#what if you were replacable and so obedient so so good and yet still not loved | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

doitforbangchan · 1 year ago

Text

All Bark and No Bite

Chapter 1

It's here! This is the first chapter of my first real fic here on tumblr! I am not the best writer so please be kind :')

Series masterlist

Alternate Universe SKZ!

Chan x reader (y/n) x ot8

Previous - Next

Summary: There's no turning back now, not when you know what you left behind. A dangerous situation now replaced with another. After the omegas disappeared you have to extra careful, especially now that you have left your pack and family. What happens when your car breaks down on another pack's land?

Series Warnings: Fem reader, Smut, verryyyy nsfw, chan x reader, OT8 x reader, A/B/O, m/m/f smut, possessive! SKZ, possessive! Reader, anxiety and depression, fluff, angst, virgin!reader, cursing, violence, pet names, dom/sub dynamics, Sub reader x mostly dom SKZ, misogyny and sexism, Ateez are depicted as terrible people (sorry Atiny!)

Chapter warnings: Angst, anxiety, reader is VERY sad, minor violence, cursing, A/B/O (pls let me know if I missed any!)

MDNI 18+

Wc: 2400 ish

Disclaimer: The names and faces used here are just that, names and faces, and in no way reflect the real people the characters were designed after. The views and actions of these characters do not reflect the real Stray Kids in any way shape or form. This is all for fun let’s keep it that way please.

You should have known better. All those hushed conversations your parents have been having, all the phone calls your father excused himself to take, even the trip to your packs doctor for a very extensive physical. None of it set off your mental alarm bells and that made you feel so stupid. But how could you have known that your own parents, the people who raised you and were supposed to have your best interest at heart, were planning on selling you off to the highest bidder once you became mature enough.

That's life for omegas these days, though. After a worldwide virus a few decades ago, omegas just stopped being born. The virus wiped the gene out almost completely, leaving a very small percentage of omegas left. Unluckily for you, you happened to be the only omega born in your area in the last 40 years. That made you highly sought after by alphas, especially dangerous ones.

Your hands were still shaking. It had been hours since you escaped your parents house in your car, yet you couldn't get your hands to stop shaking with the immense adrenaline you’re feeling. You had no plan, no money, nowhere to go and no one to help you. Your only friend, Ash, was a beta girl in your pack and as much as you liked her you knew she could do nothing to save you now. At least your car had a full tank of gas, the only good thing your father had done for you was allow you to drive to Ash's house on occasion.

All the adrenaline was starting to wear off as you drove, the realization of what this would mean for you and your life now starting to sink in. The constant looking over your shoulder, the uneasiness you will always feel, it was almost too much to handle. No. What would have been too much to handle is letting that filthy man get his hands on you. Kim Hongjoong.You had heard about the things that alpha had done to claim power over his pack. From sabotage to murder, none of it was good. From what you could gather he was on the search for an omega to complete his pack and somehow had heard whispers about you. The only known omega within a few hundred miles. He wanted an omega to raise his children and help him lead his pack and would do anything to get his hands on one; whatever necessary.

You imagine the sum of money he offered your parents was just too good for them to pass up on. Your alpha father was too proud to accept anything less than a hefty amount. Your mother was an omega through and through. Obedient and submissive to her alpha. Just as she raised you to be. She herself was a rare omega. Though back in her day the omega population wasn't as low as it is now. Now the numbers have fallen to less than 0.2%. Your mother molded you into the perfect little doll. Almost. Never in your wildest dreams did she or your father imagine you, their doll, would be disobeying and running from all you had ever known, yet here you are. That's what real fear does to a person. Fight or flight. All your life you had been all bark and no bite. Now this is your way of biting back.

All you had to your name was this old car (technically your fathers), an old backpack with a few changes of clothes, and couple cans of spaghetti o’s. Luckily this car had an old map in the glovebox. Better than nothing especially since you had no gps and no phone. You knew better than to take the main roads. Your pack would undoubtedly be looking for you and the car. Back roads it was then.

You couldn't tell exactly how many hours you had been driving at this point, too caught up in your mind to really pay attention to the time but by now it had gotten very dark and you found yourself on this old road going through a small town in the woods. You vaguely remember passing through the small community about half an hour ago. Of course you hadn't stopped in the town in fear of being noticed or recognised somehow. But now you’re wishing you had stopped at that little gas station and at least tried to get an ounce of gas with the spare change left in the middle console. The car was officially running out of gas. In the middle of nowhere. Just your luck.

“Are you serious?” You asked no one with tears starting to fill your eyes.

Feeling the difference in the vehicle causes you to pull off to the side of the road with a groan. You know it won't be going any further with the way it just gives up there on the side. Turning off the car and leaning your head against the wheel you let out a light sob. This wasn't the life you had envisioned for yourself. Once upon a time you thought one day you would meet your true mate, a caring alpha who would love you for you and want to make you happy. Seems as though that was just a fairytale after all. Even your parents weren’t true mates. They just settled for each other. You knew you couldn’t let that be you. You wouldn’t settle, especially not for a vile man you didn't love.

It was too late now to leave the car. This is where you will be staying for the night. Good thing it was late spring and not winter or you would freeze out here. Once your tears have slowed and the sobs have ceased you took a deep breath to calm yourself.

“You will be ok.” You repeat to yourself a few times. “You will be ok. You will be ok.”

Will you though? It didn't matter. You had to be. With one last sigh you locked the doors and climbed into the backseat of the old car. Its seats were worn and uncomfortable but it somehow felt comforting. It felt like the last remaining bit you had from childhood. When things were simple for you. Were things ever that simple as you remembered it being though? Before presenting as an omega when you were 16 things were definitely simple. You had assumed along with everyone else that you would be a beta and go on to have a normal life. Sure sometimes you were a little agreeable and always had a gentle nature, but you had just thought you took after your mom in that aspect. Little did you know you would take after her in a different way. It wasn’t until you presented that it made sense to the pack why you were that way. It was then that the looks began from other pack members. The way their eyes would linger on you a little too hard. The way their nostrils would flare when you entered a room. It made your skin crawl thinking back.

From that point on there was no more public school for you. You were homeschooled the last few years of high school for your protection. “We're doing this to protect you not punish you, Y/N.” your father had said when he forbade you from going back to school. “You can't trust anyone these days. Not around an omega.” He was right. The thought never crossed your mind that you couldn't even trust your own parents. You wished you had been born a beta like your sister, or even an alpha like your brother. Being the youngest out of three you figured you would be like them.

The worst part was you didn't have the suppressants you had been taking since you were a teen. They were almost impossible to come by normally, but your father had somehow gotten his hands on a steady supply and had been forcing you to take them. Another thing that was for your protection. To keep alphas from detecting you by scent. You hadn't taken any this morning before you left so you imagine your scent was going to start leaking out for any one nearby to smell. Great. Another problem for tomorrow.

Adjusting yourself on the seat to lay down as much as you could, you closed your eyes and focused on your breathing. It wouldn't be long before sleep overcame you. The exhaustion of the whole ordeal catching up with you.

__________________________________________________________

The sun peaking through the trees awoke you from your surprisingly restful slumber. It seemed to be early morning if the dew on the windows was any indication. Peeking out the window you saw nothing around. Not even any animals. Perfect. You slowly unlocked the door and crept out quietly shutting the door behind you. Taking careful steps a few yards into the thickets ahead of you and relieving yourself helped you feel a little better. You made your way back to the car and took a second to breathe. In and out. In and out. The air was crisp and refreshing and helped you clear your head.

Now feeling a little better you noticed how bad your stomach was growling at you. Reaching into the trunk of the car you pulled out a small can of spaghetti o’s. Not your first choice of a meal but when you panic you grab what you figure will be easiest to take with you. Plus you could use a can as a weapon if needed!

Eating was the last thing on your mind yesterday, but now you knew you could no longer put it off. Popping a can open and taking a seat on the hood of the car with a spoon you dug into the food. It was….. food . Cold and disappointing but at the same time satisfying as you had an empty stomach.

There you were, sitting there on the old car contemplating your next move from here with now a half full can of disappointment, when you catch a scent in the air getting stronger with each passing second. It was another person, no it was people. More than one.

Fuck

You have been found. Whether by the packs that were after you or by a stranger it didn’t matter all you felt was terror.

There was no time to flee. Before you could even move from the hood you could feel a pair of eyes on you to the right of you. You twist your head to face the eyes that are peaking out at you from the trees ahead.

The stranger takes a tentative step towards you and comes out from hiding and you immediately go into fight or flight.

With an alarmed shout “NO”, you launched the half full can of spaghetti o’s at the intruder, hitting him square in the chest and sending the cold contents all across his shirt.

“What the fuck?!” the possible assailant yelled.

Spotting another figure approaching the first one you threw yourself back off the hood and onto the ground, then as quickly as possible you yanked the door open to the car and jammed yourself in locking it immediately. You made yourself as small as possible as to not be seen by them but you knew the damage had been done. There was no way out of this. No gas in the tank and even if there was you had no idea where your keys had gone.

You could hear them talking but you were too frightened to pick up any of the words except girl, mess and Alpha. Now you really felt terror. Without realizing how close they had been to you, you let out a shriek when there was a sudden knock on the window next to you.

Not daring to look at them for even a second you yelled through the glass “Please go away! Please please I don’t deserve this!” tears filled your eyes.

__________________________________________________________

The smell of your distress was making Seungmins and Jeongins eyes water. They had never experienced such a powerful scent before. Not even the odor from the Spaghetti Os covering Seungmins shirt would distract from the one coming from within the vehicle. The beta wanted to be mad that she had pretty much assaulted him, but at the same time couldn’t find it within himself to care much given how much pure terror he smelled coming from the young woman. The omega.

The young alpha Jeongin felt similarly now that he had eyes on her he felt this overwhelming urge to protect. He had never encountered one before and honestly thought he never would but now that he was laying eyes on her he felt his alpha side perk up. A part of him never wanted to stop looking at her.

Honestly the boys didn’t know what to expect when they came out here to investigate the scent that had appeared on their land late into the night. They truly didn’t expect the cause to be an omega girl that was holed up on the side of a path.

Seungmin tried knocking again, a little more timid this time so as not to frighten her more. “Excuse me, we could smell your distress. Do you need any help?” He asked slowly.

You spared him one quick glance then shrunk into yourself again. “No thank you, please go!”

He sighed and stepped back a few feet to look at Jeongin in amazement at the situation. Giving him one small nod he said “ We need to call Chan.”

__________________________________________________________

What felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, passed and you stayed in your same position. The boys had remained there but not so close to the car anymore to which you were thankful. They were quietly mumbling amongst themselves, no doubt about an omega being caught out here alone. Every so often you would move your head just slightly to peer over at them. You hadn’t noticed before in your initial panic but they were pretty cute young men. A beta and an alpha from what you could tell. Even covered in your thrown breakfast (a shame about that really) they still managed to carry themselves proudly. Though your smell is causing their faces to scrunch up, you could tell it was taking it's toll on them.

Not even a moment later after taking another look at them you could feel the change in the air as another pair of people was approaching. Not just anybody was coming this way, it was an Alpha. A very strong one at that. The smell was starting to permeate all of your senses and was quickly becoming intoxicating.

You could sense him before he even appeared. No matter how intrigued you may be though you can’t show weakness.

‘Keep your head down and wait it out’ you kept telling yourself like a mantra.

You knew he was approaching your door. It took everything in you to remain still. Then as if struck by lightning you felt your body alight like it never has before.

“Omega..”

(A/N: Please do not steal my writing and content! Reblogs and comments are encouraged tho 😙once again i would LOVE to hear your thoughts and theories! This has not been beta read all mistakes are my own.)

©doitforbangchan

TAGLIST

@ihrtlix @realrintaro @meowmeeps

#stray kids x reader #skz smut #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han jisung #felix lee #seungmin #jeongin #ot8 x reader #skz ot8 #skz abo #omegaverse #stray kids #abo #dom chan

1K notes · View notes

bradshawed · 6 months ago

Text

“Happy New Year sweetheart”

summary — if you’d known the dress you’d chosen for the new year’s party had gotten him like this… you would’ve done worse

warnings — suggestive content, 18+, degrading terms e.g. “slut”, dark!rafe, gun play, bondage, female reader

masterlist! && christmas celly (open)

…

“5…”

His fingers curled inside of you causing your back to arch, drawing out your third orgasm of the night. “Rafe, please” you begged. He ignored you, speeding up his pace.

“4…”

Your legs shook as he replaced his fingers with his mouth, placing kisses everywhere except where you needed him most. “My needy needy slut.” He commented as you whined from the loss of his touch, clenching around the cool air drifting in from the open window. He hadn’t even been inside you yet.

“3…”

You watched curiously as he opened the second drawer of his bedside table, your pussy pulsing in anticipation as he placed the cool metal inside your wet cunt without warning, watching greedily as you swallowed him in. Your body squirmed as you moaned from the change in temperature from the gun inside your hot cunt.

Rafe’s free hand snaked up between the valley of your heaving beasts, closing around your throat in warning. “Such a dirty little slut aren’t you,” you moaned in reply “you move and you know what happens”.

Click.

Rafe’s veiny hand tightened around your throat as he pulled the trigger. The gun was empty but you didn’t know that, your hips jumping in fear and pleasure. “You liked that didn’t you?”

The band in your stomach snapped for the 5th time that night as he fucked you hard with his gun. There would be bruises tomorrow but you didn’t care, it was his way of marking you. You were his and he was yours.

“2…”

Rafe teased your tits with the gun dripping with your cum. You needed him, needed him to touch you, to use you. Rafe smirked, slowly dragging the gun higher. He knew what you wanted. He tapped your lips, causing your mouth to obediently open. You could feel Rafe’s dick growing harder as you tasted yourself, sucking the gun dry.

“1…”

“You’ve been such a good girl for me, taking your punishment like the slut you are for teasing me with that dress. Now look what you’ve done, making me miss the party, dirtying up my suit with your cum.”

You moaned, bucking your hips.

Rafe smirked, tying your hands behind your head with his belt. Slowly unbuttoning his trousers in response. “And still you want more,” he tutted, tugging on the “R” charm on the silver chain around your neck, a matching “R” tattoo on your pussy, “I want everyone to hear who owns this pussy so you’re gonna have to be louder than these fireworks..”

“Can you do that for me?” He gripped your thigh pulling them wider apart, teasing your entrance with his cock leaking with precum.

“Happy New Year sweetheart.”

note — happy belated birthday @sematarygirls, i hope you like it. apologies if it’s not great, it’s my first time writing smut. hope you had the best day and that all your birthday wishes come true. sorry that this is a little late, i’ve been planning on writing something for your birthday for a while. love u loads and take care sunshine xx

#drew’s catty corner #obx #obx fic #obx smut #rafe fic #rafe x you #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe smut #dark!rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader

291 notes · View notes

cup1drul3z · 29 days ago

Text

★ — Only a vampire can love you forever | CH 4

ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ᴄʜᴜʙʙʏ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | 6.7ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

CW : dark!sevika, age gap, private school, toxic, forbidden love, mentions of blood, hopeless lesbians, TEACHER X STUDENT, porn with plot, oral sex, reader is a virgin, innocent reader, theres like a 500 year age gap, courruption, masturbation

A/N : what the sigma

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

"Caitlyn! I'm sorry!" Sevika called, striding after her down the hallway.

Caitlyn didn’t stop. She didn’t even acknowledge her, just turned the corner sharply, her posture rigid with anger.

"Caitlyn!" Sevika tried again.

This time, Caitlyn halted so suddenly that Sevika nearly ran into her. Then, she spun around, eyes blazing.

"My family didn’t help you get a job at my school just so you could seduce my best friend," Caitlyn snapped, jabbing a finger into Sevika’s chest.

Sevika exhaled sharply. "Listen—it wasn’t planned. I just... I went too long without fresh blood, and she—she made me lose myself."

There was something raw in Sevika’s voice, something that made Caitlyn hesitate, her brows furrowing.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I understand," she admitted, "but that doesn’t explain you two sleeping together."

Her nose wrinkled in disgust.

Sevika hesitated, avoiding her gaze.

Caitlyn sucked in another breath, pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly debating her next move.

"I'm not gonna tell my parents," she finally said, crossing her arms. "Because I know how she feels about you."

Sevika’s jaw tensed, but she stayed silent.

"But listen to me, Sevika." Caitlyn stepped closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Do not feed from her again. And don’t even think about turning her."

She jabbed Sevika’s chest once more for emphasis before pushing past her, making her way back to the lounge without another word.

Caitlyn stepped back into the lounge, quietly closing the door behind her.

You were sitting on the couch now, underwear back on, legs tucked under you, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The silence was heavier than it had been before, and you didn’t look up when she entered.

Caitlyn approached slowly, her heels barely making a sound on the polished floor. She sat beside you, careful not to startle you.

“Hey,” she said gently.

You didn’t respond at first, just kept your gaze fixed on a spot in the carpet.

“I’m not mad at you,” Caitlyn continued, her voice calm and careful. “But I think… I think it’s best if you stay away from Sevika.”

You finally looked up, eyes glassy.

“She’s not safe for you, Y/N. Not like this.”

You nodded quickly, almost too quickly. “Okay.”

But your voice was small. And your eyes—your eyes said something else entirely.

Caitlyn noticed. She always noticed. Her shoulders softened, and she gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“I just want you to be okay.”

“I know,” you whispered.

And though you said yes, and though you nodded like the good, obedient girl she knew you could be—your heart was somewhere else. Still aching for someone who’d already made you bleed.

And Caitlyn didn’t say it out loud, but deep down, she knew… You weren’t done with Sevika yet.

The ball was over. The masks were off, the polished smiles gone, and the eerie elegance of the Kiramman estate had faded into memory—at least for now.

You stood barefoot in Caitlyn’s room, the rich velvet of your borrowed cloak crumpled in the corner, replaced by a borrowed hoodie and your favorite pair of ripped jeans. Your neck still ached a little, but you’d brushed your hair over it to hide the puncture marks, even though Caitlyn already knew they were there.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Caitlyn asked, rifling through her closet for a jacket. She was already halfway out of her formal gown, in a tank top and plaid skirt, her hair tied back loosely.

“Yeah,” you said, sitting on the edge of her bed and tapping your knee anxiously. “I could use something… normal.”

Caitlyn glanced over her shoulder and offered a soft smile. “Well, normal is definitely not what I’d call a high school party. But it’s human. Loud. Probably sticky. Lots of bad decisions.”

You laughed softly. “Perfect.”

Caitlyn pulled out a cropped leather jacket and tossed it your way. “Here, that hoodie is killing the vibe.”

You caught it and slipped it on, admiring the way it hugged your frame in the mirror. “I look hot.”

“You always do,” Caitlyn said without hesitation, applying a touch of gloss in the mirror before leaning over to spritz perfume on both your wrists. “There. Now you smell expensive.”

You caught your reflection for a moment, the flicker of sadness still in your eyes, the memory of Sevika’s hands on your skin not quite faded.

Caitlyn noticed, of course. She didn’t say anything, but she brushed her pinky against yours.

“Tonight,” she said, “we drink cheap beer, complain about the music, and avoid any creepy upperclassmen trying to grind on us.”

You smiled, small but real. “Deal.”

As the two of you walked out the door and into the buzzing world of teen chaos, you told yourself this was good. This was better. Normal.

And maybe, for one night, that would be enough.

The house was massive—nothing compared to the Kiramman estate, sure, but still outrageously big for a high school party. It had marble floors, a winding staircase, a chandelier that probably cost more than your tuition, and speakers in every room thumping with bass-heavy music.

“This place is insane,” you muttered as you and Caitlyn stepped through the front doors, already surrounded by clusters of people in designer fits and knock-off confidence.

“Right?” Caitlyn smirked, taking in the scene like she’d walked into a familiar routine. “It’s one of those houses where the parents are ‘on a cruise’ and somehow forgot they had teenagers.”

You followed her past a group shotgunning energy drinks and vodka, down a hallway lit with purple LEDs. The smell of cologne, weed, and perfume clung to everything.

It was chaotic. It was human. And for a second, you could almost pretend you weren’t marked by something… other.

“Let’s grab drinks before people get weird,” Caitlyn said, already leading the way to the kitchen.

You nodded, trailing after her. The kitchen island was covered in half-empty bottles of every kind of liquor imaginable, red Solo cups stacked high, a bowl of questionable punch swirling at the center.

Caitlyn poured something clear into a cup and handed it to you. “Don’t ask what it is. Just drink it fast enough you won’t care.”

You took a sip and made a face. “Tastes like regret.”

“That’s the theme of the night.”

You both leaned against the counter, sipping in sync, watching the party start to spiral. Music grew louder, someone screamed “cannonball!” from upstairs, and two guys were already arguing over aux.

But then Caitlyn glanced at you—too long. Too careful.

“You haven’t said anything about what I told you,” she said suddenly, her tone shifting just enough to make your stomach flip.

You blinked. “About what?”

“About Sevika.”

You stiffened, eyes flicking down to your drink. “We already talked about that.”

“Yeah, and then you got that look in your eyes like you were gonna run right back to her.”

You set your cup down, your expression hardening. “I told you I’d stay away.”

“But you didn’t mean it,” Caitlyn said, arms crossed. “You looked heartbroken, not convinced.”

