#HIM IN ROSES DRESS💔💔

[strxbbie]

HE’S SO CUTEEEE😭💔💔

(from the end of an era art book)

[ccwpidsblog]

White Dress, Black Cat 𖣁 | ONYAKOPON

Summary: They said she was a witch.

She said they were all damned. Onyakopon didn’t believe in hauntings until he heard his own voice tremble at the pulpit. Now every hymn echoes wrong, and she’s waiting for him by the well, knitting as if the world ain’t falling apart. He just wanted to serve God. Now they’re standing hand in hand, watching the damned burn.

Themes: Heavy Religious trauma/themes, family dysfunction, mentions of suicide, miscarriage, mental health struggles, tall blk female reader, plus-sized reader, preacherson!ony, implied supernatural violence, psychological horror, shy!ony, dark themes and atmosphere, small town prejudice, abandonment, slow burn, smut: virginity loss (mc and ony), soft sex/lovemaking, praise kinks, soft dom!ony

Part one | Part two | Part three

Word count: 10.2k

Authors Note: Well obviously I've been really into religious themes and southern gothic themes for some reason and with my religious background it's only fair I vent through my writing lol. This was meant to be a one-shot but yk how I get lol. Very different from the usual Ony fics hope you all enjoy and I don't disappoint 🥺💔

also wanted to thank @thecoochiefairy and @2neaky for unknowingly inspiring me!! I love black love and im happy to see it on tumblr again 🩷 please don't be shy send me an ask and support me on AO3

The night pressed in thick as syrup, and Onyakopon couldn't move.

He lay flat on his back on a threadbare cot in the shotgun house behind the old

sugarcane fields, sweat slicking his brow, heart hammering against ribs that had forgotten how to breathe. The air was too still. No crickets. No frogs. Not even the wind dared stir. Just that weight, heavier than a man, darker than sin, pinning him to the mattress with invisible hands.

Something's whispering in his ear.

He couldn’t understand the words, not exactly. But the voice, it was his father’s. And then not.

His body twitched. Eyes wide, still unable to blink. In the corner of the room, where the shadow refused to dissolve, something crouched. Watching. Waiting. Its eyes were coals, slow-burning.

“Get up,” he told himself. But his jaw wouldn’t work. His tongue felt thick. Roots of a tree growing wild inside his throat.

The thing in the corner inched forward. Crawling on elbows. Grinning too wide.

And then—

A scream tore from his chest. The kind that didn’t sound human.

He sat bolt upright, breath ragged, vision swimming. The shadow was gone. But the smell lingered like hot iron and smoke. Like burnt offerings. Outside, there was a loud crack of thunder as the sky began to pour. The world had moved on. But Onyakopon didn’t.

Not yet.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and stared down at the callouses in his palms.

The tremble in them betrayed him. That was the third one this week. And in every single one, there was always a shadow. Eyes like smoldering coals. A voice that wore his father’s face like a mask. No matter how many scriptures he recited before bed. No matter how often he sang himself hoarse in praise. It kept coming back. Stronger and stronger. And every time he woke, he felt like something had been peeled off of him in the night. Something soft. Something sacred.

He refused to speak on it. Refused to write it down. Didn’t dare let it live outside his own chest.

Not yet.

Not running. Not crying. Just sitting there heavy on his heart. Another crack of thunder rumbled the sky as heavy rain pelted on his family homes roof. He rose from his bed pulling his rosary off his night stand bringing it to his lips as he said a silent prayer.

Lord… have mercy on me. I been seein’ things. Eyes in the corner, whispers in the dark, faces that don’t belong to no man. I don’t know if it’s You, or the Devil, or somethin’ in between. But I’m scared. I’m tired. I’m tryin’.

Send me peace. Send me clarity. Send me somethin’ steady, somethin’ real. A light, Lord. Just a light to carry me through. Even if I don’t understand it yet.

As he said his Amens and laid back in his bed, Onyakopon had felt for the first time think that He wasn't listening.

By Sunday morning, the dreams still hadn’t left him. They clung to his shoulders like wet cotton.

But church folk didn’t care about dreams, especially not from a man like him. broad-shouldered and Bible-raised man, with a voice like honey on fire. The kind of voice that made pews sway and Deaconess Grant shout with both hands in the air.

Onyakopon stood at the front of the little white church he'd grown up in fingers wrapped around the wooden pulpit like every Sunday, his deep waves still damp from a basin rinse. Sunlight filtered in through stained glass panes, splashing color over the choir robes and sweating faces. The fans were flapping, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus but the heat was still wrapping necks like a noose.

“There's a leak in this old building... and my soul...” His voice filled the rafters, warm and booming.

Eyes closed. He let the song carry him. He tried to lose himself in it. But then

He saw it.

It wasn’t a flash. Not a trick of the light. It was there, really there, on the third pew from the front, sitting where Sister McGee always sat, legs crossed and grinning wide like it was proud to be seen. A thing with a stretched-out face and black gums, skin that shimmered like chicken grease thrown in water. Its eyes were hollow, but it always found him.

Mocking.

Ony’s throat caught on the next word.

“...This old building—keeps o' sinkin' and my... soul”

His voice had cracked like he was sixteen again singing for the congregation for the first time, he winced. Blinked. Shook his head.

Someone from the amen corner called out, calm and easy: “Take your time, brother.”

The thing was gone.

Just a trick of the heat, he told himself. Just his mind. The back doors of the church creaked open. Slow. Dust in the light. And there she was. Tall for a woman and wide-hipped, dark-skinned kissed by Gods given sun, like the earth after heavy rain, wearing a faded rose dress with puffed sleeves and lace at the hem. Her black cat trotted beside her like it belonged there. She held a woven basket over one arm and wore a wide-brimmed hat trimmed with dried lavender.

Every voice in the room caught in their throats.

Folks didn’t speak her name. Didn’t meet her eye. The bastard daughter of sin and prophecy. The daughter of a witch. But she just walked, quietly, deliberately, like the whole town wasn't against her and took her seat on the far back pew. Sitting there there like she always had a right to.

And while the choir tried to pick up the next verse, she began to knit. Small, neat stitches. Humming the melody under her breath in a voice soft as velvet.

Onyakopon stared too long.

He wasn't the only one.

Service ended with a shaky benediction and more side-eyes than hallelujahs.

Folks filed out quickly, muttering about the heat, about the hymnbook pages sticking together, about anything but the girl and her cat in the back pew. Onyakopon pretended to help fold chairs in the fellowship hall just long enough for everyone to disappear down the gravel road.

He stepped out the side door into the sunlight, breathing like he’d been underwater. But even outside, the church still felt-strange. Like it held its breath after she walked in.

She was still in the last pew. Alone now. Knitting the same deep thread with slow, sure hands. Her cat sat curled beside her like a guardian made of fur shadows. The rest of the sanctuary had emptied out like they feared catching something just by breathing her air.

Onyakopon stood at the door a moment, one boot scuffing the floor.

She didn’t look up. Just said, soft and almost teasing , delicate voice bouncing off the empty decaying walls.

“You feel it too.”

His spine stiffened as he straightens himself up, removing his cap from his head, deep

frown lines growing between his eyebrows.

"Ma'am?"

She tugged the thread once, looped it, pulled it through. Her fingers never paused.

“What don’t belong in the Lord’s house.”

His lips parted, but he said nothing.

Then she looked up. Wide, round, doll-like eyes — so dark they shimmered. She looked at him like a mirror. Like she saw every dream he tried to forget, every shadow that clung to the edges of his soul.

Onyakopon’s stomach twisted. A chill moved up his spine slow as molasses. He hadn’t told nobody about the thing that visited him in sleep or what he'd seen — not his mother, his father or brother. This was something just between him and God. He felt his fists clench, not in threat but in defense. That kind of knowing… it wasn’t natural.

He took a step in, boots creaking on the old wood. “You been watchin’ me?” he asked, voice low and rough like split wet oak.

“No,” she said, still sweet, still calm. “You came lookin’ for me. Even if you ain’t know it yet.

He frowned deeper, throat dry. “You don't know what you're talkin' about ma'am..”

“Mm.” She glanced down. “And yet, here you are, tryin' to defend yourself to a stranger who don't know what she talkin' bout."

The black cat stretched from its place at her feet and wound around his leg, tail brushing his calf like a whisper. Onyakopon looked down, startled, as it rubbed against his dress shoes, purring deep like a hymn. He tensed, stepping forward, and his shadow stretched over her like a giant. Despite their size difference, he felt a sudden weight in the air. Her presence loomed, even sitting, somehow bigger than him. Ony was always the biggest man in any room — 6’7, broad and built like a pillar. But this woman, in a worn rose dress and knitted calm, made him feel small.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

He swallowed.

“Who are you?” he asked, voice softer now, but no less honest.

She smiled just slightly. “You already know.”

“I don’t.” She hummed again, “Your dreams are becoming louder brother,” she murmured, threading her yarn again. “Woke the sky last night, Woke the dirt.”

He blinked, unsettled. He didn’t want know how to fight it. Didn’t know how to turn off the uncomfortable truth in her voice. Her fingers moved again. The yarn wound tighter. She added, without looking

It’s this town. Folks plant their evil here, water it, pray over it like it’s corn and wheat. And it grows.”

Ony’s jaw tensed. The cat flicked its tail once like punctuation. She tied off the thread, tucked the yarn into her basket like she was sealing something sacred or dangerous.

“When you start to see the truth,” she said, standing now, her basket in hand, “you’ll know where to find me.”

She lingered in the doorway, eyes on him like she already knew what he’d choose.

“May the Lord keep you, Onyakopon. Even when the ones close to you can’t.”

Then she vanished into the rain.

The church doors creaked as he stepped out, the rain had stopped sunlight dull and sour under a heavy sky. No birds singing. Just the wind dragging itself down the road like a dying hymn.

The woods swallowed her up quick, the church just a shadow behind her. Leaves brushed her shoulders, pine needles crunching beneath her bare feet. She didn’t look back once. Mama trotted at her side, tail high, silent as breath.

“He don’t even know what he is yet,” she whispered, mostly to herself, but also to the cat.

Mama meowed low, like a scoff.

“I know, I know. You don’t like him. Sayin’ I oughta let him stay lost.”

She paused by a fallen log, placing her basket on it carefully. Sat down, drawing her shawl tighter across her shoulders.

“But he’s dreamin’ the way I used to. That means somethin’. Ain’t many left who can see past the veil.”

Mama leapt up beside her, staring off into the trees like she was waiting for somethin, or someone.

The girl smiled faintly. “You always was overprotective.”

Mama blinked slow.

“I ain’t lettin’ him close, not yet. Just watchin’.”

She turned her eyes to the sky, where clouds pressed low and the wind smelled like storm.

“When he’s ready to see the truth,” she murmured, “he’ll know where to find me.”

Mama curled against her side, purring soft and wary.

And the forest, for now, held its breath.

Monday morning came like it always did — quiet, slow, and too bright.

The sky was washed pale like a bedsheet left too long in the sun, and the town lay still beneath it. No rain left, just the memory of it in puddles and soft mud tracks. Ony didn't dream at all last night, just darkness and cold.

Onyakopon stood by the porch steps, box of his mama’s peach pies tucked under one arm, the other gripping a thermos of chicory coffee. Caleb his older brother was already loading up the truck, hands moving fast and efficient, like always.

“Quit draggin’ your feet,” Caleb muttered. “These folks ain’t gonna wait forever.”

Ony grunted, climbing in beside him.

They rode through the back roads in silence for a while, gravel popping under the tires, air sticky with heat. Every house they passed had a porch, and every porch had eyes. Folks rocking slowly in creaking chairs, faces turned their way but not smiling. At the first stop, Miss Irene met them on her porch with a crooked grin and two dollars folded tight in her hand.

“Your mama’s a blessin’, she know that?” she said, voice thin as brittle paper. “Tell her I’m prayin’ for her.”

She didn’t look at Ony when she said it.

By the third house, he noticed it, the way people didn’t laugh the same. Didn’t talk the same. Brother Johnny Al who always joked with him just nodded and shut the screen door with a quick and nasty slam. He saw the elderly man peeking from the blinds as they drove away, he should have worn his glasses today because he swore his eyes flash completely dark.

Another one of their regulars wouldn't meet his eyes during prayer, just muttered “Amen” too fast and wiped sweat off his brow that wasn’t there.

The last stop was by the church, where Sister Myra handed Caleb her tithe and asked them to “keep an extra prayer for the sinful.” She smiled at his brother when she said it, but Ony felt it cut anyway when it dropped as she looked at him duly

By noon, Ony’s chest felt tight. Not like fear like being studied. Like his skin was a page someone was reading line by line. He wondered if this is his Jesus felt when they read his commandments though Caleb didn’t notice, or pretended not to. He was good at that.

Caleb was humming to himself on the drive back, fingers tapping the wheel in rhythm, until Ony finally spoke.

“Something’s off,” Ony said, quiet.

Caleb didn’t look at him when he responded, just snorted dismissively. “It’s Monday. That’s what’s off.”

“I’m serious.” Ony’s voice was low, almost unsure. “Like somethin’ shifted. Like the world ain’t sittin’ right on its bones no more.”

“Somethin’ off,” he said again, quieter now, letting the words hang in the cab.

His long legs stretched out in the passenger seat, feet braced like he was expecting a turn that never came.

Caleb finally glanced at him, just a flick of the eye, jaw tight. Then laughed, short and sharp.

“Boy, you feel off ‘cause you always by yourself, hidin’ in your own head like some daydreamin’ woman. You need to study more. With me and With Pa. Need to find you a wife. Get you right.”

“...A wife?”

The word stuck in Ony’s throat, and just like that she was there. Not in body but in that sudden, dangerous way dreams slide into daylight. She wasn’t doing anything grand just sitting on a porch, elbows on her knees, eyes half-lidded like she knew every secret he ever kept. Humming low. Thread slipping through her fingers like it had a mind of its own. Like he did.

Ony blinked slow, like the words took a second to land again he repeated "A wife.."

Caleb went on, voice firmer now. “You feel off ‘cause you always stuck in your damn head, day dreamin’. Walkin’ around like you waitin’ on signs and visions instead of doin’ what men do.”

Ony turned to him, slow. “And what’s that?”

“Work. Worship. Wife. Provide. That’s the order. That’s how Pa did it. That’s how I do it. You think I didn’t feel strange too before I married Leah? Thought the whole world was wrong. Now look, she carryin’ my child, and I sleep just fine.”

Ony shook his head, jaw tightening. “So you think I’m crazy ‘cause I ain’t found nobody to lay up under yet?”

“I think you lonely,” Caleb snapped. “And lonely men start believin’ in all kinds of foolishness.”

They pulled into the driveway and sat in silence, the weight of everything pressing down like the summer heat.

Caleb finally broke it, voice low and hard. “I think somethin’ needs to fix you. You been strange for weeks. Folks see it. You don’t even try no more—don’t talk, don’t help with the sermons, barely speak to Ma. And now you sittin’ here talkin’ like the sky’s fallin’.”

Ony turned his head to the window, jaw tight. “You don’t see what I see.”

“No, I don’t. And that’s the damn problem. You always talkin’ in riddles. Bein’ quiet ain’t the same as bein’ deep.” Caleb’s voice was sharp. “You need to come back to earth, Ony. You ain’t no damn prophet. You just lost.”

Ony’s voice was cold, clipped. “Maybe you’re the lost one if you think a woman and a baby in this rotting town gonna fix anything.”

Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “So you disrespectin’ the Bible teachings, boy?”

Ony didn’t look at him. Just said quietly,

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return.”

Caleb turned to face him, brow furrowed. Ony finally met his brother’s eyes. “That don’t sound like disrespect,” Ony said, voice flat. “That sound like a man knows this world don’t owe him nothin’. Not comfort. Not clarity. Not no wife or baby to fix what’s broke inside.”

Ony opened the door and stepped out, boots hitting the dirt like punctuation. The screen door creaked faintly in the distance, wind brushing against the trees. Caleb stayed in the truck for a second longer, jaw flexing, breath shallow. Then he shoved the door open.

“You always pullin’ them verses like a blade,” Caleb snapped, rounding the truck

“Think that makes you more holy? Makes you a better God-fearing man than me?”

Ony didn’t answer, just walked slow toward the porch, hands in his pockets like nothing touched him. Caleb caught up fast, grabbing his arm. " I’m talkin’ to you.”

Ony yanked back. “And I heard you. You mad ‘cause I know what I’m talkin’ about, and it don’t line up with your little box of how a man supposed to be.”

Caleb shoved him then, not hard, but hard enough.

“You think knowin’ scripture make you better than me? You think starin’ off into space and spittin’ riddles make you more of a man?”

Ony pushed him back, this time with force.

“I think pretendin’ like a wife and a baby make the rot go away is a lie. I think that makes you the fool.”

They were close now, breath hot, shoulders squared. From the porch came a soft creak the screen door opening slow.

Their mother stepped down from the porch, robe tied tight at the waist, her expression unreadable — but her eyes sharp as ever. Leah hovered behind her, one hand on her stomach, eyes wide.

“That’s enough out here,” she said again, sterner now. “I don’t care who’s feelin’ what you don’t raise your voices like that on this land.”

Caleb’s chest was still heaving, fists balled at his sides, but he dropped his eyes. Ony, jaw locked, He looked at her, really looked at her and something in him softened.

“I’ll be back ‘fore supper,” he said quietly.

Then he leaned in, pressed a quick, reverent kiss to her forehead.

“Love you, Mama.”

She nodded, the way only a mother could like she saw through him but loved him anyway.

As Ony stepped off the porch, he brushed past Caleb, shoulder knocking into his brother’s like punctuation. Deliberate. Firm.

Caleb turned after him, lips parted like he had more to say, but whatever it was, he swallowed it.

Leah reached for his hand from the porch.

“Let him go,” she said gently.

“He don’t need to wander,” Caleb muttered. Their mother didn’t look at him when she answered.

“Maybe he do.”

Onyakopon walked with no aim, boots kicking up dust as the cicadas screamed louder than the thoughts in his head. The town stretched out around him, crooked and quiet all heatwaves and peeling paint and eyes he couldn’t see but felt. His hands were in his pockets, his jaw still clenched.

He didn’t know where he was going, Nowhere, really but it felt like somewhere

Like something was pulling.

The sun hung thick and low, dripping gold between the trees, and for a second everything felt too still like the world had paused to hear his steps. Then he saw it.

A black cat, perched on a crumbling stone fence just ahead. Its fur looked wet, almost shining. It didn’t move when he approached.

Just stared, eyes like glass marbles catching the light. He slowed and the cat didn’t blink, didn't flinch. Just waited.

Ony felt a chill crawl up his neck despite the heat.

“You lost?” he murmured, barely louder than the wind. The cat tilted its head, eyes squinting like his question offended it, then turned. Leaping down, slipping into the brush like it had somewhere to be and maybe, just maybe, he was supposed to follow. So, he'd stand there for a while listening, waiting - for what exactly? He wasn't so sure himself.

Staring at the place where the cat had vanished. His breath slowed, the tension in his shoulders settling into something heavier. He didn’t move, just listened to the buzz of the heat, the rustle of leaves.

Thinking about turning around. About going home. Sitting down with his family at dinner telling them he was ready to look for a wife, asking his father to mentor him. Mold him to be just like him and Caleb. About pretending he hadn’t felt something shift deep in his gut the second he saw that cat.

Maybe Caleb was right.

Maybe he was strange.

Maybe he was just lonely.

A sharp, irritated meow snapped him from the thought. There it was again — the black cat, now sitting neatly a few paces behind him, tail curled tight, ears pointing upward, eyes narrowed like it was waiting on a child dragging their feet. It meowed again, louder this time, then stood and turned. Walked ahead slowly, stopping every few feet like it was checking to see if he’d catch on. Ony swallowed. Then, without a word, he followed.

The cat cut through a thicket like it had somewhere to be, glancing back only once before Ony followed. Trees arched above him like ribs, the woods swallowing sound until all he heard was his breath and the soft thud of his boots on earth. It didn’t feel like he was walking anymore. More like being led. They came to a clearing a patch of light cracked open like an eye between the trees, and there she was. She sat on an old quilt, colors faded like memory, her back to him. Her clothes clung loose and thin in the heat nothing like what women wore outside the house. Nothing a preacher’s son had any business looking at. But he did.

She was knitting again. Hands moving fast, like she was trying to exorcise something with every twist of thread. Her dark coils slipped loose, brushing her cheeks as she muttered to herself, angry and fast. The cat trotted over to her and curled up like it had been expected.

Without looking up, she said, “Thought you didn’t like him, Mama.”

Ony took a careful step forward, brow furrowed. “Your mutt don’t like me?”

The girl turned sharp, like she’d been waiting on that line. Her hands froze mid-stitch, and her head snapped over one shoulder. That chubby, soft face from church? It scrunched up like a storm cloud now, eyes suddenly sharp cutting.

“Only mutt here is you.”

Even the cat hissed, low and warning, tail flicking once like a whip before settling back down beside her with a satisfied grunt.

Ony stiffened.

She wasn’t sweet like she was in the Lord’s house. Not quiet and warm like the girl humming behind the pews. Her energy was strange now. Bristled. Her lips were dry, chapped pink from too much sun, and her voice carried something jagged underneath it.

