#us adding to the conversation is part of this art

[cherrixpie]

NEMESIS

part one of five

↬ you were supposed to steer clear of mattheo riddle. shame that he was just so intriguing.

↬ sfw; wc: 5.6k; cw: mentions of blood and death; tags: enemies to lovers; gryffindor!reader, muggleborn!reader

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The minute Snape set foot in the defense against the dark arts classroom, all whispers and conversations between students fell silent. His cloak billowed out in his wake as he approached the front, glaring at any student who dared look up at him. His hard eyes wandered over the rows and narrowed when they reached the table you and Hermoine sat at, next to you two free seats. Harry and Ron were late, and you gnawed at your lower lip in worry. Their last subject had been divination, which neither you nor Hermoine had taken, and you hadn't seen them since breakfast. Judging by his scowl, Snape would skin them for being late.

When Snape walked up to the chalk board, turning his back to the class, Hermoine leaned over and breathed in your ear: “Nott and Riddle aren't here yet either.” She was right. As your gaze brushed over the Slytherins on the other side of the room, you spotted two empty seats next to Malfoy that were usually occupied by Theodore Nott and Mattheo Riddle. Not that you missed the two, but their absence made anxiety curl in your stomach. Could it be linked to Harry’s and Ron’s nonattendance?

“Eyes on front,” Snape’s voice bellowed through the classroom and you flinched, returning your focus to the lesson. But just as you pulled out your parchment, quill and ink to copy the notes from the chalk board, the door burst open and all heads turned in a singular motion. The four missing boys stood in the entrance, albeit standing in pairs demonstrating visible hostility.

All of them looked like they had just fought a rabid pack of grindelows. Hair disheveled, some of their noses bleeding, Riddle’s knuckles were leaking blood and a purple bruise formed on Harry’s right cheek, Ron’s face was littered in cuts. Nott looked the least brutalized out of all of them, and the most annoyed. Everyone was staring, you and Hermoine included. The four of them heaved as if they had ran all the way up here, and Ron held his book back with both hands that seemed to be dissolving in real time, his face as red with fury when Malfoys voice drawled through the room. “My, my, Weasley, that bag must've been worth more than your mum!”

Before Ron could throw an insult back at him, Snape’s voice cut through the room, almost shaking with ire. “You're late. Twenty points from Gryffindor. Sit down!”

“What?” Ron asked in indignation and Snape's lips curled. “But, Professor, they were just as late as-”

“Sit down, Weasley, before I take fifty points from your house,” said Snape coolly and Harry pulled Ron along the rows to your table. Riddle and Nott sat down on their seats, just as the two slumped down next to you. The commotion was silenced by one look from Snape who now proceeded to scribble down the effects of the counter-curse you would learn today. Half your attention on your notes, you leaned over to the boys, just like Hermoine, with a questioning look. “What the hell happened?”

“Riddle fucking happened,” spat Ron under his breath. “He-” Suddenly, he broke off and looked at Harry, as though it had just dawned on him that Harry might not like to share whatever Riddle had said or done. Harry rolled his eyes. “He started talking shit about my parents.”

“He did not,” whispered Hermoine in shock, though you weren't quite sure why she was so surprised. Harry and Riddle had gotten into fights before. One time, they were started by Riddle going on about Harry’s dead parents, the other because Harry provoked him using his parentage.

It was a tale as old as time, and though you thought it was objectively worse of Riddle to be insulting Harry’s parents than the other way around, it didn't change the fact that a brawl between the two was a near monthly occurrence, with their friends joining in. Sometimes, they were each backed up by all their male housemates of their grade (last year, the whole male seventh year population of Gryffindor and Slytherin had to do detention together and it certainly didn't warm them up to each other), sometimes it was just Ron and Nott, sometimes it was one v one.

Harry shrugged her indignation off, he seemed less furious than Ron who was positively shaking with rage. “Whatever. I was just stupid to go off again, I should know his tricks by now.” Ron looked like he wanted to reply something, but just then, a shadow loomed over you and Snape's voice drawled. “Do you want to share anything with the class, Potter?”

Neither of you four spoke, and Snape seemed to take it as an invitation to inflict further punishment upon you. His spiteful eyes trailed over the four of you as he sneered. “I think I will put an end to this chit chat. Potter, you go and sit with Mr. Malfoy. Hermoine, over there with Miss Parkinson; Weasley, with Mr. Nott and you,” his eyes glanced over you swiftly, “go sit with Mr. Riddle. Go.” You hastily stuffed your quill and parchment into your bag, smiled at Hermoine, who gave you a worried look, and walked over to Riddle with a hammering heart. With him. God protect you.

Mattheo Riddle lounged in his chair as if it were a throne, his posture a calculated mix of arrogance and nonchalance that made him look untouchable, even in disarray. The faint trickle of dried blood at his temple and the faint purpling of a bruise along his jawline should have diminished him, but instead, they only sharpened his edge. His tie hung loosely around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a glimpse of pale skin marred by faint scars-trophies from fights he never seemed to avoid.

He didn't glance up as you approached, but the lazy, almost wolfish curve of his mouth suggested he knew you weee there. Something about the way his dark curls fell over his brow, paired with the faint metallic glint of the blood on his knuckles, made him seem both reckless and untamed, like a storm that brewed until it would inevitably destroy everything in its path.

Your anxiety only worsened when Riddle raised his head lazily and looked at your approaching figure. He had a cut on his nose that was still bleeding, and his eyes brushed over you with unmistakable disdain. Slowly, blood seeped down his hand and onto his parchment. You stared at the red dots as you stood in front of him, unsure what to do, frozen under his heavy stare. Until he scoffed and averted his eyes. “Merlin, you’re as slow as you are annoying. What's wrong, scared I'll bite? Don’t worry, sitting next to me won’t tarnish your perfect little Gryffindor reputation. Sit.”

Without a word, you finally managed to move your feet and rounded the table to sit down on the chair next to him with the utmost care, as if the slightest motion could tip him off. Was it riddiculous? Possibly. Were you keen on taking chances? No. You sat in silence as you got out your ink and quill and started scribbling on your parchment, head ducked over the paper and hair falling, thankfully, between the two of you like a curtain. A whole hour of sitting next to the ticking time bomb Mattheo Riddle. You were glad that your fingers weren't shaking as they flew over the parchment, leaving a trail of ink in their wake.

You couldn't have been more thankful for the silence, but Riddle seemed bored. You heard him shift in his chair, bounce his leg, and then, you heard his voice.

“Didn't think you Gryffindors scared so easily. Or is that just you?” Though you were sure he had noticed, Snape made no efforts to discipline Riddle for his insubordination. Of course not. But you knew, if you talked back at him, you would earn another ten points being taken from your house. And in any case, you weren't one to be provoked easily, and you weren't about to risk him hearing your voice shake, as it may have, if you'd opened your mouth. So you scribbled on in silence as Snape got up to demonstrate the wand movement.

“You're quiet for once,” whispered Riddle’s voice, closer than you expected, and you couldn't suppress the little flinch away from him. He chuckled darkly. “What happened?” he asked with the unmistakable sound of a predator circling its prey. “Lost your nerve, princess?”

When you looked up, away from him, your eyes met Hermoine who looked concerned. Barely moving, you shook your head and forced a smile upon your lips. This would be a long hour. You could tell from the tone in his voice that he would have his proper fun, would toy with you. Every instinct told you to fire back, but you called yourself to discipline. This was not the time. And if you would have been willing to start a fight, it would be highly unwise to take on Mattheo Riddle.

When Pansy Parkinson sniggered next to Hermoine, she averted her gaze and rolled her eyes, and you, too, looked back down onto the parchment. You should take notes on the wand movement. You would have, if it hadn't been for Riddle, leaning in once more. You were sure that, on the other side of the curtain, he was almost brushing your hair with his lips. It was silly, but his proximity made you blush. “Go on,” he prodded, “say something Gryffindor-y and self-righteous. Isn't that you speciality?”

“You will now pair up with your desk partners,” Snape’s voice sounded through the classroom, “and practice this jinx. If it has the intended effect, it should merely push your partner away a few feet. Finnigan, I would book an appointment in the hospital wing, I wouldn't trust Longbottom not to throw you out the window. If I see anyone taking advantage of this opportunity to right a perceived wrong,” he sneered, looking particularly at Harry and Ron who both scowled back, “they shall feel my wrath.”

Oh god. You had naively forgotten that this might happen. Let Riddle hex you? You should probably just hex yourself and be done with it. You sent him a quick glance as you rose from your seat and Snape piled up all desks at the wall to make space. If you hadn't known better, you could have thought that he was bored. But you saw the glint in his eyes as he met your gaze with his brown eyes. For a strange second, it flashed through your mind that he had surprisingly pretty eyes for- well, someone who's father was he-who-must-not-be-named.

“Try not to embarrass yourself,” he drawled mockingly and that irked you more than any of his comments had. You were very proud of your academic achievements, and you couldn't help but glare at the floor when you averted your eyes. You’d show him. Riddle whistled under his breath as you stood upright and raised your wand the proper way. “Look at you, all brave and noble, even in the face of the ‘Dark Lord’s Son’”

He was mocking you, and you found yourself wishing he'd just get in with hexing you instead. “If you're just going to yap all day, I'll do it first,” you said coolly, making him laugh. It was a strange sound, because you had never heard someone laugh so devoid of any warmth. Maybe nobody had ever taught him that laughs were supposed to signal happiness.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he said in a low voice. “Show me all about the ‘bravery’ you lot talk about.”

Gripping your wand tighter, you understood it as an encouragement to use the spell on him first. You could just say the incarnation. Just swing your wand. You could do it. “Discedo!” Your pronunciation was perfect, your aim was right, the movement of your wand mirrored Snape's as you concentrated hard. And, to your silent triumph, Riddle was nearly knocked off his feet as he was pushed back and stumbled a few feet, dangerously close to the fireplace. Just as described, you had done it correctly and for some strange reason, you awaited his praise.

Even more surprising was that you received it. “Nice one, princess,” Riddle called and walzed back to you with a lazy grin as if he hadn't just nearly crushed into a burning fire. If you thought about it, you weren't even sure he'd mind that. You'd watched him dislocate his arm in a brawl and crack it back in place without so much as a wince or a frown. Sometimes you thought he couldn't feel pain, but that was impossible. Maybe he liked it. It would suit him, you thought.

Over your spiraling thoughts, you nearly missed the almost gentle way he pulled his wand out of his pocket, much more tender than you had ever seen him regard a living being. You suppressed the urge to take a step back when he pointed it at you, determined not to show fear. Also, you were already in enough danger to smash into the wall behind you as it was. “Your friends seem worried,” Riddle grinned and you were momentarily distracted as you caught Harry’s frown and Hermoine's worried expression. Ron was too busy being pushed around the room by Nott who seemed bored out of his mind.

“Do you ever stop talking?” you snapped and were surprised by your own daring. “Just cast the damn jinx and get it over with!” Riddle raised his brows and you could have slapped yourself. Great idea, challenging him when he was pointing a wand at you and you were not allowed to use yours. Riddle seemed mostly amused, though, twirling his wand around in his hand as if he was contemplating something. Probably, how hard he would smash you into that wall. If Mattheo Riddle was good at one thing, it was cursing people.

Finally, he raised his hand, not even mouthing the spell, that show-off. You shielded yourself for the impact of the wall, but suddenly, a force, not unlike a giant hand or a strong gust of wind, pushed you, not backwards- but forward. Instead of crashing into the wall, you found yourself stumbling helplessly into the arms of Mattheo Riddle himself, who caught you, circled one arm around your waist and gave you the most innocent of expressions. “Oops, my bad, princess.”

For some reason, you blushed. Maybe because he was so close to you you could have wiped the dried blood off his face. Or maybe it was the hand on your waist, encircled by your arm, touching his. His hands felt larger than you had expected and he buried his fingers in your robes, crooking his head at you with a sly grin. No doubt, he was trying to measure your reaction, read it off your face in all damming detail. If it hadn't been the classroom, you would have looked like you were about to kiss. His relaxed smirk was infuriating. "Come on, princess, you know you can't resist me."

Shaking him off, you took a few steps back, legs tingling from the jinx. No way that hadn't been intentional. You should probably be angry, but you were more so glad you hadn't crashed into a wall. But just when you were about to raise your wand once more, Snape’s harsh “WANDS DOWN” had you retract. You all were dismissed with one wave of his hand and you hurried over to your book bag. You had never wanted to escape a room this quickly.

To your annoyance, Riddle leaned down for his bag right alongside you and you made haste to bring some distance between the two of you. Again, your caution seemed to be of his amusement, because he chuckled coolly. “What, afraid you’ll catch something? 'M not contagious.” Without an answer, you pushed past him, making a beeline towards the doors and were the first one out. Only when you had walked two corridors, you could take a moment to breathe out.

“You’re alive!” called Ron in mock surprise when you joined the others in the common room a few minutes later. Laughing, albeit weakly, you slumped down into the seat next to him by the fire. Harry and Hermoine looked up and Hermoine’s eyes scanned your form as if she was looking for signs of harm. “Blimey,” sighed Ron, “I thought for sure he'd jinx you into next week.”

“Me too,” you said, rubbing your temples. The frown on Hermoine's face deepened. “It's not funny,” she suddenly snapped, catching all of you by surprise with her fervor. “This could have ended badly! And what do we learn from that?” She asked sternly and Ron raised his hands in surrender. “No talking in class.”

“It's alright, Hermoine,” you said, smiling at her. It was touching how protective your friends were. “Riddle didn't do anything to me, did he? And I was part of that conversation, it's as much my fault as it is Ron's.”

“You should be worried about me, Hermoine!” Ron chimed in and rubbed his shoulder that seemed to be sore. “Do you have any idea into how many bookshelves and walls I crashed today? Nott’s a real piece of shit, I didn't even get to jinx him back!”

“Well, Pansy Parkinson didn't even have time to raise her wand at me,” said Hermoine with an air of superiority, and Ron rolled his eyes. “Well, she isn't much of an academic weapon, is she? Other than you.” Hermoine, who had just looked determined to snap at him once more, seemed somewhat dumbfounded by the sudden complement. To your surprise, she even seemed to blush a little in the dim light of the fireplace.

“Why was Riddle even looming over you like that?” Harry asked through the silence. “I mean… what were you talking about?” Ron and Hermoine, both a little red in the face, turned to look at you as well.

“He talked, I didn't,” you shrugged, for some reason feeling like you had to vindicate yourself. “He was a real chatterbox, I think he just wanted to get a rise out of me.” And he had, you suddenly realized. Damn.

“You handled yourself really well,” said Hermoine and Ron nodded in agreement. “Yeah,” he grinned, “If you could've only pushed Riddle a few feet further back, you'd have set him on fire, how cool would that have been?” He laughed at the idea and even Hermoine smiled a little.

“Wouldn't want to kick off his tragic backstory villain arc,” you grinned and Ron snorted. “Lost case, I'm telling you.”

Shaking your head with a small smile, you watched Ron combust with laughter. Both Harry and Hermoine chuckled, but mostly at Ron’s amusement over his own joke. After that, the conversation trailed off towards school work. Harry and Ron were indignant at Hermoine for already conceptualizing NEWT revision tables when it hadn't even snowed yet, with Ron promising her that he would not touch a textbook until they had beaten the Slytherins at the next quidditch game, the first of the season. When they started to bicker as usual, you started to drown their voices out and you gazed into the fire, lost in thought.

The first time you'd seen Mattheo Riddle had been on your first day in Hogwarts. You'd been scared and jumpy the whole time, the castle intimidated you, the magic astounded you, but at the same time, you felt like an outsider, unworthy of such a royal institution. When you'd been waiting for the hat to call your name, you'd been half expecting to be forgotten, a confirmation that you just weren't good enough. Your worries had been momentarily shunted to the back of your head when another name was called, “Riddle, Mattheo”, and a collective whisper, in its entirety as loud as a yell, had rolled over the hall.

At that point, you had never heard the name Riddle, nor had you the name Voldemort. Blissfully unaware, you'd never even heard of the wizarding war before, the dark times. The only time you'd been in touch with magic before was in diagon alley, but you'd met barely any wizards before. Maybe you had been the only student in the gaggle of them who didn't know what dark a legacy he carried.

What you did notice was more so the way he carried himself. Even at the young age of eleven, he had a kind of untouchable confidence about him. He seemed to be entirely detached from the nerves that coiled so prominently in your belly. Only regarding his fellow, whispering students and the professor with a defiant look, he planted the hat upon his head that disappeared almost in it's entirety inside it. In retrospective, you had wondered why the hat hadn't immediately shouted out Slytherin, seeing as Riddle was one through and through, and the house’s founder’s heir on top of that.

After a while - the whispers had turned into a steady, ever growing buzzing of curious and hostile voices. Safe to say you had been beyond confused and had leaned over to ask the girl next to you why everyone was reacting like this- the name had sounded utterly inoffensive to your innocent ears. But before you could ask her, the hat shouted out “SLYTHERIN” and the boy ripped it off abruptly to stomp over to the Slytherin table, glaring at anyone he passed. They whispered behind his back, and back then, you'd thought 'how can they do this? He hasn't done anything!’. You hated making people feel unwelcome. Of course, you'd learn that Riddle was an expert in that regard himself.

When you now thought back to that, you wondered wether he could have been saved from whatever pipeline he was currently diving into, getting into fights, supposedly even torturing people and, though you took those rumors with a grain of salt, even killing student’s pets. But maybe he'd always been as detached and dark as he was now. At your first Halloween feast in Hogwarts, the evening a troll had sent the school into a panic, he'd caught your eye. As students around him shrieked in fear and stumbled over their own feet trying to escape, he had been eating cake and watching the panicked students as if they were unconvincing extras in a mildly interesting stage play. He'd even grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets, as if it was all beneath him.

Then, in second year, everyone had assumed him to be Slytherin’s heir. It didn't seem to bother him very much, maybe he was even proud. Like all the muggleborns, you'd done your very best to steer clear of him, but your friendship to Harry made it harder since they were constantly at each other’s throats. You'd cried once when you overheard him tell his friends that “at least the monster had good taste”, you'd always wanted everyone to like you and though you had already accepted that some people simply wouldn't, it hurt that anyone could be reveling in the idea of you or your friends being attacked by a monster.

Not that he was any kinder to his own friends, or at least outwardly he wasn't. When Malfoy had gotten attacked by buckbeak in third year, he'd simply watched and laughed, something thirteen year old you found utterly disgusting, even though you detested Malfoy.

As unlikely as it sounded, fourth year was the first time you talked to him- or rather, bickered with him. When Harry had been fighting the Hungarian Horntail and you and Hermoine had been at the edge of your seats, frozen with fear and worry, the Slytherins had come along and Riddle had made a comment about how he would be far more entertained if the Tournament would have some death in it again. For a moment, you'd forgotten how scared you were of him.

Though you weren't what people would call “heroic” or “brave”, in spite of your house, you tended to lose your temper when it came to your friends. That day, you had, when you'd shot around to shriek at Riddle what the fuck was wrong with him, aghast how he could even say something like that. But just when Riddle's eyes flickered over you as if he'd just noticed you for the first time (he probably had), Harry got the egg and you were distracted from him. In spite of what he had said, though, when Harry turned up after the third task with Cedric's body, he'd been pale as a sheet as he stared down at the dead boy. Not so happy that a champion was dead now, after all.

Fifth year was when he started to pick on you. It was also the year he started getting into fights. Actual fights. Of course, there had been smaller brawls before, immature duels, but there was an edge to him when he returned to Hogwarts that year. He was more serious, and most importantly, more angry. A student laughing too loud was enough to set him off on a bad day, and once he was, there would be blood. A lot of it. It became a weekly occurrence to see him walking into classrooms with a bloodied shirt or nose, or cuts and bruises on his face and hands. Fifth year was when even some of the teachers started getting scared of him.

Other than any other year, Riddle had stayed in Hogwarts for the Holidays in sixth year. It only stood out to you because most people went home to see their families, wanting to be close in times of uncertainty. And because of that one morning, when you'd taken a walk around the black lake and spotted him, standing in the cold without so much as a cloak and staring into space with a distant expression. It was the first time in years he'd looked human, and you had found yourself staring until he turned his head and snapped at you.

In seventh year, you had been assigned to prefect patrols with each other for a few disastrous days. Each night, you'd stumbled into your common room, burned out from the stress it caused you to be near him. To be subjected to his cunning comments that drove you over the edge, with him having a front seat. It was probably good fun for him. Out of pure boredom, he had amused himself with you. And he'd won, kind of, when you begged McGonnagall to reassign you after a mere week, which she did. Maybe you had been imagining things, but he had been strangely more hostile to you since then, as if it had actually bothered him.

Now, in your eighth and final year, staring mindlessly into the flames, you found yourself wondering wether he'd ever had a chance to be anything else than he was right now. Or rather, anyone else. With him, you found yourself thinking of him as a thing rather than a person more often than you'd liked to admit. Maybe because he didn't seem very human. If the times and environments had been different, maybe he'd have been, too. But, you reminded yourself, he was still him, and you were still you.

Maybe some diety had listened to your tired sermon the previous night, or maybe it was mere coincidence. It could also be your stupidity. But the next day, you found yourself assigned detention with Riddle himself. You had to recognize that pulling your wand at Malfoy and him in full sight of any professor who might turn the corner was a little stupid, but the others somehow never got caught doing it. You, on the other hand…

You had been on your way to the library after dinner the next day, on your own since your friends were already on their way to the common room. Maybe some backup would’ve been good, but you were quite glad none of them heard the words that left Malfoy’s mouth when he passed you in the halls, talking loudly to Riddle. “Granger may be smart, but brains won't save her when the Dark Lord finally catches up to her.” Your head had shot up from the parchment you had been buried in and you stuffed it into your bag, accelerating your steps, a white hot anger stirring inside you. But Malfoy wasn't finished yet. “Honestly,” he drawled, gesticulating vaguely, “It'd be poetic, wouldn't it? The little mudblood trying to stand up to a Death Eater and getting exactly what she deserves.”

He didn't have the chance to say anything further, because your newly learned discedo jinx made him stumble backwards and knock into the wall. Before he could even realize what happened, you sent a silent disarming charm his way and his wand flew in another direction. You were momentarily stunned by your own skill as you watched Malfoy's face go red with anger, but when he leaped from the wall, you pointed your wand at his chest, rage burning inside you and wiping away any concerns about school rules that you followed so adamantly other days.

Malfoy opened his mouth, no doubt to insult you, but you got ahead of him. “You think saying something cruel makes you clever, Malfoy?” you spat at him. “You're really proud of being a terrible person, are you?” Malfoy broke out into a cackle that was silenced by your wand now pressing into his chest. You felt tempted to bombarda maxima his head off, and the fact that you did scared you a little, but it couldn't quell the fire in your chest.

“Wh- do something!” Draco hissed nervously at Riddle who was watching the scene, just like the small crowd that had assembled around you.

A wild laugh escaped you. “You fucking coward. Do you think saying stuff like that is funny? No wonder no one respects you!”

An utterly unexpected sound made both you and Malfoy freeze, though the latter didn't have much of a choice, with your wand still pointed at his chest. Riddle was laughing. Well, not really. It was more of a chuckle. His eyes were locked on you, shimmering with… intrigue? Aghast, you stared at him and your anger welled up once more. This was funny to him, yes? Well, if he didn't have anyone to stand up for, sucks for him. But your healthy dose of respect for Mattheo Riddle made you bite back the reply, merely purse your lips together and turn back to Malfoy, who seemed to have found his voice again.

“It's only a matter of time before the Dark Lord wipes out your little group of do-gooders,” he snarled in your face. “Should be quite the spectacle.”

“Crawl in a hole and die, Malfoy,” you growled, starting to feel a little stupid with your wand pointed at him purposelessly.

“Let's end this party here, princess, don't you think?”

His voice had you turn around slowly. Riddle's wand was pointed lazily at you, as if he were merely twirling it in his fingers. But you knew better. Every movement was deliberate. His wand was pointed at you on purpose. He exuded the aura of a calm before the storm, a small smile danced around his lips. He had this way of making everything into his entertainment. But you wouldn't lie, his wand and his eyes had a definite shiver run up your spine.

“What on earth is going on here?”

You shot around when Professor McGonnagall’s voice bellowed through the hallway and jumped back. The scene she saw was not ideal, with both Mattheo's and your wand pulled as if you were about to duel. Which was strictly forbidden in an uncontrolled environment like this. Not that you'd ever be stupid enough to duel Mattheo Riddle. When the Professor approached, you saw her heaving chest and dread filled your stomach, you wished desperately to be anywhere but here. It was important to you to be liked by teachers, especially McGonnagall, who you’d always looked up to.

“I don't want to believe this,” said Professor McGonnagall, enraged. “Miss y/n, Mr Riddle, detention.” She turned to you and wrinkled her nose. “This is disappointing. I would've expected better from you, especially.”

Mattheo knew he should have been groaning about the detention, but he was busy wondered why you didn't try to defend yourself. Try to tell McGonnagall how Malfoy had provoked you. A crowd of eyewitnesses could have confirmed the story, and McGonnagall surely wouldn't take kindly to threats against her favorite student. But when he looked back at you, the look on your face surprised him. You looked absolutely mortified, he wondered for a second if you would start to cry. But you merely lowered your head and pulled your wand away. McGonnagall gave you a sinister glare. By the look on your face, she could just as well have hit you with the cruciatus curse.

“Pathetic,” whispered Malfoy in his ear, but he couldn't quite agree. It was intriguing. Why did it matter so much to you what fucking McGonnagall thought? He realized, of course, that he was more indifferent of teacher’s perceptions of him than other students, but you looked as if you were facing the death penalty.

Seemingly unable to watch this trainwreck further, a Hufflepuff sixth year spoke up on your behalf. “Please, Professor, Malfoy said some awful things about Hermoine Granger.” Malfoy's grin faltered when McGonnagall looked at him, a wave of affirming murmurs confirming the story to her. “The detention will be extended to you as well, then,” she said coolly and strode off, still positively fuming. Mattheo wanted to catch you before you could slip away, though he wasn't sure what for. Maybe he could tease you, rile you up, that was always good fun. And more than that, he wanted to find out why you had reacted so strongly to McGonnagall’s words.

But you were gone, had made a break for it when McGonnagall had left, no trace of you left. When they kept walking, he drowned out Draco's rants as he thought back to your face when McGonnagall had caught you coming close to jinxing Malfoy (which he found to be hotter than he ever thought he would). There was quite the lioness hidden in you, when provoked. His previous quips at you had usually been met with faux indifference and even fear. Good to know even you, sweet, goody-two-shoes you had a darker side about you. He wouldn't deny that he felt tempted to see it again.

[cerastes]

I tried the desert but got my shitmud rocked so I am bad at this game type so just what is the skill floor for it, do I need a large list of e2 units (I suck at that cause my squad is if it works dont try new ops and its been working for a long time)

RA2 is not only very endgame, it also seeks to challenge you with lots of moving parts that make you immensely strong if you know how they work, but conversely the game mode is balanced around the fact that you have access to these incredibly powerful tools and are expected to use them. Not master them, for sure, or even be great with them, just use them; I have made a joke out of RA2 several times on my stream, my people over there can testify when I say RA2 is easy when you know what you're doing.

You do need a lot of units to get the most out of the game mode, not just to deploy them in different fights to counter specific bosses' weaknesses and counter their strengths -- one boss is extremely strong against blocking comps but weak against structures, another is the opposite and wrecks structures but is weak against AoE and a solid blocker, some have sky high RES and low DEF, some have sky high DEF and low RES, one boss fully heals if you don't kill its phase 2 in time and goes back to phase 1, another boss has huge Arts aoe, and so on -- but also to make the most out of powerful Logistic bonuses in which you stow away Operators for bonuses depending how high level they are and what class they are, and expeditions for extra resources every 6 days, or on a 3 day cycle since you can have two teams out like this.

There's food recipes that give you immense stat bonuses and other advantages like extra block, more SP recovery, status resistance, reduced DP and redeployment cost, ignore DEF or RES per attack, and so on. There's a multitude of tools like 12 seconds of Stun with Mr. Booms, applying Freeze with Ice Blaster IIs, extra SP charging with Support Stations, and lots more. There's incredibly powerful structures like Urban Barriers which redirect your enemy's intended path in Blue Box maps, net launchers that Bind for several seconds, smoke launchers that inflict 10 seconds of high Fragile, and most powerful of them all, your own freaking ranged tiles on demand.

You are expected to interact with all of these aspects to properly succeed in RA2. Not master them, not become great with them, just interact with them, in addition to having a varied team. Critical Contentions, which is completely optional, requires a deeper mastery of these tools, but RA2 baseline? Just using them at all will make you much stronger.

...Now, with respect and because this is not our first dance together, I'll immediately say this since I know it's coming: If you really don't like being forced to use other units besides the small team you like and want, then don't play the game mode but also don't complain that the game is badly designed because it doesn't let you clear everything with the same team. I very much dislike that complaint because the game could not possibly be more explicit in its intent that you use different teams, adjust your strategy and experiment. Out of all gacha games, Arknights is the sole game that actually accommodates this explicit drive for variance by outfitting you with several strong welfare units and a spread of 3*s that are actually very strong and completely viable without needing you to get lucky at the gacha. If you decide you like to play the game with just your chosen few, that's completely valid and I would even say borders on adding a challenge, go for it, but don't complain that the game fails in its design when it doesn't let you clear either by lack of skill or because you decided to go against the grain of its explicit intent for you to use varied teams. I do not respect that complaint in the slightest and I do not wish to engage with it.

[fluffywhump]

Clicked on a booktuber I occasionally keep on a bg noise, since she was talking about why Tender is the Flesh "is bad actually," and I went, "Sure, I'll listen." Disagreed at first with booktuber's premise, but after googling "Agustina Bazterrica vegan" I saw booktuber is actually right; Bazterrica is vegan and was inspired to write the book after seeing animal carcasses in the window of a butcher's shop and went "But what if they were human? We're flesh, just as animals are"

I have no reading comprehension apparently lol but that's not surprising to me

[pearlymel]

A dance— Capitano

Synopsis : your relationship with him grows, and he seems sweeter than ever.

Wc : 3.2k

Warnings : contains NSFW content, fem!reader, reader is mostly called 'wife', he's super sweet, soft sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink kinda, reader wears a dress and heels.

Notes : part 2 is heree! I highly recommend reading part 1 here. And part 3 is out here!

You've tried creating art, you've tried cooking (with the help of your personal maid, Marina), you've even tried planting.

Yeah, you're a plant mom now. Not only that, you're a cat mom too. Saving the poor kitty from the harsh rain one day, you couldn't leave the poor little one outside. It's mother seeming to abandon it.

All because you have become extremely bored on the days where Capitano wouldn't be here, and he forbade you to even clean your shared bedroom because he thinks it's useless when there are servants present to do the job. (He doesn't want to tire you out.)

Come to think of it, the last time you saw him, he kept avoiding you. Whenever you tried striking a conversation during dinner, he would only hum and nod. Or when you suggested to have another picnic, he flatly refused, and it felt like the hardest rejection to your face.

It's like he had his own mood swings that you had to deal with. One day he would indulge you in the activities you wanted to do, then the next he would refuse.

Like last week.

“I used to do this when i was young.” You tell him with the softest smile to yourself, your fingers working carefully with the flower petals and strings. You were determined to make this flower crown, and you were taking your sweet time just to have him by your side.

Capitano silently listened to your words, his gaze fixed on your gentle movements as you delicately fashioned a flower crown. The air between you was calm, "You have a talent for making flower crowns," he eventually responded, his deep voice breaking the tranquil silence.

"Did you learn it from someone?”

“No… just by myself.” He couldn't help but be impressed by your innate ability to create such an intricate accessory without any formal instruction. "Self-taught." He mused, "You have an unusual aptitude for discovering things on your own.”

You hum back while adding the finishing touches, and he watched your proud display of the finished flower crown.

“this is for kitty!” You smile at the thought of the little one purring with a pretty crown on it's head.

Kitty? Capitano is confused once you start talking about the cat, you seem even more excited when you described how you cuddled with it.

"You just happened to come across this crying feline in the rain, and you brought it home with you?”

“yes! Ah, well… i hope you don't mind.”

“i don't.”

And that was the last of your conversation, and it's been a week since you last saw him.

“my lady,” You recognise the voice of Marina as she knocks on the door, and you grant her the permission of her entry.

You set the sleeping kitten on the fluffed up pillow to reach for the letter she hands you.

