetu get settled in bed when the older woman asks in an almost childlike voice. “Will you—will you stay with me until…..until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.” Gently caressing her forehead, she gives a comforting smile and moves to grab the chair against the closest wall. Dragging it to the side of the bed, Solana has barely sat down when Fetu reaches for Solana’s arm, her mouth shifting back and forth from a smile and frown as she clearly struggles to verbalize whatever she wants to say. “Promise me…..promise me you’ll look out for him.” Solana herself is frowning, confused by just what she’s asking. “Promise me you’ll stay with Nakoa.”

That name again. It confuses her just as much as it did the last time it was used.

Fetu continues, shaking her head. “I can’t—I can’t walk out the door without—without knowing he’ll be okay.” There’s something about her statement and the one that follows that makes it click for Solana. That helps her to realize who Nakoa really is. “I—I left him all alone o–once. I—I can’t do it again.”

Roman

Fetu is talking about Roman and something else that Solana can’t even bring herself to verbalize, the thought itself devastating enough.

“I’m not going to leave him,” Solana vows, taking Fetu’s hand in hers, conjoining them. “And neither are you.” Tears fill her eyes as she reiterates, “he needs both of us.” Because he does. Solana knows and believes that with everything in her. The humanity and kindness Roman still holds is solely because of the woman before her. Solana has just so happened to build upon it. “And besides….you’ve gotta be here when we finally have a child. You’re…..you’re the closest thing he or she will have to a grandmother.”

Because it’s true. Because Solana wants her and Roman’s child to have the loving, supportive family that both of them were deprived of, and for more than just a short period of their life. It’s another vow on her part.

To do better.

To be better.

“A child…..” Fetu trails off, loosening her grip on Solana’s arm, settling hers at the side of her body. “Yes….soon….soon.”

Solana can’t take her gaze away from Fetu, studying her face from the moment her eyes flutter shut to when the steady rise and fall of her chest indicates a much deserved peaceful sleep. Solana is absolutely prepared to stay in that chair the entire night, by Fetu’s side, no protest whatsoever.

But, it’s not even forty five minutes into Fetu’s slumber that the bedroom door is slowly opened, Ava clearly checking that her aunt is sleep before she walks in and kneels at Solana’s side. “You can go. I’ll—I’ll stay with her.”

Solana looks at the woman, the red, puffy eyes that she knows all too well. She shakes her head, placing a hand on her shoulder. “No. You….you get some sleep. I don’t mind.”

Ava makes a sound, her nose turning up ever so slightly. She’s staring at Fetu. “It’s so—it’s hard seeing her like this, ya know? I—I just want to help, but I can’t—” Solana shakes her head, as Ava closes her eyes, clearly trying to hold back tears. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Again, Solana knows grief and heartache better than anyone. “She loves you. And in her heart, she knows who you are….she always will.”

Ava is visibly moved by the kind words, nodding and wiping at her eyes. “Thank you, Solana.” She sniffles, laughing with a small scoff. “You’re way too good for him.” Solana smiles. Not a chance. “Please….I’d prefer to sit with her, if….if that’s okay?”

Solana has no room or place to deny Ava anything, especially this. She just didn’t want her to feel like she had to. But hearing her reason, she’s more than happy to get up. “Of course.”

Solana is by the door when she stops and calls out Ava’s name, waiting for the woman to look at her as she asks, “who—who was Nakoa?”

Ava’s shoulders drop, the change in her disposition evident as she answers in a sad tone. “That was my uncle......Roman’s dad.”

Solana’s eyes shut, her mind gravitating back to the picture she saw just earlier today. Of course. Nodding, she reminds, “if you need anything—”

“I know.”

A final shared smile among the women, and Solana quietly closes the door. Making her way back to Roman’s bedroom, she half expects to find him up, pacing, wearing a hole into the floor. She instead is met with the complete opposite: room dark and Roman’s big body sprawled across the bed. He’s on his back, laying on top of the blankets. It’s obvious he fell asleep while doing that waiting she correctly called before even entering the room.

Shutting the door, Solana moves over to the bed, careful movements helping her position her body so she’s tucked next to him. Her arm over his stomach, and her head on his chest.

Despite her carefulness, it’s not even a full two minutes before he’s stirred awake.

“Shhh. It’s just me.” She whispers, kissing his bearded jaw. Even in the darkness of the room, she can still slightly make out his features as he looks down at her.

“Fuck.” His voice is deep with the slumber he so desperately needs so much more of. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“Good. You need that.” He’s been nonstop the past couple days, not to mention the fact that they have to be up in a couple hours to get back on the road. Solana makes a quick mental note to see if he’ll let her drive back. Even if just for a portion. “Go back to sle—”

“Fetu—”

Solana feels his body tense underneath her, prompting her to soothingly move her hand across his abdomen. “She’s okay now. Sleep. Ava is sitting with her.”

He says nothing, but she watches the way he lets his head fall back against the mattress. “I’m—I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t—”

“I’m not.” Because she’s not. And truth be told, what occurred tonight rests devastatingly low on the list of worst things she’s ever experienced. “I’m glad I could help her. Help you guys.”

Roman hesitates before asking in a thick voice. “How did you….”

“My mom worked at a nursing home when she was in medical school. She used to tell me about her patients with Alzheimer's. How she had to help them. She used to write about it in her journals too.” Not to mention random information Solana has read and learned over the years in her vast pursuit of acquiring medical knowledge after being denied the chance to go to college and pursue her nursing dreams. “She just….she needed to feel safe. I know what that’s like.”

Again, Roman is silent for a couple minutes, Solana eventually feeling him tug her closer, her eyes shutting when he kisses her forehead.

“Thank you.” There’s so much held behind those two words, an immense amount of appreciation and love that’s felt on such a palpable level. “I love you.”

She could never tire of hearing him say that. Ever. “I love you, too.”

Today was a lot, in so many different ways, Solana feeling perplexed by the many happenings. The letter from Fetu. Fetu’s maybe incoherent, or not so incoherent, warning about someone being jealous. Her almost ominous way of speaking about herself, about her future.

It was just…..a lot.

And Solana knows there’s so much to digest and try to make sense of. Just not tonight.

Tonight she just wants to fall asleep in the arms of her husband.

Tomorrow, and whatever it entails, can come later.

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