“You always follow stray things?” she asked, threading again quick and harsh like the yarn had done her wrong.

He didn’t answer at first.

Didn’t know how.

Didn’t know why his feet brought him here at all. “You was knittin’ in church,” he said finally, more to himself than her.

“I was.”

“You knittin’ now.”

“Got hands, don’t I?”

He squinted at her, frustrated and fascinated all at once. “You always talk like this?” She shrugged, didn’t look up. “Only when men ask me stupid things.”

Ony winced, rubbing the back of his neck. His boot scuffed at the dirt, slow and awkward. He didn’t have much practice with women, his world was made up of his mother, elder ladies at church, and Leah when she needed something fetched from the pantry.

“Apologies, ma’am,” he mumbled, voice low and careful.

The girl paused. Her fingers stilled against the needles, eyes flicking up to study him for the first time without all that steel in them.

“No need to apologize,” she said, gentler now. “The day hasn’t been the kindest to me.”

She yanked at her project something half-made and angry with color, thread coiled tight like it was holding its breath. “I shouldn’t take it out on you. If anything, I should be used to it by now.” She huffed, more to the yarn than to him, jaw clenching like there was more she wanted to say but didn’t trust the space between them enough yet.

Ony shifted his weight, thumb hooking in his belt loop. His voice came quiet, almost a whisper. “Day ain’t been kind to me neither.”

That made her pause again. Just long enough for the cat to flick its tail against her hip, like it was waiting too.

She didn’t look at him when she spoke next, just patted the empty space beside her blanket, fingers brushing away twigs and grass. “Well… you can sit if you want. You look like you been walking without knowin’ where to land.”

Ony hesitated. His eyes flicked down, he hadn’t really looked before, not properly. But now the way the fabric clung to her arms, the soft rise of her chest as she breathed, the bare skin of her calves peeking beneath the hem, it struck him all at once.

It wasn’t scandalous in the way church folks used the word. But it was… intimate. Delicate. Dressed like that, back home, she’d be in her own bedroom or padding barefoot through the kitchen fetching tea for her mother. Not out here in the woods with a stranger.

His throat worked as he swallowed. “You sure?”

She gave a half-smile without looking at him. “I wouldn’t’ve asked if I wasn’t.”

He rubbed the back of his neck again, cheeks burning as he eased himself down beside her careful to leave a respectful distance, hands resting flat against his thighs like he was trying not to touch anything at all. The cat stretched between them like it was measuring the space.

They sat in silence.

Not the kind that crawled under your skin like Sunday tension or lingered like unsaid prayers, but something softer. Still. Ony sat with his hands folded, shoulders loose for once. The weight he always carried in his spine, the pressure to square his chest, to be something righteous and loud — eased without permission.

The girl kept knitting. Her fingers moved fast, urgent almost, like she was working through a thought with each loop and pull. The cat yawned, curling into a perfect comma between them.

Then, without looking at him, she said it low:

“Your head’s loud again. Makin’ the wind brush by a lil too fast. Gettin chilly. ”

Ony blinked, brows pulling together.

“Just breathe,” she added.

He did. And it wasn’t a deep breath or a proud one, but something real. It slid out of him slow, quiet. A breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

The wind slowed. The trees settled.

So did he.

The silence between them didn’t ache like it did at home. It stretched warm, quiet—not something to fix, just something to feel. Ony let his eyes drift to her hands, how fast they moved, like they had somewhere to be.

“You always knit this fast?” he asked, voice low.

She gave a soft shrug, not looking up. “Only when I’m tryin’ not to cuss or cry. It helps. Pullin’ somethin’ ugly outta me and making it useful.”

Ony nodded slowly, watching the rhythm of her fingers. The thread danced between her knuckles like it knew a secret language.

“You… think you could show me how?”

That made her pause. She looked at him for a beat, then down at her lap, like she was weighing it. Finally, she held up a half-finished square of fabric — dark, tight with frustration.

“You sure?” she asked. “Most men too proud to sit still with something this soft.”

“I’m not most men,” Ony murmured, not meeting her eyes.

She smiled, not wide but real, and shifted a little to the side. " I’ll show you.”

He shifted closer, slow like the earth might split if he moved too fast. She handed him the needles, warm from her fingers, and the yarn, coarse but strangely comforting.

“Keep your hands steady,” she said, voice softer now. “Let it pass through like water. Don’t grab it so tight.”

Ony tried, fumbling at first. She reached over, guiding his fingers without making a big deal out of it. Her hands were smaller than his, but surer—she shaped him like she did the thread, gentle but firm. “You’re teachin’ me to do women’s work,” he muttered, half teasing.

She snorted. “I’m teachin’ you to keep your mind from rot. Don’t matter what shape the work come in.”

That made him smile without thinking.

“You always talk like that?” he asked. he asked, glancing at her from beneath his lashes. “Like you halfway know what God whisperin’ before He even say it?” She didn’t answer right away. Just tilted her head, lips twitching like she was deciding how much to give away.

“You asked me that before,” she said finally.

He blinked. “Did I?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well…” He scratched the back of his neck. “You talk like my granny, but you don’t look eighty-six.”

That made her laugh—real and full, spilling out of her like light. She leaned back a little, grinning at him. “Your granny must’ve been sharp.”

“She was,” Ony said, quiet now, surprised at the warmth threading through his chest. He let the silence sit between them again, but it didn’t feel empty — it felt close. And when their eyes met for just a second too long, something shifted.

Not loud. Not sudden. Just… true.

Then nip.

“Agh—damn!” Ony yelped, jerking slightly as Mama, the cat, sunk her teeth gently into his thigh like she’d had enough of the moment.

The girl rolled her eyes. “Mama don’t like when people get too comfortable.”

“She got good timing,” Ony muttered, rubbing his leg and glaring at the cat, who looked smug and settled right back down beside her. “Guess she figured you needed some grounding.”

They both laughed, the weightlifting again, but not gone. Just resting for now. Ony glanced down at the cat, still lounging like she owned the blanket and the girl both. He reached out a slow hand—Mama narrowed her eyes but didn’t move.

“How long you had her?” he asked, voice lower now, thoughtful.

The girl’s fingers slowed around the yarn. “Seven years,” she said, quiet.

He looked up. “That long?”

“She showed up a few hours after my mama passed.” Her voice was steady, but there was something buried in it—like a scar covered by a silk scarf. “Just… appeared on the porch. Sat right at the door like she was waitin’. Like she knew.”

Ony said nothing, only watched her face.

“I like to think she is my mama. In some way,” she went on, threading the needle through the yarn faster now. “Mama always said she’d come back as a black cat. Said it’d suit her. Misunderstood. Proud. Particular. Protective.”

Her lips curved faintly. “And she was all three.” Mama let out a slow purr, as if in agreement.

“I believe that,” Ony murmured.

She looked over at him, brows lifted slightly.

“Why?”

He shrugged, then shook his head. “I don’t know. Just feels true. Like the way certain songs make you cry even if you don’t understand the words.”

She smiled at that, soft, almost grateful.

“You always talk like that?” she teased.

He grinned. “Guess we even now.”

Their laughter faded into the breeze, the knitting needles tapping steady again. Somewhere in all of it, Ony realized — he hadn’t thought about the tightness in his chest for minutes now. Minutes that felt like something more than time.

The wind shifted, sharp and sudden, cutting through the thick afternoon air like a knife dipped in river water. It brushed against Ony’s arms and made the fine hairs on his skin rise. But it wasn’t the cold that made him stiffen.

It was the girl.

She froze. Fingers gone still, the thread limp in her lap. Her body locked up like a porch swing caught mid-sway. Even Mama, curled smug and sleepy just moments ago, lifted her head, ears flicking forward, eyes narrowed at something just beyond the trees.

“You alright?” Ony asked, leaning a little closer, voice hushed like he didn’t want to disturb whatever had just walked through them. She didn’t answer right away. Just blinked like she was trying to remember how. Then nodded slowly, though it didn’t quite reach her shoulders.

“Sometimes the wind don’t come to cool,” she murmured, barely audible. “Sometimes it’s just passin’ through, carryin’ somethin’ behind it.” Ony glanced around, suddenly more aware of how quiet it had gotten. No birds. No rustle of leaves. Just wind and the low hum of something beneath it.

“What’s it carryin’?”

She shook her head. “Don’t know yet. But Mama felt it too.”

The cat was on her feet now, tail low, pressed against the girl's side like she might need to bolt — or block. “You should get home soon,” the girl said gently, but her eyes didn’t meet his. They were somewhere else. “Sun’s not as strong as it looks.”

Ony didn’t move.

“I’ll walk you,” he offered, his voice surer than he felt.

But she just gave a tiny smile, one that didn’t match the new edge in the air. “I’ve walked through worse.”

They stood at the edge of the clearing now, where the trees swallowed the sun in long shadows. Ony hadn’t realized how far they’d wandered — or maybe how far she’d led him. The cat weaved between their ankles, brushing its side against Ony’s boot one last time before settling back by her feet.

He took a step back, not wanting to go, but knowing the air had changed again. “You gon’ tell me your name?”

She paused, gathering up her needles and thread. The question hung in the air like smoke before she finally spoke, voice light but low, like a secret.

“You already know it.”

“I don’t.”

She looked up, lips curving into something half-playful, half-knowing. “Well, that’s what makes it fun.”

He gave her a look, amused and a little flustered. “Alright then… I’m Onyakopon.”

“I know,” she said softly, the smile not leaving her face. He blinked, surprised, then chuckled. “’Course you do.”

Their hands met then — a shake at first, but it lingered. Her hand was soft but firm, warmer than the wind that had just passed.

They didn’t speak as they held it. Just let it stretch, like maybe neither of them was quite ready to leave. Then her fingers curled, just slightly. “Be mindful,” she said, voice almost too quiet for the air. “Of what you carry. Of whom you follow. Everything that feels wrong right now. It's not all in your head.”

Ony’s brows drew together. He opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but she was already turning away, Mama trotting ahead like she knew the way. He stood there watching, rooted in place, as the girl moved between the trees, slipping into them like smoke. Her nightgown caught the last bit of light, white and fluttering like wings.

Then she was gone.

Like something holy. Or something beautifully haunting.

By the time Ony reached the porch, the sun was kissing the edge of the horizon, everything soaked in that strange amber glow that made shadows long and soft. His boots thudded against the wooden steps, and the familiar creak under the third board welcomed him home like it always did. Inside, the house was warm and humming with domestic rhythm. Dishes clinked softly, the smell of stewed okra and baked bread thick in the air. His mother stood at the head of the table, her sleeves rolled to the elbow, humming a hymn under her breath as she laid out silverware. Leah was beside her, placing the cornbread down with careful hands over a dishcloth.

They both looked up when he stepped in.

His mother’s eyes lingered. “Told you I’d be back before supper,” Ony said, brushing a hand over his neck, suddenly conscious of how the wind still clung to his shirt, like he’d brought the outside in with him.

"Mm make sure you wash them hands before sittin' at my table." She didn’t say more and went back to setting forks.

Leah’s eyes flickered between the two brothers as Caleb appeared from the back hall, wiping his hands on a dish towel. Ony tensed instinctively, but Caleb didn’t say anything just stared at him for a second too long. The air in the room wasn’t hostile. But it wasn’t settled either. Ony felt it swirl around him, curious and careful, like everyone was waiting for something to crack.

He moved toward the sink to wash his hands, nodding toward his mother as he passed. “Smells good in here, Ma.”

She nodded again, this time more gently, then glanced toward Caleb like she was measuring something unsaid between them.

No one asked where he’d gone.

And he didn’t offer it.

But as he dried his hands and found his usual seat, he thought of her—bare feet in the grass, humming low, thread dancing between her fingers like it had a mind of its own.

The clink of forks against ceramic was the loudest sound at the table. Ma had made stew, rich and spiced, but it tasted like sawdust in Onyakopon’s mouth.

“Had a little heat between you two earlier,” Pa said without looking up, spoon cutting through his bowl. “Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity.”

Ony didn’t look at Caleb, though he felt the verse land like a stone between them. Psalm 1:33, yeah — but it had the weight of Cain and Abel behind it, and they all knew it.

Caleb just scoffed under his breath.

“Yesterday’s service ended early,” Caleb said casually, like a man mentioning the weather. “Soon as that girl came 'long Whole congregation cleared out like they caught the plague.

Ma sneered without missing a beat. “Never met such an unlady-like woman. Wandering about with a devil’s pet, whisperin’ to trees like they whisper back. But Lord knows she can stitch. Shame every thread feel like a curse.”

Ony’s grip tightened around his spoon. He stared down into his stew, letting the broth steam up his face like fog. He didn’t say anything — not about her hands, not about her voice, not about the way she said his name like she’d always known it.

Ony felt a strange ache twist inside him at her words, a pull toward the woman Ma so openly despised. He kept his jaw tight, the silence settling even heavier around the table.

Leah shifted uneasily, but no one else spoke. The candle flickered low, and the weight of unspoken things hung thick between them.

“Boy,” Pa said suddenly, voice firm. “You best get out your head. A man’s got no business sittin’ at his father’s table starin’ off into the dark.”

Ony blinked slowly, but didn’t answer.

“You think you grown? Then act like it. Ain’t no room in this house for cloudy minds and foolish obsessions. You wanna be a man, be one. Handle your kin. Get your head on straight. Get your spirit right.”

Still, Ony didn’t speak — not to him. His eyes stayed low, locked on the chipped edge of his plate. Then, like something creeping up from his chest without permission, his voice slid out low, almost like it didn’t belong to him

“What makes her a bad person for lovin’ trees a lil bit?”

The room froze.

Ma’s hand stilled halfway to her cup. Leah’s fork clinked quietly against her plate. Caleb leaned back slow in his chair, face unreadable. Pa narrowed his eyes. “What you just say?”

“I just mean…” Ony muttered, spearing a piece of fried okra with his fork, “she’s a woman with a pet cat? That knits.” He shrugged like it was nothing, then stuffed the food in his mouth, chewing slow, like he hadn’t just cracked the air in two.

Ma’s eyes narrowed. “That thing ain’t no pet. Strays like that don’t belong in the house of the Lord — or round decent folk like the ones in our community.”

Caleb scoffed under his breath, reaching for his cup. “Ain’t about the cat. It’s the way she carries herself. Like she knowin’ things she ain’t supposed to.”

“That woman ain’t right, Ony,” Pa said, voice low and warning. “Mark my words. Ain’t no good ever come from women who walk like they float and talk like they pray to the moon.”

Ony didn’t respond. Just kept chewing, like maybe the weight of the room couldn’t touch him if he didn’t let it. But his ears were hot, and his throat ached in a way that food couldn’t soothe.

Leah, quiet all this time, finally spoke, voice soft as usual. “She knitted my apron. The one with the sunflowers. It’s… pretty.”

Ma turned sharply. “And you best not wear it again. We don’t know what spirits she stitched into that thread.”

Ony’s silverware scraped the plate a little too loud when he's told up.

“I’ll go wash up,” he mumbled, though his plate wasn’t empty. “Y’all keep on eatin’. Thank you for the dinner mama"

He didn’t wait for permission. Just turned and walked toward the back, the screen door creaking open as he stepped onto the porch, letting the night air slap him clean.

Behind him, the candle flickered.

The back porch creaked under his weight, old wood sighing like it remembered too much. No one came out here anymore — not since Granny passed. Her wicker chair still sat in the corner, covered in a thin film of dust and memories. Ony didn’t sit there. He chose the steps instead, letting the night press in close, heavy and still.

Crickets sang. The wind tugged gently at the trees, and for the first time all day, nobody asked him to be anything. He let his shoulders drop. Let his jaw unclench.

Then came the sound — soft, slow, deliberate.

The screen door moaned open behind him.

He didn’t turn, not at first, until he heard the light step on the porch — and then a bottle clink. He glanced over his shoulder.

Leah stood there, caught like a deer in her round belly stretching the front of her dress. In one hand, a dusty wine bottle; in the other, just shame.

“It won’t hurt the baby,” she said quickly, blinking like she might cry or laugh or both.

Ony raised his eyebrows and looked back out at the dark yard. “I get why you need it,” he said flatly. “Dealin’ with this family’ll make you wanna drink holy water straight from the font.”

That earned him a quiet laugh — small and bitter.

Leah walked over and sat beside him with a sigh, the bottle tucked between her knees. “I ain’t drinkin’ for real. Just wanted to hold it. Make it feel like I had a choice, even if I don’t.”

Ony hummed, a low sound in his throat.

“You and me both.”

They sat in silence for a beat, the air between them not tense, just… lived in.

“You ever think ‘bout just leavin’?” she asked, voice soft, eyes fixed on the dark stretch of trees.

“All the time.”

She nodded like she expected that. “Caleb says I should be grateful. That I’m safe here. That the Lord provided. But safe don’t feel like freedom, does it?”

Ony didn’t answer.

Not out loud and the silence stretched on the kind that didn’t beg to be filled. Just two people watching the dark, pretending the quiet didn’t know all their secrets.

Leah leaned back on her hands, her fingers curling around the edge of the step. “That girl from service yesterday…” she started, voice light but lined with something sharper, “she the reason you were gone all afternoon?”

Ony didn’t look at her. Just let the question hang there in the air between them, weightless and heavy all at once.

Leah smiled to herself, not unkind. “She’s... different. Not like folks around here.”

“She’s just a girl,” Ony said finally, though it didn’t sound convincing. Not even to him.

“A girl with a black cat and a stare like she’s already seen how the world ends,” Leah murmured, like she was thinking more than speaking. “She got the whole town feelin’ itchy and lookin’ for salt.”

Ony gave a faint snort. “You 'fraid of her too?”

“No,” Leah said simply. “But I think you are.”

That made him look at her. Really look.

She met his eyes, steady, too old for her years. “Not ‘cause she’s strange. But ‘cause she see somethin’ in you been tryin’ to bury.”

Ony didn’t respond. Couldn’t, really. His throat felt tight.

“She’s not evil. You’re right bout that part. Just a girl with a heavy hurt, a cat, and a different sense of faith. This town… it’s so close-minded, full of fear. The moment someone different comes along, folks scream ‘Satan’ or worse.”

“We used to be friends,” she said after a pause, like weighing whether to share too much. “Before her pa got caught up in some things. Before he disappeared. She was always so strange. Picking up bugs, talking to the ground, like she’d been here a thousand years instead of thirteen.”

She laughed, a soft, distant sound. “I used to joke she was a grandma reincarnated.”

Ony huffed out a soft laugh but then her smile faded, shadowed by memories. “When her daddy vanished, she was… calm. Like the universe does things for a reason. Said everything done in the dark will come to light.”

Her eyes darkened further. “Her mother got real sick after that. Took her own life.” She flicked squeeze the dusty wine bottle, then leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Your daddy… I think he’s got

something to do with it all.”

Ony’s heart tightened. "How so?"

“She told me once, before her dad disappeared, he was there. And minutes after he left, her mother… she was found splattered all over her bed.” She made a finger-gun motion, sharp and cutting through the heavy air.

Silence fell again, heavy and still.

Then Leah sniffled — barely — and blinked fast. Her voice wavered, thinner now. “You know… she’s the one who told me I was pregnant before I even knew? I really hope this conversation stays between us.”

She paused, swallowing thickly. “Couple months back, when I was real sick and you and Caleb were out runnin’ errands… she came by. Her and that damn cat. I hadn’t seen her since we were fifteen. Daddy forbid me from ever seein’ her again. Said she was a witch. Imagine my shock when she showed up at my doorstep eleven years later — all grown, and God help me, even more beautiful than when we were kids.”

She let out a shaky breath and laughed weakly, rubbing her stomach.

“She put her hands on my belly like she already knew me. Told me I’d be the most wonderful mother. Like she saw it, clear as day.” Her voice cracked. “Knitted me a little hat… and an apron to fit my belly. Softest thing I ever touched. But then she said somethin’ strange. Told me this wasn’t the place to raise a child. Said I should leave.”

Leah’s eyes lifted to his, wet but steady now.

Leah stayed quiet for a moment, her shoulders hunched and small despite the swell of her belly. The bottle hung loosely in her grip, the wine sloshing quietly like it too was listening.

Then, almost like an afterthought—but heavier than anything she’d said before—she murmured, “Something’s eatin’ your Ma, your Pa… even Caleb. They ain’t the same no more, Ony. I can feel it in my bones.”

She stood carefully, steadying herself with the porch railing. Her eyes met his one last time.

“You take care of yourself, Onyakopon. Don’t let ‘em make you blind to what’s right in front of you.”

She handed him the wine bottle, fingers lingering for a moment on his, then let go. Her silhouette disappeared into the dark hallway behind her, door creaking shut behind her like a breath held too long.

The next morning, Ony woke to a scream that didn’t belong to him for once.

It came from the guest room.

Leah had miscarried.

The house felt like it was holding its breath, heavy and suffocating. Caleb paced the worn floorboards, muttering under his breath, his footsteps sharp and uneven. Leah sat still in the corner, her eyes hollow, the light that had shone there just the night before completely gone.

Onyakopon watched them both, the weight of silence pressing down on him. His Ma and Pa were nowhere to be found — the house was emptier than usual, shadows gathering in every corner like unwelcome guests.

Caleb’s voice cracked as he whispered to no one in particular, “This ain’t right… none of it.”