An invitation to the grand ball… you read the contents of it, scanning every word as you pull the paper down.

“like a party?” you ask, glancing up at her, "Yes, that is correct. A grand ball is taking place tonight. It's a gathering of the higher-ranking Fatui members and a few... select guests.” she trails off, unsure of what else to add on.

“I can see that this invitation is for Capitano, not to me.”

“lord Capitano doesn't normally attend these grand balls. So my lady, you will have to go instead.” Marina explains this and you feel like you're going to have a headache.

All you wanted to do today was sleep in with the kitten. Not to trouble yourself in some party.

But… if it's for the sake of your husband's reputation, then you are willing to do it.

You hope you don't pass away too quick from your social anxiety.

“Marina, does this really suit me?” You stare at your reflection, and Marina looks at you approvingly, her eyes taking in your stunning appearance. "Sì, my lady, it suits you perfectly," she assures you, "The dress brings out your features beautifully and fits your figure perfectly.”

“and the colour?”

"Oh, yes, the color is exquisite. It complements your skin tone perfectly. You look like a princess attending a royal ball.” and you smile shyly as you take your seat, “You flatter me too much, you know?”

Marina chuckles softly, moving behind you to work on your hair with practiced ease. "It's not flattery if it's the truth. You look truly radiant today." She begins to style your hair, weaving intricate braids and pinning them in place with delicate silver pins.

Though you can't even lie to yourself, you looked absolutely gorgeous, even when you felt a little down since you would be going alone, and you barely knew anyone.

Marina pauses in her work for a moment, her expression becoming sympathetic as she sensed your nervousness. “It's natural to feel that way. But I believe you will be fine. You are strong and independent." She resumes styling your hair, her fingers moving nimbly to create elegant curls.

You smile at her, looking at her from the mirror, “thank you.”

"It is my honor to serve you.” As she finishes your hair, she steps back to admire her work, a satisfied expression on her face. "You are ready, my lady.”

You are ready.

You are not ready.

Because why was everyone's eyes piercing bullets through you as you entered the main hall?

The whispers and murmurs start almost immediately, the guests clearly intrigued by your presence. However, you manage to keep your composure, straightening your back and walking forward with confidence, just like how Marina taught you.

Stay calm they won't eat you, you tell yourself, trying to maintain your composure under the weight of their gazes.

You were here to make friends, hopefully.

You scan the room, hoping that someone would approach you to engage in conversation. Yet nobody, not a single soul, seems to have the courage to do so. The guests continue their conversations and dances, seemingly ignoring your presence.

And so, you find yourself standing alone, sipping on a glass of champagne, feeling lost and slightly out of place.

Well this is boring. You could've stayed in with Kitty and Marina, but at least you get free food. They always taste better, right?

Everyone went silent all of a sudden, but you ignored it at first and continue taking sips of your drink.

But the silence becomes uncomfortable, just what happened to the party?

You turn around, your eyes widening immediately in surprise as you see Capitano walking towards you. Your heart seems to skip a beat as you watch him approach, his presence commanding attention and authority in the room. Capitano stops in front of you, you can't make up what his face must be like right now, but you think he has a stoic expression on his face as he takes in your appearance. His eyes roaming up and down your figure, seemingly appreciating the elegance of your dress.

“husband?” You blurt out, setting your glass aside to greet him.

"Wife," he says simply, acknowledging the fact that you have finally addressed him by that term.

The tension breaks when soft, elegant music begins to play, signaling the start of partner dances in the middle of the ballroom.

Capitano seems to realize this as he glances around at the couples already making their way to the dance floor. He then turns back to you, his expression unreadable as he silently contemplates the situation.

He can see the slight tension in your shoulders, the way your hand clutched at your dress.

"I suppose we should dance, wife.”

“you want to dance?”

"Yes," he responds. "It appears it's customary for couples at these events to dance together." He extends his hand in your direction, gesturing for you to take it. You take his hand, wrapping it gently around his gloved one. His fingers close around your hand, his grip gentle yet firm as he leads you towards the dance floor.

You notice the whispers and murmurs among the guests growing louder. But you chose to ignore them.

Capitano guides you to the center of the dance floor and positions himself opposite you, his hand settling onto your waist, and your hands on his shoulders.

"Do you know how to dance?" You whisper to him, making sure no one listens, and your eyes are on him.

"I may not engage in these social events often, but even I understand the basics of dance." His hand on your waist pulls you closer to him, you follow his lead.

Interesting.

He leads the dance with of assurance and grace, his movements fluid and confident. As you follow his lead and swirl together across the dance floor, your eyes meet his, and you find yourself unable to look away. The closeness between you makes it feel as if the rest of the world has faded away, leaving only the two of you dancing together.

You notice how he seems to turn his head slightly to look at others, mimicking their movements swiftly, it makes you smile to yourself.

His hand on your waist feels warm, almost burning even through the fabric of your dress. It's a strange sensation you've never felt when touching him, despite having already kissed (once) before.

”my dress,” you whisper amidst the graceful dance, “what do you think of it?”

You figured you always needed to give him a little push when initiating things.

His attention drift down to take in the sight of your dress once again. His gaze roams over the fabric, lingering on the way it clings to your figure, and how the color contrasts against your skin.

"It's... " he pauses, you're just wearing a dres, but he finds it difficult to describe what he feels, "Very pleasing to the eye.” he manages to continue.

"You look rather well tonight, as well.”

“Thank you, wife.”

The music suddenly shifts to a slower tempo, and Capitano instinctively adjusts his hold on you, pulling you slightly closer as he continues to dance with you.

You totally ignore how your face is almost pressed up against his chest.

As interesting as the party was, the worst part of was walking back to the estate. Why? Because the carriage decided to break down, or maybe the horses were sleepy, you don't know.

You're glad your husband is with you, or else you might've been sacrificed to the dogs at night, now even ants will fear this big guy.

But what's worse? Your damn heels are killing you. The sides of your pinky toes are already aching that you are sure it will cause nasty blisters by tomorrow.

"Perhaps next time you should wear more comfortable shoes." He stated bluntly, his deep voice betraying no pity for your situation. “but they look pretty, plus i feel elegant in them.” you stop at your tracks, looking up at him with a defeated expression.

"I'm well aware." he says dryly, "But at what cost? You're practically torturing yourself with those heels.”

He's half right, your point still stands. Beauty is pain. And now you'll have to sacrifice your beauty.

Bye bye heels. You slide them off your feet, bow having your poor feet to walk on these rocky grounds. You do feel a little better after, though.

“stay still.” He utters, and you're confused, until he takes your heels in one hand before you feel a shift of your weight off your feet, finding yourself being carried into his arms.

you wrapped your arms around his neck silently, your eyes glancing up at him as he continues walking like he you weigh nothing.

The air around you is peaceful. You feel safe with him, he's not like the scary man you hear from the others. Maybe to others he was, but to you? He was soft for you.

Your head leans on his chest where his heart rested, the beats of his heart makes you sleepy, but you refuse to sleep just like this, you want to spend every single second savouring this feeling.

Capitano carried you all the way to the estate, and through the dark corridors, making his way to your shared chambers.

The soft moonlight filtering through the windows was the only source of illumination, the atmosphere around you quiet.

He gently deposited you back on your feet, you're back home safely.

“thank you.” You whisper, your hands reaching to take the pins out of your hair to let it breath from the scruffy yet beautiful hairstyle, and Capitano starts taking off the heavy layers off him as well, with the helmet out.

You don't notice how one of your dress straps seem to fall off your shoulders, but he notices, and oh did that make something in him stir.

His steps closer from behind you, his hand reaching to put the strap back in place, but instead, he glances at the other strap.

It looked rather lonely being on your shoulder, his fingers delicately sliding the strap down which makes you ultimately still in your place.

Your entire body trembled slightly as Capitano's hands caressed your skin, tracing gentle paths across your shoulders and back down to the zipper on your side. “May i.. help you out of your dress?” His low, gruff voice, asking for permission to help you out of your dress, made your heart beat faster.

You could only nod in response, your voice silenced by a mixture of anticipation and desire. Capitano's touch was meticulous, his thumb and index delicately moving down the zipper with deliberate slowness, prolonging the tension.

Capitano lets out another low hum as he watches the dress slide down to your ankles, now leaving you only in your undergarments. His hands traced the contour of your body, his touch delicate yet possessive. His own breathing became ragged, the sight of you partially undressed igniting a fire in his eyes.

“Will you allow me to touch you?”

The question makes you turn your head, of course he can.

When you don't stop him from wrapping his arms around you, his chest pressed against your back, he takes it as a green light to continue.

His hand first brushed your hair out of the way, to allow his lips to come in contact with the nape of your neck, “you're so beautiful..." he whispered, his hot breath sending jolts of electricity through your core.

“I don't…” he hesitates, wanting to move his hands away, “i don't want to do anything you don't like.”

And your expression softens at his concern, you turn around to take his face into your hands, your thumbs caressing the apples of his cheeks and he nuzzles into your touch, wrapping a hand around your wrist before pressing a kiss to your palm. You further reassure him by littering his face with your lips, giving every empty space of his skin with at least one kiss.

“Allow me to experience this with you, and i shall take care of you till i take my very last breath.” he hoists you up easily into his arms, rough hand under your thighs as you wrap your legs around his waist, he laid you down on the soft sheets, his body covering yours as he looked down at you.

“You occupy my every thought,” he starts, “that it feels sinful to even look at your way.” He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss as his hand continued its exploration, ripping your bra off to cup your breast, feeling your nipple harden under his touch. He rolled it between his fingers, pinching it gently as he deepened the kiss when you gasp, his tongue delving into your mouth, savouring your taste and angelic sounds.

He leaned down afterwards, his mouth latching onto your nipple, sucking it into his mouth and your hands find his ling strands instantly, tugging on them while being careful not to hurt him.

His fingers traced down to your hip, giving them a firm squeeze before ripping your panties off next, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit, feeling you writhe and tense up under him.

It felt like an unknown territory you've yet to explore.

Upon sensing your discomfort, he presses his lips to your eyelids, then to your neck, taking his time until you relaxed, until you started feeling good based off how you were bucking your hips now.

Oh how he wanted to take his time with you, but he was aching so bad that if he continues touching you he might just burst embarrassingly fast in his pants.

“Let me in, my wife.” He gently starts massaging your thighs as he parts them, making you feel more exposed than ever, but he distracts you by softly kissing you again and again while he's unbuckling his pants and pushing them down, revealing his throbbing thick, hard cock.

“Capitano—!” you try to squirm away when you feel his tip push into your tight hole, your lips parting from the way he stretched you open, but at the same time you felt relaxed with his soft whispers of ‘take your time’ and ‘you’re doing well, my wife.’

Your cunt soon takes in every inch, swallowing him whole until you were a panting mess, and you didn't even start.

Capitano then began to move, his thrusts slow and deep at first, letting you get used to his size, to how you feel, to how he feels as he makes love to you for the first time together.

You feel your heart up to your throat and ears, it felt incredible, something you've never felt before, your soft moans echoing in the air along with a few groans coming from him.

He shivered when he felt your fingertips trace the few scars littering his shoulders and back, his dick twitching almost instantly before his thrusts grew faster, more urgent.

His hand reached down, returning back to draw circles around the bundle of nerves, and he could feel your body tense, your walls clenching around his cock as he continued to rub your clit.

“come for your husband,” he breaths heavily next to your ear, and you come undone, your moans filling the room as he felt you milk his cock. He could feel his own release following after, his balls tightening before he slammed into you one last time, spilling thick ropes into your womb, until you were filled to the brim.

Your legs were shaking slightly around him, yet his warm embrace afterwards made you melt, eyelids heavy with him still being buried inside you.

—

You groggily woke up, still half in a dream-like state, the room bathed in shadows due to the closed curtains blocking out the morning sun.

As your senses slowly returned to reality, you heard a soft meow next to you, and sure enough, your little kitten had made itself comfortable in the middle of the bed. To your surprise, Capitano, who was still asleep beside you, didn't seem bothered in the slightest by the creature's presence.

“pst,” you whisper to your husband who only hummed in acknowledgment of your attention. “Can we go have a picnic this early morning? With our baby kitten of course.”

Tags: @sayastyx, @nastylilcvnt, @bigboygoose,

[anonymousad]

After reading through your apology, I genuinely think your heart is in the right place. I can imagine, from a consumer standpoint, that seeing these large production budgets essentially being made the audiences' problem is frustrating. But I'd like to at least explain why crowdfunds are the way they are, as someone on "the inside".

I get that your stance is "Capitalism is bad", but that doesn't mean we can ignore it outright. You said on you Shelterwood post "a "fair wage" is a capitalist idea that most don't benefit from", but does that mean people shouldn't be paid at all? Frankly, I disagree.

People deserve to be paid for their labor. Again, it's not fair that the budget has now become the audience's burden, but it's also not fair to say that the concept of a fair wage is bad, full stop. Especially for older content creators, we can't justify time for passion projects on shoestring budgets anymore. We can say capitalism is bad all we want, but while we're living in it, all your favorite content creators still have to play the game.

The money has to come from somewhere. Often, we crowdfund because the usual avenues of making money in podcasting isn't available to us. For what it's worth, how that's solved is a discussion many creators are having now. (This is why you'll likely see an increase in ads across the board, and I hope you have patience for shows that run ads when they happen.)

As I said, I think your heart is in the right place. And yes, there's a discussion that needs to happen regarding crowdfunding and what's realistic to expect from audiences. But I do want to make it clear that us creators aren't pulling these big numbers to swindle anyone out of their money. We just want to keep telling stories, and while we live in capitalism, we are need money to do it.

I don't know if this ask is from the same person, but either way thank you for hearing me out and giving me the benefit of the doubt in terms of my sincerity.

so I think that something that is happening here (which is something that I experience in my real life as a left-leaning person when I try to have these conversations with certain types of people) is that we are getting caught up in whether it's feasible to live within a capitalist system without being agents of it.

we are all victims to it AND victimizers. especially if you live in a "wealthy" nation (by the standards of GDP, not by the standards of how individual citizens are faring). if you shop at a chain grocery store, use Amazon, buy fast fashion, etc etc. a lot of things that are unavoidable to make it by, because doing otherwise is very expensive.

the point being, yes, we all have to survive under capitalism.

but I think where the viewpoint stated by this anon and my own differ is that we are trying to get that money to survive from different places. every content creator across all mediums (YouTubers, musicians, TikTokers, podcasters, etc.) has to figure out how to make it something that they can afford to do. things are not created out of nothing, they take time and effort and talent and MONEY.

where you are getting that money from and how you are distributing it is also really important though.

I am not against the concept of "fair wages", but the idea of this is something that exists in the realm of business. and if you are going to treat a production like a BUSINESS, then you need to actually think about what that means. a business needs to be able to support itself financially through the product it makes or service it provides. the problem is that within the context of audio drama that does not really exist as a path, it only works AFTER you have put in the un/underpaid labor to build a base of supporters.

obviously we don't really charge people to get to listen to podcasts, that doesn't work in our space unless you already have a massive base of support willing to trust blindly that it will be worth it. we kind of get around that through Patreon and Ko-fi by creators providing exclusive content, something much more akin to how a business operates. there are also now the "+" style subscriptions that some networks and apps like Apollo have started, but to me those are very similar in that they are basically aggregating the same content that people are posting to their Patreons in an attempt to be a more enticing proposition than supporting a single creator.

your podcast CAN'T be treated like a business until there is a sustainable way to support it like one, and crowdfunding just isn't going to be that.

we still need to think about what can be sustainable for the community, a point I made that you didn't really acknowledge here. crowdfunding cannot be a sustainable method in these high amounts, it is literally impossible. with campaigns this size every month, sometimes multiple at once, where is that money supposed to come from sustainably? especially in the context I've been pointing out about how people are struggling right now, something you can't ignore when the contributors to these kinds of campaigns are average people.

at that point what you are actually looking for is an investor, a very common business practice for a start-up. which is what these campaigns are basically attempting to be, so it is a logical method of getting the funds. especially when what is apparently needed is this high.

so, we need to be looking at who does have the money and would be willing to contribute to the types of things we make; groups that have the resources and connections needed to help these kinds of larger scale projects succeed.

and wouldn't you know it, there's a very obvious solution to this one problem: podcast networks.

podcast networks are a middleman in the space, seemingly collecting money with the only benefit being minimal promotion and advertising help, and of course slapping a recognizable name on there that maybe attracts a few more listeners because it has "network backing". what services are they providing with that money they are taking? it should be argued that if you are essentially paying part of your revenue to a network that they are using it substantially to help support your endeavors. I have not seen this level of support from any of them.

the closest we've gotten to this is when the Apollo app gave $10,000 to some creators last year to make something completely original and unique (for example, Ester Ellis, creator of Station Blue and The Goblet Wire, was able to create something completely unique and out of the box with Whale Song). to be honest, that obvious ploy to get into the community's good graces is more than any of the actual networks have done. it doesn't really matter that it was a calculated business decision that would benefit them, it also benefited US as creators.

making deals with a network or outside funder is ACTUALLY "playing the game" of capitalism, getting it from individuals as part of an unsustainable crowdfunding campaign is not.

and again, it really matters that these resources are being EQUITABLY spread, but that is another conversation to be had if/when these things start existing for people to take advantage of.

additionally, it is worth pointing out that there are cities/states/countries that offer artistic grants. if your project needs major funding it is part of your due diligence to look into these things as potentially avenues. ignoring these opportunities is honestly negligent and disrespectful to fans who want to see the show get made by putting the entire burden of the cost on them.

you also mentioned advertisements, something that is an annoying but everyday part of our consumer society. for a lot of content creators I know it is the ONLY way to make money (note: I include sponsorship deals within the banner of advertising personally) and I do not begrudge them that because it's just how this shit works. yeah we all dislike getting interrupted by an ad, even between distinct episodes, but I don't think anyone should get upset at that stuff unless it's truly egregious (something like 3 minutes of ads for 5 minutes of actual content is just being shitty about the value of people's time).

this is actually an example of the right type of revenue stream to be chasing. residuals and passive income are important parts of making a business sustainable, especially a content creation business where the "product" is freely available. that is literally what ads were made for, it's how network TV makes money too. no, I don't think that this alone can sustain the costs of a production team, but I do think that it's things like this that need to be where the thought and energy goes when looking for ways to supplement it. hence the popularity of monthly support options, merch, sponsorships, etc.

I would also like to point out I am also an audio drama creator, I've been very open about that. whenever I get an idea for a new project or even just making my current ones happen I am also having to ask and deal with these questions of money. and I readily admit it isn't easy, money and compensation for non-tangible services and goods is not straightforward.

but that's why I make it a priority to work within my bounds while I figure it out. my first endeavor did not include asking for more money than some people make in a year, it was me investing in a microphone and asking people if they were interested in taking part even though it wasn't paid. I figured out how to make it work by using Freesound and Audacity and spending hours googling when I desperately needed one super specific thing. I recognized that 1) it was not something I could afford to spend money at the time, 2) I had not proven myself to the community such that I would feel right asking for money without any indication of the quality of product they would be receiving, and 3) that creative budgeting was always going to have to be part of how I did this.

I know the term "creative budgeting" may not be familiar to all kinds of people, but it is pretty much exactly what it sounds like. it's something that people have to do every day to pay their bills and buy groceries and keep their businesses afloat.

asking others to pay me a business-adjacent "fair wage" for an unprovable possible product is not being responsible with funds. there are a lot of resources available that can help ease costs and get rid of the less necessary expenses, and that is part of successfully allocating funds for any kind of project.

one last thing I want to address on here:

you talk about older people not having the benefit of passion projects. while I can empathize with what you are saying, this is kind of an ageist and ableist take and I want to address it so that you can have a better understanding of why it's problematic.

first of all, I think it's fair to say that everyone is financially struggling right now. it is a privilege to even have the time and energy to create instead of having to spend every ounce of yourself just surviving, one I recognize that I personally have.

we're at a stage where identifying as an "older content creator" might just mean "Millennial", and yeah that generation has suffered a lot financially due to Gen X and Boomers. but so has everyone born after them, it is no longer a uniquely Millennial problem to have money trouble. I know plenty of people in this age group who are tight financially, but not so tight that they are actively in danger. and I know people in that group who are barely scraping together enough to eat and keep a roof over their head.

I can say the exact same thing about Gen Z. if anything, Millennials have the benefit of the hardest times hitting AFTER getting degrees and those vital first jobs that create the lucrative "job experience" that every application after will be looking for. it's nearly impossible for some younger people to land "entry level" these days.

I'm really discussing a larger issue here, but by bringing up the difference in age as a contributing factor, it somewhat feels like you are saying that you are more worthy of those types of contributions and investments because of age. which is the kind of language we all grew up hearing from our parents and from policymakers and eventually from our bosses. it's an unhelpful stance to take when all of us are more or less in the same shitty situation.

the longer I've lived the more clear it's become that these generational divides from Millennial downward have been very intentionally placed to try and make us alienated from one another. I am somewhere in that vast swathe and that's how I identify; as part of the generations who were screwed. it doesn't matter which one, when you were born at this point only has an impact on how long you've already suffered, not how long you are going to.

which is fucking bleak, yeah. but an important reminder that solidarity is important in all things, especially when it comes to the arts and expression.

your age doesn't give you more of a right to be exploitative. that is not an accusation towards anyone, it's more of a general statement about the ways in which we let a lot of the older generations who have power get away with abusing everyone beneath them.

to much more briefly touch on why it is an ableist statement, I'm just going to point out that there are lot of factors that can impact someone's life regardless of age and make things more difficult for them. I know there is a lot of neurodivergence in the community, which can be disabling for some. I also know that there are some physically disabled creators who have talked about difficulties and barriers that people twice their age haven't had to deal with. it's something that I understand can be easy to forget if you aren't faced with it every day, I do not blame people for that. but that's why I think it is important to point out here so that eventually it will be something that everyone considers.

lastly, a couple of small notes that didn't fit in anywhere above, but I wanted to include

it is worth pointing out here that it is a privilege to be able to pay someone at all, one that a lot of projects don't have the luxury of. I don't think that's right, but it is a reality of making art.

"swindling" may be a harsh word for what I think is happening with these campaigns. I certainly think it is inequitably pulling resources towards individuals, but I don't believe that people are literally getting scammed

that's all I've got on this one, thanks for sticking with me and I HOPE we can spur some more conversations from this. namely, if you are part of a network you should ask them what they do to provide support for the community. make them sweat a little bit, it might benefit us all.

[aphrvdisiac]

OFF TO THE RACES.

ellie williams, abby anderson x fem! reader.

part one of to lie and love like you do.

SUMMARY | you are in a poly relationship with new york’s elite women, ellie williams and abby anderson, but living in the world of power, money, and lust possesses each one of you as the dynamic amongst you three becomes more volatile and violent.

WARNINGS | adult language. graphic violence. polyamorous relationship. abby calls reader “bunny,” ellie calls reader, “little lamb.” mentions of alcohol consumption and drug usage. possessive and obsessive behaviors. dark content: graphic details of t*rture and m*rder, men being pigs, controlling behavior. adult content: sub!reader x doms!ellabs, doing it in a confessional booth, god kink, fingering, degradation, overstimulation, edging, ball gag, strap-ons, face smacking, mommy and daddy kink, knife play w/ branding, double penetration.

NOTES | so brief explanation: this is my fic, off to the races. it used to be on my original, old account that fell under the user “angvlita” but unfortunately i deactivated that account so the fic no longer exists. anyways, all rights are reserved to me for this, and i do not want it published anywhere else. with that being said, please take into caution all the tags and warnings because this isn’t meant to be taken lightly whatsoever. ellie and abby are mean and cruel in here. thank you, and enjoy.

If Los Angeles was the city of Angels, then New York was home for all Hellbound.

You grew up in such a glistening city, where people’s facades weren’t as hidden, illicit affairs took place, and a fifteen year old was trying cocaine for the first time. It held beauty just like Lucifer, having greater cruelty and an ominous essence lingering beneath its soul.

You wish you didn’t get caught up in a reckless lifestyle, that you didn’t become so corrupted that you were a girlfriend to your two best friends.

Ellie Williams, daughter to architect and businessman Joel Miller, and Abby Anderson, daughter to a famous renowned surgeon Jerry Anderson. The two had great power, control, and wealth – they fucking lived off of it. They were cruel and vicious to everyone.

Ellie was a venomous scorpion, Abby personified as such a nefarious viper. The two together were threatening, and it all surprised you when they wanted you in their circle in the early start of Junior Year, easily befriending you.

You remembered it clear as day.

You were sitting at a table, reading Jane Eyre. It was your free period, and you had not much to do, finished with any assignments.

The silence you enjoyed was interrupted when two figures sat themselves down at the table, gaining your attention as you peered up at the book, and noticed elite scholars Ellie Williams, and Abby Anderson.

They were grinning at you, eyeing you like a predator did with their prey, a cascade of goosebumps running over your skin.

“Can I help you?” You asked, bookmarking your spot before closing the book, and setting it down.

You knew it came off rude and too sharp, but their appearance made you uncomfortable, and weirded out.

“We’ve been keepin’ an eye on you,” Ellie said, and your heart sank, not knowing exactly what that mean. “We aren’t here to ruin your life, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I mean, I don’t know,” you chuckled nervously, fidgeting with your Cartier bracelet. “You have quite the reputation.”

“So you know us?” Abby asked, and you shrugged, unsure of what else to say.

“We want to invite you out,” Ellie added, and your brows knitted together, utterly confused. How could you not be? It was a random invitation, and you didn’t have any prior interactions with them.

You just had Fine Arts Honors with Ellie, and English Literature with Abby — though, you never made any conversations with them, and you didn’t see the need to.

“Why? This is new, no?” You questioned, eyeing them back and forth in the moment the duo looked at one another, words kindling behind their eyes.

“Somethin’ about you is sweet… special,” Abby confessed, and a smile threatened to curl onto your lips. “You interest us.”

“Marrona, at 8PM,” Ellie stated, getting up with the blonde by her side. “Just come by, and if you still don’t like us, you’re free to go.”

“You’re trusting a stranger? Interesting,” you lightly joked, smiling to yourself. “The world must be ending, then.”

They smiled with you, a rare expression anyone could come across.

It was an unforgettable night that you thought of for a week before either of you approached each other again.

Many of your friends told you to not fall for it, that you’d be a laughing stock, and would only be ruined. You didn’t know how ruined you would become, and you simply wanted to know what it would be like to sit in their company.

You were sure it was because of your status — your mother was an heiress, and your father was a CEO of an advanced technology business. You were humble about your life, yet knew you had a higher position in money and glory than them. You were sure they wouldn’t just let anyone in, that they were more intelligent to let a random classmate of theirs be brought into their social circle.

The deeper you fell into their rabbit hole, you had become tainted, and cruel as them. You were their rotten apple, something they possessed and prized so admirably as you were theirs only. Before the relationship was even thought of, you weren’t allowed to talk to anyone else besides them, leaving you to drop all your closest friends, and submit only to the two girls.

Yet, they took care of you like no one else did — expensive gifts, abrupt trips to Europe, fancy dinners, and the sex they gave you.

God, the fucking sex.

It was them at the same time, or one coming to your place to claim you entirely. You didn’t mind it, no, you had become so immune to being theirs, you would please them.

You don’t exactly remember how the polyamory relationship came to be; you were getting closer with Abby, Ellie didn’t like it, and the two had come to the idea of sharing you, right before twelfth grade. You weren’t opposed to it, but hated the twisted repercussions that tied into it.

During all of Senior Year, you weren’t allowed to go out without them by your side, or at least one of your bodyguards. You couldn’t get drunk, only at home, and that’s it; they had this monologue about how dangerous the world is, and how they wouldn’t be able to forgive themselves if something happened to you.

You had no privacy, they always had a guy watching you from a distance if you went out with family, and tracked your location. Your only friends were whoever else was in their group, which wasn’t much whatsoever, so you were practically without anything.

When you all graduated, and you were planning to attend Columbia, you hoped some leniency would be kicked in from their part, but no — the two only got more dominant about everything, to the point they refused to let you share a dorm room with a girl.

“Oh my fucking god, I’m not going to fuck her!” You yelled. “You’re being dramatic; it is better for me to live on campus so I don’t deal with traffic every morning.”

“What if she tries something?” Ellie asked, sitting down on her couch with a glass of bourbon in her hand. “You know we are just trying to look out for you.”

“No, you’re being insane,” you stated, and she scoffed, eyeing Abby. “Both of you have really got to stop this shit. I need to make a career for myself, be my own person without your crazy bullshit jeopardizing it all.”

Abby got up, now towering over you as she grinned. “Such a brat you are,” she mocked, and you shivered, glaring at her. “After all this time, we hoped you would start being appreciative.”

“I… I’m more than grateful for the both of you,” you assured softly, frowning. “But please, I'd rather be in a dorm room than some penthouse where you’re being insufferable.”

“The fuck did you just say?” Ellie asked, hastily standing up, and before you could speak, she grabbed your jaw. “Insufferable, huh?”

You whimpered, the grasp tightening, and worried she might crack a bone. “No… no,” you whispered, and the pair mockingly cooed at your panic.

Ellie shoved you into Abby’s arms. “Deal with her, I’m in a good mood today.”

Abby held onto your wrist, seating herself down, and bent you over her lap. “Gotta keep training you, ‘specially after all this time,” she mumbled, flipping up your skirt. “Starting to think we should just replace your ball with some soap, maybe raise up the punishments.”

“No, no,” you pleaded, peeking up at her. “I didn’t mean to say—”

“Don’t fuckin’ stare at me,” Abby spat, and you whined, looking away as you could feel her hands massage your ass. “You’re lucky it’s me being lenient, not her.”

Abby wasn’t wrong there — Ellie was more harsh with her punishment, would leave you in a puddle of tears, and it would be Abby that had to reel her back into reality. You recalled the moment when Ellie had you bent over the edge of the kitchen table, hitting your ass while she kept her thick rings on, and you were in tears by the end.

You didn’t talk to her for at least two weeks, but she repeatedly apologized, and was no longer able to strike you with no more than seven slaps, and if she did, Abby had to put her in check.

You never knew why you liked being punished like this, like a ragdoll of some sort, or why you let consequences happen to you. You were human, but something about these two keeping you in check was pleasuring, and comforting in a way.

The first hit made you squeal, kicking your feet in reaction. “Fuck!”

“Count, bunny,” she said, the nickname made your stomach turn. “I know you can do it.”

“One…” you shuddered, another strike coming after it. “Fuck— two!”

“Only doing five today, it’s okay,” she assured, kissing the back of your neck, and your ass was met with the third strike.

“Three!”

Another one.

“Four!”

And the last one.

“Five,” you moaned, your ass burning. “I fucking hated that.”

“Me too, bun,” Abby said, picking you up, and let you sit on her lap. “Let me look at my girl.”

She took your face into her hands, fingers brushing past your ears, and grinned. “There’s my bunny, are you okay?” She wondered sincerely, a frown tugged on her lips.

“‘M fine,” you muttered, resting your head on her shoulder as she held you. “Is Ellie mad at me?”

“You know how she is,�� she reminded, and you huffed, nodding. “We love you, more than you’ll ever know. We wouldn’t be able to live if someone hurt you, or something horrible happened.”

“I know, didn’t mean to be rude,” you mumbled, and she sighed, kissing the side of your head. “I just feel like both your lives should be more than just me.”

“Oh, baby,” she sighed, bringing your head back up, and gazed at you with immense endearment, you could faint from it. “You are our life. Our religion, our air, everything we want and need.”

You grinned. “You mean that?”

“Of course. Now, let’s go see Ellie, yeah?” Abby suggested, and you agreed, trailing in front of her as you walked to Ellie's bedroom in her penthouse.

“Ellie,” you sang out, pouting. “Are you still mad?” You opened the bedroom door, finding her sitting on her desk chair with an electric guitar in her hands.

Ellie looked up at you the second you were in her presence, and she sighed, sitting the instrument aside of her. “Hey, little one,” she greeted, opening her arms for you. You rushed to her, perching yourself on her lap, and wrapped your arms around her neck.

“Sorry for being rude,” you mumbled into the crook of her neck. “I love you and Abby both.”

“Sweetheart, I know,” she rested her hand on the back of your head, her thumb caressing it. “We know what’s best for you, that’s why we take care of you unlike anyone else.”

Ellie wasn’t wrong there, and that saddened you. Your parents had always be mentally and emotionally distant; they were there physically, but always focused on their own issues. It was either your mother was caught up in her pill addiction, or your father having a new mistress.

