#stares directly at prev

[madwomansapologist]

──────〃✰ KINKTOBER DAY 1: 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏 𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑

title: poker face synopsis: luckily, mr. zero didn't knew you were a mugiwara. luckily, mr. zero fell for your bluffs. unfortunately, you never imagined it would be that hard to not fall for crocodile's charm. [3.1K] cw: mugiwara!fem!reader, strip poker, strip tease, public sex, cock crush, nipple stimulation, size difference, fingering (f!receiving), riding, biting, scratching, finger sucking, p in v, creampie, possessive behavior, mob boss meets a baddie, pussy so good he wonders about marriage.

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With a thick cigar between his teeth, Crocodile forced himself to smile. “Five of a kind”, he dropped his cards on the table. “Seems like the house won. Again.”

Crocodile’s presence in Rain Dinners works to reinforce his reputation as a hero in this wretched island. Unfortunately, it also means Crocodile is tormented by the most boring clientele.

To watch someone gambling everything they own out of delusional hope and losing it all because of sheer mischance is only interesting the first few hundreds of times. Now, all Crocodile feels is disdain.

He curses those vermin that stole the joy of victory.

Murmuring complaints, two bettors left the table. The croupier stretched his arm, reaching for the cards left far away from him. As the cards were shuffled, Crocodile took in the chance to observe the tables nearby. Searching for chaos to be dealt with, such a common occurrence in a casino, an unusual sight stole his attention.

A long, thick, light pelted fur coat. Crocodile inhaled the smoke, holding it in. Admiring you with that coat over your shoulders, no one would’ve imagined this is the middle of a desert. And still, you didn’t break a sweat.

One of the bettors decided it was the right moment to thank Crocodile for his protection over Alabasta. He did his best to sound modest, heroic. To embody the last hope of this dying island. The moment a white blur entered his peripheral vision, Crocodile simply ignored the man’s existence.

With a hand over the chair’s top rail, you stared directly at the croupier. “May I?”, you asked, voice sultry as the desert.

Crocodile took the cigar out of his mouth, releasing the smoke in the direction opposite from you. “Made just in time”, he moved his hand towards the croupier ready to start. “Do you know how to play, hon’?”

You took a sip from your glass, not bothering to answer him. Placing your coat over the chair’s rail, you reached inside its pocket and took the poker chip’s box. You left it open on the table, emerald dress moving on your body as you sat down and crossed your legs.

The box was filled to the brim.

Your lack of interest on him ignited something within Crocodile. Curiosity. Something far more interesting than gambling against weak bluffs. “New to poker?”, Crocodile smiled devilish. The sort of smile that make pretty women like you forget about decency.

If only you had looked at him.

“New to this island”, you answered, sounding as bored as Crocodile was before you got there. The way you danced around his question was enough for him to know you didn’t want the others to think of you as an easy target. Usually, Crocodile would simply profit on it. This time, with you staring straight into his eyes, he couldn’t care less about this game. “Is it worth?”

“It will be.”

A promise Crocodile intended to fulfill.

Feeling his gaze burning your skull, to not smile was never so difficult. If you were weaker, you would’ve laugh until your cheeks fell apart from your face. How funny. How alluring. Ah, Luffy really told you the truth.

Your life will be funnier around me, Luffy gave you the brightest smile you ever saw. Stroking your cheek, he cleaned the trace of tears. I will never let you get bored.

A Shichibukai stands before you, unable to see you as part of the threat he is so interest in dealing with. The man that sent thousands of bounty hunters after your crew, that forced Vivi to witness as unnecessary violence tore her nation in pieces, doesn’t even know that you’re part of the group he wants to exterminate.

Good. That means the plan of distracting Crocodile has a chance of working.

Each bettor made an initial contribution for the deal to start. At every round, you raised the amount of chips. It didn’t matter if others were dropping out of the deal or if Crocodile doubled the bet with no hesitance. You simply continued to bet more.

That was alluring. It told more about you than your pretty lips could. You’re not here to make money. You’re not here to waste it. You’re here for amusement. And that Crocodile can give you any time.

“Showdown”, the croupier called. “Please, bettors, show your hands.”

The woman sitting beside you sighed, showing two pairs. Two bettors had dropped out, choosing to wait until the next deal. You placed your cards on the table. 4, 3, K, 10, 10. One pair. “Does that mean anything?”

The first man to drop out chuckled. “Only that you lost.”

Lost in the way your smile spread across your face, the croupier had to remind Crocodile it was his time to show the cards. “Three of a kind”, he murmured. This time, he put no effort into acting as if he cared that he won. Crocodile just wanted to learn more about you. “Do you know the rules?”

“Does it really matter?”, your bright smile was enough to enlighten the whole place. As the croupier changed the card sets, you gave him your solely attention. “The best liar wins at the end.”

“No surprise you haven’t won yet”, Crocodile smirked. He spread his legs, cigar between his fingers. His golden hook glistened, reminding you of the threat he represented simply by breathing. “It’s so easy to see right through you.”

But not to see how I stole all those chips from you, was what you thought. “Seems like a failure of mine”, was what you said out loud.

With a movement of his hand, a waiter approached. Crocodile whispered into his ear; eyes still fixated on you. Intoxicated on his presence, you forgot to look away. What a tempting man. From then on, your glass never remained empty.

Deal after deal, you continued to lose just as Crocodile continued to win. Deal after deal, you continued to answer just as Crocodile continued to ask.

Until there were only you two left at the casino. You let go of your glass and closed the poker chip’s box, raising from the chair. “Should have expected a pirate to be a good gambler.” You took your coat, walking away from the table. “Have a good night, Crocodile.”

“One last deal?” Crocodile was quick to offer. Desperately, you would add. “And then we call it.”

You raised the empty box. “I have nothing left to bet.”

And at that, Crocodile saw his last chance of amusing you. “Then let’s bet everything we have.”

Sat down again, chin supported by your palm, you frowned. The wine had started to affect you both. “And by that you mean…”

“Everything”, Crocodile spread his legs, resting his hook on his thick thigh. You told yourself he was begging for you to stare, but you weren’t that sure of it. “Every chip on this table. Everything on our bodies.”

As he closed his mouth, a part of Crocodile feared his proposition would offend you. It doesn’t happen often, but there is a chance he misread your signals.

“I’ve been eyeing your rings since I sat here”, you wondered out loud. “Just as you been eyeing my dress.”

But to be so straight to the point… Crocodile wasn’t quite expecting that. It was what he wanted, but to see how you two were connected made harder for him to breath.

Then you sighed.

“As tempting as it is,” and you were standing again. Crocodile hated to see that. He would hate even more to see you leaving. “It is also getting late. Like I said, I’m new to this island.”

“You have nothing to fear”, Crocodile bargained. “Not when I’m around.”

“But you won’t be around on my way back to the hotel.”

“Then stay here”, he offered. You arched an eyebrow. “I don’t intent on letting you walk away that easily. I’m a pirate. I’m used to taking what I want for myself.”

For an eternity, you both stared into each other’s eyes. A silent negotiation. His final offering, your final chance of doing the right thing and walking away from danger. You could see his very soul. How it burned just beneath the surface. Crocodile felt the same heat coming from you.

The croupier forced a cough, remind you of his presence. It took much of his strength for Crocodile to not kill him right then and there.

“Shuffle the cards and leave”, you ordered.

He obeyed. Quickly. You both took a look at your cards sets. A smile died within you. A smirk grew on Crocodile’s face. The moment the croupier closed the exit door, Crocodile showed his hand.

Crocodile looked even bigger than he already was, filled with the confidence of a winner. “Four of a kind.”

Dropping your hand on the table, you were the winner he believed to be. “Royal flush”, you smiled. “Pretty sure that’s the highest since we’re not using any wild cards.”

Shock was a good look on Crocodile. After analyzing your cards, his gaze returned to you. “You said you didn’t know how to play.”

“Oh”, you drank the last sip from your glass. “Did I?”

And at your answer, all he could do was laugh. Crocodile ran his hand through his black hair. “You hustle me”, he whispered. Crocodile wasn’t able to get rid of this genuine smile.

Your laugh was real too. It made Crocodile breath in your scent, get drunk on the sweet sound coming from you. Not a bluff, not an act. It was real, and it only made you more beautiful. “And now you have a debt to pay.”

His face darkened, reminding you of who he is. You hustled Crocodile. You hustled Crocodile. You never thought of yourself as a stupid woman, but here you are. For fucks sake. Luffy really is rubbing on you.

Crocodile bended over the table, his broad shoulders creating a shadow over you. His hand grabbed your chair’s arm, his hook moving your chin upwards. A strand of hair fell in front of his orange eyes, and looking into them you felt like a powerless prey about to be ravished.

Face lurking inches above yours, Crocodile smiled devilish. A smile that made you forget about decency, focusing only on the promise of more of him. More of the man that wants to kill you. “Enjoy the show”, Crocodile whispered.

His blue scarf was the first to be throw away, and neither of you cared about where it would land. His long fingers worked on the buttons of the rumpled black-striped vest, so slowly you almost took it off of Crocodile by yourself.

The peach shirt beneath showed a portion of his wide chest and instead of finally getting rid of it, Crocodile held the leather belt around his waist.

He had so much fun teasing you, admiring how you couldn’t look away. A man as handsome must feel entitled to the silent praise. He really thought he was the one in charge, didn’t he? And for long enough, Crocodile was.

You’re a lot of things, but you’re not patient.

Leaning against the chair, you raised your leg. The silver heel brushed against his pants, from down on his ankle until the insides of his thigh. And when your painted nails shined right in front of his crotch, you forced your feet against it.

“Stop playing around.” Cocking your head, eyes explored his still covered up body. “Don’t make me wait.”

Crocodile grabbed your ankles, calloused hand stroking softly your skin. It wasn’t a rough touch, but not less possessive because of it. You put more pressure, making him groan. “You are insane.”

“And why is that?”

“Anyone else would fear me”, Crocodile’s voice reminded you of velvet and sharp knives. It lingered on your ears. “And here you are. Demanding more.”

You sighed, fingers brushing against your lips. That voice… it was your last straw. Fighting his hold, you put your foot down on the ground. You grabbed his shirt, pushing him back until Crocodile sat down on his chair again.

He opened his mouth as you sat down on his lap, but you gave him no time to do anything. “You talk too much.”

Holding the chair’s top rail as leverage, you dive into him. Tooth biting his lower lip, tongue forcing a passage into his warm mouth. Your free hand found a spot on his large neck, bringing Crocodile closer to you. Instead of waiting, you took what you wanted for yourself.

Just like a pirate would.

She isn’t fragile, Crocodile thought. She won’t break.

Sinking into you, Crocodile forgot about self-control. He simply ravished you, just like you demanded of him. A wild animal and nothing more. Exploring your mouth as if it was his to control, hand grabbing your soft skin without a care about finesse or decorum. Crocodile pressed his hook against your chest, enjoying how it didn’t stop you from moving as you wanted to.

You got him out of that stupidly tight shirt, hands scratching his chest as your hips moved on top of his crotch. He forced you down, putting your whole weight upon himself, and ripped your emerald dress into pieces with his hook.

“You’ll pay for this one.”

It was a complain, but your fingers working to unbutton his pants made clear you couldn’t care less. His kisses travelled to your neck, tongue leaving a trail of drool on your shoulder, mouth closing against your nipples. Your fingers intertwined with his hair, encouraging Crocodile to continue.

“I will get you anything you want”, he said, voice muffled. He couldn’t get away from your body to speak. “You burn hotter than the fuckin desert.”

No shame, no hesitation. Freed from his pants, you licked your palm before grabbing his cock. You pumped him with zero delicacy, thumb pressing against the dark, sensitive head. Just like everything in Crocodile, it was big enough to make you wonder.

As if he could read you mind, Crocodile slid his hand into your panties. Long fingers explored your lips, precise with every movement. Thumb pressing against your clit, two fingers against your wet slit. His hook brushed against your thigh, arm locking around you to press you down on his fingers.

Your loud moan embarrassed your very soul, but all Crocodile did was laugh. His teeth closed around your neck, biting hard enough to make you whimper. That’ll mark you for sure. “Ride me, hon’.”

With your nails deep into his back, you stretched yourself on Crocodile’s fingers. You bit his earlobe, brushing your face against his as you speed up your movements. In your hand, his cock throbbed. Crocodile was leaking, burning in the same way you do.

“Take what you want”, you whispered against his ear. “Fuck me already.”

It happened so quickly, you barely understood how he moved. A second before you were on his lap, two fingers deep into your hungry cunt, lips around his ear. Then you were sat on the table, poker chips falling on the floor, Crocodile standing between your legs.

A fucking monster.

Crocodile took his drenched fingers from you, and wasted no time before sucking them clean. He grabbed your thighs, exposing yourself from him. “She’s delicious”, Crocodile stared at your pussy. His fingers pulled your lips apart. “Will get me addicted to her.”

Using your legs, you got him even closer to you. Crocodile grabbed your hair, pulling you into a messy kiss. Fighting against your tongue, he fit the head of his cock into you. You moaned into his mouth.

Moving your heels against his thighs, you forced him inside of you. A stupid decision. Your head collapsed against his shoulder, the entirety of his length touching all the right places. So good, so right, so… much.

Crocodile wasn’t in that much of a better situation. Eyes closes tightly, lips hanging open as a deep cry escaped. So wet, so warm. Moving slowly, Crocodile chortled. He had no control over his mind anymore.

“Don’t you dare stopping”, you manage to say. “Just… fu-fuck, just like that.”

Deep thrusts as his fingers worked on your clit: Crocodile wouldn’t dream of doing anything other than you wanted. He could feel your drool gathering on his shoulder. How your fingers were deep into his forearms, or how the hold of your legs around his waist weakened.

All Crocodile wanted was to make you as addicted to him as he already was to you. To get you to scream his name, begging for more and more. He wanted you to take from him. To get what you wanted. And Crocodile wanted everything you could give him.

Feeling waves of pleasure washing over you, mind empty as a white canvas, you tilted your head back. Eyes half-open, you admired him. His raw lips, face covered in sweat. Marks of lipstick all over his chest, just as deep nail marks and surface scratched. You looked down, watching as he entered you.

“You are worth way more than eighty million.”

Crocodiled bended, tongue playing with your aching nipple. “After my head, hon’?”, he sucked on them. You stroked his hair, enjoying how primal Crocodile looked.

“Do I look insane?”, you moaned.

Crocodile looked into your eyes, face near yours. You placed your arms around his shoulders, but he held you in place. Crocodile simply looked at you. As if there was something new, something he never saw before.

“You do”, Crocodile whispered. It felt so intimate. For a moment, you weren’t being fucked in an empty casino. For a moment, you two were sharing a secret. “You’re perfect.”

You melted against him. Lost on your orgasm, you unlearned how to breath. The fact you couldn’t think didn’t stop Crocodile from kissing you. As you closed around him, Crocodile reached his limit. Tooth deep into your throat, he marked you again.

Tears formed behind your eyes, throat aching as you finally breathed again. You laid your head on his chest, feeling it rising with his unregulated breathes. A firm hand held your waist, his nose stopped in the union of your shoulder and neck. His biting hurt so good, just like your scratches on his skin.

When Crocodile opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was his hand holding onto the table. He looked at the fours rings you said caught your attention. And he saw how there was only one finger lacking a ring.

Insane, Crocodile thought. She’s making me insane.

As his hips moved away, a cry left your throat as he emptied your pussy, your legs finally stopped working. Crocodile took his cigar from the ashtray, smoking it for a few seconds. When he released the smoke, you grabbed his chin and made him face you. Inhaling it, you closed your eyes.

Not a second after you let it go, his hand and hook slid beneath your thighs. Effortlessly, Crocodile took you from the table. Your shaken legs closed around his waist as he carried you. “What you doing?”

Crocodile finally looked into your eyes again. He smiled, and it was genuinely. “Taking what I want for myself.”

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[slushycoookie]

Kinktober Day 31 ~ Costume

Logan Howlett x Fem! Reader

Summary: Logan really likes your costume.

A/N: We started Kinktober with Logan and we're ending it with him. Happy Halloween and I hope you all enjoy!

Prev *✧･ﾟ:

Kinktober '24 Masterlist

“What…is that?”

You look down at yourself, a little confused. “What? It's my costume.”

Logan focused on the tight, black leather suit you were wearing. The collar popping out along your neck. A zipper in the front of your cleavage. With yellow accents along it that really reminding him of his early X-Men days. “Wade told me you wore something like this when you first started. And I wanted to match with you…”

He motioned to his yellow and blue suit, “Sweetheart, I didn't even try.”

“Yeah, I know.” You shook your head. Logan would feel some type of way at your disdain, but he’s too focused on your suit. How it filled out your body very well.

“Just ignore pumpkin.” Wade commented, admiring you while dressed in his suit. Paired with a pink tutu and a tiara. “I think you look fantastic. Perhaps identical to our grumpy fella.”

“Aww, thanks.”

Logan grumbled, “Let’s just go.”

All of you were going to a Halloween costume party at a bar. Everyone dressed in various costume, drinking drinks that were half priced. Logan’s kind of scene, besides the goofy costumes. You were obviously excited, mingling with everyone at the party. Everyone complimenting on your costume. You pulling out your fake blades and impersonating your best Wolverine stance.

If it was anyone else, he’d think it was fucking corny. But this was you, his lover.

Who looked so damn good in that suit. Your curves highlighted for him to see. Well, not just him. Logan noticed others in the bar checking you out, eyes going up and down at your figure. Now, going to this party was a mistake. As always, you wanted him to behave, not start any fights that involved you taking cover somewhere. Good thing he had a handle on his strength. Otherwise the beer bottle in his hand would’ve shattered.

“I think this costume is too tight…” You sighed, snuggling beside him. “I can barely pull the zipper up past my chest.”

Logan felt the bottle crack. “Really? You’re usually good about your sizes.”

“I am. I told Wade what size to get when he said he was going to order it for me.”

“…you let Wade order your suit?”

“Yeah? He offered. He said he was getting Vanessa’s fairy costume at the same place-oh my god.” Suddenly, you got shy, your face buried in his neck. Logan’s arm around your waist got tighter as he comforted you. “No wonder some people were staring at me.”

He scowled at said patrons who immediately pretended to go back to conversing. “It’s okay, sugar. This is just a reminder to watch that asshole when you ask him things.”

You shrugged and Logan grimaced. He wasn’t a fan of you getting like this, having a sense that everyone was watching you.

“Hey,” He made you look up at him, “did I tell you how fucking sexy you look in that costume?”

You clicked your teeth, “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, you do. I wanted to rip that off of you and say fuck this party.” Logan admired your outfit once more, squeezing your side. “Actually, I still do.”

You lean forward, your eyes lowered as you scan his body. “Is that so?”

“You know it.”

“The party will keep going for a few more hours…” Your hands trail from his forearm, up to his bicep. “And Wade drove…”

Logan growled, pulled you close. “Just say where.”

You two did your best to disappear from the party, going to the backseat of the rental car. Your lips immediately on Logan’s before he could close the door. The kiss hot, heavy as you two tried to pull off each other’s costumes. Or at least enough to get to the important parts.

When you zip down your suit, the zipper stopping at your stomach, Logan went directly to your breasts held up by your bra. He had enough for him to mouth at your chest. Him kissing along the cups of your black bra while you grinded against his crotch. The tent in his suit prominent.

You clutched the ends of his mask while he gripped your thighs, squeezing them to increase the pace of your hips. His own matching the rhythm of yours. Your breaths mixing as your tongues collided once more, tasting hints of the drinks you two had. Logan didn’t give a damn if the car was shaking from your movements.

“Fuck me…” He felt cum leaking from his tip, “You gonna make me cum if you…”

Your mouth pressed along his once more, clearly not caring. Not when his covered cock was rubbing along your suit, managing to hit your clothed clit. Logan groans in your mouth as he can smell you, the grip on your thighs getting strong.

“Keep going…just like that…” You’re practically bouncing on him, starting to get incoherent. You don’t even care when he pulls down your bra cups, latching on to your nipple, pinching the other. He smirked when you cry out. The motion of your hips get sloppy, grinding along his cock to keep hitting that spot.

Logan knows your pussy was soaking your pretty panties. He didn’t get a chance to see them while you two were getting dressed, but he bets they match the cute bra you have on. The one he’s ruining to get more access to your skin. He’s so tempted to cut them off, but you don’t like when he cuts off your clothes.

Instead he goes through your suit, feeling the warmth of your bare skin. Logan decided to reach down, going under your lacey underwear to feel your plump bottom. You gasp, reaching under his mask to grip the nape of his neck.

A corral of moans and groaning fill the car. The friction of your covered pussy along his suit made Logan’s cock throb. Your moans increase in pitch, head thrown back when you shout to the car roof. Your body tense and trembling against him. He shuddered, not stopping his grinding as he was close. Logan’s muscles tensed when he orgasms, holding you close while cum stained his boxers.

He wanted to come inside you, but the night wasn’t over yet. He’ll save that when he has you in his bed. You give him one last kiss, pulling down his mask to dishevel his hair.

“You know, they’re gonna know we fooled around in the car.”

You move on to his face, leaving little kisses. “It’s Halloween. They’ll be fine.”

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[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 3 - Dreams And...

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE) - PLEASE REMEMBER TO CHECK, THIS CHAPTER IS DARKER IN TONE!

PREV - NEXT

Your hands are pruned. It’s quiet in the extravagant bathroom, other than the sound of the tap’s running water and your own shaky breathing. This was all a bit much. Your hands are more than clean now, but you absolutely do not want to go back out there.

You kind of just want to go back into one of the stalls and cry. A core girlhood experience, except you were an adult with a job and taxes. Or, you were. You think you’re some rich scion or something in this dream. Which like, cool, who wants to slave under capitalism anyways?

…You wonder if anyone would notice if you slipped out the window. You’d been gone for a while and nobody had come looking for you, since you’d totally gotten lost trying to find the bathroom. Sure, you were on the third floor, but at this point you were willing to risk it. Even if you couldn’t walk in a straight line right now, much less climb the trellises. For some reason, you could not handle your liquor today like you usually could. But once again, this was all just a very vivid dream, so it wasn’t like you could die.

To punctuate that thought, you hear someone scream.

It cuts off instantly, and then there’s quiet again. You pause, then turn off the tap, listening for any more sound. Drip, drip, drip… you press the tap down again and properly turn it off. Still no noise. Immediately, you realise you are standing directly in a horror film. You live in Gotham for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t an unlikely occurrence. You’d gotten mugged just a few days ago.

And you were alone in the bathrooms. So unbelievably drunk, and alone in the bathrooms. You were actually so dead, it was crazy. A dream, a dream…!

Your head bows, staring into the white porcelain of the sink as you focus hard on your hearing. You don’t think you could hear the party before, but you’re not sure. It’s definitely not there now. You swallow the dry pain in your throat, trying to summon a modicum of courage. Your vision spins.

You slap your wet hands to your face and then blink through your fingers. God. Okay, okay, okay. You can do this. You survived a mugging just last week with only minimal bruising. To convince yourself of your badassery, you dig your fingers into the blemishes, hoping to wake yourself up with the pain. It’s a bad habit but you have lots of those.

…Where’s the pain? Oh god, where’s the pain? Wait, don’t panic, it’s a dream! Of course, you wouldn’t have your bruises in a dream. That made total sense. And you definitely weren’t panicking.

You splash more water on your face. Time to face the music, you drunken moron. If you were going to be in a horror movie, you’d be the final girl of all final girls.

One hand on the sink, you take your heels off. They’re going to get in the way, and the sound of them clicking against the marble will give away your location. Massaging your sore ankles, you try and come up with a game plan. You don’t know what’s going on, and it really could all just be a false alarm, but better safe than sorry and all that. It’s a gala full of some of the richest people on earth, and you’re pretty sure you saw a swat team of security guards at the entrance.

So this was probably a hostage situation or a villain attack. You’d hear more noise if it was a supervillain fighting a superhero downstairs. Then you’ll bet on a hostage situation for now. Depending on who had taken you all hostage, that could be a totally fine situation where you all just end up leaving with lighter purses, or it could be the Scarecrow’s shown up and he’s about to mentally traumatise you. Like you needed any more of that.

Of course, this was all probably still a dream. Maybe if you say it enough times you’ll actually believe it. You’ll just plan ahead in case this is real (which it definitely isn’t). Plus you’d proven you could feel pain in this dream anyway, with all the times you’d slapped yourself. You hoped the fucking Tim Drake didn’t think you were too weird. Because he definitely thought you were weird.

It’s cool. You’re cool. You could handle this. You were a Gotham native after all. Totally cool. You have to force yourself not to gag on your own fear. Totally, absolutely, terrifically cool.

A few deep, calming breaths later, and you’re cracking the door of the lavatory open just an inch. You peer through the crevice, taking another deep breath when you don’t see anyone in the hallway. You push the door open a bit wider, peek your head around it to look the other way. Still empty. Another deep breath, you feel your chest rise and fall, and then you take the first step out onto the wooden floors. You wince at the slight noise the bare sole of your foot makes and hurry over to the long Persian rug to snuffle any more sounds.

And then you’re standing in the middle of the hallway in your ballgown, head swivelling back and forth as you try and catch any minuscule sounds, shoulders bunched up to your ears.

The first thing you need to check is the exits. Since you are on the third floor, and the banquet was on the first, you can assume that they’re well-guarded, but probably far away from you. Still, this is the Wayne Enterprises Tower, and there wasn’t just the party happening tonight. It was mostly empty as you’d seen but there’d been a few people you’d wandered past. They’d all seemed like late-night office workers, and the female janitor you’d bumped into was the one who had told you where the toilet was.

Was the janitor okay? Was that her scream you’d heard? Concentrate, dumbass. On airplanes, they tell you to put your mask on first before you do it for anyone else. The idea was the same here. Save yourself before you can hope to save anyone else.

That was… that was if you even needed saving. This could all still just be your own paranoia. Someone hit their knee on a ridiculously fancy side table or something. Like that scream wasn’t of pure terror. Like it didn’t sound like someone on death’s door.

Concentrate! Okay, check the stairs first. Don’t take the elevator, because you’re not an idiot. Maybe. Hopefully. Slowly but surely you creep your way back towards the entrance to the third level, where both the elevator and the stairs were. There was a map, too. You hadn’t been able to figure it out earlier, but you had a bit more incentive this time.

You make sure to place your feet carefully, aiming for the carpets and rugs. Even if your drunken steps miss half the time, you’re still mostly quiet. Every time you have to walk across a crossing you spend a minute listening, and then peer around every corner too. You’re not sure if you should be running, or if you really should try one of the windows.

Deep breaths. Keep moving. That’s the best course of action. Don’t get caught, but don’t just hide either.

It’s when you’re almost at the third-floor foyer when you hear something. There’s a crash, the sound of something breaking. No voices, though. Still, you can’t convince your body to move for a full minute. There’s a part of you that wants to go hide in an abandoned cubicle and wait, but there’s another part of you that is very aware of the rates of fires in this city. You keep going, taking a longer route to avoid the source of the crashing.

Another noise. A scream. Laughter. Spine-chilling laughter.

Shit, motherfucker. Why the hell did you get smashed at a fucking Wayne gala? Everybody knew the rogues of this city were totally obsessively in love with Bruce Wayne. Especially your own personal worst nightmare. You don’t dare even think his name, lest you summon the bastard.

Was he in Arkham right now? He should be. Like you should be at home in the Narrows getting a good night’s rest. Like you should be wearing dorky Flash pyjamas, not a dress more expensive than your rent.

He should be. It’s not nearly enough.

You realise, suddenly, that you have to make a choice here. You can walk away, pretend you didn’t hear anything, that you can’t hear anything. A woman’s cries, you think. You could leave her, save yourself. Hideaway and let whatever fate she’s facing befall her. Could you do that? Could you even stomach the idea?

In the end, the universe makes the decision for you.

“And who do we have here? What’s a pretty little thing like you doing wandering around?”

You hear your doom in his slimy voice, even though you didn’t hear him sneak up on you. Shaking, you raise your hands into the air, and slowly turn around. You see your doom in the twisted clown mask’s grin. For a second you think it’s really him, but then you notice his dark brown hair and the tanned skin under the mask. God, god, god. It’s a Joker goon. Your literal worst nightmare, given flesh. Is he here? No, no, no- You swallow down the urge to scream, to run, and do your best to keep thinking like a person and not a prey animal.

You feel like one. You think he knows that. You hope he doesn’t.

“Hey Travis, I found another one!” the man calls out, raising his gun to point at you. He jerks it, moving forward, and you turn back around obediently. The gun presses against the back of your head, and you move forward, obediently.

“Shithead, don’t say my name out loud!” another voice replies. You get to see its owner when you come around the corner and find the foyer.

There are five other people here, all tied up. Four seem to be exhausted office worker bees, who just stayed too late on the wrong day, and the last is the janitor who helped you. The kind lady gives you terrified eyes, but she’s the only one not crying among the hostages.