Leah’s fingers trembled in her lap, her breath shallow, as if the air itself had turned to stone.

Onyakopon stepped closer to Leah, voice low but steady.

“I’m sorry, Leah. For everything.”

She gave a weak nod, eyes shimmering with tears but empty of hope. "You got time Ony. Leave before it touches you too"

Caleb’s pacing stopped abruptly, his shoulders stiffening like a coil about to snap. He glared at Ony, voice rough and sudden.

The house felt like it was holding its breath, thick with tension that clung to the walls like humidity before a storm. Caleb paced the floor in crooked lines, muttering beneath his breath, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Leah sat on the edge of the couch like her soul had drained out in her sleep, her eyes puffy and distant. She hadn’t spoken more than a whisper since the scream.

Onyakopon stood in the doorway, watching. His parents were nowhere in sight. The house was too still. Wrong.

“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ to start a fire,” Ony said gently, “but you need to sit, Caleb. You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.”

Caleb’s steps stopped abruptly. He turned slow, like a puppet pulled too tight on its strings.

“Oh, now you care?” he said, voice dry and full of heat. “Now you got concern?”

Ony blinked. “I’ve always cared.”

“No, you don’t. You stand around lookin’ like you see through everybody, like none of this is real to you. Like we’re fools for tryin’ to build a damn life here.”

Ony’s jaw tightened. “That ain’t fair.”

“Oh, but it’s true,” Caleb spat. “You think I forgot what you said a while back? ‘A wife and baby won’t fix nothin’? You said that. You looked me dead in the eye and said that. Like all this… like Leah—”

His voice cracked. “—like the baby didn’t matter.”

Ony’s voice was low. “I never said they didn’t matter. I said it won’t fix what’s wrong with this place. This town. You know that better than anyone, Caleb.”

“No. What I know is, you mocked me. You sat at that table with your silence and your damn half-smiles and judged me. You think you’re better than me.”

“I don’t—”

Caleb stepped forward, eyes wide, glassy, something off inside them now. “You don’t? Say it with your tongue then. Look me in the face and tell me I’m not a fool for wantin’ more.”

Leah stirred, voice soft. “Caleb—”

“Don’t,” Caleb snapped without looking at her.

Ony held his ground. “You ain’t a fool, Caleb. But you’re acting like one now. You’re hurt, and I get it. But don’t come at me like I put that pain in you.”

“You put the doubt in me!” Caleb roared.

“You were the voice in the back of my head every damn day since she told me she was pregnant. And now look! Gone. Just like everything else in this cursed house.”

There was a beat — the kind of silence that comes before something breaks.

Then Caleb lunged.

The scuffle was quick but violent — desperation making up for lack of form. Ony tried to hold him off, but Caleb fought like he wanted to draw blood, like if he hurt someone else maybe the ache inside him would let up.

Leah shouted, trying to reach them, tears running down her face. “Stop it! Stop!”

Ony finally shoved Caleb back, hard enough to knock him into the wall. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Caleb’s chest heaved. His eyes were wrong not just angry, but dark, as if something else had stepped into him. Something watching through his face.

“You mocked me,” he said again, quieter now. “You cursed me with your mouth. You always did.”

Ony stepped back, heart pounding. “I ain’t cursed you. This place did.”

Leah stood between them, shaking, one hand stretched out like she was trying to keep them both from falling off a cliff.

“Please, Ony,” she whispered. “Just go."

He didn’t want to. He wanted to fix it — to fix him. But he saw the look in her eyes. That pleading. That fear.

So he turned and walked out the front door.

And behind him, the house groaned.

The air outside slapped his skin like cold judgment. Onyakopon didn’t know when his feet hit the porch or when the front gate swung open — he only remembered the crunch of gravel under his boots and the warm sting of blood trailing down from his eyebrow. His lip was split, throbbing with each breath. The fight with Caleb replayed in flashes behind his eyes, quick and jagged like broken glass.

He kept running.

Not because he was afraid of Caleb, but because he was afraid of what he saw in Caleb.

The sky above had gone dull and gray, not quite evening but no longer day. Birds had gone quiet. The cicadas, too. All that remained was the pounding in his ears and the sharp inhale-exhale of lungs trying to keep up.

He didn’t even realize where he was until his knees buckled beneath him, and he hit the soft grass with a grunt. Hands splayed wide, he pressed his back to the earth, letting the air wrap around him. He was in the clearing.

The tall reeds swayed around him like ghosts with no mouths, whispering only through movement. And the sky above looked... too wide. Too still.

He lay there, panting. Sweat mixed with blood. His chest rose and fell like he’d outrun death itself.

And maybe he had.

Or maybe he’d run straight into it.

His chest rose and fell like a storm settling into silence. The sky above blurred, hazy from tears he didn’t know he’d let fall. Grass pressed cool and damp against the back of his neck. His lip stung, and his brow pulsed where Caleb’s fist had landed. Blood still crusted warm at the corner of his mouth.

He closed his eyes. Just for a second.

When he opened them—

She was there.

Standing over him like a painting left out in the rain. Skirt brushing the wild grass, curls coiled like shadows catching sunlight, eyes so ancient and wide they swallowed the sky behind her. Her face was soft, full of moonlight and mourning. The kind of beautiful that didn’t beg to be noticed — it just was, like wind or thunder. There was dirt on her hem, leaves tangled in her sleeves like she’d risen straight from the woods, or maybe the earth itself. Her cat, that little ghost pressed against her ankles, then padded forward, tail flicking, and nipped at Ony’s fingers with a quiet warning.

He flinched and blinked like he might still be dreaming.

“You,” he whispered.

“I always come when the house sends you away,” she said simply.

She knelt beside him, hand grazing the grass just beside his temple, never touching just near enough to feel the air between them hum.

“You’re hurt again, physically this time”

“Didn’t come here on purpose.”

“I know,” she said. “But your blood always finds its way back to me.”

The cat settled between them, purring low, eyes unblinking like it knew all the secrets neither of them could say. Onyakopon studied her — the way her presence dulled the pain just by existing, the way her eyes never flickered with fear. He wanted to say something. Apologize for the world. Ask how she knew so much. Ask how she still smiled like hope hadn’t died with the rest of this town’s soul.

Instead, he asked, “You always show up like this?”

She shrugged, curls bouncing lightly.

“Maybe I’m your guardian angel,” she said, and for a second, he thought she might mean it.

Then, her voice dropped to something softer, sadder.

“Or maybe I just know what it’s like to get pushed out by people who pretend they love you.”

She stood again without a word, brushing dirt from her skirt like it was nothing new, like she’d done this a hundred times before. The cat circled his shoulder once, then darted ahead into the trees.

“You comin’?” she asked over her shoulder, already turning.

Onyakopon hesitated. He should’ve gone back home. Should’ve checked on Leah. Should’ve tried, one more time, to reach the brother that looked at him like a stranger now.

But instead, he pushed himself off the ground, every bruise and scrape a sharp reminder of what waiting there would cost.

He followed her.

They moved through the woods like ghosts her steps barely stirring the leaves, him limping just behind. The path wasn’t marked, but she never second-guessed her turns. Like the forest knew her. Or she knew it.

A weather-worn cottage appeared just beyond a thick grove of oaks, roof sagging under moss and time. Wind chimes made of bones and rusted spoons tinkled faintly from the porch. A line of herbs dried beneath the windows, and a narrow chimney puffed with gentle smoke.

“Don’t mind the mess,” she murmured, holding the door open.

Inside, it smelled of lavender, ash, and something green not rot, not decay, but age. Lived-in. Safe.

He stepped in, and the warmth hit him like a balm. The fire crackled. The cat disappeared somewhere deeper in the house. She gestured toward an old kitchen chair.

“Sit.”

He obeyed.

She moved through the space like she belonged in every shadow of it. Wet a cloth, brought over an old metal tin, crouched before him like he was something precious.

She wiped his lip first, gentle, patient. Then his brow.

“You bruise easy,” she said, voice nearly teasing.

“You always nurse people back to life in the woods?”

“Just you.”

He didn’t ask why. He just watched her, close now the fine lines in her expression, the way she focused like this mattered, like he mattered. Her touch was warm, but her eyes. . . her eyes were still carrying something ancient.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

She didn’t respond right away. Just dabbed at the last of the blood, then looked up at him, expression unreadable.

“Next time,” she said softly, “don’t wait ‘til the world breaks your face to come find me again. Too handsome for all these and bruises."

Her fingers lingered on his chin, gentle, almost tender. He caught the faint scent of lavender and honey on her skin and felt heat rise in his cheeks. His eyes flickered down to his lap, suddenly shy under her steady gaze.

For a long moment, they just stayed like that close enough to feel the warmth of each other’s breath, the unspoken words hanging in the air. The cat nipped playfully at his fingers, breaking the spell, but even then, her smile held a softness that made his heart tighten.

"You hungry?"

He smiled softly meeting her eyes again, " I could eat."

She chuckled, the sound light and unexpected in the heavy silence. “Good. I don’t do fancy, but I can fix you something real.”

She stood and moved toward the small kitchen, the cat padding behind her like a loyal shadow. Ony followed slowly, still feeling the strange comfort of her presence like the world had shifted just enough to let a little light in.

[whosashan]

How many times do you think Rafayel imagined his wedding with you?

Literally all that man wants is to be with you and marry you, he probably thought it over and over. How you two would dress up, how the wedding area would look like, exchanging vows, and being able to put a ring on your finger and finally be able to call you his wife

Rafayel my silly fishy 💔💔💔

HIS BRIDE

PAIRING: Rafayel x reader

SYNOPSIS: How would it be to be Rafayel's bride?

A/N: Hi there, thank you for your request. Hope you enjoy!

Rafayel was growing impatient—his every thought consumed by the idea of making you his wife. The mere image of you in a wedding dress, radiant and ethereal, sent a warmth through his chest that he could hardly contain. You had always been breathtaking, but on that day, you would be otherworldly—a vision of divinity that he would have the privilege of calling his own.

You had spoken about marriage before, both of you agreeing it was a future you wanted to share. Yet, neither of you had set a date or discussed how long you would wait to finally take that step. Rafayel, ever the perfectionist, had been biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to propose. It couldn’t be anything less than extraordinary—he needed it to be a memory etched into your soul, a moment you would cherish forever.

And when it finally happened, you hadn’t seen it coming. He had ensured every detail was flawless. Using Thomas as an unsuspecting informant, he had carefully gathered pieces of your preferences—your dream proposal, your ideal setting, the little things that would make your heart flutter. The plan was executed seamlessly.

But ‘fiancée’? No, that word was never quite enough for him. From the moment you said yes, you were already his wife in his mind. He spoke the word with quiet reverence, letting it slip past his lips in moments of affection, the sound of it sending a pleasant hum through his chest. It was only a matter of time before it became reality, and with every utterance, the anticipation only grew stronger.

He wasted no time diving into wedding preparations, ensuring everything was precisely as you both envisioned. When choices arose, he often deferred to you, more than willing to let you take the reins. After all, nothing mattered more to him than your happiness.

Matching wedding outfits were non-negotiable—though, of course, he made sure you approved. Whether you chose a traditional white gown or something unconventional, he would find a way to complement you effortlessly. He had, of course, insisted on accompanying you to choose your dress, only to be met with your playful refusal.

“I want you to be surprised when you see me, Raf! Don’t ruin the magic.”

A beach wedding seemed fitting for the two of you—the sound of waves crashing gently against the shore, a golden sunset painting the sky in hues of rose and amber. A small, intimate ceremony with only those closest to you, where every moment would be deeply personal, untouched by the distractions of a grand spectacle.

And when the moment arrived, when he finally saw you walking down the aisle, his breath hitched. His heart pounded violently against his ribs, his vision solely fixed on you, glowing with a beauty he could never have put into words. A single tear—or perhaps more—slipped past his usually teasing demeanor. In that instant, he knew with absolute certainty: there was nothing in the universe he wanted more than this. More than you.

The vows were nothing short of soul-stirring, spoken with unshakable devotion, eyes locked in unspoken promises. Every word was heavy with sincerity, with love so profound it could bend time itself.

And when the ceremony was over—when a breathtaking ring adorned your finger and a matching band graced his—everything felt as if it had finally fallen into place. Any lingering doubts, any fleeting fears, they all melted away. Your mind was filled with nothing but him, and his with you, as he silently marveled at the overwhelming fortune of having you as his wife.

His. Forever.

[amxrany]

!! CHAPTER 7 / DIASOMNIA ARC SPOILERS !!

Ok I didn't expect Ace's Dream to end up this way, so now I have to tell you guys about it too:

The gang lands in a beach and Cater's having fun with Silver's UM, even taking a video but needing music as an overlay because of Grim's screams 😭. It's quite hot and Sebek asks if we're in Ace's hometown, that's when Deuce replies that Ace lives near the capital of Queendom of Roses while he lives in the southern area.

We also learn more about Cater and Idia as we're exploring the area. Other than skateboarding, Cater also likes to surf and snowboard. Idia tries to talk smack but Ortho butts in by telling the group that he's just like Cater as he rode a vehicle called a "Barca" to race around Island of Woe (and apparently you need a broomstick license and a special vehicle license to handle one).

We reach a vacation house where we find Ace, who's happy to see Deuce, Cater, Yuu and Grim, but is surprised to see the others (Leona, Idia, Silver and Sebek)

We also see Riddle in this dream, who's all decked out in vacation wear (from the Stitch event) that even Cater's surprised. But Dream! Riddle simply wanted to dress the part and even pulled Cater aside for a bit to asked if he looked weird. Sebek thinks that there's no way Riddle would wear something like that irl and that's just Ace's personlaity showing while Silver doesn't see anything wrong as Riddle said this is what people on the beach.

Trey also shows up wearing the Silk City outfit. It turns out that Trey's clothes, the house, and island they're all currently in were lended to them by Kalim's family. Dream! Trey asks Cater why he's in his dorm uniform when he was wearing something different earlier while taking pictures. Cater plays along by saying that he didn't want to get them dirty while cooking, which Dream! Trey believed.

Ace asks us if we want to change our clothes because our dorm uniform looks really stuffy with the weather right now. Leona warns Yuu to not get carried away. We find out that Ace's dream is a celebration for Yuu...because they found a way back to their world. Riddle explains further that not only has Crowley found a way to return Yuu to their world, but he also found a way for Yuu to visit Twisted Wonderland anytime they want to. Stop I'm not okay it's the way that Ace's dream is just wanting people to continue on with their studies safely and Yuu gets to go back home and visit them anytime is just 😭💔

Dream! Riddle suggests that Deuce and the others should go change to more fitting clothes for this occasion. While Cater volunteers with Idia, Leona and Silver to help Trey with the cooking, but really he just uses it as an excuse to discuss what he has observed. He tells Leona about the plan to look out for Ace as Dream! Riddle and Dream! Trey are most likely darkness, and Leona's impressed with how fast he's catching up with the dream mechanics. Even Idia finds it a bit creepy.

But Cater's already used to making the first move to avoid conflict. His plan was to use the first years as they're the only ones who are closer to Ace, meaning that they have a better chance of cracking him while the others keep the NPCs distracted. While the seniors are helping the NPCs, the freshmen are trying to brew up a plan. Ortho brings up the clue having needing a big "shock" from reality, but Sebek said he's useless here since he only meets Ace in electives and let's the main gang handle it.

Deuce goes first, telling Ace that this is all just a dream created by Malleus and that they still haven't found a way for Yuu to go home. He also brings up that we still haven't contacted Mickey yet, Ace doesn't believe them but Deuce (with Grim this time) continue to push him further; this causes him (Ace) to start to disorient. Deuce tells Ace to calm down but he thinks they're just lying but Ortho vouches for them and tells him that they're not. It even goes to the point of Ace asking Yuu if what they're saying is true.

Grim latches himself onto Ace, repeatedly screaming that they're not lying; triggering another flashback. But Ace just chews us out for taking the joke too far, and that we shouldn't ruin the vibes of the vacation. That's when Sebek butts in, calling Ace shallow for ignoring the pleas of his friends. But Ace counters that Sebek couldn't read the room for randomly joining a vacation he has no involvement in.

Sebek replies that he didn't even want to go with the others, but here's just here because he needs to wake Ace up. But Ace's response to the whole dream thing is just him being apathetic, not caring if it's reality or not. Because he thinks if you've lived in a dream long enough, it's not longer a dream isn't it? But a new reality, and not a lot of people can say they're living life without hardship. It's like he already weighed all the outcomes and possibilities of the situation he's in.

Sebek argues back that he cares about Malleus, which is why he and Silver are trying to wake everyone to save him. Because to him, he doesn't want to continue if it means leaving Malleus alone. But Ace doesn't sympathize, he actually blames Malleus for their current predicament and if he gets lonely; he brought it upon himself. To Ace, Sebek's being selfish for ruining his dream just to go and save the one who caused the problem to happen; and to ask Ace's help to defeat Malleus? That's pretty much a death sentence (now Ace isn't exactly a saint either, both are selfish as to how much are they willing to sacrifice for the people they care about). Ace runs away, and that's when Ortho asks the question: if it were someone else, would Sebek hold the same dedication to wake everyone up? Deuce blames Sebek for this, whihc he goes "HUH? WHY ME?!"

Ortho agress with Deuce, Sebek got too emotional and Ace had a point with what he was saying. Sebek tries to defend himself by saying that it's for Malleus and Lilia but what he did is still considered selfish by anyone's standards. Even Ortho admits that's he's selfish too, and also helped because Idia was in trouble; not everyone is forced to do this.

The seniors are back and they all agree with Ace that he isn't exactly necessary to the plan. We actually get to see Silver get mad at Sebek for causing this whole mess, not realizing that his behavior does have consequences. Once again, Sebek tries defending himself but Silver wasn't having it; leaving him no choice but to submit.

Idia says that even if everyone teams up, it's not guaranteed that they can defeat Malleus and Silver prefers not to force people to fight. Even Leona acknowledges that Ace's current magical prowess is just that of an ordinary mage, and that they can simply move on without him (Deuce, Yuu and Grim are saddened by this).

Cater says that Ace is probably frustrated and alone right now, so he chooses to look for him to help him "sleep" without the interference of Leona or Idia. Cater leaves with Yuu, Grim, and Deuce going after him (the others follow suit too just to make sure nothing bad happens). Yuu catches up with him and tries to convince to let them talk to Ace one more time. But Cater affirms that he doesn't intend to leave Ace here and has a plan (awww)

So Cater was right, he finsd Ace alone thinking about the things the others have told him. He lends an ear as he listens to Ace rant about the whole thing, and he agrees that his reaction to everything was normal; but then he suddenly goes "what they're saying is actually true tho" then HE SUMMONS HIS CLONES TO BEAT ACE'S ASS NAURRR 😭😭😭

This causes Dream! Riddle and Dream! Trey to appear and they're mad at Cater for attacking Ace. EVEN DREAM! DEUCE AND DREAM! CATER APPEAR but they just take Ace away. Ortho tries to intervene but the others stop him. With Leona telling the others that Cater asked to not be interfered and Deuce adding that it was also his plan to find a way to trigger the darkness.

Cater's plan is working, as Ace starts to become aware of his surroundings; that the things his dorm mates are saying are stuff they wouldn't say in real life. He also points out that how can someone like him help defeat Malleus, and that he's scared. The darkness actually reveals Ace's vulnerable side and we're just watching it from afar. Silver notices that Ace is being persuaded by the darkness but Idia knows that Ace is clever, that's when Leona chimes in that Ace realizes that there's always going to be someone stronger than him, thus knowing his limits. That's when Idia's like "brotha aren't you just talking about yourself?", cue Leona trying to break his tablet.

We also learn more about how the Dark Mirror chooses its students, while the qualities in which one gets sorted into a dorm remains vague it usually chooses people who leave a mark on history in the future.

Okay going back to Ace, Cater brings up that time during Riddle's overblot and about how quick they were to jump into action. He thanks him for inspiring to fight against their Housewarden that day, also adding that going into fights that are "winnable" seem lame and that he's scared too, but they have to fight. Ace actually starts crying, because he doesn't want to look like a coward and that's what wakes him up.

Cater helps Ace out of the darkness and calls for the others for backup. After that, Grim and Deuce are mad at Ace for trying to stay in the dream. He also nags to Cater about him using his UM on him, but it was the only way to get him to wake up. They show Ace the video and now his pissed at Malleus, but Grim's like "weren't you scared of him earlier???".

Silver thanks Ace for his help and also apologizes for Sebek's behavior, in which Ace blames Lilia and Silver for spoiling him and Sebek's like "I'M NOT SPOILED BY SILVER 😡". Ortho did mention that Sebek looked awkward after their argument and suggests that he should apologize but Idia replies that he has too much of a pride to do so. Ace just bullies Sebek lmao, forgiving him with his "whole heart".

Cater steps in before it gets any worse, and we get ADeuce saying "Dream Form Change" now. Ace still doesn't want to fight Malleus, but given the circumstance he doesn't really have a choice. Once shown his dummy version, Grim just laughs at his outfit and Cater comments on the fruits

The dream ends with the first years complaining about how cramped it is and Leona just tells Silver to get on with it.

And that ends Ace's Dream, took me awhile to get this out because we actually learn a lot about him in this one and I really tried my best to give him justice yknow?

We're off to Trey's Dream next, see you then!