“I didn’t know I needed your approval to feel something!” you snapped, your voice rising just enough to make the music feel quieter.

Caitlyn opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to say got swallowed in your frustration. You grabbed your cup and turned away.

“I’m getting a refill.”

And with that, you stormed off, weaving through the crowd, heart pounding harder than the bass.

You were in the middle of refilling your drink—carefully tipping a bottle of something pink and probably dangerous into your cup—when a voice behind you made your whole body tense.

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Piggy.”

You froze.

Turning your head slowly, your eyes landed on Bella—same cruel smile, same designer top hugging her perfectly flat stomach, same girl who threw a paper ball at your head the first week of school and made the whole class laugh.

She hadn’t changed. But you had.

“What do you want?” you asked flatly, not even looking at her as you continued pouring.

“Oh, nothing. Just wondering how many favors you had to cash in to even get invited here,” she said with a tilt of her head. “Or wait—was it your new girlfriend who got you in?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You know, Sevika?” Bella scoffed. “The teacher everyone’s suddenly whispering about? Kinda weird how you’re always around her. Like, are you trying to fail your way into her lap or what?”

You slammed the bottle down, the liquid inside sloshing dangerously. “Watch your mouth.”

Bella smirked, clearly getting the reaction she wanted. “Or what? You’ll cry into your little hoodie again? Newsflash, Y/N—just because one person pays attention to you doesn’t mean you matter.”

Your face burned.

“At least I don’t walk around like I own everyone,” you snapped. “How’s it feel knowing no one actually likes you, they’re just scared to be on your bad side?”

Bella’s expression twisted. “You really think Sevika likes you? Please. You’re just entertainment for her.”

You pushed her.

It wasn’t hard, just enough to make her stumble a step back. But it was enough.

The crowd shifted. Phones came out.

“Cat fight!” someone shouted, half-laughing.

Bella’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction—she wanted this. Wanted a scene.

She shoved you back, harder. Your drink splashed against your shirt.

And just like that, everything boiled up—Caitlyn’s warning, the blood, the lies, Sevika, all of it.

You weren’t the same girl who cried after class anymore.

You weren’t going to let her win this time.

Your chest heaved. Everything felt too loud—the music, the laughter, the pounding of your heart. You could feel the heat rising up your neck, your pulse thudding wildly beneath the still-healing bite.

Bella shoved you again. “Poor little freak,” she sneered. “Go cry to your mommy.”

You didn’t think.

You didn’t even blink.

Your hand shot out, grabbed the empty vodka bottle from the counter—cold, slick, heavier than it looked— and you swung.

A sickening crack echoed through the kitchen as glass connected with the side of Bella’s head.

She dropped instantly.

The bottle shattered in your hand, shards spilling to the floor with a soft, glittering clatter.

Blood started seeping from her scalp. She let out a choked sob, one hand pressed to her temple, the other groping blindly at the tile.

“Stop—stop, I didn’t even mean—” she whimpered, tears already mixing with the blood on her face.

You stood there, frozen.

Holding the jagged neck of the broken bottle, your hand trembling, little cuts already forming on your palm.

The party had gone dead silent.

All eyes were on you.

And then—

“Holy shit.”

Caitlyn pushed her way through the circle forming around you and came to a full stop, eyes wide, taking in the scene. Her gaze locked on the blood, the glass, your shaking hands.

“Y/N… what did you do?”

You didn’t answer. You just stared down at Bella, who was crying now—bloody and broken on the floor— and for the first time in your life…

You felt dangerous.

The ride home was dead quiet, except for the soft hum of Caitlyn’s luxury car and the distant thump of bass still echoing from the mansion behind you.

You sat in the passenger seat, stiff, hands still trembling in your lap. The blood on your fingers had started to dry, crusting against your skin and under your nails. You hadn't said a word since Caitlyn dragged you out the back door and into her car, barely managing to push through the panicking crowd.

Caitlyn kept glancing over, one hand white-knuckling the steering wheel.

"Y/N…" she started gently, voice tight, "I’ll talk to my parents. They’ll know what to do. We’ll keep it quiet. No police, no charges—Bella’s family won’t say a word if mine are involved."

You didn’t respond.

You just stared straight ahead, eyes unfocused, jaw locked tight.

Caitlyn swallowed. She hated when you went quiet like this—when you shut down.

"You didn’t mean to hurt her. You just snapped. It was the stress, the bite—whatever’s happening to you, we’ll figure it out. But you’re not a bad person, Y/N.”

Still, nothing.

You sat there, unmoving, staring into the dark road ahead like if you blinked, it would all come back. The crunch of glass. The blood. The sound Bella made when she fell.

Caitlyn looked over again, her voice softer now.

“Just… say something. Please.”

But you couldn’t.

Because deep down, you weren’t sure if she was wrong.

Caitlyn’s estate was cold and quiet when you arrived. The staff had gone home for the night, and her parents were away on one of their business trips—some hush-hush “diplomatic retreat” that you were never allowed to ask about.

You trailed silently behind her through the marble halls, still in the clothes from the party, your limbs heavy with exhaustion and something else you couldn’t name.

Caitlyn had offered the guest room without question. She didn’t try to talk anymore. Just handed you a pair of clean sleep shorts and a T-shirt, then gave you a tight hug at the doorway and whispered, “Lock the door if it makes you feel safer.”

You nodded. Said nothing.

Now you lay in the wide, soft bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was dim, moonlight filtering in through gauzy curtains. The sheets were cool against your skin, and the silence pressed in around you.

But your thoughts weren’t quiet.

They flickered constantly. Not to Bella, not to the blood, not even to Caitlyn.

To her.

To Sevika.

You hated it. The way her voice lingered in your head. The way her hand felt on your skin. The way your body responded before your mind could stop it.

You shifted under the covers, pressing your thighs together.

Images flooded your mind—the way she had hovered over you on the couch, how her mouth had felt against your neck, how close she always seemed, how hungry her eyes looked when she stared at you like you were something meant to be devoured.

Your breath hitched. You swallowed hard.

You knew it was wrong.

But that didn’t stop the warmth from blooming low in your stomach.

Didn’t stop your hand from sliding slowly beneath the waistband of Caitlyn’s borrowed sleep shorts.

Didn’t stop you from whispering her name like a secret—

“Sevika…”

Your fingers brushed lightly over your skin, hesitating for a moment—almost like you were waiting for someone to stop you. But no one would. No one could.

Not here. Not now.

You let out a shaky breath as your hand slipped further down, into the warmth between your thighs. The fabric of your borrowed sleep shorts offered just enough friction to make your pulse quicken.

You closed your eyes.

In your mind, it wasn’t your hand.

It was hers.

Rough, calloused, deliberate. Sevika never touched you like you were fragile. She looked at you like she wanted to ruin you—slowly, completely. And god, you wanted to let her.

Your hips shifted as your fingers moved in slow circles, barely teasing yourself, drawing out the tension that had been building since that night on the couch. Since her mouth had been on your neck, her breath in your ear, calling you her sweet girl.

The memory made your back arch slightly, your breath catching as you pressed a little harder, the heat building rapidly now.

You whispered her name again, softer this time, like it hurt to admit.

“Sevika…”

A tiny whimper escaped your lips as your fingers moved faster, hips rocking gently against your own touch. You could almost hear her voice—low and commanding in your ear.

“Good girl. Just like that.”

The way she’d looked at you, after feeding—eyes dark, lips red, still hungry. You imagined her pinning you to the bed, her hand wrapped around your throat, her mouth hot and wet between your thighs.

Your legs tensed, muscles coiling tight, your body aching for release. You bit your lip to keep from moaning too loud, your fingers moving faster, chasing the edge with desperation you couldn’t hide anymore.

And when it finally hit—

You gasped, sharp and breathless, back arching as pleasure rolled through you in waves.

It left you trembling. Empty.

But not satisfied.

Not really.

Because when you opened your eyes again, the room was still dark. Still quiet.

And Sevika was still nowhere near you.

The clinking of silverware on fine china was the only sound filling the grand dining room that morning.

Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, making the white tablecloth practically glow. You sat stiffly at the long table, a delicate porcelain plate in front of you, eggs untouched.

Across from you sat Cassandra Kiramman, perfectly composed in her silk robe, not a single brown-greyish hair out of place. Her husband, Tobias Kiramman, sat beside her in a crisp button-down, reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he scrolled through something on a sleek tablet.

Caitlyn sat to your right. Quiet. Still in pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt, sipping her tea like it was the only thing anchoring her to the room.

You didn’t belong here. Not in this house, not at this table, not after what happened last night.

But Cassandra spoke before you could spiral further.

“Y/N,” she began calmly, folding her hands in front of her. “Let’s talk about what happened.”

You shifted uncomfortably, your thighs sticking slightly to the leather dining chair. “I… I know what it looked like, but—”

“We’re not accusing you,” Tobias cut in, voice firm but not unkind. “We simply want to help. And to do that, we need the full truth.”

Your eyes flicked to Caitlyn, but she didn’t look at you.

“Y/N,” Cassandra continued, watching you closely, “we can ensure this doesn’t follow you. Bella’s family is—” she paused delicately, “cooperative, when necessary. But they’ll want answers. And so will the school.”

You licked your lips, your mouth suddenly dry.

“I don’t… I don’t know what happened,” you said truthfully. “One moment she was laughing in my face, and the next she was on the floor.”

Tobias raised an eyebrow slightly. “You don’t remember hitting her?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you added quickly. “I just… blacked out, I guess.”

A long pause followed. Cassandra tapped one manicured nail against the rim of her coffee cup.

“You’ve never had an episode like that before?” she asked, her tone unreadable.

“No,” you lied—well, half lied. You hadn’t blacked out. Not really. But it had felt like someone else had taken over. Something inside you cracked, and the next thing you knew, there was blood on your hands.

Caitlyn finally spoke, quietly. “She was overwhelmed. Bella’s been tormenting her since the start of the semester. The school knows that.”

Cassandra exchanged a glance with Tobias. Something silent passed between them.

Tobias finally nodded. “Alright. We’ll handle the necessary damage control. You’ll remain enrolled, but this stays off the official record. No police. No expulsion.”

Cassandra’s gaze lingered on you. “But we expect you to be honest with us, moving forward. No more surprises.”

You nodded slowly, but you felt their eyes on you like a weight.

You knew too much. And they had no idea.

Caitlyn’s bedroom door shut with a soft click, but the moment it did, she was pacing.

Back and forth.

One hand tangled in her hair, the other wrapped around her waist as if trying to hold herself together.

You sat on the edge of her bed, fingers twisted in the hem of your borrowed sleep shirt, watching her silently.

“This isn’t normal,” she muttered, more to herself than to you. “You shouldn’t have blacked out. Bite side effects don’t work like that. Not unless…”

“Unless what?” you asked quietly.

Caitlyn froze, then turned to look at you. Her face was pale—more than usual—and her blue eyes were wide with panic barely restrained.

“Unless something’s wrong, Y/N.” She started pacing again. “God, what if the bite affected your brain chemistry? What if it triggered something dormant in your bloodline? What if you were compatible—what if my parents find out and think we’ve been hiding it—”

“Caitlyn.”

She didn’t hear you.

“They already think something’s off. My mom was watching you like a hawk at breakfast. And if they find out Sevika bit you—if they find out you know—then we are all so royally fucked.”

“Caitlyn.”

“What if the Kiramman Council finds out? What if they call a vote? What if—”

“Caitlyn!”

She stopped dead in her tracks, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

You looked up at her, voice softer now. “I'm still me. Okay? A little... off, maybe. But I don’t feel like I’m turning into anything. I don’t want blood or power or to sprout wings or whatever it is you’re imagining.”

Caitlyn stared at you. “But something is happening, isn’t it?”

You looked down at the bite mark, hidden beneath your collar. It throbbed faintly, like it remembered what happened even when you tried to forget.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I just know I’ve felt weird since she bit me. Like I’m on edge. Like everything’s too loud. Like I’m too aware of everything.”

Caitlyn didn’t respond. She just slowly sat down beside you, staring at the floor.

“If my parents find out Sevika fed on you, they won’t stop at just firing her,” she whispered. “They’ll tear her apart.”

You swallowed hard, unsure what that did to you—scared you… or something else entirely.

Caitlyn let out a long sigh and sank into the chair at her desk, spinning it slightly back and forth as she stared out the window. You sat quietly on the edge of her bed, fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on your sleeve, your mind racing.

“We can’t go to a hospital. We can’t tell my parents. And I doubt Sevika’s gonna give us a straight answer,” Caitlyn muttered. “I feel like we’re backed into a corner here.”

You were quiet for a moment, then suddenly sat up straighter.

“What if we went to the public library?” you said.

Caitlyn turned to look at you, brow raised. “The library?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “The one downtown. It’s old—like, really old. There’s gotta be stuff there that doesn’t show up online. Books, records, weird mythology sections. Maybe something that talks about bite effects or… supernatural conditions that aren’t completely made up.”

Caitlyn looked thoughtful, the gears turning in her head. “My mom always said that place was a waste of taxpayer money. That means there’s definitely something useful in it.”

You laughed softly, and for a second, the tension eased between you.

“Alright,” she said, standing. “We’ll hit the library. Sunday hours are until six, and if we go soon, we’ll beat the evening crowd of old men and overachieving middle schoolers.”

You slid off the bed, already pulling your hoodie on. “Perfect. Let me grab my bag.”

Caitlyn was already slipping on her boots. “Let’s go figure out what’s happening to you.”

And as you both headed for the door, something in your chest stirred—anxious, scared, but just the slightest bit hopeful.

The town’s public library smelled like dust, old paper, and the faintest hint of lemon-scented cleaner. It was quiet inside—almost unnaturally so, the kind of silence that made every page turn sound like a thunderclap.

You and Caitlyn walked side-by-side past rows of bookshelves, your footsteps muffled against the worn carpet. It was colder inside than you expected.

Caitlyn looked around and leaned in slightly. “We should avoid the computers. If we search anything weird, the system might flag it. Let’s stick to the old-school stuff.”

You nodded, and the two of you split off, weaving through the aisles.

After a few minutes, you found a dusty, mostly-abandoned corner labeled Folklore, Mythology, and the Occult. Jackpot.

Caitlyn joined you, arms already full of oversized hardcovers. “These were literally buried behind a shelf of forgotten cookbooks.” She set them down on the nearest table with a dramatic thud.

You slid into a seat beside her, pulling a yellowed volume toward you. “Obscure European Folklore: Blood Magic and Binding,” you read aloud. “Sounds promising.”

Caitlyn opened another. “Transmutation, Transformation, and Myths of the Body.” She raised an eyebrow. “Light reading.”

For a while, the only sounds were the soft flipping of pages, the occasional scribble of notes, and the distant squeak of a cart being wheeled somewhere out of sight.

“Here,” Caitlyn said after a while, tapping a passage with her finger. “Listen to this: ‘Those who survive an incomplete vampire binding may exhibit altered temperaments, dissociation, heightened awareness, and loss of memory in states of emotional distress.’”

Your eyes flicked to her. “Loss of memory… like blacking out?”

She nodded grimly. “Exactly.”

You looked down at your hands, your heart sinking.

You had survived the bite. But what if it didn’t just leave a scar—what if it changed you?

Across from you, Caitlyn was flipping to another page. “Okay, this says something about recovery. ‘Strong emotional anchors can reverse early symptoms. Time, distance, and purification through willpower may restore the host to baseline.’”

You raised an eyebrow. “Translation: don’t have feelings, don’t see Sevika, and hope for the best?”

Caitlyn gave a half-smile. “Pretty much.”

You leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling. “This doesn’t feel like me anymore.”

She looked at you, quiet for a beat. “Then let’s figure out how to make you feel like you again.”

The sun had dipped lower by the time you and Caitlyn returned to the estate. The sky outside was awash in dusky gold and pink, casting long shadows through the arched windows. You felt heavier now—not just from what you’d read, but from the quiet realization that something real was happening to you.

Caitlyn unlocked the door, pushing it open with a sigh. “Let’s get you something to eat, and then maybe we can go through those notes again.”

You stepped inside behind her—

—and froze.

There, sitting calmly on the living room couch, was Sevika.

Your breath caught.

She was leaned back, ankle crossed over her knee, speaking in low tones with Cassandra and Tobias Kiramman, both seated across from her like this was some kind of scheduled business meeting.

Caitlyn stopped dead beside you. “What the hell is she doing here?” she hissed under her breath.

Sevika looked over the moment the door shut. Her eyes met yours—sharp, unreadable.

But something shifted in your chest.

Pain.

A sharp, piercing pain erupted behind your eyes, so sudden and blinding it knocked the breath out of you. You stumbled backward, clutching your temples.

“Y/N?” Caitlyn reached for you, alarmed.

You gasped, vision swimming.

The lights seemed too bright. Sevika’s voice sounded warped, echoing like it was underwater. You took another shaky step back, the pain splitting across your skull like someone was driving nails into your brain.

“Y/N!” Sevika stood suddenly, concern flickering across her face—

But everything went black before she could reach you.

Your legs gave out, and you collapsed to the floor.

The guest room had been converted into a makeshift infirmary by the time the vampire doctors arrived—two tall, pale figures in sleek black suits, their movements eerily precise, their presence unnervingly quiet. They didn’t ask questions. They simply got to work, examining you with instruments that looked more magical than medical, murmuring things in a language you didn’t recognize.

You were still unconscious.

In the hallway just outside the room, the real storm was brewing.

“She could’ve died!” Caitlyn shouted, her voice echoing off the marble walls. She stood between her parents and Sevika, visibly shaking, hands balled into fists at her sides. “Do you even get that? She’s a human, Sevika. What the hell did you do to her?”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Sevika growled, jaw clenched, her metal hand flexing at her side. “She begged me—”

“Don’t,” Caitlyn snapped, stepping forward. “Don’t even try to blame her for this. You’re the one with the fangs, the power, the responsibility. You knew better.”

Tobias Kiramman raised a hand between them, trying to play mediator. “Caitlyn—please. This isn’t helping.”

“No, what’s not helping is you both standing there like this is just another boardroom meeting!” she shouted, spinning to face her parents. “She’s in there—bleeding, shaking, fainting—and you're acting like this is normal! Why aren't you doing something?!”

Cassandra, ever composed, gave Caitlyn a measured look. “Because we’ve known this might happen for a while now.”

The hallway went quiet.

Caitlyn blinked. “What?” Her voice dropped, brittle with disbelief. “You knew?”

“We didn’t know it would be her,” Tobias said carefully. “But… yes. We’ve seen it before. Rare cases. When a vampire’s bite doesn’t follow the normal course. When it reacts with something in a human's blood. It’s been documented, though not publicly.”

“And you didn’t think to warn me?!” Caitlyn’s voice cracked with betrayal. “You’ve been letting me get closer and closer to her while knowing she might—what, change?”

“We were monitoring the situation,” Cassandra said calmly. “The moment symptoms began, we brought in the doctors. It’s under control.”

Caitlyn laughed, but it was hollow. Bitter. “Right. Of course. You were just waiting to see if she’d turn into a science experiment first.”

Sevika remained quiet, her gaze locked on the closed door down the hall.

She wasn’t thinking about policies or protocols or damage control.

She was thinking about the way you looked before you fell—afraid, in pain, and worse… like you didn’t trust her anymore.

The first thing you felt when you woke up was the cold.

Not on your skin—inside your bones. A chill that didn’t belong, crawling beneath your ribs, whispering down your spine.

Your eyes blinked open slowly. The room was dim, the curtains drawn, and a soft hum came from some kind of device by the bed. You tried to sit up, but your head spun so hard you immediately collapsed back against the pillows.

Nausea. Pressure behind your eyes. And a faint, rhythmic pulsing deep in your chest that didn’t feel like your heartbeat.

Something was wrong.

Outside, you could hear muffled voices—Caitlyn, angry. Sevika, quiet. And then another voice—smooth, clinical. The vampire doctor.

“…She’s awake now,” the doctor said, stepping out into the hallway. His hands were folded behind his back, pale and composed. “But she’s not stable. And likely won’t be for some time.”

Caitlyn straightened immediately. “What the hell is happening to her?”

The doctor adjusted his cuffs, then looked between Tobias and Cassandra. “You were correct in suspecting a partial bond. The bite didn’t last long enough to turn her—but it lasted just long enough to change her.”

Caitlyn’s brows furrowed. “Change her how?”

“She’s phasing,” he said flatly. “Stuck between human and vampire. The body is confused. It’s not a clean conversion, nor a clean rejection. The bond created a link that never finished forming… and now, she’s paying the price.”

Caitlyn’s stomach sank. “What kind of price?”

“She’s experiencing the unstable side effects of a failed transition. Nausea. Headaches. Disorientation. Blackouts. Emotional instability. Heightened aggression.”

“She’s suffering,” Caitlyn whispered.

The doctor gave a small, slow nod. “Yes.”

“What about Sevika?” Tobias asked, arms crossed tightly.

“She is, unfortunately, receiving the benefits of the bond. A psychic tether was formed. She can hear the girl’s heartbeat when distressed. She can read thoughts—though the bonded subject’s mind is the strongest, loudest, and most accessible. And most critically, Sevika’s body now relies on her. She can’t go too long without being near the bonded subject, or she’ll begin to weaken from blood deprivation.”

“She’s feeding off her, and she didn’t even turn her?” Caitlyn spat.