“Man, you worry too much. Like there aren’t hundreds of Travis’s in the city.”

“Just shut up, my god! If we leak info and it gets traced back to us, he’s docking our pay.”

Who’s he? Who’s fucking he?! He can’t be here, right? He fucking can’t be. You can’t, you can’t. God, you're going to vomit right here and now.

“Whatever. Anyway, this is the last person on this floor.”

“Check the feed again, dickhead,” the second one commands, obviously the leader between the two.

The one who caught you groans, and then you hear the sound of fabric shuffling. Is he looking at his phone? You wish you could turn around and look. You don’t dare with the barrel against you.

Your teeth dig into the side of your mouth. So did they have the security feeds? That meant you were doomed from the start. The only other option would’ve been to actually jump out one of the windows. They would’ve probably found you anyway. Hunted you down to meet their quota.

Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. This is looking like a big deal. And everybody knew Joker never left out on his big deal jobs, he enjoyed them too much. He’s probably downstairs demanding the Batman come meet him and have tea or something. Shit.

All of a sudden these goons seem like the much better end of the deal.

“Checked, checked, double-checked, triple-checked… There’s nobody else here,” the man behind you grumbles, and the one in front of you sighs.

“Alright, alright. Bring her over, I’ll tie her up, and then we can blow this joint,” the man says, and you really, really hope he’s not being serious about blowing this place. You’d had enough of explosions, thank you very much. Especially ones organised by the Joker.

The gun digs harshly into your skull, “Well, go on.”

Swallow, swallow down your fear. Don’t let it stop you. You walk forward to the other man, arms in the air shaking. When you’re in reaching distance, the second goon roughly grabs you and shoves you to your knees. He pushes your hands in front of you, not bothering to tie them behind you. You don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

The rope cuts into your skin. It’s going to leave marks, and bruises. The man finishes tying the knot and then pulls you back to your feet. Then he shoves you towards the elevator and turns to start picking up the other hostages. You turn so your back is toward the wall, not willing to have your eyes off the monsters for even a second.

It’s when he’s pushing one of the office workers towards you, that the second man speaks again.

“Hey, the boss said we had to kill one of ‘em.”

What? What did he say?

“Oh yeah, oops.”

The gunshot goes off before you can process the words. Before you can process the gunshot, the janitor’s body is crumpling to the floor. Before you can process her fall, blood is starting to seep from the wound in her chest. Before you can process any of that, the man behind you laughs.

He laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs.

The janitor lies on the floor, blood seeping into her hair and uniform. You squeeze your eyes tight, tears slipping over the lids. You refuse to look at the wound. At the gaping hole in her chest. And despite yourself, you know why they shot her, not you. Not any of the workers either.

Because she wasn’t worth the cash.

Yesterday, that would’ve been you on the floor. You were a fake wearing a fancy dress, who didn’t belong here at all. Still, they didn’t know that. You didn’t think anybody knew that. Not anyone but you, who had woken up in a world a little to the left.

“I’ll be down in a minute, Trav. I wanna play with this one for a bit,” the shooter says, and all of a sudden you’re thrown back into your body, into your frail mortality. You’re cold, your spine gives a shiver, and your horrified eyes find the wretched clown mask.

Like you said, your doom. You wish you weren’t right all the time.

“No way. She’s one of the high-profilers, we need her,” his leader replies, and you’re desperate to stick by his side. You didn’t think a Joker goon would be your saviour, but here you were.

“I’ll give you five K of my split,” he offers, not willing to let go of it. Of you.

The other one pauses, glances at you assessingly. There’s a glint of something in his eyes, something that tells you you’re not making it out of here unscathed. It’s something you recognise, something you even recognise inside yourself.

It’s greed. And it’s going to kill you. You always knew it would, you just didn’t think it’d be like this.

“Make it seven,” he finally announces, the deal for your soul made without any fuss or fanfare.

“You’re such a hardass. Fine, fine, seven it is.”

“Alright, and only thirty minutes, tops. Not a hair on her head, you understand me?” he says over his shoulder, waggling a finger at his coworker.

The group leaves through the elevator. It dings, and you watch in mute, stunned horror as the other hostages refuse to meet your gaze. As they abandon you to save their own asses. You couldn’t really blame them, as much as you wanted to. You were ready to do the same earlier.

“I think not even a hair is pushing it, right?” the creep says, finger reaching out for said hair. You jerk back out of his reach, an instinctual flinch. He grins, and lets his hand fall back to his side. You take a shaky step backward.

You’re trembling with fear. With the need to get away from this terror, this situation.

He gestures with his gun, pointing back in the direction of the branching hallways.

“Well, go on. Run.”

And God help you, you do.

Spinning on your heel, you flee to the echoing sound of his laughter. Your feet fall rhythmically against the marble floors, the sound of your bare soles far too loud. You can’t even do anything about it. There’s no option for stealth here, only the sort of hunt you’d expect to find in the woods.

Not here in civilised mankind’s territory. But this was Gotham, and the monsters often looked human.

You dart into a large room filled with tiny square cubicles. A call centre or something, a maze of low walls that are too small to hide behind. You keep going, teeth-gritting when his laughter cuts off. He’s taking this seriously, hunting you down. You think he’s done this before. ‘Played’ with people.

You can’t worry about those other poor victims, lest you become his next one.

Another crash, this time to your left. Your head snaps to the side, eyes wide, but when you look there’s only a broken lamp on the floor. You have to swallow down the urge to cry. He is. He’s playing with you. He’s having fun with it.

You keep running, passing by halls and offices and don’t stop running till you can’t. Out of breath. You’re out of breath. You bend over, the stitch in your side too much for you to stand. Why are you out of breath? You can run more than this. You often run more than this when you’re late for your morning train.

What’s going on? What’s happening to you?

A bang, behind you. You spin around. Don’t see anything.

He’s nearby. Right under your nose. You need to keep running, you have to. Through your panting you hear his laughter again, and that’s enough fear to get you moving again. Maybe you were in Arkham, arms strapped to your side and screams wailing down the halls.

You didn’t believe it. No, not in this moment. Not right now, as you run for your life. If you lived through this, you’d probably go back to thinking it was all a dream or a delusion.

But with that monster nearby, there’s nothing this could be but real. With sweat dripping down your neck, smearing your makeup. With the feeling of your heart beating out of your chest, in your ears. With the blind, all-consuming panic you’re in.

He’s real. And he’s coming for you.

You lift your tied hands and press them to your lips, muffling the sound of your harsh breathing and soft sobs. Heart beating out of your ribcage, you push your body even as it screams for you to stop. You’re flagging. Vision’s swimming, and you can feel bile creeping up your throat. You can’t keep doing this. You need to keep doing this.

For a moment, you stop to catch your breath. And he catches you too.

You scream, tugging at the rough grip on him. He swings you around into a wall, and again, you cry out. Side throbbing with pain, singing with it. Still, you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not safe, not safe, not safe. You push back against him, and he pushes back against you. Your drunken state is no match, and you tumble down onto the carpet. When he laughs, you look up at him, and he down at you.

The goon’s plastic mask merges with the Joker’s mutilated face, until you can’t tell the difference.

You aren’t the type to fight back. It’s just not instinctual to you. But when you hear his belt buckle clack, your foot kicks out before you can even think. You hit him squarely in the stomach, knocking him backward, and then you scramble away from underneath him.

“You bitch!”

He grabs you by the nape of your neck, yanking you backwards. You choke, hands grasping desperately at the grip around your throat, but he offers no relent. You’ve pissed him off. That doesn’t mean you can stop, can give up. You can’t stop fighting. Can’t stop struggling. Can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t stop-

The gun clicks. You freeze.

“Yeah, figured you’d be more obedient if I did that. Now, get up,” his voice is breathy, from the high of the chase or the hit you delivered, you’re not sure.

You hope it’s the latter. You hope this fucker drops and dies, right on the spot. You’re not that lucky, though.

Ah, your hands are hurting again. Not just the one, but both. Maybe you touched something. An allergic reaction of some sort. It shouldn’t be distracting you, it shouldn’t even be noticeable in the situation you’re in but god. The itchy heat is nearly as unbearable as the evil cretin in front of you.

“You think you’re gonna get away with that? I’m so fucking sick and tired of you whores who think you matter anything. You don’t, and I’m going to help you realise that,” he rants. His eyes are red through the tiny slits in the mask. Angry, dangerous, on the edge.

“Please, look I’m sorry,” you stutter out, stinging hands in the air. You want to run, but you think he’ll shoot if you do.

“You’re lucky I don’t fuck corpses.”

No, that doesn’t sound very lucky at all, actually. No, this seems like maybe it might turn out to be the new worst moment of your life. You don’t think it can get much worse than this, than the next moments that will pass. And it’s too much. It’s too, too much. Your palms are itchy and there’s a gun pointed between your eyes and the goon’s licking his lips and oh my god you’re going to die from an allergy before the bullet and-

And you just want it all to stop. You want it so desperately. You want the man in front of you to disappear, to never exist again, to go right down to hell where he belongs. You just want him gone.

Your hands stop hurting. The burning heat disappears. It’s quiet again. You can’t hear him laughing, the awful slick sound of him licking his lips. You can’t feel the cool iron on your forehead, the heat from his body so close. You can’t smell his sweaty stench. Your eyes open.

…There’s no gun. There’s no man.

You crumple to the ground with a relieved sob. Fisted hands lift to your eyes, as big blubbery tears stream down your face. Your shoulders shake with your cries. Your heart is screaming in your chest, trying to beat out of it. He’s gone, somehow. You’re alive, somehow. You’re not dead with a bullet in your brain, somehow. Somehow, somehow, somehow.

An impossibility. It’s an impossibility, and you’re so goddamn grateful for it.

As always, you don’t give yourself long to cry. Even as your tears still fall, even as you lick them off your mouth, tasting salt and lipstick and fear, you push to your feet shakily. You almost fall over with your hands still tied, shouldering the wall next to you for balance. You don’t have time to cry. No time to process what just happened. You need to get to safety.

You creep back into the main area, heart pounding in your ears, breath hiccuping. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get there. Ten minutes, thirty, maybe even an hour. When you try the staircase door, it doesn’t open. You yank on the handle, grab a chair and try and smash it in, but it stands strong. Fuck. You try the elevator as a last-ditch effort, but the buttons don’t respond.

You press your overheated forehead to the cool metal. Okay. Okay. Okay, okay, okay.

You turn around and storm back into the cubicle space, find one at the edge of the room with a clear view of all the doors, and tuck yourself under the desk. Pulling your knees to your chest, you resist the urge to rock yourself like a baby.

And you sit there, and you watch, and you wait. It doesn’t matter how many hours pass, you are not moving from this spot. It doesn’t matter how heavy your lids feel, how the adrenaline leaving your body has you sagging.

You’re not going to sleep. It’s not safe, and you’re not dying today. You’re simply not.\

You’re not allowed to.

-

A hand touches your shoulder, and you snap awake. Your fist slings out at the would-be attacker, but they dodge it smoothly. When you rear up for another, they move back, hands in the air in a show of surrender. Panting, you don’t lower the fist, your vision swimming.

It’s the Joker. But the Joker wouldn’t back up, right? And the Joker isn’t red, he’s green and purple.

It takes a while for the Joker’s pale, laughing face to disappear. But when you blink and he’s gone, you find someone else underneath. A red mask, a man you think you recognise from TV. A vigilante. God, you hated the vigilantes in Gotham.

Not more than the Joker. Not more than him.

The man stays a safe distance away, gloved hands firmly in the air. He’s tall, really tall. Broad-shouldered, scary. But he’s a vigilante, right?

Is he here to save you? Someone should've by now. The bastard's late then.

He says your name, you think. You can’t hear him properly. Wait no, it’s a nickname, one you haven’t heard in years. You could barely remember your mother calling you that as she tucked you in, as she told you she loved you over the phone, as she disappeared from the world entirely.

You hadn’t let anyone call you that since.

How does he know that name? How does this bastard know your name?

“-hurt? Hey, hey. Listen to me, are you hurt anywhere?” his voice is deep and warbled through the red metal mask, his eyes peering down at you through his domino. You just stare at him, eyes wide, barely breathing.

You need to know how he knows. Unconsciously, your hand reaches up to him, and after a moment, he takes it in his own firm grip. It’s awkward, as you’re still sitting half under the desk and he’s trying to stay as far away from you as possible. Still, his hand is warm through the leather, grounding, keeping you from drifting off into panic and fear. Into your worst nightmares come to life.

Because this was real. It didn’t matter that it was impossible, it was real. You simply couldn’t deny it any longer, this was all real.

You stare at this stranger’s gloved hand like it holds the answers to the universe. It might, in the end. It really just might. It wasn’t like the universe was making much sense at the moment.

“She seems fine. Uninjured, if a bit shocked. Doesn’t seem to have a concussion. Hardly responding anyway,” Red Hood speaks, but not to you. An earbud, you think. Superheroes used wiretaps and things like that all the time, right?

If you could even consider Red Hood a superhero. Everybody knew he had his own gang. Of course, even as your very life is being saved, it’s by a morally grey hero who runs around with crowbars and guns. Ah, you’re crying again.

You told yourself a long time ago that you wouldn’t let yourself cry anymore. And you’d managed it, mostly. You think you’ll give yourself a pass for today, just a little one. You hold this stranger’s hand, and you cry.

You just cry. You cry, and you hold the hand of some stranger you hate, because you have to.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[redzania]

Heh... Hi there! Pours water on you

*comes crawling, coughing and dying*

Take this.. last post... For I cannot cough cough choke live for much longer......

*fucking dehydrates and dies like SpongeBob in Sandy's dome*

[[I forgot to mention that astro looks like Jotaro from jjba]]

[httpsserene]

Oscar saying”touch grass and find someone that will fuck you cause it sure as hell won’t be me” and also “in Vegas everyone of you that was rude WILL be going up to my sweet lovely beautiful smart girlfriend and you WILL be apologizing.”

Can you imagine if he ever finds out about the one that burned her with coffee? Oooff she’s done for

𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐩.𝟖𝟏

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1.2k words 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: oscar piastri x fem!black!reader 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: blurb. part two to a prev. fic.

✧*̣̩⋆̩☽⋆゜omggg i wish i got to this lil addition sooner !!! i was sitting here like lowkey like, how out of pocket would oscar be after he learned that a delusional fan intentionally burned his girl??? but here’s how i think it would exactly go down! this starts pretty much directly after best i ever had ends, like post-bath sex and everything. ✧*̣̩⋆̩☽⋆゜

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your skin is warm, your muscles relaxed, and your legs feel unstable. the phantom weight of oscar resides between your legs from minutes past when he helped you ride him to an orgasm in the bath. to think that if you managed to convince him to break up with you, you’d never have the best sex of your life again. 

you’re sitting on the countertop next to the sink, towel slipping down around your waist as oscar massages lotion into your brown skin, when you tell him that exact thought. he’s standing between your legs (his towel securely tucked around his tiny ass waist), wet hair curled on his forehead and he hums in dissent, 

“there wasn’t a single time this past month where i even thought about breaking up with you.” your breath catches at his words and there’s not an ounce of a lie in his tone. after the pampering events of tonight, you didn’t think you needed anymore reassurance that he’s not going anywhere but it’s incredibly nice to hear it. you pause trying to think of the word to express just how sweet oscar is, but he speaks before you.

“woah, wait a minute,” oscar’s brow is furrowed, gaze focused on the back of your left hand, where there’s a slightly inflamed patch of skin, “babe, did you burn yourself? when did this happen?”

he gently brushes his thumb over the spot to gauge how sore the spot is and frowns when you wince and slip your hand out of his grasp. you cradle your hand to your chest and shrug dismissively, “happened earlier t’day at the shop; some girl dumped her coffee on me.”

“what?” oscar stares at you, puzzled, “she purposefully dropped hot coffee on your hand?”

“mmm, well i can’t say that she did it ‘on purpose,’” you sigh, “but, she was wearing an oscar piastri mclaren hoodie and she did laugh about it with her friends afterwards.”

“you’re being serious? a fan dumped a literally burning hot cup of coffee on you,” oscar attempted to clarify, like he can’t believe it. 

you miss how his expression is growing stormier and keep rambling on about your experience, “oh, i’m dead serious ‘roo. most of your fangirls have decided that i’m the spawn of satan because i can’t physically be by your side at all of your races. i mean–do they really think i would rather be learning about thermodynamics when i could be on the pitwall?”

“you know, at the end of the day i’m surprised at the fact that she had the balls to do it,” you continue (the aussie looks less impressed the more you keep talking), “highkey, i was getting sick and tired of all the girls who would come up and tell me i made their order wrong–when i most definitely did not!--and i had to remake their drink. so, props to her for changing it up on me, i was not expecting that.”

oscar rubs at his forehead for a few seconds before he purses his lips and cocks his head at the side to look at you, and then it dawns on you…maybe he doesn’t find this as amusing as you did.

“kanga, baby–she burned you. she intentionally harmed you, you could sue her, i think. you should sue her! i, personally, want to ruin her life,” oscar states, dead serious.

you shrug, “it’s not that serious to me. i’ll just put some ointment on it and it’ll be gone in a few weeks. and, she can be as jealous as she wants—you’re still here in between my legs, rubbing lotion into my skin after you just fucked me until my legs were jello. i really could not give a fuck about her, trust that.”

oscar grumbles unhappily, “well, i give a fuck. nobody should think that they can get away with hurting you, regardless of how serious the injury is. where’s the ointment?”

you lean forward, pressing kisses to oscar’s pout, “‘s in the medicine cabinet, ‘roo. if you want to address it, i won’t stop you, you can handle it how you like. as long as it doesn’t get you in trouble with the pr team, i’m fine with it.”

and that’s when you find out just how fine mclaren is with having oscar publicly call his fans crazy. 

it’s race weekend in las vegas, and fp2 has been delayed. you were falling asleep on your feet in the garage, so oscar had tucked you into bed in his motorhome, letting you take a nap while he went to do some interviews.

he’s caught by ted kravitz from sky sports and the best opportunity that oscar has ever had falls directly into his lap.

“oscar! how are you feeling, mate?” ted starts, “you certainly had an interesting break leading up to this race, and, you’ve managed to take the world of formula one on another spin with your tweet defending your girlfriend—would you care to expand on that?”

oscar smiles, “i would love to talk about it actually.”

“oh,” ted looks baffled, looking at the camera in shock, before he gestures for oscar to speak.

“well. i stand by what i said,” oscar states, “if anybody thought i was being rude, i really don’t care. what i do find rude, however, is the fact that my girlfriend was being harassed at her job by people who call themselves my fans.”

“oh, mate, i thought you were being rather nice about the situation,” ted offers, “but, you’re saying fans have gone to lengths to ‘harass’ your lovely girlfriend in person?”

“unfortunately, i’m telling the truth. it got to a point where a fan was bold enough to burn her with boiling hot coffee.”

“no!” ted gasps, aghast.

“yes! as soon as she told me, i told her that she should press charges, but she didn’t want to. i guess she’s a lot nicer than me,” oscar scratches at his jaw.

“well, i’m pretty sure that’s at least an assault or injury claim right? i think that fan should be taught a lesson. it’s wild to think that someone who calls themselves a ‘fan’ would hurt one of the best WAG’s,” ted looks disgusted.

“yeah, well–i hope that woman knows the whole interaction was caught on camera and that my girlfriend is well within her rights to press charges. it would suck that an act you committed out of jealousy and envy has the chance to give you a lifelong criminal record, huh?” oscar’s eyes shine with a threatening twinkle, “i can’t imagine being so obsessed with a man you never had and never will have, and you proceed to take it out on his beautiful, intelligent, ambitious, loving, and extremely supportive girlfriend. it kind of seems…” he pauses for effect, searching for just the right word, “...desperate—doesn’t it, ted?”

“it seems absolutely demented, oscar.”

the clip hits three million views in four hours and trends for weeks.

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems @lorarri @inloveallthetime @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz @vetteltea @tallrock35 @iloveyou3000morgan @smartstupyd @spideybv28 @loomiscorpse

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[nudibro]

The Silent Bell First / Prev

And done! Decided to put the last two parts into one! Thank you to all who have been really really REALLY patient for this!!

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Very long ID under cut!!!

[ID: Image 1: The Lamb faces away from the camera, reaching up the the lantern above to turn down the light, a slight scar is shown on their right arm. The Lamb says, "I don't know why you're so worked up over my bell, It's not that big of a deal." Image 2: The Lamb's arm and head lower after turning down the lantern, making the space darker. They continue by saying, "The sound is just.... bothersome. I can't focus with the ringing in my ears." Image 3: A close up of Narinder's face, looking at the Lamb with a doubtful expression. The Lamb continues to talk off screen, "It certainly doesn't help with crusades, let alone tending to the flock." Image 4: Narinder glares at The Lamb and tilts his head to the side, replying with a simple "Uh huh." Image 5: The Lamb is facing the camera, head turned away. The crowns eye looks down at the lamb. They continue with, "I still wear my bell because you restored it after my execution. O that day, you have me more than I could ever ask for. I have gone through centuries of deaths hoping that I will someday repay you... Despite our fight in hell, I hope I gave you the freedom you asked for-" Image 6: The crown's eye stares directly at the camera. The Lamb is seen flinching and also staring right at the camera shocked as Narinder cuts them off by yelling, "I never asked for this!" Image 7: Narinder starts to walk towards The Lamb, making them back away quickly. Narinder continues yelling, "Damned Lamb! You think I am a fool?! This is not freedom!" Image 8: The camera shows the back of The Lamb and Narinder gripping onto his shirt with one hand and holding out his other one, he yells at The Lamb while inches away from them, "I have waited millennia to be freed from my prison, just for you to put me in another one." Image 9: Narinder lowers one hand while still clenching onto his shirt, his speech bubble now shaky, "In the gateway I had my godhood, but this weak and frail mortal form gives me nothing." Image 10: Narinder's face is fully visible, all three of his red eyes glaring at The Lamb. Furious. White crosses replace his normal pupils. His speech bubble back to normal as he talks sternly. "The crown that lays upon your brow will return to me soon enough to grant the freedom I deserve." Image 11: The Lamb is seen staring directly at the camera with a nervous expression, the crown on top of their head glows a soft red while staring at the camera as well. They grip onto their cloak as Narinder ends with, "Usurper." With his speech bubble shaky. End ID.]

[chiffxna]

A Love Too Dark (08)

The Marquis Vincent de Gramont x Reader

Chapter 08: Wrapped Around

WARNING: THIS IS A DARK FIC.

This story will contain 18+ mature themes, blackmail, forced kissing, dark romance, toxic behaviour, blood, violence, stalking, manipulation, a lot of smut, dubious consent, non-consensual content, non-consensual creampie, breeding, yandere Marquis de Gramont, power play, and power imbalance, obsession, dark Marquis de Gramont, and abuse of power. The list will be added more as the story progresses. Minors, don't read.

Story Masterlist

PREV : Chapter 07

NEXT : Chapter 09

Chapter Summary:

After everything he’s forced on you, don’t you deserve something back?

“Now,” he continued, his eyes locking onto hers, the command in them unmistakable, “get under the table.”

Yn stared at him, wide-eyed with shock and disbelief. Her heart thudded heavily against her chest at his audacious demand. She breathed out incredulously, “What?”

“Get under my desk,” Marquis repeated coldly yet slowly – emphasizing each word so there would be no mistake about what he expected from Yn.

A shiver ran down Yn's spine as it dawned on her what he wanted her to do next. She was terrified. Humiliation began to course through her figure as she contemplated disobeying such an order. She did not want this. She was disgusted by the thought of it.

But reality soon set in as imagination of what could happen if she refused flooded in her mind. Yn felt trapped, caught between two impossible choices. Obey and debase herself, or refuse and face his wrath. She stood frozen, unable to move, as she held a bated breath.

Marquis's gaze bore into her, hard and unrelenting. He growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Now, ma douce. I won't ask again.”

The words ma douce were foreign to her, but the way he said them sent a shiver down her spine. Even if they meant something sweet or romantic in French, his tone carried a sense of danger and caution. Like a predator whispering sweet nothings before pouncing on its prey.

Yn’s legs trembled as she slowly lowered herself to the ground, her eyes evading Marquis’ penetrating gaze. The plush carpet felt rough against her knees as she crawled forward, each movement a surrender of her dignity.

Under the desk she went, enveloped by the dark mahogany wood – a cage of his power and control. She huddled there, making herself as small as possible, praying to disappear.

Her gaze followed the Marquis as he strode towards his chair, his long legs flexing with each step. As he settled into the seat, he spread his legs wide, positioning himself directly in front of her. The chair scraped against the floor as he slid it closer, obscuring his legs under the desk and trapping her in between them. She instinctively tried to avoid any physical contact with him, feeling a sense of discomfort and unease at his close proximity.

He peered down at her, taking in the space beneath the desk where she was sitting. She must have felt his gaze because she looked up at him with big, innocent eyes. A satisfied smirk appeared on his face before he said in his usual thick French accent, “Good girl. You will be rewarded for your obedience.”

She whimpered. “Can I get up, please?”

“Not yet, ma lapine,” he replied as he caressed the top of her head affectionately. “You will stay here until I say so.”

Out of the blue, the hand that had been gently stroking her hair now grasped the back of her head and yanked her towards his lap. Yn stiffened as Marquis pulled her closer to him, her body automatically tensing up at the thought of what would happen next. His hand on the back of her head kept her in place, keeping her face close to his crotch. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, smell the musky scent of his arousal. Panic began to rise in her chest as she realised what he wanted her to do.

She looked up at him with pleading eyes, silently begging for mercy. The Marquis met her gaze, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he savoured her helplessness. Her pleading eyes only served to inflame his desire further. He chuckled darkly, his fingers tangling in her silky hair.

“You look so pretty on your knees for me,” he purred, his voice dripping with mock affection. “Such an obedient little rabbit.”

His other hand moved to his belt, slowly undoing the buckle. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet room, each click of the belt ratcheting up Yn's dread.

“Open your mouth, sweetheart,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. “It's time for your reward.”

The Marquis’ hand grasped the front of his trousers, pulling them down and revealing his erect member. It stood tall and proud, heavy with desire as glistening droplets of pre-cum adorned its tip. The veins along its length pulsated with arousal, and the heat radiating from it was almost palpable. He pressed it against Yn's soft lips, smearing the sticky fluid across them.

“Suck,” he ordered, his voice a guttural growl. “Worship my cock like you love me.”

With a forceful thrust, he rammed his entire length past her parted lips and into the hot, slick cave of her mouth. Yn choked and gagged, feeling him hit the back of her throat and tears springing to her eyes from the force. But he showed no mercy, gripping her hair tighter and shoving deeper, his desire for control overpowering any concern for her comfort.

“That's it,” he groaned, his hips rocking slightly as he forced her head to bob up and down his length. “Take it all like the obedient little rabbit you are.”

The Marquis's face contorted with desire and dominance, his hand roughly gripping Yn's hair as he forced her head to move up and down on his erect member. Her tears flowed down her cheeks, creating wet trails on her flushed skin. The Marquis's cock stood tall and proud, the veins pulsating with every thrust into Yn's mouth. Her muffled sobs added to the soundtrack of his pleasure as he revelled in his control and dominance over her. The room was filled with the sounds of her choking and gagging, mixed with his guttural groans of satisfaction.

Abruptly, a succession of knocks resounded against the door. Yn's eyes widened in fear as she realised she was completely exposed to this humiliating position. She desperately looked to the Marquis, hoping for some form of mercy. The Marquis, however, merely chuckled at her terrified expression.

“Ah, it seems we have company,” he drawled, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards into a smug smile. “Don't stop, sweetheart.”

He then glanced to the door and spoke out loud, “Enter.”

Yn's body tensed as she prepared to push herself out from under the desk, but the Marquis leaned forward in his chair, pushing her further beneath the desk and shoving his cock deeper down her throat. Now she was completely hidden under his office table, shielded by the Marquis' body and chair.

The door swung open suddenly, startling Yn, who was currently occupied with the Marquis' member in her mouth. She froze, trying not to make any noise that would give away her position, afraid of being caught by whoever had entered.

“I did it, beau.”

Yn's eyes grew wider as she recognised the voice. It’s Sabrina, a fellow bunny-girl who fancied the Marquis.

With a commanding grip, the Marquis placed his hand on Yn's head and guided her up and down. The weight of his palm pressed against her scalp, silently urging her to start pleasuring him with her mouth. A mix of fear and submission furrowed her eyebrows as she looked up at him before finally giving in and complying with his demands. Her lips formed a tight seal around him as she began to suck, feeling the heavy weight of power pushing down on her.

“So, did you get anything out of him?” the Marquis asked Sabrina.

“None, just his cum,” replied Sabrina with an arrogant tone. “He just kept mentioning his wife’s name. Probably guilty that he cheated on her.”

Yn's face turned to a frown as she contemplated how Mr. Gabriel must have been feeling. She knew he loved his late wife dearly, but Sabrina had somehow convinced him to become intimate with her. It was likely that Sabrina had manipulated the situation, taking advantage of a massage to turn it into something more, just as the Marquis had instructed her to do with Mr. Gabriel.