Previous: Cater's Dream Next: Trey's Dream

(Note: This post is a summarized version of the update, info and pics comes from @/LBucchie, @/WitchDrug, and @/acesuuu on x/twt, give them some support if you can)

[notsodelirious]

I just read your knight dick grayson x royal gn reader and I’m absolutely inlove with the forbidden love between the two. I need the sequel so badddddd

Knight Grayson means so much to me💔

idk if this is what people mean when they say write a little every day but here you go!

Synopsis: Dick finds you in your room while you’re getting ready for a ball celebrating your engagement

notes: SFW, also reader is mentioned to do a couple of feminine things (wear earrings, being led in a dance, etc) but that’s just bc I’m a trans guy who likes wearing earrings (reader is still gn)

tags: forbidden romance, knight!Dick Grayson, Royalty AU, bittersweet ending, political engagements, just abt 1k words, no use of y/n

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (current) | Part 4

“Your Highness? You called for me?” Dick called out through the door as he knocked before carefully pushing the door open. He stumbled when his eyes fell on you.

It was the night celebrating your engagement. Your father had thrown a ball in honour of it, and as much as you despised the idea, you didn’t kick a fuss: it was too late anyway. You would be married in 3 months time and it was too late for any tantrums to change the course of that. You’d received your orders and begrudgingly, reluctantly, you would fulfil them.

You stood in the middle of your room, absently neatening your attire—the maids had already helped you dress in all your royal regalia an hour before, before leaving you to collect yourself while they finished the preparations to welcome guests.

“Oh, Sir Grayson,” you said softly, feigned nonchalance as you turned away from the mirror to look at him. You tried not to blush under his gaze as his eyes roved over you, up and down before a gentle rose brushed over his cheeks too. “Come in. Close the door.”

He did so, shutting the door behind himself hastily, quietly.

“You look stunning,” he said as he approached. He rested his gloved hand on your waist, as he took to admiring you up close. He was also dressed in his finest, black and blue wrapped around his body, a heavy coat draped over his shoulders like a cape. It was customary of all knights in attendance to wear, but it was so distinctly him. He was gorgeous.

You held up a pair of earrings which he carefully took from you. He tilted your chin up before he opened the first earring to slip it into place. He tilted your head again to put the second earring in, holding your face as if admiring the jewellery and not the love of his life. “Ready?”

“Will I ever be?” you said softly as you turned to look back towards the mirror, where you could see the both of you stood side by side. Complimentary, paired like sword and shield, an image you knew in your heart to be true. But it was all just an illusion and soon you would separate again.

Dick didn’t say anything as his grip on your waist tightened just a little, and if you let yourself indulge in your delusions, you could almost imagine it was possessive. With the care he’d use to handle a delicate flower, he reached down for your hand as he stepped in front of you, holding your body close to his.

You couldn’t help but smile; you grasped his hand firmly in return, resting your other on his shoulder.

He guided you through the dance, shoes brushing against soft carpet as you stepped to silence of your room.

“Didn’t know you could dance,” you said teasingly, but not loud enough to disrupt the fragile quiet that had settled over the room.

“Ballroom lessons come included when being raised by Bruce Wayne,” he smiled back as he continued to lead the dance. “Why are you surprised?”

“Guess I didn’t expect the circus brat to know how to dance.” He laughed softly, dark locks falling in front of his face when he ducked down low. You couldn’t help but look up at him, the hand in his leaving so you can cup his face. Ocean eyes meet yours before his lips brush against yours. His hair was soft between your fingers as you tugged him down closer, mouth moving against his, as if he were your only source of oxygen.

By then your dance had slowed to a stand still. You pulled away, eventually in need of hair.

“Thank you.” Your words were soft, barely above a whisper while you wrapped your arms around his neck. He held you close in turn, holding your hips.

“It’s my honour, Your Highness.”

The sway that you resumed, a lazy shuffle more than anything, kept you close. You rested your head on his shoulder, while you let his hands roam where it never would be decent for any man to lay his hands. You hated the thought of moving away from this, from him, but the throne wasn’t yours to keep and your father’s knights not yours to keep.

“I’ll be here when you come back to visit,” Dick said, almost as if he were reading your mind. He placed his cheek against the top of your head as you continued to sway, nothing like the formal waltz before.

You shook your head. “Don’t wait for me,” you replied. “Find yourself a sweet girl who can give you the love and family you deserve.”

His grasp on you tightened again, holding you against him.

“I fear even if I tried, it’ll always be you.”

You chuckled wetly as you pulled away from him. The pads of his fingers brushed away your tears and he smiled down at you softly.

“I love you.”

You tilted your head to kiss his palm.

“I love you too, Dick.”

You both startled at the sound of a knock at the door. It was time to go.

He held his arm out to you.

“Ready?”

You took hold of him, bitter acceptance and love blooming in your throat.

“As I’ll ever be.”

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

Hope you enjoyed! <3 so far, this series has been SFW but I’m ngl every other sequel I’ve thought of is NSFW and idk if that’s something people would be into for this AU—to be seen <3

[thegh0st0feltingville]

Hey hey! I've never written anything like this before so PLEASE forgive me if it's pure ASS 💔🥀

ELTINGVILLE CLUB HEAD CANNONS

For if you're dating them!

PETE:

🔪: he tries his hardest to be romantic but it low-key comes off creepy sometimes, like for example he'll buy white roses and smother them with fake blood, then he'll try to convince you it's real.

"C'mon babe! it ain't a joke! It's real stuff! I swear!"

🔪: Will make sure you wear his clothes. He wants- no, NEEDS to see you in his shirts bruh, he will purposely do something along the lines of spilling a drink on you and drenching your shirt just so you have to wear one of his.

🔪: this hoe grew up in such a shitty household, all he wants is a little love! If your cold, he's cold, bring him inside.

JERRY:

🗡️: I like to believe that he's got some rich ass parents, so if you want something he will whip out his wallet for you!

🗡️: dorky romantic. WILL draw you as a princess/prince and himself as the knight n' shining armor, then proudly present it to you like a child showing his mom a silly drawing (in the end you'll put it on the fridge or something)

🗡️: hes definitely into cosplay and would get on his knees and BEG you to dress up with him, then he would take you to a comic con or something and proudly show you off as though your the most extravagant gem on earth

BILL:

I ain't gonna lie, I hate this little bug. So these probably won't be too great

📙: You two probably met through his sister, and chances are he tried to impress you with a cocky attitude, thinking he's the shit.

📙: if he does impress you and you two begin to date he will most likely be the worst lover you've had in a long time, he's not into romance, no gestures, no nothing. Instead he'll argue with you over petty things.

JOSH:

🐋: this bitch is FAT. aka a perfect body warmer during the winter! But during the summer he'll whine and complain about the heat, good luck getting cuddles in!

🐋: he will always make sure your fed, constantly asking if your hungry or if you've eaten yet

🐋: chances are your his first girlfriend/boyfriend! So the poor guy has NO IDEA what he's doing.. he'll try to do what he sees in the movies to try and woo you, buying you flowers, holding your hand, calling you stupid pet names, ect!

This is so bunz please forgive me 😭😭

[mattswish]

౨ৎ church boy ౨ৎ

content: suggestive, matt asking reader to wear a certain thong, pet names, intro!

wc: 0.6k

it was a early morning on sunday, it always was. every sunday it was a routine. you would wake up, rub the blur out of your eyes, get dressed then pretend like you give a fuck while sitting in church. it wasn’t always like that. you used to enjoy it when you were little and actually had faith. after your mom died your dad stopped going. he got angry faster, his patience was a thin line, thinner than you would ever assume. he started going again because people were feeding him “the end of the world” bullshit. as if going to church automatically makes you a good person.

it wasn’t always easy to pretend like you cared about what the preacher was blabbering about. it was even harder to pretend you didn’t want to fuck matthew sturniolo. he worked at the church, always came every sunday, sometimes even spoke up for the preacher when he was sick. but something didn’t seem right, he looked a little too good to be a little church boy. if there was a god, you were going straight to hell for the sins you wanted to do with him, he probably knew that too. he would always find your eyes already looking at him, whether you were sitting in front of him or behind him in the booths. today started off normal. you woke up and put your outfit on. you wore a baby pink sweater with a white long skirt on. you sat down in your usual seat beside your father with matt one row behind you. you didn’t even last a minute before turning your head back to see matt over your shoulder. he didn’t notice you at first so you took him in. he was wearing his classic blue jeans with a creamish sweater. you also noticed he was wearing a horse necklace, he always did, it was a matthew sturniolo staple. you always wondered why he came. was it because he worked here or did he actually have faith, he just didn’t seem like the person to wanna be saved. your daydreaming got cut off by his eyes. your head instantly turned back around as your cheeks flushed. no matter how many times you got caught looking it would never not be embarrassing. everyone stood up for the opening song which gave you a opportunity you’ve finally gained confidence to take. you lifted your arms up pretending to stretch just for your sweater to ride up to reveal your white thin thong. you subtly looked at matt and saw him looking at it. he took the the bait.

the rest of church went by slow. it was boring, you stood when you had to, and didn’t sing. it wasn’t natural to you, you’d very much rather be having a date with your rose toy right about now. you sighed with relief as the preacher dismissed everyone. “i’m gonna talk to the preacher for a bit, be good and stay put.” your dad said as he walked away from you, leaving you standing by the door to the now cleared out room. “hey.” a voice rang out behind you. it was matt. “oh uh hello.” a light pink flush went across your cheeks. “your y/n, right? i’m matthew.” you gave him a nod in response. “so you work here?” you asked. “yeah it’s not bad, plus i can see pretty girls like you.” he smirked. ah, so he was the confident type. “think i can get your insta?”

you felt your phone vibrate, instantly you picked it up. it was matt. you opened instagram and clicked on his profile. “2.9 mil?” you say out loud. of course, you let your curiosity get the best of you. you looked at his account for over an over before you realized you never texted him back.

a soft smile left your lips. you finally had matt in your finger tips, figuratively of course. you two talked for hours about meaningless things. some sweet and some..-

a/n: this is basically the intro so it’s ass and not too freaky yet💔

masterlist/taglist

as always, fuck trump

tags: @courta13 @nxvasturns @mattspillowprincess @2prettyysturniolo @darylsmercy @dollifyy

[somewhere-elena]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏɴsᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪs ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛʏ

sᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ x ғ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

(ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴀsᴛ ɪɴsᴘɪʀᴇᴅ)

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғᴏᴜʀ

(I think this is the longest chapter yet, and it's because my ahh couldn't stop writing. Ending was rushed because I got bored and wanted to wrap things up 💔)

★∻∹⋰⋰ ☆∻∹⋰⋰ ★∻∹⋰⋰ ☆∻∹⋰⋰★∻∹⋰⋰ ☆∻∹

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғɪᴠᴇ

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

You walk down a small flight of stairs, wearing a beautiful gold and yellow dress. Off the shoulder, gown, elbow long gloves and your hair done all pretty. To say you looked beautiful would be an understatement.

Sukuna cleared his throat nervously, he was dressed up for the occasion as well, a white button up shirt underneath a dark crimson blazer that had gold accents as well.

You smiled up at him and he smiled back, the poor guy was clearly a nervous wreck.

It started out with you two eating dinner together, but as the melodies of violins, piano and many other instruments humming a romantic tune picked up, you couldn't help yourself.

You walked over to where Sukuna sat, grabbing his hand and leading him to the ballroom nearby.

Holding his hand in one of yours, you guided his free hand to rest on your waist as your free hand rested on his shoulder. And with that, you two began waltzing around the ballroom the music.

With Sukuna occasionally twirling you before pulling you back in, you were having more fun than you'd like to admit.

As you were dancing around, you leaned in, resting your head on his broad chest.

Sukuna looked visibly surprised before smiling brightly and looking over at Yuji and Megumi who were watching from the sidelines.

Yuji clasped his hands together and rocked them, cheering his uncle on with a big smile.

Megumi held a thumbs up.

"Off to bed you go, Nanako. It's past your bedtime." Geto said quietly to her.

Nanako nodded, yawning in response as she walked off.

After waltzing around, you and Sukuna walked out onto the balcony, sitting down beside each other, Sukuna gently took your hands in his larger ones.

"Y/n.." Sukuna started. "Are you.. Happy here with me?" He asked sheepishly.

"Yes..." You replied with a smile. Though it faded slightly and you looked out over the balcony.

"What is it?.." Sukuna asked.

"If only I could see Gojo again..." You said.

"Just for a moment... I miss him so much." You continued.

Sukuna looked lost in thought before his expression lit up.

"There is a way." He said, peaking your curiosity.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Sukuna picked the enchanted mirror up.

"This mirror will show you anything. Anything you wish to see." He said, holding it out to you.

You gently took it from him, looking down at the mirror.

"I'd like to see Gojo.. Please." You requested.

The mirror lit up, warping to show Gojo back in the forest, struggling against harsher winds, letting out a hoarse cough.

"Gojo... Oh no- he's sick, he could be dying.. And he's all alone-" You said in frantic concern.

Sukuna's expression shifted to one of concern as well, he turned to the enchanted rose which had little petals left and was wilting.

"Then you must go to him..." He said quietly.

"What did you say?.." You asked.

"I release you. You're no longer my 'prisoner'." Sukuna said.

"You mean.. I'm free?" You asked.

"Yes.." Sukuna replied.

"Oh.. Thank you..." You said softly.

"Hold on Gojo... I'm coming." You said.

Before doing anything else, you turned to hand the mirror back to Sukuna, but he gently pushed it back toward you.

"Take it with you.. So you'll always have a way to look back and remember me." He said, his tone was soft and caring.

"Thank you for understanding how much he needs me..." You said softly, placing your hand on his cheek, letting it linger there for a moment before you walked off.

As you left, Megumi walked in.

"Well, I must say, everything is going just swimmingly, I knew you had it in you.. Haha..." He said.

"I let her go." Sukuna said quietly.

"Splendi- you.. What? Why would you do that?" Megumi asked.

"I had to." Sukuna said.

"Yes, but- but why?!" Megumi asked again.

"Because... I love her." Sukuna admitted quietly, he had a soft look in his eyes, one of admiration as he thought of you.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

"He did what?!" The servants exclaimed in unison.

"Yes.. I'm afraid it's true." Megumi said.

"She's going away??" Nanako asked.

"We were so close..." Yuji said, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"After all this time... He's finally learned to love." Geto mumbled.

"That's it, then! That should break the spell." Yuji said.

"It's not enough. She needed to love him back." Geto said.

"Now it's too late..." Megumi said.

Nanako took this time to sneak off.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You rode off on Jugai, through the gardens, then through the castle's front gates.

"Gojo?! Gojo!" You called out.

You then spot him on the ground, gasping softly.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You set Jugai outside of your home, walking Gojo inside and helping him to bed.

Gojo grumbled as a warm, damp cloth was set on his forehead.

"It's alright, Gojo, I'm here now." You said.

"Y/n...? I never thought I'd see you again." He said, sitting up and pulling you into a gentle hug.

"I missed you so much..." You said.

Gojo pulled away, his hands on your shoulders.

"But the beast... How did you escape him??" He asked.

"I didn't escape, Gojo... He let me go." You said.

"That horrible beast?" Gojo asked.

"But he's different now, Gojo... He's changed somehow." You said.

And your satchel on the end of the bed, fell open and Nanako popped out.

You laugh softly.

"Well, a stowaway." You said.

"Hi!" Nanako said.

Gojo laughed.

"Well, hello."

Nanako turned to look at you.

"Y/n, why'd you go away? Dont you like us anymore?" She asked.

Your expression softened.

"Oh, Nanako... Of course I do, it's just that-" you were cut off by a knock at the door.

Curious, you walked over, cracking the door open to see an old man standing there.

"May I help you?" You asked.

"I've come to collect Gojo." He said.

"Gojo?.." You replied.

"Dont worry, Misu. We'll take good care of him." He said, stepping aside to reveal a carriage that had the asylum's logo on it. The surrounding crowd with Pitchfork and torches didn't help ease your nerves.

Your eyes widened. This was Naobito, the Warren of the asylum.

"Gojo is not crazy!" You said defensively.

"He was raving like a lunatic! We all heard him!" A commoner said.

The crowd shouted in agreement.

"No! I won't let you!" You yelled.

"Y/n?" Gojo asked, peeking out of the door.

"Gojo! Tell us again, just how big was the beast?" Another commoner asked.

"He was.. Enormous! I mean, I'd say eight- no, nine feet!" Gojo said.

The crowd laughed hysterically.

"Well, you don't get crazier than that!" Another commoner laughed.

"It's true!" Gojo said.

"Go on, take him away." another said, as two men began dragging Gojo towards the carriage.

"No! You can't do this!" You yelled in desperation.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk... Poor Y/n.. It's a shame about Gojo." Naoya said.

"You know he's not crazy, Naoya!" You said.

"Mm... I might be able to clear up this misunderstanding, if...." Naoya trailed off.

"If what?" You asked.

"If... You marry me." He said.

Your eyes widened in surprise and slight disgust.

"What?" You reply in disbelief.

"One little word, Y/n... That's all it takes." He said.

"Never!" You said, shoving him away.

"Have it your way." Naoya said.

"Y/n?!" Gojo called out.

You ran inside the cottage and came back out with the mirror.

"Gojo is not crazy! And I can prove it!" You yelled.

You held the mirror up.

"Show me the beast." You demanded, and the mirror began warping before showing Sukuna.

The crowd audibly gasped in slight fear.

"Is it dangerous?!" A woman from the crowd asked.

"Oh no, he'd never hurt anyone!" You said.

"Please, I know he looks viscous, but he's really kind and gentle..." You said, looking at the mirror in slight awe.

"He's my friend..." You said softly.

Naoya looked pissed off and incredibly jealous. He gritted his teeth.

He grabbed your shoulder, turning you to face him.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you have feelings for this monster." Naoya said.

Your eyes narrow as you pull away.

"He's no monster, Naoya. YOU are." You said firmly.

Naoya's eyes widened and he growled in anger, snatching the mirror from your hands.

"She's as crazy as the white haired freak!" Naoya said.

"The beast will take off with your children! He'll come after them in the night!" He exclaimed to the crowd.

"No!" You yelled.

"We're not safe until his head is mounted on my wall! I say we kill the monster!" He yelled, earning shouts of agreement from the crowd.

You looked around in horror. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"No! I won't let you do this!" You yell.

"You're not with us, you're against us, bring the freak." Naoya said as you and Gojo were dragged off and thrown into your cellar, locked up.

"We cant have them run off and warn the creature!" Naoya said.

"Hey! Let us out!!" You yelled desperately, banging against the cellar doors.

The crowd began marching off in a riot, torches, pitchforks, axes, you name it.

You tried prying a window open with a broomstick.

"I have to warn Sukuna... This is all my fault." You said, your voice filled with regret.

"Oh, Gojo.. What are we gonna do?" You asked.

"Now, now, we'll think of something." Gojo said, pulling you into a hug.

Nanako peeked through the cellar window before looking around, trying to find something to help you.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

"I knew it, I knew it, I knew it was foolish to get our hopes up." Megumi grumbled.

"Maybe it'd be better if she'd never come at all." Yuji huffed.

The white divine dog barked, running over to the window.

Yuji, Megumi and Geto walked over to the window.

"Kuso! Invaders!" Yuji exclaimed.

"Encroachers!" Megumi said.

"And they have the mirror!" Geto pointed out.

"Warn Sukuna! If it's a fight they want, then it's a fight they'll get." Megumi said.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

"Pardon me, Sukuna-" Geto started.

"Leave me in peace." Sukuna said, hit voice gruff.

"But sir! The castle is under attack!" Geto said.

Sukuna's expression softened in defeat.

"What should we do now, Sukuna?!" Geto asked in desperation.

"It doesn't matter now.. Let them come." Sukuna replied.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

The villagers broke the front doors with their battering ram.

The castle was quiet, old dusty furniture all around. Unbeknownst to them, all the servants were hiding, waiting to ambush them.

They all looked around as they walked inside.

"Now!!" Yuji shouted.

And with that, a big fight broke out.

Naoya made a bee-line up the stairs.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Nanako fiddled with the lock before finally getting it open.

"Y/n! It's open!" She called out.

You quickly pushed the doors open.

"Nanako! Thank you!" You said.

Quickly grabbing Nanako, you and Gojo mounted on Jugai and quickly rode off to the castle, galloping there as fast as you could.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Naoya kicked down each door, an arrow ready to be drawn at his bow as he hunted down Sukuna.

Eventually, pushing through a pair of cracked doors, Naoya spotted Sukuna, sitting alone, sulking.

He smirked, drawing an arrow back as he aimed it directly at Sukuna.

He released it and it hit Sukuna directly in the back, causing him to yell out in pain.

Naoya shoved Sukuna out a window and onto the balcony, laughing as he stood over him.

He shoved him again, off the balcony and onto the roof.

"Get up." Naoya said. "Get up!" He repeated.

"What's the matter beast? Too kind and gentle to fight back?" He taunted.

Sukuna just turned his head away.

Naoya grabbed a nearby architecture piece that had spikes on it, ripping it off and holding it up to hit Sukuna.

"No!!!" You yelled, finally reaching the castle on Jugai's back.

Sukuna's eyes widened in surprise.

"Y/n.." He mumbled.

"No! Naoya, dont!" You yelled out.