The doctor turned calmly to Sevika. “In theory, if you had bitten her a few seconds longer, the change would have completed. But you pulled away. Just enough.”

Sevika’s jaw tensed, her eyes shadowed. “I didn’t want to turn her.”

“But now you’ve tethered yourself to her. Permanently.” The doctor’s voice dropped. “That bond will not fade on its own. Not unless one of you dies.”

The hallway went silent.

Inside the room, you stared at the ceiling, heart pounding—and you knew, without even hearing the words, that Sevika could feel it.

“I said no,” Caitlyn snapped, blocking the hallway.

“She’s mine, Caitlyn,” Sevika growled, her voice low and barely restrained.

“She’s not—” Caitlyn faltered, jaw clenched. “She’s sick. She needs space. She needs peace.”

Sevika’s eyes glinted in the low light, the usual sharpness dulled by something far more desperate. “I can feel her.” She placed a hand against her chest, just over her heart. “She’s hurting. And if I can feel it, that means it’s bad.”

Before Caitlyn could respond, Sevika brushed past her, the air between them electric with tension.

You heard the door creak open, but you didn’t turn your head. You already knew who it was.

The shift in the air. The static crawling over your skin. The way your heartbeat kicked up—not from fear, but something else.

Sevika stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind her. You were curled beneath the sheets, pale, barely holding it together, your fingers gripping the edge of the blanket like it might keep you anchored to reality.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice a rasp, like she hadn’t spoken in hours. Maybe she hadn’t.

You didn’t respond right away. Just watched her as she moved closer to the bed, her eyes never leaving yours.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction.

“I know,” she murmured, sitting at the edge of the bed. “But I had to see you.”

You didn’t pull away when she reached out, her warm, calloused hand brushing your cheek. The touch made your breath hitch.

Your skin burned where her fingers touched it.

“Your heart’s racing,” she said, almost to herself.

“You can feel that now,” you whispered.

“I can feel everything,” Sevika breathed. “Every time you flinch. Every time you cry. Every time you think of me.”

Your throat tightened, and the silence between you grew heavier, soaked with the weight of things left unsaid.

Her thumb traced your bottom lip. Not forceful. Just enough.

“I didn’t mean to do this to you,” she said. “But I don’t think I can let you go either.”

Your eyes locked with hers. There was a hunger there—not just for blood. For you. For the way you looked at her, even now. For the way you hadn’t told her to leave.

She leaned in slowly, her forehead brushing yours, her breath warm against your lips.

“I dream about biting you again,” she confessed. “Not to feed. Just to feel you like that again. Yours. Mine.”

Your breath trembled.

Her hand slid to your waist, just resting there, like she was grounding herself.

“You’re warm,” she whispered.

“I feel cold,” you admitted.

Sevika pulled the covers down a bit and slid beside you, one arm curling around your middle.

You didn’t stop her.

You let her pull you into her chest, into that heat, into that soft place between wrong and inevitable. Her mouth hovered at your jaw, never quite kissing, but close enough that your whole body thrummed with anticipation.

It wasn’t sex. Not yet.

But your body knew. Hers did too.

This was the edge of something.

And neither of you were ready to step back.

The sun filtering through the stained-glass windows of Valemont Private Academy did nothing to ease the knot in your stomach. The polished floors gleamed beneath your shoes, and every click of your steps echoed a little too loudly through the halls.

Caitlyn walked beside you, shoulder close to yours, her brow furrowed with concern.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she murmured for the fifth time, clutching her books tighter. “You could’ve stayed home. My parents would’ve made the school excuse it.”

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice soft but steady. A lie, maybe—but a necessary one.

“Y/N…”

“I’m fine, Caitlyn.”

She didn’t believe you. But she didn’t press. Not here.

You approached your first class—English, of course—and just as Caitlyn reached for the door, you grabbed her wrist and stopped.

She looked back, eyes scanning your face.

“Do I look like I’m gonna pass out?” you asked.

She smiled weakly. “You look like you could kill someone with a pencil.”

“Cool. I’ll take it.”

The two of you stepped inside.

The classroom went dead silent.

Every head turned. Whispering stopped mid-sentence. It was like someone had pressed pause on a scene.

Eyes widened. A few mouths parted like they might say something. A boy in the back leaned in to whisper something to his friend but stopped when Caitlyn shot him a look sharp enough to draw blood.

You didn’t need vampire senses to hear what they were thinking.

That’s the girl who snapped. She hit Bella with a bottle. Did you hear she Like, lost it?

You moved to your seat like it didn’t faze you—like your skin wasn’t prickling under every stare, like your headache wasn’t slowly building again behind your eyes.

Caitlyn sat beside you, tense and silent, her jaw tight.

The teacher cleared his throat awkwardly at the front of the room, pretending to flip through papers. “Let’s… get started.”

But no one was really paying attention.

They were all still watching you.

You were no longer invisible. Not after Saturday night. Not after Sevika. Not after everything.

you weren’t sure if that scared you or excited you more.

The lunchroom was too loud. The kind of loud that made your head pulse and your stomach twist. You hadn’t eaten—again. Every time you tried, your nausea flared, and now you just sat at the edge of the table next to Caitlyn, pretending the lukewarm pasta on your tray didn’t exist.

Then you felt it.

That pull—low and warm in your chest. Your heart skipping a beat in a way that didn’t feel entirely yours.

You turned just in time to see Sevika at the far end of the hallway, framed in the glass of her classroom door.

She didn’t motion for you. She didn’t need to.

You were already on your feet.

The classroom was empty, dark except for the soft sunlight spilling in through the blinds. The air was cooler in here. Still.

You shut the door behind you.

Sevika didn’t say a word. She stood near her desk, arms tense at her sides, her breath visibly shallower than usual. When she turned to face you, you froze.

Her eyes were bright red. Not glowing faintly—burning.

“Sevika…” you whispered.

She moved without speaking, crossing the room in seconds, and before you could react, your back hit the wall with a soft thud.

Her hands caged you in, planted on either side of your shoulders, her body a breath away from yours. She leaned in close, her lips nearly brushing your cheek, her nose brushing the curve of your neck.

The moment her breath hit your skin, your knees nearly buckled.

You tilted your head without thinking.

“Please,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Please, Sevika. Just do it.”

Her jaw clenched. You could feel the heat of her mouth hovering over your pulse. You wanted the bite. You ached for it.

Her fangs dropped. You could feel the sharp tips just barely graze your skin.

But then—she pulled away.

Just an inch. Then two. Then all the way.

Her hand brushed against your cheek as she wiped away a tear you didn’t even know had escaped.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she said quietly, her voice thick, as if it physically hurt her to speak. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You blinked, breathless, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “You didn’t.”

Sevika gave you a look that said she didn’t believe you.

She stepped back, rubbing at her jaw, her fangs still visible but retreating.

“I can’t do this—not while you’re like this. It’s already too much. If I touch you again like that, I won’t stop.”

You stayed against the wall, heart hammering, your body still humming from the nearness. “Then don’t stop.”

Sevika turned away quickly, shaking her head like she was trying to break a spell. “Don’t say that.”

“But I mean it.”

She looked over her shoulder at you—haunted, hungry, tethered.

And then she whispered, “That’s what scares me.”

Comment to be added to the taglist!!

#arcane #arcane sevika #sevika #lesbian #sevika x reader #wlw #wuh luh wuh #sissormetimbers

95 notes · View notes

badbtssmut · 1 year ago

Text

Where you go to a host club for a distraction and meet hottie host Kim Taehyung who makes you forget all about your problems when he takes you to the VIP rooms to fuck.

Contains: fingering, hitting it from the back, missionary , drooling, rough sex, Tae is kinda an escort

Inspo x links NSFW: missionary, behind

“Mmm…” You couldn’t believe that you were actually doing this; naked from head to toe, your legs spread, getting fingered by a man you met at the host club. You had told yourself you needed a distraction— and it wouldn’t go further than a kiss, at most.

But there was something about Taehyung that made you eager to follow him to the VIPs rooms.

“Oh..!” You shuddered as he pushed another finger in.

The room was quiet, save for the lewd noises of your wet pussy sucking his fingers in.

“Such a pretty pussy you have here. Is this what you wanted to show me when you followed me back here? Hm, beautiful?”

His voice was soft and gentle, yet the words that came out of his mouth were dirty and sinful. You didn't mind it, though. In fact, it turned you on even more.

You found yourself nodding, not even sure if that was the truth, but you went along with it.

“That pretty pussy would look even prettier when it's filled to the brim with cock, wouldn't it? Would you like that, beautiful?” Taehyung asked, pulling his fingers out, only to push them back in a few moments later.

It was embarrassing, really, having someone watch you squirm underneath their fingers, but the feeling was so good, you couldn't complain.

“Yes… please.” You replied, eyes locked with his.

Taehyung didn't break eye contact, not even when he was leaning in closer to place a sweet kiss on your lips.

You closed your eyes, and the two of you just stayed there, his lips against yours, while his fingers were still moving inside of you. Then he pulled away, replacing his fingers with his cock.

"I can't wait any longer." Taehyung admitted, pushing his cock into your dripping pussy. “So wet, my cock just slides in, what a good girl…”

"Oh, oh..." He was bigger than you expected, filling you up nicely. Your walls accommodated him, and you couldn't help but sigh in relief, finally feeling the pleasure you craved.

"That's right, baby. Just lay there and take it." Taehyung hummed, resting his hands on either side of your head. "So tight, such a obedient pussy, knows how to take big cocks, hm?"

He started off with slow, shallow thrusts, pulling all the way out, until only the tip of his cock was inside, before he was back in again, going slow, just enough to drive you crazy.

"Taehyung… please." You stammered.

"Yes, beautiful?" He looked down at you.

"I can't.. Please, I can't take this anymore." You whined, hips bucking upwards to get more of his cock inside.

“Yeah? Want more?” And he did give it to you, his pace becoming faster, thrusts harder, until he was fucking you into the sheets, and all you could do was moan his name and beg him to keep going. You couldn’t think, couldn't focus, not with the way he was ramming into your pussy.

The man was burying your body into the bed with his thrusts, his cock pounding into you so deep that you started to drool. You were a mess, a complete and utter mess, but you didn’t care, not when the pleasure was so intense.

“You love that huh? That pussy is sucking me right in, taking me so well, so wet and needy for my cock. I bet you want more, don’t you, baby? Wanna cum on this cock, hm?” He whispered, his focus not faltering as he trusted you in the same rhythm.

“Yes, feels so good…” was about all you could say, your brain melting at how good he felt inside of you.

Taehyung trusted into you one last time, letting your pussy savor the taste of his cock, before he pulled out. Taehyung then directed you on all fours, spreading your legs open and pushing himself back into your warmth.

Your back arched in pleasure, your ass sticking out towards him. You didn't expect him to go harder than before, but he did. It was almost as if he had a sudden boost of energy. His thrusts were mind blowing, a steady pace causing your body to bounce back and forth, before he’d finish off the series of thrusts by firmly gripping onto your hips and snapping you back harshly against his cock, causing you to let out a pleasurable cry each time it happened.

Your arms collapsed under you, your face down and your ass up as he continued to fuck into you. His thrusts were hard and merciless, and he showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. Heck, you weren’t even sure how you were holding on considering how he was abusing your pussy like a maniac.

Your fingers dug into the sheets and your mouth gaped open, drooling into the sheets below. You could hear him cursing, his groans growing louder as he picked up the pace.

You could feel it coming, the build up. The tension in your lower belly, the feeling of your toes curling and your thighs quivering, you were so close, and he knew it.

“It’s okay, baby, if you got to cum, then cum, let me see that pussy come undone for me.” Taehyung cooed, running his fingers down your back.

That was the final straw. Your whole body trembled and you came on his cock, moaning his name into the pillow. He wasn’t far behind either. His thrusts grew sloppy, his breaths becoming uneven. He gave one last thrust, burying his cock deep inside of you before he spilled his seed, coating your insides with his cum.

You didn’t move, and neither did he, and the two of you stayed still for a few more seconds, before Taehyung grabbed your arms and pulled you up, your back resting against his chest. His fingers dug into your cheeks before he pulled your head to face him, pressing his lips against yours.

#bts smut #bts x reader #bts requests #bts smut requests #bts fanfic #bts smut fanfic #taehyung smut #taehyung x female reader #taehyung x reader

683 notes · View notes

cobaltperun · 5 days ago

Text

Move the Mountain - Get off my Back

Hermione Granger x Female Reader

Story Summary: From what you heard going to Hogwarts wasn't supposed to be anything out of the ordinary. Homework, grumpy teachers, easy-going teachers, followed by a slice of teenage drama in later years when emotions start getting messy. Whoever thought that's how your years at Hogwarts would go forgot one crucial point. Two words, actually one name. Harry Potter.

Chapter summary: You had a simple plan, get to school, study enough to do well, graduate, help your great-grandmother in her shop. Things never go as planned, and now you have a professor keen on drilling all the potions into your head.

Spotify Playlist

Masterlist

Word count: 9.1k

- I think it's time you better face the fact get off of my back-

Forged by Thunder wasn't exactly the kind of place one would expect on the edges of the Diagon Alley. It stood on the edges of the light, closest to the darkness of the Knockturn Alley, perfectly placed as an unofficial border between two sides. Products and the services the shop offered teetered on the edges, often at least flirting with the dark side, and on select occasions diving deep into it.

And with such practices came scorn of the righteous and ridicule of the nefarious. Belonging to neither side left them with no protection, and yet, despite tragedies, they persisted. At least the old woman, the last carrying the Wolzard family name, did. It was a sad fate, truly, that a pure-blood family as old as Wolzard was vanishing.

It hardly mattered though. Lucius Malfoy wasn’t here to dwell on the tragedy of one family, he was here to do business. Ignoring the ‘closed’ sign hanging from the doors, he commanded his house-elf to push the heavy doors open. The nerve of the old hag; if she wanted heavy doors she shouldn’t have enchanted them with protection from magic, and he wasn’t about to put an effort into opening the doors.

The house-elf, Dobby, obediently stood by the doors, for once behaving like he should. The moment Lucius stepped inside the air became thick with magic flowing from the artefacts kept under tight locks and plenty of seals, the hag’s specialty. From weapons to rare ingredients, to rare books, powerful potions, and dangerous items, it was all here, and none of it was cheap. And if these items couldn’t solve a problem, and one didn’t want to turn to the less legal options, there was always the owner of the shop. Valeria Wolzard, a witch well over a century old, hardened by wars and battles.

And despite all the magic flowing in the room the air suddenly became so heavy he ever so slightly hunched because of the pressure. “Money made you illiterate, Malfoy?” her harsh voice boomed throughout the room as she stood on the floor above him. It felt like the air was crackling with energy, and cold sweat washed over him. “The shop is closed,” the old hag wasn’t informing him, she was ordering him to leave and he nearly crumbled under the pressure and left with his dignity and pride shattered. Not that many would ridicule him for leaving when ordered by Valeria Wolzard. He dared to look at her. Valeria Wolzard, even as old as she was, was still a visage of power. Tall, though age did take its toll on her posture, a glimmer of metal shone just below her silky olive-green robes, her prosthetic leg, replacing flesh decades ago. And then there was her face, wrinkled from age, and scarred from battles, but the ones that stood out the most were two scars across her left eye, going diagonally from her forehead close to her upper lip.

Lucius swallowed, reminding himself why he was here. "Perhaps you could hear me out, it's a good deal for you," he tried to tempt her with money, forgetting who he was talking to. The glare alone made him involuntarily take a step back.

“I came down here to deal with an intruder, I’ll give you one last chance to leave before I actually do it,” she openly threatened, and while he did need her products there were other ways to get them, and he wasn’t about to risk his well-being.

“Right, I apologize,” he felt sick to his stomach for having to bow his head to the woman, but power, especially in the hands of those not afraid to use it, had to be respected, no matter who wielded it.

~X~

You yawned, woken up by your great-grandmother throwing a bit of a fit. Probably someone making a ridiculous request at the shop. Well, it had nothing to do with you, so, you turned to your side, trying to fall asleep again, but before you could return to the land of the dreams a light weight landed on your pillow and you groaned, covering your head with the blanket, only for the persistent owl to climb up onto your shoulder and peck you through the blanket.

“Go away Bird Sixth of the Fourth,” how was that name less of a mouthful than ‘Bird Forty-sixth’? Besides, someone really needed to make Valeria put some effort into naming her owls. She just liked messing with people, nothing could convince you otherwise. Especially when the eagle owl hooted. “Fine, fine, I’m getting up,” you sat up in your bed against your will and just slumped back into the bed, consequences be damned.

Surprisingly, there were no consequences, and when you went downstairs after another hour of sleep you saw Valeria in the kitchen, which wasn’t the usual occurrence. “Morning,” you greeted her and peeked from behind her. Pancakes? You grinned a bit, she was actually going to miss you, she just wasn’t vocal about it.

“Say it properly, brat,” she scolded you.

“Good morning,” you groaned and went to the table, still not quite awake. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the shop?”

“We’re closed,” she simply informed you as she put the pancakes on the plate and drizzled homemade syrup and a bit of powdered sugar over them. As usual she wasn’t using magic, saying tasks like these helped her stay mobile in old age.

It took a moment for your brain to process the information it was given. Forged by Thunder was never closed, not even when you first came here two years ago. “Aww, you do care,” you grinned like a fool as Valeria glared at you.

“Take the plate and go pack!” she barked at you, trying to act tough, and sure, she was tough, but there was a bit of softness buried deep under all that toughness.

You saluted jokingly and swiftly grabbed the plate, already taking a bite of one of the pancakes. “Yes, Ma’am!” you exclaimed and ran upstairs.

“It’s ‘grandma’ not Ma’am, you brat!” she shouted after you and you laughed. You were going to miss her.

Especially since you were going to Hogwarts, and that was where Dumbledore was. The thought of being at the same place as the man whose word allowed the people who hurt your family to avoid punishment made you wish Valeria would send you to some other school, anywhere else in the world, but she wouldn’t risk it. And, as she put it, if you intended to take over the shop one day you needed the connections Hogwarts offered.

~X~

The next day you genuinely wished you were already at Hogwarts, not because you were excited about Hogwarts itself. You just wanted to avoid taking the train there. You had a bit of a motion sickness which wasn’t too bad on the brooms, but trains and cars were the worst. Headache, feeling like you were going to throw up, occasionally throwing up, you just wanted to find an empty compartment, or at least one that wasn’t completely full, curl up and sleep.

“Try not to look outside,” Valeria reminded you and you were happily going to take her advice. She was walking by your side, getting attention from the witched and wizards even if they were here to say goodbye to their children. It made you a bit uncomfortable and all of a sudden you felt the weight of your family ties to her. The shadow the great witch was casting was so large you doubted you could ever be capable of reaching that level. Even with all the effort she was putting into preparing you. You were never too young to learn how to defend yourself, or at your age escape from danger.

“Will you write?” somehow you haven’t talked about that, sure, she’s given you an owl, appropriately names Bird Seventh of the Fourth despite your protests, but you haven’t specified anything about letters.

“When I have time,” well, that meant not as often as you may like, but it was a promise of a handful of letters reaching you during the school year.

“Right, how generous,” you said sarcastically.

“The sass is appreciated,” and in a rare display of affection Valeria ruffled your hair and then nudged you toward the train. “Go on, off to school,” she ordered before you could protest, and you turned around seeing a hint of a soft smile on her face. Yeah, she’d miss you, probably even more than you’d miss her.

~X~

In the end you did find an empty compartment and quickly got comfortable, intending to try and sleep through the train ride. The doors of your compartment suddenly opened and you saw a girl, you guessed she was about fifteen years old, lean in a bit. She was already wearing her robes, her light brown hair was long, nearly reaching her waist and her eyes were a striking emerald-green.

"Hey, you looked lonely," she said, smiling at you.

You remained silent, mostly due to the surprise, the last thing you expected was for someone to come in here like that. And you were a bit disappointed that you didn’t get to fall asleep before the train left the station.

The girl raised an eyebrow at the lack of reaction. "That wasn't a great way to open a conversation, huh?" she said sheepishly and rubbed the back of her head. "I'm Gemma Farley, nice to meet you," even as she acknowledged how abrupt her entrance was she still just strolled in and offered you her hand.

You blinked a few times before finally accepting the handshake. "Y/N L/N, nice to meet you too, Gemma," Valeria was your maternal great-grandmother, so you didn’t share the last name, which, you hoped, would give you a bit of anonymity at school.

She smiled, apparently satisfied with your answer, and sat down on the seat in front of you. "And yet you came with Valeria Wolzard,” right, most people did see you with her.

And the anonymity you hoped for flew out the window like a crazy witch on a misbehaving broom.

You nodded. "She’s my great-grandmother," you replied, with a hint of a smile on your face that was strikingly similar to Valeria’s. "And I wasn't lonely."

Gemma smirked. "Please forgive me for assuming, I didn't see all these people around you," she was definitely being sarcastic.

You stared at her, not quite used to being on the receiving end of sarcastic remarks, eventually you huffed and looked outside just as the train began moving. Which was a mistake as you felt like your stomach twisted and you quickly turned your attention to Gemma. "And what about you? You're on your own as well.”