The Marquis asked, “Did you try asking him about anything?”

His hand rested on Yn’s head, his fingers tangling in her locks as he guided her movements. Every so often, his fingers would tighten in her hair, silently urging her to move faster or deeper. Yn's face showed a mix of submission and discomfort as she complied with his commands, her lips forming a tight seal around him as she sucked. His other hand rested on the table, his grip tightening on the edge as he leaned back in his chair, enjoying the pleasure Yn was providing him.

“I did, but he said he didn’t know a single thing,” answered Sabrina.

Yn's face was focused, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked and her tongue flicking against him in all the right places. Her hands were placed on his thighs, supporting herself as she took him deeper.

The Marquis leaned his head back as he quietly harrumphed, “Hm…”

Yn tensed as she heard footsteps approaching the table. She hadn't anticipated Sabrina being so bold as to move closer to the Marquis. Yn desperately hoped that Sabrina wouldn't circle around the table and discover her servicing the Frenchman's member. Suddenly, a noise came from the desk nearby, startling Yn.

“Marquis,” Sabrina’s voice had turned seductive. “Is there anything else I can help you with? Anything?”

Yn slowed her bobbing motion on the cock and looked up at the Marquis, who was intently watching Sabrina with a raised eyebrow.

The Marquis replied, “No. You are dismissed.”

There was a moment of stillness as if Sabrina froze, astounded that she had been rejected. Then the sound of feet walking away echoed through the office, heading towards the door. Yn heard Sabrina's voice break the silence, saying, “If you ever need any help, sir, please don't hesitate to come to me. I can make sure you have an enjoyable, all-night experience.”

As the door clicked shut behind them, the room fell silent. Yn's pace in sucking the cock slowly increased as she realised there was still work to be done.

Suddenly, without warning, the Marquis slid back in his chair and stood abruptly, his cock slipping from her abused mouth. Yn gasped for air, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

But her respite was short-lived. The Marquis stepped forward, looming over her kneeling form. With brutal efficiency, he shoved his cock back into her mouth, not stopping until he felt the head lodged in her throat.

Yn's eyes were wide with fear, and her mouth was forced open, stretched around the Marquis's thick cock. Her tears mixed with the saliva and pre-cum that dripped down her chin, her face twisted in discomfort and distress. The Marquis’ hand was still tangled in her hair, controlling her movements as he roughly thrust into her mouth. The muscles in her neck strained as she struggled to accommodate his forceful thrusts, her gags turning into wet choking sounds. The sound of their harsh breathing filled the room, along with the wet slapping noises of his cock penetrating her mouth.

“Take it,” he snarled, his hips slapping against her face with each brutal thrust. “Take every inch, ma lapine.”

The Marquis’ hips moved with a frenzied rhythm, each thrust pushing his thick cock into Yn's mouth. His hands were tightly tangled in her hair, pulling her head towards him with each thrust. Yn's mouth was stretched wide open, her tongue flattened against the underside of his cock. The muscles in her throat bulged as she struggled to accommodate his forceful penetration. Her tears mixed with the drool and pre-cum that dripped down her chin, and the wet sounds of his balls slapping against her chin echoed in the room. Yn's eyes were wide with fear and pain, but she couldn't resist him as he continued to ravage her throat.

The room was filled with the wet smacking of flesh against flesh, the sound of his hips slapping against her face with each forceful thrust. The Marquis himself let out guttural grunts as he pushed deeper and deeper into her throat, his grip on her hair causing yelps of pain to intermingle with the sounds of their coupling. Yn's choked gasps and gags added to the cacophony, creating a symphony of rough and violent noises. Tears streamed down Yn's face as she tried to take in every inch he offered, her strangled cries muffled by his thick cock shoved deep into her mouth. The repeated slapping of his balls against her chin echoed through the room, a constant reminder of her helplessness and submission to the Marquis' brutal desires. And yet, despite the pain and fear in her eyes, she couldn't fight him off as he continued to ravage her throat mercilessly.

The mixture of saliva and pre-cum glistened in the dim light, dripping down her chin in thick strands and landing on the carpet below with a wet splat. The pool of bodily fluids grew larger with each thrust, staining the once pristine carpet with their mingled essence.

“I'm close,” the Marquis grunted, his hips pistoning faster. “Swallow it all.”

Yn's eyes widened in panic, her hands scrabbling at his thighs. She tried to pull away, desperate for air, but his grip on her hair was unyielding. She had no choice but to submit to his brutal face-fucking, tears streaming down her face as she choked and gagged.

The Marquis’ face contorted in pleasure as he forcefully thrust himself into Yn's mouth, his hips slamming forward and pulling back with a rhythmic motion. Yn's mouth was stretched wide open as the Marquis forced himself in, his own face contorted in ecstasy. His hand gripped her hair tightly, pulling her head closer to him. Yn's eyes were wide with fear and pain, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to take in the fullness of him. The Marquis’ cock was pulsing and throbbing, its veins protruding against Yn's lips and tongue. The cum shot out forcefully, filling her mouth and overflowing as she tried to swallow it all. Yn gagged and choked on the bitter taste.

“That's it, ma lapine,” the Marquis groaned, his hips jerking with each spurt of cum. “Drink every drop.”

Yn gagged and choked as the Marquis's cum flooded her mouth, the bitter taste overwhelming her senses. Thick, viscous ropes of semen coated her tongue and throat, making it difficult for her to swallow. She tried to pull away, desperate for air, but his grip on her hair was unyielding.

"Drink it all," the Marquis growled, his hips jerking with each spurt of cum. "Every last drop."

Yn had no choice but to obey, her throat working overtime as she tried to swallow the copious amount of semen. Some of it dribbled out the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin and onto her heaving chest. The salty, musky taste made her stomach churn, bile rising in her throat.

The Marquis held Yn's head in place, his cock lodged deep in her throat, as he savoured the sensation of her swallowing around him. Each contraction of her throat muscles sent jolts of pleasure through his body, drawing out his climax. He groaned in ecstasy, his hips jerking with each spurt of cum down her throat.

Yn gagged and choked, her eyes watering as she struggled to breathe around his girth. The bitter taste of his semen coated her tongue, making her want to retch. But she had no choice but to swallow, her throat working overtime to comply with his demands.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the Marquis's orgasm subsided. He pulled his softening cock from Yn's abused mouth, a string of saliva and cum connecting them for a brief moment before breaking. Yn gasped for air, coughing and sputtering as she tried to clear her throat of the vile fluid.

“Good girl,” the Marquis purred, taking a few tissues from his desk to wipe his cock clean. “You swallowed every drop like I wanted you to.”

The Marquis carefully wiped his softening cock with a tissue, his movements slow and calculated. Yn remained on her knees, her face a mess of tears, saliva, and semen. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks flushed and damp. The thick white substance clung to her lips and dribbled down her chin, mixing with the tears on her face. She was still in shock from the ordeal, her body trembling as she tried to compose herself.

The Frenchman wiped his softening member clean with the tissues and reached for a few more. With a gentleness that seemed at odds with his previous brutality, he began to wipe the mess from Yn's face. He brushed away the tears, the streaks of mascara, the saliva and cum that clung to her skin.

As he cleaned her, the Marquis gazed down at Yn with adoration, almost tenderness. His look said he was pleased with her, satisfied with her performance, that she had pleased him and served her purpose.

Yn remained kneeling, her head bowed, as the Marquis tended to her. She didn't resist his ministrations, too exhausted and traumatised to do anything but comply. Her throat ached, her jaw throbbed, and the taste of his cum lingered in her mouth, a bitter reminder of what had just transpired.

When the Marquis finished, he tossed the soiled tissues aside and reached out to tilt Yn's chin up with his finger. She met his gaze, her eyes wide and haunted. There was no joy in them, no hint of pleasure or satisfaction. Only fear, pain, and a deep, simmering anger that she didn't dare express.

“As a reward, you may go home early,” the Marquis told her, his voice soft and almost gentle. He reached out, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “Or if you want, you can stay. But remember, you are forbidden to service any men. Understood?”

Yn nodded meekly; her head bowed in defeat. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze, her eyes still haunted by the trauma she had just endured. Her throat ached with every swallow, a constant reminder of the violation she had suffered.

“So?” the Marquis asked, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. His thick French accent was unmistakable. “What will it be? Will you stay, or will you go home?”

“I want to go home,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and broken.

The Marquis smiled adoringly. “Very well.”

He stood up and reached out his hand towards her. She looked at it with a puzzled expression until she realised he was offering it to her. Like a gentleman. As if he had not roughly fucked her throat like a fleshlight.

Yn reached out and grasped the Marquis's proffered hand. He pulled her to her feet with surprising gentleness, his grip firm yet careful. She wobbled slightly on unsteady legs, her knees still bearing the marks of the hard floor.

To her shock, the Marquis then took a few tissues and bent down before her. With tender motions, he brushed away the dust and grime from her knees and legs, his touch feather-light against her skin. Yn stood frozen, unsure how to react to this unexpected kindness after the brutal assault on her body and dignity.

When he finished, the Marquis rose and looked at her with those piercing eyes. He simply tossed the used tissues aside and spoke to her, “Now, go home. Or would you like one of my bodyguards to bring you home safely?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you, sir.”

A smile spread across the Marquis' face as he placed both hands on her jaw, gently holding her in place. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before pulling back to admire her once more with a pleased smile. He nodded in contentment and said, “Take care, ma lapine. Send me a message once you get home safe.”

Before Yn could comprehend what was happening, she found herself sitting on the bus, headed back to her run-down apartment. The usual commotion of her coworkers chatting and laughing surrounded her, but today, no one seemed to acknowledge her exhausted appearance. Everyone was too preoccupied with their own responsibilities in the casino and their own personal issues.

She arrived at her apartment, numb and exhausted. Barbara, her cousin who had been watching Sydney, greeted her with a concerned frown. “Yn, are you alright? You look tired.”

Yn forced a smile, not wanting to burden Barbara with the truth. “I'm fine. Just tired. Thanks for taking care of Sydney, Bar.”

After seeing her cousin out of the apartment, Rosie, her cat, padded over and nuzzled against Yn’s legs, her soft fur brushing against her ankles. Yn bent down, scratching gently behind Rosie’s ears, trying to find some small comfort in the warmth of her purrs. Rosie was blissfully unaware of her owner’s turmoil, and Yn envied her for it.

Yn went through the motions of feeding her, though her mind was still elsewhere. She filled the cat’s bowl and made her way to Sydney’s room to check on her. The small figure of her sister was curled up under the covers, fast asleep, her breathing soft and even. Sydney’s hair splayed across her pillow, and her small face held a peacefulness that seemed to ease some of Yn’s own tension. For a moment, Yn stood there, simply watching, her heart aching with a fierce protectiveness.

Her fingers brushed a strand of hair from Sydney’s forehead, careful not to wake her. She whispered, “Sweet dreams, Syd.”

With Sydney safely asleep, Yn slipped back into her own room and prepared for bed. She changed into her nightclothes, the familiar fabric a small comfort after the tension of the day. She let out a long breath as she slid under the covers, hoping to find some rest finally.

But just as her head touched the pillow, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message. The text, short and disturbingly familiar, appeared from an unknown number, but it didn’t have to tell her who it was.

“Did you get home safe, ma lapine?”

Yn froze, her fingers trembling as she stared at the message. The Marquis. It was like he was still watching her, like his presence lingered over every part of her life. For a moment, she considered ignoring it, pretending she hadn’t seen it. But she knew better. Not answering him meant risking his anger, and she couldn’t afford that – not when her family’s safety depended on her compliance.

With a shaky breath, she forced her fingers to type out a response. “Yes, sir. Thank you for your concern.”

She set the phone down, her stomach twisting with unease. She hoped that would be enough to end it for the night. But seconds later, the phone chimed again. Another message, bold and clear across the screen.

“I will be busy tonight, so I can’t sleep over or take you to my mansion. But I expect to see you tomorrow night. Don’t disappoint me.”

The words sat heavily in her chest, the “expect” as binding as any chain. She put the phone down slowly, her appetite gone, and lay back on the pillow, her mind racing with the familiar dread.

As Yn thought back to the Marquis’s last message, an odd sense of relief flickered in her mind. At least tonight, he was occupied. It meant, however briefly, that she had a night to herself, a small pocket of time to think without his shadow looming over her. It was strange, but she realised that on these rare nights when he was busy elsewhere, she felt the smallest glimpse of hope. If he wasn’t watching her every move, maybe - just maybe – she could start laying the groundwork for a plan.

Something. Anything to free herself from his grasp.

Sitting up, Yn grabbed her phone, her fingers hovering uncertainly over the screen as she tried to steady her thoughts. Where could she even begin? The idea of fighting against him felt impossible; the Marquis’s power extended into every corner of her life. He seemed untouchable, someone with influence that couldn’t be shaken.

But perhaps that was just the image he presented. Maybe there were cracks, secrets—things he didn’t want the world to know. She swallowed hard, fingers beginning to type as she searched his name.

“Vincent Bisset de Gramont.”

To her frustration, there was barely any real information about Vincent Bisset de Gramont. The few articles she found only mentioned his philanthropic gestures – donations to select companies, mostly efforts to support the arts or “improve communities.” The profiles were sparse, the details vague. And any mention of his title, “Marquis,” was treated as little more than an exotic label, a lingering remnant of French nobility without any real bearing. Nothing, absolutely nothing, hinted at the man she knew—the one who controlled her life with invisible chains.

She scrolled through yet another article that praised his contributions, his “quiet charm” and “respectable reserve,” and Yn felt a wave of irritation bubbling up in her. It was a facade, all of it. But she couldn’t tear down the walls around his reputation with frustration alone.

She leaned back, letting her mind drift. Maybe he was so careful with his image because there was something to hide. The thought brought her a sliver of hope. Men like him always had something – everyone had a weakness. Maybe his was hidden in the connections he kept out of the public eye.

With a few deep breaths, she started a different approach, digging into forums, old message boards, and anywhere that didn’t depend on mainstream news. She scanned through threads buried in obscure forums, focusing on posts from those who hinted at elite circles, the kinds of people who might cross paths with someone like the Marquis.

Eventually, she stumbled across an old post that caught her eye. One user left a cryptic, subtle comment that immediately caught Yn's eye:

“The underground world is crumbling. Thanks to Baba Yaga.”

Baba Yaga? Yn opened a new tab to search for what it meant. Boogeyman.

Yn sat still, her eyes widening in remembrance of Mr. Gabriel's words.

“There’s been a... shift. A big one. A high-ranking figure in the criminal world – one of the untouchables – was murdered. By a rogue. And everything started to fall apart. The whole network... it’s crumbling.”

She thought about it, letting the idea settle. Baba Yaga was behind the recent chaos in the syndicate. Sure, she didn’t have much to go on. But it was something. This mysterious figure – it wasn’t impossible they could be… well, good. A just and honourable person. Someone willing to stand up against the worst in this world, tearing down that dark empire from the inside.

After staring at the screen for a while, Yn felt a spark of something unfamiliar – a thin thread of hope. The “Baba Yaga” could be more than a mere myth or threat. Could this person truly be tearing apart the network of untouchable criminals? She sat back, processing the idea, her mind racing. Maybe this figure wasn't just another ghost in the criminal underworld. Maybe Baba Yaga was a vigilante. Or someone working in the shadows with the power to dismantle the syndicate piece by piece.

It was a far-off notion, but the thought refused to leave her. What if this shadowy figure could be... an ally?

She doubted herself almost immediately. After all, what did she really know about this Baba Yaga? He might have collapsed in the underworld, but he might also be a serial killer. He could possibly kill her. It felt foolish, even dangerous, to think that help could come from some unknown rogue in the criminal world.

Yn let out a heavy sigh, despair creeping in as she opened a new tab on her screen. This time, she wasn’t searching for information on the Marquis or the elusive Baba Yaga. Instead, her fingers typed in something else – a list of hotels in far-off cities, scattered across the country. She browsed through different locations, city by city, hotel by hotel. Maybe it was pointless, maybe even desperate, but if things got worse… if the Marquis grew even more possessive or dangerous… she needed a plan. A place to run, to hide. Somewhere she could take Sydney and her mother where they could be safe, even if just for a little while.

Aside from escape plans, Yn also found herself digging into something else: ways to hide her identity. She searched for anything that could help—how to alter her name, replace her information, even vanish from records altogether. Whatever it would take to keep the Marquis from tracking her down. The articles and forums she found were daunting, full of legal terms and methods that felt out of reach for someone with her limited resources.

Still, she skimmed through, taking mental notes, searching for anything that might actually be doable. Fake IDs. Disguises. She even looked into digital guides on changing up her online footprint. She needed to be careful; anything she left behind could be a breadcrumb, a hint leading back to her and, worse, back to Sydney.

After a while, it dawned on her just how hard it was to sift through all this information on her phone’s tiny screen. The small display made everything harder to read and harder to process. She needed a laptop – something bigger, faster, and more practical for her constant, quiet research. But she didn’t have one. And the thought of buying one was laughable, considering the little money she had tucked away.

Then, like a dark cloud, the Marquis’s face surfaced in her mind. Just ask him, a voice in her head suggested. Get him to buy you a laptop.

Immediately, she recoiled from the idea. No. She wouldn’t. She had fought him for so long, resisted every attempt he made to pull her closer, to buy her obedience or loyalty. Asking him for a favour now, especially something as costly as a laptop, felt wrong. It would feel like... giving in. Or worse, like using him for his money.

But as she argued with herself, another thought pushed forward, small but stubborn. After everything he’s forced on you - her mind whispered, don’t you deserve something back?

The next day, Yn found herself surprisingly free from any messages or interruptions from a certain Frenchman. She welcomed the silence, savouring each hour. It felt like she was living a slice of her old life, a day untouched by his looming shadow. She spent the morning caring for Sydney, chatting up her coworkers during her shift at the café, laughing a bit too loudly at Edric’s jokes, and letting herself relax. For once, she let herself breathe.

After work, she picked up Sydney and swung by the hospital to visit her mom, who seemed brighter that day, her face lighting up at the sight of them. It was one of those rare days Yn wanted to freeze in time, where everything felt almost… normal. But as they made their way back to the apartment, reality crept in again, reminding her of her other obligations.

The casino awaited her that evening like a haunting echo she could never escape. Yn got ready slowly, pulling herself back into that guarded version of herself, the one with calm smiles and cautious words. She made sure Sydney was settled, checking and rechecking that her cousin Barbara had everything she needed to care for the little girl. As she prepared to leave, Yn lingered at the door, pressing a gentle kiss to Sydney’s forehead before turning to Barbara with a grateful nod.

“Be safe,” Barbara called softly, concern laced in her voice. Yn forced a smile, offering her cousin a reassuring wave before stepping into the hallway.

Yn arrived at the casino and made her way to the dressing room, where the familiar scent of hairspray and powder filled the air. She went through the motions, slipping into her bunny-girl costume and sitting down in the mirror to start her makeup. Just as she was reaching for her eyeliner, her friend Emily sidled up beside her, a sly grin on her face.

“Hey,” Emily nudged her shoulder playfully. “So… what did you and the Marquis talk about last night? In his office.”

Yn’s hand stilled, her heart skipping a beat. She forced herself to keep her tone light, glancing at Emily in the mirror with a practised smile. “Oh, not much. Just some work stuff. The usual.”

Emily raised a brow, looking unconvinced. “Uh-huh. That’s all? You mean to tell me a man of royalty, a Marquis, who pulled you into his office last night, barely says a word to you outside of ‘work stuff’?”

She paused as she went to her make-up table beside her. “I thought he had dragged you into that room and made out with you. It was clear to everyone that he was jealous when he learned that you were with another VIP. He likes you that much.”

Yn shook her head incredulously. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t understand why he became angry when I was just trying to do my job.”

Emily rolled her eyes, clearly amused. “Yn, the man’s used to getting what he wants. And right now, that happens to be you. He’s probably not thrilled seeing you pay attention to anyone else, even if it’s just part of your work.”

“But he’s got his pick of women,” Yn replied, a note of frustration in her voice. “Women with power. Real status. People in his world. Not… someone like me.”

Emily leaned in closer and said with a low voice. “But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Sometimes people with all that power want the one thing they can’t have.”

Emily paused to give Yn a pointed look. “Maybe you’re the mystery he can’t solve.”

Yn fell silent, her gaze fixed on Emily as she pondered the possibility that the Marquis' possessiveness towards her was due to what Emily had just said.

With their makeup done, the bunny-girls filed out of the lounge and slipped into their roles on the casino floor, each one assuming their stations with the practiced ease of a long night ahead. Yn took her usual spot at the roulette table, pasting on a smile as she welcomed the first players of the night.

An hour into her shift, she spotted a group of men striding into the casino. Dressed in black suits and dark sunglasses, their expressions cold and unreadable, they moved with a purpose, cutting through the crowd. Every step seemed calculated as they made their way directly toward the Marquis’s office, where Chidi, the Marquis’s trusted bodyguard, was already waiting by the door.

The tension thickened as the men exchanged brief, hushed words with Chidi. Yn glanced over at Sophia, who was standing nearby, greeting patrons.

She leaned in, keeping her voice low. “Sophia, who are they?”

Sophia’s eyes followed Yn’s gaze, and a frown crossed her face. “I don’t know. But they look like trouble. But if they came here to meet with the Marquis, then I guess it’s normal. It’s his type of people.”

Yn instantly remembered that the Marquis probably had ties to the underworld of crime, so these men were probably from that kind of world too.

“It’s better not to ask, Yn,” Sophia whispered. “Better to just do your job and keep your head down.”

As Yn stood behind the roulette table, she watched as Chidi signalled for additional bodyguards to join him. He knocked on the door and swung it open, motioning for everyone to enter the Marquis' office, including the suspicious-looking men. They disappeared into the room, leaving Yn to ponder the topic of their conversation.

The minutes ticked by slowly, each one feeling like an eternity. Yn kept herself busy, calling out bets and spinning the roulette wheel, but her mind was elsewhere, lingering on that door and the people hidden behind it.

Finally, after what felt like an hour of suspense, the office door opened. Slowly. Too slowly. Yn’s heart was in her throat as she tried to act casual, pretending to be deeply interested in the game in front of her, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from drifting to the scene unfolding across the room.

The suspicious men came out first, still dressed in their sharp, dark suits, but there was a change in their demeanour. They were talking amongst themselves, quick, hushed words that Yn couldn’t make out, and their expressions were grim. Serious. Chidi followed them, murmuring something to one of the guards before stepping aside. And then, the Marquis appeared.

He was calm, almost eerily so. His suit was immaculate, not a hair out of place, but there was a sharpness to his gaze that hadn’t been there before. He looked around, scanning the room until his eyes landed on Yn. She felt a chill run down her spine. It was as if he could see right through her, right into the thoughts she was trying to suppress.

Out of nowhere, the Marquis raised his hand, a simple but unmistakable gesture, beckoning her to come to him. Yn's pulse quickened. For a moment, she froze, her feet glued to the spot, as if unsure whether to obey or pretend she hadn’t seen him. But there was no avoiding it. Not with those eyes on her. She took a breath, forcing a calm she didn’t feel, and quickly waved over another bunny-girl to cover her spot at the roulette table.

As she made her way across the floor, weaving through the crowd, her mind raced. What did he want? Why now, right after that meeting? She approached him slowly, trying to keep her steps steady, even though her heart was pounding.

“Yes, sir?” she said, her voice coming out softer than she intended.

The Marquis smiled. He stepped closer, and before she could react, he reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for just a second too long. It was a simple gesture, almost intimate. The way his presence seemed to command her attention, her compliance.

“So good to see you,” he murmured, his tone smooth as if they were simply exchanging pleasantries. “I have a task for you. Come.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he turned on his heel and began walking toward the office, expecting her to follow without question. She hesitated for a split second, but then her feet moved, trailing after him.

The Marquis pushed the door open and stepped inside, holding it for her to follow. Yn’s breath hitched as she crossed the threshold, her eyes darting around the room. Not one thing was amiss. He closed the door behind them with a soft click. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He just stood there, studying her, as if trying to decide something. Yn shifted under his gaze, feeling small, exposed.

“Yn,” he said finally, his voice low, almost gentle. “I need you to do something for me tonight.”

“What is it, sir?” she asked softly.

“Sit down on the table.”

Puzzled, she glanced over at the massive mahogany table that dominated the room. It was littered with paperwork, a half-empty decanter of brandy, and a touch of dust in the corners. Surely, he didn't mean for her to sit on that?

She walked over to the table and gingerly hoisted herself up onto it, wincing as she upset a small stack of papers. The Marquis strode towards her in haste and said, “Wait.”

He wrapped one arm around her waist and swiftly cleared the table with his other hand to make sure she wouldn't sit on anything. As he moved closer to her, their faces almost touched. When he finished, he turned to face her with a smirk and asked in his thick French accent, “Are you comfortable?”

Yn could only avert her gaze to the side and nodded, “Mm-hmm.”

She was stuck perched on the edge of the mahogany table, her feet dangling above the ground. The Marquis stood before her; his hands went to rest firmly on the surface of the desk on either side of her hips. His face was close to hers, a small smirk playing on his lips as he looked down at her. The room was dimly lit, casting intimate shadows across their faces. Yn couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as she realised she was trapped between his hands and the intimidatingly large desk behind her.

“If it’s just us two together in a room,” the Marquis said, raising one hand to remove the mask on Yn’s face, “you can remove your mask.”

Yn did not have to do anything as the Marquis himself took off her mask and tossed it behind him without a glance. Her entire face was now revealed to him and that made her feel somewhat bashful, suddenly aware of her vulnerability and shyness.

Out of nowhere, he gently placed his hand on her chin and lifted her face towards his. She was unable to resist as he slowly leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. She stiffened, her eyes widening in surprise, and his warm breath, mixed with a hint of brandy, brushed against her skin.

His kiss was firm but gentle, demanding yet almost tender, a stark contrast to his usual cold, commanding demeanour. His thumb stroked her cheek idly as if to reassure her. It contrasted sharply with the intensity of their situation, and it took Yn a moment to comprehend what was happening.

As his kisses ran down her neck, she finally found it in herself to speak up, “Sir, you said… you have a task for me…?”

“Yes,” he answered breathily as he laid kisses around her neck. “Your task is to stay still.”

His lips made soft, featherlight noises as they travelled down her neck and along her collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses that sounded like tiny pops as they connected with her skin. Yn's breath hitched as she tried to hold back a soft sigh, her heart pounding in her ears in time with the gentle rhythm of his movements. She could also hear the slight rustle of his clothes as he leaned closer, his touch sending small shivers down her spine. It was a symphony of sensations, one that left Yn's mind in a blissful haze, to her surprise.

“I’m glad,” she heard the Marquis say. “You still wear the necklace I gave you. I assume you love it.”

His fingers trailed down her neck, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone. Yn shivered, goosebumps rising on her skin despite the warmth of the room. She could feel his breath, hot and heavy, against her throat as he worked his way lower.

Lower and lower, until his lips brushed the swell of her breasts, peeking out from the low-cut bodice of her costume. Yn inhaled sharply, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. This was wrong, so wrong. She had never given him permission to touch her like this, to take such liberties with her body.

But she couldn't deny the way her heart raced, the way her skin tingled wherever he touched. It was a traitorous response, one that filled her with shame and confusion. How could her body betray her like this, responding to the attention of the man who forced himself on her again and again in the past? She wanted to hate him.

The Marquis’ hands slid around to her back, fingers splaying across her skin as he pulled her closer. Yn squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sensation of his touch, the scent of his cologne filling her nostrils.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please, stop.”

But the Marquis ignored her, his mouth trailing lower, lower until his teeth grazed the sensitive skin just above the neckline of her costume. Yn gasped, her back arching involuntarily.

It was too much, too fast. She felt like she was drowning, suffocating under the weight of the Marquis’ attentions. Her mind screamed at her to fight, to push him away, but her body wanted to drown more in this pleasure.

Instead, she sat there, trembling and helpless, as the Marquis continued his relentless assault on her senses. Each brush of his lips, each nip of his teeth, sent sparks of unwanted pleasure coursing through her veins.

The Marquis grasped the neckline of her bunny-girl outfit and tugged it lower, exposing her breasts to his hungry gaze. Before Yn could even think to protest, he had latched onto one rosy nipple, sucking it into his mouth with a ravenous intensity.

“Ah!” Yn cried out, her back arching at the sudden sensation. It was too much, too fast. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of unwanted pleasure, her body betraying her at every turn.

The next thing she knew, she was on her back on the table. The Marquis lavished attention on her breasts, his tongue swirling around each sensitive peak. He bit down gently, sending jolts of pain-tinged ecstasy shooting through her nerves. Yn's hands flew up to grip his shoulders, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

It was wrong, so wrong. But God help her, it felt good. Too good.