Naoya didn't listen, going to hit Sukuna with the spiked stone, but Sukuna caught it, standing up with a glare on his face.

They continued fighting, tumbling around.

You on the other hand were running up the stairs to get to where they were.

Sukuna hid amongst some gargoyles.

"Come on out!" Naoya shouted.

"Were you in love with her, beast?" He asked.

"Did you honestly think she'd want you, when she had someone like me?!" He taunted.

Sukuna glared at him from the shadows.

He pounced on him and held him by his throat, over the edge of the roof. The drop was obviously high and would cause immediate death.

"No- no! Let me go, please! I'll do anything!" Naoya pleaded.

Sukuna's angry expression softened before hardening into a stern one, turned and shoved Naoya on the roof.

"Get out." He said firmly.

You finally made it to the balcony.

"Sukuna!" You call out.

Sukuna whips around and his face lights up as he sees you.

"Y/n.." He said, beginning to making his way toward you.

You held out your hand for him and he finally took it.

"You came back..." He murmured, gently cupping your face in his hand.

You smiled, leaning into his touch.

The moment was cut short by Naoya though, he stabbed Sukuna in the back, causing him to yell out in pain, yet again.

But then Naoya slipped and began falling, he shouted out as he plummeted down.

You helped Sukuna onto the balcony, gently laying him down, cupping his cheek gently, your eyes filled with concern.

"You.. Came back..." He said weakly.

"Of course I came back..." You replied.

"I couldn't let them..." You trailed off as you took in his weak form, tears began filling your eyes.

"Oh, this is all my fault." You say.

"If only I got back in time...." You continued.

"Maybe... Maybe it's better this way..." Sukuna said.

"Dont talk like that... You're gonna be okay, we're together now, everything's gonna be fine, you'll see." You said, more to comfort yourself, really.

Sukuna chuckled weakly, reaching up and cupping your face in his hand.

"At least... I got to see you.. One.. Last time...." He said softly.

You leaned into his touch, only for his hand to fall limp to his side.

"No... No.. Please..." You whisper in a shaky voice, tears beginning to fall from your eyes.

"Please, dont leave me..." You said.

"I love you..." You whisper.

Sparkle

Sparkle

Sparkle

Magic

Magic

Boom

Sukuna is alive and human again but still has his tattoos and his muscles.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Now, you and Sukuna were dancing around the ballroom, now filled with people.

You couldn't be happier now.

This was your life now.

And you definitely weren't complaining.

[marietheran-archived]

Panem Dashboard Simulator

(mostly Capitol + a few rebels tbh because who in the Districts has free internet access?)

👠 fashio-capitol-nista follow

I can't believe I just saw Perpetua in a yellow(!!!) maxi(!!!) dress. With feathers(!!!)

Honestly, we should just banish people to the districts for three absolute violations in one article of clothing. And - a maxi dress! No one's been wearing them since spring at least!

(Do you think she was trying to achieve something? So many things wrong could only have been purposeful...)

💎shimerring-gem1 follow

who's even named perpetua?????? is that a name?????

I do'nt think anyone was ever named that lolllll

👠fashio-capitol-nista follow

They're all such idiots tbh, her mother's hair is going gray and the woman's doing nothing about it. She probably thought it - xddd - pretty - to call her daughter rhat! Once I heard Pep explain to someone that it means "forever" or something, who even cares, but she's like that.

I mean - yellow! In Spring 2312!

💮 trying-to-be-a-voice-of-reason-here follow

Maybe she just doesn't care about every single fashion change?

👠fashio-capitol-nista follow

Here's someone to block y'all!

201 notes

🧜merbitch follow

Now with the games approaching, we're probably going to see an uptick in those rebel idiots complaining about imagined ethics ugh

🤍leiiii follow

You cannot force children to fight to the death and complain that people say it's evil

🧜merbitch follow

would you prefer millions of children die in literal wars??? you people pretend you're so high and righteous but you only care for that single 24 and no one else, because it suits your propaganda purposes!

🍭 quintiasquee follow

besides those kids get to experience the luxuries of the capitol so on the whole they're actually better off for it haven't you seen the transmissions of the reapings?? they fight for the chance to compete!

#I mean I know people *here* who would gladly take part if they could #it's a honor for them but ofc you don't *really* care

8,275 notes

👾storiee follow

omx I hate the commercialisation of the games though

#it's sick that whether someone lives or dies is decided by how well they present on camera #it's a death game for goodness sake what can you not understand #saltierthanpretzels

53 notes

⚡colormedazzled follow

Didd you just see the district 12 tributes!!!!????

🩴mamie43 follow

omx, YES!

💥hg-liveblogging follow

I did not have "the D12 tributes actually have good costumes" on my bingo for this year!!!!

👑totallyqn follow

Peeta needs to win this I wanna marry him

#if only I had more money I would totally sponsor him #but I'm saving for a Dom Meren tote bag ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

17,411 notes

☁️dreamofme follow

do you wanna hold my hand as we ride a flaming chariot into glorious battle?

#i would die.... #ahhhh to be her...

409 notes

🔱best-hunger-games-liveblog follow

Peeta is in love with Katniss???!!!!!!!

WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT

👑totallyqn follow

You broke my heart just now 💔💔💔💔

#I am totally cheering for that bitch to die in the cornucopia #and tbh I don't care about Peeta either anymore #*chants* Marvel Marvel Marvel

2,554 notes

🪺bluet follow

You know what, after Rue's death I don't know if I want to watch anymore... I feel sick. Idk but after I saw her... and the flowers... and then the shop windows with children's clothes and roses. It feels as if she was just like all the children here.

Edit: please stop sending me anon hate

Edit: death threats, really?

3,947 notes

💥hg-liveblogging follow

Did they just change the rules of the freaking GAMES

💥hg-liveblogging follow

1,029 notes

🌈 sjfhiefjf follow

I'm telling you this will be the end of our country.

👤 rebelforlife follow

and good riddance to it!

🫦 qu33n follow

can you report for sedition on tumblr

#i need to know #we've digital ids that the gov knows right

1 009 notes

[hunzzzzz]

Priorities: part 6 (Kendall Roy x reader / Lukas Mattson x Reader)

Summary: your night takes a turn for the worse, Lukas provides to be a helpful distraction.

TW: collar / flogging / pussy spanking / pain kink / BDSM / overstimulation / punishment / Lukas Mattson shameless smut / oral sex(f!receiving) / restraints / chains / Dom Lukas Mattson / everything is consensual/ multiple orgasms / orgasm denial / edging/ teasing

A/N: 11k+ words. So conflicted over this chapter 😭😭 Kendall my Shayla 💔💔 also do you guys want more Kendall plot or more Lukas plot?

🦄☔️💜👾🍇🌂🪻💟👩‍🎤😈🧞‍♀️🍆🔮🚺🍇☔️💜👿🙆🏽‍♀️

After taking some time to yourself, you settled into a relaxing evening. You put on some Netflix, caught up on a few emails, and simply allowed yourself to unwind. 

Soon you began getting ready for dinner, realizing you needed to put in some serious effort. It felt almost foreign to dress up for a date, a habit you’d fallen out of. You found yourself experimenting with your makeup, applying eyeshadow and even blush— something you rarely did. You opted for a brown smoky eye, aiming for a sexy, sultry vibe. You chose a dress that was just revealing enough to be considered “slutty,” but also undeniably alluring. The deep red fabric clung to your curves, and the low-cut, sleeveless design exposed a significant amount of skin. You weren’t concerned about the cold; you simply wanted to look your absolute best.

You rushed down to the hotel lobby, checking your watch as you went. You were five minutes late— 8:05 —and, as expected, Lukas was already waiting, tapping his foot impatiently as he checked his own wristwatch. He looked up as you strutted towards him, the deep red of your dress catching his eye. His eyes widened, a look of undisguised appreciation spreading across his face. You couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction; you’d chosen the color specifically, thinking he might appreciate the connection to his apartment’s décor.

“I know, I know, I’m late,” you apologized, quickly throwing on your coat and adjusting the scarf around your neck.

“Do you not own a watch?” He asked, irritated, but still leaned in and gave you a hug. “But I’m not mad anymore,” he murmured in your ear, inhaling the scent of your hair. “Because you look sexy.” He pulled back slightly, his eyes sweeping over you as he licked his bottom lip. “I love my scarf on you.”

“Well I wouldn’t need a scarf if you didn’t use my neck as a chew toy,” you replied, a blush rising to your cheeks as you pulled away, looking anywhere but into his eyes. 

Lukas ignored your playful taunt. “After you,” he said, gesturing towards his car outside. He led you to the passenger side and opened the door for you. He then walked around to the driver’s side and slid into the driver's seat. It was a refreshing change from being relegated to the backseat, as you often were with Kendall’s chauffeur. You liked a man who took charge, who preferred to be behind the wheel himself, it was attractive.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he insisted, pressing a button on the console. You felt the gentle warmth of the seat warmer begin to spread through your seat. With another press, the armrest between the front seats popped open, revealing two elegant champagne glasses, a chilled bottle of champagne, and a beautiful bouquet of roses. He reached over and presented the flowers to you.

“Oh, this is all so nice,” you were shocked by how much thought he put into this date. You brought the roses to your nose, inhaling their delicate fragrance.

“I didn’t know what flowers you liked, so I just got you my favorite,” he admitted, his facade of nonchalance slipping slightly, as he gave you a nervous glance.

“No, they’re lovely. Thank you.” You leaned over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek as a thank you, but at the last moment, he turned his head, intercepting your gesture and pressing his lips against yours. You could feel him smiling into the kiss.

“Woah, don’t get too excited now,” he teased, pulling away with a confident smirk. “We still got all night.”

“Are you planning on drinking and driving? That’s a bold move even for you.” you eyed the champagne glasses.

“You love it when I’m bold.” He smirked. “The champagne is for you. Mine is sparkling cider.” He then handed you a filled glass and clinked it gently against his before taking a sip.

As you drove through the city streets, you peered out the window, taking in the sights of the impressive buildings. Lukas made a few attempts to guess their names and purposes, but he clearly wasn’t very familiar with Stockholm’s landmarks. He quickly blamed his lack of local knowledge on the fact that he only ever came to the city for business meetings, spending the rest of his time split between Abisko, California, and New York.

“What’s so special about Abisko?”

“Only the most breathtaking scenery in the entire country,” he declared dramatically. “Think snow-capped mountains, crystal-clear lakes, and if we’re lucky, the aurora borealis dancing across the sky. The real manly stuff.”

“Sounds… cold,” you commented, trying to play it cool. Not wanting to sound too eager at his offer, even though your heart flipped at the thought.

“It can be,” he admitted with a grin. “But I’d keep you warm.” He winked, trying to be convincing.

“Right,” you said dryly. “So, you’re saying you know more about the wilderness than the actual cities of your own country?”

“Precisely,” he confirmed, nodding enthusiastically. “Priorities, darling. Priorities. Besides, cities are all the same. Concrete jungles, traffic jams, overpriced coffee, annoying people. I’d choose the peace and quiet of the mountains and my phone any day. It’s safe that way.”

“Overpriced coffee does sound awful,” you conceded, pretending to shudder. “But seriously, you can’t even name one famous building in Stockholm?”

He paused, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he thought. “Well, there’s… uh…” He trailed off again, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Okay, fine, you win,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “I’m a terrible Swede. But I make up for it in other ways.” He winked again, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

You shook your head, taking another sip of your champagne. He had a way of making you blush with his directness, his lack of care for being appropriate. He could turn any normal conversation into sexual.

Lukas turned the conversation to you. “How was your day today? Did you have fun at the magical spa?”

“It was nice, yeah, I had a great time. Can’t say the same for the masseuse.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, there was a whole misunderstanding, and security was called in,” you explained, still chuckling at the memory.

“Yeah, if I saw you lying on a table like that, I’d call security too,” he glanced over at you with a cheeky smile. “Because that ass is a weapon. It’s dangerous. You don’t want to take your eyes off it.”

You burst out laughing, a genuine, hearty laugh that came from deep within your belly. “No,” you managed to say between giggles, “they saw all the bruises and marks and thought I was getting abused.”

“Oh,” the smirk instantly vanished from his face, replaced by a look of concern. He placed a gentle hand on your thigh, “Was I too rough? You need to tell me if I am.”

“No,” you assured him quickly, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “No, it was just funny how concerned they were. I’m fine, seriously.”

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, then rested it gently on his thigh. “Good, because showing up late for dinner. That’s strike 1.”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?” You knew exactly what you wanted him to do to you. But not knowing what he was planning in his twisted mind filled you with a burning desire to find out.

“You’ll see,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, confident murmur. “I won’t be gentle tonight. Last night was just a test run, darling.” The way he said the word darling made you subconsciously squeeze your thighs together tighter.

“Yeah?” you replied, a flutter of anticipation stirring within you.

“I promise you.”

The restaurant was definitely fancy, just like you’d figured. But it wasn’t just fancy; it was seriously swanky, like old-school rich people swanky. The entrance was huge, with super high ceilings and this massive, sparkly chandelier that made the whole place glow. This really slick maître d’ greeted you and Lukas, took your coat and scarf. She then led you to the main dining room, which was all soft lighting and hushed conversations.

The whole place was done up in rich reds and golds, which made it feel warm and luxurious. Priceless paintings from bygone eras adorned the walls, their ornate gold frames. Portraits of stern-faced nobles and elegant ladies in elaborate gowns gazed down from the walls, offering silent witness to the diners below.  The tables had crisp white tablecloths that looked amazing against the plush red velvet chairs. Instead of bright overhead lights, there were these ornate chandeliers, all intricate metalwork and sparkly crystals, giving off a warm, intimate glow. Everything, from the detailed carvings in the dark wood paneling to the flower arrangements in huge, sparkling vases.

 As you settled into the plush velvet, a wave of paranoia washed over you. You felt every eye in the restaurant on you, scrutinizing your every move. You instinctively covered your face with your hands, a surge of anxiety tightening your chest.

“Everything okay?” Lukas asked, his voice laced with concern as he gently pulled your hands away from your face.

“I feel like everyone’s watching me,” you whispered, in a hushed tone. The thought of this outing ending up in the tabloids sent a shiver of dread down your spine. If you and Lukas were photographed together, it would be a media frenzy, and your name would be dragged through the mud once again.

You’d lived under the constant glare of the media spotlight before, during your relationship with Kendall. You’d been dissected under a microscope, every little thing you did scrutinized and magnified. Every mistake, every dinner out, every time you’d left a bar a little too tipsy, was documented and dissected. 

You vividly remembered one particularly embarrassing incident— a drunken argument with Kendall outside a bar that had, of course, made headlines: “Kendall Roy and girlfriend seen having a drunken brawl,” “Trouble in paradise, as Waystar Royco heir and girlfriend spotted in a heated argument,” “The heir and self-proclaimed heiress calling it quits?” The headlines had been brutal, the public scrutiny relentless.

You’d naively thought that coming to Sweden would provide a much-needed escape from the breakup rumors swirling in the tabloids back home. But now, as you sat across from Lukas in this opulent restaurant, you could already envision the headlines: “Kendall Roy’s ex spotted with Lukas Mattson, multibillionaire,” “Next up on the gold digger chronicles…,” “From one billionaire onto the next.” The thought made your stomach churn.

“Hey, look at me,” Lukas said firmly, his voice drawing you out of your anxious thoughts. You lifted your gaze from the tablecloth and met his eyes. “Everyone has their eyes on you because you’re the most beautiful woman in this restaurant. Did you ever consider that?”

“No, I think everyone’s watching because I’m here with you.”

“No,” he insisted. “Everyone’s watching us because I’m here with you . They’re all wondering how this washed-up human Shrek ended up with a fucking princess.” He said it with such earnestness that it almost made you believe him.

“You’re just saying that,” you mumbled, pulling your hands away from his and resting them nervously on your lap.

“You don’t like compliments,” he observed, his gaze fixed on you. “Why?”

“I do,” you protested, not wanting to come across as insecure. “I do like compliments.”

“But you can’t seem to accept one,” he persisted. “You either look away, or you make a joke to deflect it.” His tone wasn’t judgmental; it was more inquisitive, he was genuinely trying to understand your thought process.

You thought back over the past few times he had complimented you, and realized he was right. “You think you’ve got me all figured out,” you scoffed, your defensive mechanisms were in full swing now, trying to deflect. “I only met you 24 hours ago.”

“I wasn’t trying to offend you,” he said, his intense gaze holding yours. “And if I did offend you,” he continued, his voice dropping slightly, “then there’s clearly some underlying issue.”

“There is no underlying issue,” you snapped, crossing your arms. “I just don’t like people psychoanalyzing me.”

“Darling,” he began, his voice softening, “Youre the hottest, no, sexiest, no— you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” You immediately broke eye contact, realizing with a sinking feeling that he was right. You couldn’t even hold his gaze when he complimented you.

You looked back up at him, and he wore a clear ‘I told you so’ expression on his face.

“Okay, I guess… sometimes when you compliment me, I… I just wonder if you’re lying.” You finally admitted.

“What reason would I have to lie to you?” Lukas asked, furrowing his brows, “I have better things to do than sit here and lie to you.”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, a sad smile twisting your lips. It was meant to be a smile, but it came out as more of a pout. 

“I think it’s sad that you think that of yourself. That you think you’re not worthy of my compliments.” His expression was grave, unlike anything you’d seen from him before.

“Okay, this isn’t a therapy session, pack it up, Oprah,” you said, quickly changing the subject and fanning your face with your hand. The conversation had become far too serious, far too quickly.

You weren’t insecure, you kept repeating to yourself like a mantra. You and your therapist had dedicated countless sessions to dissecting this very issue. You’d explored the roots of your self-doubt, worked on building self-esteem, and practiced affirmations. You’d told yourself, over and over, that you loved yourself, your body, your face. Yet, despite all the work you’d done, you still couldn’t fully shake the feeling that you weren’t desirable, that you weren’t worthy of attention. 

Because, you reasoned, if you truly were as beautiful, as sexy, as desirable as Lukas claimed, then Kendall wouldn’t have neglected you the way he had. He wouldn’t have stopped showering you with attention, wouldn’t have stopped worshipping your body with his touch. He wouldn’t have stopped getting frisky with you in the middle of the day, wouldn’t have stopped ripping your clothes off the second he walked in the door after a business trip. The absence of those things, those once-constant affirmations of his desire, had created a void, a nagging doubt that whispered you weren't enough.

“Okay,” Lukas said, holding back a torrent of words. He desperately wanted to tell you that whoever had made you feel so unworthy was a complete fool, an absolute imbecile. He wanted to reassure you that you deserved so much better. But he had a strong suspicion it was your ex who was responsible for these deeply ingrained insecurities, and he didn’t want to dredge up any more painful memories. He decided to tread carefully.

“Are you sure there’s no secret undercover paparazzi here?” you asked, still a little anxious, wanting to be completely certain so you wouldn’t spend the entire evening on edge.

“I can assure you, there aren’t.”

“How can you be one hundred percent sure?” 

“Because it’s my restaurant,” he replied casually, as if he were commenting on the weather or stating an obvious fact like the sky being blue or the grass being green.

“You own this place?” you asked, your jaw dropping in surprise.

“Yeah, it was my friend’s restaurant. He’s the chef here, actually. Anyway, he was in a bit of debt, so I offered to buy it from him. I’ll sell it back to him when he’s back on his feet.”

“That was really nice of you to do that,” you said, genuinely touched by his generosity. Someone as wealthy and influential as Lukas using his resources to support a friend in need spoke volumes about his character.

“My friends are like family to me,” he said, placing a hand over his heart. “I will always take care of them.”

Lukas gently diverted the conversation back to you. “Tell me about yourself. Your job, where you grew up… everything.”

You began to open up, sharing stories about your childhood, your family dynamics, your career path, your passions, and your dreams. He listened intently, his gaze fixed on yours, his expression reflecting genuine interest. He reached across the table and took your hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring.

“I like listening to you talk,” he commented, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. You felt a blush creep up your neck and quickly looked away, suddenly feeling a little shy under his intense gaze.

Dinner itself was a delightful experience. Lukas ordered an expensive bottle of wine for you, politely declining a glass for himself, citing his need to drive you back to the hotel. You savored the rich flavors of the wine, letting it warm you from the inside out. Even though you were already feeling quite full from the delicious meal, Lukas insisted on seeing the dessert menu.

Lukas insisted on dessert, ordered two tiramisus, and the waiter promptly brought them to the table, the aroma of coffee and cocoa filling the air.

“You know, my mom makes the best tiramisu,” he said, taking a bite. “But Albert’s is a close second.” He reminisced, the corners of his mouth crinkling into a warm smile. 

“Are you close with your mom?” 

“I was, I was very close with her.” He took another bite of his tiramisu, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. “She passed away when I was young.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear,” you said, placing your hand over his, offering a comforting touch.

“Why?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, a look of confusion on his face. He didn’t quite grasp the concept of empathy, the ability to understand and share the feelings of another. “You didn’t know her.”

“I know,” you clarified gently. “But I know you , and I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you, so I’m sorry for you .”

“Oh, okay. Thanks?” he said, his voice softer now. Lukas didn’t have many people in his life with whom he could speak openly, people with whom he felt comfortable expressing his emotions.