Gemma leaned back into her seat, she looked relaxed, completely unbothered by being on her own. "I don't really feel like listening about O.W.L. before the year even starts. Besides, since I’m a prefect it's not a bad idea to check up on new kids," she explained. "Also, everyone is going crazy about Potter being here and I wanted a bit of a break from that."

"Not a big fan?" you asked curiously. You didn’t have much of an opinion on Potter, positive or otherwise. You didn’t know him.

Gemma shook her head. "It's not that, I just don't feel like the boy needs to be suffocated by all that attention. And you?"

"Don't really care,” you shrugged, though you guessed you did feel sorry for him for losing his parents before he even got a chance to know them.

Gemma nodded "What house would you like to get sorted into? Slytherin like Valeria?" she changed the subject.

Well, your entire family on your mother’s side was sorted into Slytherin, so it made sense. “I guess,” you’d be glad, but it wasn’t like your heart would break if you weren’t in Slytherin. Besides, you weren’t smart enough for Ravenclaw, kind enough for Hufflepuff, and you definitely weren’t reckless enough for Gryffindor, so that left only Slytherin.

The girl smiled at that. "Well, future housemate, I look forward to our next year."

The two kept talking, much to her horror you lacked any interest in Quidditch, you were about as informed about it as muggle-borns, only without curiosity to learn about it. They were constantly flying on the brooms and that was enough to turn you away from it, and anything related to flying really. "Brooms are for cleaning and anything without wings should just stay on the ground," you said it with such conviction Gemma couldn't really find the will to argue, regardless of how ridiculous your statement was to her.

As the train slowly came to a stop you looked to the side, realizing time passed in a blur while you were with Gemma. Even your motion sickness wasn’t that bad! "Thanks, talking with you was fun," you admitted, though you found it difficult to look her in the eyes after you said that.

Gemma laughed as she noticed how embarrassed you were and patted you on the head. "Don't mention it, I had fun too."

~X~

As he and the rest of the first-years anxiously waited for their sorting to take place Draco Malfoy searched for a familiar face. He couldn't see you, but he knew you were there, he stopped observing the crowd and turned his attention to the walls and there you were, just leaning against the wall. You always were a bit of a loner; it ran in your blood from what his father had told him when he advised him to try and at least be civil with you if he couldn’t form a proper friendship. He strolled over to you, confident in himself, with Crabbe and Goyle right behind him.

"There you are," he crossed his arms as he reached you. Despite knowing you weren’t big on socializing, he expected you to seek him out, after all, Valeria sometimes worked for his father, but perhaps you simply weren’t as gifted for recognizing valuable friendships as he was.

You tilted your head to the side as if you were confused by Draco's approach. "Draco," you acknowledged with a nod. "Lackey #1, Lackey #2," neither Draco nor Crabbe and Goyle knew which of the two was #1, it did annoy the two nonetheless.

Draco, however, wasn't concerned about that. "Where were you?"

Your confusion seemed to grow with each passing second. "Away from you; I don't think I could take riding a train and being with you at the same time."

That did annoy Draco, not to mention how the two of you talking was getting the attention of some of the other students. "Y/N," he bit his tongue before he could bring up Valeria.

The warning in his voice did get your attention and you glared at him, silently warning him to back off. "Look, we'll likely end up in the same house, so how about a deal? You leave me alone and I leave you alone?"

Preferably this conversation would have ended a bit differently, but he wasn’t stupid. You were too stubborn for your own good. "Sure."

As he said that, Professor McGonagall came back. "Now, form a line and follow me," she said and the students did as they were told.

~X~

You were, much like you predicted, sorted into Slytherin, and damn near instantly as well. Gemma grinned at you, welcoming you into the house as you took a seat at the Slytherin table and waited for the sorting to end.

When sorting was over Albus Dumbledore stood up and beamed at the students with his arms open wide. "Welcome," he began warmly, so warmly one would be shocked to know he helped cover up a crime. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" he sat down and everyone clapped and cheered for whatever reason.

You raised an eyebrow at that and glanced at Gemma; she just shrugged, as if to tell you you’d eventually get used to it. ‘Definitely not what I expected,' this was different from the man you saw once, back then he was cruel, acting based on what was more useful to him, and here he was acting almost like he was just a kind and powerful old man. Then you noticed the food that appeared out of nowhere, courtesy of house-elves if you had to guess.

Your stomach growled at the sight of the food, reminding you of how hungry you were. And you were famished since you haven’t eaten anything on the train and barely had anything for breakfast to avoid throwing up. So, you dug in, and it actually tasted good! As the dinner came to a close Dumbledore stood up again. "Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well," Dumbledore's eyes briefly focused on the Gryffindor table, and you figured he likely had someone in mind when he said that.

After that brief pause, he continued. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year; the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Of course, that man could so casually talk about death. Your eyes narrowed just a bit as you watched the old man. You forced yourself to relax, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, even though you could have sworn Dumbledore looked you in the eyes just for a split second.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore's sudden exclamation made your eyes widen. Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words. "Everyone pick your favorite tune and off we go!" the man said and the entire hall began singing quite loudly.

Your eyebrow twitched at that, especially when you saw the words you were meant to sing. "Not a chance," you wouldn't be caught dead singing, anything, especially not a song that started with: "Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, teach us something please, whether-"

It was embarrassing. Plain and simple too silly.

No, no way. None of that. You were not going to sing. And judging by either reluctance or downright refusal to sing you saw in some of the students you figured you'd love it in Slytherin.

~X~

Waking up without the usual magical pressure Valeria and items in the shop exuded felt strangely disturbing. You remembered how long it took you to get used to Forged by Thunder, and now you were actually missing that feeling. Not that there wasn’t something different about Hogwarts as well, the air felt charged with magical energy, but in a different way and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Either way you figured you should take a stroll through the castle to get more familiar with it.

You would simply pick a path and walk without actual destination in mind, and if you ended up someplace interesting then that would be great, if not, better luck next time.

Honestly, you were mesmerized by the castle, somehow it just felt warm and welcoming. When you first saw it you thought it would feel empty and cold, mostly due to how big it was, but it turned out you were wrong. Actual cold aside, which seemed to be permanent for at least the dungeons, it just felt right, soothing even.

"Oooh! Looky what we have here!" you heard a voice and assumed it was one of the ghosts or portraits since you didn’t see anyone right away, but then you saw him, looking exactly like your parents described him while they were telling you about Hogwarts. Peeves, the Poltergeist.

You barely evaded chalk pelted at your head. "What? You thought the color would suit me?" you complained; not fond of being attacked for no reason. Though, you guessed no one was fond of that. Peeves cackled and pulled the rug from underneath your feet, forcing you to jump a few steps to avoid falling.

Peeves pelted another chalk at you and you murmured a ‘thank you’ to Valeria for drilling all the exercises into your routine as you jumped up and grabbed the stairs railing above you. The poltergeist cackled and grabbed a bucket filled with water just as you were pulling yourself up and over the railing with great effort. "Wouldn't want to get soaked, now, would you?" flying had a lot of advantages, as you figured the moment you saw Peeves above you ready to pour the water right on top of you.

You just barely lunged forward over the stairs and up to the next floor, it wasn't far, barely four feet away from where you previously stood, but it ensured only a few drops actually reached you. Smirking, you began running up the next staircase, shifting your weight from left to right to avoid the chalk ricocheting all around you. A bunch of papers obscured your vision as you ran through them up the last staircase only to barely avoid an armor that was promptly placed in your path. "Good one Peeves, nearly got me!" what you didn't count on was professor McGonagall appearing around the corner, you yelped, desperately moving aside and crashed through the doors into a broom closet instead of her.

"Miss L/N, what do you think you're doing?" she sounded like she was just about to take your points, but then she notices Peeves. "Peeves! How many times do I need to warn you not to put students in danger?!" oh, she was really pissed and you weren’t so keen on staying there.

As you tried to silently walk away, hoping she’d be distracted by the poltergeist, the older witch turned around. "Miss L/N," she sternly said your last name and you flinched and stopped. You did make a mess in the broom closet.

"Sorry about the mess, professor?" you asked, not sure what else to say.

She understood what you were worried about and with a wave of her wand the closet was cleaned up. "Did you get hurt?" she asked, she still sounded strict, but you could tell she wasn't angry. She was actually worried. Well, you did crash into the closet.

“Oh, no, I’m fine. Had worse,” you shrugged it off.

Professor McGonagall seemed amused by that. “Valeria?” she assumed, meaning she was probably more than aware of your great-grandmother’s methods.

“Tough love,” you grinned a bit, though, if dodging Peeves proved anything it was that her methods were effective. “Counting on spells to keep you safe all the time is asking to be hurt, or so she says,”

She nodded, clearly familiar with the phrase. "Good, go to madam Pomfrey if you feel any pain," she told you, and seeing as you seemed to be fine she moved on to wherever she was going before you nearly collided into her.

You ran your fingers through your hair, relieved that went about as smoothly as it could, and she even got Peeves to stop. There was still a good chance Peeves would come back so you really needed to get out of there.

As you continued your exploration of the school you saw something fairly amazing when you stumbled upon the library. A stack of books shakily levitating out of it.

You tilted your head and curiously approached the books, only to realize the books weren't levitating. A girl with incredibly bushy hair that was peeking from behind cover of books was trying to take what looked like a tower of books that obscured her vision out of the library.

"Let me help you with that," you offered and ran over to her. There was no way she'd be able to get to her common room with all those books without an accident.

"I'm fine," her voice was bossy and stubborn, but it also sounded strained, she was definitely struggling.

"Don't be so stubborn," you pleaded, definitely not wanting to watch her get buried under a pile of books, but she wasn’t budging, she even took a step to the side to send a clear message. "What do you need all these books for, anyway?" you were genuinely curious; as far as you knew the library was available at almost any time. And you also hoped continuing the conversation would give the girl a chance to at least consider letting you help.

The girl sighed, as if annoyed by her situation. "I wanted to read tonight and wasn't sure what to pick first," she explained and sure, you understood being indecisive but this was taking it too far.

“And you couldn’t narrow it down to, I don’t know, fifteen books instead of,” you did a quick count. “Thirty-seven?” if the girl could see you, you were sure she’d be glaring at you.

“This was narrowed down,” she was amazing, frightening, but amazing. The girl took a few trembling steps forward, then a few more, and then came to the stairs. Shockingly, she did climb up a few steps and you wordlessly followed after her, it was only a matter of steps by this point, because as stubborn as she was there was only one way this could end, and you wouldn’t feel right if you just let it happen.

The stairs chose that moment to shift which nearly caused her to fall. You reached forward, steading the books from the side with one hand while helping her hold them up with the other, though a couple of books still fell from the top of the book tower. “That went better than I expected,” you said sheepishly, "You okay?" you asked.

You still didn’t get to see her face, but the prolonged silence implied she nodded before realizing you couldn’t see her. "Yeah, thanks."

You smiled, picking up the few books that fell and taking about a dozen from her pile, and now you could finally see more than her hair, though half of her face still remained behind the books. You still recognized her as one of the girls from your year. “I'm Y/N, nice to meet you."

"I'm Hermione," she smiled back shyly. "You really don't have to help me; I don't want to bother anyone."

"Don't worry about it, I was just walking around aimlessly anyways," you assured her as you once again began climbing up the stairs. It was much easier for her now that she could actually see what was in front of you, but it also meant it was now more difficult for you, since you were carrying books. Well, you figured it was worth it.

It was a pleasant walk, though the two of you mostly remained silent, the classes didn't start yet so neither of you could come up with something to talk about. And a couple of surprised stares didn't help either, after all, you weren't just from different houses, you were from houses that hated one another.

~X~

As eager as Hermione was to learn it felt like she would hit her limit if she didn't get back to bed soon. She spent the past three days mostly reading and barely got enough sleep, she was that excited; but now that she needed to focus on the Astronomy class she felt the sleep deprivation catching up to her.

It was only natural, really, she was still a child and she needed her sleep. Yet everything about Hogwarts, about her being a witch, felt so surreal, she needed to take it all in as quickly as possible.

She wasn't the only sleepy student though, in fact, most of her classmates looked like they would rather be in bed. She persisted through the lesson, doing her best to answer any questions Professor Sinistra had.

As the class came to an end she packed her things and began walking down the stairs, since her chat with you she hadn't really talked with anyone yet. If anyone talked to her it was to ask about something from class, and even that only happened twice so far. It looked like she’d have the same issue here as in her old school. No one wanted a bookworm like her as a friend. But she still hoped that finally being in a place she belonged in, surrounded by people just like her, would change that.

"Hey, good job answering that question about Jupiter," she was a bit startled when she heard a voice coming from behind her and paused as you caught up to her.

She instantly recognized you and was honestly happy to see you again. Gryffindor and Slythein didn’t really share classes until tonight, and you’d share Potions as well, so, there weren’t many chances to talk. “Hi, Y/N," she smiled.

"You look like you're about to fall asleep," you noticed with a small hint of a teasing grin on your face.

"I've been reading," Hermione huffed, a tiny bit defensive even if she could see you meant no harm.

You raised your hands in surrender. "Sorry, I shouldn’t have teased you. If it wasn't this chilly most of us would probably fall asleep right here," you told her, and Hermione couldn't help but agree. "How were the books you took from the library? Anything particularly interesting?"

Hermione halted for a moment, not really expecting the questions. "I read most of them,” the incredulous look on your face was actually kinda funny, and she just shrugged, as if asking you what did you expect. “It's amazing really, everything about magic. Hogwarts, A History, is the one you should start with, it's my favorite so far."

You didn’t look nearly as excited by the title of the book as she was. You even looked a bit bored with it. "History really isn't my thing; I don't think I'll enjoy it half as much as you did."

Yet, it didn't bother her, at the moment she was just glad she actually talked with someone. "Say, would you like to go to the library with me?" yet as she asked that she felt unsure, this was only your second time talking and you were in Slytherin so she-

"Sure, I'd like that,"

-expected you to refuse. "Right, I guessed you-" and then it dawned on her that you accepted. "You would?"

You just grinned at her. "Of course. I don't see why I wouldn't want to," it was that easy. And it would remain like that over the next couple of years, always easy to find solutions, even if it sometimes took a bit of time.

If Hermione knew how the later years at Hogwarts would go, she would have stocked up on some of this ease instead of using it all up while it mattered significantly less.

~X~

The first week was slowly but surely coming to an end and it wrapped up with Potions, a class taught by the Head of the Slytherin house, Severus Snape. And to say that it was an eventful class would be an understatement. It was more than that, it was a mess, with Snape’s dislike, or even hatred for Potter being more than apparent, and another one of Gryffindor students messing up his potion. All in all, things happened.

And unfortunately for you, as the class came to a close and Snape inspected your potion he looked at you, long and hard and frankly worrying you that you messed something up.

“Name,” he demanded after way too much time had passed.

“Y/N L/N!” you exclaimed, surprised by the sudden question.

“Additional potions, I want to see you here every Tuesday and Friday,” he ordered, leaving you flabbergasted.

But before you could respond Snape had already moved on to another student.

And you were left there, not even sure if those additional classes were because you were so awful at it he had no other choice, which was kinda ridiculous since your potion did not explode and make a mess.

Or, just as unlikely, Snape saw some potential in you and wanted to push you to get better immediately. Which was actually worse than the first option!

~X~

It was the worse option, and you found yourself staring at the potion ingredients you were meant to mix. “Do I have any choice in the matter?” surely you could say no to extra classes, right? That would make his life a lot easier as well!

“No,” yet Snape crushed those hoped like you were going to crush the ingredients for the potion.

You dropped your forehead onto the table. “Get off my back,” you muttered to yourself.

“What was that?” Snape must have heard you and you, as alarmed as you were, got up, yelling ‘Nothing, Sir’ like your life depended on it.

Maybe it did, he did seem to immediately decide he would make Potter’s time in the potions class as miserable as he possibly could.

So, figuring it would be better to pick up and get good at the skills Snape was offering, you began coming to the extra potions classes twice a week.

~X~

It was during one of the nights after extra Potions that you found yourself in the common room looking at the instructions on how to transfigure a match into a needle for what felt like a hundredth time as if this time something would just click.

"Hey, Y/N, what's up?" Gemma sat down on the sofa next to you and looked over your shoulder at the book you were reading.

"My blood pressure," you complained as you motioned at the match McGonagall gave you.

Gemma reached out for her wand and effortlessly transfigured the match "Just concentrate, make sure you envision it, feel it change shape. You need focus, didn't Professor McGonagall teach you that?"

You glared at the feather as it came down back to the table like it owed you money. "She did. I'm just having trouble imagining a match changing into a needle. If I can envision it, I can do it, or at least that's what I think."

"Try this then. Imagine a match on one side and a needle on the other side. Close your eyes,” you followed her instructions, figuring you might as well take advice from a fifth-year student. “That's right, now merge them and leave only a needle, now give it a try," Gemma explained.

You nodded and took a deep breath; you closed your eye, imagined what she just told you, and touched the match with the tip of your wand forcing the match to change shape. When you opened your eyes the match was different, it was a bit dark and definitely not as sharp as it was meant to be, but you figured it would pass for a sort of a wooden needle.

Yeah. You needed to work on that. A lot. But, at least you weren’t still looking at a match.

“Eh,” Gemma clearly wasn’t all that impressed, but some progress was made. “Could use more work, but it’ll do for tonight. Go on now, go to sleep,” she patted you on the head, which was an annoying habit she got into.

“Fine, fine,” you groaned, getting up to avoid her hand and went downstairs to the dorm rooms followed by Gemma’s laughter.

~X~

The gist of the flying lessons? You sucked at them, and Draco was being Draco, which ended up giving Harry Potter a place on the Gryffindor quidditch team. And now that was all you could hear in the common room as several students, especially Draco, laughed about how desperate Gryffindor must be to accept a first-year onto a team. Though some, again, Draco, complained that Potter was getting special treatment.

You? You didn’t care one bit. You had extra Potions and you were really tempted to openly tell Snape to get off your back when he increased the number of lessons from twice a week to three times a week.

~X~

About two weeks later, on Halloween, you were on your way to the herbology class, which you were mildly interested in because of the potions. So, while you weren’t that enthusiastic about it, you knew it was necessary. As you were making your way to the class you saw Hermione running down the hall, which immediately made you stop. Hermione rarely ran, especially looking that distraught and. "Hermione!" you called after her and surprisingly she stopped. When you caught up to her you realized she was wiping her face. Was she crying? "What's going on? Why are you running?"

Hermione took a deep breath and turned around, she was definitely crying just now and she was clutching on her beloved book like it was her lifeline. "Can I ask you something?" she whispered, her voice cracking, she sounded like she has had enough, like she was at her limit.

You nodded, not really sure what else to do. “Of course you can.”

“Are we friends?” the question caught you off guard entirely, so much so that you weren’t entirely sure how to answer.

Friends? Were they? She wasn't a stranger, that much was certain, and you guessed that after several days spent together in the library, she wasn't just an acquaintance anymore. Still, a friend was too personal. Too much and too quick for you right now. "Friends? Uh… sort of, we're not friends, friends, but we're more than not friends," you had no idea what you just said, it didn’t make sense and was entirely caused by being around an antisocial woman for the past two years and not quite learning how to deal with these types of questions. "I guess we're getting there?" you offered.

Apparently, that wasn't the answer Hermione wanted or was hoping for because a tear slid down her cheek quickly followed by another. "You can't stand me either, can you? That's why we're just hanging out in the library, right?" she didn't wait for a response, instead she ran off in tears.

You could only look at her as she ran off, flabbergasted by what she just said. Was there even another option for hanging out? It was getting colder outside and just aimlessly walking around the castle felt pointless to you, even if you did do it on your first morning here. The two of you couldn't go to each other's common rooms, you wouldn't be welcomed in Gryffindor and she wouldn't be welcomed in Slytherin. Grand Hall was an option but that was just too crowded and not- "Oh, come on, why am I analyzing it now of all times?" you threw your hands up in the air, exasperated by your own thought and ran after her. "What was that about? Can't stand her? Hermione, wait!" you turned around the corner, but she was nowhere to be found. As you helplessly tried to figure out where she went, a single realization hit you. "I made a terrible mistake," you berated yourself and slumped against the wall.

Needless to say, the rest of your day was horrible, you kept trying to locate Hermione and the divided attention made you lose focus on the classes you had for the rest of the day. Not even the feast interested you as Hermione wasn't there and you didn’t have the chance to fix your mistake. You had no idea where to look for her, you had no idea who to talk to. So, you pretty much glared at the steak in front of you.

"You look awfully distracted," and absolutely the last person you wanted to talk to, chose that moment to speak up.

"Read the air, I don't want to talk right now," you warned and somehow Draco got the message.

Mere moments later Quirrell came sprinting into the hall with a clear picture of terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped. "Troll, in the dungeons, thought you… ought to know," he then proceeded to faint.

An uproar followed his announcement, and it took some firecrackers from Dumbledore himself to bring silence into the hall. "Prefects, lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

You blankly stared at the man. “Slytherin dormitories are in the dungeons… thought you should know,” you dryly pointed out to no one in particular.

~X~

It was the day of Harry's first quidditch match and Hermione was more than a little excited about it. For the first time she had true friends, someone to hang out with that didn't think she was weird.