There never really was time for you — you raised yourself for as long as you could remember.

Many would say you had no reason to hate your life when you have this trust fund, nepotism lifestyle, but you would trade all of that just for parental affection and care. Yet, that never came, and the only people who tended to your needs were Ellie and Abby.

They came into your life when you needed them the most.

“Our parents want a gathering tonight,” Abby walked into the room, clearly irritated. “First stop is church.”

“Church?” Ellie laughed. “Oh baby, it’s your parents that want that.”

You never understood why your parents went to church. They may have grown up religious, but the things you witnessed them doing led them to earning a one way ticket to Hell.

“We could have our fun,” Abby assured, grinning. “Isn’t being selfish and ungrateful a sin?”

Ellie picked your head up off her shoulder, forcing you to look at her. “Yeah… it is,” she smirked at your protesting whines, and patted your bottom. “Get home, and get changed.”

You walked inside the cathedral by your parents side, searching around for your girls. “Ah, there’s Jerry!” Your father pointed out, taking you and your mother to Abby’s dad. “Jerry!”

Jerry turned around, grinning at him, both hugging one another. You hopped to Abby’s side, smiling up at her. “Hi,” you whispered.

“Hey, baby,” she mumbled, gently pinching your arm. “Ellie is in the confessional booth.”

“What?” You asked. “Why?”

“You sinned,” Abby reminded, and you swallowed thickly as she leaned into your ear. “And you need to repent.”

Your parents were caught in conversation with Jerry, and you sighed heavily, rolling your eyes. You knew they wouldn’t pay much mind if you were gone for a bit.

“Don’t fuckin’ roll your eyes,” she spat, tightly seizing your wrists, and tugged you away with her. To your unfortunate luck, the confessional booth had its own room in the cathedral, and gradually spacious, giving you more than enough privacy.

“Let the fuck go of my wrist!” You shouted, and she halted her footsteps, turning around. “I can follow, ya’know? I’m not dumb.”

Abby ignored you, suddenly tossing you over her shoulder as you screeched, furiously kicking your feet. “Ellie’s going to love hearing this,” she taunted, and you zipped your mouth, giving up all protest.

Abby twisted open up the door to the room, putting you down on your feet, and slammed the door shut.

Ellie was leaning against the wall, joint in her mouth, and was wearing a black suit, a bralette underneath her fine blazer. “There’s our girl,” she beamed, yet her bright expression toned down when she took notice of Abby's unsatisfied attitude. “What did she do?”

“Rolled her eyes, being a brat,” Abby said, and you looked down in shame, not knowing why you kept digging a hole for yourself. “Don’t know why she keeps doing this. Maybe we’ve been too nice.”

Ellie hummed, burning her joint out on the windowsill before leading herself into the stall, her legs spreading as she sat down. “We’ll take our turns. Kneel before God.”

You only stood still, gazing up at her.

Abby’s hand curled around the back of your neck, getting a whine out of you. “The fuck is your problem today? Want to be ignored instead?” She wondered, and you shook your head. “It sure seems like that, bunny.”

“Bring her over here,” Ellie beckoned, and Abby guided you over to the auburn-haired girl, forcing you down to your knees. “Wearin’ such a pretty dress today. All for us, hm?”

You looked at her, hands resting on your thighs as you nodded. “Course I did. Wanted to be pretty for you both.”

“Hmm. Roll up your dress,” Ellie said, and you froze, not moving. She inched closer to your face, tilting her head. “Something wrong, honey?”

“No, ‘course not,” you muttered, fingers fiddling with the ending hem of your babydoll dress.

“Then listen,” Abby added in, and your breath shuddered as you bunched the skirt to your waist, exposing your bare cunt. “Won’t you look at that? She thought she was gonna get something.”

“Did you think that?” Ellie asked, and you hesitantly nodded, her cruel laugh ringing in your ears. “After how you’ve been acting all day? Silly girl.”

“Where’s your rosary?” Abby wondered, and you opened up your purse, scrunching it up in your palm. “Not even a pure girl anymore, just a depraved whore for us.”

Ellie grabbed the jewelry piece, wrapping it in between her fingers as the end dangled in your face. “Abby, next to me,” she ordered, and Abby took off her leather jacket, letting it drop to the floor, stepping in the stall.

You stayed kneeled, trying to put water to the fire you sparked.

The tip of Ellie’s combat boot hit under your chin, raising your eyes to hers. “Get over to her,” she cocked her head to the side, and you rushed up and over to the blonde haired woman, who grinned at you.

Abby pushed you down onto her lap, your back pressing up against her chest as Ellie pushed open the sliding barrier, mindlessly playing with your rosary. “Why are you here today?” She began, yet Abby shoved your legs open, one hand on your throat, and the other snaked down in between your thighs.

“F—Forgive me,” you stuttered, shivering to Abby's fingers glazing over your needy cunt, “for I have sinned.”

“Go on,” Ellie agreed, and Abby slowly pushed one finger into you. “What troubles you?”

Your head fell back onto Abby’s shoulder, squeezing harder on your throat as a warning. “Fuck… I—I’ve been selfish, sir,” you continued, whining to her teasing pace. “Cruel and ruthless to those who love me.”

“And why is that?” Ellie wondered, paying no mind to you or your noises. “Do they deserve it, little lamb?”

Abby put in a second finger, the pace now running a bit higher, but made sure to not give you entire satisfaction. “Do they deserve it, bunny?” She whispered in your ear, her thumb pressing on your bud. “Tell her now.”

“No, God no,” you whimpered, placing a hand over Abby’s wrist. “I’m just… just a brat— holy fuck, fuck me.”

“Using vulgar language in front of your God, little lamb?” Ellie teased, knowing what she was getting at.

She was your God — both of them were. They were your religion, devoting every piece of you to them, would do anything to have their forgiveness and love for eternity.

“I’m sorry, God,” you moaned, Abby’s fingers pounding into you as you were beginning to fall apart at the seams, grabbing onto her wrist. “Fuck— Forgive me, God. I need your forgiveness.”

“You have to earn it,” Ellie stated, and Abby breathily chuckled, her breath fanning against your skin.

“Want to be good for your Gods?” Abby asked, and you nodded, your face falling into the crook of her neck. “Gonna do anything just for us to fuck you, huh? ‘Course you are, baby. You’re filthy— look what we’ve done to you.”

A warm sensation ran in your stomach, down to your thighs as your body jolted on her lap. “Please, God,” you pleaded, tears at your waterline. “I want you, God. I’ll never sin again.”

Ellie hummed, looking at Abby. “What do you think?” She asked. “Does the whore deserve to be forgiven?”

“Might have to work a little harder,” Abby said, and you were lost in your head, your climax burning in your abdomen. “She’s going to break another commandment.”

“No, no,” you breathed, shaking your head. “I won’t do it unless God tells me to.”

“Is that right?” Abby cooed, and her free hand combed through your hair, grabbing it. Her fingers slipped out of you, tossing you down onto your knees again with a harsh thud, a soft weep eliciting from you.

Ellie stepped out of her side of the booth, moving to yours, and you heard the rustling of her and Abby’s pants, keeping your head down. A nude Ellie brushed past you, sitting down onto Abby’s lap, both of their seeping cunts shown to your eyes.

“Please us, little lamb,” Ellie said, and you slightly moved yourself closer, your mouth latching on Abby’s cunt, hearing a soft moan leave her. You slid two fingers into Ellie’s, who cursed under her breath, and the pair looked down at you as you stared right back at them, desperation shining in your eyes.

“Doing s’good, baby,” Abby gently praised, her breath jagged, and looped around Ellie’s waist to keep her in place. “Keep fuckin’ going like that.”

Your mouth switched between the two, lapping up their juices as they made out with one another, sweetly moaning into each other’s mouth. All you could do was admire them, kneeling obediently while you drowned your mouth in their juices, needing more than just this.

Ellie put her hand on top of your head, the end of your rosary dangling in between your eyes, and she rutted her cunt against your mouth, keeping it latched. You stuffed Abby with three fingers, enough to fulfill her, roughly thrusting them into her.

The rosary continued to stay in your vision, almost like a mocking coming from Ellie and God; that once a pure angel fell into the hands of the corrupted, and became just what and who they are.

But you loved it, you loved that they curated you into this way. All you wanted to do was please them, see how sensitive they could turn out to be.

You spent the remainder of mass baptizing yourself in between their thighs, drunk on the taste of their sweet pussies.

You had spent the next day at home, making sure you had things planned out for when you moved out for Columbia. Abby and Ellie had convinced you to live in a penthouse that was about a block away from the school, and you had agreed on the fact that it was better to be with people you knew than a stranger as they knew it made you easily uncomfortable.

Your parents had left randomly for vacation, staying at their place in Milan, leaving you alone with your cat. You didn’t mind the loneliness, it was something you well adjusted to as you got older, and you only ached for attention when it came to your girls, but they had their responsibilities that you couldn’t interfere with.

You had finished packing up your box of books, setting it in the corner of your bedroom. Your attention turned to the sound of your phone going off, the soft ringtone coming through. You grabbed your phone, grinning at the contact name of “Jesse.”

“Well if it isn’t my favorite troublemaker,” you teased. “What’s up?”

Jesse James and his girlfriend, Dina Woodward, were the only people Ellie and Abby trusted you with; which said plenty because they would kill anyone who they didn’t know, and tried to talk to you. He was good, despite the fact he came from a shit father, constantly got in trouble with the law, and blew money on anything. Dina was the only one who could put him in check, and you had grown close to her over the time of knowing him.

“I fuckin’ bought a club,” Jesse started off, and you scoffed in disbelief. “Turned that shit into a burlesque. She’s a beau, you have to come out and check it out.”

“Well, I can’t right now,” you denied, and he groaned. “I’m trying to make sure I have everything together before I leave for college.”

“Cry me a river, come on!” He begged, and you breathily laughed. “You are always so attached to Ellie and Abs, make time for me.”

“Is your girlfriend with you, at least?” You wondered, and he hummed in response. You looked at the time on your clock, reading “9:03PM”, and you sighed. “I’ll be there in an hour. Don’t go anywhere.”

True to your word, you arrived at Jesse’s enriching club. You got out of the black cab, and stared at the sign that gleamed in pink neon “Carissima.”

You hummed softly to yourself, approaching the security guard at the front. “Friend of Jesse James,” you said, and he nodded, easily recognizing you. He opened up the door for you, thanking him, and moved inside, hearing the familiar melody of “I Put A Spell On You” by Nina Simone tune through the venue.

It didn’t take much to find Jesse, his arm wrapped around Dina’s shoulder as the two sat on a lounge chair in front of performers, their soft laughter knitting between the music. You walked up to the side of the furniture, their eyes averting to you.

“You made it!” Dina exclaimed, jumping up, and pulling you into a hug. “I’ve missed you. Feels like forever.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you said, separating the hug, and gave a hast squeeze to Jesse before sitting on the side of Dina. “So, what made you buy this?”

“Good investment,” Jesse said, and you awed, chuckling. “My dad doesn’t agree, but it’s beautiful. These performers… mind blowing, a fascination to everyone in this room.”

“You tell Ellie and Abby?” You wondered as Dina handed you a cigarette, lighting it up for you. “They would love this, think you are a genius.”

“I thought you would bring them. Ya’know, since you’re attached to them,” he teased, and Dina smacked his arm, glaring at him. “Bad joke, fuck! But where are they?”

“Don’t know, I haven’t talked to them all day,” you answered, puffing out a blow. “But they got their shit to worry about, don’t like being in the way.”

“You’ve been their world since you met them,” Dina said, taking the stick from you. “However, it is scary how overprotective they are.”

“What do you mean?” You asked.

Jesse laughed. “Those two have always been frightening—”

“Yeah, but their care for her is… different,” she stated, and gazed back at you. “Known them since we were kids, and I can say they would kill for you.”

“So dramatic,” you joked. “They’re the closest people I have in life. They take care of me, know what’s good for me and I don’t know— I’ve never really had that.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she mumbled, handing you back the cigarette. “I just know they’re fucking you good.”

“Okay, I’m gonna go get a drink!” You beamed, inhaling the tobacco, and got up. “You need anything?”

They shook their heads, and you hurried to the bar, continuing to burn out the cancerous stick in a spare ashtray. You smiled at the bartender as she headed over to you.

“What can I get you, love?” She asked.

“Just a cosmo, please,” you said, and she hummed, turning to the drinks. You waited patiently, fingers tapping on the gradient countertop in thought.

A shoulder softly brushed past you, but you ignored the person, until they cleared their throat. “All alone here?”

You shivered to the voice of a man.

“With some friends,” you dryly answered, eyes focused on the bartender who had her back turned from you.

“That’s a shame. Woulda invite you to hang with me,” he said, his voice thick and heavy. “You always still can.”

“No thank you,” you denied, shaking your head, and prayed for your drink to come quicker, only for the bartender to head into the stock room for a moment.

Oh, you felt sick.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Dina and Jesse lost in their conversation, completely oblivious to you.

Your phone was in your purse, and you were scared to even fiddle with it.

“I don’t bite, honey,” he assured, and your heart leaped into your throat as his hand touched your bicep. “Come on. A pretty thing like you should be having fun.”

“Please let go of me,” you said, yet harsh enough to come off stern. “I don’t like your hand on me, so get the fuck off.”

“Now don’t be a bitch,” he spat.

You finally looked at him, your body wanting to collapse on you. He was taller than you, about six foot three or so. Broad and muscular, completely fit. His eyes were dark, had a goatee on his face.

You thought about throwing up all over him just to get this over with.

You hoped people sitting around would notice, yet no one did, caught up in their own worlds. You yanked your arm back, and scoffed. “You don’t got the right to touch me, you fuck.”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” he threatened. “You come here in that little black dress, and expect nobody to fuck you?”

The bartender came back, and was the only one to notice this unsettling tension. “Hey, honey!” She called out, putting your order on the countertop. “Had to head into the back to grab more cranberry juice, I’m sorry.”

She kept her eyes locked on the man, a pair of scissors in her hand. “Can you hold onto my order for a second? I need to use the ladies room,” you said, and she nodded, making sure to keep the man secure in her radius.

You hurried into the bathroom, your shaky hands taking out your phone. Teardrops collected on the screen as you hit Abby’s contact, the first name on your recent call list.

It took only two rings until she answered. “Bunny?”

“Abby… abby,” you breathily whispered, sniffling. “Is Ellie with you?”

“Yeah, baby. We just got done with some things,” she said, and you sighed in relief. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m… I’m at this club, Jesse’s club,” you began, sucking in a sharp breath. “And went to the bar to get a drink… this man came up to me, wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“What?” Abby’s tone sharpened. “Did he hurt you? Where the fuck is Jesse? Or Dina?”

“He just grabbed my arm. Jesse and Dina were just busy with each other, I was too far away for them to notice anything,” you stated clearly, wiping away your hot tears. “I don’t know if he’s still in here, but the bartender is keeping a close eye on him, and I’m hiding in the bathroom.”

“Stay in the bathroom, we’re coming right now,” she assured, and you hung up the call, sitting yourself on the porcelain seat, trying to compile all your thoughts and emotions.

As Abby brought the phone down to her lap, Ellie glanced at her. “What happened?”

“Someone fuckin’ weirdo touched her,” Abby exsperated, and static rang in Ellie’s ears, scoffing in disbelief. “Jesse opened up his own club, she was there, and went alone to get a drink.”

Ellie texted Jesse for the address, and Abby searched around the backseat compartment. “I don’t know if the gun is still in here,” Ellie said, and the blonde groaned in frustration. “We can’t go in there with one.”

“The one time you don’t bring your weapon,” Abby sighed.

“Got the address,” Ellie mumbled, opening up her phone. “Charles! Hit 7th avenue.”

“The fuck are we gonna do with this dude?” Abby asked, and Ellie grinned. “Talk to me, baby.”

“We fuckin’ kill him,” Ellie stated.

You passed time by playing games on your phone, the stress of it being enough to forget the short horror experience you just encountered. The shout of your name in the bathroom caught your attention, killing your high score in the process.

“Baby, where are you?” Ellie called out, and you rushed out of the stall, getting her attention. “Oh, there’s my girl.”

She hastily brought you into her arms, letting you cry into her shoulder as she held you, cupping the back of your head. “My brave girl, hm? So proud of you,” she praised, kissing your temple. “Abby and I are gonna take care of everything.”

You nodded, bringing your head back, and she smiled softly at you. “Do you have any party favors?” You wondered, and she sighed, shaking her head. “Please, just wanna wash off tonight.”

“Honey, you are not taking coke,” she said, and you frowned. “I know you are upset, but your body isn’t used to it, and you wouldn’t like it.”

“Yes I do! Remember when I did it off your ass on our ski trip in Aspen?” You recalled, and she kept denying you. “Please! Just this once. I’ll have Dina make sure I don’t do more than three lines.”

“Dina couldn’t even keep an eye on you right now!” She shouted, and you flinched, body tensing. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just— You need to be careful.”

“Just three lines,” you repeated.

Ellie reached into her trouser’s pockets, fiddling with the bag, and handed it to you. “Go have fun, baby,” she said, and you kissed her cheek, thanking her before sprinting back out to Jesse and Dina.

The couple bounced up from their seats at your appearance, clear worry plastered on their faces. “Fuck, we’re so sorry,” Dina said, gently grabbing your wrists. “We were so caught up—“

“It’s fine,” you smiled, sitting down on the lounge seat, and popped open the bag of cocaine.

“Fuck, you’re doing lines? Haven’t seen you do that shit since the Debutante Ball,” she said, and you poured some of the white powder onto the table in front of you.

“Ellie and Abby don’t know about that,” you told her, and her eyes widened, looking at her boyfriend who only shrugged at her. “They would kill me if they knew the amount of drugs I’ve done behind their back.”

“You’ve only done cocaine, no?” Jesse questioned, and you only glanced at him over your shoulder, giggling. You took a random card out of your wallet, dividing the powder into neat lines, a dumb smile on your face.

“Jesse, can you go get my cosmo, please?” You asked, sweetness laced in your tone. “I deserve some of that with this shit.” He sighed, nodding, and getting up from his spot.

There were seven lines made, and you wiped off the collected powder from the edge of the card, sniffing it up your left nostril. You exhaled sharply, snickering, and traded the card in for a dollar bill. “You want some of this?” You offered, turning around to look at Dina, and she denied the offer, eyes focused on you.

You hummed, tightly rolling up the bill. “More for me, then.” You brought the paper up to your nose, aligning it with the first line, and took a heavy inhale, a strong burn hitting your nose. You sniffled, bringing your head up and leaned it back, shakily laughing.

“Easy there, babe,” Dina put a hand on your back, rubbing it. Jesse came back on time with your drink, handing it to you, and noticed the dollar bill next to the second line.

“Already started?” He teased, and you took a sip of the cocktail, eyeing to the drug. “I’m all good, treat yourself with that stuff.”

With you doing lines and being utterly distracted inside of the club, Abby and Ellie were on the top floor of the building, inside a storage room with a beaten man on the ground.

Abby took another kick to his gut, Ellie sitting in a chair with a cigarette in her mouth. “You like touchin’ females you don’t know!” Abby yelled, and he sobbed, restrained by cable ties, his right eyes kicked in. “Fuckin’ touching her like that, you aren’t getting away with this shit.”

Ellie took the gun out from the back of her trousers, lucky enough to find the weapon in the glove compartment by the driver. She flashed the object to the man’s eyes, a vile grin playing on her lips as she stared at him.

She got up, and stalked towards his limp body, standing by Abby’s side. “What’s your name, man?” Ellie asked, with her partner taking a hast note to her facade. “Got any kids or anything?”

“My name is Brandon,” he breathed, and Ellie nodded, squatting down to match eye level with him, letting the gun dangle in her hands. “Shit, dude, listen— I—I’m sorry. I didn’t think she was taken.”

“What makes you say that?” Abby questioned.

“A girl like that… wants attention,” he said, and the girls looked at one another before glancing back over to Brandon. “Can even tell she’s got lingerie under that shit. She’s a fuckin’ tease, a whore.”

Ellie hummed, reloading the glock in her hand, and chuckled. “I think I’m done with my cigarette now,” she mumbled, jokingly frowning as she played with the stick in between her fingers. “Too bad I don’t have an ashtray on me.”

Abby took out a switchblade, exchanging it for the gun. “Tell me when you need me to do it,” she said, and the auburn haired girl seized the man’s jaw, squeezing open his mouth as a wave of protests elicited from his throat.

Ellie pushed the bud to his tongue, and cruelly laughed at the garging scream that came out of him. “Keep fuckin’ talking shit!” She shouted, flicking open her switchblade, and held it to his throat. “Swallow that cigarette, wanna see if you still want to run your mouth!”

“You don’t get to talk about her like that,” Abby chimed in, taking off her leather jacket. “You’re lucky we don’t kill you right now.”

Ellie put her hand over the man’s mouth, refusing to let him spit out her cigarette, only giving him the option to swallow it for good. She smiled, pleased with the simple act, and took her hand back. “Got anymore shit to say?” She questioned, tilting her head to the side.

Brandon sniffled, jagged sobs intertwined with his heavy breathing. “You’re both fucking insane,” he began, trying to gather oxygen into him. “She’s going to leave you. You’re going to drive her away with this shit.”

“We’d like to see her try,” Abby said, and Ellie stood up, putting herself aside to let her do as she pleased. She sat back down, opening up her phone to text Jesse.

E: How is she?

J: Two Cosmos in. Had seven lines. Get down here soon.

E: Don’t let her strip her clothes off. We don’t need a sequel to Barcelona.

J: Me and Dina can’t handle her, only you can. She won’t shut the fuck up about you.

E: Don’t let us down again. P.S., may need a mop in here soon.

She tucked her phone away, and admired Abby damaging the man. She was ruthless, yet composing herself enough not to kill him — just yet. His face had molded into a pulp, unrecognizable to anyone as his blood painted on Abby’s hands, his weak pleas being ignored by the pair.

Abby and Ellie got high off of this, hurting or killing anyone who made you uncomfortable. They had been getting away with it for so long, and you had been gullible to it, never blinking an eye to their unknown actions.

They would do this over and over again, even if something was your fault within it, they dealt with you in their own way — but no one was ever to lay a hand on you, and you knew that too.

Abby snagged his wallet out of his pocket, opening it up. “Brandon James,” she announced, pulling out his cash, and putting it in her pockets. “Gonna use this to buy her something pretty and nice.”

“Where does he live?” Ellie asked.

“Won’t you look at that!” Abby said, pressing her boot to his face. “He’s a rich brat. Lives in that building next to yours, Els.”

Ellie chuckled. “Money probably got him out of his shit. Isn’t that right, Brandon James?”

“Please,” is all he could manage to say, dizzy and lightheaded.

Ellie returned over to him, and stood over him before lowering herself. “This may hurt,” she said, signaling for Abby’s help, who obliged by opening the man’s mouth. Ellie grinned, tugging at the tip of his tongue, and began to sever it with her switchblade.

He screamed, thrashing around, but was overpowered by the two women, entirely useless to their strength. “This isn’t even the worst part,” Ellie muttered, grunting as she went on to cut off his tongue. “You made her cry, ya’know? Poor baby was so scared, and didn't know what to do.”

His tongue ripped out, being put to the side of his head. She got up, staring at the blood of her hand, and could only curl her hand into a tight fist.

He fuckin’ frightened her, she thought to herself. He deserves to die.

He was already facing death in a horrid, slow manner, and the last thing he would see was these two, towering over him; utterly indulged by his death, and letting it fuel their ego.

“Kill him. Jesse wants us back,” Ellie ordered, and Abby aimed the gun at his face, her finger carelessly pressing down on the trigger. His face blew, and they both hummed, taking in the view. “Good job. Already called the crew to come get him.”

Stuck yet hast of cleaning themselves up, alcohol and drugs overrode your brain, consuming you. You were sitting on the edge of the couch, staring at the dancers on the stage who moved with elegance, and passion. Each one of them were beautiful, confident in their own way that made your heart beat.

“Wish I was as good as them,” you said, sipping on Jesse’s cup of scotch. “I can fuckin’ dance, but not like that.”

“They’re giving a simple show,” Dina noted, and you blew a raspberry, glaring at her.

“They’re doing much more than that,” you retorted, and inhaled one last bump, coughing. “I… I want to go up there.”

“You’re not,” Jesse denied, and you pouted. “Ellie and Abby would murder you, and then me. We don’t want Barcelona to happen.”

“Oh my gosh! That trip was so fun!” You recalled, warmly smiling at the memory. “Wait, what happened?”

“You drank too much, got lost in the crowd dancing with too many people,” Dina said, and you zoned out, attempting to have any recollection. “Then, you bought everyone shots, danced on top of the bar, and flashed your ass to them.”

“Okay, that’s not bad,” you giggled, shrugging. “I’m going up there!”

“Do you have a death wish?” Dina wondered, and grabbed your wrist, preventing you from standing up. “Your girlfriends are going to kill you if you do some sort of strip tease up there.”

“They’ll get over it,” you said, freeing your wrist from her hold. “They’re not here, anyways, and they won’t do shit about it.”

Jesse and Dina sighed, giving up all attempts and let you run off onto the stage. The burlesque dancers beamed at your presence, letting you stand in the middle as you were too mind numbed to understand what you were doing, just knowing you wanted to have fun.

The song and crowd were an echo, intoxication burning into your body, controlling each thing you did. You sheepishly grinned, your hand reaching to the side of your dress, and pulled down the zipper.

“No, no!” Dina shouted, and Jesse mumbled multiple curse words, sipping down the last of his drink. “Oh, we are so dead.”

Abby and Ellie appeared right next to them, at the exact time you were shimming off your dress, and were exposed in your garter belt, stockings, and undergarments. “What the fuck did we say!” Abby shouted, and the couple sighed, watching in horror with the two girls while you were oblivious to them.

People in the club cheered for you, a few getting their wallets out. You laughed, your vision a blur as you showed off your body, letting your hands run all over your body.

Your girlfriends watched attentively, millions of thoughts piling on top of each other, thinking of how to get off the stage, and back home. They weren’t going to punish you while you were clearly out of your mind, but that gave them enough time to think of how to handle you.

They just fucking murdered someone for you, and your flashing your body to strangers. You were more than ungrateful at this moment.

The dancers on stage encouraged you to do what you wanted, cheering you though they knew you were not intact with reality. “Should I take off my bra?” You questioned, and the people in front yelled in agreement, earning a small laugh out of you. “Yeah? Flash my tits for New York?”

“What the fuck is she saying?” Jesse asked. “Go get your girl before she turns this into a riot house.”

Abby and Ellie both rushed to you, having to fight through a crowd just to reach the steps to the stage. Your hands fidgeted with the hooks of your bra, and before you could strip it off, they got to you on time. “Oh, it’s my girls!” You slurred, hiccuping as you laughed, and blushed in shame. “How long have you been here?”

Ellie took off her blazer, tossing it over you as Abby picked up your dress from the ground. The crowd booed and groaned at your escort as you only waved at them, blowing a kiss. “Bye Dina and Jess! Love you both so much!” You yelled, and squealed from being abruptly thrown over Abby’s shoulder. “Ow, my stomach!”

The limo was parked outside, and the chauffeur opened up the door, Abby throwing you onto the seat but made sure you didn’t bump your head. Ellie climbed in right behind her, the door shutting.

“Hiii,” you slurred, continuing to giggle. “You like my outfit?”

“Who gave you coke?” Abby asked.

“Els!” You said.

“Ellie, we talked about this!” Abby protested, and the auburn shrugged. “She can’t do that shit unattended.”

“I’ve done it so many times without you both,” you confessed, and their eyes snapped at you. “You made me this way — fucking corrupted, and shit. I am your blessing and nightmare.”

“You’re drunk,” Ellie sighed. “You need to rest when we get home.”

“Why, daddy?” You asked, and Ellie reddened at the nickname. “I know you both want to hurt me. I was bad tonight, disrespecting you both. How silly of me.”

“Fuckin’ watch it, bunny,” Abby spat, and you laughed. “I mean it.”

“Whatever. You’re idiots,” you mumbled, and Ellie had thinner patience than Abby did — meaning one more insult would cause her to take you in the car. She tossed your dress at you, eyes boring into you. “You could just hand it next time.”

“You are one more backtalk from getting it,” Ellie warned, and your smile slowly faded. “Anything else you need to confess before we deal with you in the dawn?”

“Oh, I can’t have a life of my own!” You realized, carelessly putting back on your outfit.. “Can’t take drugs without your eyes following me. Can’t even hang out with someone without a bodyguard being there! So fucking annoying!”

“If it’s so annoying, why stay?” Abby asked.

You went silent, looking away from the both of them, and finished throwing on your dress, slouching in your seat. “Only ones who take care of me,” you murmured, so soft and quiet, pouting too. “Make me feel special.”

“Yeah, and we’re the only ones who will put up with you this way,��� Ellie added, and you nodded, tears welting in your eyes. “Who else is gonna do that? Tell us.”

You shook your head. “No one… no one,” you mumbled, chewing on your lower lip. “Can… Can I sit on your lap? Please?”

Ellie heavily sighed before giving in, beckoning you. You practically hopped into her lap as you wrapped your arms around her neck, nuzzling your face into her chest.

You fell asleep on the ride back to the shared penthouse.

Sunlight crept into your eyes, taking you out of your gentle slumber. You groaned, stuffing your face into the pillow, and felt warmth on both sides of you. Your eyes slowly parted, finding Ellie’s tattooed arm dangling over your chest, Abby’s looped around your waist.

You were trapped in between them, no way out. Your head pounded, your nose stuffy, and dying in sickness. You stayed still, trying to resurface last night's events, yet only blur spots flickered in your head. You whimpered, loud to drag Abby out of her slumber, her eyes adjusting to the sight of you.

“Hey, bunny,” she whispered. “You okay?”

“Did I drink last night?” You asked, and she weakly chuckled, nodding.

“And you did cocaine,” she muttered, and she brought her hand up, resting it on the side of your face. “You are in trouble.”

You panicked. “Whatever I did—”

“Baby, you are okay,” she assured, thumb caressing your cheek. “But you said some rude things. All we plan to do is spanking, that’s about it.”

“I’m sorry,” you frowned, and she kissed the side of your head. “Hope that’s the only stupid thing I did.”

“And you stripped and performed at a burlesque club,” she shared, and your eyes widened, whining in embarrassment. “Ellie nearly ripped your head off in the car.”

You looked over at Ellie, and grinned. “I’ll make it up to you both,” you promised, pressing a kiss to her lips, and she smiled, nodding. “I’m going to clean myself up, I feel a bit nauseous.”

“We had your things moved and unpacked yesterday,” Abby said, and you sat up, stretching out your arms.

“You broke into my house late at night, and got everything settled that quick?” You laughed. “I’m still a month away from attending school, and you’re already locking me down.”

“Better to get it done now,” she acknowledged, and you got up from the bed, padding over to the bedroom’s bathroom, closing the door behind you.

It took you only about thirty minutes to clean up, unimpressed by how worn out you looked. Your lipstick smeared, eyeliner and mascara cluttered around your eyes, your breath reeking of alcohol.

The shower was enough to relax your body, yet still felt sick, considering you needed a meal. You stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your body, and stepped in front of the sink.

You found an unopened toothbrush waiting for you, and you grinned, opening it up. You turned on the faucet, and laid down a portion of toothpaste on your toothbrush, running it under the water shortly after.

You brought the object into your mouth, and used your free arm to pick up your pajamas. You walked over to the walk in closet, and looked around for the hamper, only to find it shoved into the corner.

Peeking over the basket, you noticed a white shirt stained with some red on it. It grabbed your attention, looking too crimson to be considered red wine, or anything else.

You just shrugged it off, putting your clothes over it, and went back to brushing your teeth. “Hey Abs,” you called from the bathroom. “What kind of shit did you get into last night?”

“What do you mean?” She shouted back, the loud conversation awakening Ellie.

“One of your shirts is stained,” you said, and Abby inhaled sharply, Ellie shooting up to look at her girlfriend. “Did I fall and eat shit, and get blood over one of you?”

“Honey, you did,” Ellie lied, voice groggy and hoarse. “I had to carry you inside, you had blood coming out your nose.”

“But I have no bruises or anything?” You realized, spitting out the paste, and cleaned up your toothbrush and mouth. You changed into shorts and tee before walking back into the bedroom. “Did you guys get into a fight last night?”

They went silent, and you got into the middle of them on the bed, going back and forth looking at them.