As a young boy, his father had consistently dismissed his feelings, making him feel weak for showing any vulnerability. He’d often scolded Lukas for playing video games, telling him to go outside and play sports “like a man.” The message—that a man needed to be strong, stoic, and dominant to be considered a “real man”—had been deeply ingrained in his mind. He’d even been scolded for crying at his mother’s funeral, his father telling him that “men don’t show weakness.” 

So now, sitting across from you, he was genuinely surprised that you weren’t laughing at him for showing a moment of vulnerability. Instead, you were offering him comfort, caring, and understanding—more than he’d received from anyone else in a long time.

By the time you arrived back at the hotel, aided by the extra champagne consumed in the car, you were a giddy, tipsy mess. Lukas handed his keys to the valet and wrapped a steadying arm around you as you swayed slightly in your heels.

“I think that entire bottle of wine was a bad idea,” you mumbled, giggling softly as you both stepped into the elevator.

“I told you it was good wine,” he smirked, backing you up against the elevator wall. Your back pressed against the cool metal, and he leaned in close, his lips brushing against yours.

“You just wanted me to be nice and drunk so you could take advantage of me,” you joked, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Hmm,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “I don’t need to get you drunk to get my way. I already had you crying over my dick last night. And I’m gonna have you screaming my name over and over and over again tonight.” He whispered the last words against your lips before finally pressing them to yours, biting gently on your bottom lip as your tongues met, engaging in a playful battle for dominance. He tugged at your coat, letting it fall to the floor in a soft heap. 

The elevator doors dinged open, announcing your arrival at his floor. But you were both so lost in the moment, so consumed by the heat of the kiss, that you barely registered the sound. It wasn’t until you heard someone clear their throat loudly that you both snapped back to reality.

You looked up, over Lukas’s shoulder, and saw Kendall standing frozen in the elevator doorway. The sight of him sent a jolt of panic through you. You immediately broke away from Lukas, pushing him away as you instinctively wiped your lips with the back of your hand.

Kendall stood eerily still. His eyes, hard and cold, burning with an intensity that made you shrink back. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, his knuckles white. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then snapped it shut again, struggling to find the words to express the turmoil raging inside him.

“Kendall,” you said hesitantly, taking a small step towards him, holding your hands out in a placating gesture, as if trying to calm a wild animal.

He recoiled, taking a step back away from you, his expression a mix of fury, confusion, and a profound sense of betrayal. 

“Uh, what—what, I’m sorry, what the fuck?” he sputtered out, his voice trembling with barely suppressed anger. His eyes darted back and forth between you and Lukas, who stood behind you with a smug, self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

“Kendall, it’s not what it looks like,” you stammered, offering the weakest excuse you could muster.

That was the spark that ignited his fury. “Oh, really ?” he roared, his voice echoing in the hallway. His eyes burned into you, like daggers piercing your soul. “I just saw you making out with him! Do you think I’m some kind of fucking idiot?” The hurt that laced his anger was palpable, a raw, exposed wound that he was desperately trying to conceal with rage.

“Kendall, please just calm down,” you pleaded in a hushed tone.

“Yeah, man, calm down,” Lukas echoed, stepping forward to stand beside you.

“Oh, fuck you,” Kendall snarled, his eyes locking onto Lukas. He lunged forward, charging at him. You reacted instinctively, quickly stepping between the two men.

“Oh please, are you gonna cry now?” Lukas taunted, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. The words were like gasoline poured onto Kendall’s already raging fire. He strained against your hold, desperate to get to Lukas, “You gonna cry because I’m fucking your girlfriend now? Oh, sorry, I meant your ex -girlfriend,” Lukas corrected, emphasizing the word “ex” with deliberate malice.

“Lukas, stop it!” you screamed, your voice cracking with the strain. You could feel Kendall’s muscles tensing, his strength increasing as he fought against your hold. You knew you couldn’t keep him back much longer.

“You think you’re big shit?” Kendall snarled, his voice thick with venom. “You lost , the deal didn’t stick. You’re a fucking nobody back in Sweden, a washed-up has-been. You’re a nobody in an expensive suit, running a failing tech company that nobody wants because you’re a fucking sociopath.” He spat the words out.

“I lost?” Lukas scoffed, completely unfazed by Kendall’s insults, which only served to enrage him further. “No, I won something even better. I found something you lost,” he said, his smirk widening. “I’m the nobody who saved this poor woman from a life of misery with you . So, who really came out on top?” He gestured dismissively towards Kendall, his eyes filled with contempt.

“STOP IT, BOTH OF YOU!” you finally screamed, your voice echoing down the hallway, finally managing to cut through their vicious exchange. “Lukas, go to your room. Now .” Lukas remained stubbornly rooted to the spot behind you, a defiant look on his face. “ GO! ” you yelled again, putting all your force into the word. Finally, with a final, lingering glare at Kendall, Lukas turned and walked away, disappearing into his hotel room.

You were left standing in the hallway, the echoes of your shouts fading into the quiet. Kendall's anger seemed to have abruptly evaporated, leaving behind only a raw, aching heartbreak. He stood with his head bowed, staring at the floor, unable to meet your gaze.

“Kendall,” you whispered, reaching out a tentative hand to touch his jaw, hoping to lift his face and make eye contact. But he flinched away from your touch, turning sharply and walking back towards his hotel room. “Kendall, please,” you called after him, your voice breaking with emotion. But you remained rooted to the spot, unsure of what else to do.

He left his door slightly ajar, a silent invitation, or perhaps a careless oversight. After a moment of hesitation, you took a deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping into his sitting room. He was standing in the center of the room, his arms folded tightly across his chest, his posture rigid.

“How long?” he asked, his voice low and dangerously quiet.

“What?” you replied, your own voice barely a whisper.

“How long have you been fucking him?” he yelled this time, the sudden outburst making you flinch. “Since Stewy’s birthday? Huh? How long have you been screwing me over?” The words were sharp and accusatory, each one hitting you like a physical blow. You instinctively took a step back with each word, until your back was pressed against the closed door. “Did I not give you everything you asked for? Was it not enough for you? I can’t believe—I can’t believe you. After everything I’ve done for you—you—you—” He sputtered, his face contorted with rage and hurt, his voice trailing off into a choked whisper.

“How can you even accuse me of that?” you cried out in frustration.

Kendall stalked closer, his eyes fixed on you, watching you with the intensity of a predator. He reached out and roughly pulled the scarf from around your neck, the sudden movement making you gasp. He saw the makeup beginning to fade, revealing the telltale marks on your neck. He dropped the scarf to the floor, the silk pooling at your feet like spilled blood. Then, in a sudden burst of anger, he slammed his fist against the door right beside your head, the impact making you jump and squeeze your eyes shut in fear.

“Kendall!” you screamed, your heart pounding in your chest.

“You lied to me,” he seethed, his voice now dangerously calm, his hand shaking slightly as he looked at his red and swollen knuckles. “You fucking lied.”

“We’re broken up!” you retorted, jabbing a finger into his chest, emphasizing each word. “ WE. BROKE. UP. ”

“How could you do this to me?” he whispered, his voice laced with pain as he clutched a hand over his chest. “How?”

You were frozen, unable to get a word out. “I should have never come here,” you finally managed to choke out, your voice barely audible. “No, it’s fine. I’m glad I know—I’m fucking ecstatic right now,” he said, the words dripping with sarcasm. He let out a pitiful laugh that scraped against your ears like nails on a chalkboard.

“I never cheated on you,” you insisted, trying to clear up the central accusation, the one that felt like a knife twisting in your gut. “I only met Lukas last night.”

The information seemed to finally click into place in Kendall’s mind. He had been too consumed by rage to connect the dots before, but now he understood. He understood why you were on his floor that morning—you were leaving Lukas’s room, the marks on your body, which had been mentioned during your massage, now taking on a horrifying new context. That realization was his breaking point.

“You’re a fucking slut,” he snarled, his mood shifting abruptly back to anger. The word hung in the air, heavy with venom. He was cycling through a maelstrom of emotions—anger, hurt, confusion—unable to process the situation rationally. “I can’t believe you,” he repeated, his eyes wide and accusing. “You were practically begging for me on the jet like a whore. How could you do this to me? Use me like that, lead me on, all while you’re fucking him too? Did you enjoy comparing us? Was he better? More exciting? More… satisfying ?”

“Excuse me?” you gasped, recoiling as if he had physically struck you. You couldn’t believe your ears, couldn’t comprehend the sheer filth that was spewing from his mouth.

“It’s unforgivable,” he said, his eyes filled with pure disgust as he looked you up and down.

“I don’t remember asking for your forgiveness,” you retorted, trying to maintain some semblance of composure despite the wave of nausea that washed over you.

“You really are making your way around, aren’t you?” he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “Who’s next? Stewy? Greg? Maybe even Tom, because I hear they have an open marriage?” The suggestion was so vile, so far beyond anything you could have imagined him saying, that it left you speechless.

“You don’t get to call me a whore,” you spat, your words trembling with barely contained rage. “When I met you, I thought I’d finally found the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with. I was done with all the bars, the boys, all my commitment issues—because who cared? Because I was done. I was ready. But you chose your work. You chose the company. You chose everything over me. You made me feel worthless, like I was some dusty old broom in the closet, something you only pulled out, when it suited you. Well, I’m not that broom anymore. I’m all glued back together now, stronger than before. And now you’re mad that someone else is fucking me like you never could? I make no apologies for how I chose to repair what you broke. You don’t get to call me a whore.” You shook your head, hot tears stinging your eyes.

“This thing with us is finished,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief and disgust. “Fuck this. Fuck you . I don’t want to be your friend, I don’t want to see your face again. Get out.” He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “You’re nothing but a user. You used me, you used my family, you used my money. You’re just like all the rest. You’re a parasite, sucking the life out of everything you touch. You’re a cold, calculating bitch, and I was a fool to ever think you were anything more.”

But you didn’t leave. You couldn’t. Your legs felt like jelly, your entire body trembling from the force of his words, each one a calculated blow aimed at your deepest insecurities. You stood there, frozen, the weight of his venomous accusations pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

“I SAID FUCK OFF! LEAVE! ” Kendall roared, his face inches from yours, his eyes bulging, spittle flying from his mouth as he screamed.

You turned to leave, desperate to escape the volatile situation, but Kendall’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm and pulling you back

“Please… just anyone but him,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desperation, his grip tightening painfully.

Kendall was manic, his thoughts jumbled and chaotic, running around his head like panicked rats. He was consumed by a blinding rage after learning about you and Lukas, but beneath the anger was a raw, desperate need. He couldn’t bear the thought of you being with anyone but him. The idea of another man touching you, holding you, possessing you, was unbearable, and the thought of it being Lukas was like a knife twisting in his heart.

You shook your head again, a bitter smile twisting your lips. “I truly hope I never see you again.”

You shoved him off you with a final, forceful push, breaking free from his grasp. You turned and strode out of his hotel room, slamming the door shut behind you, the sound echoing down the hallway like a final, decisive break.

As you stormed down the hallway, fuming, you passed Lukas’s room. The door swung open, revealing him standing in the doorway. Before he could utter a single word, you held up your hand, palm outward, a clear signal to stop.   

“No,” you said firmly, your voice cold and resolute. You turned sharply and headed for the stairs.

—--------------------------------------------------------------

Ignoring the biting cold, you stormed out of the hotel. You didn't want to return to your room, the scene with Kendall replaying in your mind, the echoes of his harsh words still ringing in your ears. You walked aimlessly, the freezing air nipping at your exposed skin, your teeth chattering. 

You fought back tears, though the cutting wind burning your eyes made it all the harder. All you had wanted was a relaxing vacation, a chance to escape the pressures of your life back home. But now, that simple desire seemed utterly impossible. 

You were only a few meters from the hotel now, the warm glow of the lobby visible in the distance. You slid down the rough brick wall of a nearby building, sinking onto the cold ground, your body shivering uncontrollably in your thin dress. How had things gotten so complicated, so completely out of control?

You weren’t just angry; you were absolutely livid. A white-hot rage burned within you. You couldn’t decide who you were angrier at: Kendall, for his baseless accusations of cheating and his subsequent slut-shaming, or Lukas, for using you as a pawn in his petty rivalry with Kendall. Both men had managed to wound you deeply, albeit in different ways.

You sat there, your hands trembling in the freezing cold, when you felt a warm coat being draped around your shoulders. You looked up to see Lukas crouching in front of you, his face etched with concern.

“Darling, the temperature is -1 (degrees Celsius),” he said, his voice laced with worry. “You’re going to get sick out here like this.” He muttered, gently pulling the coat tighter around you.

“I just want to be alone right now, please,” you begged, trying to hold onto what was left of your tethered sanity.

“Okay, you can be alone inside, where it’s warm,” he countered gently, reaching out to take your hands. He tried to pull you to your feet, but you remained stubbornly rooted to the spot.

“You’re the last person I want to see right now,” you pinched the bridge of your nose to stay calm.

“I understand,” he replied softly. “You’re mad at Kendall right now, and you have every right to be…”

“And what about you ?” you snapped, your voice laced with accusation.

“Me?” he asked, pointing a finger at himself, oblivious.

“Yes, you !” you emphasized, your anger flaring up again.

“I don’t follow,” he said, his brow furrowed.

“You used me to hurt Kendall,” you accused, your voice trembling with anger. “You think I’m just an object to be won in some game you’re playing against him. That’s what all this has been about, right? Getting the upper hand? 

“What? No—” he began, attempting to explain.

“I was there ,” you interrupted him sharply. “And I have two ears and a perfectly functioning brain. So don’t tell me I misunderstood. You used me as ammunition. Cheap move, but I hope it was worth it.”

“Can we please go inside and discuss this?” Lukas pleaded, shivering slightly. “Because my balls are starting to shrink up inside me.” He muttered, pulling you gently to your feet.

“I’m going inside,” you said firmly, pulling your arm away from his grasp. “But this discussion is over.” 

You started power-walking back towards the hotel, your anger fueling your brisk pace. You jabbed the elevator button repeatedly, as if trying to force it to arrive faster. At this point, you were convinced the elevator was cursed; every bad thing that had happened that night seemed to involve that confined space.

“Can I just say one thing?” Lukas asked, catching up to you and gently grabbing your elbow, turning you to face him. “I didn’t mean to come off that way,” he said, his voice sincere. “I was trying to say that he had no right to be angry. He lost you, so he doesn’t get a say in who you choose to see now.”

“That’s not your battle to fight for me. It doesn’t even matter,” you said coldly, your gaze fixed on the elevator doors as they finally slid open. “It’s done now.”

You stepped into the elevator for the second time that night, the doors closing behind you and Lukas, an uncomfortable silence filling the small space.

“You know, I could be mad at you too, if I wanted to be,” Lukas said, breaking the silence, his tone laced with a hint of challenge.

“Excuse me?” you snapped, turning your head sharply towards him, your eyes narrowing.

“You never told me you came here with Kendall,” he said, relaying what he had overheard from your argument in Kendall’s room. Damn the hotel’s thin walls, you thought grimly.

“I didn’t choose to come here with Kendall,” you exclaimed, your voice laced with exasperation. “It just… happened. And why do you even care? Are you jealous? Seriously?”

“I’m not jealous,” he responded calmly, his gaze unwavering. “I just don’t like being lied to.”

“I didn’t lie to you.”

“But you didn’t tell me the full truth.” he pointed out.

“Why does it even matter?” you sighed, running a hand through your hair in frustration.

“It matters because… it just matters,” he said, his expression becoming more intense. “Half-truths are worse than lies.”

“Are you seriously trying to gaslight me right now?”

“No,” Lukas said, rubbing the back of his ear, a nervous tic you now recognized as a sign of his own frustration. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say—just—” 

He cut himself off, then leaned in and kissed you fiercely, the kiss charged with frustration, frustration over the night he’d meticulously planned for you that had now gone awry. He wanted to strangle Kendall for ruining it, for making you so upset.

You pulled away from him, backing away slightly, shaking your head. “No,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “No, you can’t just—”

“Just what?” he challenged, taking a step closer, his eyes burning into yours. “Can’t just turn you on like that?” he breathed, his hand reaching up to brush your hair back from your neck, his lips following the path he’d cleared, pressing soft kisses against your skin. “Can���t make you wet? I don’t have to try,” he whispered against your neck. “You do that all on your own.”

“Stop it,” you said weakly, your voice losing its conviction as you felt him nibble gently on your neck. Your neck was a known weakness, a sensitive spot that sent shivers down your spine. He knew it, and he knew he could weaken your resolve once he had you relaxed, purring like a cat in his arms.

“You don’t want that,” he whispered, pulling back slightly to look you directly in the eyes. He held your gaze for a painfully long moment, searching for a flicker of desire, a hint of surrender. He was leaving Stockholm in the morning, and he desperately wanted to salvage whatever time he had left with you.

“Say you want this,” he whispered, his fingers gently cradling your jaw, a note of desperation evident in his tone.

And you did. You wanted it, desperately. In that moment, you allowed yourself to momentarily forget the chaotic fight with Kendall. 

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice barely audible. “I do.”

The moment the words left your lips, Lukas’s demeanor shifted. He swiftly scooped you up into his arms, throwing you effortlessly over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Before you could even register what was happening, he was striding out of the elevator and down the hallway towards his hotel suite.

He threw you onto his bed, the soft mattress cushioning your fall. He climbed on top of you, his weight pressing you down, and began kissing you with a desperate intensity, as if he needed it to survive. 

“You drive me insane,” he muttered against your lips, his breath hot against your skin. He slid a hand up your dress, his fingers gliding between your thighs, finding you already slick and wet. “No panties?” he groaned to himself, “You’re so bad, so fucking wet, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“Shut up, I hate you,” you breathed, keeping your hands positioned by your head, even though you desperately wanted to reach out and tear his clothes off. But you liked this, you liked the anticipation, the game he was playing. You enjoyed how he dragged it out, making you writhe and pant beneath him like a dog begging for attention. You loved the way your dynamic shifted between sweet talk and raw, vulgar language. You didn’t want him to be gentle or nice right now; you wanted him to be a little mean, a little rough.

“Do you want to play?” he muttered, his voice low and husky as he teased your entrance with his fingertips, making you wince.

“I do,” you nodded, your breath catching in your throat. “But I’m a little sore.”

He took your words into consideration, his touch immediately becoming more gentle. He moved his fingers up to your clit rubbing soothing circles, easing the tension.

“Where are you sore?” he asked, his voice softening as he pulled your dress down slightly, pressing rough sloppy kisses to your breasts.

“Just… between my legs,” you moaned, instinctively grinding your hips against his fingers. You remembered the previous night, the rough encounter against the wall, the lingering ache, a feeling of rawness. Maybe it was because you had been so touch-starved that your body wasn’t accustomed to such intense activity two nights in a row. But the rest of you felt fine. Your ass had been smacked raw as well, but that wasn’t painful; in fact, every time you sat down and felt the slight sting, it only made you crave his touch.

“Nowhere else?” he murmured, placing a lingering kiss on your sternum, subtly confirming what he could and couldn’t do with you tonight.

“No,” you said sharply, the word coming out with more snappier than you intended.

“I’m gonna fix this attitude problem of yours,” he snarled playfully, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Fuck,” you moaned, the word escaping involuntarily as he applied more pressure to your aching clit. Your legs clenched around his hand, instinctively locking it in place, pulling him closer.

He took his time, savoring the moment. There was no rush with him; he could spend hours toying with you, teasing you to the brink, and you would willingly let him.

“Close?” He kissed your jawline, and you nodded, your eyes squeezed shut as you focused on the building pleasure. But just as you were about to reach your peak, he stopped moving his fingers, gently prying them from between your thighs. “Not yet.”

You whined in protest, opening your eyes to see him getting off the bed and shuffling around, gathering some items.

“No whining,” he said sharply.

“Sorry,” you pouted, playing along with the shift in dynamic as you sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. 

He then picked up a black leather collar, holding it up for you to see. It had the word “bitch” written across it in sparkling, bedazzled gems. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “And you don’t have to keep asking me,” you added, wanting to reassure him. “I’ll tell you if I’m not comfortable with something.”

He fastened the collar around your neck, the cool leather a stark contrast to the heat rising within you.

He stood back up, his eyes raking over your body. You reached out, running your hands down his torso, tracing the contours of his muscles before trailing your fingers lower, over his crotch through his trousers. You gave a playful, teasing squeeze, a gesture he clearly didn’t appreciate, you were breaking his rule.

“No touching,” his jaw clenched with restraint. He gripped your hands tightly, pulling them away from him. “You can’t seem to keep your hands yourself.”

“I just wanted a taste,” you purred, licking your lips and then boldly running your tongue over the bulge in his trousers.

He hooked a finger around your collar, tugging you to your feet. “That’s it,” he said, a hint of steel in his voice. “You think you’re cute?” He pulled you towards the center of the room, where two metal chains dangled from the ceiling. He swiftly hooked your wrists into the restraints, hoisting your arms above your head. “If you can’t keep your hands to yourself,” he said, his voice now a low growl, “you get tied up.”

He then proceeded to undress you, though there wasn’t much to remove. You were only wearing the dress, having forgone any undergarments in a moment of impulsive boldness.

Lukas walked over to a nearby shelf and picked up an object. It resembled a brush, but with long, wispy strands extending from the handle. “This is a flogger,” he explained. “It’ll even out the strokes and won’t traumatize any more masseuses.”