No, not the first time, she had one friend before. Or at least she thought you were her friend until you pretty much said you weren't. She should have guessed something like that would happen, after all you weren’t even a part of her house. She knew about the rivalry between your houses; it just looked strange now that she thought about it. Thinking about you was making her huff as she found the book she was looking for - 'History of Wizarding World: A short guide'. Hermione took it and made her way to her regular table in the corner of the library. As she made her way there, she saw you sitting there, slightly hunched forward as you were reading something. 'Just walk by her, she's focused on the book,' it was likely a book on potions so the chances of you actually paying attention to your surroundings were minimal.

It was all going according to plan, you didn't seem to notice her and she was happy to just be on her way. The book you were reading was much bigger than the regular potion book you so obviously cherished and she slowed down, unable to suppress her curiosity. The moment she recognized the book she froze on spot.

'History really isn't my thing, I don't think I'll enjoy it half as much as you did.' That was what you said. Yet here you was reading 'Hogwarts, A History'. "Y/N?" mentally, she kicked herself for not calling you by your last name instead.

You didn't turn around. "Hm? I'm reading, be quick," why was she even surprised by how frustratingly uncaring you were. And then you straightened your back so quickly she nearly dropped her book. "Hermione?!" you turned around and blinked a few times, ignoring the glares from the students around you. "Uh… hey," what, no regular remarks on this or that? That was a new one.

"Mind if I sit next to you?" she didn't know what got into her, maybe she just wanted to have a friend back. Even if you didn't think you were friends.

"Never," you paused for a moment and slapped your forehead. "I mean I don't mind, you can sit wherever you'd like," you scratched the back of your head sheepishly as you avoided looking her in the eyes.

Hermione sat down not entirely used to the idea of you being even remotely nervous. "I remember you said history wasn't your thing," she reminded you.

You frowned a bit at that. "It isn't. But since I'm not going to hear what's so great about it from you, I figured I might as well read it."

Hermione's jaw dropped slightly. Thinking back you did try to talk to her, on more than one occasion, ever since Halloween. She didn't want to hear it, not now, not when what you said hurt more than what Ron said, more than any teasing, at least she didn't consider those that teased and insulted her to be her friends.

"I was a jerk, I'm sorry for what I said," you apologized, you didn't offer any excuses, you just apologized with as much sincerity as you could muster.

Mostly on impulse, Hermione wrapped her arms around your neck, hugging you tightly. She felt relief flooding her and it felt like this day couldn’t get any better.

You slowly wrapped one arm around her shoulders. "I didn't think hanging out only in the library would bother you. To be honest, I have no idea where else we could hang out, I don't know if you'd be cold outside," you muttered, explaining your reasoning.

She didn't consider that as a possibility, that you simply didn't think too much about it. From what she learnt about you it did make sense that you’d figure out the more practical solution and just stick with it. "So, I guess we could take a walk one of these days?" she suggested as she pulled away from you.

You nodded enthusiastically. "Whenever you want, wherever you want to go," you paused for a moment and she could see a bit of hesitation in your eyes. "You've got to tell me what made you cry that day. I mean aside from me," still, as hesitant as you were, you were also curious, that much was obvious from the tone of your voice. For a moment she thought that she had your absolute attention, and it was a nice feeling, if she was being honest.

Hermione wasn't entirely sure she should tell you what really happened. though If things went her way all three of her friends could hang out with her at the same time and you would all get along. She didn't want you to get the wrong idea and misjudge Ron. Still, she figured being honest was the best option. "We had Charms that day and after the class ended Ron said I was a nightmare, that no one can stand me."

Much to Hermione's horror, you stood up abruptly, looking ready to go and fight Ron.

"I think it's about time I have a chat with some other Gryffindors," the moment you said that Hermione grabbed your hand and pulled you back down.

She looked you in the eyes, pleading silently to just calm down. "Wait, please. Ron was just frustrated after class and he and Harry saved me from a troll. They're both my friends now, Y/N, they're my best friends and I don't want you to fight with them."

"Are you sure? Because I can punch really hard," she was sure you was exaggerating, they were kids, they couldn't possibly punch, as you had put it, really hard.

"No, no, that's – just barbaric. Especially for no reason," luckily, you didn’t bring it up again and she could relax. Though she made a mental note not to put you in the same room as Harry and Ron anytime soon.

~X~

As the day went on you were sure nothing could ruin your mood. And of course, as if you were tempting fate, Draco, with a surprisingly angry look on his face, took a seat right next to you in the Slytherin common room. You’ve done it now, you were too happy, too pleased with yourself and now you had to deal with Malfoy throwing a tantrum.

"You weren't at the match," it was a statement and you could tell it was merely a prologue of a long speech.

"I don't care about quidditch," you tried your best to end it before it even had a chance to begin, but all your efforts were futile. This was Draco Malfoy you were trying to stop from ranting after all.

"Well, you should! Anyway, can you imagine what Potter did? He ended up with a snitch in his mouth and it counted. I feel so cheated right now," Draco complained, droning on and on about how it wasn't fair. How Slytherin was winning and all that.

The best solution would be to just get up and leave. Unfortunately, it would only antagonize the boy next to you, and while you didn't really care it would still make your life easier if you and Draco were on relatively neutral terms. So, you sat there and half-listened half-stared at the water above you. It was relaxing, seeing the lake from below.

"Preposterous! That's what it was! He damn near swallowed the snitch!" both you and Draco turned around to see Gemma complaining about what happened at the match. Her friends, a couple of other fifth-year students rolled their eyes at her.

"We're going to study, join us when you cool off," one of them told her and the group separated from her.

"Sure, sure," it was obvious Gemma was searching for something to do or someone that shared her passion for quidditch.

"Hey, Farley! Over here!" Draco actually called her to come over.

"Tell me you've seen that ridiculous match, I mean come on!" she dragged out the last few words and rolled her eyes at the memory of Potter catching the snitch.

"Seriously what was that all about?! Potter just keeps getting rewarded for breaking the rules," Draco eagerly joined her in their mutual complaining about a quidditch match.

"You're supposed to catch it. Catch it, not bite it," Gemma made sure that whoever somehow didn't get the word of it knew exactly what Potter did to obtain the snitch.

"Isn't there a phrase catching the flies or whatever?" you asked pretty much out of nowhere.

Gemma raised an eyebrow at that. "Uh, yeah, no idea why that would be relevant though."

You smirked, a tiny bit too eager to mess with her. "Well since in that case, you do catch them with your mouth I guess Potter didn't do anything wrong," you just had to do it.

Gemma swatted your shoulder and Draco glared at you, which only ended up amusing you. It was a nice payment for having to half-listen to Draco for what felt like eternity. "I'll hit you with a book if you say that again."

The smirk never vanished from your face, it even grew larger. "Such an inspiring role model. Perfect prefect, no doubt about it."

Gemma rolled her eyes again and went back to complaining about the match with Draco. It caught you by surprise, but they hit it off fairly well, really well actually. Though, you guessed people could bond over mutual annoyance.

~X~

And so, the year continued. Thankfully, without much additional excitement on your part. You and Hermione saw each other every now and then, usually once a week, either studying together or just relaxing. She even helped you out with Transfiguration and you desperately needed that. It did make you realize how much you sucked at socializing because what you had with Hermione was closest to an actual friendship.

With your own housemates? Aside from Gemma? You were civil at best. Other houses? Didn’t even bother trying to get close to them. You were really acing this whole school life thing.

Either way, the time for exams came and went, and while you weren’t all that interested in most of them you did excel in Potions and… that was about it actually. Everything else you ended up being about average. Granted, you probably would have put more effort into Defense against the Dark Arts if it wasn’t for… well Quirrell’s teaching.

A week passed and the end-of-year feast was upon them. When you walked in you saw the Great Hall decked out in the Slytherin colors, green and silver, your house had won the house cup, the seventh year in a row as well. Or at least that's what it seemed like.

Dumbledore arrived and the silence enveloped the room as the students looked at their Headmaster.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. And you pretty much chose to ignore his speech until the Gryffindors began cheering and you looked around to see your fellow Slytherins seething.

“There goes the house cup,” you guessed, maybe a tiny bit more annoyed than you expected you’d be.

"Second, to Miss Hermione Granger, for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points," yeah, it was over. He was handing the cup over to his former house.

"Third, to Mr. Harry Potter," Dumbledore caused the room to go deadly quiet as if this would end in any other way. Gryffindor was winning. "For pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

The score was now only five points apart. "Wait for it," you muttered knowing Dumbledore had a way to hand Gryffindor the victory, he was just building anticipation or whatever.

Dumbledore raised his hand. "There are all kinds of courage," Dumbledore was smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I, therefore, award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

You let out a sigh, Draco who was, for whatever reason, sitting next to you, looked absolutely horrified, the victory slipped out of their fingers, but what annoyed you more was that he was preaching about standing up to friends, when he covered up crimes of his own friends or whatever they were to him.

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause. Even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin. "We need a little change of decoration," he clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet, and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished, and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place.

"Well, whatever," you leaned against the table. For the first time, it was truly clear to you how much the Slytherin house was on one side while the other three were on the other one. The entire school was celebrating their downfall. Oh, and Dumbledore just gave you another reason to dislike him.

A/N: So... Taglist?

#hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #hermione granger x female reader #x reader #x female reader

90 notes · View notes

girl-celestial · 9 days ago

Text

The Governess

PART III OF III

ARTHUR MORGAN X FEMALE READER, smut. 2k+ words. mdni

content warnings: SMUTTY SMUT. period-accurate class divide, period-accurate attitudes, emotional dependency, possessive language

PART I , PART II , READ ON AO3

YOU opened the door.

Catherine Braithwaite stood on the other side, dressed as if the late hour meant nothing—her blouse starched, her skirt pressed, her hair neatly braided and pinned into place without a single strand out of line. A pearl brooch fastened her collar, and her gloves were still on.

She didn’t ask to come in. She didn’t need to.

You stepped back without being told, and she crossed the threshold like it was her own. The door clicked shut behind her.

She took in the room with one slow glance. Lamplight low, shoes beside the bed, your nightdress modest and plain. Nothing out of place. Still, her silence lingered like a hand pressed to your throat.

“You’ve been with us how long now?” she asked, voice light. Almost bored.

“Six months,” you said softly.

Catherine gave a small hum. She didn’t look at you as she moved to the window, parting the curtain with two fingers.

“You’ve done well with the children,” she said. “They’re fond of you.”

You didn’t respond.

“And you’ve kept to yourself. That’s rare. Most women your age find it difficult to stay quiet.”

She turned toward you then. Her gaze was steady. “But it’s always the quiet ones who forget they’re being watched.”

Your breath caught.

Catherine tilted her head. “I’ve always said—the role of a governess is a delicate one. Not a guest. Not quite a servant. A… visitor. Tolerated as long as she stays useful. Replaceable the moment she doesn’t.”

She let it hang in the air.

You straightened your spine. “I’ve done what was asked of me.”

“For the children, yes.” Her smile was faint. Sharp at the edges. “But I wonder, lately… have you started imagining you have choices here?”

Your pulse pounded in your throat.

Catherine stepped closer—not loud, not overtly threatening. But suddenly she seemed much taller than you remembered.

“I know who he is,” she said. “And I know what he is. So do you. So I’ll say this once: stay in your place, or there won’t be one left for you at all.”

She didn’t wait for a reply.

She moved to the door, opened it gently, and paused on the threshold.

“Good night,” she said. “Rest while you can.”

And then she was gone.

—

Days passed. Quiet ones. Heavy.

There was no punishment. No demotion. No whisper of your name through the halls. And yet the silence felt more condemning than anything she could have said.

You moved through the days exactly as expected—measured, obedient, invisible. The children recited their lessons, and you corrected posture, tied ribbons, smiled when appropriate. You slept, ate, spoke only when spoken to.

But your thoughts had splintered.

Each morning you looked for some shift in the air, some sign he had returned. A voice near the stables. A shape on horseback at the edge of the property. Anything.

But Arthur didn’t come.

And with each day that passed, hope gave way to something duller, heavier. He had listened. He had left. It should’ve been a relief.

You told yourself you had done the right thing. That you had protected your position. That you had made the safe choice.

But safety didn’t quiet the ache.

You didn’t know Arthur Morgan well. You had only pieces—a voice lowered just for you, a fleeting glance in the hallway, a stillness between words that felt full of something more. But those moments had stirred something in you long buried.

A sense that your life wasn’t finished just because it was small.

That maybe there was more.

Not romance. Not fantasy.

Just more to feel. More to want. More to become.

And now, that too was gone.

You went to bed with the candle burning low and your hands folded tightly in your lap, trying not to think about the way he’d made you feel seen.

Then—softly, at the edge of hearing—came a tap at the door.

Not the front entrance.

The back door. The one no one ever used.

You froze.

No one came to the servant quarters at this hour. No one had reason to—unless it was one of the Braithewaites. But they wouldn’t knock. Not gently. Not like that.

Another tap. Low. Measured.

The silence that followed was worse than any sound.

You rose quietly, heart loud in your ears, and crossed the room in the dark. One hand brushed the wall to steady yourself. You reached for the handle and braced for the sight of one of your bosses or Catherine—for another warning, or worse.

You opened the door.

And it wasn’t one of them.

Arthur stood just past the threshold, boots planted on stone, coat still dusted from the road. His presence filled the narrow hall—too large, too real, too much after so many quiet, aching days. He hadn’t spoken yet, but the look on his face said enough.

You closed the door behind him, careful not to let the latch catch too loud.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said. “I know that.”

You didn’t answer.

“I just… I needed to know you were alright. After what you told me.”

He kept his eyes on the floor, like he was ashamed to look at you directly.

“I acted on it. The moonshine, the setup—Dutch sent me and one of the boys to deal with it. It’s gone now. All of it.”

He hesitated.

“I should’ve ridden off after. I knew that. But I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you.”

“You think I haven’t been thinking about you?” you asked.

He looked up. That was all it took to ruin the space between you.

Arthur stepped forward. Just once. Close, but not touching.

“Still ain’t right,” he muttered. “You live here. You got a life. You tried to keep it clean. And here I am, draggin’ it through the dirt just by standin’ in it.”

“I don’t want clean,” you said. “I want you.”

His eyes flicked to yours like he couldn’t believe you’d said it.

“I ain’t decent,” he said. “Not for you. Not for this.”

You reached out and gripped the edge of his coat. Dust and all.

“I don’t care.”

Arthur drew a sharp breath, nostrils flaring. He looked past you, toward the narrow corridor, the hush of the sleeping house.

“This ain’t a place for… this,” he said. “Someone could walk past. Could hear—”

“You walked in anyway.”

The words landed like a match to dry wood.

You kissed him. Or maybe he kissed you. It didn’t matter. His hand found your waist—uncertain, desperate—while yours fisted the front of his coat. He tasted like wind and sweat and something bitter he hadn’t spoken. When he groaned into your mouth, it wasn’t just pleasure. It was hunger. Guilt. Need.

He pulled back, breath ragged.

“Where’s your room?”

You caught his hand.

Led him by the fingers.

Down the narrow hall, your footsteps light on the old wooden boards. The house was silent, suffocating. You passed the cold wall sconces, the door to the linen closet, the stairs that creaked if you breathed wrong. Your hand gripped his tighter.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

He followed.

And when you reached the door, you opened it in silence, letting him inside before the weight of it clicked gently shut behind you.

The moment it did—he was on you again.

Arthur didn’t take off a single piece of clothing.

He backed you toward the bed until your knees hit the edge. You sank onto it, the linen hem of your nightgown slipping up your thighs with the movement, and he followed, kneeling between your legs like he was praying at some altar he shouldn’t have come near.

Boots still laced. Coat still on. Hat only gone because you had taken it from him in the hall. He was all dirt and leather and road dust, as if the wilderness had clung to him out of loyalty. You, by contrast, were soft cotton and stillness—white linen and modest lines, every bit of you clean and pressed like you were still playing a part for this house. You looked like virtue.

He slid his hands under your gown. Slowly. Like he wanted to memorize the feel of you before he let himself have it. His palms were rough and warm, callused from the reins and the gun and every hard mile between here and camp. His thumbs skimmed the tops of your thighs, dragging upward. He found the slope of your hips and made a low sound in his throat—almost reverent.

“You don’t even know,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “What you do to a man like me.”

His fingers mapped your body like it was unfamiliar terrain—knuckles brushing the crease of your legs, one wide palm splaying over your stomach. You shivered.

His gaze dropped, “You feel that? My hand damn near covers you whole.”

You nodded, breath shallow.

His thumb found the seam of your folds, parting you. He stroked gently at first, clumsy and cautious, until he found the place that made your hips jerk and your mouth part in surprise. Then he circled it—slow and steady—watching your reaction like it was a language he was determined to learn.

You gasped his name, soft and high, and his expression darkened.

“You keep sayin’ that,” he said, “I’m not gonna last long.”

He pushed two fingers into you—thick and deliberate. You whined, walls fluttering around the stretch. Arthur exhaled hard, biting back a curse. His thumb didn’t stop moving, coaxing you toward that edge with a patience that surprised even him.

“I knew you’d feel good,” he breathed. “But this—Christ. You’re squeezin’ me already. So warm. So damn tight.”

Your hands curled into the sheets, breath hitching. He could see it building. Could feel it. And just when your thighs started to tremble and your lips parted around a sound you didn’t mean to make—

He pulled his hand away.

You whined, a soft sound of protest, but he was already standing. Already fumbling with the buckle of his belt, his movements stiff with urgency. You watched him—watched the way his big, weather-worn hands struggled with something as simple as leather and brass. He couldn’t even look at you, jaw clenched and breath heavy. There was guilt there—shame, even—but it was no match for the way he wanted you.

When he freed himself, you stilled. He was thick. Long. Already leaking at the tip. Your eyes widened slightly, and he caught it.

“You sure?” he rasped, voice unsteady. “Ain’t too late.”

You met his eyes. “I want you.”

“No,” he said. “Say it again.”

“I want you inside me.”

His whole body shuddered. “Goddamn.”

He stepped forward, lined himself up, and dragged the blunt head through your folds. Just enough to coat himself.. Then he pushed in.

The stretch burned—slow and sudden. You gasped, your thighs twitching as he buried himself deeper, inch by inch, until he bottomed out. The weight of his body pressed yours down into the mattress, his coat dragging against your skin, his breath ragged against your ear.

“Christ almighty,” he muttered. “Look at you takin’ it. Didn’t think I’d fit.”

“You do,” you whispered, wrecked. “You do.”

His hips stuttered. He pulled out just enough to feel the tightness clench around him, then drove back in—harder this time. You cried out, and he froze.

“You alright?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “More.”

He obeyed.

He found a rhythm. Rough and deep, one hand fisted in the sheets beside your head, the other cupping the back of your knee to pull you closer, tighter, higher. Each thrust punched a soft sound from your lungs. Each slide of fabric reminded you he was still fully clothed—still the same outlaw who’d kicked in doors and fought through ambushes, now groaning like he’d die if he didn’t get to come inside you.

“You got no idea,” he said hoarsely. “No damn idea what you’re doin’ to me.”

You whimpered something—his name, maybe—and he kissed your neck like he could crawl inside you if he tried hard enough.

“You’re gonna make me lose it,” he warned. “Can’t hold out long. Not when you’re squeezin’ me like this.”

He reached between you, fingers quick and sure now, and found your clit again. The touch sent you over—tightening, pulsing, moaning his name like it was the only word you knew. Your whole body shook. Arthur groaned, a ragged sound of surrender, and slammed in one final time.

“I’m comin’,” he gasped. “Inside—ain’t pullin’ out—you want that?”

You nodded frantically, still riding your high. “Yes—please—fill me—”

He groaned deep in his chest and spilled inside you—warmth flooding your core, his hips twitching with each pulse. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just buried his face in your neck.

He didn’t move. Just breathed.

Still inside you. Still wrapped in that coat. Breathing like he’d run miles.

“I ain’t got the right,” he said hoarsely. “To want you like this.”

You ran your fingers through his hair.

“But I do,” he whispered. “And I’ll keep wantin’ you. Doesn’t matter what’s decent.”

He kissed your shoulder. Your throat. Then pulled back just far enough to see your face.

“You don’t gotta stay here,” he said. “Don’t gotta keep takin’ orders from that cold, bitter woman like you owe her your life.”

Your breath hitched.

“You don’t gotta be just the governess. Not if you don’t want to be.”

You looked up at him.

“I ain’t sayin’ I got much to offer. Hell, I’m a wanted man. But I got a horse. I got hands that work. And if you come with me…”

He hesitated.

“You’ll always have a place.”

You turned your face into his palm. Kissed it.

“You really mean that?”

He nodded, slow and quiet. “I dunno what comes next. Don’t even know where I’ll sleep tomorrow. But I know I want you in it.”

You didn’t answer. You just pulled him down again, felt the weight of him settle into you, the heat still lingering between your thighs.

You didn’t care what came after.

For once, you weren’t thinking about what was proper, or safe, or smart.

You were thinking about the way his breath warmed your throat, the way his coat smelled like dust and pine, the way you didn’t feel alone anymore.

He shifted slightly, still inside you, and you gasped at the aftersensitivity—at the fullness, the slow reminder of what you’d let him take.

Arthur held still. Didn’t pull out. Didn’t say a word.

The silence wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t waiting for something.

It was the sound of two people who’d run out of places to hide.

And for tonight, this was enough.