“You had an incident last night,” Ellie said, and your brows furrowed. “A man was being a fuckin’ dick, you called Abby, and we handled it.”

“Oh what, you fucking killed him?” You joked, and they laughed dryly with you, but enough to make it believable. “If you beat him, you just have to say that.”

“We handled it,” Ellie repeated, and moved herself closer to you, putting her hand on your cheek. “Now we need to handle you.”

You rolled your eyes, bitterly scoffing.

“Fuckin’ roll them again,” she dared, and Abby laid back against the headboard, letting everything unravel. “Always going to be a brat? Even when we’re so good to you?”

Your face softened into a doe expression, tilting your head to the side. “Doesn’t that make you want to fuck me?”

“We won’t even touch you if that’s what you're trying to accomplish here,” she taunted, and her hand snaked up to the side of your head, tightly gripping your hair. “When are you going to learn, little lamb? Is what we do for you not enough?”

“It is,” you whimpered.

“Yeah? Then why do you keep acting like it isn’t?” She asked, and eyed over to Abby. “What should we do with her?”

“Break her,” Abby said, getting up from her spot. Ellie grinned, turning her head back towards you, and your cheek was met with a harsh slap. You gasped, and her hand slid down to the back of your neck, pushing your body onto the bed.

“Fuckin’ strip,” Ellie spat, and you whimpered, but obliged. You fiddled with the ending hem of your shirt, taking it off, and your fingers hooked around the waistband of your panties and pajama shorts. “Need you on all fours.”

You huffed under your breath, glad that she couldn’t see you roll your eyes again. Your clothes piled down onto the ground, letting your knees sink into the mattress, your chest laying flat as your ass was lifted to her eyes for display.

“Baby, you’re fucking soaking,” Ellie cooed with Abby returning on time, able to hear the clicking of objects. “Let’s hold off on gagging her until she wants to say some shit.”

Abby moved to your eye level, grinning. “You want to keep being a desperate whore?”

“I’ll get my satisfaction either way,” you assured, and she inhaled sharply, eyes snapping into Ellie’s. The auburn handed her an item, noticing the pink ball. “Wait, wait!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Abby seethed, maneuvering your face and brought it up, fastening up the ball gag. “You’ve really fuckin’ done it this time, bunny. And Ellie is going to handle you, not me.”

You swallowed thickly, your doe eyes shining with pleas but the blonde dismissed you, tossing your face back onto the bed.

Both girls had stripped themselves bare, Ellie positioned behind you as Abby sat in front of you, her cunt for you to gawk at, but forbidden to please.

In a sharp breath, you felt thick silicone push into you, causing your cunt to stretch. You cried, yet it was mumbled, and Abby laughed at you. “Gonna deny you everything, honey,” Ellie muttered, her hands grasping onto your cheeks for support as she carelessly thrusted into you, breaking into you. “Need to make you cry, need to know you’re fucking place with us.”

“We could easily get rid of you,” Abby continued on, and your brows knitted together, shaking your head. “Could’ve fucking disposed you months ago, but no. Here we are, still putting up with your bratty ass.”

You cursed and moaned breathlessly, the pain turning into a bliss as Ellie’s strap pounded into you. “Wouldn’t want that, huh?” She asked, and you cried in response. “Course not, honey. No one fuckin’ loves you like we do.”

You stared at Abby with teary eyes, your hand aching to touch her, only for the blonde to slap it away. “No, take what you are getting right now,” she warned, and you nodded, your hips rolling and swaying with the rhythm of Ellie’s thrusts. “Won’t ya look at that? Little bunny just can’t get enough.”

Your hands grasped onto the messy bed sheets, nails digging into them. You stuffed your face into the material, lewd noises eliciting from you through the ball gag, almost feeling as if your body was jolted with electricity the moment Ellie’s strap found your orgasmic area.

“She’s enjoying this too much,” Abby pointed out, and Ellie hummed, all movement being halted. You groaned in protest, and she switched around your body, laying you flat on your back. She straddled herself on top of you, intimidating you with how she towered over you.

She popped the gag out of your mouth, your lungs engulfing fresh air. “Oh, little lamb,” she softly whispered, and smacked your face again, seizing it afterwards. “You got me upset, you know that? Treating me like shit.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, the strike burning your cheek before she placed another one. “Fuck!”

“You’re sorry?” She repeated, almost as if she didn’t trust you. “For which part, honey?”

“Just… just wanted to get a rise,” you admitted, breathing heavily. “Couldn’t ask for it.”

“Look where that landed you,” she said, and hit you once more, your head spinning. “You going to apologize to Abby, hm?” She climbed off of you, her hands guiding you around to face the blonde. “Say sorry, baby.”

You were a crying mess, and weren’t even at the worst part yet. Though you were scared, you were aroused; maybe you were as depraved as they were. You enjoyed the sadistic acts they brought onto you, wanting to be all theirs to use, and play with.

You were their girl at the end of the day, nothing could change that.

“I’m sorry, mama,” you mumbled, and Abby hummed, careless to your apology. “Please, mama. Didn’t mean it, I’ll be better.”

“You need to start acting right,” she said, and you nodded, mumbling promises through your sobs. “You aren’t able to leave us, you know that, right?”

“I won’t,” you reassured, sniffling. You knew that’s what many people wanted, that they knew you couldn't be without these two girls, simply as if they were your life support.

Everyone knew it.

“Where’s your blade?” Abby asked, and Ellie gestured to the night stand. She opened up the drawer, taking out her prized switchblade, something she always carried with her, but you didn’t know why. “Got to mark our girl.”

Ellie grabbed her knife, flicking it open, and she settled herself in between your thighs. She was grinning to herself, yet so was Abby, the two only knowing what they had done the previous night with the weapon, and you were clueless to it all.

“Need you to be a big girl for me,” Ellie stated, and you sucked in a sharp breath, the tip of the switchblade pointing into your right inner thigh, beginning to carve into your skin. “Right there, baby. Doing s’good for us, focus on mama.”

Abby scooted closer to you, putting your head on her lap. “Don’t cry, bunny. It’s gonna be over soon.”

Ellie branded her initial firstly into your right thigh before moving onto your left inner thigh, starting to cut Abby’s into it. You were trying your best to compose your body, squirming and softly sobbing to your skin being pierced.

“Mama, it hurts,” you pouted, and she caressed your cheek, looking down at you. “I know I’m your girl.”

“Just so you remember,” Abby reminded, groping your breasts. “Sometimes you forget, baby. We can’t keep repeating ourselves.”

You only nodded, melting into her gentle touch. Ellie threw her knife on top of the pile of clothes, smirking at initials. “Ah, now we can give you what you want,” she said, and you sighed in relief, a smile playing on your lips.

Dots of blood appeared on the wounds as the girls got up from the bed, opening the bottom drawer of the night stand. You stared up at the ceiling, ignoring the burn that scorned, and a large hand pressed onto the side of your body, shifting you around.

“Come on, baby,” Abby whispered, positioning you on your knees that sunk into the bed, and could feel her bare chest brush on your back. “Need you to spread yourself for us, you can do it.”

“You’re our girl,” Ellie promised, kneeling in front of you, and cradled your face into her warm hands. “Don’t know what we would do if you tried to leave us.”

Abby wetted her fingers, spitting down on your tight hole as she pushed two fingers into it to start you off. You roughly gasped, your body nearly faltering. “Stay steady, princess,” she said, moving her fingers at an easy pace. “Gotta prepare you for my cock, I need to make sure you can take it nice and sweet.”

Your face stayed in Ellie’s hands, trying to keep you focused on her. “Make sure to keep yourself spread for mama,” she told you, and you nodded, your shaky hands clawed down on your ass as you kept it spread open for Abby. “You can take it, you always do. Isn’t that right, sweet girl?”

“Yes daddy,” you muttered, and Abby’s fingers popped out of you. She put her hand back on your shoulder, guiding you back in the same moment she let her strap harshly sink into your whole. You cursed under your breath, tears welting in your eyes, and Ellie cooed, keeping your face in place.

Abby didn’t move further, letting your hole take in all of her, and nodded at Ellie. She dropped her hands, hooking your arms around her neck as she filled your hot cunt with her strap, and your body shuddered, your face collapsing down onto her chest. “No no, baby,” she said, shaking her head. “You gotta show us how much you want us. Fuck yourself on our cocks.”

“Too stuffed,” you mumbled, and Abby’s hand reached for the front of your neck, tugging your head back.

“Show us how needy you are, pathetic bitch,” Abby spat, and you whimpered, but compiled, gently bouncing yourself on both silicone objects. “Yeah, that’s it, bunny. Fuckin’ take everything we give you.”

Ellie’s was captivated by the way your cunt swallowed her strap, dripping and soaking it already. “This is all you wanted, right?” She taunted, breathlessly chuckling. “Just wanted us to make you cock drunk, for us to treat you like the dumb whore you are.”

“Y—Yes, yes!” You choked out, rolling your hips as your body began to endure the scorching pleasure. “Oh my god, feels s’fucking good, please.”

“You’re barely fuckin’ two minutes in on fucking yourself,” Abby laughed, bringing your head back and laid down on her shoulder, forcing you to look up at her, “And you’re already falling apart. Can even hear how wet your pussy is.”

“Want to be fucked, please,” you breathed, on a brink of sobs. “Can’t do it on my own.”

“You have to earn it, love,” she stated, and grinned. “Show us how bad you need us, want us to fuck your pretty holes.”

You pouted, and she shoved your head back forward, a spin of dizziness whirling in your brain. Ellie sadistically smirked in front of you, her hands laid on your thighs, and tilted her to the side. “Looks you’re about to cry, little lamb,” she teased, and you kept heavy eye contact as your holes stretched further with every desperate bounce. “Got nothing to cry about, honey. You brought this on yourself, you know that.”

“S—said sorry, daddy. I’m sorry,” your breath shook, sobs threatening to spill from you. You were overfilled with needs, feeling as if you were in heat, and only they could put the fire out. You could fuck yourself good, but they could make you feel orgasmic tides crash into your soul, and take you in one.

“Only saying sorry ‘cause you’re not getting what you want,” Ellie said, and you were quick to deny it. “Don’t fuckin’ lie, you know how much we hate that.”

“Please, please,” you begged. “I’ll be so good, won’t be a brat ever again.”

“Fucking lying again,” Ellie scoffed, and Abby grinned, smacking your ass. “Don’t worry baby, we like when you are; means we get to see you cry and break.”

You were stuck in the middle of these two, falling apart on their cocks as they observed you, waiting for you to break down into sobs. This was their whole pride, everything they fucking thrived off of, and if it made them the happiest they’ve ever been, you would them hurt you over and over again.

Your bouncing turned rapid, breasts in sync, and porngraphic noises drawing out of you. Your sensitive spots were being hit at, your eyes rolling back, and could feel heat pooling in your abdomen. Your hands reached out for one of them, but they denied you of it, leading you to fall into pits of sobs.

“There it is,” Abby growled. “Just what we wanted.”

“Can’t do it,” you sobbed, shaking your head. “Please, need mama. Need your help, please.”

“Yeah, bunny? Need us to take over?” She asked, mockery tangled in her tone. “Can’t use that silly brain of yours, huh? Our poor baby that’s useless.”

Her words mixed in with the fire that bubbled inside of you, expanding into your thighs. “Fuck me, fuck me,” you babbled, choking on your tears. “Need it s’bad, please. Just fuck me.”

Ellie halted your movements, and kissed your cheek. “We got you, honey. Let us do whatever we want, okay? We need to fill your holes, want to see it leak out of you.”

The duo situated themselves before handling you to stretch your form better, your knees locking place to keep you up. Abby braced her hands on your waist before her strap brutally thrusted into you, Ellie following the same tempo shortly after.

You could feel yourself being split open, Abby’s hands residing on your hips as Ellie’s let hers rest on the sides of your breasts. Their noises were shaky, rough, and undeniably lewd, a string of curses muttering out of them.

They would always be hypnotized by you, your body, and how fucking well you always took them. They would fuck you hours on end, and they have before, but they couldn’t get enough it. It was a fucking drug, worse than any they’ve taken. Everything about you was addicting and pure perfection to their eyes, knowing that they would be the only ones who could see you crumble under them like this, let them take control of you, and tear you apart.

They wanted to fucking spend the rest of their life in your pussy, fucking destroying it, and letting it cry with you.

Raw lust was a firestorm on your skin, sinking into your body, and coursing through you. Your climax was overrode, about to collapse on you, and take you entirely, just needing to be free. Your legs trembled, slowly weakening, and a muscular arm snaked around your waist to lock you in.

“Our pretty girl needs to cum,” she acknowledged, and Ellie’s fingers furiously hooked around your throat, squeezing it. “What do you think, babe? We let her cum?”

“Don’t know if she deserves it,” Ellie said, and your sobs were uncontrollable; your body was breaking, haze clouded in your head, and your high was unbearable over the limit. “You want to cum, little lamb? ‘M having too much fun seeing you like this.”

“Wanna cum, need to cum,” you blubbered, breath hallowed, and could feel them so far into you, you could almost swear they were poking at your stomach. “I’ll be so good forever. ‘M your girl, only yours; won’t ever be ungrateful again.”

Ellie grinned. “You mean that, honey?”

You mindlessly nodded, agreeing anything just so you could cum — it was fucking torturous.

“Cum for us, sweetheart,” Abby said, and you exhaled in relief, your body relaxing to her permission. Like a violent hit, your high crashed out of you causing your body to jump and shudder. Abby kept her arm around you, the pair not being done with you until they came.

You could hear the sploshing of your juices as Ellie viciously rammed into you, Abby’s cock abusing your tight hole with absolutely no remorse. You were there, letting yourself be their garbage waste, waiting for them to fill you up.

“Imagine if we could fuckin’ put a baby in her,” Abby laughed, her moans knitted into it. “Make her our bitch forever, wouldn’t be able to leave us then.”

“That what you want, angel? For us to make you a pretty mommy?” Ellie asked, and you blankly agreed, braindead and numb. “Keep you trapped forever, nowhere to fuckin’ go.”

Abby and Ellie always considered that; having a family with you, though they never practically discussed it with you, or if that’s what you wanted. They truly wanted you in their life forever, needed you in every way that would kill them if they couldn’t have it. And if you did try to exit out of their lives, they would find a solution to reel you back in.

“Mama gonna fill your hole, ‘kay?” Abby warned, and you hummed, falling in and out of reality. Ellie left her on your throat as extra leverage as she continued to hammer herself into you, her own climax trailing behind the blonde’s.

A symphony of vulgar, raw noises echoed throughout the bedroom, and your second peak surfaced in the depths of your belly, your body frail and trembling.

“Fuck, baby, baby, baby,” Ellie cried out, her nails clawing into your skin, and Abby’s hands crept down to your cheeks, clawing into them. Your skin was running hot and wild, their body heat radiating onto you as the room smelt of filth and sweat, shameless moans and whimpers wailing out of all three of you.

Your cunt and hole were stuffed with cum from their straps with Abby and Ellie’s climax dripped out of their sweet pussies. They pushed themselves out of you, and you fell back on the bed, gathering lungfuls of breaths.

“Won’t you look at that?” Abby said, her and Ellie mesmerized by their cum leaking out of your holes, their initials branded into your thighs. “So fuckin’ pretty, all for us to look at.”

“Head… hurts,” is all you could manage to say, curling up into a ball.

The girls took off their object, dropping it to the floor as they separated to obtain things for you. Abby went to the kitchen, grabbing cold water, painkillers, and a box of cherries for you; Ellie was in the bathroom, wetting a rag, and seized the first aid kit.

They rushed to your side in under a minute, worried that they might have finally done it this time.

“Baby, you with us?” Ellie panicked, and you nodded, sleep wanting to take you. “Can you sit up for us, please?”

“Can’t,” you whimpered, and Abby sighed, helping to pick you up. She kissed the side of your head, holding you sit up while Ellie aided you.

“You did so good for us, sweetheart,” Ellie cooed, running the cloth over your aching cunt and hole as you hissed in response. “I know, I know. Just need to make sure we clean you up well, okay?”

Abby brought up the glass of water to lips, stroking the side of your head while you took slow sips. “There we go, there’s our tough girl,” she whispered, and opened up the bottle of painkillers, inserting two pills in your mouth, returning the glass back to your mouth afterwards. “We’re so proud of you. You’re okay, bunny, we’re almost done.”

Ellie soothed your wounds with hydrogen peroxide, putting bandaids over it after. She put a chaste kiss to your hip, and you smiled small, thanking her. “You want to get some rest?” She asked, and you nodded. “Okay, honey, let us change the sheets while you eat some food, yeah?”

Abby carried to the loveseat sofa that sat in the corner of the bedroom, handing you the box of cherries as she helped out Ellie. The two weren’t even cleaned up, but made sure you were comfortable and okay before they were.

You wanted to cry.

They’re so fucking perfect, you said in your head.

You had eaten about five cherries by the time they fixed up the mattress, and put new sheets on top of it. You set the food next to you, and Abby returned to you, scooping you into her arms as you grasped onto her, sitting you on the edge of the bed.

Ellie picked out a new set of pajamas for you, changing you into new underwear, and a soft, pink nightgown. “Get some rest, and we’re gonna get ourselves fixed, ‘kay?” She said, guiding you under the duvet covers, and made sure you were tucked in. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

You hummed, your eyes drooping, and let rest take over you. You felt them press a loving kiss to your forehead before you passed out.

You could hear your ringtone tune, lulling you out of your slumber. You let it go through as it shut up a few seconds later, and you groaned, trying to fall back asleep.

Then, the ringtone came back, and the buzzing added onto it. Your hand reached for your phone, finding it laying next to you. You grabbed it, squinting to who was calling.

Joel Miller, the contact name flashed.

Why the fuck was Joel calling?

You noticed the time, seeing it to be 4PM — how fucking long were you asleep for?

You swiped the button right, bringing the device up to your ear. “Hello?” You mumbled, clearly exhausted and groggy.

“Hey, kid. I was wonderin’ if Ellie was with you?” He asked, trying to sound calm, but wasn’t. You instantly sat up, finding a note on the nightstand, and you picked it up.

Abby and I went out to get some things. Be back as soon as we can. Love you always, sweet girl.

Xo, Ellie.

“Um, no,” you answered, putting the note down. “Why? Did something happen?”

There was silence for a moment. “The cops are here, asking for her.”

“Cops. Why?” You asked, fear streaming through your whole body.

“They’re accusing her of murder,” Joel said, and you swallowed thickly. “Someone reported their friend missing — a Brandon James — saying how they saw him leave with Ellie, and Abby.”

Memories now began to flick in your brain, like bright lights, and bile burned at your throat.

The shirt. The red on the shirt.

Blood.

“We handled it,” you recalled Ellie saying.

“We handled it” was code for “we killed someone.”

You remembered the Brandon guy harassing you, grabbing your arm, and it sent you into full panic mode. You remember calling Abby about it, and Ellie giving you coke to distract you for the meantime. You remembered them not being with you for a while, keeping you with Dina and Jesse.

They needed you blind and gullible.

“Are you sure it’s even her description? People just say shit ‘cause they hate her,” you said, holding yourself together. “And Abby? That’s crazy.”

“Another person at the club supported it by saying they saw the two walking out with you,” Joel continued, and you quietly cursed under your breath, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “They were there, so were you.”

You went quiet as you heard some shuffling over the line.

“Do you know something?” He asked.

“I don’t,” you said, sincerity mingled in your words. “I promise I don’t. And I don’t remember anything about being at a club, I’m sorry.”

“Okay, well if you see her or them, call me,” Joel said, and you hummed, hanging up the call immediately. You let go of your shaky breaths, and nodded to yourself as a waterfall of hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

You couldn’t stop thinking of the shirt. It had someone’s blood on it, and they were dumb enough to leave it at home. You knew Jesse and Dina wouldn’t narc them out, they were the same as Ellie and Abby.

You were alone in this; you had the choice of coming forward with the shirt, or keeping your head down, being naive to everything.

Everything started to make sense — the possession, the house, the authority you had given them. They never wanted you to leave, and they eliminated any threats, even ones that hurt you. You were glad they were there at your beck and call, but you never knew it would go to the extremes of murder. You were starting to worry that this wasn’t the first time they did this, but the first time it was starting to catch up with them.

You continued to sob as you went through your phone contacts, and clicked your mother’s number.

It took a few rings until she picked up. “Hello?”

“Momma…” you sobbed out, not knowing how to explain what you were thinking without exposing a lot of things. “Momma, I’m worried.”

Your parents weren’t entirely neglectful — if you really needed them, they were there, and would never get mad at you for anything, even if you had some fault in it. They had their fatal flaws, ones that even affected you, but they’d drop everything if you were in danger.

You never knew why that was, but you appreciated it.

“What’s wrong, dear? What happened?” She asked. “Why are you crying?”

“I think something bad happened,” you sobbed, sniffling. “And… and I can’t be here, in the city. It’s a lot to explain, but can I stay with you in Milan? Please?”

“You’re worrying me, cherie,” she said, and you broke down further, everything in the room spinning with you. “You can come stay. Are you at home?”

“At this penthouse… I’ll send the address to Tony,” you stated, trying to steady your breathing. “Thank you, momma.”

“Of course,” she softly responded, and the line went dead. You rushed down to your feet, running into the walk-in closet, and grabbed a suitcase. You tossed random amounts of clothes until the baggage couldn’t take anymore; you could buy more stuff in Milan.

You tossed your hygienic products on top of the clothes, and before you were going to zip up the luggage, your eyes averted to the hamper. You contemplated taking the shirt with you, burning it in another country so nothing would be traced back to them.

You couldn’t tamper with evidence. But these were your girls, and it was your turn to take care of them, even if their actions made you sick at this very moment. You grabbed the bloody shirt, tucking it under your clothes, and zipped up the suitcase. You put on your sneakers, and tossed a leather jacket over your nightgown.

Abby’s jacket.

You shrugged it off, and grabbed your cell phone, putting it in your purse. You double checked to see if you had everything in your purse before rushing yourself out of the penthouse, and into the elevator.

You didn’t need to leave a note, or anything of that sort. You couldn’t talk to them for a while, not until you made sure you weren’t crazy or overthinking this whole situation. But the shirt was enough to confirm the first of your suspicions, and what Ellie said.

“We handled it”, her voice kept playing in your head, like a broken record.

For now, you needed to isolate yourself; besides, it wasn’t like they would find you.

That wasn’t possible.

You hoped.

[swordfright]

this might just be because i'm a bit older than your average mcyt fan, but it makes me kind of sad to see all these younger fans scramble to wipe their mcyt fanworks off the internet the second a content creator is revealed to have done something awful.

don't get it twisted, I'm a big believer in rescinding financial support to ccs you no longer agree with or admire by unsubscribing, deciding not to buy merch, or refusing to give them ad revenue by watching their content. if you don't feel comfortable giving someone money, don't give them your money. material support isn't what i'm talking about here - I'm talking about fanfic, fansongs, fanart. yknow, content that fans create for themselves and each other, stuff that's not for ccs.

in the past year (and especially the past week, obviously) i've seen tons of mcyt fans saying they're planning to delete their art (or that they already have deleted) because they don't want their work to be associated with content creators who behaved badly, and that they want "a fresh start." I've seen fan writers say the same thing about their fics. and like, this is fine, do what you want with your stuff, but i'll be honest...it does make me sad that so many younger fans seemingly have been made to feel such a high degree of responsibility for ccs that they're unable to enjoy fandom (a thing that is FOR US! FOR YOU!) or take any measure of pride in their past fanworks.

again, at the end of the day you should do what you want with your own shit. but what i will say is, if what you want to do with your work is delete it, at least think first about why you're considering the nuclear option. you aren't responsible for a cc's behavior, and that goes for literally anyone who's ever had a hand in making anything you like: books, movies, games, anything. you shouldn't be made to feel ashamed of having created fan content for a piece of media that a shitty person was involved in making. straight up, this kind of shame isn't something i believe should exist in fandom, because it's parasocial in the same way that positive emotions towards media/creators can be parasocial.

and also, as someone who's been involved in fandom for a long time, i can say with confidence that creators will keep disappointing you like this. there are shitty people out there. if you're searching for a piece of media with zero shitty people ever involved in the project, you will not find it. i'm not saying this to normalize shitty behavior on the part of creators, I'm saying this to emphasize that bearing the shame and guilt of every creator to this degree is not sustainable or healthy (and it's not how fandom used to operate, but that's a conversation for another day, perhaps.)

i understand why so many folks are considering deleting their fanworks, and if that's you...think about it before you do it. that's all i'm asking. you don't want to create a habit of divesting yourself of all evidence of having been passionate about art created by someone who sucks, because if you do get into that habit, then your chances of ever truly enjoying a fandom again are, unfortunately, pretty slim.

[etheraltides]

Tide of Temptation

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x married!Reader

Summary: What begins as a weekend of opulence aboard a luxury yacht turns into a dangerous game of forbidden attraction when Rafe Cameron, your husband’s best friend, decides he wants you.

Warning(s): SMUT – pinv, oral sex, dirty talk, degrading kink, sex tape without consent. Jealousy, infidelity, drug and alcohol use, humiliation (from her husband part), toxic/manipulative behavior. +18 only. mdni!

A/N: I want to write two more parts so let me know if you wish to be added in the taglist

The summer sun shimmered on the Atlantic, casting diamonds over the endless expanse of water. The Elysium — a name far too poetic for the vulgar display of wealth it represented — cut through the waves with practiced ease. All around was excess: champagne on ice, bronzed bodies lounging on plush daybeds, and music thrumming softly, a seductive bassline that vibrated against your chest.

You leaned against the rail, the ocean breeze playing with the loose strands of your hair. It was a fleeting escape from the suffocating company inside the yacht — a blur of intoxicated laughter, clinking glasses, and the hollow pleasantries of people who thrived on spectacle. Behind you, your husband, Nathan, was in his element, regaling a small crowd with exaggerated stories about his latest business venture. His voice, a practiced drawl, carried over the hum of conversation.

You were nothing more than the glittering prize at his side, a role you’d grown used to. Married at 24 to one of the wealthiest men in the Outer Banks, you’d signed up for a life of luxury — but it often felt like the price was your individuality. Nathan adored showing you off: the perfect smile, the designer dress clinging to your curves, the effortless charm you wielded like armor. But when the party ended and the audience dispersed, so did his attention and you were left to deal with the aftermath of a man with too many drinks and lines of white powder.

It didn’t matter. You had perfected the art of being seen and not heard. Until recently, anyway.

Rafe Cameron was a complication.

From the moment you’d boarded the yacht, his eyes had been on you, a palpable weight you could feel even when your back was turned. He was Nathan’s best friend — a dangerous cocktail of charisma and cruelty, all sharp edges wrapped in smooth confidence. And yet, he was magnetic.

Nathan had once described Rafe as “trouble in a designer suit.” and now, as you glanced over your shoulder to find him lounging in the corner with a whiskey in hand, the words felt like an understatement. His blond hair was perfectly tousled, his sculpted jaw shadowed with just enough scruff to make him look effortlessly rebellious. He was staring at you now, unapologetic, his lips quirking into a smirk when your eyes met.

You turned away quickly, heat creeping up your neck.

The yacht swayed gently, and you steadied yourself against the rail. A voice, low and velvety, cut through the sound of the waves.

“Careful. Wouldn’t want you falling overboard.”

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Rafe.

He was closer than you expected, leaning against the rail beside you, the scent of his cologne mingling with the salty breeze. His voice was like a slow drag of smoke, leaving a lingering burn.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.” you replied, your tone brisk, though your pulse quickened.

His gaze swept over you, deliberate and slow, settling on the pink bikini you wore beneath a sheer cover-up. “Fine is an understatement.” he murmured with a smirk, bringing the glass of whiskey to his lips.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Smooth.”

Rafe chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “I call it like I see it, doll.”

From the corner of your eye, you caught him biting his lower lip, his blue eyes practically devouring you. There was something predatory in the way he looked at you, and instead of feeling repelled, you felt… alive. It was a dangerous thrill, one you couldn’t quite shake.

Of course you were used at men looking at you as if you were nothing more than breasts and ass. Nathan was all about it but there was something different in the way Rafe’s gaze unraveled you – something that wasn’t entirely selfish.

Inside, Nathan’s voice carried through the open doors as he delivered yet another boastful anecdote, oblivious to the two of you.

“Shouldn’t you be in there?” you asked, your voice tinged with mockery. “The golden boy, laughing at your best friend tales?”

Rafe’s smile widened, a flash of white teeth that was both charming and menacing. “I’m more interested in what’s out here.” His gaze lingered, unapologetic. “Or who.”

Your laugh was low, edged with disbelief. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

“Not when I see something I want,” he replied, his voice dropping an octave.

The words hung between you, heavy and electric.

You wanted to walk away, to laugh it off, to brush him aside like every other man who thought a pretty face entitled him to your attention. But Rafe wasn’t just any man. He had a way of getting under your skin, of making you feel seen in a way Nathan never did.

And maybe that’s why you stayed.

“Do you always go after what you want, no matter the cost?” you asked, tilting your head.

He stepped closer, the heat of his body brushing against yours. “Only when it’s worth it.”

The space between you was charged, the distant chatter and music fading into the background. His fingers brushed against yours, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through your body. You didn’t pull away.

“Rafe…” Your voice was a warning, though it lacked conviction.

“You’re wasted on him, you know that?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers traced the edge of your cover-up, skimming the bare skin of your arm. “He doesn’t see you. Not really.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding against your ribs.

“And you do?” you challenged, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.

There was no way Rafe Cameron had catch on on what was happening to your relationship.

Rafe’s gaze locked onto yours, his blue eyes dark with intent. “I see everything, princess.”

The air felt thick, the space between you shrinking as his hand came to rest on the rail beside yours. Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Tell me to stop.” he murmured.

The charged moment was interrupted by the sudden sharpness of Nathan’s voice, cutting through the tension like a bucket of cold water before you could even say something.

“Hey!” he called from inside, his tone loud and commanding. “What’re you two doing out there? Get in here!”

You flinched at the sound, instinctively stepping back from Rafe. The distance didn’t stop the heat coursing through your veins, but it was a necessary barrier, one that allowed you to regain your composure. Rafe, however, didn’t move. His smirk remained intact, amused and unbothered.

“He sounds impatient.” Rafe said, his voice laced with a teasing edge, pure mockery.

Without another word, you turned and headed toward the open doors, desperate for a reprieve from Rafe’s gravitational pull. He followed closely behind, the low thrum of his footsteps reminding you that his presence wasn’t easily shaken.

The yacht’s main lounge was awash in golden light, the decadent decor reflecting Nathan’s insatiable need for extravagance. He was sprawled on one of the oversized couches, a group of partygoers surrounding him like moths to a flame.

When his eyes landed on you, he beckoned you over with a crooked finger, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “Come here, babe,” he drawled.

You obeyed, as always, crossing the room with the practiced elegance of someone accustomed to being watched. The second you were close enough, Nathan grabbed your hand and pulled you onto his lap, his grip firm but careless, like you were just another one of his possessions.

The room felt heavy, the air thick with a mixture of cologne, champagne, and indulgence. You stayed perched on Nathan’s lap, trying to ignore the way his hand wandered absently over your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles that were more for show than affection. His laugh echoed through the lounge, loud and exaggerated as he took another sip of his drink.

“You’re being awfully quiet, babe,” Nathan said, his voice laced with feigned concern. His hand slid lower, fingers brushing the curve of your ass. You tensed, shooting him a sharp look, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“I’m fine.” you said curtly, reaching for the champagne flute on the table in front of you as you lied again. The two meaningless words already automatic.

“Fine isn’t good enough.” Nathan said, his grin widening. He leaned over, plucking the champagne from your hand and setting it aside. “Come on, loosen up a little.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw him reaching for the tray again, his movements fluid despite the alcohol coursing through his veins. He picked up the credit card, carving out another line of coke with the ease of a man who’d done it far too many times.

“Here,” Nathan said, his voice taking on a coaxing tone as he dipped his head closer to yours. “Have some fun with me.”

You pulled back slightly, shaking your head. “I told you before, Nathan. I don’t want to.”

His grin faltered, annoyance flashing in his eyes. “Oh, come on. Don’t be such a buzzkill.”

“I said no.” you repeated firmly, crossing your arms. You’ve had enough of snorting lines because he had put you under pressure, to feel like you belonged in this crowd.

Nathan let out an exaggerated groan, tossing the card onto the table. “Fine. Be boring, then.”