The slurping, suckling sounds of the Marquis' mouth and tongue exploring every inch of her exposed skin rang in Yn's ears, a mix of pleasure and discomfort. The occasional moan or grunt escaped his lips, accompanied by the sound of Yn's sharp intake of breath or a whimper. The bite on her nipples elicited a faint gasp followed by a sharp cry of surprise and pleasure.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as the Marquis continued his relentless assault on her senses. She could feel herself growing wet, her body responding to his touch despite her mind's protests.

Shame burned through her veins, hot and acrid. How could she let this happen? How could she allow this man, this monster, to violate her in such a way?

The Marquis pulled away from Yn’s breasts, leaving them glistening with his saliva. His eyes, dark with lust, travelled down her body, lingering on the curve of her hips. With a wicked grin, he hooked his fingers into the panty-shaped bottom of the bunny-girl costume and tugged it aside, exposing her thin panties.

Yn’s breath caught in her throat as the cool air hit her heated skin. She squirmed on the table, trying in vain to maintain some modesty, but the Marquis simply laughed at her efforts. He hooked his fingers into the centre of her panties and pulled them aside, revealing her most intimate parts to his hungry gaze.

“No,” Yn whispered, shaking her head in denial. “Please, don't...”

But her pleas fell on deaf ears as the Marquis lowered his head, his hot breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh. Yn gasped as his tongue made contact, a jolt of unwanted pleasure shooting through her core.

He licked and sucked at her folds, his fingers spreading her open wider. Yn's hands flew to his hair, torn between pushing him away and holding him in place. It was too much, too intense. She could feel herself growing wetter, her body responding to his touch despite her mind's protests.

The wet, lewd sounds of the Marquis's mouth eagerly feasting on Yn's most private area echoed throughout the room, mingling with her soft moans and whimpers of pleasure and discomfort. Each slurp and suck was like a symphony of forbidden desire, suffocating any rational thoughts or protests Yn tried to make. The sound was both arousing and repulsive, a twisted melody that consumed both of their senses. It was wrong, so wrong, but she was powerless to stop it.

Just as she teetered on the brink, the Marquis pulled away, leaving her desperate and wanting. He grinned up at her, his lips shiny with her essence.

“Not yet, ma lapine,” he purred, his French accent thick with desire. “We're just getting started.”

With that, he dove back between her legs, his tongue delving deep into her folds. Yn cried out, her hips bucking involuntarily as he lapped at her most sensitive spots. It was too much, too intense. She could feel herself teetering on the brink of release, only for the Marquis to pull away at the last second, leaving her desperate and wanting.

He repeated the process again and again, edging her to the point of madness. Yn's body was on fire, every nerve screaming for more. But still, she fought against it, clinging to the last vestiges of her sanity.

“Please,” she whimpered, tears streaming down her face. “Please, stop. I can't take it anymore.”

But the Marquis just grinned, his lips and chin shiny with her essence. “Beg me, Yn. Beg me to fuck you. Beg me to fill you.”

Yn shook her head frantically, even as her body betrayed her, aching for his touch. She sobbed, “No. No, I won't. I don’t want that.”

The Marquis's eyes narrowed, his grip on her thighs tightening. He growled, “You will. You will beg for it, and you will enjoy every second of it. Deep down, you know you want this. You finally want me.”

And with that, he surged forward, his tongue spearing into her core as his fingers rubbed mercilessly at her clit. The Marquis continued his relentless assault on Yn's senses, his tongue delving deep into her folds, his fingers rubbing mercilessly at her clit. Again and again, he brought her to the brink of release, only to pull away at the last second, leaving her crying.

Yn thrashed on the table, sobbing. “Please. Please, stop. I can't take it anymore.”

But the Marquis just grinned, his eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure. He doubled his efforts, his tongue swirling around her sensitive bud, his fingers pumping in and out of her dripping core. Yn's back arched off the table, a moan tearing from her throat as another orgasm was nearing, but the Marquis withdrew again before she could explode.

It was too much, too intense. She was drowning in sensation, in the wrongness of it all. And yet, even as her mind recoiled, her body craved more. More of his touch, more of his attention, more of the forbidden pleasure he offered.

Yn whimpered, even as her hips bucked against his face, “Give it to me. Please!”

But the Marquis was relentless and adamant. He licked and sucked and fingered her until she was a writhing, sobbing mess. Her body was on fire, every nerve screaming for release.

That’s when she recalled what Emily told her a few hours ago.

“I thought he had dragged you into that room and made out with you. It was clear to everyone that he was jealous when he learned that you were with another VIP. He likes you that much.”

“He likes you that much.”

Does he?

“Fine!” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “Please, fuck me. Fill me. I need it. I need you.”

The words tasted bitter on her tongue, a betrayal of everything she stood for. But in that moment, lost in a haze of unwanted pleasure, Yn knew she would do anything, say anything, just to make it stop. To find some measure of relief from the torment of the Marquis' touch.

The Marquis's triumphant laughter echoed in the room as he loomed over Yn's trembling form. With a wicked grin, he crashed his lips against hers, his tongue forcing its way past her teeth and into the warm recesses of her mouth. To his surprise, Yn responded eagerly, her own tongue tangling with his in a heated dance.

The Marquis growled into the kiss, his hands fumbling with the buckle of his belt. He needed to be inside her, to claim her, to make her his. With a swift tug, he freed his throbbing cock, the thick length bobbing heavily between their bodies.

Yn's eyes widened as she felt the heat of him pressing against her slick folds. This was it. The moment she had been dreading, the moment she had been fighting against, but also the moment she had been begging for. Even as her mind recoiled, her body also seemed to welcome his intrusion.

The Marquis broke the kiss, his breath coming in short, rapid bursts. His voice was low and dangerous as he purred, “You want this, don't you? You want me to fuck you, to fill you until you're screaming my name.”

With tears rolling down her cheeks, Yn nodded her head, her hips canted upwards, seeking his touch. Her voice was small and broken as she whimpered, “Yes, please! Fill me, sir!”

With a single, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside her, stretching her walls to the point of pain. However, it also filled her in the most pleasurable, gratifying way. Yn cried out, her back arching off the table as he began to move, his hips snapping against hers in a brutal rhythm.

It was too much, too intense. Yn could feel every inch of him, could feel the way he pulsed and throbbed inside her. And despite everything, despite the shame and the guilt and the wrongness of it all, she could feel herself responding, her body welcoming his invasion even as her mind screamed in protest.

The Marquis's thick, throbbing cock was buried deep inside Yn's slick, tight folds. His hips moved in a brutal rhythm, snapping against her with each thrust. Yn’s back was arched off the table, her body fully exposed to his powerful movements. Her hands were laid on the table beside her head. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked up at him, her eyes filled with both pleasure and pain. Her pussy juices coated his cock and flowed freely as he relentlessly pounded into her. Her breasts bounced up and down her body with each pounding.

Yn's breasts heaved with each powerful thrust, rising and falling with the rhythm of the Marquis's hips. Her nipples were flushed and hard, her skin glistening with sweat in the candlelight. They jiggled and bounced, almost mesmerising in their movements. Their size and fullness were emphasised by the force of his movements, and Yn couldn't help but feel a mix of pleasure and pain each time they bounced against her body.

Yn's legs were spread wide, her toes curling in pleasure as she felt the Marquis's forceful movements. Her skin was flushed and slick with sweat in the dim candlelight, the muscles in her thighs tensing with each thrust. Her legs swayed back and forth, following the merciless rhythm of his hips as he took her.

The sound of skin slapping against skin, mixed with Yn's sharp cries and the Marquis's low grunts, filled the room. The creaking of the table and the rattling of the objects on top of it added to the symphony of pleasure and desire. The wet sounds of their bodies joining and separating, slick with sweat and juices, echoed off the walls, creating a primal melody that consumed them both. Through it all, the heavy breathing and guttural moans of pleasure from both Yn and the Marquis could be heard, intensifying with each powerful thrust.

The Marquis, driven by an insatiable lust, maintained his brutal pace, his hips snapping against Yn's with each powerful thrust. The room was filled with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, mingling with Yn's sharp cries of pleasure and pain.

“Take it, ma lapine,” the Marquis growled, his voice rough with desire. “Take my cock. Take everything I give you.”

Yn could only sob in response, her body shaking with the force of his thrusts. She could feel him everywhere, could feel the way he stretched and filled her, the way he claimed her so completely. It was wrong, so wrong, but in that moment, lost in a haze of sensation, she couldn't bring herself to care.

The Marquis's hands roamed over Yn's body, gripping her hips, her thighs, and her breasts. He pinched and tugged at her nipples, sending jolts of unwanted pleasure through her core. Yn's back arched, a scream tearing from her throat as he hit a spot deep inside her that made stars explode behind her eyelids.

“Please,” she begged, though she wasn't even sure what she was asking for. “Please, more. More!”

The words tasted like sin on her tongue, but Yn was too far gone to care. All that mattered was the feeling of the Marquis inside her, the way he made her body sing with pleasure even as her mind recoiled in shame.

And so she surrendered to it, to him, letting the Marquis take her in the most primal way possible. Her body was his to use, his to claim, his to ruin. And as the pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo, she knew she could finally get it. She could finally cum!

The Marquis's thrusts grew erratic, his hips slamming against Yn's with a force that shook the table beneath them. Yn could feel the tension coiling in his body, could sense the impending release that hovered just out of reach.

“Cum for me,” the Marquis growled, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. “Cum on my cock. Now.”

And then, with a final, brutal thrust, Yn's world shattered. Pleasure exploded through her body, so intense it bordered on pain. Her back arched off the table, her mouth open in a silent scream as her orgasm crashed over her in wave after wave of ecstasy.

The Marquis's expression contorted in pleasure; his eyes tightly shut as he reached climax. His fingers dug into Yn's hips, leaving red marks on her skin as he pulled her flush against him. His cock pulsated and throbbed inside her, spilling his seed deep within her womb. Yn could feel the hot rush of his release, could feel the way it filled her, claimed her, marked her as his own.

The room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing, the only indication of their end of recent fucking. The Marquis and Yn remained locked together, their bodies still trembling from the intense climax they had just shared. The sound of skin sliding against skin could be heard as they tried to catch their breath, with the occasional low groan escaping from the Marquis’ lips. And then, as the moment stretched on, the soft sound of nuzzling could be heard as the Marquis buried his face in Yn’s hair, breath hot against her neck as he showed his affection for her.

“Mine,” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “All mine.”

Yn heard it. She heard it all, even if he whispered. He sounded so possessive and so obsessive. So smitten. Emily’s words rang in her head.

“He likes you that much.”

She remembered a part of her had once told her. Get him to buy you a laptop. After everything he’s forced on you, don’t you deserve something back?

“I…” you spoke up, attracting the Frenchman��s attention.

In his weariness, he gently lifted himself off of you, yet still close enough to feel his warmth. He placed his hands on either side of your head and leaned in, towering over you with an intimate intensity. His gaze was filled with desire as he looked at you with a pair of bedroom eyes.

“What is it?” he asked.

You stared at him in silence, wondering if it was okay to ask him for something. Would he get angry? Would he look at you in disgust? Would he see you as an opportunistic and materialistic bitch?

“Say it, ma lapine,” he told you.

His sweet nickname for you convinced you to do it.

“I want… a laptop,” you meekly said. “That’s all…”

The Marquis's eyes glinted in realisation at Yn's request. Yn, the woman who had resisted him a lot in the past, just asked him for something. She had seen him as a provider. A reliable, dependable man to provide her with anything. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his features.

“A laptop, hmm?” he mused, his fingers trailing lightly over Yn's cheek. “And what do you intend to do with this laptop?”

Yn swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground, that the Marquis was not a man to be trifled with. But something about the way he looked at her, the possessive glint in his eye, made her feel that she could do this.

“I... I want to do more,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want to learn more on the Internet. It would be convenient for me and my family.”

The Marquis’ smile widened, his hand cupping Yn's chin and tilting her face up towards his own. “Oh, ma petite. You have no idea how pleased I am to hear you ask me that.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against Yn's in a tender kiss. It was a stark contrast to the brutal passion they had shared mere moments before, but no less intense for its gentleness.

“Of course, you shall have your laptop,” the Marquis breathed against her mouth. “And anything else you desire. You have but to ask, ma lapine. I have the money to provide you with everything.”

You glanced up at the magnificent ceiling above you, your thoughts empty as his words slowly sank in. Then, one thought surfaced in your mind.

You got him wrapped around your finger.

PREV : Chapter 07

NEXT : Chapter 09

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[youraverageaemondsimp]

Metanoia ;

Aemond Targaryen x Transmigrated!Strong!Reader

>> Chapter IV : The Fervour.

Summary: You decide to apologize to Aemond.

WARNINGS: nothing nsfw, I left it for the next chapter 🤭, canon typical incest, anxiety etc. + not proofread

A/N: divider credits @cafekitsune, this is a short chapter but the next one is gonna be long and intense 🤭🤭

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Your heart drummed loudly against your rib cage, each beat accompanied by a gasp of air as you stared into the emptiness of your chamber.

A dream— no, a memory.

Was this the original body's memory?

Is this body not yours?

It doesn't seem likely because this body has exactly all your features, each and every detail pasted right into itself, from your head to your feet; nothing was amiss.

A blanket of dullness washes over your body and you plop back down onto the mattress, hugging your cotton blanket and you laid sideways, pondering with curiosity as you thought about everything.

You have to apologise to Aemond.

Suddenly his hostility, hatred, sly remarks all made sense.

You mentally face palmed yourself.

How were you gonna save the plot or prevent war when knowing that you were the cause of major events?

Had it not been Viserys’ command, you would've been stuck deeper in the mess, his decision of marrying you and Aemond gave you a heads up.

Can you perhaps talk the greens out of it once you're Aemond's wife? Then again, if talking truly worked then there wouldn't be a show at all. You sigh heavily, closing your eyes before reopening them.

You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling before your eyes averted towards the window, noticing how it's still the heartbeat of the night. Going to Aemond's room would seem very scandalous at this hour; regardless of whether you're soon to be married.

And to make matters even more complicated; Alicent and Rhaenyra had caught you guys kissing. You wondered why Aemond kissed you in the first place so suddenly, was he containing his urge to kill through it? Most likely.

The sound of footsteps awoke you from your sleep, looking around to see none but the maids who were bringing in a bath and water for you to freshen up and get ready for the day.

You decide that you'd think of everything on the morrow, choosing sleep over restlessness, closing your eyes and waiting for the slumber to grab you down to its depths.

You zone out the process; having been used to it. Instead your mind now travelled to the matter at hand, which was also your main objective. You planned to go directly to Aemond and apologise, as stupid as it may sound you really had no other option before the situation got worse. At least by apologising you'll make him realise how sorry you are, which might console his inner conflict.

The maids finish touching you up. You waste no moment and immediately get off the stool, heading straight to the door and leaving your chambers.

You check the library where you first encountered him; to your surprise, he wasn't there. You then move onto the training grounds only for him to not be there either. You start wandering around the red keep in the search for him yet he seems nowhere to be found. The guards outside his room have also said that he had left his room in the morning.

You go to the garden, to the weirwood tree, hoping to find him there, yet he is nowhere.

Frustrated, you sit underneath the tree, huffing in annoyance and catching your breath. You grunt irritated; patience growing thin as time only passed with no signs of Aemond. You had searched practically everywhere. The sympathy you were feeling is slowly being replaced by exasperation.

You lean back against the tree, staring at the leaves.

It's moments like this that make you truly question your sanity and reconsider your situation. As much as you were a big fan of the show; being trapped in it isn't really ideal without any known way out. You sometimes miss your life before this.

How plain and simple it was, with no worries of a blooming war, you would work and just rest at home, cook your favourite meals by yourself, watch your favourite shows and then sleep. It's the simplicity you miss.

“I want to go back…” You say out loud, praying that the world would hear you and miraculously send you back home, however it doesn't happen; because if it did, why would you be here in the first place?

Your words were heard just not by the universe.

“You want to go back?” The voice breaks you out of your thoughts and you sit up straight, looking up at the figure who was now standing in front of you.

Aemond stood tall, with his hands behind his back, foot jutting out. Oh yes, his typical standing pose.

“Uhm, I- no? I don't—” You stutter not knowing what to say, you get up off the ground and stand straight, his gaze follows you, taking in your dress. His lips quirk up into a smirk.

You were wearing green.

“Your gown; it is quite beautiful.” He comments and you look down, not finding anything special about the plain material, “—especially, the colour.” He points it out, and that is when you realised that you were wearing green.

“The maids dressed me.” You imply slightly, indicating that you had no intention of wearing the colour of his family. He smiles mockingly, raising his eyebrows.

“You were looking for me?” He questions and you nod and take a deep breath, hoping the oxygen would calm your brain by magic but your nerves were still rampant.

You step closer to him, which he is taken aback by but doesn't move an inch. You look into his eye, your body now fueled up with the newfound determination of completing your goal.

“I apologise.” You choke out and Aemond frowns in confusion, “For the eye- the night, driftmark.” You stumble over your words unable to form coherent sentences as the previously felt anxiety blooms in your gut again.

Seriously, what is wrong with this body?

The atmosphere falls silent only being interrupted by the whispers of the wind blowing past both of you. Aemond opens his mouth to speak but he closes it immediately after; trying to find words that do not sound harsh as a response.

“Aemond.” His name left your mouth involuntarily and he snapped his gaze to you, he watched your form waiting for you to say something but you just stood there unable to speak, your tongue all tied up in your mouth, having no idea how to continue this conversation anymore.

“Aemond, I am sorry, I really am, I regret it; I didn't mean to hurt you, I was protecting jace- my brother; I never meant for any of this to happen— please.” Your voice croaks, breaking as your mouth begins to move on its own, the noise coming out of your throat— yet it wasn't you speaking, it wasn't you forming these words, they came from somewhere innate.

You grab his arm, eyes tearing up as you stare at him, searching for an ounce of forgiveness on his face, an expression of reassurance that can calm the brewing storm inside you. Your gut wrenched and turned as the silence only prolonged with every passing second the pit inside you became deep and deeper.

You didn't know what was going on, it was as if your body had a mind of its own; but it didn't feel that way. Although you felt like you were in the backseat watching it all happen; it also felt like you were the one that was operating as well.

“It was a cruel mistake, a mistake that ruined everything. Perhaps it is why the Gods have punished me, they put me in a state of death for years but never truly killed me. It was my punishment for that crime I have committed against an innocent boy. But was I not innocent too?” You stammered, your body shuddering out of control.

Aemond grabs your shoulders; a poor attempt at consoling you while you shivered, tears dripped down your face like streams of river, Aemond wiped them off, pulling you into him, engulfing in his embrace, holding your head as you sobbed into him.

He did not know how to react.

He did not expect any of this.

Yet he knew one thing, which he hated himself for, which he came to terms with just last night.

The fact that he had already forgiven you.

You both stand there like that for a moment, your cries dissipated from sobs to sniffs and that's when you pull away from the hug, staring at him back again.

Aemond tucked a stray hair strand behind your ear before resting his hand on your cheek, he didn't want to admit this to you but he had to; for his own sake— watching you cry felt like a thousand swords being pierced into his heart, he didn't want to see you like this anymore.

“You're forgiven.” Those two words left his mouth as he held you close and you did not know how much of an impact they'd have on you until you felt the pit in your stomach vanish completely as if it ceased to exist.

You felt calm.

Euphoric.

You felt lightheaded, the world spinning as you stared at him. You gave him a small smile in return, caressing his scar as your vision grew weary.

The last thing you remember seeing was Aemond's panicked expression before you completely blacked out.

@gabriella-aesthetic @delaynew @idonotknowenglish @dixie-elocin @intheheartoftheking @dracaryxzs @ladyoffandoms @zoleea-exultant @saturnssrings @uniquecutie-puffs @aleemendoza2425-blog @marvelita85 @feelingfaye @sylvievil @cypherpt5fttaehyung @ttysmfwna @void21 @technicallystrangereview @feyresqueen @evergreen9083 @mirandasidefics @org12 @blorbo-brainrot @thisishwrworld @shadowqueen09 @watermel0nsugarhigh @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @madislayyy @the-hufflebird-girl @hiatuswhore

[disneyprincemuke]

is it killing you like it’s killing me?

alternatively: we haven’t spoken in almost a week (prev)

in which she and logan try to navigate the worst part about dating your literal coworker

(series masterlist)

logan sits in his seat, leaning forward to prop himself up on his elbow as he tries to type away on his phone in the least awkward way possible. he hears the heels clicking against the gravel first before he catches a whiff of a familiar floral scent.

he doesn't turn his head directly, just shifts his eyes to his side, watching his literal girlfriend walk right past him without even stopping by to greet him. he can almost make out the sound of her sweet voice amidst the noise around him, her shocking choice for a dark motif outfit contrasting against the pure white of the person next to her.

only then he realises that his girlfriend is quite literally walking around the paddocks with mercedes personnel. she engages in casual conversation with susie wolff every once in a while around the paddocks, but never has he seen her out and about with her. mick trails behind them, looking down at his phone as he matches their pace.

upon simply walking past the williams patio, mick looks up at the lack of the younger driver's acknowledgement of the guy in blue sitting very obviously in the white chair. mick cranes his neck back, shooting logan a questioning stare.

to which, logan only shrugs. mick is one of the few friends that she decided to tell; by that, he means that they got caught sneaking around the paddocks last year right by the haas racing home.

"still walked right past you?" a british accent makes logan tear his eyes off his girlfriend, meeting alex's brown eyes as he approaches the table. "how bad was the fight that you guys had?"

"pretty bad," logan mutters with a small smile, putting his phone down gently on the table. "did george tell you anything? did she tell them anything about the fight we had?"

alex frowns, shaking his head. logan came out and confessed that they, in fact, have been in a relationship for about two years. at first, alex was a bit appalled that logan was able to lie to him so fluently for the majority of the season.

after he processed his initial reaction, which only took about a minute or so, alex cheered and congratulated logan. as far as alex was concerned, it physically hurt to watch this young man be head over heels for someone he presumed to not be as interested in him as he is with her.

with his new-found knowledge of their involvement, alex went on a mission to pry george and lando - the people she's consistently stuck with all week - to try and figure out if she's said anything to them. or, has at least told them what's running through her mind.

alex did immediately run off. he was not glad to find out that his friends found out before him, but was very excited to share his new discovery.

he ran to the mercedes' racing home about an hour ago, squealing and giggling as he yanked george away from toto to talk. they were shortly joined by lando, spewing detailed accounts of the night he caught them in japan on a date.

then lando dropped his giggles, shaking his head at the assumption that their fight looked like it had gotten pretty bad. george then perks up, whispering very softly and incoherently about how bad it had seemed two nights ago during the opening ceremony rehearsal.

"they said she's been quite reserved since the first night," alex explains, lips pursed as he tries to remember everything that had nothing to do with the fact that he disappeared for a hot half hour because they derailed from the original topic of conversation.

alex found themselves talking about how they saw her crying in max's arm the other night, then concluding the conversation with what hair colour he should get next. "they said she's been with max a lot. hasn't even really talked to oscar, lando said."

logan scoffs, locking his jaw. he's not saying he's jealous of max verstappen, though it does seem to be that way to the naked eye.

okay so he's jealous of max verstappen. but in his defence, who wouldn't be? logan finds himself consistently at the back of the grid race after race, and there is his girlfriend sharing simple celebrations with the two-time world champion.

more often than not, on a race weekend, when she has to force a little distance from him to avoid partaking in the rumour mill, she's adopted by the older drivers to shower with information and a lot of love.

"yeah, she was walking with susie earlier," logan gestures at the long stretch ahead of them in the paddocks. "and she's wearing black."

"black?" alex repeats, raising an eyebrow. "like full black?" logan nods. "oh, you guys have got to talk soon. how long haven't you talked?"

"about a week."

"god," alex cries, rubbing his eyes. "okay, okay. we'll find a way to make you guys talk, okay?"

"how? she's been avoiding me all week. and i think this is something we need to come together on our own and figure out."

logan does have a big ego, but it all seems to fall apart when it comes to her. it's always been a topic for shits and giggles growing up though that seemed to change after they went on their first date.

almost immediately, everyone could tell how head over heels he was just for her.

"yeah, but neither of you is even trying?" alex points out, tilting his head and furrowing his eyebrows. "are you serious?"

"i can see how i worded that wrongly."

alex pushes his chair back, heading straight for the building behind them. "i will consult the madman. wait right here."

"whoa!" logan calls out, throwing his arms in the air. "you told your girlfriend that i have a girlfriend? dude, you were sworn to secrecy!"

"you're not as convincing as (y/n), from what i heard," alex purses his lips together, shaking his head. "and, lily knew before me, anyway. oscar's girlfriend whispered it in her ear when they went to the club last night when (y/n) refused to go out on the dance floor."

"fine. but come back with good news only."

"i'll try my best."

"it wasn't easy, i guess," toto shrugs, his office chair being manoeuvred around his small office by his feet planted against the floor. he stirs the coffee in his cup and looks at the girl curled into a ball in the chair on the other side of his table. "you need to put each other above the results of a weekend. you should not have let that get to you."

"but i guess it is kinda hard watching your girlfriend achieve the things you want to also be achieving," susie mutters, fingers pressed against her lips as she thinks.

for susie to know of her relationship with logan, you'd have to date back to over two years ago. susie had been fully vouching for her, trying to get her opportunities in a higher level to help her progress. so, of course, she had to excitedly tell susie about it.

if there was anyone who would be supportive, it's her. and susie didn't find a problem in their relationship, only claiming to tread carefully since they are always racing against one another.

susie is just more surprised that the difference in performance and the pressure of it all only just got to them now. racing alongside one another in f2 should have been the one that did it, but she guesses it's because they used to be a lot closer in the results back then.

"basically," toto sighs, blowing cold air into his cup of coffee. "put your relationship first if you want to make this last. and i know logan means a lot to you, so i am sure you will find a way around this."

"but why did it feel like it was my fault that he wasn't achieving the same things as me?" she sighs, throwing her head back into the wall with a soft thud. she looks at the ceiling of toto's office, knees to her chest as she hides away from the cameras and the prying questions of those who know of their relationship.

"you need to come together in the moments of hard times," toto mutters, shaking his head. "he's not doing well; you are doing well. find a middle ground."

"how am i supposed to do that, toto?" she yelps, melting into the seat, legs and arms spreading as she scratches the top of her head. "we literally just had the biggest fight of our relationship. two nights ago, i didn't even think there was no other way out of this but a breakup until max made me talk to susie."

the reason she's been following max instead of sebastian around all weekend is because she thought that he would be able to figure it out with her. alas, they were both stumped that night of the rehearsals, sipping on beer in a nearby bar.

she found herself hopeless, bracing herself to admit defeat to the pressures of dating someone within the sport. until max perked up after chugging half his glass of gin and tonic, eyes shimmering as the greatest idea he's had all night finally came to him.

"you know who i bet had to navigate a tricky situation?" max asked her, pointing a finger to her face knowingly. "susie and toto."

she hesitated, but max did make a compelling case. all he had to say was: "she used to race and he was an investor in the motorsport."

"i think," susie speaks, then pauses as she flutters her eyes to think for a moment, "that you're both great kids."

"thanks, that's exactly what my mum said," she answers flatly, unamused at the answer.

"so it might not be as difficult to resolve it," susie smiles. "i'm sure you can find a way."

"i'm here because i don't know a way," she repeats, throwing her arms around in the air. "you can't just say that to me and expect me to come up with a resolution instantly. i've avoided my boyfriend for almost a week because i thought there was only one solution!"

susie exchanges a smile with her husband, who is quietly giggling to himself at his table. then she looks at the young driver with a smile that emits less ridicule. "i can't do that for you. you have to figure it out with him; not us."

"are you saying i need to go and talk to him?" she frowns, folding her arms over her chest. "like i have to go up to him and talk to him? in person?"

"you can't do it over text message," toto frowns in confusion. he lifts his eyes to look at susie. "right?"

"she can," susie laughs, sitting on the armrest of his seat. she looks at the driver again. "but she shouldn't."

“handle this like an adult.”

“fine.”

logan was simply minding his own business in his driver's room when alex barged in (he's been doing that for the past week because he knows there's no possibility of a girl inside) and dragged him out.

he wasn't going to ask questions, he just followed alex blindly, dropping his head low in confusion.

right by the steps that lead into the william's racing home, their small group is huddled into a makeshift circle. they're leaned in with hushed whispers and excited giggles with lando even getting a bit loud with every couple of words he said.

she likes to call them the elite group that's somehow managed to find out about her and logan, though everyone argued with her that they didn't make much of an effort to really keep it under wraps.

"okay, so we came up with a plan," alex says, finally letting go of logan's sleeve.

max lifts his head, hands on his hips. "i wouldn't trust any plan you come up with."

"hey, i came up with that plan," lily.m scoffs, holding a hand against her chest. "excuse you."

"oh, then that's better," george agrees with a smile. "so what have you come up with?"