53 notes · View notes

chillian-murphy · 10 months ago

Text

Don't Bully Me, I'll Cum

SUMMARY: You dominate your slutty submissive boyfriend, Neil Lewis

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

WARNINGS/ADDITIONAL INFO: Smut 🔞, face slapping, verbal humiliation, body writing, references to orgasm denial, facefucking (female-on-male), cunnilingus, rimming, anal fingering, cum eating, praise kink (if you squint), hand job

Beta read by @sasybanana

It was always a treat when you got to see Neil like this: naked and kneeling, with his neck adorned by a heavy leather collar that only seemed to emphasize his thin frame as it dangled loosely. His cock was at half-mast, already hardening at the mere thought of what was coming.

“Does my little slut want attention?” you cooed as you sauntered forward, wearing nothing but a matching lace bra and panty set. His head shot up and his body tensed, his bright blue eyes desperately meeting your gaze.

“Yes, Mistress.” There was a breathy, needy quality to his voice that sent a tingle down your spine.

“Does my needy little slut deserve attention?”

He didn’t even form words this time, just whined and nodded. That wouldn’t do.

Smack

Neil’s cheek flushed and he reeled from the impact.

“Use your words, baby.”

“Yes, I deserve your attention.”

Smack

You saw the same flush to the other side of his face, the same scramble to regain balance.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been good all week. I haven’t come without your permission. I’ve been so, so good for you. I’m a good boy and I need my Mistress to touch me.”

He was so pleading and so sincere, and it was true, he had been obedient for you all week, but you couldn’t indulge him just yet.

Smack

“And what do you deserve?”

His eyes were watering now.

“I deserve to have my c-c-cock ignored and to w-worship your p-pussy.” He was tumbling over his words now, overly eager for any sort of response.

Smack

“Because you’re a desperate slut who’ll cherish any sort of attention you’re given, aren’t you?” At this point, you were just gloating, basking in the power you had over him.

“Yes, Mistress. So desperate.”

You knelt down to level yourself with him and pulled a tube of lipstick out from your bra. You scrawled the word SLUT across his chest in bright red letters, feeling his heart race under your fingers as you steadied him to write. The dense pigments would stain his skin long after he showered and the lipstick was gone, at least for the next day or so. You secretly hoped that he and his coworkers would play a “shirts vs skins” pickup game in the alley while the writing was still visible, so everyone would know how willing he was to debase himself for you.

Neil let out a sharp, hissing whimper as you yanked on one of his tiny nipples. You couldn’t help but make a mental note of how pretty he is when he suffers. You had never imagined that you’d be the one taking such a dominant role in the bedroom, but what had begun as begrudgingly indulging Neil in one of his fantasies had quickly become a highlight of your sex life. You were made to be worshiped, and he was made to kneel.

You pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his cheek as you stood. He gazed up at you as sweet and willing and as pathetically as ever, his pouty little mouth hanging open. As badly as you wanted to grab him by the hair and ride his face until your pussy exhausted itself, you were having too much fun tormenting him and didn’t want the scene to be over. However, it did give you an idea.

“Open up.” you stroked your hand down his face towards his mouth, and toyed with his plush bottom lip with your thumb. Once his mouth was sufficiently open, you pushed your thumb inside, pressing down on his warm, wet tongue. He groaned invitingly at the sensation, and massaged the pad of your thumb as best he could. Satisfied, you withdrew your thumb and replaced it with three of your fingers, gently thrusting them further and making him gag.

“Okay if I facefuck you?” You dropped the Big Bad Dom Voice for a while to genuinely check in. Facefucking wasn’t something you’d done with Neil before, at least not with him as the recipient, so you had no idea if it was off-limits or not. However, the way Neil very enthusiastically moaned, sucked your fingers, and attempted to nod let you know that it was very much on the menu tonight.

You pulled your fingers from his mouth and excitedly rushed to your toy cabinet in search of your dildo and harness. You found it quickly and took your time putting it all on, making sure everything fit as snuggly as it could for the most stability. It wasn’t the sexiest process, but it was necessary, as proven by past incidents where you put things on more haphazardly only for your fake cock to flop around in an unwieldy manner.

Neil looked absolutely giddy when you returned to him, grinning like an idiot and squirming in the spot where he was kneeling. His face was so happy and adorable you’d want it on a Christmas card, if it wasn’t for the whole “kneeling naked with a raging erection” aspect. Or who knows, certain friends of yours might actually put your card on the fridge this year if you chose this over gaudy matching sweaters.

“Open up, baby.” You pressed the tip of your fake cock to his lips and gave his cheek a light slap, as if he somehow didn’t get the message. His mouth fell open and he began bobbing his head over your length cautiously, looking up at you through his lush eyelashes. Fuck, as much as you knew it was just a piece of plastic and not a part of your body, you <i>swore</i> you could feel him sucking your dick. You snaked a hand into his hair and gripped as hard as you could, pulling him further towards the base as you fucked his wet, willing mouth.

“You’re such a fucking whore. All you want to do is sit there and be used, you don’t care how. Just a useless man who doesn’t even care if his cock gets touched so long as someone fucks and uses any part of him.” The harsher your words got, the more his eyes rolled back in pleasure. A deep, guttural groan formed in the back of his throat, struggling to get out around the toy being thrust in and out of him.

Neil began to gag as you pushed him further down, which only encouraged you to thrust into him harder. His throat was so wet and warm when you had your fingers in his mouth, you can’t imagine how good it would feel if you had an actual cock to fuck his face with. Still, he looked absolutely beautiful with his eyes full of tears and his lips stretched around the sizable toy that you had picked out together.

“It's a shame you don't suck real cock, you're such a good little cocksucker. Maybe we should put a glory hole in the adult section of Gumshoe. Start making the store some real money off of your slutty little mouth."

After a few more thrusts, you yanked Neil off of your cock. He looked absolutely debauched, his face flushed a bright red with tears streaming down his cheeks and a thick strand of saliva hanging down his chin. He panted and sputtered, desperate for air after having his throat abused, trying to recover as quickly as possible so he could speak.

“Need your pussy. Now." Unsurprisingly, his voice was hoarse.

“Good boys don't make demands." You felt drunk with power.

“Please, Mistress, I need your pussy. I need to make you feel good."

He was so cute, so pathetic, so desperate. You hooked a finger underneath his collar and pulled him towards the bed. Thankfully, the strap-on harness was easier to take off than it was to put on, you simply loosened the waist strap and stepped out of it along with your panties. The lace bralette was next to go, and once you were nude, you casually flopped onto the bed and spread your legs. Neil obediently followed, laying next to you and waiting for directions. As badly as he wanted to bury his cock inside you, he wanted to please you even more.

“You know what to do, my good boy." Your voice now soft, you tenderly stroked his face and guided him between your legs. Dutifully, he dipped his head down and began licking, sucking, and kissing your cunt, just the way he knew you liked.

Neil had eating you out down to a science: gently kiss and nuzzle his way up your inner thighs, start with broad, slow licks all over, and then alternate between sucking and circling your clit with his tongue. Occasionally he couldn't help but dip his tongue deeper inside of you, he knew it didn't do much to get you off but he wanted to taste as much of you as possible. It was absolute heaven for him, it made him feel so wanted, so useful, so worthy of your attention. You were so wet for him, it was all the affirmation he needed to know that he was the good boy he needed to be for you.

It didn't take long for your orgasm to start building. As you hit your first climax, you hooked one of your legs over Neil's shoulder and reached down to pull on his hair again, pulling him as close to you as possible. Although you couldn't see him, you could feel Neil's lips curl into a smile. The change in position gave him the perfect angle for teasing your rim, something he rarely got to do.

He pressed the pad of one of his fingers against the tight ring of muscle, not enough to stretch you open, but enough to let you know where he wanted to touch you without startling you. You moaned and lifted your hips, not only giving him permission but also easier access. His finger was soon replaced by his tongue, swirling and getting you as wet as possible.

Turning his attention back to your pussy, Neil slipped two of his fingers into you while massaging your clit with his tongue. It was such a delightfully wet and sloppy mess, Neil couldn't help but feel proud of himself. Once his fingers were sufficiently coated in your slick, he withdrew them from your cunt and once again pressed them to your rim, this time with enough pressure and lubrication to enter your tightest hole.

Having your ass penetrated was always a bit awkward but, while this was no exception, you were able to quickly relax and let him stretch you. It wasn’t painful, but the sensation did feel foreign and weird as you adjusted to the new fullness. Once you had time to adjust, Neil began slowly working his fingers in and out of you, working in tandem with his mouth, which was sucking and practically drinking your pussy, treating it like a source of fine nectar.

Once again, the familiar tightness started building in your core and your inner muscles clenched. You let yourself moan, welcoming your orgasm and the aftershocks that followed. As you returned to Earth from your dizzying sexual high, you pushed Neil off of you, albeit much gentler than how you had handled him earlier.

“You’re so goddamn good for me. How does my good boy want to come?” You panted out, thoroughly exhausted but well-fucked.

“I want you to jerk me off. If you don’t mind.” Neil averted his gaze as much as he could. Asking directly for what he wanted always made him a bit shy, much more than the begging or groveling he was used to during a scene. His face was bright red, although you had no way of knowing if it was from bashfulness or from eating you out like his life depended on it.

“Of course, you’re such a good boy. Come lay next to me and let me take care of you.”

You scooted to the side of the bed and patted the empty space next to you, inviting him to join you as an equal for the first time today. As soon as he flopped next to you, you turned your attention to his poor, neglected cock.

He was leaking a generous amount of precum, enough that you were able to collect it on your fingers and use it as lube. You wrapped your hand around him and began pumping gently, knowing that a quicker pace would overstimulate him. It didn’t take long for him to shoot thick ropes of pearly white come onto his stomach. His loads were always huge after a week of not being allowed to touch himself.

“Are you okay? Was that what you wanted?” You swiped some of the come from Neil’s stomach onto your fingers and brought them to his mouth to lick clean.

“Yes. Perfect. Exactly.” He answered quickly before sucking your fingers clean with a soft groan. “You’re perfect. I love it when you’re mean to me. Maybe next time you could step on my cock and tell me how fucking pathetic and worthless it is or put it in a cage or spank me and send pictures to–”

“Hey.” You cut him off and shoved him playfully. “I thought I was the one who got to make the demands around here.”

“See? Just like that. So perfectly goddamn mean to me.”

#cillian murphy #cillian x reader #cillian x y/n #cillian murphy x reader #neil lewis #neil lewis x reader #neil lewis x y/n #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy smut #watching the detectives

214 notes · View notes

walidgoldpreppy · 4 months ago

Text

Perfect Conversion

Chapter 1

Noah and Ethan were inseparable. Since high school, they had promised each other that nothing would change them, that their love would be stronger than anything. When they arrived together at Ashford University, they believed the world was theirs.

Ashford was a prestigious campus filled with elite students, but they didn’t care. They stayed true to their style oversized hoodies, ripped jeans, messy hair. They laughed at the boys in blazers who walked with measured steps, always wearing the same vacant, polished smiles.

But everything changed when Noah was invited to join Sigma Epsilon, the most influential fraternity on campus.

“You’re not seriously considering it, are you?” Ethan raised an eyebrow.

Noah shrugged. “Why not? It’s a great opportunity. Their members go into finance, politics… They have connections everywhere.”

Ethan frowned. “Those guys are clones, all dressed the same, all with the same slicked-back hair and empty smiles. It’s creepy.”

Noah chuckled. “Come on, man. It’s just a style. Don’t worry, I’ll still be me.”

Ethan wasn’t so sure.

Chapter 2

At first, the changes were subtle. Noah became distant, spending every evening at Sigma Epsilon.

When he came back, he was… different. It started small a collared shirt peeking out from under his hoodie, his hair slightly styled. Then, polos and chinos replaced his usual outfits. He talked more and more about discipline, ambition, and brotherhood.

“It’s good for me, you know? I have more clarity. A purpose.”

Ethan didn’t like it.

One night, he decided to follow him. He approached the Sigma Epsilon house and peeked through the window. What he saw made his blood run cold.

Noah, standing in a row with other boys in tailored suits, was staring blankly at a screen. A hypnotic commercial for ultra-shiny hair gel played, its voice whispering:

“A good boy is always elegant. A good boy is always obedient. A good boy follows the rules.”

Their eyes were vacant. They nodded slowly, entranced. Noah was smiling, his face peaceful, his posture perfect.

He wasn’t the same.

Ethan ran.

Chapter 3

Noah returned to their dorm later that night, finding Ethan sitting on the bed, arms crossed.

“Care to explain what I just saw?” Ethan demanded.

Noah smiled softly. His face was freshly shaven, his shirt crisp, his hair gleaming under the light, slicked back with a perfect layer of gel.

“You don’t understand yet, Ethan. But you will soon.”

He stepped closer, resting a hand on Ethan’s shoulder.

“I’ve found my place. Everything is so simple now. No doubts. No chaos. Just clear rules. Elegance. Order. It’s… peaceful.”

Ethan shook his head. “No, this is brainwashing! They’ve changed you, Noah!”

Noah’s smile widened. “And that’s exactly what you need too.”

Before Ethan could move, Noah took out his phone and pressed play on a video. A soothing melody, deep voices whispering:

“Look at the screen. A good boy listens. A good boy follows.”

Ethan’s muscles relaxed.

“A good boy loves elegance. A good boy loves discipline.”

Noah ran a hand through Ethan’s messy hair. “We’ll need to cut this. And plenty, plenty of gel.”

Ethan opened his mouth to protest, but instead, a blissful, empty smile spread across his face. It felt good… To stop thinking. To just listen. Relax. Obey.

Chapter 4

A few weeks later, Noah and Ethan walked side by side across campus. Their steps were synchronized. Their blazers perfectly fitted. Their ties immaculately knotted.

Their hair shone under the sunlight, sculpted into strict Ivy League cuts.

Ethan smiled, just as Noah did. He barely remembered the confusion, the resistance. Everything was so much simpler now.

They were good boys. Elegant. Obedient. United.

#ai generated #preppy #brainwashing #conformity #gay men #hypnotized #preppification #suit and tie #hypnosis #preppiefication

106 notes · View notes

subby-succubus · 9 months ago

Note

Imagine you're sitting in my lap and I'm giving you pills from an unlabeled bottle. Little capsules, all different colors, almost like candy. You keep taking them like a good little whore, sucking my fingers each time. You have no idea what they are, and you don't care. You'd do anything you were told to do AND you'd probably take a pill you found on the ground. There was no way this could ever be your limit.

Your head is spinning a little already. The lights are brighter than they should be. You can mostly think clearly. Well, you THINK you're thinking clearly. Oh, it's time for the next pill! How many is that? Has to be more than five, couldn't be more than, um... Twenty? You think maybe they're starting to really kick in now. Every sense is pulsing, growing and receding in intensity. You try to say something, but it slips out of your mouth and turns into a few happy syllables. "I know, Angel. Here, one more."

I ask what you want to do. You giggle and turn and slip to the floor. You reach for my belt and fumble at the buckle. I smile at you as I undo it and strip off my pants. "Of course we can."

Your mouth isn't so much opened for me as it is hanging limp, but it's warm and wet all the same. I take hold of your hair and push inside your throat. I'm having to do all the work, but you seem happy enough. You're not blacking out just yet, but it can't be far away. You moan and fumble at your own tits and pretend to help me fuck you, but you're getting limper with every passing second.

I figure I'm ready to move on. You figure you're ready to go to sleep. We can both have what we want, really. I strip off what little you're wearing, and the last thing you feel as you drift away is the head of my cock starting to enter your...

Imagine you're waking up, right where you went to sleep. How long has it been? You're still naked. I'm still there. I have one hand on your cheek and the other jerking my cock, slowly. When I see your eyes flutter open, I speed up. You try to say something. Try.

I take my hand off my cock to grab the pill bottle. I shake three of them into your hand. "Go ahead."

You take them, of course. Then I throw back the rest of the bottle into my mouth and swallow them all.

You're shocked. I'm laughing. My hand is back on my cock, making myself cum on your face. "It was a joke, silly slut. They're all placebos!" I smear my load across your face, let you down gently to a lying position. I wipe my cock on your clothes, throw them on top of you, and walk away.

Now imagine that before starting our little game tonight, I took the placebo bottle and put two dozen real pills on top of it. You swallowed them all. What were they? You don't know. I've already forgotten. Who gives a shit anyway. What matters is I drugged you into unconsciousness, did God knows what with your body, and then convinced you that you were sober the whole time. Isn't that hilarious?

- Sinister

Wow. Wow wow wow. Yes please.

I'd just keep taking anything you gave me. I'd want to be a good girl for you after all. Each pill making me more and more needy. Each time I think less and less about the consequences by replacing those thoughts with how badly I want to be obedient. I mean, I can't say no. How could I? I want so badly to please you. Wanting to pleasure you with my mouth. Wanting more, but feeling too sleepy. I fall asleep for you to do whatever you want to my little, weak body.

I wake up feeling hot and used. Not sure what happened to me. Not sure what is currently happening. Not fully understanding how I could be like that with placebos. But if you say so, it must be true. After all, you wouldn't lie to me. It's my fault for being such a dumb slut. It's my fault for being so easy.

It would just make our game so much harder for me to win. Just like it should be.

90 notes · View notes

enmi-land · 1 year ago

Text

౨ৎ ANGEL BABY

──── 𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖺 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗈𝗈

2024 pairing. 김선우 x fem!member oc cw. mentions of dieting & body image req. mila babying sunoo. ❨ back to LIBRARY ?! ❩

MILA WASN’T USED TO TAKING CARE OF OTHER PEOPLE, especially when she had grown up learning to be independent — to function without the presence of people who she could rely on, only to realise she was more lonely than anything else. So when she would innately baby her boyfriends and spoil them with affection, she surprised even herself with how natural to felt.

To care for someone, to do something kind for them, to be able to put a smile on their faces… Those were the things that Mila whole-heartedly believed she was here on this earth to do.

“Say, ‘ahhh.’” Mike lifted a fork to Sunoo’s lips, which had a chunk of her fluffy homemade pancakes covered in maple syrup and whipped cream at the end of it, topped with a sliced strawberry that would fall of any second now.

Sunoo laughed slightly before obediently allowing the girl to feed him, humming in delight as the pancake melted across his tongue in a puddle of sweetness. Mila smiled brightly, eyes sparkling with adoration as they took in the sight of his puffed cheeks and the sound of his little chirps. It wasn’t often that she looked at someone and thought, ‘I want to pinch his cheeks.’ But Sunoo had always been an exception.

“Is it good?” Mila asked. Her tone had changed to resemble the cooing that one would make to a baby. And why wouldn’t it? Sunoo was adorable, and he was technically her baby.

Sunoo nodded, his hair bouncing slightly form the movement. Mila giggled as he put his thumbs up. “It’s good!”

“Have some more.” Mila said as she poked her fork through the half-eaten pancakes on the plate. She lifted the fork up to Sunoo’s lips once again, repeating the action she had been doing for the past half an hour. And yet, it wasn’t boring or tedious in the slightest. She couldn’t think of anything she’d rather be doing.

“I think I ate too much…” Sunoo groaned as he lay down on Mila’s bed, placing a hand over his stomach. He had finished the whole plate of pancakes that Mila had made for him, unable to resist the sweetness of the fluffy treat. He pouted. “I’m so full.”

Mila giggled happily as she lay next to him, throwing her arms around him and resting her cheek against his shoulder, nuzzling it slightly. “That’s good.”

“Until I end up gaining weight, you mean,” Sunoo sighed. “I was supposed to go on diet…”

Mila immediately raised her head, a stern expression on her face. “No. You’ve already been eating less than normal. Who cares about gaining weight? It’s more important that you’re happy and healthy— and we both know you were eyeing those snacks that Jake and Riki were eating last night.”

Sunoo pouted. “But still… I should lose some of my baby fat. Especially on my face.”

“Nooooooo…” Mila leaned down to peck Sunoo’s cheek, before brushing away the hair from his face. She looked into his eyes, cupping his cheeks which she adored so much. “What about your perfect cheeks? We’d lose a national treasure if you lost any more weight… What would happen then?” She gently squished his face together. “No. I can’t live without these cheeks.”

Sunoo’s pout was replaced with a bright smile, his eyes crinkling into a familiar pair of crescent moons. “Do you like my cheeks that much?”

Mila didn’t hesitate to respond, “Of course I do.” She littered small pecks across his face, covering his skin in her love, savouring the small giggles he released in return. She pulled away, eyes sincere as they looked into his. “I love everything about you. Don’t forget that.”

Sunoo smiled, nodding in agreement. “Okay.”

He didn’t know how he would ever forget. Not when Mila was holding him so gently, as if she was holding the cusp of the world in her hands. Not when she brought his head to her chest and ran her hands through his hair while whispering how much she loved him. Not when she was calling him “baby,” “honey,” “sweetie” — every sweet name she could possibly think of — while showering him in kisses.

“This is nice,” Sunoo hummed, burying his face further into Mila’s chest. “Thank you, byeol-ah.”