He leaned back, his hand slipping further down, squeezing your ass with a possessiveness that made you grit your teeth. “Rafe!” Nathan called suddenly, his tone shifting from irritation to mock camaraderie.

Rafe, who had been standing near the bar, raised a brow in silent acknowledgment.

“Don’t just stand there looking pretty.” Nathan said, smirking as he gestured to the tray. “You want in on this? It’s the best shit I’ve had in months.”

Rafe’s expression didn’t change, though something flickered in his eyes — something cold and distant. He shook his head, his voice steady as he replied, “I’m good. Been away from that for a while now.”

You couldn’t help the frown in your brows as you looked at him. You couldn’t even count in both hands how many times you had seen Nathan, Rafe and Topper sneaking away to do that shit. That was… new.

Nathan chuckled, leaning his head back against the couch. “Oh, right. Mr. Reformed. Forgot about that.” He waved him off with a dismissive laugh. “Whatever. But do me a favor, would you?”

Rafe tilted his head, waiting.

Nathan’s hand slipped from your waist, gesturing lazily toward you. “Go dance with her or something. She’ll just sit here whining if I don’t entertain her, and honestly…” He turned to you with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re killing my vibe, babe.”

Your stomach churned, humiliation bubbling beneath the surface, but before you could respond, Nathan gave you a light slap on the ass, his grin widening.

“Go shake that body for me, baby.” he said, his tone dripping with mock affection.

Rafe’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, his eyes darkening as they flicked between you and Nathan.

You stood quickly, needing to escape the suffocating weight of Nathan’s presence, your cheeks burning as you avoided meeting anyone’s gaze.

Rafe stepped forward, offering his hand with a calm ease that belied the tension crackling in the air. “Come on” he said, his voice low but firm. “Let’s go.”

You hesitated for only a moment before taking his hand – but the decision wasn’t a hard one: dealing with a bunch of coke heads ogling Nathan or ignore your body thrumming got Rafe while being close to him – allowing him to lead you toward the makeshift dance floor where a crowd of people swayed and writhed to the heavy pulse of electronic music.

The bass reverberated through your chest as Rafe pulled you into the center of the chaos. His hands found your waist, his touch firm but not overbearing, guiding you into the rhythm of the music. The others around you moved with reckless abandon, their bodies lost in the beat, but all you could focus on was Rafe.

His eyes locked onto yours, intense and unreadable, as the two of you fell into sync. The proximity was intoxicating, his body brushing against yours with every beat of the music.

You swayed against him, your movements fluid and confident, the tension from before melting into something more carefree, something electric. Rafe’s grip on your waist tightened as you arched into him, the thin barrier of fabric between your bodies doing nothing to dull the heat.

The crowd pressed in around you, the energy of the room frenzied, but it only heightened the intimacy of the moment. Rafe’s hands slid lower, his fingers brushing the curve of your hips, his touch deliberate and tantalizing.

Your breathing quickened as he leaned down, his lips grazing your ear. “You’re full of surprises, princess” he murmured, his voice thick with something that made your knees weak – he was sure you would pull away as soon as his hands touched you but he was so glad you didn’t

The world around you blurred, the pounding music and flashing lights fading into the background. All that mattered was the way his body moved against yours, the way his hands gripped you like he couldn’t bear to let go. How someone was finally giving you some real attention.

You tilted your head back, your gaze meeting his, and in that moment, the unspoken desire between you was undeniable.

It was reckless. It was dangerous.

And it was exactly what you wanted. What you needed.

His grip tightened slightly, pulling you closer until there wasn’t even an inch between your bodies. His breath ghosted over your ear, and the heat of it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You deserve better than him, you know” Rafe murmured in your ear, his voice barely audible over the music.

You froze for a second, your body stilling against his. “What?”

You weren’t sure if you had heard him right or your mind was projecting the worlds you so desperately wanted to hear. Nathan had provided you everything money could buy and you didn’t want to be ungrateful – the relationship was nice in the beginning. He used to give you attention, spoil you rotten until he didn’t. You’d spend hours alone at home, only seeing him at night and then be neglected in bed. Everything became about him. Your clothes, your companies, trips and parties, even the sex.

Rafe leaned down further, his lips so close to your ear that his words felt like a caress. “Nathan. The way he treats you — like you’re some kind of trophy instead of a real woman.”

You pulled back slightly, turning your head to meet his gaze. His blue eyes were piercing, filled with something dark and insistent.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” you said, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you. The last thing you wanted was to have people gossiping about it and you weren’t so certain if Rafe wasn’t going to ditch you to Nathan, saying his so perfect wife was going behind his back to complain about him to his so called friends.

Rafe’s smirk was faint, tinged with something sharper. “Don’t I? I’ve watched him, princess. The way he ignores you, shows you off like you’re a prize he won at a carnival. The way he treats you like arm candy instead of a woman.” He paused, his gaze flickering down to your lips before returning to your eyes. “And don’t even get me started on what I heard last night.”

Your stomach dropped, a fresh wave of humiliation washing over you. “What are you talking about?” you asked, though part of you already knew.

Rafe’s smirk widened, but there was no humor in it. “The way you faked it, moaning his name like it meant something. You’re a good actress, I’ll give you that. But you can’t fool me.”

Your cheeks burned with equal parts shame and anger. “You don’t know anything about me, about us.” you snapped, your voice shaking slightly as you could feel the tears prickling in your eyes. Couldn’t you have a single moment of peace?

He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back. Instead, he moved even closer, his hand sliding from your waist to the small of your back, holding you firmly against him before you had the chance to walk away.

“I know enough.” Rafe said, his voice low and laced with conviction. “I know you haven’t felt wanted in a long time. Haven’t felt seen in a long time. It’s written all over your face, doll.” His fingers trailed up your spine, the touch sending a jolt through your body. “And I know I could change that.”

Your breath hitched, your mind screaming at you to push him away, but your body refused to obey. You were so fucking touch starved that it was infuriating to yourself.

“Rafe…” You tried to warn him, but your voice came out weak, shaky. Pleading for him to be the one to walk away, to respect you and his best friend.

His lips brushed against your ear again, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur. “I’d make you scream my name all night, princess. You wouldn’t have to fake a damn thing.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears as his words sank in, their meaning hitting you with the force of a tidal wave.

“I’d show you what it’s like to be with a real man.” Rafe continued, his hand drifting to your waist again, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against your skin. “Someone who doesn’t just want to show you off, but actually wants you. All of you.”

The heat between you was unbearable, the air thick with unspoken tension. Your heart raced as you searched his eyes, desperate for something to anchor yourself, but all you found was his unwavering intensity.

“This is wrong.” you whispered more to yourself, though the words felt hollow.

Rafe’s smirk twisted into something darker, more intimate. “What’s wrong is the way he treats you like you don’t matter.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the corner of your jaw. “Let me show you what it’s supposed to feel like. Let me show you what you deserve.”

You closed your eyes, torn between the voice in your head screaming at you to stop and the magnetic pull of the man in front of you.

Many things were already wrong in your relationship, right? Adding something else wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it?

“I could ruin you, princess,” Rafe murmured, his lips grazing the skin of your ear. “But I promise you’d love every second of it.”

The world around you faded away, the pounding music and flashing lights melting into the background. All that mattered was the way Rafe’s hands gripped you, the way his voice wrapped around you like a siren’s call.

Your chest tightened, the air between you crackling with tension. “Shouldn’t you be with Nathan?” you asked, deflecting. Your heart beating so fast that you were sure everyone around you could hear it. “He’s your best friend, isn’t he?”

Rafe shrugged, his smirk deepening. “Nathan’s busy impressing people who don’t matter. You, on the other hand…” He let the words hang, his gaze dipping briefly to the curve of your throat before meeting your eyes again. “Plus he did told me to keep his girl entertained, didn’t he?”

“I’m not interested in whatever game you’re playing.” you said, though the words felt hollow, as if you were trying to convince yourself.

Rafe chuckled, the sound rich and infuriating. “It’s not a game, princess. Not with you.”

You turned away, needing space, needing air. But when you felt his hand on your wrist, gentle but firm, your pulse skipped.

“Come with me.” he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing.

You frowned, trying to pull free, but his grip held steady. “Rafe—”

“Relax.” he interrupted, his thumb brushing over your wrist. “Just for a drink. Somewhere quieter.”

Your eyes searched his, looking a trap. But there was something disarming about the way he looked at you, something that made your resistance falter.

“One drink.” you said, more to yourself than to him.

His smirk returned, satisfied but not smug. “That’s all I need.”

The suite Rafe was staying was nothing short of extravagant, a private sanctuary draped in rich leather and polished wood. The lights were dim, the air perfumed with the faint scent of his cologne. It was intimate, almost too intimate, but you forced yourself to keep your guard up.

He poured you a drink from the sleek bar in the corner, handing it to you before settling into one of the armchairs. Nathan made sure to stock everything with top shelf drinks.

“See? No tricks” he said, spreading his arms as if to prove his innocence.

You leaned against the edge of the bar, the cool glass of your drink pressing against your palm. “You could’ve just left me alone, you know.”

Rafe chuckled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Could’ve” he agreed. “But where’s the fun in that?”

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with everything unsaid. You took a sip of your drink, the burn of the liquor grounding you, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the heat coiling in your stomach under his gaze.

“You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Rafe’s smile softened, but his eyes remained sharp, piercing. “I think you’re not nearly as happy as you pretend to be.”

Your fingers tightened around the glass, his words striking a nerve. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“C’mon. I’ve known you for years now, doll.” he said, setting his glass down and standing. The way he moved towards you was unhurried, predatory. “I know the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching. The way you bite your lip when you’re trying to stay in control to don’t scream at him in front of everybody.” He stopped just in front of you, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And I know you felt something earlier. Something you haven’t felt in a long time.”

Your breath hitched as his hand came up, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your arm.

“Stop” you said, though it sounded too weak to be a command.

His hand lingered, his thumb tracing a lazy circle on your skin. “Do you really want me to?”

The weight of his presence was suffocating, intoxicating. The logical part of you screamed to leave, to push him away, but the rest of you… the rest of you burned.

And then his lips were on yours.

The kiss was a tidal wave, sweeping you under and leaving you breathless. His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moved against yours with a hunger that left no room for doubt.

You didn’t resist. You couldn’t.

As your glass slipped from your fingers, shattering unnoticed on the floor, you surrendered to the pull of him, to the heat and chaos and everything he made you feel. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

For once, you didn’t care about the consequences.

His voice dipped into a gravelly whisper, thick with want, against your lips. “That tiny pink bikini is struggling to do its job, sweetheart,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the waistband with agonizing slowness.

The heat of his gaze lingered on every curve, his touch teetering on the edge of possession. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?” His thumb slipped lower, a deliberate tease that made your pulse thunder in your ears.

With each second that ticked by, the pressure between your thighs grew more insistent, your body responding to his words, his touch, his very presence as you couldn’t help but ground against his as his tongue explored your mouth.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Rafe growled, his breath a searing rush against the shell of your ear. His voice was rough, like a match striking, igniting a fire deep in your chest. “Dressed up all pretty for him, and he doesn’t even care to look.” His hands gripped your waist tighter, his fingers pressing into your skin like a silent claim – just shy of leaving bruises. “But I see you,” he rasped, his lips brushing your jaw. “Every inch of you is mine to see, mine to touch now. Isn’t it?”

He stepped back, his eyes raking over your body in a way that made you feel both exposed and desired. "Take it off.” he demanded, his voice a low growl. "Let me see what's mine."

The music from the party was a distant murmur, a muffled backdrop to the drumming of your racing heart and his harsh breaths. You took a deep breath, the boldness coursing through your veins like a drug, and slowly, deliberately, you untied the strings of your bikini top.

Your eyes never left Rafe’s as you let it fall to the floor, revealing your full breasts to his ravenous gaze. His pupils dilated, his jaw tightening as he took in the sight of you – his eyes tracing every curve, every inch of your exposed skin in a way that awakened goosebumps all over your body.

You stepped closer, the music a muffled heartbeat echoing through the cabin. His gaze didn’t waver, didn’t miss a single detail as you slid your thumbs into the waistband of your bikini bottoms, hooking the material and sliding it down your legs with a seductive grace that seemed to defy the tremble in your knees.

You’ve been feeding on crumbles of attention for the last year and now that you have a decent portion, you’d make sure to enjoy every second of it.

The fabric whispered against your skin as it fell away, pooling at your feet, leaving you completely bare before him. You felt his eyes devour you, feasting on the sight of your nakedness like a man who hadn’t eaten in days.

With a smirk that was all challenge and no apology, you bent over, giving him an eyeful of your ass, and scooped up the bikini bottoms. You threw them at him, watching as they slapped against his chest and fell to his lap.

If that wasn’t basically the only thing you had to wear, Rafe’d have stuffed it in his pocket to never retrieve to you.

Rafe’s eyes followed the path of the fabric before snapping back to yours, his gaze burning with a fierce desire that made your stomach flip. "Look at you…” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

"So fucking perfect." His eyes dropped to your center, where your folds glistened with your arousal already. "And that tight, wet little cunt of yours... it's begging for me."

You felt your face flush at his words, but instead of shrinking away, you found yourself pushing back against his hand right below the curve of your breast, craving more. "Prove it," you challenged, your voice a sultry whisper.

Rafe's smirk grew into a full-blown grin, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Oh, I will, baby. You have no idea."

He stepped back, unbuckling his pants with swift, sure movements. The sound of his zipper echoed through the cabin, a seductive promise of what was to come. His hands slid into his briefs, gripping his hard cock, and you watched with rapt attention as he pulled it out – long, thick, and heavy with desire.

"Now, doll." Rafe said, his voice a gravelly command that made your knees wobble. "Get down there and show me what that pretty little mouth can do and if you’re a good girl, we can talk about a reward, huh.”

You dropped to your knees before him, his cock standing tall and proud, demanding your attention. He stroked it slowly, watching you with hooded eyes as you leaned in, your breath hot against the velvety skin. Your mouth watering at the sight.

He watches you, eyes blazing with lust, as you tease the tip with your tongue, right before taking him fully into your warm mouth.

"Shit. That's it.” Rafe groaned, his voice a low, guttural sound that seemed to vibrate through the very air of the room. "Suck it like you mean it. You know you want it. You know you've been craving a real cock.”

His words were like a spell, compelling you to obey as you took more of him into your mouth, your tongue swirling and teasing the head of his cock, feeling it pulse and throb against your tongue.

"So eager.” Rafe murmured, his hand threading through your hair, guiding you to take him deeper. "Such a good little slut for me. You've been waiting for this, haven't you?" His voice was a purr, stroking your ego while simultaneously reducing you to the most basic of urges – his to claim, his to use.

He palms the back of your head, guiding you in a rhythm that matches his thrusts, your cheeks hollowing as you eagerly sucks him like he's the only man who's ever mattered.

Rafe’s grip on your hair tightens, his hips flexing as he begins to fuck your mouth in earnest. You moan around his cock, the vibration sending shockwaves through his shaft, making him groan with pleasure. His eyes are squeezed shut, his face a mask of pure ecstasy as you devour him, eager to taste his desire.

But he’s not content with just that. He’s not a man who does anything halfway. He pulls back, leaving you gasping for air, your mouth slick with saliva and want. "On the bed.” he orders, his voice thick with need.

As much was he wanted to keep watching you as you greedily took his cock, he wanted even more to taste your sweet cunt, to feel how you wrapped around his cock – he could still remember how Nathan often bragged about you around the boys. The best pussy he ever had. Worth every penny of the money he spent on you.

You scurry to the plush king-sized bed, the silky sheets cool against your overheated skin. He follows you, his eyes never leaving your body. You lie down, your legs spreading for him without a second thought.

Rafe climbs onto the bed, his weight shifting the mattress beneath you. He settles between your legs, his gaze locked on your slick entrance. "You're so wet for me.” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Has he ever made you this wet?"

You shake your head. "Never." The admission felt like a secret whispered in the dark, and the truth of it hangs heavy in the air.

Rafe’s smirk turns into a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Maybe I should invite him to see how a real man fucks." He leans down, his mouth hovering over your sex, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. "What do you think, baby? Would you like an audience?"

The thought of your husband watching sends a thrill through you, a delicious mix of fear and excitement. "Rafe, no.” you breathe, though your hips arch upwards, silently begging for his touch.

He chuckles darkly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Oh, you'd love it, huh?" he says, his voice dripping with confidence. "You'd love watching him realize what he's been missing all this time. Watching him see how much better I make you feel."

You bite your lip, the thought of it making your stomach flip. But before you can respond, Rafe's mouth is on you – his tongue sliding through your folds with a hunger that steals your breath away. He tastes you, devouring you like a starving man, and you can't help but moan his name, your body responding to his touch.

As his tongue flicks against your clit, Rafe feels the vibration of his phone in his pocket, and suddenly, his eyes are on yours, a glint of mischief shining through the desire. Without a word, he pulls out the device and presses record, the screen capturing the blissful expression on your face, the way your body arches towards him, begging for more. You're too lost in the sensation to even notice – his touch so masterful, so intoxicating, that everything else fades away.

You couldn’t help the way your hips lifted from the bed, grinding against his face as if it was the first time you had been eaten. Your skin was on fire, your veins charged with electricity.

Rafe groaned dirty secrets on your ear about how he'll make you scream his name louder than any man has ever made you, while his hips piston into you with an intensity that leaves you trembling and oblivious to the video evidence he's meticulously capturing of their illicit encounter – his phone discreetly positioned against a jar of flowers on the bedside table.

Your eyes roll back as he hits that sweet spot, his cock swelling with each punishing thrust. The sound of your moans fill the cabin, growing louder with every passing second. He's so rough, so primal, so everything you didn’t know you needed until this very moment.

“Fuck, Rafe, yes, yes, yes!” you scream, your voice hoarse from the endless moaning. The bed creaks beneath you, his hands like vice on your waist, keeping you in place to take each powerful drive into your wet, welcoming heat.

Rafe’s eyes glint with triumph as he watches you come apart, his cock relentlessly claiming what he’s decided is rightfully his. He pulls back, his dampened chest rising and falling rapidly, the muscles of his abdomen flexing with every movement.

He whispers into her ear. "You love that I'm fucking you better than he ever could.”

Your nails dig into his back as he whispers those wicked words, a confession that resonates deep within your soul. You love the way he makes you feel, the way he touches you, the way he fills you up so completely that you forget everything else. You can't help but nod, your body trembling as his cock hits that perfect spot again and again.

"That's it.” he murmurs, his voice a dark caress that sends shivers down your spine. "Admit it, baby. You've never felt like this before. You've never come this hard for him." His strokes grow stronger, more demanding, and you know he's right. You've never been taken like this, never been owned like this.

With a final, powerful thrust, Rafe brings you to the edge of oblivion. Your eyes fly open, locking with his, and you see the triumph in their depths – the knowledge that he’s the one giving you what you crave. "Cum for me, doll.” he growls, his voice a command that you obey without thought. "Cum all over my cock, baby. Show me how much you love it."

Shit, you were sure that if the music wasn’t blasting on the deck, Nathan’d have thrown both of you in the ocean.

Your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, stealing your breath, making your body bow off the bed. You scream his name, the sound echoing through the cabin, as your pussy clamps down on his cock, pulsing and tightening around him. Rafe’s own release is swift, his hips jerking as he buries himself deep inside you, filling you with his hot, thick cum.

As your climax subsides, his strokes slow, his cock still lodged deep within you – as if he didn’t want to leave the new discovered paradise of your walls. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear, his voice a mix of satisfaction and a hint of something that makes your pulse quicken. "You're mine now.” he says, his voice a gentle rumble.

Panic sets in as reality crashes over you like a cold shower. Feeling some of his release dripping down you. The thought sends a jolt through your body, making you tense around him. Your eyes fly open, meeting his, which are still so dark that you can barely see the blue in them. "Oh my god, Rafe!” you gasp, pushing at his shoulders. "What the fuck?"

Rafe's grin turns wolfish, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. "Relax, doll." he murmurs, planting a gentle kiss on your neck. "It's just a little fun." But his words do nothing to soothe the anxiety coiling in your stomach.

You push him away, the stickiness between your legs making you feel both wanton and cheap. "This isn't fun, Rafe" you say, your voice trembling. "What if I…?"

Rafe's smirk fades, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks down at you. "You're on the pill, aren't you?" he asks, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather.

You nod, feeling your heart rate slow slightly. "But...what if..."

Rafe cuts off your protests with a shake of his head, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb wiping away one of the tears – the result of how good he had taken you. "Shh, baby," he says, his voice soothing, his gaze intense. "Don't worry. Nothing’s gonna happen, alright?”

The dim light in Rafe’s suite flickered softly, casting a golden glow over the disheveled scene. You ran trembling fingers through your hair, still catching your breath as you steadied yourself against the edge of the bar. The aftermath of what had just happened swirled between you like a charged storm cloud, heavy and impossible to ignore.

Rafe stood by the door, his shirt untucked and his expression maddeningly calm. He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves with deliberate care, a smug satisfaction written all over his face. His eyes flicked to you as you straightened your bikini top, trying to fix the evidence of his hands, his lips, his teeth, before you both returned to the upper level.

“You good, princess?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You shot him a sharp look, ignoring the heat still simmering beneath your skin. “If you say a single word to Nathan…”

His smirk widened, his gaze drifting unapologetically down your body. “Then I’d have to kill him.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned toward the small mirror on the wall, smoothing your hair and adjusting the sheer cover-up that now felt even more like a useless attempt at modesty. “We shouldn’t have done this.” you muttered, though your voice lacked conviction.

Rafe stepped closer, his presence overwhelming as he loomed behind you. His reflection in the mirror met yours, his lips curling into a smile that was equal parts wicked and triumphant. “No, we shouldn’t.” he admitted, his hands fixing the back of your bikini bottom before gave your ass a sharp slap. “But you’ll think about it every time he touches you.”

Your stomach twisted, shame and desire warring within you as Rafe moved to the door, holding it open for you. “Come on” he said, his tone light but commanding. “Wouldn’t want Nathan getting suspicious, would we?”

You didn’t reply, brushing past him and walking down the hall toward the stairs. Your pulse still thundered in your ears as you ascended to the upper deck, the sound of music and laughter growing louder with each step.

The Elysium’s upper deck was a blur of neon lights and pulsating music, the crowd of partygoers moving in sync with the heavy bassline. But none of it registered as you stepped back into the chaos. The charged intimacy of Rafe’s cabin still clung to your skin, a tangible reminder of how far you’d fallen – and how little you cared in the moment. The only thing worrying your mind was the thought of being caught.

Nathan’s voice rang out above the noise, slurred and commanding as he spotted you. “There you are!” he called, his grin widening as he sprawled further back on the oversized couch.

Your stomach churned as he motioned for you to come over, his glassy eyes flicking between you and his drink. You hesitated, your legs rooted to the spot, but Rafe’s presence at your back – o steady, so unapologetic – propelled you forward, his hand slightly pushing your lower back.

Nathan barely waited for you to reach him before grabbing your wrist and yanking you onto his lap. His grip was firm, his fingers digging into your hip possessively as he shifted you into place, his cologne mingling with the acrid scent of alcohol and sweat.

Rafe’s jaw tightened as he watched the scene unfold, his smirk fading into a thin line. His hand flexed around the drink he held, recently taken from one of the trays the waiter kept serving around, the glass thick enough to resist it.

“Come here, baby” Nathan slurred, leaning back with a lazy grin. His other hand, still clutching a drink, gestured vaguely at the tray of cocaine on the table beside him. “You’ve been hiding, huh? Thought you’d run off and left me to deal with all of this on my own.”

“I was just getting some air.” you said, keeping your tone even as you tried to slip off his lap.

But Nathan didn’t let you. Instead, his hand slid lower, gripping your ass as he pulled you back against him. The pink bikini he’d chosen for you —more string than fabric – offered little protection from the heat of his palm, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep your reaction at bay.

Rafe’s eyes darkened, his shoulders stiffening as Nathan’s hand wandered. A faint muscle ticked in his jaw as he forced himself to stay still, though every instinct screamed at him to intervene, to yank you away from Nathan’s careless grip.

Nathan chuckled, his head dipping to the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. “Nah, stay right here” he murmured, his voice muffled. His hand squeezed your thigh, the motion casual but claiming.

Then, to your mortification, his head tilted, and his teeth scraped against the curve of your breast where the bikini barely covered you – not giving a shit to the eyes and phones around you.

“Shit.” Nathan muttered, his voice slurring as he bit down lightly on the soft flesh. “Can’t help it, man. I love these boobs.”

Rafe’s grip on the drink tightened, the liquid sloshing against the sides of the glass as his knuckles turned white. His jaw clenched as he watched Nathan humiliate you, turning you into a spectacle, a prop in his drunken display of ownership. The sight made something burn hot and sharp in his chest – a jealousy so visceral it almost startled him.

Heat burned across your face, and you tensed, trying to shift away, but Nathan tightened his grip with a laugh that echoed around the room.

“Look at this!” he said, addressing Rafe with a drunken smirk. “See these? Best goddamn thing I ever bought. Look at this tiny thing she’s wearing. Picked it out myself.” He ran a clumsy hand along the edge of the bikini top, as if to display his prize. “Ain’t she perfect?”

Rafe’s lips pressed into a tight line, his smirk long gone. His fingers twitched around his drink, and he forced himself to take a slow breath, his eyes flicking to you. You looked mortified, your gaze fixed on the floor, your cheeks flushed with humiliation.

Nathan, oblivious, barked out a laugh and gestured to Rafe again. “Where the hell were you, huh? You having fun, or what?”

Rafe didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze lingered on you, his lips curling into a slow, wicked smirk — a deliberate act to mask the anger simmering beneath the surface.

“You’ve no idea.” he replied finally, his voice smooth but edged with something darker.

Nathan laughed again, slapping your thigh as if Rafe’s response was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “That’s what I like to hear! Good vibes, huh? That’s what it’s all about.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to relax, taking a measured sip of his drink. His eyes remained on you, his gaze dragging down the length of your body with an unhurried, deliberate motion that made your breath hitch.

Nathan, too far gone in his high to notice the undercurrent between you and Rafe, leaned back with a glassy-eyed grin. The man smirked as he saw the red, fresh marks on Rafe’s shoulder. “Damn straight. Lucky bastard, huh?”

Rafe’s smirk remained in place, but his mind was a storm of conflict. He forced himself to take a sip of his drink, the burn of the liquor grounding him, even as Nathan’s words grated on his nerves. Pathetic. That’s what Nathan was sometimes — a pathetic, arrogant fool who didn’t realize the treasure he had sitting right in his lap. The way he paraded you around like an accessory, like you were nothing more than an extension of his ego, made Rafe’s jaw clench.

He wasn’t blind to his own faults — arrogance, selfishness, an insatiable need to take whatever he wanted, even if it was you — but Nathan’s careless display disgusted him.

And now, Rafe wanted you.

It wasn’t just the way you looked in that tiny bikini, though that certainly didn’t hurt. It was the way you’d responded to him, the fire in your eyes when you challenged him, the way your body had melted into his back in that cabin. He’d had a taste, and now it was like blood in the water. If there was one thing Rafe Cameron didn’t do, it was deny himself something he wanted.

And he wanted you.

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it” Rafe said finally, his voice low and deliberate, his smirk curling into something darker, meant only for you.

Your eyes darted to his, widening slightly as his words sank in. He didn’t look away, didn’t blink, even as Nathan threw his head back with another laugh, too high and oblivious to catch the undercurrent in the room.

Rafe could feel his pulse hammering in his veins as his gaze lingered on you, heat pooling in his chest. You were his best friend’s wife, a line he knew he shouldn’t cross — but lines had never meant much to Rafe. And now, with the memory of your taste still fresh on his lips, the idea of letting you go felt impossible.

One way or another, he’d have you. Nathan was too blind to see it, too lost in his own indulgences to notice the storm brewing right in front of him.

The room felt suffocating, the heat of Nathan’s body beneath you and Rafe’s eyes burning into you from across the space. And as Rafe raised his glass in a mock toast, his smirk never faltering, you knew this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

[littlemsshoney]

Hannibal falling in love

It is ridiculous how wrapped around your little finger he was.

From the first moment he laid eyes on you he found his new fixation. Every time you were in the same room with him his gaze was fixed on you, observing silently every detail, getting to know you before you were even introduced.

Of course he would be very careful, almost suspicious of any new person being added to his social circle. For a man obsessed with his social image he had to be cautious of any potential competitor and you were just lovely. So charming, well educated, funny, and polite.

He found you unusually enchanting. Of course he recognised your beauty but there was something less superficial about you that just pulled him in.

The feeling was known to him yet very rare as it never seemed to have a happy end. He knew he tended to be quite intense with his emotions and that never ended well so he promised himself it wouldn’t be that way with you.

It wasn’t long till you happened to be invited to the same dinner parties through common friends. How could he not observe you when you were sitting opposite of him only a few centimetre out of his reach? Every time you happened to talk he found the perfect opportunity to study you, the way you spoke, the way you smiled, the faces you made when you found something funny, stupid or ridiculous. You tried to be discreet not to offend anyone but he noticed, he noticed and he loved every expression your precious face made.

If you happened to sit next to him he would already know what perfume you wore, what scented shampoo you used everything. (And he wouldn’t mind doing some personal research about you beforehand)

With every joke of yours he found himself truly laughing and when you spoke his inner monologue quietened and he didn’t have to pretend to be listening because he actually did.

For a man like him who spent most part of his life stuck inside his head, building fortresses against the cruelty of people you quickly broke down everything while having him feeling so comfortable and at ease with you. You had him hooked.

Of course he noticed the way other people looked at you. Women and men with their envy and lust and he wouldn't be jealous if he only knew you were his.

During his sessions he found himself unable to focus on anything, his mind just replaying every conversation you two had over and over like a broken radio. Almost every night he was awake at the most unholy hours, his mind unable to rest and stop thinking about you. That was when he knew it was inevitable.

His insomnia and love for you he treated with writing love letters and sonnets, making sketches and drawings of you as he imagined you, all of them hidden and locked in the drawer of his office and his heart too.

Now not only were you dominating his every through but his whole life too.

He would take notes into his head of your interests and would say all the perfect things to keep you interested. What were your hobbies? Art, literature, music he would become an expert for you. He knew everything from Taylor Swift's latest album to the full analysis of your favourite poem. He would do and learn about anything you liked and was passionate about, just to keep you talking to him with that sparkle in your eyes. He could do it for hours, days and every minute for the next of his life.

I hope you don’t share your affections with anyone special because if he found out which he would, they would be the next missing person in town or worse.

When you became used to him and you got to know each other better he found his chance to invite you to one of his special dinners. Only that one would be even more special as you would be the only guest hence having his sole interest. He had one whole evening to amaze you with his culinary skills, deep, meaningful conversations about art, philosophy and life. At the end of the night he had you feeling it too.

And when the time came and you became his you and the whole world would see just how smitten he is.

He laughed with every joke, he listened to you carefully and everytime your name was mentioned he couldn't help but smile. Any little things that caught your eyes you would have and if you asked for the moon itself he would find a way to give it to you.

He didn’t mind, he actually loved it. That was love for him. He wanted to be your loyal servant and your beloved and feared god all at once. Could you give him this and he would give you the world.

If you didn’t however return his affections or god forbid you betray him that would be a very different and tragic(for you) story.

[writingsforwhatever]

Summers were never supposed to hurt this much (q.hughesxreader) Part 1

summary: irrevocably in love with quinn hughes

genre: it doesn't matter

a/n: I'm afraid friends to lovers trope will always get me so here i am writing again. HEY IM BACK. ALSO I used Belly as her nickname because THIS IS HEAVILY INSPIRED by 'The summer I turned pretty'

~

The boat rocked gently as she leaned over the edge, her fingers skimming the cold water of the lake. It was the same lake they had grown up on, summers spent barefoot and sunburned, racing across the docks, yelling over who got the best seat in the Hughes family’s old motorboat.

She sighed and tilted her head back, staring up at the stars, which burned so bright they made the rest of the world feel impossibly small. For a fleeting moment, she let herself remember what it was like to be that little girl, Luke’s inseparable shadow, always tagging along with his brothers but always watching Quinn. He’d been everything: her childhood hero, her first heartbreak, and her now unspoken unrequited love.

The boat was alive with laughter and the occasional splash of water as the group lounged lazily in the late afternoon sun. It was one of those perfect Michigan summer days, the ones they’d spent their whole lives chasing.