"really? you trust a plan that had alex's input on it?" lando cries, scratching his head. "you're gonna break them up! that's not the outcome we're trying to achieve, people! focus!"

"highly offended, actually," lily.m frowns. "like you can come up with a better plan."

alex waves his arms in the air in an attempt to hush the chatter that his friends are in. "no, listen! it's a good plan!"

"i also have a plan," mick speaks up, reaching his arm out into the middle of the circle to get their attention.

"i'd trust him more than whatever you two have come up with," max mutters, pointing at the couple accusingly.

logan actually appreciates the banter that's going on and it almost makes him forget the real reason they've all gathered here today. it's refreshing to be the one in the middle of older drivers' conversations.

this must be why his girlfriend has grown quite fond of them. but it's hard not to feel like an outsider.

"hey, we spent the better part of our alone time in my driver's room scheming!" alex defends himself, reaching out to push mick's arm away.

"hey, don't do that!" george laughs, smacking the back of alex's hand. "apologise!"

"guys," oscar finally speaks up. "i think we should address the problem at hand?"

"we will, but max says my plan would never work!" alex squeaks. "take that back!"

"i'm only speaking the truth!"

"but mate-"

"what are you guys doing?"

"hold on, (y/n), max is being- (y/n)!" alex screams just as everyone turns their head to find the smaller girl looking up at their group with a weird stare. she holds a pepsi tightly in her hands, pressing it against her chest as she takes an innocent sip.

logan feels his heart drop at the sight of his confused girlfriend standing there staring at them with wide eyes. but he also just feels an overwhelming surge of relief finally being this close to her again.

oscar is right: this is the longest they've gone without talking since they all met during karting. even his months-long trips back to florida never kept them apart from one another for this long. a couple days at best before they start falling back into old habits.

"we're having a," max trails, turning his head back to desperately search for somebody who can finish his sentence for him. "a..."

"we're discussing what to get for supper after the opening ceremony later," lily grins, elbowing oscar beside her to push him forward slightly.

oscar stumbles a step forward, clearing his throat as he meets his best friend's eyes. "yeah, we haven't found a place yet. we were just about to find you to ask you if you had any ideas!"

"and you're all going together?" she asks suspiciously, her eyes slowly scanning the participants of the circle. she momentarily meets logan's eyes before she settles for oscar's gaze again. "all of you?"

lando looks around, realising how weird their group has grown to be. he takes the initiative to answer her: "yeah. why not?"

she presses her lips together, moving her head to the side slightly to show him that she's not entirely buying the lie. "really?”

“yeah,” max nods excitedly. “we couldn’t find you so we discussed first.”

“but i’ve never seen you,” she points at oscar, then at logan, “and you hang out with george before.”

logan raises his eyebrows, taken aback by her sudden verbal acknowledgement of his presence. he shrugs, then turns his head to oscar for help.

“what, we can’t get to know each other over dinner?” george calls out with a scoff. “all this criticism — do you even know of a place we can go to to get some late-night food?”

“can it wait?” she asks sweetly with a small smile. “i kinda need to talk to logan alone.”

there’s a moment of silence.

“you’re making dinner plans without us, aren’t you,” mick jokes, furrowing his eyebrows at her. “why would you do that?”

she laughs, walking towards her boyfriend with a hand held out to his arm. “i just need to steal him for a little while — i promise we’ll head out to supper with you guys tonight.”

her hand lands on logan’s arm, wrapping itself around his arm. “we’ll catch you guys later?”

“okay,” max answers hesitantly. “don’t forget to think of where to eat.”

“max,” alex says through gritted teeth, hitting his shoulder.

“what?” max asks innocently, throwing his arms in the air as they start to pull away from the group.

she barely takes two steps away from them before she whispers to him, “can i talk to you for a bit?”

“yeah, of course,” logan nods, putting a hand on the small of her back. “your room?”

she nods with a small smile, then picks up her pace. she reaches back for his wrist, making him flinch at the first feel of her skin he’s gotten in the longest time. but he doesn't pull away, just lets the sliver of skin he can feel past the cuff of his fireproofs warm him up.

she rushes up the stairs leading up to the door of her racing home, head hung low as they navigate an all too familiar route. a route he hasn’t taken all week, but has been wanting to, and coward away from.

they’ve only got 15 minutes to figure this out in one sitting before it’s considered suspicious. they never stay in for too long to avoid suspicions within her team. just like a teenage couple would, they eventually keep the door open to prove that they're definitely not doing anything suspicious inside.

she greets her team principal with a small smile before she disappears into the stairs with logan still letting himself be dragged in by her. she makes a quick sharp turn into her room and closes the door behind her.

she faces the door, her heart racing in her chest and her hands start to sweat at the thought of confrontation over their intense fight. she came straight from toto's office and went to find logan, only to be told by james that he was dragged out by alex a few minutes prior.

she takes a deep breath and turns around and barely has the time to process just how much she's missed her boyfriend because she's being pulled into his arms in a tight hug.

"i'm sorry," logan mutters into her hair, his arms desperately clinging to her smaller frame.

she slowly lifts her arms, wrapping them around his torso to return the tight grip. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean what i said - i'm sorry."

"no, you're right. it's not my fault that i can't deliver for races. i shouldn't have taken it out on you," logan sighs, pulling away. "it's- oh, please don't cry."

"i'm sorry," she repeats, starting to heave heavily out of guilt. just the sheer thought that breaking up might have been the only way has been eating at her all day. "logan, i-"

"please don't cry," logan whispers, his lips pressing as a knot forms on his forehead. great. now they're both crying. his thumbs swipe over both her cheeks in an attempt to dry her tears but the new ones just keep undoing his efforts. "you can cry but don't make me cry. only one of us can cry at a time."

and then she couldn't hold it in anymore. she breaks into a louder cry. "i'm sorry i thought breaking up was the only way out of this. i'm sorry - i just didn't see how we could have moved past something as big as what we were fighting about. i love you, logan, but i didn't know what else i could do. i'm sorry."

suddenly it felt like someone had thrown a knife directly into his chest. the entire week, the thought that she might have considered breaking up with him came up many times. he was good at keeping those thoughts at bay, but hearing it directly from her lips just felt different.

it hurt differently when it came from the person you think is your soulmate.

"oh."

she stifled a sob when he straightened his back and dropped his hands from her cheeks. "i didn't know what to do. i'm sorry. i didn't know how long more we could go on walking on eggshells every race we would have. i hated hurting you like that every weekend. i hated seeing you force smiles, laughter and neverminds just to accommodate to me.

"i," she cuts herself off, forcing herself to swallow the sob that's bubbled up from the deepest part of her chest. she tries to blink her tears away, but it falls anyway. she turns away from him momentarily to wipe it away on the cuff of her fireproof. "i couldn't keep doing that to you."

"you," logan sighs, throwing his head back, palms covering his eyes. "you really think that i care about any of that? i contemplated; i told you, two years ago every single outcome our relationship could have on us! you knew this was bound to happen and now you're telling me you thought about ending it over this?"

"because i saw the way you would look at me every weekend! you didn't look at me the way you did in singapore when i was up on that podium when we were in bahrain at the start of the year. you can say you love me and that you're happy for me, but i can tell!"

"tell what?"

"i can tell that however much you loved me wasn't going to be enough for you to push away the growing feeling of-" she sighs, and tears her eyes away from him. she settles for the teddy bear sitting on her bean bag. she presses her lips together, jaw locking as she hates herself for what she's about to say. "of eventually hating me."

"why would you ever think that i could grow to hate you?" logan rubs his face roughly, then runs his hands through his hair. "i- god, i'm so in love with you! i was - i am - happy for you, but i could also see the pity in your eyes every weekend that i would finish behind you! you're sorry for me! i don't need that from you - everybody already always looks at me that way."

"because i know you on the track! i've raced against you my entire career - i know what you're capable of!"

"then why do you keep looking at me like i'm always just going to crash out every race?"

"i want to see you succeed! i hate seeing you like this! i hate having to go everywhere and watch and listen and look at people speaking about you like this! you're nothing like what they say!"

"i don't need your pity! i need you to be my girlfriend - i put you above what happens on a race weekend. if you succeed, then you succeed and then you can go and celebrate! but i never minimised any of your achievements just because my race went haywire. if i crash out and you've somehow managed to break a record, that's okay! it's doesn't fucking matter, because your achievements obviously mean the entire world more than that.

"stop trying to think of what i will feel when you succeed. i'm your boyfriend - i am always going to be happy for you. separate our results from our relationship. if you keep letting it get in the way, this will never work."

she straightens her back and snaps her head to him. "you want to break up with me?"

"no," logan sighs, shaking his head tiredly. he takes a step forward, her eyes dropping to his feet then lifting it to meet his eyes. "i don't want to break up with you, i'm just- i didn't speak to you very nicely before we left for vegas. i think i didn't word myself appropriately and i'm sorry."

"you were right about some points, honestly, it doesn't-"

"i didn't mean to blame you for the way i was feeling, and neither was it my intention to back you into a corner because i couldn't get a grip in an f1 car. it's not right."

"but, logan-"

"stop trying to take care of me and my feelings. i promise i always literally get over it when i see your team throwing you around when you make history."

"that's not fair," she says softly, leaning into his touch when he lifts his hand to cup her cheek. "you can feel feelings too. i don't want you to deprive yourself of that."

"i can be sad about it another day that doesn't interfere with you. it doesn't matter what i'm feeling retiring from a race when you never fail to deliver results."

"that doesn't solve my problem, logan. i don't want you to hate me."

"i'm never going to hate you," he laughs softly, throwing his arms around her for another embrace. "why would you ever think that?"

"because i've seen this happen to friends in the same field. one succeeds more than the other, and the latter can't cope. it almost always ends up falling apart."

"emphasis on 'friends'," logan smiles slightly, bending down to meet her at her height. "you're my girlfriend. we're always going to have to find ways around shit like this. we knew that when we started dating. right?"

"yeah? but it just doesn't sound like a solution i'll be okay with."

"i promise i'm trying to get better so i can redeem that one deal we made in bahrain at the start of the year."

"god, logan! you're disgusting!" her hand comes down to land a smack on his shoulder.

he bursts out laughing and leans down again to make their noses touch. "we're going to be okay."

"really?" she grins shyly, her hand resting above the back of his hand that's pressed up against her cheek. "you really think we'll be okay even if we're in f1 for the rest of our lives?"

"i know so. i know that because my mama didn't raise no quitter - i'm never leaving you."

"why'd you have to ruin it?"

"it was getting too sappy."

"maybe i preferred you guys when you were fighting," max scoffs, walking away from the seat he's just been evicted from. "you were able to act like two normal human beings."

"everything about this week is normal!" george cries, shaking his head. "she wore sunglasses indoors after making fun of me for it! how is that fair?"

"i literally told you i'm sitting next to logan," the younger driver states, glaring at max. "you went and sat next to him anyway. you did this to yourself."

"we're in america - it's called first come first serve."

"i literally don't think that's how it works," alex sighs, turning to look at max. "be better, max."

"trust me, i'm trying."

kidy/n

liked by logansargeant, blythe.yln and 73,482 others

kidy/n guys we’re still friends i promise i just can’t stand him when he makes me go fish with him because huh

view 13 comments…

comments on this post have been limited.

logansargeant no cuz why did u post this

logansargeant i thought you were joking

kidy/n learn to take me seriously every once in a while idk

oscarpiastri appropriate picture to end the us races imo

sebastianvettel ?

yukitsunoda0511 i’ll go fishing with u logan :/

lilyzneimer i’m going to have to disagree on this y/n

kidy/n please say jk right now i know you’re not defending this fish murderer

georgerussell63 hahahahahahahaha

kidy/n ?

williamsracing can we borrow these pics? asking for a friend

kidy/n merch with these photos?

williamsracing we’ll deliver it straight to your doorstep

logansargeant ???

@littlesatanicassholebitch @what-is-happening-helpp @myxticmoon @gentlyweeps-world @nerdfromanotherworld @n7ytiri @alliesreblogs

[house-of-lovin]

legally binded - 8

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | series mast. | prev. part | next part

Chapter 8: Beetlejuice and London Blues

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: dual!pov, famous!reader, actress!reader, mentions of substances, intoxication, mature language, real people. (do not read if any of these make you uncomfortable)

(this is all fiction!)

Note: hey y’all. I’m gonna be taking a break from this series for a bit after I post this. I’m gonna be real busy this summer, so LB updates probably won’t be weekly for a while. thanks for understanding!

Word Count: 8.2k+ (these are getting longer)

“Fuck me.”

A mistake.

You made a mistake.

Was your first thought when you woke up with the sun shining directly into your eyelids; the throbbing pain deep in your skull was the first symptom of your grave oversight. 

“Fuck you is right…” A loud voice pierces through the silence in the room and the pounding in your head worsened immediately. 

Turning over at a snails pace, you find Link leaning against the doorframe, with a bitter frown on his face. 

“What did I do?” You moaned, holding your head in your hands.

“Other than be a massive asshole? Drink yourself stupid.” He says bluntly, walking into the room and placing a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the bedside table.

Pushing yourself up, you continue to loudly groan despite the pounding in your skull and desperately reached for the medicine bottle. After popping two in and washing it down it some water, you leaned against the headboard with a heavy sigh.

Being ran over by an 18-wheeler and somehow managing to survive would be a fair comparison to your current condition.

“I don’t remember how I got back.” 

“We don’t know either, you just opened the door…”

“Right.” Hazy memories of last night’s escapades we’re starting to come back.

“What the hell, Y/N, we were looking for your ass for almost four hours.” He crossed his arms, staring you down as his nose flared in anger.

“Sorry…” You mumbled, closing your eyes. The familiar feeling of guilt rumbled in your chest the longer you met his judging eyes.

After sneaking off to the bathroom, you knew you had to take the opportunity to escape that after-party. You thought drinking your problems away and partying would help distract you from your argument with Jenna. But your efforts proved fruitless. The longer you stood in that loud room, the more suffocating it felt; Jenna’s words echoing mercilessly in your head. 

So you slipped out without letting anyone know. Dumb idea, I know.

You had full intentions of going for a walk to clear your head, thinking of what to say to Jenna and then making your way back to the hotel to wait for her so you could talk, but before that could happen…

“Well, well, well… look who it is.” 

Dropping your hand that was holding your phone limply by your side, you perk up. All thoughts of calling an Uber back to the hotel were forgotten as you turned; feeling your blood run cold immediately at the familiar voice.

“Damon.” You greet flatly. 

“Aw, come on, that’s how you greet an old friend?” He held a hand to his chest, walking forward. “Vegas was so long ago, don’t you miss my company?” 

“Not particularly no.” You cross your arms, standing your ground.

“You don’t mean that, baby…” He stood in your space, leaning into you. You held your head up, not intimidated by his presence.

“What are you even doing here? Last time I checked, you weren’t invited to the Met.” You grit. There’s no way his C-list ass was invited to one of the biggest social events of the year. 

“I was someone’s plus one.” He answered, shrugging.

You roll your eyes because of course he wasn't even invited. He was always sliming his way into events.

“Come on, we used to have so much fun…” He leaned closer.

“Get out of my face.” You grit, standing your ground.

“You don’t really blame me for Vegas, do you?” He stepped back, annoyance growing as his brows furrowed.

You bit back a laugh, spatting out. “Of course I do! You had coke on you – snorting that shit in a fucking strip club with me beside you. The hell were you thinking?”

He crossed his arms, anger steadily masking over his features. “You weren’t complaining about wanting to get fucked up before that. Actually, you were the one that begged me to leave L.A.”

You glare at him as you’re reminded of that weekend three months ago. “Clearly that was a mistake. The press thinks it was mine, Damon.”

He shrugged, smirking.  “Beats me.”

Your glare hardens as you clenched your jaw. “You’re an asshole.”

“Oh baby, you just found out?” His smug smile widens and you wanted nothing more than to punch it clean off his face. 

“Stay the fuck away from me if you know what's good for you.” You bark, eyes never leaving his.

His gaze twinkled in amusement at the challenge, paying no heed to it. Then he leans in close to your ear, whispering. “You’ll be back soon when you realize no one wants you.”

Your heart drops as his words ring in your ears. You keep your face impassive, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing his words affect you.

“Your little PR relationship with Jenna is cute. You guys almost have everyone convinced, but I know the truth. You’ll be back when Jenna realizes that you’re too broken to love.” He taunts, smiling widely. 

Your heart thrums so loudly against your chest that it makes your entire body throb in tandem.

“Fuck you.” You shove his chest firmly as he stumbled back a couple steps from the sheer force.

You don’t wait for a response as you leg it down the sidewalk, ignoring people’s questioning looks. You weren’t sure if they recognized you or if they were questioning why you were in a fancy suit on the streets of New York City but you didn’t care either way; just stomping off in no particular direction. Not giving anyone who may have recognized you, time to stop you.

You kept walking even as your legs begged for reprieve, taking sidestreets and alleyways to hide from prying eyes, hiding in the shadows. You lived in the Big Apple for a year for a role and in that time, you had gotten to know the city well; preferring to walk to familiarize yourself with new locations. 

“Where the hell were you?” Link questioned. You can hear the agitated tone in his words even as your eyes were closed. 

“I went for a walk.”

“You came back drunk.”

“I stopped by the liquor store.”

“You were gone for three hours.”

“It was a big bottle.”

He huffed. 

You crack an eyelid open, already noting his firmly-set jaw. “Okay, I’m sorry, truce?”

Even you know when you’re being an asshole. You note the dark circles and heavy bags under his eyes and it reminded you of the first time you came home after meeting Jenna. The moment Link opened the front door, he had the same expression on his face.

His jaw tightly clenched but his brows pulled in a way that showed his concern. 

Before you could spew any apology you had saved, he pulled you in for a hug, muttering on about how worried he was about your arrest. It made your throat close up and tears build in your eyes at how distressed he sounded. Even when you’ve fucked up, he was still worried about you. 

That familiar pang of guilt comes crawling back the longer he stared at you now with that same look.

Instead, he sighed, dropping his head in surrender and muttering, “truce.”

That makes you open your eyes fully, nodding. “Okay.”

He sat on the foot of the bed, posture more relaxed. “Seriously though, what were you thinking?”

Picking at the loose thread of the duvet, you couldn’t meet his inquiring gaze. “I really did just need some air at first. Then I was gonna go back to the hotel to wait for Jenna, to apologize… but then I saw Damon.”

His sharp intake of breath reaches your ears. “Did you–”

“No!” You were quick to answer. “No… but he was an asshole, said something that pissed me off and I just couldn’t go back to that party or see Jenna. So I kept walking, I think I ended up in Central Park.”

“What did he say?” His nostrils flared.

“Nothing important, I walked away.” You omit.

He conceded but you could see his reluctance anyway.

“And then what — you were walking around, drinking in the middle of Central Park?” He asked bewildered, like you were stupid. Which, hearing it out loud now, is a very stupid decision. It was a miracle you made it back safely.

“Yes…” You muttered, ashamed. “I know I fucked up.”

His laugh is loud and taunting. “Fucked up? We’re way past that. Jenna’s pissed at you and Jake and Sarah found out you two didn’t go to the same after-party. They’re expecting it to be a headline.”

You bang your head against the headboard, ignoring the worsening ache. You deserved it, anyway. “Shit, Jenna… where is she?”

He scoffed, “gone.”

You whipped your head to find his eyes, ignoring the queasiness it caused in your stomach or maybe it was news of Jenna’s departure. “What?”

“She got out of New York first thing in the morning.” He explained.

“Fuck…” You close your eyes again, sliding down the bed. Flashes of your anger bubbling over, reaching a boiling point and exploding on Jenna. You remember your harsh words and the hurt expression that takes over the other actress’ face as you spoke with unabated hatred. “What did I do?”

“Don’t know, I left the room – but whatever you said, it must’ve been pretty bad 'cause it looked like she was about to cry when she came out of your room.” He recounted; not bothering to sugar-coat it. There seems to be nothing and no one that can get to you other than Jenna. 

Maybe realizing that you’ve hurt her, will be the wake-up call that you needed.

“I fucked up.” You repeated, staring at the ceiling.

“I know, buddy.” He sighed, patting your leg. “But you’ll fix it. You always do…”

“I don’t know about this one man.”

Telling Jenna that you wanted to end this PR relationship with her? You just wanted to be mean and hurt her back and that makes Jenna right, you are an asshole.

“What did you even say?” 

You recounted the anger-filled words that you spewed through your drunken stupor, avoiding Link’s angry expression when you finished.

“Are you fucking serious? How could you say that?”

“It was a mistake… I didn’t mean it.” 

“You need to get your head out of your ass and apologize to that girl.” He huffed, getting off the bed. “Get up, our flight leaves in an hour… stupid idiot.” He muttered, walking off as he shook his head in disappointment. 

This time, you couldn’t even blame him. You are an idiot.

***

“Where’s Jenna?”

“She’s busy but she’s been briefed, we can start now..” Liv pursed her lips, leaning back in her seat. 

The tips of your hands start sweating at her words, not knowing what they could mean.

As soon as you landed back in Los Angeles, you had the day to yourself to recuperate after a long week in New York. You sent the other actress a text before the plane took off, asking if she made it back to L.A. safely but you never got a message back. 

You might’ve deserved that one.

There was no other proof of life from the actress other than when you asked if you could pick up your dog from her since she was looking after the pup before the Met. The only response you received was a text from her assistant saying Jenna’s driver would drop him off at your house later in the day.

Again, you might’ve deserved that one. 

As promised, her driver pulled up in a sleek blacked-out SUV with a dog cage in hand. Upon releasing the pup, you noted the new toy he refused to let go of.

Other than her team obviously playing the middleman between you and her, the only other sign that she was well was the Instagram post on her account of her night at the Met Gala; a variety by herself, showing off her Thom Browne gown, some at the after-party with Enrique and other celebrities.

You'd be lying if you said you didn’t feel the slight emptiness in your chest that she didn’t post you. In the late hours of your stalking, you failed to realize that she did in fact, post the two of you, just a couple of hours later.

As a solo picture, was the two of you kissing on the red carpet. You don’t know why the black heart emoji captioning the photo sends your own heart to a frenzy. If you stared at the photo long enough, it was almost like you can feel phantom sensations of her lips pressed against your own again.

You’re ashamed to admit how long it took for you to decide on a response before eventually settling on a white heart to comment back. 

You thank the heavens that Liv barely sleeps because you got a message from her at that exact moment about a meeting the following morning; distracting you from Jenna and that stupid black heart. 

So that’s where you found yourself, in the dark, clutching the armrests of the stiff office chair in nervousness, the longer Liv and Jake waited to explain why you’re here. 

“It’s an update about Vegas,” Jake explained, leaning on the desk, and staring down at you.

“What about Vegas?” Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Sarah found out who leaked the coke…” Liv chimed in. “The source comes from a Twitter account, claims she’s one of the girls in the club, and said she saw you taking a bump, as well. Gossip sites got a hold of it and spread it like wildfire.”

“That’s a lie, I was passed out.” Not the best argument, but it’s the truth.

“She claimed that it came from you.”

“Bullshit!”

“Of course, it’s bullshit. But we’re in damage control now... The police still hasn’t made a comment about pursuing a possible case against you ‘cause there’s nothing there. We’re just dealing with rumours, at this point but I don’t want you to worry about that.” Liv reassured, holding a hand out. She could see the frustration etched on your face.

You rolled your eyes, slumping against the seat. “So, what do we do?”

“The PR with Jenna is going well. It did a good job at covering up headlines about your initial arrest – but now that Vegas headlines are back, we need to work on overtime.”

Immediately, you shake your head, brows furrowing. “I thought the relationship was only meant to last three months?” 

It’ll be three months by the end of this week and Jenna has yet to talk to you since your drunken night after the Met Gala. 

“Yes… and I also said less the faster people forget your night at the county jail, clearly, they haven’t forgotten.” She raised a brow in challenge, and you opted to bite your tongue 'cause she did say that.

“Even then, how would you get Jenna to agree? She’s not exactly my biggest fan, right now.” You muttered, looking down at your hands. Jenna’s probably rejoicing at the fact that this agreement was almost over. After the disaster that was the Met, she’s probably laughing at the proposition of extending this agreement longer.

“Is that why you two didn’t go to the same after-party?” Jake flicked a brow, more so curious. You’re surprised he doesn’t too mad about it.

“You don’t even wanna know.” You closed your eyes in exhaustion at the thought of that night, missing Liv and Jake’s silent conversation, debating if it was time for a parently intervention. But you caught on to their silence.

“Please don’t lecture me on my dating life,” you grumbled, “it’s the last thing I want to hear.”

“Dating life?” Jake piped up, eyes lighting up.

“Did you and Jenna actually catch feelings?” Liv asked, a small smile on her lips.

“I literally said don’t.” You glared and the bite in your tone seemed to get them to relent; dropping the conversation. “And don‘t say catch feelings, it sounds wrong coming from you.”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that, for your sake.” Liv glares before looking at her business partner.

You don’t comment on the weighted glances they keep sending each other.

“Anyways…” Jake cleared his throat, “Lucky for you, Jenna already signed the updated contract—we just need your signature, that’s why you’re here.”

You to sit up straight, unsure if you heard your manager correctly. “What? She did?”

Maybe she wasn’t laughing at the proposition of extending this agreement. But why would she sign it? After what you said to her in New York, you figured she’d be on her merry way out the door and your life.

Liv reached over to the side, cracking open a thick document, and flipped to a page before sliding it over to you; a pen on top.

Beside Jenna’s ink-printed name on the paper, is the same neat handwritten signature that you noticed all those months ago. Your sight flickers down; the empty line with your name just below waiting to be signed seemed menacing this time. As you continue to scan the page and you settle on a certain line causing your heart to stop momentarily.

“A year?” 

Liv nodded, lips thinly pressed. “People are invested. Your names are selling headlines and getting clicks, it’s working. But not well enough to cover Vegas. We need to build you two as a brand, together.”

Suddenly the decision felt weighted.

“A brand?” You drawl, the words feeling wrong on your lips.

Liv sighed, “I know how it sounds… but we need Vegas to go away. After your guys’ appearance at the Met Gala, brands have been calling Jake and Sarah about potential deals featuring you two. You and Jenna sell.” 

You don’t answer, electing to look away to ignore their probing eyes. 

“There’s talk that they want to exclude you from the Dune 2 press run,” Jake admitted after a beat, his heavy-set eyes staring at you unapologetically. 

A knife to the gut is equivalent to how you feel. “What?”

Jake nodded, propping one hand on his desk to hold him up as leaned on it. “I’ve been going back and forth with the producers – reassuring them that you’re not what the press have saying. But like we said, we’re in damage control. SNL, Coachella, the Met Gala, those were good attempts at covering things up to get good press, but it’s not enough.”

Glancing down at the document again, a part of you still hesitates to pick up the pen.

“Did you not hear what I just said?” Jake asked.

“I–I need some time, to think about it.” 

“What’s there to think about?” Liv asked, equally confused. “Jenna already signed it.”

“It’s another year, Liv.” You raised your head to meet her eyes, in shock. Ignoring her reassurances. It doesn’t matter if Jenna signed it. There’s no way you’re letting this go on any longer. “That’s a long time.”

Flicking a brow, she answered, “Yes, it’s a long time, but we need to do this. There’s no other way..” She glanced at Jake, standing beside her, sending him a look.

You shake your head.  Mind already made up the moment you saw just how much longer this needed to continue.

“Well, find another way. I’m not dragging Jenna into my mess any longer.”

“What?” Jake dropped his crossed arms, watching as you frantically stood from the seat. “You wanna throw away the last three months?”

“Yes.” You stood your ground, crossing your arms.

Liv rolled her eyes, uncrossing her legs as she stands. You track her confusedly before you realize she’s walking off to Jake’s alcohol collection.

“That was a gift, Olivia.” Jake chided, as he watched the woman pour a hefty shot of the brown liquid from an expensive-looking bottle. 

You roll your eyes at her dramatics. 

“Are we dealing with the same thing right now?” She hissed in pain, placing the shot glass on the table as she gestured to you.

You shake your head, regaining their attention. “I have a career — movies and events lined up. I can’t play someone’s girlfriend for a year on top of that.”

“Y/N, there’s no other way… we’ll find a way to make it work with both your schedules but right now, we need to capitalize on the all of the attention.”

You huffed, annoyed that they were ignoring you. “I don’t care. Find another way. I’m not signing this.” Then you smack a firm hand on the document before turning to walk out of the office.

This has gone on long enough. You refuse to drag Jenna down any more than you already have. She’s better off without you anyway.

***

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Can you wait?!”

With haste, you stumble on your flip-flops when they tangle on your feet as you walked toward your front gate. The buzzing kept ringing out in the dark, quiet air. You desperately wished you bought a house with see-through gates so you could tell off whoever was repeatedly banging on your buzzer.

You lived in a gated neighbourhood, so you weren’t too worried about a random stranger roaming around. You assumed it was just one of your neighbours ringing the bell. 