He started at your shoulders, the soft leather strands whispering across your skin, sending goosebumps erupting across your body. He moved down your chest, teasing your nipples with the very tips of the flogger, making you gasp. Then he trailed it down your stomach, lower and lower, until the wisps brushed against your most sensitive area. You arched your back, your body responding too eagerly.

“Are you enjoying this?” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

“Mmm, yes,” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

“What’s your safe word?”

“Doritos.”

“You can’t seem to learn your lesson, no matter how much I punish you,” He walked around behind you, dragging the flogger lightly across your backside, testing the feel of the material against your skin.

“But—” you started to protest.

“Not another word.” he interrupted, grabbing a fistful of your hair and gently but firmly craning your head back until your eyes met his. “Unless you want me to gag you.”

You shook your head quickly.

“I think thirty is a good number,” he mused, running the flogger between your legs, purposefully brushing against your swollen nub.

“No—” you began to protest again.

“You’re at thirty-five now. Keep talking,” he said calmly, his eyes watching you as your head hung low in defeat. “Lying, whining, and complaining, touching and speaking when you’re told not to. You’ve been very disobedient,” he continued, his voice taking on a more dominant edge. “I need to train you better.”

He pulled the flogger away, the leather strands rustling against each other. Then you heard the distinct whoosh as it sliced through the air before making contact with your ass. You gripped the chains above you, wincing as the sting radiated through your backside. You finally exhaled the breath you’d been holding, realizing the sting wasn’t as bad as you’d anticipated. It was more of a dull, widespread ache across your cheeks.

He brought the flogger down in the same area two more times in quick succession. This time, you gasped, the burning sensation intensifying in the previously struck area. You swayed slightly, gripping the chains above you for dear life, your knuckles turning white. You focused on your breathing, trying to regulate the rapid rise and fall of your chest. You desperately didn’t want to make a sound, acutely aware that Kendall was in the adjacent room and might hear everything. Why were you still protecting him?

Lukas moved back up your body, bringing the flogger down with increased force. He noticed your determined silence and a desire, almost a need, surged through him to hear your sounds— your moans, your gasps, your cries— to fill his senses. One particularly painful slash landed on the back of your thighs, the sting so intense that you bit your tongue hard, the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth.

“Let me hear you,” Lukas demanded. He followed his words with another strike, this one with double the force, landing on the same already-tender spot. The agonizing pain shot through you, making your back arch involuntarily. But you remained stubbornly silent, biting down on your bloodied tongue, only silent tears streaming down your face, tracing paths through the sweat that slicked your skin.

You had lost count after fifteen strokes; it was all becoming a blur of pain. It was too much. You could only focus on breathing through it, desperately trying to suppress every sound that threatened to escape your chest. It took serious self-control, a fierce internal battle to force the sounds to die in your gut before they could reach your lips. You clenched your jaw, your muscles trembling with the effort of holding back the cries that clawed at your throat.

His hits had been interchanging, a pattern only identifiable by the movements of his body. He was in no mood to warn you about which type of sting would come from his swats, nor did he feel pity enough to keep his strikes the same harshness. Some were soft, pleasant, welcoming, others were crippling swats of blinding pain that left a powerful, slightly unpleasant sting behind that you would feel for days. 

“Let him hear you,” Lukas said, his voice laced with a possessive anger. He ran a hand over your back, his touch lingering on the reddened skin, a twisted admiration in his eyes. It enraged him that Kendall was still occupying your thoughts, that he wasn’t the sole focus of your attention. “He doesn’t deserve you,” his tone is inflated with that sickly cold condescending tone that dampened your cunt even against your best attempts to remain unaffected.

He moved around to face you, trailing the flogger lightly down your shoulder, a chilling prelude to what was to come. “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warned in a low, menacing tone, his eyes darker than the night sea. “What are you so afraid of?” he then asked, his voice dripping with a cruel curiosity. Before you could even process the question, he struck you harder, two consecutive slashes across your breasts, the sting making you gasp sharply.

You threw your head back, your eyes scrunching shut as more tears escaped. The following slashes across your abdomen were even more brutal, making you almost lose your balance. But the chains held you firmly in place, denying you any relief. Lukas made the slashes sharp and unforgiving. He didn’t like you like this—silent, stoic. He wanted a reaction. He wanted to hear you. He wanted Kendall to hear you.

Your entire body was on fire, a searing, all-consuming pain that you couldn’t extinguish no matter how hard you tried to distract yourself. The pain wouldn’t subside; Lukas wasn’t giving you any time to recover between each brutal stroke. He was determined to make you break, to force a cry, a moan, or his name from your lips. You bit down hard on your trembling bottom lip, your eyes meeting his in a silent plea, but he showed no mercy.

He trailed the flogger lower, the official marker of where her next destination will be. When it fell  between your legs, catching on your clit, pulsating and erect despite the pain that warped your senses. The sharp, unexpected sting made you howl out in pain, a raw, primal sound that tore from your throat.

“There you go,” Lukas muttered, his voice softening slightly. He momentarily stopped the assault, gently brushing a strand of hair that was plastered to your sweaty forehead. “Was that so hard?” he asked, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You felt a wave of relief wash over you, thinking the ordeal was finally over.

But you were wrong. “Ten extra lashes for disobeying another order,” he said, his voice cold and unforgiving. He stepped back and struck you between your legs three more times. You felt your clit swelling with pain, throbbing between your legs.

You cried out, thrashing against the restraints, the only sounds in the room were the clanking of the chains and your ragged, desperate breaths.

“Use your safe word,” Lukas reminded you that you could opt out at any time. You raised your weak head, to look him in the eyes and shook your head no. In the back of your brain there was a dull ringing that wouldn’t let you stop. 

“Youre such a good girl.” He stepped closer again, grabbing your jaw gently, momentarily releasing his grip on the flogger. He forced his hand between your legs, offering a brief respite, a chance for you to catch your breath. “Good girl, you like that?” His touch was rough, further inflaming your body, teasing you, not giving you the release you desperately craved. “Yeah? You like it when I punish you? You disobey me on purpose, don’t you? You like it when I spank you, bite you, just makes you so wet doesn’t it?” There’s a subtle undertone to his taunting, a gentle easiness in his words. He was asking if you could take more, promising that he wouldnt overdo it, bringing you back down to that pit of pleasure despite the stinging pain that was still shooting through you.

He felt your legs trembling and stopped, he gave your clit a few light taps making your entire body jolt, overstimulated. he wiped his slick fingers on your hip and resumed the punishment, the next few slashes landing on the front of your thighs before he returned to your backside.

“Are you sorry?” 

“Yes,” you were a hysterical, babbling mess of pleas and whines, bracing yourself for the next strike.

“What are you sorry for?” he pressed, not satisfied with your simple affirmation. He wanted to hear the words.

“For… for lying,” you managed to get out between sobs, the words catching in your throat.

“And?” he pressed again, his voice firm.

“And for whining, and… and not following orders,” you sobbed.

“Good girl,” he murmured, a hint of approval in his voice.

You were barely holding on, your body trembling, your sobs wracking your frame as he delivered the final two blows to your ass. He then rubbed his hands gently over your hot, burning skin, attempting to soothe the raw, inflamed areas. He wrapped a strong arm around your waist to support you, realizing you were barely able to hold your own weight. He reached up and undid the restraints, and your body crumpled in his arms. He caught you, holding you close.

Lukas immediately transitioned into aftercare, his demeanor softening completely. He gently scooped you up into his arms, carrying you to the bed. But you clung to him tightly, your arms wrapped around his neck, refusing to let go. Sensing your need for closeness, he sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping you cradled in his lap. He undid you collar and began to murmur words of praise, his voice low and soothing. “Good girl,” he whispered, stroking your hair. “You did so good. You’re so good for me.” He continued these gentle reassurances as you cried into his shoulder.

Lukas ran his hands soothingly over your body, his touch gentle and reassuring. He stroked your thighs, your back, your breasts, his touch careful to avoid the most sensitive areas. He pressed soft kisses into your hair, whispering comforting words, trying to soothe you.

But you weren’t crying solely from the physical pain, or at least, not entirely. The sting of the flogger was certainly a catalyst, but the tears that streamed down your face were fueled by something much deeper. They were the release of all the pent-up tension, the raw emotions that had been churning inside you since your explosive confrontation with Kendall. You had been holding the floodgates back, desperately trying to distract yourself from the hurt, the anger, the confusion, by focusing on the physical sensations, the pain. But now, in Lukas’s arms, the dam had finally burst, and all the suppressed emotions were pouring out in a torrent of tears.

“Darling,” Lukas said, his voice laced with growing concern. He gently shook you, his worry escalating as he realized the depth of your sobs. You were crying so deeply that he worried if you were even able to breathe properly. “Are you hurt? Are you in pain?” His concern grew with every passing second, his eyes searching your face for any sign of physical distress.

You shook your head no, the movement jerky and uncoordinated. But the motion did little to reassure him. A deep ache settled in your chest, a dull, throbbing pain that wouldn’t dissipate. Kendall’s cruel words replayed in your mind: slut, whore, liar . After two years, after he had once been your everything, how could he so easily break you down with such venom? How could professed love morph into such hateful insults?

His accusations cut deep, reopening old wounds of insecurity. They tapped into your deepest fear: being judged, being seen as unworthy. His possessive outburst felt like a violation. Kendall knew you too well; he knew your vulnerabilities, your insecurities. You never imagined he would weaponize them against you. In that moment, all the trust you’d placed in him dissolved. You had been at peace with the breakup, even open to maintaining a friendship. But now, you felt only contempt. That realization brought its own sharp sting of pain, the bitter knowledge that all this consuming anger had once been love.

“Baby? ” he pleaded, his eyes wide with worry. The pet name, so familiar, so intimate, sent you spiraling. It was Kendall’s word, his touchstone, the endearment he had always used. It was a cruel echo of the man you were desperately trying to forget, the man who had wounded you so deeply.

“No!” you screamed, the sound echoing through the room, loud enough to make Lukas flinch. “Enough about him. Please—I—I can’t. I just can’t.” You covered your face with your hands, your body shaking with renewed sobs. “I don’t want to talk about him, please,” you repeated, your voice muffled by your hands. You backed yourself up against the headboard of the bed, drawing your knees up to your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

Lukas held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. He balanced on his knees as he cautiously crept closer to you, as if any sudden movement would send you spiraling into another wave of tears.

“Is that what this is about?” he sighed, a hint of relief in his tone. He had been genuinely worried that he had gone too far with the flogging. “Him?” Lukas wasn’t even remotely jealous; he was more concerned about you.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you sniffled, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

“Okay, you don’t have to,” he whispered, his voice soothing. He carefully positioned himself beside you on the bed, not wanting to crowd you. “Just come here,” he murmured, opening his arms in a silent offer of comfort. You hesitated for a moment, then finally accepted his offer, moving closer and curling up at his side, seeking the warmth and security of his embrace. He held you close, his arms wrapped gently around you.

“Some water might help you,” Lukas suggested gently, noticing how your entire body was still shaking with hiccups.

“Then give me some,” you mumbled, your bratty attitude resurfacing. It was a defense mechanism, a way to regain some control after feeling so vulnerable. Lukas, sensing your fragility, let it go for the time being.

He shuffled out of bed and went to the small kitchenette in the suite. As he moved away, you felt a pang of guilt for taking your anger out on him. You wrapped the blanket more tightly around yourself and padded softly into the kitchen.

“I was gonna bring it to you,” he said, taking a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and handing it to you. He offered a small, reassuring smile. “I’m not that much of a sociopath.”

“I never said you were,” you mumbled, taking a sip of the cool water. It was Kendall who had hurled that insult, not you. 

You leaned back against the cool marble countertop, your body completely drained. Lukas noticed your exhaustion and effortlessly lifted you, placing you gently on the countertop.

You looked up at him, your eyes glossy with unshed tears. “Do you think I’m broken?” you asked, the question barely a whisper. You hadn’t been able to attend your bi-weekly therapy sessions since arriving in Sweden. The carefully constructed walls you’d built to keep your dark thoughts at bay had crumbled, and now they were running wild, unchecked. Without the guidance of your therapist, you felt adrift, a lost cause.

“What?” Lukas asked, taken aback by the raw vulnerability in your eyes. “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head.

“Then what’s wrong with me?” you pressed, a single tear escaping your eye. Lukas caught it with his thumb, wiping it away.

You hated this kind of crying, the weeping born of a broken heart. You preferred the physical pain, the release of the flogging. You preferred to cry out your sadness through physical sensation, so the pain wouldn’t stay trapped inside you, festering and building up over time. This emotional pain, this hollow ache in your chest, was far more difficult to bear. You hated feeling so helpless, so exposed.

“You know, my mother used to tell me,” Lukas began softly, cradling your jaw gently in his hands, “‘When you don’t heal the scar, you bleed on people who didn’t hurt you.’”

“I don’t have a scar.” 

“You talk like you’ve had an amputation. And I think you have. I think someone has tried to cut out your heart.”

Kendall. His name was a curse, a trigger that sent a fresh wave of pain through you. You squeezed your eyes shut and let your head fall back against the cool surface of the kitchen cabinets.

“Come with me in the morning,” Lukas said, his voice low and persuasive as he pressed his forehead gently against yours.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” 

“Because I barely know you.”

“You know my body,” he teased, a playful glint returning to his eyes, undercutting the seriousness of the conversation. “You know me. I’m Lukas.”

“It’s not enough.”

“I’m Lukas, and I promise you I will make your trip worthwhile,” he said, his voice firm and reassuring. “You won’t spend another second crying. We’ll spend the days skiing, making snow angels and snowmen, and every night,” he paused, his voice dropping to a low, husky whisper, “I’ll make sure you sleep soundly after I tire your body out. You will have no complaints.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yes, I take my promises very seriously. You won’t ever make a liar out of me. You will be thoroughly satisfied.”

“Wanna show me a preview?” You challenged him.

Lukas wasted no time in responding to your invitation. He effortlessly lifted you from the countertop and carried you over to the sofa, gently splaying you out on the cushions. It wasn’t the most spacious piece of furniture, but he wanted you to be comfortable, and he was acutely aware that Kendall overhearing you was a significant concern for you. Lukas, on the other hand, wanted to hear you. He didn’t want to deny himself the pleasure of hearing your moans, your gasps, your cries of pleasure. 

“Tell me what you want,” Lukas whispered, his thumb making long, languid drags up and down your swollen folds.

“I need you,” you mewled, the words catching in your breath, your thighs quivering just as he slid two large palms beneath you, spreading you wide open. “I need you.”

Something about his enthusiasm was half the show,  how adamant he was about keeping his lips glued to your pussy.

Over and over again you came—your weeping cunt crying out against his relentless fingers, his smug grin widening as you begged him for a break—only to be met with the sound of his tongue flicking against your clitoris. Your hands tugged at his hair, a desperate plea for him to stop, you tried your damndest to wiggle free from his iron grip, but he didn’t budge in the slightest. If anything, your movements only annoyed him further, and in turn, made him take out his anger on your already throbbing, sensitive flesh.

He ruined you for what felt like hours, the same question escaping his lips in cloudy little pants, a smug mantra. You tried to pry his face from where he was nestled inbetween your legs, but he was glued to you. Your drooling cunt was so greedy for him— your bloated pussy lips struggling and hungry, pulled oh-so-widely agape. 

And he kept his promise. He didn’t stop, relentlessly fucking his fingers into you, teasing, tormenting you until you were crying and begging for him to stop. He brought you to the edge time and time again, pushing you over and over until you lost count of the orgasms that ripped through your body, each one more intense than the last. You were a mess of tangled limbs, ragged breaths, and raw sensation, completely consumed by him. He didn't stop until the first rays of dawn crept through the hotel window, painting the room in a soft, pale light.

[vicomte-raoul-de-chagny]

🗝 | | Christine is music itself, a gift from the gods meant to bring solace to him.

🗝 | | Her beauty is captivating, with her blonde hair and big hazel eyes... She was the light in his life, the very reason he believed he existed—to find salvation through her.

🗝 | | And you know what else she was?

💔 | | She was dead.

🗝 | | As a result, Erik's sanctuary, once a peaceful haven filled with creativity, now lies in disarray. The animals in his forest were destroyed, and the luxurious curtains were ripped apart. The mirrors were shattered, and the barrels overturned. In the distance, the unsettling sounds of heavy breathing and hushed murmurs echoed throughout the place. The Phantom, in his white mask markedly tears of sorrow, knelt beside the piano, clutching the dress he had gifted Christine, with a portrait of his mother lying next to him.

🗝 | | Since that night, new whispers circulated the opera house, where guests reported hearing the lament of a ghost, echoing the name, "Christine, Christine..."

🗝 | | Then, hell raised upon the Opera house. La Carlotta's disappearance, reports of bodies showing and missing, and singers falling into unexplainable illnesses, along with the downfall of the reputation. Lord knows what will happen next.

🗝 | | In a moment of isolation, he found himself gazing at the ceiling with a sense of disorientation. Seated on the ground, leaning against one of the damaged barrels, his dishevelled hair fell over his face, feeling dazed. Perhaps the gods did despise him. The unpleasant odour of Carlotta's decaying body nearby overwhelmed his senses, accompanied by the incessant hum of mosquitoes, eliciting feelings of disgust. Even in death, she remained a figure of disdain for him. The thought of being alone all over made him feel desperate.

🗝 | | Slowly, he rose to his feet, retrieved his sword and noose from his side, and made his way through the hallways, his once perfect posture now slouched and almost animalistic-like. As he peered through a gap in the poorly constructed walls, he was taken aback to discover an unexpected figure.

🗝 | | Raoul. Raoul de Chagny, talking to the managers about who knows what. The person closest to Christine before her... absence.

🗝 | | At that moment, a wave of emotions washed over him: anger, disdain, sadness, and an unsettling familiarity—still tinged with disdain and anger. The memories awoken by this sight were overwhelming.

🗝 | | And he doesn't know why– but then he thought of an insane idea. Perhaps it stemmed from sheer desperation and fear, but the scenario of kidnapping the Viscount emerged.

🗝 | | He observed Raoul as he conversed with the managers, a sense of curiosity enveloping him. Once their discussion concluded and the Viscount took his leave, he hastily seized his cloak from the coat hanger, paying little to no attention to the wood that fell to the ground. He hastily put it on, ascending the stairs as he merged into the shadows.

🗝 | | He grabbed his noose tightly, watching from the sides, walking along Raoul... in the walls. He glanced around, making sure no one was around or even nearby before he quickly slid a fake door that was similar to the walls, leaving quietly the stairs as he followed behind. When he got to a good spot, slowly, he raised the noose before–

🗝 | | "Hmh-" he huffed softly, eyes narrowing as he choked the Viscount. For a moment it was almost comedic, like hooking a fish. He wrapped the noose around their neck, pulling it hard. He watched him struggle, tear at the ropes. When he soon got no responses, he removed the noose and dragged them to the stairs, sliding the door closed.

💭 | | Goodnight, and welcome to the dungeons.

Raoul woke to his throat aching and his body feeling extremely stiff and cramped. He groaned quietly, clutching his head, taking a few moments before he finally decided to open his eyes. Then he froze.

He was in a cage.

A cage... how? He sat up, hitting his head on the top of the cage and groaning again. He ought to have been more alarmed, but he could only stare at the bars in muted shock, the cage too small for him and forcing him to hunch over inside uncomfortably.

The truth was, ever since Christine had... passed... he had felt numb, and heavy with a depression that no amount of drinking could fix. It weighed on his mind, strangled his heart, consuming him in a darkness and haze and despair that he had drowned in. He had been broken, irrevocably, and he could not even find it in himself to feel as afraid as he ought to. Nevertheless, there was enough fear in him to clutch the bars and shake it in a fruitless attempt at escape.

He could smell something decaying nearby, and he wrinkled his nose slightly. He turned and saw what seemed to be a body, peeking out from under a cloth and other discarded items. He felt himself go a bit cold. Whose body was that?

He shook the bars again, trying to find a weak point in the cage, but there was none. He swallowed thickly and looked around his confinement helplessly.

"Hello...?" he called out, his voice hoarse from days of crying and wailing.

@askcherik-blog

[mayiwritesomething]

Echoplex (One-Shot)

This is a oneshot from LIAUN Series (Masterlist here)

Wordcount: 2,3k

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Warnings: +18 MDNI, SMUT, teasing, sex (p in v, no protection), oral sex, cursing words, etc.

A/N: I wrote this a while ago while writing the chapters of love is an unfamiliar name (still 2 more chapters to go), i didn’t like it at first but anyway i decided to give it a chance haha. Considering the upcoming chapter 8 will be quite sad, let smooth things with a smut one 😜

Btw it fits somewhere between chapters 6 and 7 but can be read as a one shot on it’s own.

You jetted off to LA on Monday night. Since you and Pedro hadn't met before your departure, you kept exchanging messages. Back at home in your satin sleep dress, feeling gorgeous, you decided to send him a selfie lounging on your sofa with the caption: Movie night. Wish you were here 💔

Almost immediately, you heard the notification sound. It was Pedro. His response was, "Don't you tease me like that baby." Smiling and feeling a rush of heat, you replied with a picture in front of the mirror, the dress slipping from your arms, revealing the curves of your breasts, and the caption, "Or what? Gonna make me pay? 😇"

Forgetting that Pedro preferred calling over texting, you were surprised when he video-called as you returned to the sofa. He was eager to see you, and you wanted him right then and there.