Despite hearing the familiar sounds of her childhood, the crackle of the firepit in the Hughes' backyard, the pop of beer cans opening, and the unmistakable sound of Trevor Zegras telling a story too dramatic to be true floating through the air, today felt off. It wasn’t just the humidity or the lack of wind.

This summer was different.

Quinn Hughes had brought a girl home.

Her name was Fiona. She was tall and sun-kissed, with perfect white teeth and a laugh that sounded like it belonged in a movie. She fit effortlessly into the group, the way Belly had always assumed she did. But Fiona didn’t have to try. She wasn’t the girl who’d been climbing trees with Luke since they were seven or getting into splash wars with Quinn when he wasn’t busy pretending she didn’t exist. She wasn’t Luke’s best friend, or, worse, like a little sister to Quinn.

No, Fiona was the girl Quinn couldn’t stop smiling at this summer.

And it was killing her.

She sat cross-legged near the bow, her oversized hoodie pulled snug over her swimsuit. She traced the edge of her drink can absentmindedly, tuning out most of the conversation swirling around her.

It wasn’t supposed to bother her, not like this. She’d spent years mastering the art of pretending she didn’t care. Even when her heart had broken at fifteen, watching Quinn kiss some girl at a party, she’d buried it under layers of distractions . She’d survived those summers by convincing herself that Quinn didn’t see her that way and never would.

“Hey Belly, you good?” Luke asked, nudging her leg with his foot. He was sprawled out on the deck beside her, sunglasses sliding down his nose, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

She blinked, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Just tired, I guess.”

“You’re always tired,” Trevor chimed in from the driver’s seat, his signature cocky smirk firmly in place. “Or bored. Or both. Should we entertain you, princess?”

“Please don’t,” she deadpanned, chucking a pretzel at him. It hit him square in the chest, and Alex barked out a laugh.

“Easy there, Z,” Alex said, leaning back against the cooler. “She’ll throw you in the lake next.”

“She has thrown him in the lake before,” Luke added, grinning. “You deserved it, too.”

Trevor threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. But I’m just saying, She's been weird lately. What gives?”

“Nothing gives,” She muttered, rolling her eyes. Her gaze flickered, just for a moment, to Quinn and the girl sitting beside him.

“Alright, alright, back off,” Cole said, throwing an arm around her shoulders protectively. “Belly's just sick of us idiots. And honestly? Fair.”

She relaxed a little, leaning into Cole’s familiar warmth. “Thanks, Coley. At least someone’s on my side.”

This summer was supposed to be like all the others: easy, light, and uninterrupted, with her secretly pining for her best friend's oldest brother. But everything felt different now. Quinn was leaving soon, the draft was just around the corner, and with it came the fear that everything was about to change.

Her thoughts were once again interrupted as she heard Jack screaming.

“Trevor, I swear to God, if you cannonball one more time—” Jack's voice rang out across the boat as Trevor launched himself off the side, sending a massive splash in every direction.

Sitting on one of the boat's cushions with her knees pulled to her chest, she couldn’t help but laugh as Jack staggered back, water dripping from his hair and soaking through his t-shirt. He glared at Trevor, who surfaced from the water, grinning like he'd just won an Olympic medal.

“Lighten up, Jackie boy!” Trevor shouted, shaking water out of his hair.

“Jackie boy?” Jack muttered darkly, grabbing a nearby water gun and aiming it with precision. Before Trevor could react, he was drenched again.

“Can you two stop for five minutes?” Quinn’s exasperated voice cut in, holding a cooler full of drinks. He looked like he’d spent the entire day trying to keep the group from imploding, a role he’d always begrudgingly taken on as the eldest Hughes.

“That’s rich coming from the guy who takes five years to pick a movie,” Jack shot back, grabbing a towel and attempting to dry off.

“Or five years to ask a girl out,” Trevor added with a wink, earning a round of laughter from the group except for Belly, who stayed silent.

It wasn’t just the joke that got to her. It was the way Quinn barely reacted, offering only a small smile before dropping the cooler and walking over to where Fiona stood, her sundress fluttering in the breeze. It got her thinking if this was an inside joke she didn’t learn to catch.

Jack flopped onto the chair next to her, still muttering about Trevor. He glanced at her, his irritation giving way to concern. “You good, Bells? You’ve been quiet. And not like, Luke just said something stupid quiet. Like… actual quiet.”

“I’m fine,” She said automatically, picking at a loose thread on her hoodie.

Jack narrowed his eyes. “Bullshit. You don’t get to lie to me. You’re either mad at Luke or…” His voice trailed off as his gaze shifted to where Quinn and Fiona were now standing, laughing softly about something.

“Oh,” he said simply, his eyebrows lifting slightly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped, heat rising to her cheeks.

“Nothing,” Jack said innocently, leaning back in his chair. “Just… makes sense, is all.”

“What makes sense?” she demanded, hating how defensive she sounded.

Jack sighed, smiling, his usual playful demeanor giving way to something softer. “Nothing, Bells."

She looked at him skeptically, but before she could say anything, Luke appeared, dripping wet and holding a half-empty water gun. “Jack, you’re up. Trevor’s got a death wish and I need backup.”

Jack hesitated, glancing between her and Luke. Finally, he stood, patting her shoulder as he passed. “Don’t let it ruin your day, okay?”

Jack was right. This summer was supposed to be all about her and Luke before they went off to college.

~

The bonfire crackled and popped as the group settled into their usual spots, the glow dancing off their faces. It was one of those perfect summer nights where the air was crisp but not cold, the stars blanketing the sky, and the laughter around the fire felt like it could wash away any worries.

Belly sat between Luke and Alex, her legs tucked under a blanket she’d dragged out of the boathouse. The smell of marshmallows and charred wood filled the air as Trevor dramatically told some wild story about a supposed run-in with a celebrity.

“And then,” Trevor said, his hands gesturing wildly, “she looked me right in the eye and said, ‘You, sir, are not tall enough to sit in this section.’”

“You made that up,” Cole interrupted, grinning as he toasted a marshmallow.

“No, I didn’t,” Trevor shot back. “Right, Jack? Back me up here!”

Jack groaned, shaking his head. “You’re on your own with this one, Z. No way am I vouching for you.”

Laughter rippled through the group, but she was barely paying attention. She stole a glance toward Quinn, who was seated across the fire with Fiona. They were sharing a blanket, and Fiona leaned into him as he murmured something in her ear. Her chest tightened as she looked away, focusing intently on the stick in her hand.

“You okay?” Luke’s voice was quiet beside her.

She startled slightly, turning to face him. His expression was soft, his brows furrowed with concern.

“Yeah,” she said quickly, forcing a smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Luke gave her a look, the kind he reserved for when he was calling her out on her nonsense. “You’ve been weird all day.”

“I’m not weird,” she said, poking the fire with her stick.

“You are,” he insisted, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. “Come on, Bells. What’s up? You’re never this quiet during one of Z’s stories. Usually, you’re jeering him the loudest.”

She hesitated, the words stuck in her throat. She’d always been able to talk to Luke about anything, school, family, the future. But this? This wasn’t something she could admit to anyone, not even him, and especially him.

"I guess I'm just scared." She could feel the weight of his gaze.

Luke frowned, leaning closer. "Of what?"

“Everything changing,” she admitted, half heartedly lying. Her voice barely audible over the crackling fire. She glanced at him, her eyes reflecting a vulnerability she sometimes showed. “We’re all going to college soon. You and Trevor are going to be off doing your thing, Jack’s already basically a superstar, and Quinn…” She trailed off, her chest tightening at the thought. “I don’t know, Luke. It feels like everything’s going to be different this summer, and I’m not ready for it.”

Luke was quiet for a moment, letting her words settle between them. Then he tilted his head, offering a small smile. “Belly, nothing’s gonna change between us. With all of us. You know that, right? You and me? We’re solid. Always have been, always will be.”

She smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s not just us, though, Luke. It’s… everyone. I mean, the draft of Quinn this year, of you guys possibly moving to other states. Doesn’t it feel different already?”

Luke followed her gaze to the group around the fire, where Jack and Trevor were bickering over the last marshmallow, Cole was making some sarcastic remark towards Alex, and Quinn was sitting with Fiona, their heads close together as they talk.

“Okay,” Luke said, turning back to her. “I get it. Stuff’s changing. But it’s not all bad, you know? We’re still us. We’ll still have summers here, bonfires and boats and all the stupid stuff we do. It’s not like we’re all gonna forget about each other.”

“I know,” she said, sighing. “I just… I don’t want to lose this.”

“You won’t,” Luke said firmly, nudging her again. “I won’t let it happen. And if anyone tries to ruin our summers, I’ll throw them in the lake.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in her chest easing slightly. “You’re really committed to that lake throwing thing, huh?”

“Absolutely,” Luke said, grinning. “It’s my signature move.”

“Thanks, Luke,” she said softly, leaning her head against his shoulder for a moment.

“Anytime,” he said, his tone lighter now. “Just remember, I’ve got your back. No matter what.”

She pushed aside the pang of jealousy as Quinn’s laugh drifted across the fire and let herself be comforted by Luke’s presence. Because if nothing else, at least she still had Luke.

~

The morning sun filtered through the trees as she, Cole, and Alex climbed into the old Hughes’ SUV, eager to head to the little shop in town. The guys had somehow lost the coin toss the night before, and Belly had volunteered to join them.

“Hey, we’re getting grape,” Cole called out, holding up a two-liter bottle like it was a trophy.

“No one likes grape soda, you psychopath!” Alex shot back.

Belly rolled her eyes with a grin, tuning them out as she grabbed a few bags of chips and tossed them into the basket.

“Let me guess,” a voice said behind her, warm and amused. “You’re the referee for these two?”

She turned, startled, to see a guy standing a few feet away, leaning casually against the counter. He had sun-kissed blonde hair that looked like it had been bleached by endless days in the water and striking blue eyes that practically sparkled in the morning light.

Belly blinked, momentarily thrown off by how effortlessly good-looking he was. “Uh, yeah,” she managed, holding up the basket. “It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

He grinned. “I feel your pain. I’ve got two younger brothers. Chaos every day.”

“Tell me about it,” She said, relaxing a little. “I’m Belly, by the way.”

“Finn,” he said, extending a hand. His palm was warm and calloused, and she found herself holding on just a second too long before letting go. “You up here for the summer?”

“Yeah,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Staying at a lake house with some… friends.”

Finn raised an eyebrow, his smile teasing but before he could respond, Cole and Alex appeared, both carrying armfuls of snacks.

“Bells, we’re set,” Alex announced, barely glancing at Finn as he dumped the snacks onto the counter.

Finn’s gaze shifted to the guys, then back to her, his smile never wavering. “So, are you a local?”

“Sort of,” Belly said. “I’ve been coming here every summer since I was a kid.”

Finn chuckled. “Weird, I don’t remember seeing you. It’s a small town, outsiders kind of stand out, you know?"

“Fair enough,” she said, smiling despite herself.

Belly stepped up, placing her basket on the counter as well. She watched as he began ringing up the items, his bright blue eyes flicked up to her every so often.

“So, my cousin Jeremy is actually throwing a party this Friday night,” Finn said, breaking the silence between them. His voice was casual, but there was an undertone of something else, something she couldn’t quite decipher. “Nothing too crazy. Just a little house party.”

She blinked at him, a bit taken aback. “A house party?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. “It’d be cool if you came. I mean, no pressure, of course.

This is it, she thought. You’ve got one shot to say yes to something like this—to actually make this summer memorable, instead of spending it sulking and pining over Quinn Hughes, like you always do. Don’t mess it up.

Belly swallowed, Finn is really handsome.

Suddenly feeling warmer than the summer heat outside. “Uh… yeah, okay. I’ll come.” She could feel the blush creeping up her neck, her cheeks burning as she smiled.

Finn’s grin widened at her answer. “Awesome. I’ll send you the details. It’s at this place by the lake.” He scribbled something down on a piece of paper and slid it across the counter. “Here’s the address. The party starts around 8, but no rush. Just come whenever.”

Belly took the paper, her fingers brushing against his, and she could’ve sworn she felt a spark. Her heart was pounding, and the thought of going to this party and seeing Finn there made her stomach do flip-flops.

She never thought it was unfair that Luke didn’t know about her feelings for his brother. It was just easier that way. It was better this way, better for him, better for everyone.

Belly often tried to convince herself it was just a phase. A fleeting crush that would fade with time, like the seasons. but it never did. After all, she and Quinn didn’t see much of each other once summer ended. Quinn was always gone or caught up with his other friends.

But Jack, Jack was a different story. She likes to think Jack was too smart for his own good, even though she liked to pretend he was as oblivious as the rest of them. The way he could see right through her, though, was unnerving. Sometimes, she wondered how much easier it would be if she just let herself fall for Jack instead, or maybe even Luke. Luke, with the years of friendship they shared, a foundation so deep-rooted that it felt like solid ground beneath her feet. It would be simple with Luke. Safe. No grasping at something that could never be.

But even so, her heart still ached for Quinn.

No matter how much sense it made to move on, it had always been him, and it always would be.

~

The wooden stairs creaked softly beneath her feet. She paused at the top of the stairs, her hand hovering over the railing. She smoothed her dress for what felt like the hundredth time, the faint scent of her perfume calming her nerves or at least she hoped it would.

It's just a party. It’s not a big deal, she told herself, but the thought of walking into the living room where the boys were sprawled out made her pulse quicken. She knows she will never hear the end of this.

With a deep breath, she walked in the open space of the living room. She spotted Trevor and Cole first, lounging on the couch, controllers in hand, facing her direction while Quinn, Jack, and Luke sat on the couch with their backs to her. The boys barely noticed her at first, too focused on the game.

But then Trevor looked up.

His face lit up with a grin, and he let out a dramatic whistle. “Damn, Bells! You cleaned up nice!” he hollered, dropping his controller and leaning back with an exaggerated smirk. “What’s the occasion? Hot date?”

Belly felt her cheeks flame as all eyes turned to her. “Shut up, Trevor,” she muttered, fiddling with the strap of her purse.

“Oh, don’t be shy,” Trevor teased, wagging his eyebrows. “Looks like someone's getting laid tonight.”

“Trevor! Oh my god.” Belly yelped, her face burning as the boys erupted into laughter.

She shot him a glare before quickly turning to Luke. “Anyway, Luke, I’m heading out.”

Luke turned to her fully, pausing the game. His face lighting up with the realization. “Oh, right! I forgot you have a date tonight. With that guy from the store, yeah?”

Jack’s head snapped up. “Store guy?”

“Yeah,” Cole chimed in, leaning forward with a knowing grin. “When we went to the shop earlier. What was his name again? Finn, right?”

At the mention of Finn’s name, Quinn spoke up, his gaze locking onto her. “Who the hell is Finn?” he asked, his tone sharper than she’d expected.

Something about the way he said it made her stomach twist. It wasn’t anger or concern. it was something else entirely. Almost like disbelief, as he didn’t believe someone would ask her out.

Before she could find her voice, Cole spoke up, his tone lighter, as if trying to diffuse the tension. “I can drive you if you want, Bells. No problem.”

“No thanks,” Belly said quickly, giving him a polite smile. “I’m okay. It’s very near here so it’s fine.”

That did it. Now everyone was looking at her. Trevor, Jack, Cole, and especially Quinn. His gaze was intense, searching her face for something she couldn’t quite place.

“You don’t even know this guy?” Quinn asked, his voice quieter but no less pointed.

The room fell into an even heavier silence. The awkwardness was palpable, and Belly’s chest tightened. She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything.

Finally, Jack cleared his throat, cutting through the tension. “Just… get home safe, alright? If you need anything, call Luke. Or me. Or anyone.”

Belly’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Jack,” she said softly. Her gaze flickered back to Quinn for a fleeting moment, but his expression was unreadable.

“Be safe!” Trevor called after her as she headed toward the door. “And if he turns out to be a loser, you know I’m always available.”

“Yeah, not in this lifetime, Z,” she shot back, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress a smile.

As the door clicked shut behind her, she let out a shaky breath. She tried not to think about Quinn’s gazes thrown at her way or where the fuck could Fiona be and why isn't she with her boyfriend.

Because tonight wasn’t about him. It couldn’t be.

~

The music was loud enough to feel in her chest, a pulsing rhythm that made the entire house seem alive. She made her way through the crowd, her nerves buzzing. She spotted Finn almost immediately. He was impossible to miss. His golden blond hair catching the light like he’d stepped out of a sun-drenched daydream.

“You made it,” he said, his blue eyes locking onto hers.

“I did,” she replied, returning his smile.

Finn didn’t waste time. He introduced her to his friends and to his cousin, Jeremy. A tan Greek god who surfs in Hawaii, sometimes. They were a bit older but nice and before she knew it, she was laughing at their jokes and sipping a drink Finn handed her.

For the first time in forever, she felt 18. Wanted. Like she belonged. This, she thought, was what it felt like to be the girl someone chose. Not like the boys in high school who either ignored her or treated her like a joke. Finn wasn’t like them. He was attentive, charming, and kind.

But there was something else.

When Finn leaned in and whispered, “Want to head upstairs? It’s too loud down here,” She hesitated. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears and for a moment, Jack’s words echoed in her mind: Call us if you need anything. But she brushed the thought away. She wasn’t that kid anymore. She didn’t need anyone to take care of her.

Upstairs, the noise dulled to a muffled thump. Finn led her into a bedroom, closing the door behind them. He guided her to sit on the edge of the bed, his hands gentle but insistent.

“You’re so pretty, Belly,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

When he kissed her, it was everything she’d imagined it would be, soft, tender, intoxicating. But it quickly grew more intense. His hands slid up her thighs, his touch burning through her skin in a way that didn’t feel right. The warmth in her chest twisted into something cold.

She froze, her breath catching. Something about it didn’t sit right, and that unease deepened with every passing second.

“Finn,” she said softly, pulling back.

He didn’t stop, his lips trailing down her neck as his hands gripped her tighter.

“Stop,” she said, louder this time, her voice trembling.

Finn leaned back just enough to look at her, his expression twisting with frustration. “What? Seriously?” he asked, his tone dripping with disbelief. “I thought this is what you wanted. You came up here with me, didn’t you?”

Belly’s heart pounded. “I said stop.”

But Finn didn’t move away. Instead, he laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. You’re just another tease, aren’t you? You act like you’re into it, then pull this?”

Her stomach turned at the words, anger bubbling up alongside her fear. She scrambled off the bed, keeping her distance.

“I’m leaving,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside her.

Finn’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “Whatever,” he spat, turning his back on her. “Waste of my fucking time.”

Belly didn’t wait for him to say anything else. She bolted from the room, her legs shaking as she made her way down the stairs and out of the house. The cool night air hit her like a slap, grounding her. She fumbled for her phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed a number.

Luke picked up on the third ring. “Belly? What’s wrong?”

Her voice broke as she spoke. “Can you come get me?”

The car was heavy with silence, the air thick and suffocating. Belly sat rigidly in her seat, staring out the window, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as though trying to keep her emotions from spilling out. She couldn’t bear to look at Luke. She couldn’t bear to look at anything.

Luke’s eyes darted to her every few seconds, his knuckles tight around the steering wheel. His voice broke through the stillness, low and trembling. "Belly," he said softly, but the worry in his tone hit like a hammer. "Please. Tell me what happened. Where is Finn? Did someone… Did someone do to something you? Because I swear to God, I’ll kill them."

Her throat closed, the words she needed stuck behind a wall of tears. She shook her head weakly, her voice barely audible. "Luke, please… Just drive. I just want to go home. Please."

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as his grip on the wheel faltered. "Belly, I—"

"Luke," she interrupted, her voice breaking, "just drive. I’m begging you."

He exhaled sharply, his frustration and helplessness palpable, but he obeyed, focusing his attention on the road. The silence in the car was unbearable, but Belly couldn’t bring herself to break it. She could feel the weight of Luke’s concern pressing against her, and it only made her feel worse.

As they pulled into the garage, Belly barely waited for the car to come to a full stop before bolting out, her tears blurring her vision. She stumbled through the door, her breath hitching, and froze when she entered the living room.

The living room was like how she left it earlier, full. Quinn was sitting close to Fiona on the couch, Trevor and Alex sprawled lazily nearby, Jack leaning back in the armchair with a slice of pizza in hand and Cole probably sleeping in the guest room. They were all watching a movie, the quiet hum of the TV the only sound until she entered.

One by one, their eyes turned to her.

"Belly?" Jack’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade. He sat up abruptly, his face a mask of confusion and alarm. "What the fuck happened? Why are you crying?"

Trevor’s reaction was instant. He stood, his voice softer but no less urgent. "Bells? What’s wrong?"

Her cheeks burned under their stares. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and foolish all at once. The tears came harder now, and her voice failed her completely. She couldn’t explain. Couldn’t face their questions.

Instead, she turned on her heel and ran upstairs, her heart pounding in her chest as she slammed the door behind her.

She collapsed onto her bed, the sobs breaking free as she buried her face into the pillow. The muffled sounds of the living room faded as the tears poured out, soaking the fabric beneath her.

Her mind spiraled, the weight of the night pressing down on her like a crushing wave. Of course it wasn’t real. Of course Finn didn’t like her, not in the way she’d foolishly believed, even for a moment. Her chest tightened as the truth settled like a stone in her stomach. She’d been nothing more than a convenience to him, another girl he could charm into submission.

Her tears came faster, hotter. She thought about how she’d been so determined to forget about Quinn. She’d convinced herself she could move on, that she could prove to herself, to him, that she didn’t want him anymore. But all that resolve had led her to Finn, and Finn… he’d been a nightmare disguised as a dream.

She hated herself for falling for it, for believing even for a second that someone like Finn could actually like her. Not the way she wanted to be liked. Not for real.

Finn was supposed to be different. He was supposed to be a step forward, a reminder that the world was full of possibilities, that she could find someone who would make her feel worthy and wanted without Quinn lingering in the background of her mind.

Now, humiliation added a fresh sting to her pain. Quinn had been right. She doesn't even know the guy.

And once again, Quinn Hughes had won.

N/A: I wanna add here flashbacks from childhood and also Q is a little weird, no? LOL

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Proud to be a blockhead

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/21/blockheads-r-us/#vocational-awe

This is my last Pluralistic post of the year, and rather than round up my most successful posts of the year, I figured I'd write a little about why it's impossible for me to do that, and why that is by design, and what that says about the arts, monopolies, and creative labor markets.

I started Pluralistic nearly five years ago, and from the outset, I was adamant that I wouldn't measure my success through quantitative measures. The canonical version of Pluralistic – the one that lives at pluralistic.net – has no metrics, no analytics, no logs, and no tracking. I don't know who visits the site. I don't know how many people visit the site. I don't know which posts are most popular, and which ones are the least popular. I can't know any of that.

The other versions of Pluralistic are less ascetic, but only because there's no way for me to turn off some metrics on those channels. The Mailman service that delivers the (tracker-free) email version of Pluralistic necessarily has a system for telling me how many subscribers I have, but I have never looked at that number, and have no intention of doing so. I have turned off notifications when someone signs up for the list, or resigns from it.

The commercial, surveillance-heavy channels for Pluralistic – Tumblr, Twitter – have a lot of metrics, but again, I don't consult them. Medium and Mastodon have some metrics, and again, I just pretend they don't exist.

What do I pay attention to? The qualitative impacts of my writing. Comments. Replies. Emails. Other bloggers who discuss it, or discussions on Metafilter, Slashdot, Reddit and Hacker News. That stuff matters to me a lot because I write for two reasons, which are, in order: to work out my own thinking, and; to influence other peoples' thinking.

Writing is a cognitive prosthesis for me. Working things out on the page helps me work things out in my life. And, of course, working things out on the page helps me work more things out on the page. Writing begets writing:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

Honestly, that is sufficient. Not in the sense that writing, without being read, would make me happy or fulfilled. Being read and being part of a community and a conversation matters a lot to me. But the very act of writing is so important to me that even if no one read me, I would still write.

This is a thing that writers aren't supposed to admit. As I wrote on this blog's fourth anniversary, the most laughably false statement about writing ever uttered is Samuel Johnson's notorious "No man but a blockhead ever wrote but for money":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#synthesis

Making art is not an "economically rational" activity. Neither is attempting to persuade other people to your point of view. These activities are not merely intrinsically satisfying, they are also necessary, at least for many of us. The long, stupid fight about copyright that started in the Napster era has rarely acknowledged this, nor has it grappled with the implications of it. On the one hand, you have copyright maximalists who say totally absurd things like, "If you don't pay for art, no one will make art, and art will disappear." This is one of those radioactively false statements whose falsity is so glaring that it can be seen from orbit.

But on the other hand, you know who knows this fact very well? The corporations that pay creative workers. Movie studios, record labels, publishers, games studios: they all know that they are in possession of a workforce that has to make art, and will continue to do so, paycheck or not, until someone pokes their eyes out or breaks their fingers. People make art because it matters to them, and this trait makes workers terribly exploitable. As Fobazi Ettarh writes in her seminal paper on "vocational awe," workers who care about their jobs are at a huge disadvantage in labor markets. Teachers, librarians, nurses, and yes, artists, are all motivated by a sense of mission that often trumps their own self-interest and well-being and their bosses know it:

https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/

One of the most important ideas in David Graeber's magisterial book Bullshit Jobs is that the ground state of labor is to do a job that you are proud of and that matters to you, but late-stage capitalist alienation has gotten so grotesque that some people will actually sneer at the idea that, say, teachers should be well compensated: "Why should you get a living wage – isn't the satisfaction of helping children payment enough?"

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/06/20/david-graebers-bullshit-jobs-why-does-the-economy-sustain-jobs-that-no-one-values/

These are the most salient facts of the copyright fight: creativity is a non-economic activity, and this makes creative workers extremely vulnerable to exploitation. People make art because they have to. As Marx was finishing Kapital, he was often stuck working from home, having pawned his trousers so he could keep writing. The fact that artists don't respond rationally to economic incentives doesn't mean they should starve to death. Art – like nursing, teaching and librarianship – is necessary for human thriving.

No, the implication of the economic irrationality of vocational awe is this: the only tool that can secure economic justice for workers who truly can't help but do their jobs is solidarity. Creative workers need to be in solidarity with one another, and with our audiences – and, often, with the other workers at the corporations who bring our work to market. We are all class allies locked in struggle with the owners of both the entertainment companies and the technology companies that sit between us and our audiences (this is the thesis of Rebecca Giblin's and my 2022 book Chokepoint Capitalism):

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

The idea of artistic solidarity is an old and important one. Victor Hugo, creator of the first copyright treaty – the Berne Convention – wrote movingly about how the point of securing rights for creators wasn't to allow their biological children to exploit their work after their death, but rather, to ensure that the creative successors of artists could build on their forebears' accomplishments. Hugo – like any other artist who has a shred of honesty and has thought about the subject for more than ten seconds – knew that he was part of a creative community and tradition, one composed of readers and writers and critics and publishing workers, and that this was a community and a tradition worth fighting for and protecting.

One of the most important and memorable interviews Rebecca and I did for our book was with Liz Pelly, one of the sharpest critics of Spotify (our chapter about how Spotify steals from musicians is the only part of the audiobook available on Spotify itself – a "Spotify Exclusive"!):

https://open.spotify.com/show/7oLW9ANweI01CVbZUyH4Xg

Pelly has just published a major, important new book about Spotify's ripoffs, called Mood Machine:

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Mood-Machine/Liz-Pelly/9781668083505

A long article in Harper's unpacks one of the core mechanics at the heart of Spotify's systematic theft from creative workers: the use of "ghost artists," whose generic music is cheaper than real music, which is why Spotify crams it into their playlists:

https://harpers.org/archive/2025/01/the-ghosts-in-the-machine-liz-pelly-spotify-musicians/

The subject of Ghost Artists has long been shrouded in mystery and ardent – but highly selective – denials from Spotify itself. In her article – which features leaked internal chats from Spotify – Pelly gets to the heart of the matter. Ghost artists are musicians who are recruited by shadowy companies that offer flat fees for composing and performing inoffensive muzak that can fade into the background. This is wholesaled to Spotify, which crams it into wildly popular playlists of music that people put on while they're doing something else ("Deep Focus," "100% Lounge," "Bossa Nova Dinner," "Cocktail Jazz," "Deep Sleep," "Morning Stretch") and might therefore settle for an inferior product.

Spotify calls this "Perfect Fit Music" and it's the pink slime of music, an extruded, musiclike content that plugs a music-shaped hole in your life, without performing the communicative and aesthetic job that real music exists for.

After many dead-end leads with people involved in the musical pink slime industry, Pelly finally locates a musician who's willing to speak anonymously about his work (he asks for anonymity because he relies on the pittances he receives for making pink slime to survive). This jazz musician knows very little about where the music he's commissioned to produce ends up, which is by design. The musical pink slime industry, like all sleaze industries, is shrouded in the secrecy sought by bosses who know that they're running a racket they should be ashamed of.

The anonymous musician composes a stack of compositions on his couch, then goes into a studio for a series of one-take recordings. There's usually a rep from the PFC pink slime industry there, and the rep's feedback is always "play simpler." As the anonymous musician explains:

That’s definitely the thing: nothing that could be even remotely challenging or offensive, really. The goal, for sure, is to be as milquetoast as possible.

This source calls the arrangement "shameful." Another musician Pelly spoke to said "it felt unethical, like some kind of money-laundering scheme." The PFC companies say that these composers and performers are just making music, the way anyone might, and releasing it under pseudonyms in a way that "has been popular across mediums for decades." But Pelly's interview subjects told her that they don't consider their work to be art:

It feels like someone is giving you a prompt or a question, and you’re just answering it, whether it’s actually your conviction or not. Nobody I know would ever go into the studio and record music this way.

Artists who are recruited to make new pink slime are given reference links to existing pink slime and ordered to replicate it as closely as possible. The tracks produced this way that do the best are then fed to the next group of musicians to replicate, and so on. It's the musical equivalent of feeding slaughterhouse sweepings to the next generation of livestock, a version of the gag from Catch 22 where a patient in a body-cast has a catheter bag and an IV drip, and once a day a nurse comes and swaps them around.

Pelly reminds us that Spotify was supposed to be an answer to the painful question of the Napster era: how do we pay musicians for their labor? Spotify was sold as a way to bypass the "gatekeepers": the big three labels who own 70% of all recorded music, whose financial maltreatment of artists was seen as moral justification for file sharing ("Why buy the CD if the musician won't see any of the money from it?").

But the way that Spotify secured rights to all the popular music in the world was by handing over big equity stakes in its business to the Big Three labels, and giving them wildly preferential terms that made it impossible for independent musicians and labels to earn more than homeopathic fractions of a penny for each stream, even as Spotify became the one essential conduit for reaching an audience:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/03/16/wage-theft/#excessive-buyer-power

It turns out that getting fans to pay for music has no necessary connection to getting musicians paid. Vocational awe means that the fact that someone has induced a musician to make music doesn't mean that the musician is getting a fair share of what you pay for music. The same goes for every kind of art, and every field where vocational awe plays a role, from nursing to librarianship.

Chokepoint Capitalism tries very hard to grapple with this conundrum; the second half of the book is a series of detailed, shovel-ready policy prescriptions for labor, contract, and copyright reforms that will immediately and profoundly shift the share of income generated by creative labor from bosses to workers.

Which brings me back to this little publishing enterprise of mine, and the fact that I do it for free, and not only that, give it away under a Creative Commons Attribution license that allows you to share and republish it, for money, if you choose:

https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

I am lucky enough that I make a good living from my writing, but I'm also honest enough with myself to know just how much luck was involved with that fact, and insecure enough to live in a state of constant near-terror about what happens when my luck runs out. I came up in science fiction, and I vividly remember the writers I admired whose careers popped like soap-bubbles when Reagan deregulated the retail sector, precipitating a collapse in the grocery stores and pharmacies where "midlist" mass-market paperbacks were sold by the millions across the country:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/04/self-publishing/

These writers – the ones who are still alive – are living proof of the fact that you have to break our fingers to get us to stop writing. Some of them haven't had a mainstream publisher in decades, but they're still writing, and self-publishing, or publishing with small presses, and often they're doing the best work of their careers, and almost no one is seeing it, and they're still doing it.

Because we aren't engaged in economically rational activity. We're doing something essential – essential to us, first and foremost, and essential to the audiences and peers our work reaches and changes and challenges.

Pluralistic is, in part, a way for me too face the fear I wake up with every day, that some day, my luck will run out, as it has for nearly all the writers I've ever admired, and to reassure myself that the writing will go on doing what I need it to do for my psyche and my heart even if – when – my career regresses to the mean.