Mila smiled, resting her cheek on the top of Sunoo’s head while looking at the ceiling, imagining the bright sun shining down on them through the roof. “Anything for you, xīngān.”

xīngān (“心肝”) lit. trnalsated as “heart and liver” but is a strong term of endearment more close to the english meaning of “my heart and soul”

#◌ 🌸 ˴ milana bai . ˚◞ ★̶̲ ꒱#enhypen 8th member #enhypen added member #enhypen eight member #enhypen extra member #enhypen fem oc #enhypen female member #enhypen female oc #enhypen oc #enhypen poly

178 notes · View notes

ltbarnes · 1 year ago

Text

Back to December (1/2)

Summary: Your new job as an assistant for the CEO of a big, shiny company was supposed to be a good thing. Instead your ex from uni who completely ghosted you out of nowhere several years ago happens to be one of your superiors. It doesn’t help that he’s only gotten more handsome over the years. But you hate him for leaving without an explanation, and he seems to hate you too. Everything is just fucking great.

Pairing: ex!Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Word count: 6.9k

Warnings: OFFICE AU (Ghost is not ceo but he’s up there in the company somewhere), exes to enemies to lovers, harassment, past emotional violence/threats, ghost was a rugby player in uni lol, blood

A/N: I’m finally dipping my toe into another fandom 🫣 I’ve been obsessed with the cod men for months now so I suppose it’s time. this is the first part of two, maybe three. we’ll see where my imagination takes me!!

Part 2

Masterlist

So many years spent wondering what the hell happened that night, and there he is on the opposite side of the meeting room table gathering his papers into a neat pile. Simon always was organized, you remember.

He hasn't seen you yet. Or maybe he doesn't recognize you. You don't think you have changed that much, but you never know. More as a person than your appearance, you guess.

Maybe that's why you haven't fell down to the floor crying yet—you would have just a few years ago. Seeing your ex-boyfriend for the first time since you were 20 might do that to you.

But you just feel anger. Anger over the fact that Simon has the audacity to have grown into his looks that way, and that he's successful and has this great scruff on his face and that he just left and never said a word to you again. How dare he have a good life when he just abandoned you and your relationship that night all those years ago without giving you a reason for it.

Your new boss clears his throat, sitting down at one of the ridiculously expensive chairs right next to you. You didn't notice him come in, and you certainly haven't gotten used to his intimidating presence yet.

"Garcia, you have about...fifteen minutes to go through your presentation. I have another meeting with Hill soon." Mr. Price pauses to look down at his wrist watch for two seconds in the middle of his sentence, before nodding towards the beautiful redhead standing with a small remote in her hand.

For some reason this company seems to be where models who get tired of their careers come to work. You didn't exactly get that memo. It's only your second day here, and you feel intimidated by everyone. Maybe that's the way an assistant should feel.

"Y/l/n, you keeping notes for me?" Your head tilts up dangerously fast at the mention of your name, taking a few seconds too long to process his request, before nodding obediently.

"Yes, sir."

Your fingers click too loudly against the keys as you frantically try to draw up a document with the correct font and size. It's too quiet in here. You haven't done anything wrong, yet it feels like everyone is waiting for you to misstep. Your anxiety is a bitch.

"Riley. Riley, what the hell?" you hear someone whisper angrily. It's not until you hear a pen clatter to the floor that you dare to look up his way.

Honey brown eyes stare right into your goddamn soul. Your breath hitches, speeding up the pace of your anxiety-ridden heart even further. More than what's acceptable for sitting still in a work meeting. But your momentary weakness over catching his attention soon disappears, to be replaced by your anger again.

You look away with a clenched jaw, focusing on the keyboard right beneath you. Simon is still staring at you. You can feel it. Feels like it always used to do, but this time you don't want it. In your ideal world Simon Riley would not sit opposite you, would not stand up to join the beautiful, model redhead to hold a presentation where he keeps stumbling on his words all the time because of your presence. At least you think it's your presence, but you're not sure if it's in a good or bad way. For you it's bad.

But it does make you feel good that he keeps having these space outs—tripping over his words, forgetting them all together. It is not a good presentation on his part, and Ms. Garcia is getting increasingly more irritated at him for his lack of delivery. You hope she scolds him for it afterward. God knows you would like to throw every curse word you know at the man.

Should you be this angry after all these years? Should you have let it go a long time ago? Should you have stopped acting as if being with another man after him is betrayal? Probably. The last question is probably the answer to why you haven't really moved on from your hurt.

It just makes you so mad—for a year he was your entire world. Simon hugged you from behind each time he encountered you out in public and played with your hair as you fell asleep in his arms and woke you up with his fingers tracing patters on your hip. He fucked you until your bed broke and made love to you so gently you might as well have been made of glass to him. Two weeks from your anniversary he stopped talking to you. Not one thing of his was left in your dorm the next morning, and you didn't see him on campus even once during the term he had left of school. The few friends you had in common didn't talk to you anymore.

It broke your heart, to be abandoned like that. That night was already shit, and Simon just decided to make it ten times worse. You were in shock and all you wanted was his comfort. To find out he had left? You barely made it through that next semester.

For years you have pondered over what part of you was so unlovable that Simon couldn't even bear to say another word to you. Maybe his inability to function properly during this meeting wasn't due to shock, but instead disgust over having to be in the same room as you. Fuck, you are mad, and yet so scared that you have to meet him every single week from now on. You're not strong enough for that.

"That was...something. I expect you to be better prepared next time I see you, Riley," Mr. Price says, clicking his pen while pointing it towards Simon. "Don't know what the fuck that was," he mutters under his breath while rising from his chair.

You follow swiftly. The chair is too loud as it's pushed back. You cringe. Gathering your laptop and your papers is ungraciously done. Price still waits for you though, for some reason, but he sighs and puffs while doing so. Everyone else is quiet, besides the slap to his arm Simon receives from Ms. Garcia. They're probably dating. Two perfect, good looking people having perfect sex in their perfect apartments. You hate them both.

You try not to look at him as you walk out behind Mr. Price. But you still say a 'have a good day' that is too quiet to the room, answered with a few nods and some 'you too' back.

A small squeak of surprise escapes your lips when your boss comes to an abrupt halt in front of you. A millisecond is all it would take for you to have crushed into him, and that squeak leaves heat travelling to your face. He turns around, facing the room once again, with his usual glare.

"Don't bloody stare at my new assistant. I don't want another HR-situation with this one. Especially talking to you, Riley."

Price pins his glare on Simon, who gives him an equally harsh glare back. You are just about ready for the floor to break so you can fall through to the bottom level and run out of here. But you're frozen in your place, clutching your belongings to your chest tightly enough to make a computer-sized dent in your skin.

Without another word, your boss turns around and heads out of the room. You couldn't have moved any faster if you wanted to—already tight on his heels while your heart rate desperately tries to calm down. Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. What the hell are you going to do? Ignore Simon and hope that you manage to avoid him for however long you'll work here? It feels kind of impossible, but the last thing you want is to talk to him. You couldn't.

You've just put down your things on your desk right outside of Price's office when he speaks again. His voice always manages to make you jump in your place, head flying up to meet his gaze.

"If Riley, or anyone else, gives you any trouble—you tell me," he says, unflinching and stoic.

You gulp, frozen in your position. "Oh—I, okay. Thank you." The words come out quieter than you wanted to.

"You seem like a good kid. Don't want these fucking fools to chase away 'nother one of my assistants."

The door to his office is closed the next second. You just stand there, dumbfounded and a little confused, but still flattered in some way. A good kid—you'll take that.

Popcorn crunches underneath your sneakers as you push yourself past the people going up and down the stairs, trickling out of the stadium with happy smiles on their faces and lively conversations exchanged now that the game is over. They won. The players are still out on the field, celebrating their victory with slaps to each other's backs, jumping up and down, impromptu attack hugs. You are giggling too, watching them.

Simon has torn his shirt off, sweaty, blond hair a mess as he shakes his head. Johnny just poured water all over him—the guy always gets so overexcited. And goddamn, your man looks good as he has that rare smile on his face.

The game was a really good one on his part. Everyone in the team calls him 'Ghost' because of how quickly and seamlessly he moves despite his size. And the big tattoo of a man wearing a skull mask on his arm. But once he's out on the field, the players never expects his speed. At least one player during each game runs right into him, as if he was invisible. A ghost.

He hasn't noticed you yet, where you stand leaning against the railing. It's freezing out. The first really cold September day, and you didn't think to bring a proper jacket. But you don't really care, because seeing Simon and your friends this happy has plastered a permanent grin on your face.

"Riley, your girl!"

Someone shouts and points at you, alerting your boyfriend of your presence. His head whips in your direction, brown eyes pinpointing you in your place before a 6'2'' man starts barreling towards you. Simon throws the water bottle in his hand away carelessly as you giggle furiously over his excitement.

"Fuck, love," he says as he reaches his hands out, lifting you over the railing within a second. You yelp in surprise.

"Wha—Simon! Put me down!"

Simon just holds onto you tighter, pressing you close to him with your feet still in the air. How is he this strong? "Not a chance, Princess. We fucking won. I'm celebrating with my girl."

You chuckle, holding onto his shoulders while looking down at his sweaty face. "I know. I'm so proud of you."

A shy grin grows on his face, slowly setting you down onto the fake grass. "Really?"

"Really. It's the best you've ever played. Wanted to shout to everyone that it was my boyfriend doing all the best throws out there," you tell him, now looking up at him instead. God, he's tall.

Simon's mouth comes crashing down onto yours, giving you a sloppy kiss that makes you laugh.

"I lov—I loved having you here." Simon pauses in the middle of the sentence, as if he was supposed to say something else. "You're my fucking lucky charm, you know that?"

"I'm not so sure about that. You have lost quite a few games with me here as well," you tell him, ruffling his messy hair with your hand.

"Don't matter. I feel lucky anyway." A boyish grin adorns his face as he leans down to press a kiss to your head. "Now, tell me why in the hell my little lady is out here freezing her arse off 'cause she didn't bring a jacket? Like I told her to do?"

You groan, giving him a glare. "Stop. I should have listened to you, you were right, and all that. I know."

"Well, better for me, 'cause I get to rub my sweaty arms all over you now to warm you up."

"Go shower, you idiot." You push at his chest gently, rolling your eyes. He pretends to stumble backwards, holding his hands up.

"I will. Just wait a few seconds here, will you?"

Simon keeps walking backwards, waiting for your nod of confirmation, before breaking out into a jog towards the locker rooms.

You embrace your torso with your arms, rubbing up and down with your hands to warm your skin. There's so many players left on the field, still messing with each other like rugby teams usually do. Some you recognize—like Johnny and Gaz. They're your friends too. Others you have seen in passing at parties, in class. Some you only know because Simon complains about them to you. The fly-half never was his favorite. Graves, something? They're constantly at each other's throats.

Simon comes running out onto the field once more, this time with his jacket in hand. You sigh, scratching the skin above your eyebrow with a small smile.

"Si—you didn't have to. I'm fine," you say as soon as he's within earshot.

"Shut up. I'm being a bloody gentleman, just like my mum taught me."

The jacket is laid gently around your shoulders. You tug it tighter around you, because despite your words it is cold. And you love his jacket.

"Look at you. So fucking adorable."

You smile up at him, scrunching your nose. You love this fool. You love Simon Riley, have done so for many, many months. Haven't told him yet though. But it can wait—you have all the time in the world.

Simon is avoiding you. A week of not seeing him even once, despite the fact that you work on the same floor. You haven't attended any more meetings since your second day, but you still would have expected to run into him in the break room, or in the hallway. Hell, you've even delivered paper copies to his office and still haven't seen him.

You don't know what you feel about that. You are mad at him and you definitely don't want to be forced into an awkward encounter with your ex-boyfriend, but still not knowing why he left has chipped away at every ounce of confidence you had in yourself. Even now at your grown age. It's been several years since. It's pathetic. Maybe Simon realized that on a Friday night in December during his senior year of college—you are pathetic.

God, why are you still that 20-year old girl? Why are you sitting at your desk, 3:30 PM on a Wednesday, obsessing over every flaw you can come up with all because of a stupid man?

The anger you held towards him last Tuesday has morphed into deep self-hate. You begin to understand his perspective. He doesn't want to interact with the silly little girl he broke up with ages ago in her silly little assistant job. Simon is a senior executive in this company, for god's sake. He doesn't even have to send a second glance your way.

"Y/l/n! Coffee!" your boss yells from within his office. But the yelling and cold tone still doesn't offend you like it would any other person—it's just the way he is. Price has actually been pretty nice to you. You like him as your boss, despite his less than chipper attitude.

"Yes, sir," you shout back, rising from your seat.

You smooth down your dress, fiddle with your hair in the reflection of your laptop, before taking a deep breath. It's just a short trip to the break room. No big deal. Nobody actually cares that you are the new girl.

It's practically empty as you arrive, besides a man reading his newspaper in the corner while seemingly on an important call. Seems a little arrogant, but you know he's high up in the company. At least you think he is. Price doesn't like him. He told you so the first day.

A sigh of relief escapes your lungs as you walk to the expensive, Italian coffee machine. You press the double espresso button. No sugar, no milk. Just straight, black coffee for your boss. Kind of reflects his personality. It buzzes loudly as coffee drips into the cup, you standing there waiting patiently. It has started raining outside. You'll probably be soaking wet tonight once you come back to your apartment.

Someone comes standing beside you, taking a mug off the highest shelf. You catch a glimpse of his expensive suit before glancing upwards. Your lips part, almost just as shocked as you were last Tuesday. You can't catch a fucking break, can you?

"Johnny?"

The now bearded man, with a full head of hair as well, which he definitely didn't have when you last saw him, turns around towards you with a stoic expression. It doesn't change once he gets a good look at who said his name.

"You work here too?" you ask before gulping.

"Y/n," he says, a frown growing in between his eyebrows. "I work here, yes." The Scottish accent that you used to like listening to is now impossibly deeper.

"Uh, I—how you doing? It's been...a while." You glance away, cowering under his gaze. Soap always used to be so kind to you, treated you as if you were one of the boys. Insisted you call him Soap, something only his friends were allowed to call him. Now there is a hidden undertone of distaste in the way he looks at you. "See you've gotten rid of the Mohawk."

"I'm alright. Good to see ya', Y/n, but I gotta go back," he tells you. For some reason you feel like he's actually not all that happy to see you.

"Oh. Okay." The disappointment in your voice is clear. "We'll probably see each other again soon, I guess."

Johnny has already started walking away when the words leave your mouth. You hear him mumble a halfhearted 'Take care, lassie" before leaving you there dumbfounded and upright hurt with your boss's coffee cup. What was that?

You always knew Johnny was as loyal of a friend you could be, but...you didn't know he hated you that much. Especially when you didn't actually do anything against him. Not that you did anything against Simon either. That you know of. But, you know.

The short interaction leaves you jarred for the rest of your work day. You still get things done, but the look on Johnny's face is in the back of your mind the entire time. What did you do that was so bad that John goddamn MacTavish hates you for it?

It wasn't enough to work with the man who broke your heart, but your ex-friend as well. His best friend. You will never be welcomed here if half of the company leaders consist of people who have a grudge against you spanning years.

When the clock strikes 6, Price sends you home. He will probably stay for another few hours, you think, because there has been empty takeout containers in his office the morning after every day this week. You tell him to have a good night, he answers with a grunt, and then you and your bag take off through the hallways.

Your heels click against the floor as you walk through the mostly empty office space. Some rooms still have their lights on, casting shadows over the mahogany desks and the important people sitting behind them.

You halt your steps as you hear two voices wrapped into a conversation with each other. Someone must have left their door open. You don't want to eavesdrop, but it gets hard to resist when you recognize Johnny's voice from earlier.

"You can't avoid her forever," he says.

"Well, don't you think I fucking know that?"

You freeze as you instantly recognize the deep, rumbling timber of Simon's voice answering Soap. Fucking hell—they're talking about you. You can't not eavesdrop now.

"It's just—it's fucking hard, you know? She just walks in here all..."

"Met her in the break room earlier. Making coffee for Price."

"Yeah? She said somethin'?" Simon's voice sounds curious, eager almost.

"Asked how I was doing, the usual. Didn't know I worked here, it seemed like." A sigh sounds from the room, and you press yourself even closer to the wall. Please, for the love of god, don't let anyone walk by. "I couldn't just act like normal. I can't be fuckin'...nice to someone like that. When I know your past."

"What—you were fucking rude, or what? Just ignored her?"

"No, for fuck's sake. Left pretty quick, though. I just don't have any respect for things like that. You know that."

"Yeah." Simon lets out a bitter chuckle. If you could see him, he'd probably be shaking his head now. "I'm still fucking angry, you know? Can barely stand to be in the same room."

You bite down on your lip, shaking your head to yourself. You can't listen to the two of them talk about how much they hate you. How they don't have respect for 'things' like you. It's nauseating. Your limbs shake with poorly contained anger, but still the urge to cry is even stronger.

But there's no other way out than past his office. So you brave it—practically sprint by with your hand covering the side of your face in hope that they won't see who it is. You don't think they do. The blinds were down.

A single, pathetic tear slips down your face as soon as you exit the building. Cars fly past you, lights blaring everywhere, noise unending. You just want to go home. But you know the overthinking won't stop there.

As the obnoxiously loud alarm disturbs your sleep that finally came about three hours before, you groan into your pillow and wish for it to be anything else but Thursday. You want the weekend. You want to sleep in and wallow in the fact that you probably won't have this job for very long after what you heard Simon and Johnny say about you yesterday.

You don't even bother putting on heels this morning. An old pair of ballerina shoes and a thick, fuzzy sweater over your dress is what you drag yourself to the office in. It's cold and you're exhausted and sad. You can't stand people not liking you—it takes over every part of your being. And when it's Simon...

There's a meeting going on. Price gave you a list of everyone's coffee orders and made you run over to the shop across the street. You see Simon's name taunting you at the top of the list. A cortado, extra sugar. Fuck, he's still the same.

It takes twenty minutes of queuing before you manage to get to the counter. Another ten to have everyone's order ready. The bag is ridiculously heavy as you carry it out of the coffee shop. The meeting will probably be over by the time you arrive, and then Price will curse you out and you will cry, because today you cannot handle even the smallest criticism.

You're a little sweaty by the time you reach the fourteenth floor of the building, which is fine, but the panting doesn't exactly add to your charisma that somehow seems to repent your coworkers from your person. For a minute you stand outside the meeting room, gathering yourself enough to be somewhere near presentable. Not entirely, but as close as you will get.

The door is shouldered open with a little force. More than you thought it would take. Nobody really gives a thought to your presence—they continue the meeting as if you weren't there at all, and you like it that way. You try to match each coffee to the right person on the list. But there's thirteen of them, and you have yet to learn everyone's name.

You feel Simon's eyes on you the entire time you spend in that room. He's anything but subtle, staring right at you without shame. He doesn't even answer as someone calls him by name. And it's pure spite leaving him for last. His order is the only one you know by heart, but keeping him waiting for a few extra minutes is deserved, you think. Maybe it just gives him more fuel to hate you, but if he's going to hate you, you might as well give it right back.

His ring-clad fingers clasp around the paper mug, slowly bringing it up to his lips as if taunting you with the existence of them. God, they are so full and pink and—no. Don't even go down that route. It'll all make it so much harder to live like this if you keep thinking about how fucking attractive Simon has become with his still blond hair slightly unkept from running his hand through it during the day and how his shirt strains against his muscles and the fact that he is still so, so tall.

"This is cold."

The room falls silent, at least you think it does, as Simon's harsh voice echoes throughout the confines of the four walls. The coffee belonging to the person sitting beside him is steaming. You know he's lying. He sets down the mug on the table, glaring up at you with such distaste in his eyes. You never thought that look would be reserved for you.

"Can't even get a bloody coffee order right, can you?" Simon's chuckle is deprecating, shaking his head to himself as if his irritation almost amuses him.

But you just flinch. He doesn't see it, but you think the rest of the room does. His tone fucking hurts. And that he would publicly humiliate you like this?

"Oh, uh..." You want so badly to have a good comeback, something that will make him shrink in his chair, but all you can get out is a stupid 'oh'. Standing there all small and speechless makes you feel dumb. "I'll get a new one."

Your response seems to catch his attention. His gaze flickers up, back to you, and the cruelty falters for a few seconds to be replaced by something likened to...regret? Probably not.

"Riley can drink his cold goddamn coffee. He'll survive," Price chimes in, waving with his pen as a signal for whoever was speaking before to continue.

You nod, clenching your jaw to stop the trembling, before escaping out of the room as quickly as possible without it seeming suspicious.

A shaky, deep breath is inhaled and exhaled as soon as you get out. It was already a bad day, yes, but nearly crying because Simon told you his coffee was cold? That's just childish. You need to pull yourself together if you're going to keep this job. Price clearly doesn't like weakness.

The rest of the day is calm. Mostly you're reviewing Price's schedule, emailing people back and forth about changing meetings and setting them up. He even gives you an extra break, which is so well needed and probably out of pity, but you'll take it.

You realize that you are so fucking petty when your final task of the day, once again, is to deliver some kind of contract to Simon's office. You know he's out on a meeting with a client—you heard him walking past earlier, talking to that client on the phone. You gather your belongings, say goodbye to Price, before heading towards Simon's on your way down.

Stepping inside feels like walking right into his arms. His cologne hangs heavy in the air. Fuck him for still using the same scent.

The entirety of his office is neatly organized, everything in its place. So you move things. A sharpener gets to change its designated spot from desk to shelf. Files labeled under 'F' gets shoved in between 'S' and 'T'. You even go as far as taking out some of the files from one folder, placing it in another. The printer gets unplugged.