"Oh my god... this looks perfect on you," he said mischievously, then added, "It makes me wonder so much about what's underneath it—why the fuck do you do this?"

"Well, I can show you if you want," you replied with a naughty smile.

"I do, baby... I really do want to see—fuck," his smile faded. "Baby, I have to answer this; it's my manager. I'll be right back."

"Okay," you muttered, frustration taking over as you sank back onto the sofa, scrolling through your Mubi main screen.

Ten minutes turned into twenty, but there was still no call from Pedro. You decided to watch Bowie's Labyrinth, a movie that always made you feel at home.

Nearly two hours later, Pedro finally called, his excitement palpable through the phone. "I've got a fantastic project opportunity," he exclaimed while you listened, intrigued and staring at the screen. "Sorry for the delay in getting back to you, baby. I had to sort a few things out."

"It's alright," you replied, feeling drowsy. "I understand we can't ignore a manager's call."

"Well, the good news is I can make it up to you in person," he teased, causing you to melt a little inside. "Are you free on Thursday?"

"I'll be working on some mixes in my studio, but you're welcome to stop by. I’ve seen you working much more than I’d like; now you can watch me do my thing," you said with a smile.

"I'd love to," he responded eagerly. His enthusiasm was endearing, and you couldn't help but bite your lower lip in anticipation; you couldn’t wait to see him in person.

On Thursday morning, anxiety enveloped you as you meticulously organized your home, ensuring everything was precisely in place. Seeking distraction, you headed to the studio on the other side of your yard to begin mixing a song you were producing. A few hours later, Pedro arrived, bringing your favorite coffee in a thermal cup along with a pack of peanut butter M&Ms.

Engrossed in conversation throughout your mixing session, you were captivated by Pedro's curiosity and respect for your work. You knew that for someone not directly involved in music production, watching someone tinker with synthesizers and create sounds could be quite boring.

"You're like some kind of witch with this whole hocus pocus thing," he marveled, seated in front of you.

Walking over to him, clad in a tank top and sweatpants, your inner music nerd emerged as you explained, "It's not that complicated; I just piece things together and tweak transitions. I'm not sure if it's good yet; I'll have Tim take a look tomorrow."

Pedro rose, drawing nearer to you, his hands gently tracing your face. "Sometimes, a simple 'thank you' is enough when receiving a compliment babe," he whispered, planting a kiss on your forehead, leaving you feeling a bit sheepish.

"I'm sorry, thank you," you murmured.

"No need to apologize, mami," he reassured, cupping your face to kiss you tenderly. Chuckling at the new nickname, you kissed him slowly, feeling the desire building as he lifted you onto the wooden part of the mixing table. Craving his touch, you pulled him closer, kissing his neck and sensing his longing for you as well. While trying to position you on the table and removing his shirt, his hands accidentally slipped, nudging some buttons.

"Careful, man! This is some expensive shit," you cautioned between kisses as your hands fumbled.

"Sorry," he responded, stepping back. "Don't be mad at me, but I'd love to fuck you right here on this table, like right now." You felt a surge of conflicting desires—a battle between primal urges and rational thoughts raging in your mind. Drawing nearer to kiss you again, you reciprocated, feeling his intensity.

"I want you to fuck me now," you confessed, beginning to remove your top.

"Leave it," he instructed, laying you back on the table, as your primal instincts won this round. "Let's not rush," he whispered in your ear, kissing your neck, as you moaned softly, feeling him between your legs, yearning to shed your clothes.

In a frenzy, you attempted to reach for his pants, but he firmly grasped your hands and gently guided them back to the table.

"Come on," you pleaded in exasperation between kisses as he began to trail kisses along your collarbone, slipping a hand under your top to caress the softness of your breast. Sitting before him, his warm touch in the air-conditioned room momentarily stole your breath, causing you to gasp silently.

"We have no neighbors now, baby. I want to hear you; I know I haven't seen everything yet," he murmured, locking eyes with you as his hand continued to tease beneath your top. Your attempts to remove it were thwarted once more. "I told you to leave it," he gently reminded you, guiding your hands back to the table, leaving you burning with frustration inside.

"Seriously? This isn't some master and servant kinda shit," you snapped, annoyed.

"You can have your revenge next time," he whispered into your ear, his breath tickling your skin as he gently removed his hand from under the top and adjusted it on you, the fabric showing how stimulated you were. "These are your words, not mine." He said it ironically.

Frustrated and conceding defeat, you seethed, "I fuckin hate you," while he chuckled, slipping a hand inside your pants and teasing you slowly. Involuntarily, you parted your legs, moaning softly and closing your eyes as he continued to explore.

"Are you sure of that?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on you. "Cause your body is telling me otherwise... Or are you wet like this all the time?" You could see how he was enjoying his little torture session.

"Stop—ah—stop fucking teasing me," you protested, feeling a mix of pleasure and anger.

"One word is missing, baby. Where are your manners?" His voice dripped with lust as his touch alternated between pleasure and torment.

"Please," you mumbled, trying to resist the urge to give in completely.

"I know you can do it a bit louder; I almost didn't catch that," he taunted, quickening his movements before abruptly stopping, holding your jaw with his other hand. You couldn’t think straight anymore.

"Please... PLEASE… PLEASE DON'T STOP," you cried out of sudden, your hand gripping his arm as you bit your lower lip, urging him to continue. "Please, Pedro—please, baby, don't stop," you pleaded, a mixture of desperation and desire in your voice.

“I didn’t see that coming this fast,” he said, still holding your jaw with one hand, then kissing you as you moaned, grinding on him. Surprised and aroused by your response, he resumed his ministrations, and as the pleasure intensified, you could only whisper, "It feels so good... it feels so good—please," your plea trailing off. "Just like that—please keep going like that, baby," you urged, locking eyes with him as you kept moaning adrift in the moment.

"It's so beautiful to see you swallowing this pride of yours and begging like that," he remarked, cupping your face tenderly. "I'd do anything for you—fuck, you’re so wet—I want to hear you scream for me," he whispered in your ear, his words causing you to melt in his arms.

"You could start by letting me do what I want," you protested, a hint of playfulness in your tone. “What about that?”

"Today there's no negotiation," he laughed, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Really?" This time, you drew him closer and whispered, "Not even if I ask you nicely…”Taking his hand from inside your pants and gently sucking his fingers. “Please?”

Once again, he maintained control better than you. "Not today, baby," he reassured, planting kisses along your neck and holding your face tenderly. "Just lay down," he instructed, gently guiding you onto the table and slowly taking your pants off, though you felt a pang of worry as your knee knocked against something. As you settled into a comfortable position, a sudden intrusive thought crossed your mind: There goes a $10,000 synth.

Letting the tought aside, you longed for his touch as he focused on taking you to new heights, his attention focused between your tights. Gripping his hair, you let go of any concerns about the noise of your pleasure filling the room as you were fully immersed in the moment with him. It was just the two of you, lost in pleasure, clearly enjoying the experience.

As you finally screamed his name and struggled to maintain your balance, he crawled closer, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss so you could taste yourself. He was so caught up in his own pleasure in between your legs that he didn't even notice you slipping off your top, the last piece of clothing remaining.

Drawing you closer, he whispered, "You're so perfect," his words a mix of adoration and desire as he gazed upon your exposed body, then kissing it as you tried to hold him closer. You wanted to feel him inside.

"Tell me something I don't know," you chuckled playfully.

"Your humility brings tears to my eyes," he teased, planting kisses on your breasts. Your hands roamed freely over his body, eliciting goosebumps from feeling him as he teased you before giving you what you wanted. Returning to kiss you, the sensation of him finally being inside you was fenomenal. Suddenly, your hand accidentally hit a button, causing a burst of bass sound that startled both of you, leading to shared laughter.

"I'm pretty sure I broke something this time," you fretted, concerned about the unexpected noise.

"Wanna go down?" he suggested, worried, ensuring he kept you close. You nodded in agreement, indicating the armchair where he had been seated.

Taking a seat, he maintained eye contact with you, holding you close. The desire burning in his eyes was a sight to behold as you gently pushed him back and cupped his face, a smile playing on your lips. "I want you inside again," you whispered almost inaudibly, your words filled with longing.

"Babe, please," he murmured in response as you trailed your fingers over his lips, settling on top of him to ensure you could move and fully feel him.

The way he gripped your hips left you with no control over your own movements; he was once again in charge after the brief moment of stillness you both shared. Your hands clung tightly to his back as one of his hands guided your hair gently, not forcefully, exposing your neck as you ground against him, feeling every inch filling you. Even the fact that he was controlling your movements didn’t bother you this time.

You wouldn’t let him know this easily, but he knew what he was doing. You loved to feel how harder he would grip you each time you moaned. His laughter ringing out, asking, "Does it feel good?" at every curse word that escaped your lips. How lovely he kissed your body, muttering “es tan rica” while hitting you firm but slowly. The way he touched you. How In those moments of almost silent, heavy breathing, your eyes locked in a wordless understanding as you both discovered the perfect rhythm.

The pleasure building within brought you to tears as you reached your climax. Right after hearing his voice calling out your name as he held you close tightly in his own moment of release, which felt so warm inside of you, a mix of cries, laughter, and trembling filled the room. Struggling to kiss him back, you felt his heavy breathing and sensed his shaking body as he rested his head against your chest, muttering words you couldn't quite make out.

Seeing his smile, you returned it, both of you trying to catch your breath in the aftermath. He tenderly kissed your chin as you held him close, both of you sweaty despite the air conditioner running. Without a word, you simply gazed into each other's eyes for a while, sharing smiles and kisses.

"If we keep this up, we could compete in Iron Man," you remarked with a chuckle.

"Sure," he agreed, clearly out of breath.

"You should quit smoking, old man," you teased, laughing. He shot you a playful yet judgmental look in response. "Don't give me that look; I’m aware of my glass ceiling," you defended yourself, a playful glint in your eyes.

“You destroyed me,” he laughed while kissing your breast, his beard tickling you and causing you to chuckle.

“Want to take a shower?” You asked shyly.

“Yes, we made a mess.” He adjusted your hair and kissed you, pulling you as close as he could.

“Consider yourself lucky because I’ve never had sex here,” you laughed.

“I’ll help you tidy things up,” he said, trying to be useful, “and we can check if everything is working because if it’s not, I—” You sensed his anxiety.

“Well, it’s nothing I can’t afford,” you said, kissing him. He just gave you a surprised look. “All I want is to have a shower and another round, if you’re up to it,” you teased.

“I think I can handle another one,” he smiled back at you.

"So, what are we waiting for?”

I can't believe that life's so complex

When I just want to sit here and watch you undress

This is love, this is love

That I'm feeling

[ragnarockz]

The Tape

Part 3: Hiding the Tape

Part 1, Part 2

@sapphictea & @whomstthephucque 😁💔

Please know that all lawyers that have been sicced on me and the need to provide financial compensation for your pain and suffering...UNDERSTOOD!

Volcano Girls by Veruca Salt

They used to find her amusing whenever she would walk in with her big boots and her girlfriend attached to her hip.

Not anymore.

They had a store employee follow her around now; watching diligently in case she got the smart idea to lift another bottle. She had done it before. Maybe twice or three times. But she had done it. Now they watched her like a hawk as she pays. Now they make her leave her bag with them until she's done. Now they hold the door open for her, not in chivalry or respect, but a definite last push to get her to leave.

The bottle is open even before she takes a step out onto the sidewalk. Lip to mouth as she walks aimlessly and drinks what she can afford. It was the last of her pay from another job she managed to blow off.

You've come too many times too late.

You've come too many times drunk.

You don't come at all.

Wasn't worth the hassle, she mused as she kept walking. She felt like her boots were too big for her now. This wasn't her anymore. Maybe none of it ever was. They were just playing pretend; playing dress up. They were just eating each other out and sleeping in the same bed and pretending to be girlfriends because it was convenient and attractive. Because it fit a weird and strange narrative.

She crossed the street to avoid the coffee shop entirely.

She crossed back when she got closer to the bar.

She left the empty bottle outside, placing it down before she wiped her hands and the back of her mouth and tried to fix her hair and clothes. Tried to stand up a little straighter and keep her eyes open. She didn't want to get kicked out the second she stepped in.

It was loud and noisy and people were everywhere. She made her way to the bar and took a seat at the far end. Held her breath before she breathed out and asked the bar tender for whatever was cheap. Eyebrows rose, but there was no argument there. Agnes sighed some relief.

She felt an elbow in her back and spun her head around. Some drunk fucking prick had bumped into her and was now laughing with his friends. It was funny; it was cool. Laugh it off and brush it off and drink another shot because why does it matter. Why should it matter.

But it did. It always does.

Agnes was off her stool before her own drink hit the table and her arms and hands were up before the dickhead even realized she was standing in front of him.

A solid punch to the jaw; upward angle because she was short and he was tall.

He staggered back, more so from being tipsy and not so much from her power in her punch.

The bar went quiet for a split second before it got louder than it was before, and the asshole pushed himself back up with his hands up.

"Who's this fucking dyke?!"

Asshole's friend screamed as she laughed; that booming obnoxious laugh that made him feel like he was the center of the world with the biggest cock between his legs.

Agnes winced with hate. Raw and pure and unfiltered hate. Hands still up to protect her face.

"You think I'm gonna fucking fight you? You stupid bitch!"

Dickhead basically spat at her as he drew his hands down just enough for Agnes to land another punch right between his eyes.

He crashed back down again, and suddenly, there were arms holding her back and wrapping around her own. She was being put into a press in a lock. She was being pulled away from the scene. Guided backward to the back of the bar near the door to the kitchen and the bathroom. She was thrown against the wall.

"Did you think you were going to win that fight?"

Some guy with a mustache was looking at her and pointing his finger like it was her coach. She barked a laugh and nodded her head; let it rest on the wall. She was fucking exhausted. She was done. Her bones felt like jello, and her head was about to explode.

"You're better off putting all that anger and brain power to better use than stealing from the liquor store and then getting into bar fights..."

Agnes squinted at the man. How the fuck did he know all about that? How would he have-

Fuck.

"Fuckin' cop..."

She whispered under her breath, shaking her head as she smiled. Busted.

"Fuckin' cop is right. Look, I don't know what kind of trouble you're going through but...people used to tell me you were good."

"No one's good, Chief..."

"Officer. I'm not a chief yet."

"Whatever. What the fuck does it matter. You're still a cop."

He rolled his eyes as he dug into his pocket. Agnes flinched, not sure what was going to come out. A notepad and a pen. He scribbled something down, ripped off the sheet, and put it into the top pocket of her flannel shirt.

"You look good in blue. I think it suits you."

And with that, he stepped back and turned to walk away.

Agnes quickly assessed the bar and the people in it. No one was looking for where she had gone just yet. She quickly followed in the cops footsteps and left before shit truly hit the fan.

But now and then we fail and we admit defeat

We're falling off, we are watered down and fully grown

The apartment was an open wound whenever she stepped inside. There was basically no sign of life. Alice had taken most of what was in there; a lot of it hers to begin with.

The kitchen table was still there, and the microwave that sorta worked. The couch was too big and not needed for her to haul. The couch they had countless times fucked on; fucked each other on. No TV and no CD player and no nothing.

The bedroom that was supposed to be hers from the start before she infiltrated Alice's bed was still set up for her. Alice didn't and couldn't take that. Agnes needed somewhere to sleep. She had left it plain; didn't decorate it. Didn't have the heart to.

Alice's old bedroom door was closed, and Agnes didn't dare open it. Let the ghosts live there now, she thought. All our dying wishes and hopes and dreams. That was their space.

She peeled off her clothes and dropped them wherever they fell. She was standing naked in her sad little empty room with a headache and a sore fist that was split at the knuckles. A sour taste in the back of her throat.

She ran to the little washroom and threw up in the sink and didn't let her eyes catch herself in the mirror. She wasn't going to like what she saw anymore. Laughing a little to herself; she was thankful the vomit was just from the booze and the bad lack of sleep; the awful food she ate and not from another pregnancy.

Stumbling back to her room, she swiped her flannel off of the floor and dug her fingers into the pocket to fish out the piece of paper. A phone number next to initials P.J.

She slammed the paper onto the night table before she got into bed and curled up; facing the door and the closet on the opposite wall. She could see the fucking brown, white and black box tucked in the corner. She mumbled to herself as she pushed off of the bed. She slammed the closet door before returning to her spot.

She was good at that now, she thought, closing doors and leaving them closed.

[pumpkinsy0]

Okay kinda related to that one anon about papercut doing theater.... what if I said Pony in choir and hcs on this pretty please like how curly reacts to finding out how the GANG reacts and hcs on them coming to his choir concert *blinks cutely*

fun fact: i actually did do choir a few times so im basic pony off me here cause i feel like we wouldve felt the same exact way

•y did pony do choir u may ask??? the curtis parents put all their kids into extra curricular activities, and choir was just one of the things they pushed pony to do

•pony did choir 2 times in his life, once bc of his parents, the other bc of school!! the curtis knew pony did choir waayyyyy before curly did, they just never told him, so curly found out about pony in choir bc of this school performance but ill get to that later

•darry and soda were literally the only ones defending pony when they found out he was doing choir, everyone else was laughing at him, even johnny, what a snake💔💔

•YES pony had that robe at some point but he hattteeddd it bc his always stank and never fit him

•he didnt last long in that choir tho he hated it so bad and only actually did like one ACTUAL show w that choir, the curtis parents recorded it all and u can see pony just glancing at the camera here n there and wanting to die, hes so real for that

•u could also hear the rest of the gang giggling in it, and them being told to b quiet

•THANKFULLY pony doesnt exactly remember that day, bc after the show when it was time for him to go home they were DOGGING on him BAD, now that recording is basically lost somewhere in that house

•BUT NOOWWWW YEARS LATERRRRR he has to do choir bc his school offers music class or choir and he got pushed into the choir while curly did music

•curly knew that and when pony was in that class u could see curly at the door window grinning at pony and pony trying to not look at him

•considering two, johnny, n steve still go to school w pony, i think they found out and for sommeee reason they forgot pony did choir but finding out he was BACK in it made em remember and pony skips it now cause he’ll b DAMNED if he sang in front of em

•curly called pony princess after hearing him sing n it caught on w half the gang, its worse bc he cant transfer out the class, poor fella

•now the gang n curly couldnt rlly see pony perform the other shows he did, BUT there was one time the music teacher was making a show w BOTH the music and choir classes and it was a project grade so they all had to attend and dress nicely

•first it was the music class and THEN the choir and for the choir class they were doing popular songs so pony was even MORE embarrassed and trying to kid behind the other ppl but it didnt work much

•u couldnt hear pony but u could def hear steve and curly laughing together (thats how bad this is, theyre getting along) and two but acting like hes the maestro

•after the show at some point curly stole one of those roses they sold there and gave it to pony, talking about pony serenading him

•johnny and dally didnt go, neither did darry or soda, but they told em to tell them how it goes and THAT they will do

[no-brain-soup]

𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐?

Norton (fg) x Violetta

Synopsis: It was one of those stupid group photos that included all the hunters, nothing special. But someone couldn’t help but stare at their lover.

Hey!! This is my first ship fic so this may be bad n VERRRY short. Also i just desperately needed nortvio content 💔 Also this is based on a silly thing i noticed in offical art ill put near the end ^^

(Might be ooc?)

||Established relationship, fluff, norton being soft, and dumb, one shot||

Norton sighed. This was annoying.

Someone had decided that the hunters should all get into this big group photo, he didn’t see the point in it. It was just a bother to him.

Another issue?

Almost everybody except him were in these fancy costumes.

Annoying and embarrassing. He grumbled to himself as he shuffled into some spot and sat down, waiting for the rest of the hunters to get into their spots.

He wasn’t really paying attention to anything at the moment, until he heard the sound of crawling next to him. Ah, Violetta.

He glanced to his side, and he paused for a moment. He already found her pretty, but in this costume she had him almost..mesmerized.

A white dress, her hair flowing down, the peaceful expression on her face, the roses..it had him distracted.

He had his head turned fully towards her, smiling like an idiot. A fond look in his eyes. This photoshoot thing might be dumb to him, but he can appreciate certain things about it.

“Alright! That looks good! Thanks everyone!”

…shit.

A/N 2: tried my best but im proud of it! Also the photo im referring to is just so silly and cute

Im not tweaking guys he’s admiring his wife trust

[tonycries]

ALSO TOKEN EE RELATIONSHIP UPDATE

GOING TO PROM WITH MY STAND PARTNER HE ASKED ME OUT WITH A SIGN THAT SAID “It’d be music to my ears if you said yes to prom” DURING ORCHESTRA HE LIKE SET IT UP DURING LUNCH AND ASKED SOMEONE TO PLAY CITY OF STARS ON THE PIANO WHILE HE ASKED ME

ALSO???? BOUQUET OF ROSES TOO??? chat ive found him omg

KYAAAA EVERYBODY GETTING CUFFED N' ALL WE LOVE TO SEE IT 🤩 And omg that's saur romantic what ❗ I'm jealous I got asked out to prom by this dudebro asking what color dress I'm wearing and then oh welp guess we're going to prom together 💔💔