It's a way for me to reaffirm the solidaristic nature of artistic activity, the connection with other writers and other readers (because I am, of course, an avid, constant reader). Commercial fortunes change. Monopolies lay waste to whole sectors and swallow up the livelihoods of people who believe in what they do like a whale straining tons of plankton through its baleen. But solidarity endures. Solidarietatis longa, vita brevis.

Happy New Year folks. See you in 2025.

[earthchica]

Can't Hide Love

terry richmond x black, fem! reader

summary: you're afraid of getting hurt and denying the love you feel for Terry, so you reject him when he confesses his feelings for you, but later, you might regret that decision.

warnings: light angst, jealousy, playing mind games, use of the n-word, explicit smut (18+), dom/sub, thighjob, daddy kink, choking kink, unprotected sex, creampie, size kink, friends to lovers, nicknames (shorty, lil mama, baby, baby girl), words: 2k

note:

sequel to I Want You

-

You and Terry sat across from each other at the small kitchen table, the morning sunlight streaming through the window and casting a warm glow on your plates.

As you both chewed your breakfast, an unspoken tension filled the air, making the clinking of cutlery sound almost deafening. You couldn’t help but notice how Terry's eyes held yours, their intensity unyielding.

After an eternity, you decided to break the silence, leaning forward slightly as you finally said, "Last night was real fun but it can't happen again."

Terry clenched his jaw and looked at you, confused. "Wait, what, why?" He asked, his voice earnest and searching, his eyes trying to uncover the truth.

"I mean… if you think I only want sex, then you're mistaken. I like you a lot, shorty. I've felt this way for a while now and would love to take you on a date.” He added.

His expression shifted as he processed your confession. “I like you too, Terry, but…” Your voice trailed off, thick with hesitation and unspoken feelings.

You felt a knot tighten in your stomach. “I just don’t think I can handle anything more than what we have; let's stay friends,” you finished, hoping to keep things uncomplicated.

Terry's disappointment was noticeable, and he tried to conceal the hurt rising in his chest. He nodded as if he understood, even though every part of him wanted to question your rejection.

“Okay!” he said with a shrug, quickly finishing his orange juice to mask his feelings. He moved to the sink to clean his plate, the sound of clinking dishes filling the silence between you.

You were taken aback by his reaction. “Okay, that’s it?” you asked, your brow furrowing as you crossed your arms, a mix of disbelief and concern surfacing within you.

Terry turned his head slightly, a blank look on his face. “What do you want to say?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in genuine curiosity. You took a breath and shook your head. "Nothing."

The two of you left at that, and a few days went by after you rejected him. You were busy preparing for your art gallery opening, feeling excited and nervous.

When the event finally kicked off, you scanned the crowd hoping Terry was coming to at least to support you. Your heart skipped a beat when he walked in with a bouquet of roses.

“Yo, look who made it!” Terry called out with a broad smile, and you felt a rush of warmth. Terry approached you and hugged you quickly before pulling away and handing you the bouquet.

“These are for you. I’m proud of you, shorty, for real. These pieces are dope.” Terry said, honestly looking around at your artwork and your heart fluttered.

“Oh, thank you, Terry. It means a lot to have you here, I thought you weren't coming after, you know,” you replied, trying to keep it cool despite the knot of mixed feelings in your chest.

"Hey...despite that, we're good!" Terry said, reassuring you and placing his hand on your shoulder. You smiled brightly, moving your eyes away.

You waved your assistant over, who wasn't too far away to take the bouquet to you before going back to Terry. “Come on, I want to show you my favorites,” you said, leading him through the gallery.

As you walked, you pointed out different pieces. “This one is inspired by the culture of New Orleans. I wanted to capture that moment of the people.”

Terry nodded, genuinely impressed. “I see you, shorty! That’s hot!” You smiled and continued to show him your work, each piece sparking a conversation-filled detailed explanation.

Finally, you stopped before a special painting that you had kept hidden. “And this one,” you said nervously, “is for you.” As Terry looked at the painting, his eyes widened.

It was a portrait of him, perfectly capturing his eyes and bright smile. “Wow, you painted me? I don't remember you asking for permission to use my likeness,” he joked, grinning widely.

“But I'll let it slide because this is really dope, girl. You really outdid yourself. You’ve got me looking good!” Terry remarked, studying the details closely.

Your heart fluttered as you replied, “Thank you. I'm glad you love it; it means a lot to me.” Terry nodded and stepped back, admiring the piece fully with a playful smirk.

“You once said you only paint intimate pieces like this when you’re in love. So, what does this mean?” he asked, looking into your eyes, searching for an answer.

You rolled your eyes, turning away from him. “Terry, this isn't the time or place.”

He stepped a little closer, a teasing grin still on his face. “Come on now, don’t act like I ain't onto something here. You gotta admit, this painting is special—just like us.”

You shook your head, trying to brush it off. “For real, Terry, drop it.”

“Why you gotta be like that? You know deep down you love me,” he said, his voice earnest but still playful. “I mean, who else you gonna paint like that? You had that canvas waiting just for me.”

You laughed softly, but it was a nervous laugh. “It’s just art, Terry. Ain’t gotta mean all that. You know I paint a lot of folks.”

Terry stepped even closer, leaning in a bit. “Nah, shorty, don’t play me. I see how you look at me when you think I ain't watching. You can't hide the love.”

You glanced over your shoulder, noting your other friends arriving. “Look, Lana and Kayla are here.” You took a step back, creating some space between you. “We can talk later, alright?”

He let out a sigh. “That's cool, and I know you’ll miss me when I move on.” As you walked away, you could feel him watching, his lingering gaze heavy on your back.

You greeted your other friends with a smile, hoping the moment with Terry would fade into the background. As the night went on, you went to look around for Terry.

Your eyes land on him as he chats with a stunning dark-skinned woman who is clearly attracted to Terry. She leans close, laughing at his joke while touching his arm.

You felt a pang of jealousy twist in your stomach. You decided to talk to him, hoping to get his attention. “Terry, can we talk for a second, please?”

Terry barely glanced your way, his attention still locked on the woman. “Yeah, just a sec!” he called, waving you off. You tilled your head, looking at him sideways.

You feel frustrated and a little petty, so you turn your gaze back to the crowd. Feeling bold, you spotted an attractive white guy across the room who seemed interested.

You walked over, flashing a charming smile, and began chatting and playfully flirting with the pretty man named Charles. You could feel Terry’s gaze, but you didn't look back.

You showed Charles some of your artwork, and you noticed Terry following you too closely, as did the woman he was walking to. You had where you just wanted.

“Hey, you wanna grab a drink after this?” Charles asked, leaning closer. You considered it, tempted to make Terry feel what you were feeling.

As you were about to answer with him, Terry finally broke away from the girl and stormed over. “What’s going on here?” he asked, his tone sharper than you expected.

“Just having fun, Terry, and meeting new people like Charles here,” you replied, crossing your arms as you shot him defiantly. “I thought you were busy talking to some girl .”

“Stop playing with me. You’re just trying to make me jealous, aren’t you?” he said, frustration evident in his voice. “I’m gonna go,” Charles replied.

You and Terry ignored him and he just walked away. “Yeah, only because you started it and completely ignored me talking to that trick?” you shot back.

Your words are laced with a bitter edge. A tense silence fell between you as the atmosphere crackled with unresolved emotions. Terry pulled you into the quiet space.

The tension between you was real, and confusion danced in his eyes. “Why you all pressed about me talkin’ to some girl?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “You turned me down, remember twice?”

You took a deep breath, feeling the heat of his body close to yours. “I know…T I messed up, okay? I’m just scared!” You said, the words tumbling before you could think.

“I didn’t want to get hurt. You know my last few relationships were rough. I thought shutting you out would help me, but it worsened everything.”

His expression softened, but he still looked conflicted. “So, you rejected me twice and then got mad when I started lookin’ elsewhere, then tried to make me jealous. Shit is childish, shorty.”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I know, and I'm sorry, but I realize I want to give this a chance; I want you, Terry, and I want to go on a date if the offer is still open.”

Terry stepped closer, his fingertips grazing your dark brown skin, sending shivers down your spine. “It's cool, and hurting you is the last thing I want to do, baby If I’m feelin’ you, I’m all in, no games.”

Your heart raced at his words, the warmth of his body drawing you in. “I want to be all in, too. Show me that taking this jump is okay," You said, you could feel the pull between you.

With that, he closed the gap, capturing your lips with his. All the pent-up tension exploded as you kissed him fiercely. The kiss deepened, and you could feel the world around you fade away.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. “I'll show you, baby, but first, let’s get out of here,” Terry suggested, and without a second thought, you followed him out of the event.

-

The familiar surroundings felt comforting and charged as you returned to the apartment. Both of you didn’t make it to either of the bedrooms.

Terry leaned in and kissed you hungrily in a sudden burst of lust, his lips warm against yours, his scuffed beard tickling you slightly. He gently pressed your back against the wall.

His hands were all over your body, removing your panties as his lips didn't even separate from yours. You pulled away, helped him out of his shirt, and then pushed his pants with his boxers down.

Terry kicks them off before unzipping your dress and taking it off. He cursed, biting his lip at the sight of your exposed breasts. "Terry" You let out a moan.

You grabbed the back of his head, feeling his braids. He twirled his tongue on your nipple like it was a sucker before sucking it into his mouth.

Terry looked up at you with those pretty light eyes of his with so much desire before popping your nipple off his mouth. He kisses you, dancing his tongue against yours.

He crouches with his legs wide out and gripping your hips. He begins thrusting his throbbing dick through the gap of your thighs. "You feel that, baby? You feel how hard you make me," Terry asked.

"Yes, fuck Terry. I feel so good; keep going, please," You moaned in pleasure, feeling him thrust faster through the soaking wetness of your pussy lips.

You throw your head back, loving the feel of his large hands gripping the plump rounds of your ass. "Mmm fuck" You bite your lip, rolling your hips and trying to match his rhythm slightly.

"Fuck, I need to be inside of that pretty pussy, baby." Terry moans, grabbing your hair roughly and pulling you into a kiss. He lifts your leg to hold you on his hip, and you look at him.

You licked your fingers and rubbed your clit before letting him line himself toward your pussy. He thrusts in slowly while looking deeply into your eyes.

You kissed him and gripped his shoulder as he began fucking you against the wall. "Ahhh, fuck me fuck me, Terry, this dick is good," you moaned in pleasure.

"You like getting fucked against the wall, huh, lil mama?" Terry asked, his voice low, watching your eyes roll back in your head, leading it against the wall.

He lifts you fully, grabs both of your legs under his arms, and begins pounding harder. "Oh my goodness, yes....and....you love this pussy don't you, huh?" You asked.

Your eyes seductively, staring into his soul. "Yeah, I fucking love this pussy, lil mama. This pussy is my mine, you hear me, nobody else? You got that?"

"Yes, yes, Terry, I got it, yes." You nodded at him with a light smirk, grabbing his neck as he continued pounding like a damn beast.

"Let me hear you, baby," Terry said, leaning your back against the wall and kissing your neck. You closed your eyes with your mouth in O, trying to get the words out.

"It's yours, all yours, Terry. Oh my goodness, I'm gonna cum." You moaned, feeling tears of joy coming down your face; the pleasure was so freaking good it brought you to tears.

"Cum, baby, cum on your dick because it's all yours," Terry moaned in your ear, and that is all you needed for you to let out the cry of his name, feeling yourself almost coming on down.

Terry puts you down slightly, has a hold on you to keep you steady, pulls out, and flicks his dick against your clit; you gasp, feeling a gushing of wetness coming out of your pussy.

"Ahhhh fucking shit, muthfucka," You cried, seeing the stars and feeling your body begin to tremble. You could feel yourself slowly falling from the wall.

Terry picks you up bridal style, takes you to your bedroom, and lays you down on your stomach on your bed. He lets you catch your breath as you come down from your high.

"Look at you, got you all breathless and shit; just know i'm not done with you, lil mama," Terry said, giving your ass smack, and you whimpered, feeling him hover over you.

Terry wraps his hand around your neck, gently but firmly tilting your head back, forcing you to look up at him. His intense gaze holds yours.

He kisses you passionately and thrusts inside of you harshly, slightly muffling your moans as he pulls away and grabs your lower back to get a different edge to go deeper.

"So fucking big and so fucking deep, fuck me," You moaned, gripping the sheets of the bed so tight you thought you were going to rip with your bare hands.

Terry lifts himself up and smacks your ass while gripping it in his large hand, watching it jiggle with his every thrust. "Shit, lil mama, after this you're gonna be my girl now.

"And I'm giving you what you deserve; you know I ain't like these other niggas. I'mma take you out and treat you right, okay! I know you love me. You tried to pretend, but I see through it," Terry added.

"Yes, I'm your girl; I wanted it and can't hide love anymore. I want it, Daddy, I love you," you cried out, more tears of joy coming down your face, which made him smirk.

His hands wrap around your neck as you let out loud moans as he thrusts faster and harder with force like no other than before, and he pauses his thrusts for a second, making you whine loudly.

"Say it again, say you love me again," Terry says, pulling out and slamming back into you hard, hitting your sweet spot, still holding your neck.

"Ahhh, I love you, Terry, ahhh fuck I loved you ever since we met," you screamed, feeling yourself coming hard. Terry continued to thrust until he had reached his own mind-blowing orgasm.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, I love you too, baby," Terry said, pulling you into a kiss, feeling his cum spurt into your pussy. He pulls out, watching it drop out of you.

Terry falls against you on the bed a second before flips to lay on his back, and both of you lay there catching your breath. Eventually, you both took a shower.

Terry went to get some night clothes and returned dressed in sweatpants as if you were doing your night routine. You walk out of the bathroom into your bedroom.

You chuckled to see Terry get comfortable under your covers. You walked over to the bed, got in, and snuggled into his chest. You both held each other in a sweet, soft silence.

“You really mean what you said?” you asked, just needing reassurance from him. Terry looked deep into your eyes, his expression soft and beaming.

“I did. You deserve the world, baby girl, and I wanna give you that if you just let me,” he said, being honest. You smiled and said, “I’ma let you, Terry.”

“Good! Um... you meant it when you said you really love me, right? " he asked, and you smiled back and nodded slowly. “Yeah, I really do, Terry. I meant it.”

His eyes lit up with happiness, and he leaned closer, gently kissing your lips. As the moment's warmth enveloped you, you both fell asleep in each other's arms, hoping for the best in the future.

[unetherian]

List of gear ideas because masks and tails are not the only ones that exist

[ PT : List of gear ideas because masks and tails aren't the only ones that exist]

Hi ! Here is a list of all the gears I know and can imagine, I will extend the list as my ideas come!

I mostly know gears for therians, so I apologize to those who don't recognize themselves in the list.

If you are looking for gift ideas for a therian friend, if you want to make yourself a new discreet gear to not attract attention, or on the contrary you are trying to find an original gear to express yourself freely in public, I recommend this list!

Happy reading!

Gears that can be worn :

⚝Mask

A classic: I'm talking about the masks that we see everywhere on YouTube shorts and TikTok. Simple and effective. Plus it's a beautiful art, it doesn't surprise me that many are fans of creating it!

⚝Muzzle-mask, beak-mask

These masks are much less known, but I dream of having one one day! It is a mask that covers the lower part of the face, to make it look like a snout or a beack. Unfortunately there aren't many tutorials (on YouTube anyway)

⚝Fur tails

Another great classic, I would pay good money to have one! It's so... perfect. But be careful! Don't buy tails anywhere! Most of the time they come from very cruel fur farms, so I advise you to watch the videos of Torn (therian territory) or PD on the subject to recognize an ethical or cruel tail.(These channels are on youtube) I swear to you that even dyed or so-called "fake" tails can be real and cruel... Be careful!

⚝Collar

Very effective if you are an alter/nonhuman whose type is domesticated ! And even if you are not, it can symbolize your nonhuman identity stuck/domesticated in a human world. There is a more discreet alternative, if you prefer: chokers! I have one that I made myself with black ribbon and a bracelet clasp. I sometimes add a pendant that looks like a small collar tag !

⚝muzzle

May have the same meaning as collar. It can be a good alternative to muzzle-masks which are quite rare.

⚝Fake ears

So cool and often so realistic...

⚝Gloves/mittens

This can make your human paw look like your type's paw!

⚝Paw socks

Very comfortable and very euphoric. I like it.

⚝Shoes

I've seen some amazing digigrade shoes before (to give you an idea of what it looks like, it's a heeled shoe without a heel) including shoes that look like clogs, but there are some for many different species !

I've also seen beings make lines on the white part of their converse to make it look like paws !!!

Some people buy or make shoes with a certain relief on the bottom so that they make tracks resembling the footprints of their type! (thanks to @sillysatyr for adding it to the list :3)

⚝Different shapes of pants

If your type is imposing, you can opt for cargo pants! For theriotypes with long and thin legs, but big hooves/paws, I recommend flared pants! (I think that's what it's called in English)

I have species dysphoria about not being as big and impressive as my theriotype, but since I started wearing cargo pants and other baggy pants, I feel more confident.

⚝Fake horns, fake antlers

Awwww those are so cute

⚝Wings

Attached to the arms for birds, on the back for dragons/insects!

It's one of the most gorgeous types of gears, and I imagine it's very effective.

⚝Contact lenses

To change the color of your eye, the shape of your pupil, etc.

⚝Makeup

I don't know if you can really consider this a gear but put a little eye shadow under the nose, a line in the little hollow that connects the nose to the mouth, and black lipstick on the upper lip can be very euphoric for some! Of course there are many other different makeup looks for all types... And don't forget, makeup is not for girls, it's for the skin✨

⚝Nails (claws)

I really like growing my nails out, cutting them into almond shapes so they look like claws. No need to grow them out a lot, or make them very prickly, do as you like!

You can also use fake nails!

⚝Paper claws

There are a lot of different tutorials on youtube, usually they are in origami, so I hope you like folding paper ^^'

⚝Legs/arms warmers

To feel like you have fur on your arms/legs, to protect myself from the cold. I made some out of wool, crocheted.

⚝Kigurumi !

A very comfortable and cute little costume, I would really like to have one! For those who don't know, it's a kind of very soft one-piece pajamas with a hood. On this hood there are sometimes animal ears, sometimes horns, at the back there is sometimes a tail, etc. there are some for many different species!

⚝Claw ring

Rings that look like claws. This is so cool! I'm going to buy some soon!

⚝Any accessory with a theta delta on it

Of course !

⚝Any accessory that represents your type

Of course too

⚝Pin's

There are some really cool pins on theriantropy, I recommend it.

⚝Mermaid tail

I've seen costumes like this before, I think the cetacean therians and mermaidkin might like it.

⚝Tattoo

Whether it's a temporary or permanent tattoo, it can be a great way to get closer to your type. Having your identity or the symbol of it on your body can be very pleasant! I even saw someone with his type's fur pattern tattooed on his shoulder.

I just want to clarify that if you want to get a permanent tattoo, I advise you to think carefully about the location, the shape, etc. to be sure.

⚝Sweatshirts/hats with animal ears/horns/antlers on them!

It's very "normal-like", and it can be very reassuring to feel it on your head.

⚝Deer antlers (in the form of a headband)

Very cute! (credits to @zombi-teeth who suggested it to me in the comments ;3)

Other gears:

⚝Objects that remind you of your habitat as your type

To recreate the atmosphere of your habitat in your house/room!

⚝Figurine of your type

It's funny to have a minature yourself

⚝Blanket whose texture reminds you of your type's fur

Very comforting

⚝Feathers!

I have a collection of feathers at home, I'm not a bird therian but it gives me a "predatory pleasure" to have a piece of prey as a trophy at home! (Without harming an animal, of course! I pick up these feathers from the ground)

⚝Stickers

I will probably give a tutorial later on how to create your own stickers, I will also make drawings to cut out to transform into stickers.

⚝Drawings, paintings, etc. of your type

Art is a great way to express yourself!

⚝A mineral/crystal that is associated with your type

In many cultures, stones are associated with animals. Some even use them for meditation.

Did you know that amber is prehistoric tree resin that has hardened over time? I think this fun fact will please paleotherians ;3

⚝A book about your type or its habitat

Read up on your own species to learn more about yourself.

⚝A prey of your type in plush form!

To hunt or nibble in we get bored.

⚝An object that diffuses the scent of your type's habitat

It could be an essential oil diffuser, a potpourri, or just anything that smells like the forest, for example.

⚝ A Tamagotchi

It's a small virtual animal/creature that you have to take care of. There are many different characters, you will surely find one of the species of your type ! This little retro item can really please anyone who feels lonely as an animal in human society.

⚝A chewable stim toy

For those who have shifts/instincts about chewing/biting things!

⚝A whistle that reproduces the sounds of your type!

I have already seen some very pretty ones in wood for example, they can also be suitable as decorative objects! (credits again to @zombi-teeth who gave me the idea)

Here are all the ideas I have right now, don't forget I'll add more later, there are sooo many different types of gears!

Have a nice day!

[latenightdaydreams]

The Chair (fem)

Poll story!

MDNI🔞

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, mentions of cheating, p in v, oral, cucking, dirty talk

3.3k word count

🪑

.

.

After three years of marriage, you found out that your husband, Hugo, has been having an affair for the last two years. He completely broke your heart. Trust was something you struggled to build, and he just completely shattered yours. After only three months of therapy, Hugo comes to you with the idea of making things ‘even’ between the two of you; allowing you to cuck him.

Hugo only made you even angrier when he said this to you. You’ve never thought about having sex with another man before. For one, your self-esteem was so low now. You love Hugo, you’ll never see another man in the same way as you see Hugo- so you thought.

It’s Saturday; you’re dressed in a simple white dress that clung to your shape. Hugo was invited to his best friend’s brother’s homecoming and took you with him. He quickly left your side at the party to go mingle with his friends, making you feel rejected. You make your way to the kitchen where it’s quiet, leaning back against the counter and looking out the window.

König sees you by yourself, so he approaches you. The way your dress clings to you catches his eyes immediately. He walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge, grabbing two beers. With one hand stretched out handing you a beer, his mask hides his expression.

“Hallo, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” His Austrian accent piques your interest.

“Oh, thank you.” You grab the beer. “I’m y/n.”

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m König.”

Your eyes go wide and you smile as you realize this is who everyone is waiting for. “Oh, everyone is outside waiting for you.”

“I know, I’m avoiding the crowd for as long as I can.” He chuckles as his eyes openly trail down your body. “Who are you here with?”

“Hugo—”

“Jakobs friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Who would have thought little Hugo could pull someone like you?”

A smile pulls across your lips as you let out a soft giggle. König stands at 6’10 while Hugo stands at 5’8. He chuckles with you as he steps closer to you. Just then, the sliding back doors open. It’s Hugo with Jakob.

“König!” Jakob excitedly rushes to his brother.

Hugo’s smile slowly fades away as he eyes you and König, seeing how close you two were just standing. You gazed up at him with bright eyes, the same as you used to look at Hugo with. His heart skins to his stomach.

König turns to see Hugo, his eyes dead as he glares at him. König wants his wife. Craved his wife. He’s going to have her.

A few weeks pass. König has added you on all social media. Today, while at the gym, he sent you a gym selfie. He’s shirtless and flexing. His body is riddled with scars, sculpted like a piece of art. König’s blonde hair covers part of his face, your eyes glued to the dark blonde hair that trails from his belly button down.

As you inspect the photo, you close your legs and press them together. Hugo see’s your movement and recognizes it as you being aroused. He smirks.

“What are you reading?” He stands and walks to you, assuming that you’re reading smut. As he gets closer, he sees you quickly close what looked like a man’s photo.

“Nothing.” You stand and walk away to the bedroom.

While there was a feeling nagging at him, he let it go. The sex life between the both of you is basically nonexistent since the affair came to light. He figured it was simply porn. The conversation that comes next, he wasn’t expecting.

You both sat at the dinner table, pushing your food around with your fork as you contemplated your next words. Hugo notices that you’re lost in thought. He clears his throat and sits up.

“Um, are you okay babe?”

“Hm? Yeah.” You place the fork down on your plate. “I want to talk.”

“Okay.” Hugo can feel his heart beginning to sink.

“Do you remember when you offered me the option to have sex with someone else? Cucking?”

Swallowing hard, Hugo nods with a look of dread on his face. Please don’t let it be König.

“I want to take you up on that offer.” You look up, making direct eye contact with him.

Hugo shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Do you know who?” He picks up his glass of water, taking a big gulp.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Who?”

“König.”

Hugo leans back in his chair and rubs his hands over his face as he lets out a deep breath. “König?” He leans forward, arms coming down hard on the table. “What makes you think he would even like you?”

His insecurities begin to show through his words and body language. He holds himself like an injured boy. As if the simple mention of König killed his ego.

“He’s told me.” You look at him with a new found confidence.

“He told you? When?”

“We’ve been talking.”

“How?” Hugo’s eyes widened.

“Social media and texting.”

Hugo stands, combing his fingers through his hair. This can’t be happening. Not with König. “For how long?”

“Since the party.” You watch him pace back and forth.

“Have you seen him?” He stops and looks at you with pleading eyes.

“Only for lunch.” You admit.

���Only for lunch.” He repeats, shaking his head, dropping it to look at the floor.

“He said he’s free Friday night.”

Hugo slowly looks back up at you in disbelief.

.

.

Friday night, you have fresh sheets on your bed, a bottle of wine, three wine glasses, and a chair in front of the bed. You’re dressed in a short silk negligee, the deep blue color complimenting your skin tone perfectly.

Hugo looks at you. He never thought he’d be sharing you with someone. Then he thinks about the pain he causes you over the past two years. The doorbell ringing pulls him out of his thoughts. He walks forward towards the door and opens it to see König without his mask on. His face is covered in scars, but he’s still a handsome man. Hugo always felt inferior to König, being over a foot shorter than him.

“Hallo, Hugo.” König smiles and walks past him into your home.

König’s eyes fall on you, the way your little negligee hugs your body; it’s like you’re a gift for him to open.

“Hallo, Liebling.” He walks to you and hugs your body tightly. “You look magnificent.”

“Thank you.” There is a cheerful giggle in your voice. It sickens Hugo. Your small hand slips into König’s. “Follow me.”

Hugo watched you lead König upstairs towards your shared bedroom. He followed reluctantly. He knows you’re going up with or without him.

You enter the bedroom with König. As you go to open the wine bottle, König gently swoops in and takes the bottle from you.

“I’ve got this.” He opens the bottle for you, his muscles flexing under his tight black shirt as he does so.

König pours wine into each glass, a little extra into the third. He hands you one, then turns to Hugo and hands him the fuller one. A little smirk on his lips as he looks down on Hugo. “Here go, a little extra for you to relax.”

You take a large drink of your wine and place it on the bedside table. König’s eyes travel up your legs to your plump ass, the way it sways as you move. He places his glass down alongside yours. His large hands wrap around your waist and hold you in a firm grasp.

König leans his body down, his lips pressing into yours passionately. You quickly reciprocate, your lips parting slightly to lick his lips, causing König to chuckle, “Eager little one, aren’t you?” He grabs you by your thighs and lifts you in his arms.

“You may want to take a seat now.” König turns to Hugo as he holds you in his arms.

Hugo looks at you in König’s arms as he holds you. You look like Aphrodite in Ares's arms. He saunters to the seat in front of the bed and sits, wine in hand. There is nothing else to do but to watch you with him.

König gently lays you down on the bed, his lips clashing against yours as your tongue twirls around one another’s. Slowly his lips leave yours and trail down your neck, drawing small sighs of pleasure from your mouth. One hand comes up and squeezes your breast gently, his fingers coming around your nipple and lightly pinching. A small moan leaves your lips, followed by a nervous giggle.

He backs up to see you with a warm smile, leaning down to kiss your lips again. Hugo sat, watching the chemistry shared between the two of you, and it makes him feel sick. This is suppose to be a fuck, not…whatever this is.

König stands upright and undresses. He pulls his shirt off to expose the body you’ve only ever seen in photos, in person. Your eyes roam up and down his body. He is stunning. The black shirt he had on is tossed to the edge of the bed. His hands undo his belt buckle. You sit up to help him, your lips pressing against the warm skin of his chest.

A deep sigh leaves König’s lips as he combs his fingers through your hair, your gentle kisses sending a chill throughout his body. Once his pants are undone, he pulls his pants down, kicking them off to the side. His enormous erection is pressing up against the fabric of his boxer briefs, his cock so big his tip sticks out the waistband of his underwear.

Hugo’s eyes travel up and down König’s body. He feels his anxiety spike, taking a big drink of his wine. The way you touch him, it’s as if you’ve been thinking about this for a while. You’re enjoying his body. His eyes follow your hand, go to his cock and grasp it through his underwear. König’s hands on your jaw, holding your face to him as he kisses you passionately.

You grab König’s hands and move them, kissing down his chest again until your lips reach the bit of cock sticking out. Your tongue licks over the tip, scooping up a dab of pre-cum that has come to the surface. König looks down at you as you pull down his boxer briefs, your warm wet mouth slowly wrapping around his cock.

König lets out a loud groan as he gazes down at you. He looks over to Hugo with a smile before wrapping some of your hair around his head and guiding your mouth down the shaft of his cock. You eagerly accept his cock, taking in as much as you can as you suck.

Hugo shifts in his seat uncomfortably. Even if he turns away, it doesn’t help. The sound of his cock fucking your mouth consumes the room. You gaze over at Hugo shifting uncomfortably and it made you feel happy to see. Slowly pulling your head off his cock, eyes gazing up at him.

“Let’s take this off of you.” König whispers as he moves back slightly to pull your negligee off. You lift your hands above your head and to assist him. He steps back more to see your bare breasts and the small blue thong that covers your precious little cunt.

Hugo feels sick watching König look at your body. He looks at you the same way a dog would look at a piece of meat. He’s hungry for you like Hugo has never been.

“Look at this body…you look like a work of art, Liebling.” König grabs your body and pulls you back onto the bed more.

Your head rests on your pillow as König crawls over your body. His lips meet yours as one hand explores. One caresses your cheeks, the other plays with your nipples between his fingers before moving down more to your pussy, his fingers rubbing the thin fabric. He can feel how wet you are for him and it drives him wild.

His fingers hook into the fabric of your thong and pull it down slowly. Your creamy pussy comes into view as he sees the mess you made in your underwear. “Beautiful.” He whispers to himself. Without looking back, he tosses your thong behind him. It lands on Hugo’s lap, causing him to just look at it before looking back up at you.

Hugo watches as König spreads your legs with his knees, getting his body comfortable between your legs. König’s cock rubbing up and down along your folds, relishing the wet heat. The view Hugo has, he watches as he slips his cock into your pussy. Your legs instantly tensing around König’s body. A loud moan leaves your lips as he sees König’s balls press against your ass, burying himself deep inside of your cunt.

König pulls his hips back before slamming them down into you again, watching as you jerk forward and your eyes flutter. Your fingernails are digging into his forearms as you try to hold on to him.

“Please…” You whimper.

“Please?” König teases, licking from your chin to your lips.

“Fuck me…”

König looks to his side and grabs a pillow, tossing it on the side of the bed. Without withdrawing his cock, he lifts your body and turns you. “So, Hugo can get a better view of that beautiful face with I make you cum.”

Hugo has no reaction but to glare at König. In that moment his mind begins to flash back to all the moment’s he has ever spent with König. He never thought he would be in this situation with him.

König lifts one of your legs to be over his shoulder, the other he pushes off the bed. Your foot falling on Hugo’s lap. König pulls out slightly as there are streaks of your creamy arousal up and down his cock.

“Look at that, your wife has a beautiful pussy.” König makes eye contact with Hugo before looking down at you. He grasps your breast as he fucks you.  His hips roll into you desperate to bury himself deeply into you.

Hugo can’t help but to get an erection as he watches König stretch you beyond anything he could imagine. Your face contorted into a pleasurable high, you don’t even look in his direction; as if he wasn’t even there.

“Oh my god König…” You mewl, lifting your head to look at your vagina and watch him fuck you.

“Your pussy is fucking…heavenly.” König growls.

“I love your cock.”

Hugo feels his heart drop and a pang of jealousy flare deep within. Especially when König begins to taunt him. He pulls his cock out, grabbing your effortlessly as if you were a doll. He moves the pillow too, placing you over it, lifting your ass to him.

You are now face to face with Hugo, König begins bullying his cock back into you. He grabs your waist and holds you, watching your ass bounce off of his hips as he bucks forward into you. Intertwining a handful of your hair between his fingers, he pulls your head back and makes you look at Hugo.