“What?” You yank the door open, stepping out. The street lamps on the sidewalk don’t do well to light the figure standing across from you. But even in the dark, you instantly recognize her smaller stature.

She stepped back as you close the door behind you, now standing on the sidewalk. Your house was situated on a cul-de-sac and rarely anyone roamed the streets at this time. 

“What are you doing here?”  You squint, walking closer. 

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Was her answer, words practically dripping in anger.

You stand straighter at her tone, brows knotting together. “What?”

“Who the hell do you think you are, trying to make decisions for me.” She bit back, face contorting in fury. Glancing down, you note her white-knuckled grip on a manila folder.

“We shouldn’t talk about this here.” You sighed, scanning the street. It was empty and quiet but you never know who was lurking around. 

Walking over to the gate, you held it open, “let’s talk inside.”

She stood her ground, feet firmly planted on the concrete. You can see the sharp edges from her jaw clenching even in the poorly-lit street.

“Jenna.” You said knowingly, titling your head to the side.

You hear her huff loudly before stomping past you and walking up the path to your front door. Choosing not to comment on the fact that she’s never been to your house but she’s walking like she has been. Following closely behind, you can’t help but let your eyes wander down, taking note of her outfit.

As always, no matter what she wore, it hung off her expertly, like it was made just for her. You were so distracted looking at her… outfit, that you failed to realize you made it to the front door. 

“Are you gonna open the door or what?’ She raised a brow, not commenting on how quickly you averted your eyes as soon as she turned around.

“Yeah…” You muttered, sliding past her to open the double doors. 

When you make it to the foyer, Jenna is already confronting you before the door even closes. “Sign the contract.”

“Demanding much?” You raised a brow, shutting the door.

“Sign the damn contract, Y/N.” She said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

“What are you doing, Jenna? This is your chance to get out of this.” You wave a hand, gesturing between you and her.

She laughed unamused, “Get out of this? If you think I can leave this PR relationship in the middle of rumours of your arrest and there’s a way I won’t be painted like the bad guy, then you’re really dumber than I thought.”

You clenched your jaw, not answering. 

“Sign the contract.” She repeated, taking your silence as a win.

“No.”

“Why not?” 

“I’m not dragging you into this mess.”

She laughed again, this time it was plainly mocking. “I’m already in this mess. I’m deep in it if you haven’t noticed. Maybe if you pulled your head out of your ass every once in a while you’d realize everything we do is attached to each other, now. There isn’t anywhere I can go without being asked about you or our relationship. So no, I’m not letting you make this decision for me. ‘Cause I’m making it for us.”

You stared at her. The fury in her eyes and tension in her shoulders were noticeable even from where you stood; it didn’t aid in easing the mellowing guilt in your chest.

“It’s all from a business standpoint, don’t look into it.” She glared.

This time, you were certain you deserved that. 

Jenna walked up to you, pushing the manila folder against your chest aggressively. You meet her narrowed eyes staring up at you. “Sign it.”

Then she walked off, slamming the door shut behind her.

***

“How’s the missus?”

“How’s yours?” Tom joked back, handing over a steaming coffee cup. Graciously grabbing it with both hands, you eagerly sip on the bitter drink as the London native settles on the patio chair across you.

Although it was considered a warm day in London, there was a cool breeze that wafted through the air penetrating through your jacket. 

“Very funny.” You muttered, ignoring the heat rising up your neck.

“I’m just fuckin with ya.” He chuckled, cheeks crinkling in amusement. 

“She actually has day off from filming, right now.” You placed the paper cup on the table, fiddling with the cover. “So, at home.”

“Beetlejuice 2, right? Insane gig, you must be proud of her.” He smiled, gauging your reaction.

The smile that creeps up on your face is genuine, “Yeah, I am. They just started filming last week, I know she’s killing it.”

“Have you visited her on set?”

You blushed, not even considering that a possibility. “No uh– not yet.”

“Either way, it’s great. I’m happy for you guys.” He said sincerely, but he sees through you. “But, what’s with the long face?”

You sighed, leaning back. Taking a moment to glance around at the quiet street, it was still early morning and the hustle of the Brit actor’s town was still non-existent.

You’ve known Tom for a long time, meeting him during your stint in the MCU. He’s become a brother of sorts, as you two navigated the Marvel fame throughout all those years. As soon as you landed in England, he was the first person you texted.

“It’s complicated– with Jenna.”

“How so?” He flicked a brow, sipping on his drink.

That prompted a long retelling of how you met the other actress (definitely breaching your contract, but hey, you’ll send over an NDA) the events of SNL, Coachella, the Met, and recently, how you’ve been forced to follow her to London as she films Beetlejuice 2 to support her as she films the follow-up to the iconic horror-classic.

“Wow…” His brows raised in shock, mouth hanging wide open. 

You raise an expectant brow. “Well? What should I do?”

“You asking me?” He pointed to himself and if he wasn’t one of your closest friends and Hollywood’s biggest faces, you’d punched him straight.

You huffed, brows knitting together. “Yes, I’m asking you. You and Z are the epitome of a healthy relationship. Tell me what to do.”

Tom rubbed his stubbled jaw, relaxing in his seat as he thought of what to say. “It’s not that easy. Z and I actually want to make it work.”

“What does that mean?” You sat up straighter, a bit defensive.

“Mate, throughout that whole story, you kept talking about this relationship like it was the worst thing in the world. Making up excuses for your actions as to why you can’t open up to Jenna— running away. You guys haven’t talked about anything. She doesn’t know about Vegas, or how you felt about Coachella… You also have yet to apologize for how you disappeared for hours and then acted like an asshole in New York. You just followed her to London, expecting to live under one roof like everything’s alright. It’s a bomb waiting to explode.”

You… couldn’t say anything to that.

He bit back a laugh at your wide-eyed reaction, “Listen, I’m no expert on relationships – I’m still trying to find my way. But one thing I’ve learned, is that when two people want to make it work they will, but that only happens with honest communication. She doesn’t even know how you feel about her… maybe start there.”

“What if it’s too late? What if too much has happened for us to fix things?” You questioned, meeting his kind eyes and allowing him to see the vulnerability in yours.

“Then you start over, build from the ground up.”

You knew his relationship has also seen its fair share of rocky moments. Noting his slew of ex-girlfriends before eventually finding his way back to the Euphoria actress. That made you feel a bit better about your situation.

“Let me ask you this,” He piques up, leaning his elbows on the table, fingers cupping his chin, “what are you so scared of?”

You already know your answer. “I don't want to break her heart.”

He hums, pondering your response, “It sounds like you don’t want her to break yours, mate.”

This time, you’re the one humming as a response, unsure of what to say because he’s right. There’s never been anyone you’ve allowed to get close enough to even break your heart. 

The thought that someone could take your heart and stomp on it whenever they wanted is terrifying concept.

“Look,” he speaks up when you don’t answer, “it sounds like you really care about Jenna. I’ve seen pictures of you two, even if you say it’s just for the cameras. I’ve never seen you look so smitten. Talk to her, you never know what could happen if you stop getting in your own way.”

You flushed, choosing not to comment on his words. “Ho-how you’d see the pictures?”

“You two are everywhere and Z sent me that picture of the two of you with her niece. Very cute,” He winked cheekily.

You rolled your eyes. “Alright, I get it. I’ll talk to her.”

“Finally, Link owes me a drink.” He settled back into his seat, sipping on his drink.

You rolled your eyes, shooting the Brit a glare. “You two are annoying.”

But he just chuckled, trying to hide it with a sip of coffee before speaking up again. “Hey, once you get settled here in London, why don’t you come to Monaco with me for the F1 Grand Prix?”

Your gaped at the offer, “You serious?”

“Yeah, it’ll do you some good. Forget about Vegas, the press and Jenna, for a bit?” He leaned in, raising his brows at the proposition, a grin smacked on his teeth. “Me, you, a couple of friends and some cars. What’d ya say?”

You’d take a moment to think over your options but you were already sold.

“I’m in.” You grinned.

***

It’s been three days since you landed in London, following Jenna across the Atlantic Ocean as she filmed Beetlejuice 2. You're still trying to adjust to the time zone difference but that’s really the least of your worries because it’s been terribly awkward living under the same roof as Jenna.

You were seriously considering paying for a hotel during your time here but maybe spending thousands of dollars, or pounds… on a hotel room every night in London for a month straight isn’t the best business decision.

Clearly Jake and Sarah agreed because when you called Jake he said and I quote ‘there’s no other way for you to live anywhere other than with Jenna’ — yeah right.

At least she’s speaking to you — which is a step. Jenna had to fly over to the UK a week earlier and in that time it seems the tensions between you have simmered down. But, her responses are restrained, overly polite, like she didn’t know how to talk to you anymore.

You ignored how your heart clenched at her snipped, cold responses.

“Hi,” She greeted, as soon as you made it down the hallway then living room. Eyes tracking your every move as you shuffled to the kitchen, placing a paper bag atop the counter.

“Hey, how was your day off?” You greeted, glancing up at her momentarily.

“It was alright, I just walked around; got to know the neighbourhood. What about you? You were gone by the time I woke up...” Jenna asked, hating how you averted your gaze from her so quickly these days.

“I met up with a friend over at Kingston.” You replied, opening the fridge to grab a bottle of water. 

“Tom Holland?”

Turning, surprised she knew that but she answered before you could even ask. “I saw some pictures on Instagram.”

You purse your lips, nodding; not really surprised the paparazzi discovered your outing with the Brit actor. The press never sleeps, even when you’re in another continent.  “Oh, I see… well, he says hello, by the way.”

Jenna perked up surprised. “He did?”

You nodded but said nothing else. 

“You were gone for a while, though.” She added.

“We also grabbed dinner.” You’d usually make an annoyed quip about the sudden interrogation but at this point, you were just glad she’s talking to you.

“Did you have fun?” She asked. You don’t miss the slow, drawled tone that accompanied the question like she was unsure if she should keep the conversation afloat or let it fizzle out.

“Yes, I did actually.” You find yourself saying. A day away from the tenseness in this apartment was a nice change.

Jenna wanted to interject and ask why you looked peeved in the photos and videos she saw. She’s familiar with the tightly wound brows and flared nostrils that you create when you’ve gone off on a rant. 

She couldn’t help but wonder what you two were talking about. Instead, she kept her mouth shut and nodded. “That’s nice...”

Sighing under your breath, you try not to make a reaction and set off an argument with the other actress but the awkward responses were getting old and it’s only your third day here. There’s no way you can handle walking on eggshells around her for another minute.

Shufflling closer to the couch where Jenna sat; gaze still tracking you. You send her a timid smile, placing a paper cup atop the table across from her.

A peace offering, of sorts.

“The coffee shop I was at this morning is known for their hot chocolate, so I got you one on the way back.”

She blinked, evidently surprised at the gesture. You take her silence as a chance to sit on the armchair just across.

“Call it a truce?” You added, sending a sheepish smile. 

Other than the episode of Breaking Bad playing in the background, it’s dead silent in the apartment.

You didn’t comment on how she rewatching an episode that the two of you had already seen.

Jenna stayed mute, just watching you but reached out for the hot chocolate on the coffee table then leaned back on the couch, pulling her legs up to her chest. 

You considered it as an olive branch.

“I’m sorry for how I acted in New York — I know I worried you.” You gauged her reaction but she averted her gaze to the coffee table, on the cup she was fiddling with — anywhere but your own eyes. “You’re right, I am an asshole and I am so, so sorry Jenna. How can I make it up to you?”

Your question finally has her meeting your eyes, voice cold. “You can’t.”

You sighed, “come on, Jen. There has to be something.”

“You can’t because I’m not ready to forgive you yet.” She reiterated and you slumped back against the cushion, defeated.

“Okay…” You accepted. With a slow nod, you stood up about to walk off to your bedroom and lock yourself inside for the remainder of the night.

Maybe you can try again tomorrow.

Jenna huffed, “where are you going?”

Spinning around, confused; you pointed to the closed door down the hall, “my room? I’m giving you space.”

She stands up, agitation etched on her face and placed the paper cup on the wooden table with force. “No, Y/N, that’s not what I want.”

You flick a brow up, still bemused at her sudden hostility. “So, then what do you want, Jenna?”

Probably like her, you were growing tired of the constant fighting and miscommunication that seems to occur every time a serious talk needed to happen.

Her forehead created lines as she raised both brows, “to talk! I want you to talk to me. Open up to me — I never know what you’re actually thinking. You say I’m leading you on but do you even realize that you're doing the same to me?!”

She finished off with a sharp breath and widened eyes like she didn’t expect to reveal all of that.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to remember the countless advice you’ve been receiving from everyone. Reminding yourself of the unpleasantness that took home in your chest from being away and fighting with the other actress. You didn’t enjoy receiving the cold shoulder from her.

“That’s not what I was trying to do, I swear.” You tried to say calmly despite your heart hammering widly in your chest; fight or flight instincts begging for you to flee.

She studied you with a cautious gaze, you don’t blame her for not believing you. “I like you, a lot – more than I ever expected.”

Your confession has her brows raising in surprise. Not expecting you to say that. You take her stunned silence as a chance to keep talking.

 “I think we both can say that the way we came into each other’s life was less than… conventional.” You chuckled to fill the tense silence, “I’m not exactly sure when or where, but along the way that I started to fall for you.”

You sit back down on the armchair prompting Jenna to perch on the couch, across from you. The space in between you and the other actress feels like a million miles away. Feeling like your nerves are shot from her indecipherable look, alone.

“I really care about you, Jenna and you’re right. I haven’t been honest with you, about anything but especially over Vegas and that’s not fair… so I guess I should start there.”

Jenna can’t even hide her surprise that you’re actually opening up. Never mind confessing how you feel about her. Instead, she keeps her mouth shut and allows you to speak.

“Vegas was just a bad decision. I think I was overwhelmed— I had a busy year last year and nothing was letting up. I begged this… friend that I had to skip town, go to Vegas and fuck shit up. Well, we did. When the cops got to the strip club, I was passed out drunk and Damon—uh the friend, was doing coke beside me. Uh, I'm not really sure what happened next but they took me to jail and next thing I knew I was waking up to someone telling me I’d been bailed out… Jake said they tried to pick us both up for drug charges but when they realized it wasn’t mine, they charged me with a drunken disorderly, instead.”

Somewhere along the way, your gaze dropped in shame, unable to match Jenna’s intense stare. You felt mortified as you recounted the tales of your criminal escapade. It’s not a night you choose to relive or retell for a reason, and definitely not a story that you want Jenna knowing. 

But she’s right, she is as deep in this mess as you are. She deserves to know the whole story if you two had to keep this PR stunt going for another year. And if this relationship had any real chance of surviving.

“I heard about it… when it first happened. Sarah was the one to tell me about the coke, that’s why I called you a drug user when we first met…” Jenna admitted, “she said it wasn’t yours but then that headline claimed it was dropped before the Met and you didn’t say anything—“

“I know, I know and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have waited until the last minute to say something.” You hesitated. You’ve never done well at being confronted with the repercussions of your bad decisions, much less having to explain them. “I was scared—“

Your voice cracked, cursing inwardly you fought through the unpleasant thickness in your throat. That makes Jenna meet your eyes, watching as you blinked away the tears beginning to cloud your vision.

Her gaze softens… never seeing you so vulnerable. Continuing to observe you for a few seconds before giving in, “come here.”

You look up at her extended hand and how she patted the open space next to her. Your legs work against you, already standing to walk over and sit.

When you do, she’s turning her whole body to find your eyes. This time her body language is open and inviting rather than the reserved, tense stature you’ve grown accustomed to.

“Sorry…” You wiped the corner of your eyes.

She shakes her head, “don’t be.”

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to meet her kind eyes. She waits for you to patiently speak.

“I was scared.” You repeated.

“I was scared of my feelings for you. That week at your parents' house… was the first time I felt welcomed in a long time. It’s just been me and Link and L.A. for so long, I-I forgot what it was like to have a village around you. I’m sorry if your family sees me differently now.” 

You felt a pang of shame wash over you. But Jenna’s shaking her head, scooting closer — knees touching. “They don’t. My dad and sisters are a little mad but they actually pushed me to talk to you — even when I was mad. They know how the media loves to twist things, they’ve seen it with me, so they try to not pay attention to it.”

She doesn’t know how you did it but you have somehow won her overprotective family over. 

Jenna’s week away from you was needed yet miserable at the same time. After your drunken rant, Jenna was the one who found herself running away. Knowing that this time, she was the one who couldn’t be around you. 

Your words hurt, for lack of a better explanation. The way you spewed them so easily, so surely, was a memory that she replayed over and over again while she was giving you the cold shoulder.

It almost made her give in… to cut the tie with you. Give you what you want — be left alone. But then she remembers her conversation with Hailee, with her mom, with her sisters, with everybody who’s been around you.

It’s comical how everyone can see it but you two.

As if it were written in the stars, a divine intervention seems to always save you two just before the brink of no return. When Jenna found out you were being forced to live with her in London for a month while she films Beetlejuice 2 and you — well she doesn’t know what work you’re doing here yet because she can’t get herself to say more than two words to you — she didn’t know if she should be happy or dreading it.

But then you landed and it’s been a tense weekend since your arrival. You and her seem to share the sentiment of not knowing how to act or speak around the other. Jenna started leaning on dreading it the longer the awkward conversations occurred.

But now you’re here, opening up.

“Are you sure?” You asked a bit croaky; throat a bit tight.

You stare into the other actress’ dark orbs and for the first time ever, it feels like you can finally read her. Hesitantly, she reached out to grasp your hand, firmly clasping it. “I’m sure.”

Clenching your jaw, you try to keep the clouding in your vision at a minimum. Inhaling a sharp stuttered breath, you nodded, “g-good.”

“I’m sorry for how I’ve handled everything since meeting you. It was a lot… dealing with the hate, the arrest and then suddenly realizing how I feel about you. So I ran — like I always do, and that makes me an asshole ‘cause I hurt you. I can deal with everyone being angry with me, I'm used to it. But I can’t stand it coming from you… So you can be mad, but I won’t stop trying to make it up to you.”

Jenna sees nothing but honesty in your fierce, unblinking gaze. It has her heart thudding rudely in her rib cage. She blinked, trying to control her wavering voice, “You’re right… you never talked about Vegas until the last minute and that wasn’t fair of you. But I also never asked you about it either, even though I knew some of the story. I thought we’d do this PR stunt and then go on with our lives….”

You sniffled, eyes feeling scratchy as you listened to her side. You couldn’t keep the stray tear that ran down your cheek at bay. Looking down, you missed Jenna’s softening eyes.

Moving to wipe away the tear, embarrassment ran through you instantly. You tried to pull away from Jenna’s grasp to wipe it but she grabbed it back, tightening her grip. Then she bring her free hand up, swiping the wetness away with a gentle touch that you didn’t feel deserving of.

She squeezed your hand, as she feels you freeze at her ministrations. Your cheek burns against her soft palm. “But, then you met my family and spent time with us and… suddenly you weren’t so bad. Y/N, I like you too.”

This felt like a breakthrough or a light at the very end of a long, dark tunnel in your relationship. 

“So do I.” You repeated timidly, allowing your cheek to rest against her steady hand. Granting the grounding touch despite your racing nerves.

“I’m sorry about what I said in New York,” she swipes her thumb across your cheek, averting her eyes to glance at her actions. You watch her as she does so. 

“You're not an asshole. You’re actually one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met… when you want to be.” Her eyes flicker back to you, a hint of a smile playing on her lips as she gauges your reaction. You couldn’t help the laugh that escapes; easing the slight tension that’s built in the room. “I was just so angry about being left out that I decided to lash out at you. I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean any of it.”

“I forgive you.” You decided to be brave and placed a reassuring hand on her knee. Jenna watches your eyes, not saying anything. Only removing her hand from your cheek to brush some hair away from your sight. Then she drops her palm to rest atop your still-conjoined hands.

“I really, really like you.” She confesses just above a whisper.

“So do I.” You chimed in quickly. She sends you an amused smile before clearing her throat. That’s when you realized it, “but I’m sensing a but...”

You watch as her grin contorts sadly, as she sighed heavily, “it’s not the right time.”

Feeling a pang of disappointment, you nodded nevertheless, averting your eyes. “Oh.”

If somehow there was space between the two of you, there certainly isn’t any, now, as she moved closer, feeling like skin pressing against one another is the only thing that can ground the younger actress. 

“I feel like we went from hating each other to being thrown in New York – SNL.” Jenna tilts her head down, hoping to meet your gaze again, it proves fruitful when she grabs your glance. “Us.. in that dressing room, I know you felt it too.”

Breathing out carefully, you confessed. “I did.”

Jenna sent you a pleased smile, “Then you left for Coachella and I was mad at you again… I even made your driver take you to my parents just so I could see you again cause even when I was mad –  I couldn’t stop thinking about almost kissing you.”

Your heart thumped as she confessed everything.

“My mom set us up with the single bed thing, though.” Jenna laughed as joined. The thought of her family secretly rooting for you two had your stomach in a twist. “The way you were with my family that week… I don’t know. I started seeing you differently and I couldn’t help but kiss you before your performance…”

“I wasn’t complaining.” You shook your head.

“Shut up.” She smacked your arm, making you smile. “We skipped so many steps and just jumped into the relationship part.”

“Yeah… we did.” 

“I want to make this work but I think—“

“I got a lot of shit to figure out.” You chuckled, cutting her off.

“We got a lot of shit to figure out.” She corrected. “And in between filming Beetlejuice–”

“I understand, Jen.” You squeezed her hand.

“I need some time, to figure all of this out because I wanna do it right – with you.” Her voice drops to a whisper. You try to disregard how her gaze fell lower, finding your lips. 

Mentally wishing the other actress can’t hear how loudly your heart is thumping.

“I’ll be here waiting.” 

It wasn’t the conclusion you expected but it felt like a step in the right decision. She’s right, there is a lot that you two need to figure out. Separately and together. Her eyes snap back to you, looking relieved, like it was exactly what she needed to hear.

“I’m not saying I’m not open to never, possibly– you know.” Jenna blushed, as she stumbled over her words. “But I’d like us to be friends first, get to know each other before we pursue that. I-Is that okay?”

You felt bolder at her confession, finally knowing how she feels about you. Bringing your entwined hands up, you place a delicate kiss on her the top of her hands. “That’s okay, I’ll be here when you’re ready for me.”

“You’re already breaking the rules…” She jokes but her tone sounded wispy as she stared down at the way your lips ghosted over her hand. 

You flick a brow, “we have rules?”

She sends you a pointed look, calling your name flatly.

Rolling your eyes, you lean back, dropping her hands. “Right, sorry… friends definitely don’t do that.”

“You’re an idiot.” You didn’t know an insult could sound better than any piece of music you’ve ever listened to. She hasn’t called you that since Coachella. You think, the term of endearment is starting to grow on you, having missed her reciprocated banter more than anything.

“Yeah… I am.” You respond, fondly memorizing every speckle in her kind, dark orbs staring back into yours. It sends a shiver down your spine.

How could you ever think of letting her go?

***

it only took eight fucking chapters but I did say slow burn…😭

***

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[jadeoru]

SMUDGED LIPSTICK!

04: a pattern -> prev / mlist / next

now playing: me, myself & i - 5sos 🎶

You were not ready to see him again. Despite all the years that had passed, you never got over what had happened between you; that one night where everything went wrong. You hated him ever since, but there was no denying how much you yearned to go back to the past. All you wanted was to go back to what used to be between you, but there’s no way that could happen. You took a deep breath, your hands were shaking. You struggled to comfort yourself, just act normal, it'll be fine. Your footsteps quickened as you pushed through the crowd to get to your friends - and him. You looked at the strangers talking to them and gulped, holy shit, they’re massive. I mean, they are volleyball players. They were all deep in conversation. You noticed how Akaashi and some grey haired dude were separated from the group; having their own conversation. You recognised one of the athletes: Hinata Shoyo. He had joined a few of your hangouts with Nishinoya before in the past. They went to high school together. You liked him, he was sweet - and funny without trying. He smiled at you widely, they all did actually. You waved as you walked up to them, squeezing between everyone as if you’d been there the whole time. You stood directly in front of Sakusa, avoiding eye contact with him at all costs.

“Hey!” you said, wearing a polite smile on your face. Nishinoya grinned at you, before speaking up, “Y/n! You remember Shoyo, right?” His tone was eager, and loud. He was probably tipsy. You nodded your head, acknowledging Hinata’s smile. “Y/n!! You were so cool today!” His hands flung back and forth as he spoke, resembling an excited child. “Thanks! I’m glad you liked it!” you matched his smile. If you looked hard enough, you could definitely see the sparkles in his eyes. “No seriously! You were like ‘kaboom!’ and no one could look away! It’s like you were made to be on a stage!” You laughed, placing a hand on your chest, “You’re too kind to me!” He was about to speak again, but a blonde-haired boy cut him off, standing in front of him so that you’d look at him instead. “Hey, That’s some voice ya got there. Makes me wonder what else yer mouth can d-” a brown haired boy interrupted him. “Atsumu! If you don’t shut your mouth and stop hitting on girls I’ll kick your ass!” he elbowed him roughly, before turning to look at you. “Sorry about him. He’s desperate for a girlfriend. I’m Iwaizumi Hajime, and that loser is Miya Atsumu. You’re pretty talented by the way.” you rolled your eyes at the Miya guy, laughing. “Thanks, it’s nice to meet you guys! You’re volleyball players right? How did your game go?” you asked, steering the conversation away from yourself. Hinata’s eyes lit up as he began to ramble, “It was awesome! We won all three sets and that means we get to move on t-” 

Your eyes flickered over to Sakusa’s as Hinata spoke. You immediately made eye contact. Has he been staring at you this whole time? He quickly looked away from you when he noticed you staring back at him. You looked back at Hinata, who was dead silent. When did he stop talking? You smiled and nodded, pretending to have heard what he said. “That’s so cool! Congratulations guys!” your gaze flickered from each of the volleyball players, your eyes lingering on Sakusa longer than you’d like to admit. After everyone muttered their thanks, you looked at Nishinoya, who was moving his head in his direction; silently encouraging you to talk to him. Everyone in the group had dispersed into their own conversations, at this point you and Sakusa were the only ones not talking to anyone. It was the perfect moment. You cleared your throat before speaking up. Here goes nothing.

“Hey Sakusa.” you cringed at the way you sounded; anything but calm and collected, uncaring. He looked up at you, before scowling at the sight of you. Without uttering a single word, he grimaced at you and walked away. He fucking walked away. You stood there in shock, confused and undeniably pissed off. He didn’t even care to speak? Not one word? He just fucking grimaced at you, as if one glimpse of you was enough to make him feel sick. Maybe he hasn’t changed after all. Noticing the tension between the two of you, Iwaizumi spoke up. “Sorry about him. He’s being weird.” you groaned, clenching your fists. “It’s fine, I’m gonna get a drink.” and with that, you walked away. Your footsteps were heavy, as if you were weighed down in embarrassment. As you walked to the bar you silently prayed for the ground to open up from beneath you, and swallow you whole.

You stared at him from the other side of the bar; seemingly glued to the sight of him. You couldn’t deny it, he looked good. His curly hair was shorter than he liked it in high school, and he seemed a lot stronger than then too. You looked at the muscles on his arms; they could probably rip out of the sleeves of his shirt if he tried hard enough. You shook yourself back into reality. Sucking in a deep breath, you turned to Tsukishima, now he was the one to nod encouragingly at you. Phew, this was it. You were going to talk to him: Sakusa Kiyoomi. You were going to face him for the first time since that night. No big deal! You weren’t going to let him walk away this time. You fidgeted with the hem of your leather jacket, before making your way towards him. His eyes were glued to the floor, unnoticing of your approach. You cleared your throat, now standing directly in front of him. Second time’s the charm, right?

“Hey. Long time no see huh? Don’t tell me you forgot about me!” you smiled, trying to seem as upbeat as possible despite the aching feeling inside of you. He looked at you, displaying no emotion. “Um no, I haven’t.” His tone was monotonous; awkward. Maybe it was the alcohol in your system, but you were determined to pull at least some kind of conversation out of him. “You know, I tried to forget about you. But it’s pretty fucking hard when your face is all over billboards. I mean, what hasn't sponsored you? I saw you on a fucking cereal box once!” You laughed awkwardly, trying to lighten up the tension between the two of you. He remained seemingly uninterested. “Oh.. well yeah. The point of sponsorships is to increase our visibility around the world, so we take what offers we’re given.” When he finished speaking, silence quickly followed. You just stared at him, waiting for him to say something, anything else.