Doing something to his old copy of The Fellowship of the Ring that stands proudly on display in his bookcase crosses your mind, but you do want to stay alive long enough to see the end of the week, at least. You remember one time when he slept with it as if it was a stuffed animal. You're being petty, not suicidal.

Your final masterpiece in your rampage is the unscrewing of a wheel on his desk chair. Just the thought of Simon pushing his chair back only for it to suddenly tilt makes you giggle. God, you really are a child.

Any sane person wouldn't even notice half the things you've done in here. But Simon is not sane. This can throw off his entire day, week even. You know from firsthand experience.

Yeah, Simon goddamn Riley broke your fucking heart and now has the audacity to punish you for it. You won't take that.

Simon has been in such a bad mood the entire day. You heard him cursing all the way from his office. Some poor intern got yelled at in the hallway (you really are sorry for that), and you overheard a few of your colleagues mention that he didn't speak to anyone during the entire morning meeting. Price apparently cursed him out for it in front of everyone. That's a little funny, at least.

On one hand you feel proud of your ability to still piss him off without him knowing. On the other hand, you're not too happy yourself. Your situation hasn't exactly changed—half the office still hasn't talked to you, and the ones that do keep strictly work related conversations. You're lonely.

Despite it being Friday, you get off when the sun has already set. It's pouring rain outside and you don't have an umbrella. You really don't have the energy to deal with that as you gaze warily out of the window from your desk. You could take the subway instead of walk all the way home, but you would still get soaking wet during the trek to the station.

"Goodbye, Mr. Price. Have a good weekend," you say, popping your head into his office with a sweet smile on your lips.

"Call me John," he answers without even looking up from whatever report he's reviewing. Still that monotone voice as if he's always tired of hearing people talk.

"Oh. Uh—okay, John," you stutter out. What? He never lets anyone call him by first name.

"Get home safe," Price tells you. Has he grown soft? What's happening? "Have a fuck load of reports needing organization on Monday." There it is.

You smile to yourself, shaking your head lightly, before mumbling another 'bye' to your boss. He lifts his head in a subtle nod as answer. Actually, you might have a chance to stay here if he likes you. He is the CEO after all.

The hallways are dark except the few offices still lit up like every night. These people barely have a life outside of work, it seems like. It's kind of sad. Then again, you don't either, if what counts as a life is having friends and significant others and people who care about you. But at least you have time for doughing in your couch and taking a walk around the neighborhood.

But your daydreaming and overthinking of course leads you into trouble. Rounding the corner forces you right into another person, making you stumble backwards a few steps before a clammy hand grabs your arm to stop you from falling.

"I'm so, so sorry," you say, looking up at the man standing in front of you. It's that executive-something Price doesn't like. Shepherd? An American.

"Don't worry that pretty little head of yours, darling," he says, without backing away from you. He keeps that close distance, letting you feel his dank breath properly.

You gulp, before attempting to release your arm from his grip. He doesn't budge. Your heart rate speeds up instantly.

"Haven't talked to you properly before, sweetheart. Just seen you strutting 'round these hallways in your dresses." He looks down at your wide eyes, before they slowly rake over the rest of your body. Your chest starts to heave up and down as if you've just come back from a run. It's clear he wants something more than just a simple conversation with the new assistant.

"I'm—I'm sorry. I have to go. Train," you stutter out, attempting to tear yourself away from his harsh grip around your arm. You can't.

"Don't be like that, darlin'. I just wanna have a talk, that's all," he tells you, his warm breaths hitting your face.

"Please, sir, I really have to go. We can talk on Monday."

Shepherd raised an eyebrow, gaze flickering down to your chest again as if you can't see it clearly, before tapping your cheek condescendingly with the palm of his hand.

"Alright, sweetheart. Come into my office on Monday. Appreciate it if you'd wear one of those pretty dresses. Makes my day much better, having somethin' sweet to look at."

A wet kiss is pressed to the back of your hand—something that he might think is gentlemanly, but sends shivers down your entire spine out of disgust. You're frozen still as he squeezes your hip before he leaves, leaving you to hear his dress shoes clink against the floor.

The further away he gets, the harder it gets for you to breathe. Panic grows in your chest, tears already threatening to fall as you finally get yourself to move, rushing towards the elevator and pressing the button too many times.

He was so close. And the way his grip tightened as you tried to step away, the squeeze of your hip. It's too much like last time. Too much like that fucking December night all those years ago.

Clear pictures of Philip and his friends flashes past the forefront of your mind as you rush from the elevator, already heaving from your tears. It's empty, thank god, since the guards are posted outside of the main entrance. Philip morphs into the man from just a minute ago. Pushing you against the wall at that party, grinning right in your face as you tell them to stop.

The backdoor leading into the alleyway beside the building is where your feet leads you towards without consulting you. It's better, maybe. You don't want anyone to see you like this.

But those goddamn revolving doors acting as the main entrance starts to move, you hear that, and soon enough someone steps inside with haste in their walk.

"Y/l/n!" someone shouts angrily. You know exactly who it is. "Why the fuck did you move all my stuff? I swear to god—"

Your back is facing away from him, but maybe he still sees the way your shoulders shake from behind. Maybe that's why he falters in his steps. Maybe that's why he decides to cut the first real sentences he's said to you directly since you started working here short.

The last crumb of composure turns to dust, and your hand flies up to your mouth to muffle the first real sob from your lips. You escape through the door, out into the cold, rainy alleyway as your cries turn too forceful to stop.

It's wet and dirty and crawling with grovel as your knees hit the ground harshly. You manage to turn yourself around to lean your back against the cold brick wall instead. It'll all bring you grief later, but right now your legs can't carry your weight.

With a bang, the door flies wide open once more. Long legs bend down, big hands on your arms.

"Y/n. Y/n, c'mon. Why are you crying?"

Simon's voice is drowning in urgency, his shakes of your shoulders almost forceful. But you can't stop crying. And you're still so fucking angry with him.

"Don't touch me," you sob, pushing his hands away from you. The rain grows heavier the same second, soaking the entirety of you as you sit there on the dirty ground.

"Alright, alright. I won't," he breathes out, holding his hands up beside him. Those big, veiny fucking hands that you have missed every day since he last put them on you. "But you gotta tell me what's wrong."

"Why?" you almost yell, tilting your head up, away from the palms of your hands previously hiding your face. You get raindrops right in your eyes. "You hate me, don't you? Can't even stand to be in the same room as me!"

"Y/n," he growls, as if he's scolding you with the simple mention of your name. "You know bloody fucking well I don't hate you. Now tell me what the hell's making you sob like this. You're sitting on the ground, for fuck's sake."

You dry away your tears, despite it being so futile in this rain, while letting out a bitter chuckle. "All due respect, you're the last person I wanna talk to."

Simon lets out a shaky breath, one filled with frustration. "So fucking stubborn..."

He shakes his head. "Just—just let me drive you home, at least, okay? The trains from this station are cancelled. Blowing up to a storm."

The words you were about to force out through your tears disappear completely. Instead you just stare at the man now looking down at you with something likened to concern. Still has that frown in between his eyebrows.

"I'm not going to get in a car with you, Riley," you mumble out. If you had your way it would sound angrier, more assertive, but your voice fails you.

"Riley, huh? That's where it's at?" Simon scoffs, as if he didn't call you by your last name a few minutes earlier. "Just get up, c'mon."

"No." You shake your head, looking down in your lap. In reality you're not just apprehensive because of your anger towards him—he's a man at the end of the day, and you are his ex-girlfriend who he dislikes very strongly.

"Are you—for god's sake." He shakes his head again. "I'm not going to hurt you, Y/n. I would never harm you. Not any woman," he tells you. How can he still read you this well?

You don't answer. Just take your wet sleeve to dry away even more tears. How to stop crying in front of your ex seems to be an art you haven't mastered yet.

"Okay, I'll make you a deal. You let me get you a taxi home, after you get out of this fucking rain and step inside. That alright with you?"

You nod with a sniffle, reaching for your bag beside you.

"C'mon."

Simon nods towards the door, reaching his hand out. You take it, because there's no chance you would manage to get up all by yourself. But that's the only reason.

He holds the door open for you, letting you slip inside again. Exactly how much the rain soaked you hits you as you step inside, instantly freezing cold and uncomfortable. And goddamn your right knee hurts. Falling down to the ground did come with consequences, it seems.

"Fucking hell," Simon mutters under his breath as soon as he gets inside, dripping water down onto the shiny floor. His suit is entirely soaked too.

You see a glance of yourself in a mirror as you take off your heels. There's mascara underneath your eyes. You try to remove it furiously with your fingers.

"Don't have to do that. Nothing that I haven't seen before," Simon speaks up from behind you, looking at you as well through the mirror.

You glance up at him, just for half a second, before lowering your arms slowly. And then you rummage through your bag with trembling hands, finding a napkin you kept from a restaurant. You dry away the mascara with that instead.

Simon looks at you, really looks at you, as you stand there dripping water onto the floor and makeup ruined and your clothes dirty. You feel so vulnerable underneath his gaze. What is he trying to find?

"Bloody hell, Y/n. You're bleeding for fuck's sake. That's a fucking gash."

He points at your knee. You look down, seeing the outpouring of blood running down your leg from the open wound right below your knee. It does look very, very bad. Like, you're slowly becoming nauseous by looking at it. How didn't you notice it earlier?

"Oh."

"I'm driving you wether you like it or not." Simon stalks up to you, grabbing a hold of your arm to put it around his shoulder. His arm sneaks its way around your waist. Fuck.

"Do I get a say in this?" you ask. You know what the answer is, but you also don't understand. What is this? Why is he doing this for you? A few days ago he was talking shit about you with Soap and humiliated you purposely in front of your co-workers. Now he's getting worried about you crying and driving you home from work?

"No."

Part 2

#cod mw2 #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #ghost fic #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #back to december

392 notes · View notes

hiskillingjar · 1 year ago

Text

just a doll on a string

Relationship: Ren Hana/Reader, Fox/Reader Rating: Explicit Contains: Vaginal Sex, Intercrural Sex, Drugging, Dollification, Blood, Light Bondage, Vomit Mention Length: 2300+ words

a very kind request from @woofykill, thank you so much, angel!

my fic commissions are open, so if you want a fic of your own, enquire within!

"Huaah..."

You let out an unsteady moan as the sharp needle slid out of your arm, a bead of blood oozing out of the pinprick in your skin.

You didn��t know the name of the drug now pumping through your system, but you knew that it was probably (definitely) the reason you were immediately feeling dazed and confused, and your brain was feeling hot.

Unable to think of words to say (would you even have any, if you could?), your heavily made-up eyes, skin coated, painted with smeared eyeliner and black kohl, peered up towards Fox as he set the empty syringe down on his desk and approached you slowly, the heels of his shoes tapping metallic *clangs* on the filming room floor.

"There we go, that's it," Fox crooned, his voice low and horribly comforting as he swept a hand through your dark hair and urged your hazy eyes upwards, the handsome crease at the corner of his own crinkling with fondness and lust. "That's a good girl. You’re responding perfectly, darling. It feels good, doesn't it? I made sure that it would…"

"Mm," You moaned softly, keening up to his touch and pulling at your handcuffs (the same that bound your ankles together underneath your thighs). They were the soft ones, pink leather with padded, lined interiors. They were there to restrain you, to keep you still, not to hurt you. "You...ahh, you didn't need to…to drug me..."

"Ah, but I wanted to, sweetheart," He replied with a sharp titter (his practised laugh, the laugh of a showman), his clawed fingers idly tracing down your heavily blushed cheeks and over your full lips. "It's just so nice seeing you so docile for me...so dreamy, so lost...like I could do anything I wanted to you and you wouldn’t have the energy to stop me. It's really too adorable. How could I possibly stop myself?"

Your lips parted obediently (mechanically, like you didn’t have control over the gesture) for his fingers and, satisfied that you had done what he wanted, he pressed them down against your pierced tongue. His golden eyes were practically gleaming as you drooled messily down them, down his palm, down his wrist, letting saliva and spittle cover your lips, your chin, pool down and soak into the front of your white top.

"Look at you," He murmured, his voice thick with something akin to awe and lust in tandem. "So messy, my girl...I'm really going to have to get that fixed, aren't I?"

You gurgled helplessly as he pressed his fingers deeper down your throat, your dark eyes rolling back in your skull at the feeling of his sharp claws raking over your tongue and the delicate walls of your windpipe.

For whatever reason, though, the painful sensations that you should have been feeling, were expecting, were replaced by nothing more than hazy pleasure, and you could already feel cool wetness begin to soak into your panties as you gagged and spluttered around his fingers even more.

If you had the mind to, you might have felt ashamed that he had subdued you so easily, so carelessly.

But your mind was far away now, and all you could think about was the daze of pleasure you were currently floating on.

"Yes, you're getting it now, aren't you?" Fox then added, settling down on one knee in front of you, his free hand reaching up to idly grope at your chest, fingers tracing over the semi-transparent spots where your drool was soaking in the worst, making the thin material stick to your skin and sheen through white. "You're...familiar with this drug, aren't you, sweetheart? You missed it..."

"Upfff..." You groaned, trying to press your teeth together as he forced his fingers deeper, almost deep enough to make you retch and gag.

And yet, it still felt...so good.

Mind-meltingly good, even, good enough that you had to press your thighs together to stop your cunt from throbbing so much.

"You know, if pain is making you this wet," He annunciates his point by forcing your legs apart again and pressing his knee against the wet fold of your cunt, relishing in the high whimper you let out as soon as he did so. "Imagine how good true pleasure would feel, how good it would feel to take my cock inside of you...you might just lose your mind, hm?"

Without warning, he then drew his fingers back roughly, hard enough to immediately trigger your gag reflex and force a small amount of stringy vomit from your throat and down your front.

God, even the stomach acid burning your throat felt good.

Despite the pain, despite how much it should have been hurting, you were still moaning mindlessly and drooling like an idiot all the way down your front, your eyelids fluttering like a broken baby doll as you tried to acclimate yourself to the white-hot pleasure.

"Ahh, that won't do," He grimaced at the vomit stain with a shake of his head, wiping his fingers off on his trousers. "No no, it won't do at all. Messy girl.” He chided softly with a low ‘tut-tut’. “I'm going to have to get you redressed…you know, since you can’t look after yourself properly anymore."

As if on cue, you suddenly felt firm hands reach down to the cuffs around your wrists and ankles, unclip them with ease (he hadn’t even put in that much effort to bind you, it seemed) and wrestle the stained clothing from your lax body.

You didn’t resist in the slightest, of course, since all of your limbs were totally lax and malleable as the clothing was stripped off.

You just hoped that you’d get redressed into something cute.

Fox simply stood in front of you and the firm hands, smiling with placid amusement as you were redressed into a tight tank top (adorned with a tacky graphic in pink and white and glitter, so different from what you’d normally wear) that clung provocatively to your full, pierced chest (clung a little too tight, your breasts were practically spilling out of the thing), and a pink, plaid skirt that wasn’t long enough to cover your backside, let alone your scarred thighs.

This was exactly the way Fox wanted you, though.

Pliant, agreeable, and dressed like a total slut.

"Much better," He praised with a sharp grin and a nod, taking his slow steps back in front of you as your wrists and ankles were chained up once more (even tighter, forcing your chest and hips to jut forward, as if you were presenting yourself). "And you were such a good girl too, letting yourself be posed and dressed, just like a doll...such a sweet, little thing."

His fingers reached down, then, and rubbed against your now bare cunt underneath your skirt, evidently satisfied when he found it drooling with wetness by the way his ears twitched and his tail immediately began to wag.

"I think I should give you a reward for that, don't you?"

Once again, you felt the authoritative pull of firm hands on each of your bound limbs, as you were pulled up against a familiar foam wedge, your limbs widely splayed outwards in spite of your binds and your half-lidded eyes rolling up to the ceiling, to the single, swinging light bulb.

The air in the filming room was cool on your hot cunt, enough to make you tremble and your nipples swell with blood and perk up, though that was nothing compared to the amount you were trembling when Fox approached you again, unzipping his suit trousers and placing a firm hand on your spread thigh.

"Just look at you," He sighed happily, sliding a hand into his underwear (expensive, Armani or some other designer brand) and slowly jerking himself to full hardness. "A helpless little doll underneath me. Everything a man like me could want. It's difficult to resist, you know." He licked his fangs idly as he pressed the head of his cock against your slit, running it up and down and feeling your oozing wetness slick up his length. "Mmf…and I've never been very good at resisting, as you well know~"

You were unable to do anything else but lie back pliantly and tip your head back as Fox's slim hips pressed to yours and he slid his cock inside of you, almost immediately groaning at the tight clench of your kegel muscles around him.

You, at the very least, had enough of a mind to make this good for him, it seemed.

You let out a long and dreamy moan at the pulsing sensation of his cock inside of you, to which he took in a sharp hiss through his teeth as you clenched up even tighter.

He somehow pinned your body down completely with his own, keeping you still, and you relished the opportunity for him to be so close to you.

"God, your little pussy is so tight," He groaned lowly in the back of his throat, his hands on your thighs clenching as he forced himself entirely inside of you. You could feel the initial swell of his knot against your slit and your entire body ached for it to fill you completely. "You fit around me so well…like…” He gasped again, his ears tilting forward. “Like you were moulded for me.”

"Nghh..." You groaned, panting wantonly open-mouthed and tipping your head back again and again as your spine arched dramatically, the short chains of each of your cuffs jangling with each hard thrust of his hips.

"If I could do nothing but fuck you all day long, I would in a heartbeat," He was panting himself (he did have a good twenty years on you, after all, and you had enough of a mind about you to be turned on by that), his free hand reaching up to the front of the tacky tanktop you'd been forced into, groping and pawing at your breast while he fucked you like he was born to do it. "Mph...too good."

"Nfff..." You bit your lip hard to hide a delirious smile, as you felt him nibble and nip at your neck, his chest pressing to yours, his twitching ears tickling your cheek and making you giggle yourself. "Sss...hah..."

"Oh, sweet girl, you can barely even speak, can you?” He murmured with an eager grin, rubbing his face against the juncture of your shoulder and your neck, scenting you like a fox would (you would know that, if you had even half a mind about you.) “Mm, if only you could see yourself right now, sweetheart…if you could see what I've turned you into."

"NGH!"

The sudden flash of pain was a surprise, enough to make you bite your lip unexpectedly hard, as his sharpened claws pressed deeply into your skin, tearing the flesh and muscle of your thigh and breast, and forcing rivulets of blood to drown and paint your skin with gruesome smears of red.

"Good girl," He praised, eminently satisfied by your pained reaction, as he pressed his hips even harder against yours, like he was trying to force his swelled knot inside of you (you couldn't do it easily, after all). "Good, pretty, little doll..."

“Hurts…hah…” You gasped as your hips bucked erratically against his. “Mpffff, pleaseeee, more…”

In spite of the blood, the torn skin, the damaged muscle, the drugs pumping through your system, coursing through your bloodstream and melting down your brain, made the pain feel like burning hot, overwhelming, overstimulating pleasure, easily the best you had ever felt, enough to make your mind fuzz and blur, and your vision go white.

"Oh, that’s perfect," He growled raggedly, baring his teeth like a man starved and narrowing his eyes, as he pulled his cock from your cunt and forced your soft thighs together with a mean slap. "That's just-" He then slid his cock between them, lubing his erratic thrusts with pearly beads of pre-cum and blood. "Mff...fucking perfect."

"Fox...nghh," You mewled, gasping as the head of his cock kept grazing over and over the worst of his scratches (impossibly deep, deeper than you thought any knife could ever go), feeling like he was teasing and stimulating every nerve in your body all at once. “T-Too much, hah…”

"Mm, that's no good either," He purred villainously, grabbing your cheeks with one hand and forcing your head back to the foam wedge, digging his claws into the marred skin around your injured eye as he kept bucking against the soft flesh of your legs. "You're sounding far too coherent right now, love...what, has your cocktail worn off already?"

"Nghh..." You slurred mindlessly, your body growing tense.

"Hmph, do I need to give you another dose?" He then asked, tilting his head with a broad grin, before he lowered his face down to yours, close enough that you could feel the heat from his cheeks and his breath on your skin. "Do I need to dull your brain even more so you'll always be my dumb, little doll, hm? Is that what you need, baby?"

You could still feel how hard he was, even when he wasn’t fucking you...at least he was enjoying this as much as you were.

"God, your body is so hot right now...twisted little dolly," He let out a barking chuckle (his real laugh, the one that only you saw) and pressed his cock-head back against the worst of your cuts, forcing the skin to tear and rupture even more like he was trying to create another hole. "You like it, don't you? You like that I'm threatening you and thinking about the best way to cripple your mind...mm..."

He licked his jaws before he leaned in to scent you again, and pressed a hungry bite to your neck, lighting your body up with another electric shock of pure pleasure.

"Let's try another dose first, though..." He growled, pulling back just enough so that those firm hands could plant your shoulders still against the wedge and line the needle's point with the harsh bite mark.

"Maybe I'll have to schedule you in for a lobotomy after we're done here...at least if the drugs don't work~"

#tpof #fox tpof #ren hana #ren x mc #ren x reader #fox x mc #fox x reader #fics #commission

126 notes · View notes