“Say it again, Liebling.”

“Please…” You whimper pathetically needing him to fuck you harder.

“Nein, the other thing.”

“I love your cock, König.” You moan out as you look into Hugo’s eyes. You can see the discomfort and pain he feels; you can truly careless. “Please fuck me!”

“Such a good girl!” He slaps your ass, continuing to hold your head up as he fucks you harder.

Your mouth drops open as you forget words and just babble sounds of pleasure. Hugo watches as your eyes flutter back. Reaction’s he’s never gotten out of you before. “König please!”

“Look at your husband and beg.” He growls pulling your hair harder.

“Please make me cum! Please!”

“More. Beg for another man’s cock!”

“Please! I want to cum on your cock!”

You look Hugo right in the eyes as you tremble on König’s cock. “Fuck…”

König pulls his cock out quickly and drops to his stomach between your legs. His tongue presses flat against your folds and licks up, tasting your cunt finally. His tongue lapping at your clit, causing your legs to twitch with every pass.

“I don’t know how you don’t eat this pussy every day.” König makes the comment to Hugo. “Maybe I should come over and do it for you.”

You moan and run your fingers through his hair, looking down at his pink tongue parting your folds to drink you in. If you could have König over everyday for this, you really would.

“Too bad you ship out again soon.” Hugo says in a snarky tone, reminding you both of the temporary bliss.

“Watch it, I can bring a spouse to base with me.” König makes eye contact with you as his wet lips kiss your pussy’s fat mound, biting it gently. You caress his face; he moves up to kiss your lips. Your tongue pushes out to taste yourself along his hips. König lets out a small moan; trailing his hands up and down your body, grabbing your waist and kissing you lustfully.

For a moment, you both forgot Hugo was even there. König pulls away from the kiss, letting his hand trail down your body before grabbing you and sitting you on his lap. Your back is on his chest as he drapes your legs over his muscular long legs. He scoots the edge of the bed, uncomfortably close for Hugo’s liking.

Hugo adjusts himself in his pants as he watches König grab his cock and slowly thrust up, showing it into you. He watches as your lips spread and wrap tightly around him. König wraps his arms under each of your knees and pins his hands back behind your head, holding you in the Full Nelson position.

You’re folded in half as König uses you as a flesh light. Ramming his cock rapidly into your messy wet cunt. König’s muscular legs flex with every thrust.

“Whose cock is better?” König’s voice is a low growl as he speaks.

Eye’s locked with Hugos, “Your cock König.”

Hugo looks away, still forced to hear you repeat over and over that you love König’s cock better. König’s humongous 10-inch cock over Hugo’s average 5.5-inch cock. Of course you liked his better. The way you look like you’re in a different world with every thrust, he already knew.

König can’t hold back any longer. Your little cunt is the first he’s had in four years and he’s done his best to not cum too fast. The sounds of your beautiful moans, the feel of your lovely pussy…he can’t.

“Beg for my cum, Liebling.”

“Please cum in my tight pussy.”

Hugo sits at the edge of his seat, about to speak up. You both agreed to not let him cum in you. He’s not supposed to risk getting you pregnant. It’s bad enough he’s fucking you completely raw, which you said you wouldn’t let happen.

“Fuck, I’m cumming.” König pants.

“Yes!”

Hugo watches König’s heavy balls tighten as they drain deep inside of his wife’s pussy. His cock throbs as soft moans leave his lips.

König lifts you up, letting his cock pop out of your pussy. His white cum drips out of your stretched hold. Hugo just sits and watches it drip out.

“Want to taste it?” You rub your clit teasing Hugo.

He just looks into your eyes with a serious look, a look of pain. “No.” His voice cracks slightly.

.

.

The next morning, you wake up with a pep in your step. Your skin is glowing and a wide smile is spread across your lips. As you pour yourself a cup of coffee Hugo sits at the kitchen table, watching you. He feels sick, but at least the ‘payback’ is over, he thinks.

You sit and sip your coffee, looking at your phone. König snaps you a photo of his hard cock with the text saying, “I dreamt of you all night.”

“I can’t wait to see you again.”

“When does Hugo leave for work?”

“Come over in an hour.”

[taegularities]

colour me in: photograph (teaser) | jjk (m)

Summary: With both your and Jungkook's careers seemingly peaking, the future feels promising and bright. Yet, amidst the glowing hope, one single phone call dims the light in the rooms of your shared home.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: [redacted spoiler that shall drop with the chapter], tears, sadness/grief, doubts, tender moments, talk of jk's future and his art, support, jk's dad, surprises, (talk of) a break up oop, mention of children (i guess that's a warning lol), explicit sexual content: let-out-some-steam-sex, dom!jk, big dick!jk, he's actually insane. more details shall be added on drop day; the ending.. <3 ➳ word count: around 760 for the teaser; 25-30k for the chapter ➳ a/n: get ready, it's gonna hurt for a whiiile now :') as always, come n talk to me about this 🤍 ➳ listen to: holo by leehi | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

“You do know that we’re supposed to meet up with them in like,” you drop your eyes to your wrist, pulling back the sweater to unveil your watch, “forty minutes, right?”

“And you think they’ll complain about some extra time alone?”

You deliver a blank stare, not a single blink as you watch him shrug a shoulder. He sports a smirk that you would’ve clenched your jaw to months ago, but today, even if you won’t admit it right this second, it amuses you.

He laughs when you stand there unmoving, like a stick figure silently reprimanding a lethargic boyfriend. You hate to break, but when the contagious chuckle infects you, too, you feel a light wave of relief and serotonin ripple through you violently.

Jungkook hasn’t left vacation mode just yet; while the work for the gallery is still ongoing and he diligent, you catch him slouching ever so often, doodling away at times. You’ll confess, the grey outside is tiring; different from the sunnier countryside you left behind.

There’s a sort of post-bliss blues that even you can hardly shake off.

“You can’t deny that, can you?” he utters amidst his melodious laugh, and you roll your eyes, taking two big steps towards him — much like two days ago.

“I don’t have to deny it to still teach you the importance of punctuality, right? Get up,” you say, smacking his hip — and he uses the opportunity to lift his arm from under his head, reaching for you, but… failing. “Uh-uh. Enough with your tricks. Get up.”

Last night still wasn’t enough — is it ever? You’re not surprised; neither by his thirst nor by your own inner, involuntary reactions. But no time. It’s rude to let people wait.

And you know exactly what Jimin would say — tease — if the two of you arrived at the double lunch date with him and Yoongi too late again.

Jungkook’s voice turns half into a yawn, half into a sigh, tired when he responds, “Yes, ma’am.”

This should do.

But since everything good comes in three, and just for good measure, you add another laser-glance, shooting at him in warning to lift his ass and meet you ready once you are, too. A playfully sigh breathed, you amble to the bathroom, make up awaiting on the sink from when you put it there this morning.

This shouldn’t take long; you’re opting for the minimalistic approach today.

As the hues colour your lips and fill your lashes, you hum a random melody you can’t quite identify. It’s quiet in the apartment until it isn’t — and when Jungkook’s voice chimes, your hand halts mid-mascara-stroke, assuming he’s calling for you.

He’s not; you understand this much when he greets the person on the other end in his liveliest tone at first, volume decreasing as the conversation continues. He’s soon hushed enough for you to not really make out proper words anymore. Hums here and there — Jungkook doesn’t seem to say much at all.

Perhaps it’s Yoongi, or Tae, telling a story. Narrating recent occurrences, the joys and pains that emerged and shrivelled on the vacation that you weren’t part of anymore.

You don’t ask just yet, decide not to disturb.

You finish up whatever is left of your routine, setting the make up and ruffling through your hair, adding volume. When the talk he’s indulging in still remains when you deem yourself ready, you let out a breather and step back into the bedroom.

Still in the same clothes and with the untamed hair as his crown, Jungkook’s gaze is lowered, fingers barely curled into the sheets. He’s sat up now; you see his Adam’s apple bob when you walk in. Instinctively and immediately, you blurt, “Now what did I tell you just a moment ago—”

But the jest dries in your throat and then fades, as dead as Jungkook’s eyes when he looks up at you. Or maybe… maybe they’re not dead.

More so — in disbelief. As if he hasn’t really fathomed what he’s just heard, mind sprinting in circles, attempting to understand.

His chest isn’t moving as it should, and just in general, his body emits inner trouble. Distress. When he lifts his pupils and shifts them towards you, it looks as if he’s hoping that your presence could reverse reality, as if you’re pulling him out of the inevitable quicksand.

But you can’t. You get it; see it right away.

Because the watery gaze and the gap between his lips, this expression, are new to you, no matter how many of his aches you’ve mended. And you guess it has something to do with what his conversation partner just said.

Something that certainly wasn’t part of today’s agenda at all.

the way i even had to change the banner bc it'd be such a spoiler lmaoooo but yeah anyways, what do we think? y'all's thought always help immensely, and life has been so busy that writing took a backseat – getting back into it is hard. but you guys offer so many theories as well as love and always motivate me, so come and let's talk <3

[artdnldsn]

gestalt therapy

college professor!art donaldson x fem reader

word count: 5.2k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, swearing, student!reader, age gap, porn w/ a little plot, head (f receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, slight degradation (question mark?), one mention of "daddy"

synopsis: you're done with your senior year at college, and all you want is a parting gift.

a/n: my first full fic here wow my first ever smut WOW the only thing that's not a first here is english because it's my second language so be patient pookies. college prof au has been haunting me for days so i needed to get it out. even though i have no fucking idea how colleges work in the us ;) hope you like it! happy reading

The first thing he notices about you is how ridiculously smart you are.

It's not even a stretch or him trying to justify the instant attraction he feels towards you. No, you're genuinely, undeniably brilliant, especially for your age. You've got this way with words, and concepts come to you so easily. You pick up on all his lead-ups to lecture topics, knowing exactly what the main conversation will be about a good five minutes before the rest of the class. You smile smugly, crossing your arms and leaning back, your eyes seeking his because you want him to know that you know.

And honestly, he'd be mad at you for being so smug if you weren't so damn smart.

The way you walk up to him after class to discuss your latest essay, your stance confident and voice sure, as you argue over why you deserved a 100 and not a 98. He's looking at your essay, then at you, then back at his computer screen, squinting just to appear like he's thinking it over, but he knows you're right; of course you are. Your essay is perfect. He was just being a dick about it, nitpicking because he couldn't admit you're basically flawless.

He's getting self-conscious about his teaching. There's nothing he can teach you—you come so prepared for every class that he wonders if you even have a life outside his classroom. Maybe your brain just works like that, but a small, selfish part of him hopes you spend hours prepping for his classes. The thought that you do it for him and not the subject is a nice one, but he shoves it away.

At least that way, it wouldn't be as pathetic for him to spend nights rewriting his lectures, perfecting his presentations to the point where he's sitting in his bed at 3 AM, pondering whether Times New Roman or Arial would make his point come across better.

He's always been a perfectionist, living by the book, striving not for greatness but for the reserved maximum of his natural capabilities. He never really pushed himself. But you—oh, fuck, you. Fuck you. You make him want to lose sleep just to prove to you or himself that he's certainly smarter than some college senior.

He calls you a lot of things in his head. A know-it-all, an "excuse me" because you're always "excuse me"-ing him like he doesn't have a name, a smartass, a bitch—he hates when he's in a mood like this last one because it signals it's time to sleep. You're a lot of things, but you're not stupid.

In fact, he starts wondering if you're a once-in-a-lifetime talent. Because he's rather young for a professor, he hasn't seen as many students as his colleagues, who always crack up anecdotes about past students, someone who graduated 15, 30 years ago, but the older professors still remember them. He wonders if he's going to remember you like that. He's pretty sure he will.

He's never even thought about you as a woman and not just his student. He's just respectful like that. Sure, you were hot, which only added to your confident allure. He's not blind—hell, he'd admit it if he had to—but he's never thought about you like that.

But apparently, you have about him.

You appear at his office doorstep minutes before he's about to clock out for the night. You're looking pristine as always, and with your silhouette illuminated by the office's dim lights, he wonders for a second if you're even human with your endless drive, brilliant mind, and hair that always looks like it's animated because it's impossible for real human hair to flow that perfectly.

"Good evening," he greets you, eyebrows creasing slightly in confusion. You've never visited, your final grades are in, and you're graduating in a week. He's already said his goodbyes to your class, and when he did, you shot him a little smile that he read as everything being good between you. What are you doing here then? "Can I help—"

“Are you impotent?” you cut him off, arms crossed, a challenging look in your eyes.

He actually chokes on air. “E-excuse me?” he mutters under his breath, his expression shocked, his voice strained. God, he’s ridiculed you for years in his head for addressing him like that, and here he is now.

You turn your back to him, lock the door, and make your way to his desk in confident steps. You sit on the edge of his desk, looking at him over your shoulder. "I asked if you're impotent," you shrug, arching your eyebrow.

“No,” he blurts out, his expression still one of pure horror as he doesn’t know where to keep his gaze, his eyes darting between the papers on his desk, and his computer screen, and his hands, anywhere but you. “God, no.”

“Why you never fucked me, then?” you ask, your tone still almost accusatory, but your voice soft. It’s almost like there is a hint of genuine regret in your words, and he doubts his sanity right now, wonders if he’s imagining things. He pinches his thigh under the desk, just to make sure.

“What do you mean, why?” he stutters, his cheeks flushed. “B-because.” Oh, God, it’s really bad. He’s really speechless, his mind unable to conjure up a full sentence. “Because you’re my student, and I respect you, and there are boundaries that shouldn’t be—“

“I’m not your student anymore. Not technically.” Your tone is matter-of-fact, one he’s too familiar with. One you’ve used to tell him about all the typos in his handouts, all the mistakes in his tests, all the times he’s fucked up grading someone’s papers. Only now you’re telling him… Fuck, he really can’t grasp what it is you’re telling him.

“I can’t argue with that, but I really don’t understand the point of this conversation. You’re completely out of—“

“Consider it gestalt therapy,” you shrug nonchalantly. He’s getting mad, really, with you cutting him off like that, like you’re getting back at him for years of having to listen to his lectures without having an opportunity to talk over him. It takes him a second to grasp what you’re implying. He clears his throat.

You sigh, letting your arms drop to your sides, sliding off the desk, walking up to him in these fucking deliberate strides, spinning him in his chair so he faces you, his hands lifted up in the air as if he is surrendering. He doesn’t know to what, exactly.

“Just really have to get this out of my system, Mr. Donaldson,” you sigh almost guilty, your gaze landing on his lap. He's hard, his cock straining the fabric of his trousers. Of course he is, what the fuck?

You cup him, eliciting a soft sigh from his lips, his eyes falling shut. You start stroking him through the fabric, confidently like everything you do. It makes his blood boil. You’re such a bitch. A know-it-all. A smart-ass. And so, so hot that he can’t bring himself not to kinda wish you’re intending to fuck his brains out.

He opens his mouth to say something, maybe a weak protest to give you a final out, but you lean down, pressing your lips to his in a languid, deep kiss, a thorough exploratory one like every single one of your fucking essays has ever been.

You move to his lap, straddling him, the chair creaking under your combined weight. Only when his hands move to your hips does he understand you’re wearing a skirt. God, he hasn’t even noticed that. He lets his hands stay there, caressing your bare thighs as your skirt rides up, and you lean in for another kiss.

There's no raw hunger. If anything, he’s sure he’s incapable of it in this situation, his mind still trying to catch up, trying to relabel you as not forbidden. You’re grinding against his growing erection, tugging at his hair as you deepen the kiss, your curves so unexpectedly perfect against him.

He only realizes you’re working on his belt and zipper when he hears them. Instinctively, he moves his hands to your wrists to stop you, but you just shake them away like you’ve shrugged him off all these years. He gasps into your mouth as you wrap your hand around his freed cock, stroking the length expertly, thoroughly, meticulously, as your lips never leave his. He actually relaxes into the chair, his hands gripping your waist, tugging your top up to reveal more bare skin.

No bra. Of course you didn’t wear any. You’ve come prepared as always.

You chuckle quietly, your lips continuing to move in unison with his, finding a lazy rhythm that drives you both insane. He reads this chuckle as you being amused at him taking any initiative. It makes his blood boil.

He breaks the kiss, one hand squeezing your breast firmly as he leans down, capturing your left nipple between his lips, sucking gently before biting. His other hand lands on your ass with a loud smack, making you gasp. Finally, some reaction.

He starts bucking into your hand, seeking more friction, moving his mouth to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, leaving a bite mark on the side, making you wince but moan. That moan—fuck, that beautiful sound. Now he’s angrier at himself than you are at him for not having fucked you sooner.

He understands you were expecting to ride him, like he’s some sexless creature, a toy to use, a dick attached to a fantasy that has nothing to do with the man he is, and it makes him even madder. He’s always admired your insightfulness, your capability to get right to the gist of things through walls of useless shit, but he’s feeling his respect for you slipping as he understands just how wrong you must’ve been about him in your head.

He peels himself off your chest, lips glistening with saliva, smacking your ass again, harder this time, groping both cheeks as he lifts you off his lap to sit you on his desk over the papers he’s grading. He’ll just tell everyone he spilled a drink. No one will miss them.

His lips find yours again in a searing hot kiss. It’s messy, all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to hurt you, but he’s not. Of course not. It’s just that something dormant is being woken up in him. You whimper as he cups your mound through your panties, making him chuckle. Well, look who’s laughing now.

"You've seriously dreamt about this?" he whispers against your jaw, his long fingers sliding into your underwear, finding your slickness. Fuck, you're so wet for him, it almost makes him black out. "Wanted me to fuck you on this desk? Or the one in the classroom? Or in the library? Or right in the fucking hall, huh? Why not? Let everyone watch." His tone is almost taunting, his every word accompanied by a painfully slow and teasing circle of his thumb over your swollen clit.

"Yes, yes, yes," you mutter, eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressing against his shoulder, hips bucking helplessly into his hand, seeking friction. It’s not clear if you’re answering his questions or begging him to go faster. It doesn’t matter; his smirk is already in place, his eyes glistening with amusement as he looks down at you, breathing hard through his nose.

"Yes, what?" he chuckles, shrugging, his eyes scanning every reaction on your face. The way your head falls back, your lower lip caught between your teeth, your cheeks flushed. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Yes, what?" he murmurs softly, his hand in your panties slowing down to the point of stopping.

A groan of disappointment escapes your lips as you snap your head back up, eyes darting open. He can see your pupils blown wide even in the dim light, the lamp on his desk illuminating you from behind like a renaissance painting. "Yes, fuck me," you say dryly, like it’s obvious, still seeing him as some pathetic, stupid nobody, but you’re slightly out of breath when you say it, so that’s a win in his book for now.

Just means he’s gotta try harder.

His arms wrap around your waist, holding you in place. He’s standing between your legs, keeping them spread wide for him. He pulls his hand out of your panties to bring it to your face, shoving two fingers into your pretty smartass mouth. Your eyebrows crease, eyes falling shut at the action, a hum leaving your lips, vibrating through his skin, but you still suck on them obediently, tasting yourself on his fingers and coating them in your saliva.

He slips one finger right inside you when it makes its way back down. He starts thrusting it into you at a steady rhythm, his lips finding your neck, nibbling on it, his teeth grazing your delicate skin, tongue sliding over the little marks his teeth leave there, as he curls his finger inside you, thrusting deeper, deeper, almost aggressively.

"God, I really thought you were smart," he mutters under his breath, hot against your skin as he adds another finger and starts stretching you, eliciting a soft moan from you. He leans down, sucking on your tits again, noticing how hard your nipples are now, almost painfully so, matching the way his dick is rock hard, still standing at full attention against his clothed abdomen. "Thought you were different. Hard-working. Proper." He sinks onto his knees in front of you, looking up at you with a glint in his eyes you can’t quite read. "Turns out you’re just a slut."

He tugs your panties down, his tongue finding your cunt, one of his hands moving to throw your leg over his shoulder, keeping it there tightly as the fingers of his other hand re-enter your cunt, starting to finger it at the same urgent pace, his tongue moving feverishly over your clit, making you moan quietly because, yes, there are still people in the building, you have to keep quiet, but a part of him, the one you’ve awoken, wishes the circumstances were different, that he could hear you scream for him.

He’s getting high off the taste of your juices, off the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils, his nose pressed into your pelvis as he fucks you with his fingers in a relentless rhythm, curling his fingers inside you, feeling your walls clench down onto him, searching for that sweet spot that’s going to make your toes curl.

“Tell me,” he rasps out, pulling away from your cunt just for enough time to say what he needs to say, peppering your inner thigh with kisses in the meantime. “Tell me exactly how long you’ve wanted this. And how you wanted me to fuck you. Leave no details out.”

You whimper when he delves back onto your clit, sucking on it, not caring to keep his teeth from grazing your sensitive skin here and there, but it’s a good feeling.

“S-since that lecture. Sophomore year,” you breathe out, you throat tight from holding back so many moans that are begging to be let out. Your mouth falls open in a silent ‘oh’ as he sucks your whole clit in, lapping at it with his tongue inside his wet hot mouth, your hand snapping instinctively onto his head, gripping his hair to pin yourself down to the reality. “You wore that slutty turtleneck, and of course I’ve thought you’re hot, but then you had one wrong date in your presentation, and I got so fucking mad at you. Thought you’re too careless to teach.”

He hums against your cunt, encouraging you to go on, or agreeing with your point, he can’t tell himself anymore. He’s completely gone at this point, drinking your juices like he’s drinking in your words. Amidst all this, he actually appreciates you not calling him stupid. You might’ve, but you didn’t.

“And you were always s-so passive, like I tried arguing with you, reading all that shit instead of going out just to get a rile out of you, and you never fucking bucked. I-I-I—“ you stutter, your mind going into overdrive for a second as he continues abusing your g-spot, his fingers moving at a frantic speed in and out, in and out. He smacks your thigh to get your attention back on the topic. “I just couldn’t fucking believe you. I was being a bitch, I was nagging you, just because. And you didn’t even care.”

He smiles into your cunt, a huff of air leaving his nose. At last, you admit it. He suddenly doesn’t feel bad at all for calling you a bitch in his head. He can feel your walls contracting around his fingers, your breathing irregular, you’re practically panting, your grip in his hair tightening as you guide him closer, rolling your hips against his tongue and fingers, seeking release. You’re close.

He pulls away, earning another cuss and another groan of disappointment off your lips. He smacks your thigh again, hard, the action leaving a red print of his big palm on your skin. “You didn’t answer,” he rasps out, delving back into you. Fucking students, he thinks to himself. Always so smart, thinking they know it all, and always forgetting to answer the second part of the question after they’re done answering the first.

Your mind is so hazy at this point, it takes you an effort to rewind the interaction in your head to understand what he means. “L-like this,” you whimper, your thighs trembling as he grips the one that’s not on his shoulder to stop it from shaking too much, keeping you in place. “I-I didn’t want you to be nice. You’re always so fucking nice, it’s not human, I knew it wasn’t true.”

He’s too set on making you cum to chuckle now, although it is pretty funny. He’s been doubting you’re human, too, but the way you gasp for air, trying desperately to hold back your moans as he feels you coming closer and closer to release, it tells him all that he needs to know. You’re just flesh and bones, not the perfect genius he’s painted you to be in his mind.

“Fuck!” you whimper, giving his hair one last tug before your hand springs up to cover your mouth, biting into your index finger to keep yourself quiet. It takes one slide of his fingers, one roll of his tongue, five seconds, and your muscles go taught as your hips buck off the desk, his pens in the glass standing on the edge of it clattering against each other, the keyboard of his computer flying up for a split second from impact of your ass slamming back down onto the desk. It’s like a mini-earthquake, that’s left your world erupt into white behind your closed eyelids.

He fingers you through it, lapping his tongue over your clit until you wince quietly from it hurting, and he pulls away reluctantly, standing up from the floor to stand in between your legs again. His neck and back hurt like hell from crouching down on the floor for so long, his muscles are not what they used to be, after all, and for a split second he considers actually giving up and letting you ride him, but it would be your win in his book, and he can’t allow that.

He spits on his hand before he leans down to kiss you, his tongue sliding back into your mouth, letting you taste yourself once again, as he brings his hand down to stroke himself, breathing softly out of his nose at the relief of some friction, finally. “You’re such a hypocrite,” he murmurs into your lips, softly, almost lovingly, the same fucking slightly condescending tone he’s always used in his classroom.

You open your mouth to ask what the fuck he means, but he pushes his tongue back into your mouth, all thoughts of a protest evaporating from your mind. You slide closer to the edge of the desk instinctively to accommodate him when he eventually pushes into you. You almost can’t wait.

He gropes your ass to position you like he wants you, his fingers digging into your plump skin maybe a little too hard. You don’t protest. He breathes heavily, like it’s physically paining him to hold back any second longer — it does,—and his brows are furrowed in concentration while he slides his tip over your clit, coating it with your slickness, the same way he frowns when he’s grading papers or goes over tomorrow’s lecture in his head.

He pushes inside in one determined thrust, piercing through you, a quiet grunt escaping his lips, a soft moan escaping yours. Before you have any time to adjust, he starts pounding his hips into yours, one of his arms hooked around your torso to keep you in place as his free hand flies to your chest, squeezing your right tit roughly, pinching your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and index finger, making it harden again.

“Careless?” he scoffs, an expression of pure disbelief on his face at the fact you’ve even dared to say that. He grunts again, his hand falling from your breast to your hip, gripping it firmly as he continues pounding into you, your breathing quickening again. He’s rather big, and it hurts a little from you still being sore from your orgasm, but you still moan softly under your nose, your wrists hurting from you leaning on the desk behind your back for so long.

“You call me careless for a typo in a presentation I made six years ago, and it’s not careless for you to come here, asking me if I’m impotent? Fuck you,” he grunts again, a grin pulling on his lips as he throws his head back, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. You’re squeezing his cock so tightly, there’s no way in hell you’re ever going to be asking him or yourself that question again.

He lets go of you, reaching behind your back to pull on your wrists, tugging them further to himself, which makes you fall back on the desk. “Fuck you,” he repeats, his words almost sounding like a moan now as he holds your wrists near your stomach, basically transfixing you. He moves one of his hands up to throw your leg over his shoulder again, another continuing holding your wrists down, as you both groan quietly at the change of the angle, the new one allowing for him to go so deep he’s touching parts of you you didn’t know existed.

“So, you wanted me to be a good teacher and a good dick all at the same time?” he muses, a smirk pulling on his lips again as he looks down onto your dishevelled form, your tits bouncing out of your tugged-down top, you skirt ridden up to your waist, your fucking face, so unbearably beautiful, flushed and your lips swollen from his kisses and from you biting on them so much. He can’t fucking get enough of how silent you are now after running your mouth at him for all these years. “Did you want me to be your boyfriend, too?” he chuckles, shaking his head, his expression faltering as he picks up the rhythm for a good minute, pounding into you so hard all the items on the desk are clattering, and you have to bite on your lips again not to scream from him practically tearing you apart, because you can’t cover your mouth anymore with your wrists held by him.

“Daddy never loved you, right?” He understands he’s probably taunting you too much, his words almost feeling cruel, but he’s too far gone at this point, he’s making a forceful effort to continue looking down at you to imprint the way you look right now into his memory to revisit later, even though his eyes are almost rolling back from just how good your cunt takes him. “That’s why you’ve been pining for my dick for fucking three years? Are you getting what you wanted?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper weakly. Yes to all that, actually, but he doesn’t need to know that. He feels too good, filling you up to the brim, you can almost feel him in your guts, he’s making your toes curl. And he’s finally not acting nice. Just like you wanted him to.

“Good,” he growls, letting go of you for a second before his hands find the undersides of your knees, bringing them close to your chest, changing the angle again as he starts hammering down into you, the room filled with the sound of your shared ragged breaths, the desk creaking under you and the sound of his pelvis slapping against yours. “Fu-uck, you’re taking me so good, none of your schoolwork was ever that good,” he’s lying through his teeth. Not about the sex — you’re taking it like a champ—but about your schoolwork. It was, indeed, that good.

He basically has no power left over what words leave his mouth, he’s completely drunk on you, the taste of your cunt and your mouth still lingering on his tongue. “Are you gonna come again?” he pants out, slowing down, feeling your walls clenching down on him, squeezing him tight.

“Y-yeah,” you mutter, fluttering your eyes open to look at him from under your eyelashes, but you can pretty much only make out his silhouette with how hazy your vision has become with just how good he’s fucking you. “I knew,” you repeat, your throat feeling tight again, your head falling back on the desk as you bring your now free hands to your mouth, covering it to muffle out the scream you know is there, brewing, destined to roll of your lips when he drives you to release again.

“You—“ he starts in disbelief, but he’s getting closer, too, there’s no point in arguing now. He just can’t fucking believe the nerve on you. What do you mean, you knew? Knew he could fuck you like you wanted to? Knew you would be walking out of here with a limp? Such a know-it-all, always thinking she’s two steps ahead everybody else.

He sighs shakily, a broken, needy sound as he brings his hand in between your legs, finding your clit again, his other hand still holding your knees pressed to your chest. He rubs at you in sync with the thrusts of his hips, his pace picking up, up, and up, until he finally lets out a low grunt, stilling, slipping out of you as he watches you bite on your hand, tears streaming down your cheeks as he feels your pussy convulsing under his fingers, another orgasm hitting you, and in a matter of seconds, after a few fast strokes, he comes, too, thick ropes of his seed landing all over your stomach and knees, and some of it lands on your chin.

For a few seconds, he just stands there, catching his breath, watching over you. He opens his desk drawer, pulls out a tissue pack, and wipes himself before doing the same for you. You're still lying there, face hidden in your hands, your outfit a mess. He's already caught you crying and knows you might feel awkward doing it in front of him, so he just makes sure you're clean for when you leave.

He tucks himself back into his trousers, fastens his belt, and walks to the other side of his office. You hear him rustling around while you try to get your breath back and keep your emotions in check. His soft footsteps approach the desk again, and you feel him gently patting your knee. You open your eyes to see him holding out a cup of water—a peace offering or an apology. But you know he doesn't owe you either. He just gave you everything you've wanted for the last three years. And he even brought you fucking water. Because he's disgustingly nice like that.

You nod in gratitude, sit up, and take the plastic cup from his hand, downing it in one gulp. It actually brings some life back to you. You breathe out shakily, fix your top, and tuck your tits back in before sliding off the desk. Your shoes land softly on the floor, your legs still trembling, your knees feeling like they'll give out any moment. You tug your skirt down and sheepishly meet his gaze, unsure where to go from here.

He steps closer and brings his hands up to your face to fix your hair. His eyebrows furrow in concentration again as he smooths it down, making sure you don't look disheveled when you walk out of here.

He sighs, letting his arms drop to his sides, and keeps looking at your face as if making sure you're not just looking okay but are okay too. “I didn’t mean that. The ‘fuck you’. And the ‘slut’ comment. Well, I kinda did,” he shrugs, averting his gaze with a humorless chuckle, “but I didn’t.”

You punch the air out of his lungs as you pounce on him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. It takes him a second to gather himself, but he hesitantly hugs you back, just letting his hands rest on your lower back as you nuzzle your nose into his chest.

You had to get it out of your system, but now that it's in, you feel like you’ll never get enough. He feels like a beacon, one he's always been for you. The guy you picked a rivalry with your first week of sophomore year just to push yourself harder, to strive for greatness. He wasn’t even aware there was a rivalry to begin with. He's an academic, though, they’re all fucked up in the head, he must understand a part of it, at least.

And he understands. Truly. He just hopes you won’t start crying again, because he doesn’t know how he'd handle that. He pulls away slightly to look you in the eyes, cupping your face in his hands, and plants a soft kiss on your forehead.

“You’re a smart girl,” he says, his voice low, the small, friendly smile on his lips sincere, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he looks down at you. “You’ll figure it out. I don’t doubt it.”

He had this whole speech prepared for the class about how adult life is going to treat them, the challenges they'll face, how scary it’ll be, but also insanely rewarding. It was long, sentimental, with a few jokes thrown in. Some girls cried, but it was all bullshit. What’s real is this. Him understanding your fears without you having to voice them. Him telling you you’ve got this.

“And until you do, you always know where to find me,” he nods to the side, obviously meaning his office, a lopsided smirk making him look a good decade younger. His gaze finds yours again, and he pulls you into another tight hug, one he initiates this time.

In his mind, he’s already thinking how long it would be appropriate to wait before he can invite you for a coffee.