“Is that it?” you asked, eyes widening in disbelief when you realised he had finished speaking. “What?” He asked, acting completely innocent. Asshole.  “Thats all you’re gonna fucking say to me?” He quickly processed the situation, before speaking up. “I-” You weren’t interested in what he had to say. “No! It’s been fucking years since our argument and you’re just gonna treat me like I’m nothing to you? Like our friendship just never happened? Was I that unimportant to you?” Silence. Fuck this, you kept going. “And yeah, I fucking hate your guts. I've never been able to move on from how shitty you treated me back then, but guess what? At least I have the decency to pretend to want to be here right now! At least I’m actually trying to have a conversation instead of ignoring me like I’m the fucking plague!” You were enraged, releasing all of the pent up frustration that you kept inside of you since the last time you saw him. Your fists were clenched so hard that your knuckles were white. Yes, you were overreacting. You knew it. But, god. Seeing him again brought back all those feelings from before. The rage that you bottled up inside of you, that slowly grew more and more as the years passed you by, was spilling out of you now. There was no stopping it. You scoffed. “You haven’t changed Sakusa. You’re still the same blunt asshole that I used to know.” His last name left your lips in a way that tasted like poison. Every word that left your lips was laced with venom. Without giving him a second to respond, you turned on your heels and walked away; tears welling up in your eyes.

“You havent changed at all” - Sakusa thought about your words for the rest of the night.

a/n: WE FINALLY GOT THE SAKUSA AND YN LORE!!!! EVERYONE CHEERS!!!!!

IGNORE ALL THE TYPOS IN THIS PELAS E IM SO SLEEP DEPRIVED

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[dollfaceksj]

I keep making scenarios in my head about how yoongi will react to taes message😭 can't wait to see what actually happens

hehehehehe

can’t afford love | myg (m) #24

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your thumb almost instantaneously locks your phone again

and your eyes travel up to peek at his

but he’s not even looking at you, just walks towards the kitchen to start the dishes

you quietly sigh and rub your forehead

talk about bad timing

you follow him into the kitchen

“it’s not what you think,” is all you can get yourself to say

he shrugs his shoulders with a slight shake to his head

“yoongi,” you mumble as you close the distance between you two

he turns to look over his shoulder at you. “why are you still entertaining him?”

you blink at him in confusion. “i haven’t heard from him in days, what are you talking about?”

he redirects his focus to the dishes and just keeps doing them

you sigh quietly. “does it bother you?”

he says, “no, you can do whatever you want, obviously. you’re single, aren’t you?”

“don’t be like this,” you say under your breath, leaning against the counter next to the sink where he’s standing

“like what?” he says. now he’s trying to sound unbothered, you can hear the shift in his tone

“yoongi, stop.” you take the sponge from him and wrap your fingers around his wrist to bring his hand directly under the stream of tap water to rinse the soap before turning the lever

he turns to look at you and you pull him towards you

he lets you but you can still feel him being tense

he adds, “it’s whatever. he’s just jarring.”

you chuckle at his wording. “what has he ever done to you?”

he stares at you and tilts his head to the side

you avoid his eyes, just busying yourself with brushing his hair out of his eyes

“being the reason why i didn’t take you against a wall in that restroom during joon’s ceremony.”

now he’s being ridiculousssss

you shake your head. “that was because of my dress. has nothing to do with him.”

“no? you weren’t rushing to go chat with him again? didn’t make it clear to him that i was just your ex-husband?” he starts pulling you closer by your waist

damn.

you did actually do that😭

“uh,” you start, already feeling the urge to lie to him bubble up the back of your throat.

he shakes his head. “i get it. you were annoyed, weren’t you?”

hm?

“annoyed?”

“yeah. because of yuna.”

oh.

you’d forgotten about yuna

“oh.” you glance up into his eyes and he’s staring straight at you. “yeah. i guess so.”

he slowly nods his head. “at least you know nothing’s happening between me and yuna because she’d rather do you. like your photoboy.”

you frown at this. “what?”

a dry chuckle leaves his mouth. “what are you confused about?”

“what are you talking about?”

“you think men text women ‘hey beautiful’ without hoping to fuck her at some point?”

you blink at him a few times

like mentioned before

you were never really in the dating pool

because you got with yoongi when you were pretty young

so you’re not sure how men text when they want something

you’re better at reading them in real life

you can’t say there wasn’t flirtatious energy when you spoke with taehyung though

he’s not done though. “men only want one thing, alright?”

what???

“doesn’t that apply to you too?” you inquire, a deep frown on your brows

“all i want is for my life to go back to normal.”

…

huh?? what is he on about?

“but you need to heal first.” he finishes his rant by planting a soft kiss on your forehead before pulling his hands away from your body and returning his attention to the dishes

you just watch him this time, dumbfounded

just as you part your lips to say something, you hear your doorbell ring

you snap out of your trance and head towards the front door

as you open up, you see your mother standing there, holding jun

and jun’s holding a biscuit

“my baby,” you coo as you reach for him and he immediately jumps into your arms

you hug him tightly, kissing his chubby cheeks

your mom enters your home and closes the door behind her before starting heading into the kitchen

wait

wait

WAIT

YOONGI’S THERE

you lied to her about it in the beginning but it’s still embarrassing!!!!

“wa-wait!” you turn to look at her. “where are you going?”

she frowns and then glances down at her hand. “i got a few juiceboxes for jun. i’m just gonna put them in the fridge.”

“oh! i’ll do that.” you put jun down

“spend time with your son. i can put a few juiceboxes in the fridge. do i look like a moron?” she rolls her eyes and starts heading into the kitchen

well…. fuck.

“oh.”

you can hear the surprise in her voice

ohhhh gooodness.

you walk with jun towards the kitchen.

“okay. interesting,” is all she says as she puts the juiceboxes back

yoongi looks extremely awkward

and his cheeks + ears turning a shade of crimson isn’t helping at all

“goodmorning, ma.” he nods at her

“morning, yoongi.” she nods back and scratches the back of her head. “well, i’m gonna get going. need to work.”

without even saying bye, your mom has sprinted out your home

so typical of her

you don’t even wanna know what’s going through her mind atp

you shake your head before glancing down at the gremlin by your feet

“daddy,” he says as he runs up to him

yoongi dries his hands and picks him up. “my boy,” he coos, tickling his sides

jun just giggles and shows his father the spiderman toy that he got

yoongi pretends to be interested and you just stare at this scene in front of you

and you hear a crack

but that crack is coming from inside of your own body

you soon realize it’s your heart

because now you understand what yoongi meant when he said he wanted his life to go back to normal.

to be continued

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— enjoyed it? you can always show your appreciation by buying me some coffee if you want ☕︎♡

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[kunikame]

# PURPLE LILACS !

[10] - a sudden.. !! | prev. | m. list | next

ace trappola x fem!reader smau

! warning(s) : cussing, sebek gets stepped on (literally), death mention, not canon compliant turn of events for plot, crowley, no beta we die like ortho shroud, love u guys btw

! w/c : 761

and so on a sunny wednesday lunch break you find yourself sitting at your usual table, surrounded by your fellow first years. you spot jade a few tables away, menacingly glaring at some poor unfortunate student, and send him a quick wave when your eyes meet.

“–nd i kid you not he genuinely folded. so like the great person i am, i used the newly placed hallway carpet.”

“ya stepped on him?!” a few droplets of apple juice land near your plate. you shoot a quick look at epel, only to see the rest of the table doesn’t look much better, since he spat all the juice in his mouth out at this newfound piece of information (read: blackmail material).

deuce sighs in his seat to your left, “yeah, he did. i had to watch malleus’ face go from perplexed to absolutely horrified in the span of barely 5 seconds because of him. thought we were gonna die.”

epel finds this unfathomably hilarious. sebek, however, has not spoken in the past 10 minutes, despite usually being the loudest of the group. you feel a little bad for him– the poor thing has just been staring at his plate with a scarlet face this whole time. yet just as you open your mouth to try to console him, lilia appears out of seemingly thin air, hanging upside down directly in front of your face.

“hey faestie!~ a little bat told me the headmage has something important to discuss with you! you best hurry before he changes his mind, kuhuhu~”

and just as swiftly as he appeared, he also vanished. where his face once was, you now see the horrified eyes of jack and epel, and sebeks full face for the first time today.

you turn to the right to glance at ace with an eyebrow raised, silently asking if they've done anything bad without your knowledge. he shakes his head, fluffy ginger hair flying with the motion, and gives you a concerned look (which seems a little out of place on his face when directed at you, but you quickly dismiss the thought).

“i’ll be fine,” you say, slowly getting up from your spot and cleaning up your mess, “it’s probably just another unpaid job he wants me to do. i’ll see you guys later.

“with all due respect, what the fuck?”

crowley lets out the most offended gasp you've ever heard, “that is no way to be speaking in my office! this is unacceptable behavior! but since i am so gracious, i shall let it pass, because you have clearly not yet processed my generous offer.”

you heave an exasperated sigh, the seven know you're tired of this, “if i heard you right, you basically just said i have magic? like, actually? you're joking, right? i mean, come on, i've been here for like half a year and the only magic i can produce is manslaughter. be so for real with me right now.”

crowley's glowing eye twitches (at least, you think it does. it’s really hard to tell, honestly) “yes, that is basically what i said. see, the carriage did not bring you here by mere accident, despite it being through..”  he pauses, taking a seat in his gigantic chair, “unfortunate means. if it brought you here, it means it sensed something within you. so i’ve had some tests run in the background, and as it turns out, you do have a magical affinity, it just seems to be suppressed.”

you fall into the chair opposite him. whether it was because of your knees giving out from pure disbelief, or just because of how tired you are of everything, you're not really sure.

“.. okay, so what does that mean for me?”

“it means you can use magic once we figure out how to unlock it. it means you can continue studying here as an actual student.”

you blankly stared at the wall, thinking your choices through thoroughly.

you can't go back to your world unless you want to be dead, so having a place to stay would be great. if you had magic it would certainly make life, and your classes, much easier. you would no longer have to rely on grim or the guys to protect you in case of an overblot, either. it sounded great, overall.

“so? what will it be?”

your eyes slowly moved from the window to crowley's glowing ones.

your parents would feel more at peace knowing you could protect yourself in a foreign world (if they remembered you, that is).

“alright. let’s do it.”

## ❝ after the events of the phantom bride wedding, ace started wondering whether he still had the ability to charm girls. he hasn’t thought about anyone romantically in years, hasn’t really flirted with anyone either, what if he’s gone out of it? perhaps it’s time to put his talents to the test; with the person who hates him most, no less. if he can charm her, he can charm anyone. ❞

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[slushycoookie]

Kinktober Day 5 ~ Size Difference

Ryomen Sukuna x AFAB! Reader

Summary: You take a moment to realize how gigantic Lord Sukuna is. (cw: Heian Era! Sukuna, brief mention of violence and death, Vaginal fingering) Minors DNI!

A/N: I'm about to have this picture as my lock screen, he looks so good...Hope you all enjoy!

Prev *✧･ﾟ: Next Kinktober '24 Masterlist

Lord Sukuna was gigantic.

It disturbed you at first. The way he practically shook the earth while he walked. His four arms span halfway across a wall. How you have to crane your head to set your eyes on him every time. Even his clothes, how they could blanket over you if he set them upon you. You weren’t sure how Uraume was able to carry them with ease.

Now, you couldn’t help but be fascinated.

Was he always that big? Of course not. That’s a stupid thought. But he is a curse. Did curses come out of the womb that huge? Or was this just a Sukuna thing?

You’ve always wanted to ask ever since you were tasked of keeping him company. Not necessarily a plaything yet. But like an object. Someone to be by his side and not say a word while he did his duties. And who wasn’t afraid of having people be murdered in front of you without a second thought. You’ve been at his estate for only six months, but you’ve seen it all at that point.

His presence was imposing to the point where you couldn’t help but stare whenever you had a chance. Just enough for him not to notice so you wouldn’t get in trouble.

“You’re gawking.”

Sukuna’s sudden voice makes you jump. His back was facing you and you noticed his hearty muscles. The king had a bow and arrow, practicing on a few dummies from afar. They were long dead, but you weren’t able to smell the corpses.

“I was.” There was no reason to lie. You were probably already dead at this point for gazing at him.

“At whom?” He’s facing you now, weapon still in hand. Just in case you say something he doesn’t like.

“Towards you, my lord. I was curious at how huge you are.”

Sukuna tilts his head, tossing aside the bow. You do your best to relax as his heavy footsteps go towards you. Once again, you crane your neck to keep eye contact. He likes when you look at him directly.

“I didn’t think I picked an idiot.” On instinct, you suck your teeth, but quickly cover your mouth since that showed disrespect. That amused him, though. A twinge of a smirk appeared on his face. You weren't dead yet. “Finally, you show some personality. I was wondering how long you were going to keep being docile.”

“I didn’t want you to kill me.”

“I kill anyone, you’re not special.”

He raises his hand before resting it on the top of your head. It’s warm, oddly comforting. You couldn’t help but nudge your head into his palm when it rests on your cheek.

“You admire my gigantic form?” You nod and he lets out a guttural noise of approval. His thumb rests on your lips, causing you to part them, gently sucking on it. You watch his eyes lower at his thumb in your mouth. “It’s only my thumb and look at how you’re taking me…”

You grip his arm, not wanting him to stop. The grip was tight enough to form small indents on his skin. Sukuna growls and you worry if you advanced too far, but he only pulls out his thumb, a pop escaping your lips.

“A tiny little thing filled with so much want.”

Suddenly, he grabs you, sitting down to have you on his lap. Two arms around your waist, one cradling your face. Your hands are sprawled on his chest and you take in how small they are compared to his broad chest. You squeeze your thighs together at the sight.

Sukuna notices and holds you closer so you can feel how hot his body is getting.

“Speak. You started this.”

“My lord.” You move to remove his robe, seeing his built upper torso. “I’d like to experience more of your size.”

He grunts in satisfaction when you slide your arms up to his neck, taking in how you could barely wrap around them. Sukuna’s hand cups your bottom before pulling you into a kiss. Even his tongue was huge as you felt it in the back of your throat. It makes you croon under his touch.

You're now below him, feeling his faces at the pulse of your neck, taking in how it picks up speed due to his actions. His entire body overshadows yours as he's undressing you and you don’t worry about anyone seeing you two in this state. Because your lord would kill anyone if they dare to set their eyes.

Sukuna's gigantic hand gropes the mound of your breast. Pinching your tiny nipples while he traverses the rest of you. He maps out your body as if he’s touched you before. Your whimpers are enough to tell him you're enjoying it while not wanting to bring more attention to yourself.

“I wonder what else you can take.”

His finger dips between your legs, making you croon. This was just one, and it was already thick enough to brush along your walls. Covered in your slickness. You're not sure if you can take more, body burning up from his constant advances. You even try to move away, but he doesn't allow it, covering both of your hands with one hand.

“My l-lord…I don't…I don't think I can…”

“You can and you will.” His swipes of your sensitive clit makes you cry, tears welling in the corners of your eyes.

“My Lord…S-Sukuna!”

A satisfied growl shakes you when you climax for him. His features are pleased when you drench his finger with your juices, watching you pant lowly under his hold.

“You did well.” He leans forward, breath fanning your flushed face. His red eyes scan your body as if he was captivated by you. “But you need more practice.”

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[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 06 Chapter 06 | carnage⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The dawn of the contest day broke over Ithaca, painting the sky in hues of rose and gold, as the tension within the palace walls thickened like a storm gathering on the horizon.

You were on your way to the great hall with a satchel swinging by your side, carrying your lyre, when muffled sounds drew your attention to a small, unused closet down the corridor.

Thunk.

Curiosity got the better of you, and you hesitated only a moment before pulling the door open.

There, you found Cleo in a compromising position with Antinous.

His clothes were disheveled, the buttons on his tunic partially undone, and Cleo's chiton was slipping from her shoulders. Their faces were flushed, and her lips were swollen and glistening.

Marks adorned Cleo's neck, a telling sign of the moments they'd just shared.

Cleo was the first to notice you, her eyes widening in panic. She hastily pushed against Antinous, her voice stuttering as she said your name, "_____."

You felt your expression blank, your lips pressing into a thin line as you took a step back, lowering your gaze. Without looking directly at either of them, you spoke curtly, "The contest will begin soon. It would be wise to head to the Great Hall."

Antinous adjusted his tunic, a smirk tugging as he gave you a small bow of his head, his eyes raking over your form with a brazen intensity. "Thank you," he muttered, his tone dripping with smugness.

With one last lingering glance, he turned and swaggered off, his back quickly disappearing around the corner.

Cleo, meanwhile, frantically tried to fix her appearance, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. A flustered giggle escaped her as she straightened her hair, attempting to regain her composure.

For a brief moment, you battled with yourself—considering whether to warn her to leave while she still could, to spare her the fate that awaited those who chose the wrong side.

But you held your tongue.

Especially when she nudged you lightly with her elbow, her voice carrying a hint of hesitancy despite her laughter as she said, "You should really loosen up, you know. I mean it, ____. Sometimes I wonder if you're not just wasting your youth—loyalty to a kingdom that may not even be the same by the end of today..." Her smile faltered, her words heavier than her usual teasing tone.

You stared at her, your expression unchanging, though your eyes hardened slightly. "I wonder if wasting one's youth might be better than spending it on someone who doesn't see past the moment." The words slipped from your mouth before you could stop them, a small shard of judgment bleeding through your usually calm demeanor.

Cleo's face flushed deeper, a mixture of shame and embarrassment crossing her features.

For a moment, she looked as if she might argue, but instead, her lips pressed into a tight scowl. She glared at you, her eyes narrowing with a spark of frustration.

"I don't get you sometimes," she added, her voice tinged with both frustration and a weariness that seemed to have been building over time. "You never let yourself live a little. It's like you're always on guard, always distant... and it's exhausting to watch, honestly."

Your eyes narrowed at her words, and your voice came out sharper than before. "Maybe it's because I see what happens when people let their guard down, Cleo. Look around you. The stakes are higher than they've ever been. We don't have the luxury of throwing caution to the wind."

Cleo's gaze faltered, her face flushing in deeper embarrassment, and she scowled with a cross of her arms. "Oh? And I suppose Prince Telemachus would agree with you?" Her voice held a bite now, her irritation surfacing fully.

The mention of Telemachus was no longer just a joke—it felt like a barb, a deliberate attempt to wound.

For the first time, her words stung, and you could feel your composure waver, a pang of something sharp twisting inside you. Your hand twisted around the rope of the bag, fingers curling tightly as if seeking a way to channel the restlessness bubbling just beneath the surface.

"This isn't about the prince," you snapped, taking a step back, your eyes glinting with a rare edge of anger. "This is about survival, Cleo. For all of us. You might think I'm distant, that I'm cold, but I would rather be that than blind to what's really happening."

Instead of trying to listen, Cleo's scowl deepened, her lips curving downwards in irritation. She huffed out a dismissive "whatever," before straightening up, her shoulders tensing. "I'm about to go watch the suitors warm up with the rest of the servant girls," she said, her tone dripping with defiance. "If you ever decide to get off your high horse, you're welcome to join us."

With that, she turned and sauntered away, her shoulders squared in frustration.

You watched her go, her form disappearing down the corridor, before you let out a shuddering breath.

You lifted your gaze upwards, the ceiling above seeming to stretch endlessly, and muttered softly, "Gods, please give me strength," before continuing your way to the contest.

As you entered the grand dining hall, you found yourself impressed by the change.

The sun filtered in through the high windows, casting a golden light over the space, illuminating the dust particles that danced in the air.

Only the suitors and a few servants were milling about, their hushed conversations and tense laughter creating a charged atmosphere.

Unlike the grand events that were usually publicized to the whole kingdom, this one seemed cloaked in a strange intimacy, a finality that made it feel more sacred.

The once opulent room had been stripped of its familiar trappings; the grand dining table and chairs were all removed, leaving a vast open space.

Twelve large wooden boxes had been set up, each marked with a target, waiting for the archery contest that would decide the fate of Ithaca.

The air felt different; a heavy anticipation settled like a blanket over everyone present.

The suitors, standing a few feet away, were warming up.

Some were shirtless, their muscles taut as they stretched; others wore serious expressions as they prepared themselves for the challenge ahead.

Their bodies glistened with sweat, and there was an undercurrent of competition among them—some laughed loudly, trying to mask their nerves, while others moved in silence, their focus unwavering.

A glimpse towards the kitchen door revealed Cleo and a few other familiar servant girls giggling and ogling the suitors, their eyes wide with a mix of shyness and excitement.

They stood partially hidden, peeking out with smiles and exchanged whispers, as if this were some kind of entertainment meant just for them.

Further off, you even spotted the disguised Odysseus, his posture deceptively relaxed as he observed every movement within the hall.

He was studying them, the men who dared to take over his household.

Swiftly and quietly, you made your way to your designated spot.

Unlike last night, you were placed higher up, just two feet away at the foot of the Queen's seat, allowing you to see the entire contest unfold in its fullness. It was a vantage point that made it impossible for you to miss a single detail.

Turning slightly, your gaze flicked back towards Penelope's empty seat; it loomed above you, the polished wood catching the sunlight, a symbol of her resilience and her endless waiting.

A pang of unease twisted in your chest as you wondered if she would be able to handle the events that were about to unfold.

Would she be able to bear it when the truth was finally revealed?

The weight of it all pressed down on your shoulders—the suitors, Odysseus, Telemachus, even Penelope herself.

You wondered if her grace would hold, or if the years of anguish would finally break free when the moment of reckoning arrived.

As you knelt down to tune your lyre, a shadow suddenly fell across you.

"Good morning, ____." You looked up, and there he was—Prince Telemachus. A soft, sweet smile graced his face, his eyes warm as they met yours.

It was the kind of smile that could light up the darkest corners of your heart, one filled with reassurance and kindness.

The sight of him made your heart skip for just a moment, but as you looked into his eyes, Cleo's words suddenly echoed in your mind.

...Oh? And I suppose Prince Telemachus would agree with you?...

The insinuations, the teasing remarks about the prince—they hit you all at once.

The smile faltered on your lips, and you found yourself looking back down at the strings of your lyre, focusing on adjusting the tune rather than meeting his gaze. "Good morning, Prince Telemachus."

Telemachus' brows furrowed, concern creasing his features. He shifted to squat down beside you, his eyes searching your face. "Hey," he said softly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the commotion in the hall, "what's wrong? You seem... distant." There was a genuine note of worry there, as if he could sense that something was off.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes. "Oh, it's nothing, my prince," you lied, keeping your tone light. "I'm just a bit nervous about today, that's all." You tried to make the smile a bit brighter, hoping to reassure him.

His shoulders sagged slightly, the tension visibly easing from his posture. He let out a small sigh of relief, his lips curving into a smile that mirrored the sweetness from before. "There's nothing to be nervous about," he assured you, his voice gentle. "Everything is going to be alright."

You noticed the way his hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out and touch yours, his fingers moving ever so slightly before he hesitated, ultimately letting his hand drop to his side.

The gesture, or rather the hesitation, made your heart race just a tad bit faster.

Before either of you could say more, the double doors of the grand hall were pushed open with a loud creak. The announcer's voice rang out clearly, "Her Majesty, Queen Penelope."

All eyes turned towards the entrance, and you followed suit, your breath catching slightly at the sight.

Penelope stepped into the hall, her head held high, her expression calm but resolute.

The morning light streamed in behind her, illuminating her like a figure out of legend. Her veil was gone, her face fully visible—a deliberate choice, perhaps, to show her strength and confidence. Her dark hair was neatly braided, her gown flowing elegantly around her as she moved forward with purpose.

There was a dignity in the way she walked, her steps measured, her gaze unwavering as it swept across the room, taking in the suitors, her son, and the entire setting that would determine her fate.

Her eyes held a quiet intensity, and you could see the years of pain, hope, and resilience reflected in them.

She was ready, whatever the outcome might be.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at her poise, even as that unease continued to twist in your chest.

She had borne so much—far more than anyone should have to—and yet here she was, standing tall, ready to face whatever came next.

Penelope stepped forward, her gaze sweeping across the room, her voice carrying the weight of both authority and something far more personal. She began, "Today is a day for truth, for decisions long delayed." Her voice was calm, yet it resonated throughout the hall, commanding everyone's attention. "For twenty years, my household has waited, and now, it is time to see who among you is worthy."

She turned her head slightly, her eyes resting on the head servant. "Bring forth the bow."

Two servants stepped forward, bowing deeply before leaving the room.

Moments later, they returned, carefully carrying a large chest between them.

The chest was adorned in Ithaca's colors—deep ocean blue and forest green, with intricate gold designs etched into its surface.

It was a chest that demanded respect, one that held not just an object but a legacy.

Penelope approached it, her hands brushing over the top before she slowly and gracefully opened the lid.

The room seemed to collectively hold its breath as she pulled back the chest's top, revealing the bow of Odysseus.

It was a magnificent weapon—crafted from polished horn, its limbs strong and powerful.

The bow was large, and even at rest, it carried an aura of strength, a testament to the man who had wielded it. The gold detailing shimmered in the sunlight, and the string lay coiled neatly, waiting for a hand skilled enough to draw it taut.

The sight of the bow was almost otherworldly—the embodiment of Odysseus' strength, the kind of weapon that could only belong to a hero.

"This bow," she began, her voice echoing through the hall, "was not just a tool of battle. It was the pride of Odysseus, my husband, gifted from the legendary archer, Iphitus, son of Eurytus, as a token of their friendship."

Her eyes softened, her gaze drifting, almost as if she could see Odysseus standing there, beside her. She paused, a faint smile curving her lips as she continued.

"It is a symbol of his unmatched skill, his wisdom, his courage. None but he could wield it, and none but he could string it with such ease." Her voice grew softer, as if she were no longer addressing the suitors but speaking to a memory. "It is the bow of a true king, a true protector of Ithaca—of our people, our home."

There was a pause, the weight of her words sinking into the silent hall.

The suitors shifted uncomfortably, as though some of them began to understand that this was no mere contest—it was a testament, a challenge meant for a man of true worth.

Penelope's eyes lingered on the bow before she looked up again, her expression composed, though a flicker of something more—grief, hope, love—remained behind her gaze.

"This contest, therefore, is not merely to decide who shall take my hand," she said, her voice carrying a firmness that left no room for argument. "It is to determine who among you, if any, possesses the strength and honor to stand where my husband once stood. It is to prove that Ithaca shall have a protector worthy of its people."

She lifted her head, her eyes sweeping across the gathered men, meeting each of their gazes in turn, unflinching and calm. "Whoever can string this bow and shoot an arrow cleanly through the twelve axeheads I have set shall have my hand in marriage and shall take their place as the ruler of Ithaca."

For a heartbeat, the hall was silent, the weight of her declaration hanging heavily in the air.

There was no mistaking the quiet plea beneath her strength, though—her desire for someone truly worthy, for someone who could step into the place Odysseus had left. And as she spoke, you could feel the challenge in her words; it wasn't only a test of skill but a measure of heart, of worth, of loyalty.

For a moment, you saw the vulnerability in her eyes, the way her whole history with Odysseus seemed to ripple through the air; her voice softened when she spoke of Odysseus, and you understood.

The bow was a fragment of him, a piece of her husband, and this contest was more than a show—it was her last chance to find someone who could live up to that memory.

After her declaration, she nodded once, her expression hardening once again.

Penelope then cleared her throat and addressed the suitors directly, her voice calm but resolute, "I will not be witnessing this contest. Instead, I will retire to my chambers. May you all show honor and skill today." She dipped her head in a small, graceful bow and added, "I wish you all the best of luck."

As she turned to leave, her eyes landed on you, gaze softening. "Please, play something cheerful," she said quietly, her voice almost lost in the silence of the hall. "Let the suitors' spirits be lifted by your music."

You nodded, bowing your head respectfully. "Of course, my Queen," you answered.

You watched her leave, her elegant form moving through the hall with grace, while Eurycleia scurried behind her, her steps quick in an effort to keep pace with her queen.

Positioning the lyre comfortably in your hands, you took a deep breath, your fingers gently brushing the strings, bringing forth a bright, lively tune. The sound danced lightly through the still air, weaving around the tension and unease, bringing with it a sense of warmth and energy.

It was a piece meant to uplift, to inspire courage—even if, in your heart, you felt the unease of what was to come.

As the music echoed through the hall, the suitors began to step forward. But before any of them could make a move, Telemachus himself stepped up to take the bow. His approach was confident, his shoulders squared, his chin lifted high.

There was a murmur among the crowd, a collective intake of breath as Telemachus stood before them, his hands resting on the bow.

You watched the prince, understanding why he chose to compete.

Telemachus was not just trying to prove his worth—he was making a statement to the suitors, reminding them that he, too, was a contender, not someone to be overlooked.

Telemachus took the bow in his hands, and the room fell silent, all eyes fixed on him. He tested the string, his muscles straining as he attempted to draw it.

You could see the tension in his posture, the way his brow furrowed in concentration. He tried once, then twice, the wood creaking faintly under his hands.

On his third attempt, his knuckles turned white as he pulled with all his strength, and for a moment, it seemed like he might actually succeed.

The entire room seemed to hold its breath, the anticipation thick in the air. But then, Telemachus glanced towards the back of the room, his gaze catching on something—or someone.

There, leaning against the wall, Odysseus, gave his son a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Telemachus let out a breath and relaxed his grip, stepping back with a nod.

He turned towards the suitors, offering a small, almost playful smile. "I suppose it's not my time yet," he said lightly, though the challenge was clear beneath his words.

He handed the bow back, his gaze moving across the suitors, his expression challenging. There was no mistaking his message—he was his father's son, and his strength and skill were not to be underestimated.

The suitors shuffled, their expressions wary. The prince's near success had shown them all that this was no ordinary contest, that this was no easy feat to accomplish.

Odysseus' eyes flickered with pride as he watched his son step back and make his way back to his mother's chair; settling himself down to watch the contest with clear eyes.

The suitors were strong, yes—but none of them had the true heart of Ithaca.

Though, for now, they would proceed as planned, allowing each suitor to attempt the impossible task, to let them fail and reveal their weakness.

It was all part of the ruse, the careful disguise, the setup.

And now, the stage was set.

The suitors would each have their turn, each of them about to face the impossible task before them, while Odysseus and his allies waited, the true challenge still ahead.

The first suitor, Leodes, approached the bow, a confident swagger in his step that belied his nervousness.

He grasped the bow with both hands, his face flushing slightly as he tried to string it. The bow barely budged under his efforts, his face turning a shade redder with each attempt.

Frustration contorted his features as he strained, his muscles trembling with the effort.

With a grunt, he finally gave up, stepping back with a scowl, his confidence visibly shattered.

Another suitor, Elatus, took his turn next.

He approached with a bravado that masked his growing doubt. He spat on his hands, rubbed them together, and then took hold of the bow.

He pulled at it, his jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together in effort. His movements became more desperate with each passing moment, his hands slipping against the polished wood.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he strained, his bravado fading quickly.

After several attempts, he let out a frustrated growl and stepped back, shaking his head in disbelief.

Finally, it was Antinous' turn.

The blonde stood up, his eyes narrowed, a determined set to his jaw.

The room seemed to quiet even more, a collective anticipation hanging thick in the air.

He moved with deliberate steps, his shoulders squared, his head held high as though the weight of the room's expectation rested on him alone.

Antinous took the bow, his fingers brushing over the polished wood, his lips curling into a self-assured smile. He gripped it tightly, planting his feet, his muscles rippling beneath his tunic as he pulled.

For a moment, it seemed he might succeed—his arms flexed, the bow groaned slightly, bending just enough to spark a glimmer of hope among his allies.

But then, the strain began to show.

Antinous' face reddened, the cords of his neck standing out as he grit his teeth. He shifted his stance, trying to use his full body weight to pull the bowstring back, but it refused to comply.

His frustration grew, a vein pulsing visibly at his temple.

He gave a sharp, guttural yell as he pulled one last time, but the bow remained stubborn, unyielding.

The room held its breath, watching as Antinous' confidence slowly ebbed away, replaced by an ugly scowl.

His face flushed with both exertion and the sting of public failure. He threw the bow down onto the table with a loud clatter, a sneer twisting his lips. "This is impossible!" he spat, his voice dripping with irritation. He shot a glare at the other suitors, as if daring them to laugh.

The other suitors shifted uncomfortably, none of them daring to meet his eye. The silence in the hall was thick, the tension growing as each suitor came face to face with their own inadequacy.

The bow had proven to be more than a mere weapon—it was a testament to strength, a test that none of them could pass.

From your place, you watched the suitors' failures, each attempt underscoring their unworthiness. Their arrogance, their sense of entitlement, all fell away when faced with the challenge they couldn't meet.

It was becoming clear to everyone in the room—these men, for all their posturing, were not the equal of Odysseus, nor even his son.

In the corner of the room, Odysseus remained leaning against the wall, his eyes keen as he observed each failure, his expression betraying nothing.

But you could see the flicker of satisfaction in his gaze, the small, almost imperceptible nods as each suitor faltered.

It was all going according to plan, and the true test had yet to begin.

Finally, as the last suitor made his failed attempt, Odysseus, still in disguise, stepped forward, his expression humble as he approached the bow.

He bowed his head slightly to Telemachus, his voice carrying across the tense silence of the room. "I beg you, my prince, let me have a try. I know I am but a beggar, but I would be honored to hold a weapon of such greatness."

The suitors erupted, voices rising in disbelief and anger.

"Are you sick in the head?"

"A beggar? How dare he even ask?"

"Surely he's joking."

Antinous, still flushed from his recent failure, scoffed loudly, his eyes narrowing. "What nerve!" he spat, his hand motioning dismissively. "You think a beggar like you could even hope to lift the bow, let alone string it?"

The others muttered in agreement. It was as if they feared the humiliation of even allowing him to try, the risk that he might succeed too shameful to bear.

But before their protests could grow too loud, Telemachus raised his hand, silencing them. "He is a guest under my family's roof, and all guests deserve their chance." His eyes, filled with a quiet determination, swept across the suitors, daring any to oppose him. "If the beggar wishes to take part in this challenge, then so be it."

The suitors fell silent, begrudgingly stepping aside, unable to defy their hostess without risking public scorn.

Telemachus seized the moment, giving orders for the bow to be handed to the beggar.

With the prince's permission granted, Odysseus approached the bow. He moved slowly, his every movement deliberate, his eyes fixed on the weapon before him.

The suitors watched with skepticism, their expressions ranging from disdain to disbelief, and a few exchanged mocking smirks, unable to imagine this man succeeding where they had all failed.

You kept playing your lyre, the soft music filling the tense silence of the room. Yet even as your fingers plucked the strings, your gaze couldn't help but drift toward Odysseus, your breath caught in your chest.

You watched as he lifted the bow, his hands moving over it with a familiarity that spoke of years of practice, of ownership. He strung the bow effortlessly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

The bow made no protest—it yielded to him, as if it recognized its true master.

A collective gasp filled the hall, the suitors' mocking expressions replaced by wide eyes and parted lips; shock rippled through them, disbelief etched across their faces.

The great hall fell into a stunned silence, the only sound the faint hum of your music as the bowstring settled into place.

Telemachus, standing by, watched his father with pride that he could barely contain, a small smile pulling at his lips as he saw the reactions of the suitors. He moved with purpose, discreetly signaling to the few loyal servants positioned near the doors.

They nodded, moving swiftly to lock the exits, their movements unnoticed by the crowd, whose eyes were all fixed on Odysseus.

Odysseus stepped forward and, with steady hands, notched the first arrow. He let it loose with a sharp 'thwack,' the arrow piercing through the first of the twelve axeheads.

The room held its breath as he moved seamlessly to notch another arrow, his actions smooth and confident, as though he had done this countless times before.

You watched in awe, your fingers still instinctively playing the lyre, though the music had become mere background noise to the unfolding scene.

There was something mesmerizing in the way he handled it—like watching a legend step out of the shadows and come to life before your eyes.

The room seemed to fade around you, the music blending with the anticipation that gripped everyone present.

There, before your eyes, was the man you had heard countless stories about—the hero of Ithaca, displaying the strength and mastery that had made those tales immortal.

It was as if the years had fallen away, and you were witnessing Odysseus in his prime, every bit the warrior and king he was meant to be.

The sixth arrow flew through the air, and another axehead was split with a precision that seemed almost impossible, Odysseus moving with a grace and confidence that seemed almost otherworldly.

The silence in the hall deepened with each arrow that found its mark.

It was a silence heavy with tension, the kind that made the air feel thick and charged.

Every eye remained fixed on Odysseus, no one daring to speak, no one daring to even breathe too loudly, as if afraid that the smallest noise might shatter the spell that had been cast.

The suitors' faces were a mix of disbelief and something bordering on fear. They had mocked him, ridiculed the idea of a beggar even attempting the task. And now, with each arrow splitting through the axeheads, they were beginning to realize that something was very wrong.

A few of them exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions shifting from annoyance to a growing sense of unease. Nervous chuckles broke out among some of the men, a weak attempt to dismiss what was happening as coincidence.

"He can't possibly think he'll win the queen's hand, can he?" one of them whispered, the words tinged with an uncertainty that belied his dismissive tone.

Another leaned towards his companion, his voice low, almost a hiss. "Is this some kind of trick? Who is this man, really?"

But none of them had an answer. They watched, eyes wide and mouths dry, as Odysseus pulled back the bowstring again and again, his focus unwavering.

Even the most arrogant of the suitors, who had laughed openly before, now stood with their mouths slightly open, their eyes darting between the bow and the beggar who wielded it with such mastery.

You played the final note of your song just as the last arrow sailed through the air, splitting the twelfth axehead with a resounding 'thwack.'

The silence that followed was deafening, the suitors frozen in stunned disbelief, their eyes wide as they took in what had just happened.

Odysseus turned his head, his eyes finding yours across the room. He gave you a stern nod, a silent cue that you understood perfectly.

You nodded back, the bright, almost giddy expression on your face standing in stark contrast to the carnage that was about to unfold.

Closing your eyes for a brief moment, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself before your fingers began to dance across the strings once more.

The song you played was deceptively cheerful at first, a light, whimsical tune that fluttered through the air like birdsong.

But slowly, almost imperceptibly, it began to change.

The melody darkened, twisted, the notes taking on an edge that was both haunting and vengeful, a shadow creeping into the brightness—the cheerful melody morphed into something almost bloodthirsty, a song that spoke of retribution, of justice long overdue.

It wasn't just music; it was a call to arms, a declaration of what was to come.

The suitors shifted uncomfortably, some glancing around as if sensing the change, though they couldn't quite put their finger on what was happening.

But you knew. You had been told exactly what this song would do.

You remembered the shed, the way Odysseus had discussed the plan.

The air had been heavy with the scent of earth and wood, the small space filled with the tension of what was to come.

Odysseus had detailed every part of the plan, his voice steady as he laid out each step, each role.

You had listened patiently, absorbing every word until finally, you had asked, "What about me? What will I be doing?"

Telemachus had nodded in agreement, his face uncannily serious, his eyes fixed on his father. "Yes, father, what will her role be?" he had repeated, his voice carrying a note of protectiveness that made Odysseus' lips twitch with the hint of a smile.

Odysseus had reached into his tattered robes, pulling out a simple piece of parchment.

He looked at you then, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. He handed you the parchment, watching as you slowly unrolled it.

"This," he had said, his voice low, "is a gift from Athena herself." The paper had revealed a sheet of music, the notes unlike anything you had ever seen—intricate, almost ethereal, as if the very ink had been touched by divine hands. "The goddess delivered this to me, explaining its purpose, its power. This song is imbued with her blessing. It will only affect those she does not protect—those who have no claim to her favor. For us, it will be a boon. For them..."

He hadn't needed to finish the sentence. The meaning was clear.

And now, here you were, playing that very song, the melody shifting from bright and cheerful to dark and vengeful.

You could feel the magic in it, thrumming through your fingertips, spreading through the hall like a palpable force.

It strengthened those loyal to Ithaca, those under Athena's protection, while the suitors began to fidget, a sense of unease settling over them like a cold mist.

The suitors had no idea what was happening, but they could feel it—the shift in the air, the sudden heaviness that made their hearts pound and their hands tremble.

It was as if the walls themselves were closing in, the once grand hall now a trap from which there was no escape.

Odysseus' gaze never wavered from the suitors, his eyes hard and unyielding as the music filled the space around him.

The song bolstered him, his muscles seeming to grow even more taut, his presence even more commanding.

He was no longer just a man—he was a force of nature, a reckoning given flesh.

Odysseus stood tall, the bow still held firmly in his grasp.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he let the bow drop to his side, his hand moving up to grasp the edge of the ragged cloak draped over his shoulders.

With one fluid motion, he shed the cloak, letting it fall to the ground in a crumpled heap.

The air around him seemed to shimmer faintly, as if the very fabric of reality were bending to his presence.

The old, wrinkled skin that had disguised him melted away, replaced by the strong, rugged form that had been hidden beneath.

Muscles, hardened from years of battle, rippled beneath his sun-bronzed skin, and faint scars crisscrossed his arms and chest—evidence of the countless trials he had endured.

His hair, once matted and dull, now seemed to take on a life of its own, curling around his face in dark waves, with sprinkles of grey adding to his rugged appearance.

His eyes, once hidden beneath a tired, weary expression, now shone with an intensity that was almost chilling—a piercing gaze that seemed to look straight through the suitors, as if judging their very souls.

Fine lines marked the edges of his eyes, a reminder of his years, but they did nothing to diminish the fire within them.

A collective gasp went through the hall, the suitors recoiling slightly, their expressions shifting from shock to something resembling fear.

They could no longer deny what was before them—this was no beggar.

This was no mere man.

Odysseus took a step forward, his voice steady, carrying the weight of his authority. "I am Odysseus," he declared, his words resonating through the stunned silence of the hall, "King of Ithaca, and I have returned."

His gaze swept over the suitors, his eyes cold and unyielding.

The suitors cowered, some taking a step back, their faces pale. The arrogance, the bravado that had filled the hall only moments before, had drained away, leaving behind only fear and uncertainty.

They had come here seeking a queen, a kingdom, and now they faced a legend—a legend who had returned to reclaim what was rightfully his.

The truth hung in the air, undeniable and chilling: The true king had returned, and the reckoning was at hand.

The mood in the hall shifted dramatically, the tension thickening until it felt as though the air itself was vibrating with anticipation.

The suitors stood in stunned silence, shock and terror etched across their faces as they began to realize the gravity of their situation.

Antinous, who had been the loudest, the most arrogant of them all, was the first to react. His face went deathly pale, his eyes wide, his lips trembling as he stuttered out, "K-King Odysseus...?"

His voice barely broke through the thick silence, a pathetic whisper that seemed to crack the spell that had held the hall. 

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the weight of his declaration hanging in the air like a thunderclap. A collective murmur rippled through the hall, a mix of gasps, incredulous whispers, and faint scoffs.

Antinous' voice was shaky as he attempted to regain control. "This... this is some kind of trick!" he spat, though his eyes betrayed the fear he tried to suppress. "I refuse to believe it! He's a beggar, nothing more!" He glanced toward the other suitors, seeking support, but found only the same pale faces staring back at him, uncertainty gnawing at their bravado.

Another suitor took a step forward, his lips twisting into a sneer, though his confidence wavered. "Yes, this... this cannot be Odysseus!" He forced a laugh that echoed awkwardly in the heavy silence, his eyes darting between the king and the bow that now rested effortlessly in his hands. "It's impossible. The real Odysseus is dead, lost at sea! We've waited for years!" He looked around desperately, trying to ignite the doubt in others. "How could a man disappear for twenty years and just... return?"

Some of the suitors nodded slowly, as if clinging to his words, to the illusion of control they had crafted for themselves.

But the seed of doubt had been planted.

Their hands twitched nervously at their sides, and their gazes flickered to the bow, to the axes now split cleanly in half by arrows only the true Odysseus could have fired.

One of the younger suitors, trembling, whispered just loud enough to be heard, "Could it really be him?"

"Of course not!" Antinous barked, though his voice had lost its force. He took a shaky step forward, pointing accusingly at Odysseus. "This man—this beggar—he's nothing but a fraud! Some charlatan! Look at him!" His words stumbled out, desperate, as if trying to convince himself more than anyone else. "We—we can't let him fool us!"

Odysseus remained still, his eyes cold and patient as he watched them falter, their arrogance crumbling before him.

Antinous, still clinging to his denial, sneered again. "It's some kind of trickery! He's using magic or... or sorcery!" He waved a dismissive hand in the air. "He couldn't string that bow—no man here could! It's not possible!" His voice grew louder, more frantic. "You saw it! This must be the work of the gods to humiliate us!"

But as his words rang out, the silence that followed was deafening.

None of the other suitors moved. None spoke in agreement.

The tension in the air thickened, pressing down on them as the weight of their situation began to settle in.

Odysseus, his expression unchanging, took another step forward, his presence commanding. His voice was low but carried the undeniable power of a king reclaiming his throne. "You can deny it all you want. But the truth stands before you."

A ripple of fear ran through the suitors, and one of them—the youngest—dropped to his knees, his face pale and stricken. "It is him," he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling. "It's really him. We're doomed."

The murmurs of disbelief turned into frantic whispers, then into rising chaos as suitors pushed back from their places, stumbling over each other in an attempt to retreat.

One last defiant voice shouted from the back, "It's a lie! He's no king!" But the speaker's words were drowned out by the clamor of panic overtaking the hall.

In the next heartbeat, chaos erupted.

Odysseus moved first, with Telemachus at his side—no longer the boy who had tolerated their mockery, but a prince, a warrior who had been waiting for this moment all his life.

Telemachus' sword flashed in the dim light as he let out a shout, the sound echoing off the stone walls, full of fury and long-held determination.

The blade cut across the back of the nearest suitor with cold precision, slicing through flesh as the man let out a strangled cry; blood sprayed, staining the marble floor as he collapsed in a heap, gurgling his last breath.

Chaos erupted.

Some suitors bolted for the doors, only to find them locked.

Others fumbled at their sides, reaching for swords that weren't there—realizing too late that their weapons had been removed under the guise of preventing damage during the contest.

Panic swept through them like wildfire, their faces draining of color, their eyes wide with terror.

They were trapped, defenseless, caught in the jaws of a trap they hadn't even noticed until it was too late.

Odysseus, by contrast, moved with unnerving calm.

He did not rush or hesitate. Each step was deliberate, each swing of his sword controlled. He was a force of nature, his strikes as sure and inevitable as a storm.

His face was a mask of focus, his eyes cold and detached, as though he had separated himself from the violence unfolding around him. He showed no signs of anger, no flashes of hatred—only a methodical precision that made it clear this was no wild vengeance, but calculated retribution.

He wasn't just cutting down men. He was restoring balance, reclaiming what had been stolen from him.

One suitor, his face twisted in terror, fell to his knees, hands raised in surrender. "Mercy! Please, have mercy!" he cried, his voice cracking.

Odysseus glanced at him, but his expression didn't change. There was no recognition, no flicker of empathy. His blade came down in a clean, swift arc, the man's plea silenced in an instant as his body crumpled to the ground.

Behind him, Telemachus moved with the same eerie calm, though his strikes were fueled by a deep-seated rage—rage for the years of watching his mother suffer, for the disrespect shown to his father's memory.

His sword found its next target, sinking into a man's chest. The suitor gasped, eyes wide, before collapsing, his blood pooling around him in the growing sea of red.

The air was thick with the scent of blood, sharp and metallic.

Screams echoed through the hall, desperate, high-pitched, as the suitors scrambled over each other in a frantic bid to escape. But there was nowhere to run.

The once-grand hall was now a slaughterhouse.

Through it all, Odysseus remained eerily composed, his breathing steady, his movements as fluid as they were efficient. His face remained impassive, as though he were cutting through crops, not men.

Each suitor that fell before him was another obstacle removed, another piece of Ithaca restored.

You kept playing, your lyre's dark, vengeful melody rising above the chaos, weaving through the carnage like a thread of fate.

The suitors fell in time with the rhythm, their bodies collapsing as if your music were guiding the hands of their executioners.

And still, Odysseus showed no emotion.

His sword glinted in the dim light, slick with blood, but his gaze never wavered. He cut down suitor after suitor with mechanical precision, their pleas and cries of pain washing over him like a distant hum.

His face was as unreadable as stone, his presence filling the room with an almost supernatural calm.

He wasn't a man in that moment. He was something more, something unstoppable.

A suitor stumbled backward, his eyes wide with terror as Odysseus approached, his trembling hands raised in a feeble defense. "Please, no! I didn't mean—"

But the words died in his throat as Odysseus' blade pierced his heart, swift and clean. The suitor crumpled to the floor, his body joining the growing pile at the feet of the king.

Through the madness, you kept your eyes on your lyre, your fingers moving with a life of their own, but you couldn't help the way your gaze drifted every so often towards the unfolding carnage.

You did not flinch, did not look away, even as the suitors fell, even as the hall was painted red with their blood.

There was something chilling about it—something almost surreal.

The way the men you had served, the men you had watched lounge and laugh and eat without a care in the world, were now scrambling, terrified, their faces twisted in fear and pain.

And then there was Odysseus, standing amidst it all, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his eyes blazing with an intensity that made your heart pound. His movements were almost too smooth, too practiced, like a dance he had performed a hundred times before.

There was no hesitation, no rush to his strikes—just a chilling certainty, a man who knew exactly what he was doing and how it would end.

There was sorrow there, yes, but also something else—something fierce, something that spoke of justice, of a reckoning long overdue.

The suitors, on the other hand, were chaos incarnate—stumbling, scrambling, their confidence shattered, their bravado reduced to nothing in the face of Odysseus' calm wrath.

And all the while, the music swelled, the melody growing darker, more vengeful.

You did not stop playing, even as the hall became a graveyard.

Odysseus moved towards Antinous, the man who had led the suitors, the man who had dared to try and take his place.

Antinous had backed himself into a corner, pale and trembling, though there was still a flicker of defiance in his eyes. He raised his hands, trembling as they were, in a last-ditch attempt to regain control. "You think you're a hero, Odysseus? A king?" His voice cracked, the mocking tone faltering as his eyes darted around, searching for an escape that wasn't there. "You're nothing but a monster... who abandoned his kingdom."

Odysseus paused.

For a moment, there was a terrible silence, the words hanging heavy in the air.

But then, his expression darkened, his eyes narrowing into cold, steel slits.

Antinous stumbled backward, his hands now shaking uncontrollably. His back hit the wall, and for the first time, the arrogance that had always cloaked him was gone. His eyes were wide with terror, his chest heaving as panic set in.

"Wait—wait! Please!" His voice had lost all of its previous bite, replaced by a pitiful, desperate plea. "Mercy... have mercy, Odysseus! It—it was a mistake! We were only—"

But his words caught in his throat, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps as Odysseus drew closer, unyielding. Antinous' legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed to the ground, scrambling backward like a cornered animal.

"Please! I beg you!" He cried out now, his voice cracking with fear. His hands were raised in surrender, his face twisted in panic, a pitiful shadow of the once-proud leader of the suitors. "I—I didn't mean—"

His words were drowned in the silence of the hall as Odysseus loomed over him, his expression cold and unfeeling, as though he were staring down at an insect. The king's gaze flickered for just a moment, watching as Antinous cowered before him, reduced to nothing but a sniveling, desperate man.

Odysseus' lip twitched, not in a smile, but in something darker. His voice was low, each word deliberate, dripping with fury and finality. "Mercy?" He raised his sword slowly, deliberately, the edge glinting with the blood of the others who had fallen. "You know nothing of war, of sacrifice. You are a coward, hiding behind lies and empty bravado. You defiled my home, disrespected my family, and dared to covet what was never yours. Mercy was never an option."

He paused, his eyes like shards of ice, pinning Antinous in place. "Now, you will face the reality of what it means to cross the true king of Ithaca."

Antinous let out a strangled gasp, his eyes wide with terror as the reality of his fate settled in.

He scrambled backward, his hands clawing at the stone floor, but there was nowhere left to go. He was trapped.

His lips began moving in what might have been a prayer, a last-ditch plea to any god who might still be listening.

But the gods had already chosen their side, and there would be no mercy for him here.

With one final look of disgust, Odysseus brought the blade down, swift and brutal.

Antinous' eyes widened for a brief moment, his lips parting in a final, silent gasp before the light in them faded. His body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, his arrogance and bravado extinguished in an instant.

The hall fell silent, the last echo of his pitiful pleas fading into the stillness.

Odysseus stood there, his chest rising and falling slowly, his sword dripping with the blood of those who had dared to challenge him. His gaze swept over the bodies littering the floor, but there was no satisfaction in his eyes—only the quiet, detached gaze he had held throughout.

The king had returned. And he had reclaimed his throne.

A/N: ooof! 8.0k words, lordy... but i must admit, it's getting easier for me to write/picture fight scenes instead of just summarizing them in a sentence lololo;  anywho as you guys can tell by the spammed updates, i really love greek mythology lolo; who's your favorite god/goddess? mine would have to be Aphrodite; for her to be the most beautiful to ever exist, she really does get envious whenever someone even breathes the word 'pretty' in another person direction 😩---i stan a messy queen

[chores4days]

unnoticed ੈ✩‧₊˚ chapt. two

benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

summary; in which the girl who’s never been noticed by anyone, not even her family, finds herself being noticed by the second son the bridgerton family—the family who is the utter opposite of her own.

notes; very quick chapter, little to no edits. beginning to notice that i switch the povs a LOT within this and i am so sorry if there is any confusion. we're also getting to the point where i am def going along with a sophie beckett vibe for y/n. OMG ALSO idk for the dress i went off of late 1700s and early 1800s fashion and i do not think i did any justice for that. for benedicts part i will say right now that i was high so if anything looks/ sounds weird that is why!

word count; 1001

warnings; maybe swearing??

join the taglist!

unnoticed masterlist.

prev. | cont.

y/n was anxiety ridden as she walked into the ball. the mauve gown she was wearing ( quite beautifully as miss miss hillner like to put it as she had finished dressing her ), was not hers. when miss hillner had left a confused y/n alone in her room, she had no idea what to think her maid was doing but after a good ten minutes alone she finally heard a door slam downstairs making her run toward her window only to see her siblings climbing on into the carriage without her.

y/n had an inkling that they didn’t like her but she didn’t think they’d leave her like that! she also knew that they wouldn’t leave her like that without a reason, and miss hillner was that reason.

after a couple more minutes of confusion, miss hillner finally came back into her room holding a dress she had never seen before. “quick, let’s put this on you!” her maid had ushered the girl up to her feet and started to help her put on the gown.

when y/n had looked into the mirror after miss hillner had finished helping put her into it, she couldn’t help but gawk at herself for a moment. “m-miss hilly, where did you find such a thing?” she asked as she gaped at herself. the dress was a beautiful mauve, it was very obviously not styled from their current fashion trends but it fit quite well enough to not say too much about it. it was a little more off the shoulder than the current trend was, but it was a respectable amount. the sleeves were slightly puffed, and had a small floral pattern you wouldn’t be able to notice unless you were staring directly at it. there was a delicate white lace that flowed beautifully upon her pushed out chest.

y/n realized the dress was beautiful, that she made this dress beautiful.

miss hillner quickly wiped her eyes before y/n could notice that she was beginning to get misty eyed, “it was your mama’s, miss y/n.” she had said to the girl making her quickly turn to look at her made with wide eyes. “it was in an old chest of hers that i knew she had. she would’ve wanted you to wear it.”

y/n was at a complete loss for words, so instead she pulled miss hillner into a hug making the maid gasp. “oh, thank you, miss hilly.” y/n said, muffled into her shoulder. “thank you, thank you, thank you.” miss hillner hugged her tighter than she probably should have but there was no reason for her not to.

after another moment, miss hillner pulled away quickly. “miss y/n, we best get you to the ball.”

and back to the present, y/n wasn’t sure what kind of reactions the dress was going to pull from the ton. she knew that she held no regrets for wearing the gown but nonetheless, she was nervous about how they’d react. how her siblings would react.

you could tell that she was nervous as she walked in but after a moment, the confidence within her changed and suddenly she didn’t care what the ton was going to think of her. maybe tomorrow she would but in this moment, right now, nothing else mattered but how she held herself up as she walked into that room.

the girl looked around the ballroom and caught the eyes of several gentlemen as she led herself down the stairs. and benedict thought to himself that she was absolutely breathtaking to those who genuinely took the time to spare a real glance at her. “i’ll be back, ant.” his brother looked at him in bewilderment as benedict pushed his away to the front of the room.

“—this dance?” benedict heard the last bit of one of the young men who decided to surround the lady. benedict coughed to grab their attention, “i apologize, sir, but the lady had promised this next dance to me.” the said lady had looked at the bridgerton shocked, not quite sure why he was lying but nonetheless was willing to go along with it. “apologies, sir beckett.” she apologized before walking over to benedict.

she grabbed onto his hand as he led her onto the dance floor, the waltz beginning to play as they got settled. what coincidence?

“so mr. bridgerton, care to inform me as to why you lied?” she asked after a moment of dancing, he looked at her surprised for a split second but quickly fixed it with a smile. “well, i couldn’t possibly let others know your name before i.” he responded smoothly with a charming smile, she gaped at him and only looked at him for another moment before responding.

“yet you still have not asked?” he stumbled over his feet a bit, she got him there. benedict bridgerton was surprised that she had even gotten him to begin with, he thought his smile would do the trick but alas-nothing.

“i-i apologize, my lady. may i have your name, miss?” he apologized once the dance had brought them close once again so he could say it softly to her. she had brought her eye’s to his and locked them together, “my, uh.. i’m y/n moorenso.”

benedict looked at her confused, how had she changed so quickly? and he could've sworn that she had gone with her brother? was that a different girl that anthony was with, but he could swear that anthony had even corrected him and said moorenso? was anthony lying abo—”mr. Bridgerton, are you doing okay? you look confused?” miss moorenso cut benedicts ranting thoughts off as he looked up at her and shook his head.

“i apologize, miss moorenso. it’s just..” he trailed, pausing for a moment, unsure whether or not to ask but when she looked up at him worried, he continued. “i was just curious, you were wearing a different dress earlier. were you not?”

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