#i don't think he had enough space in his mind to prepare for it and in fairness he asked for

[burtlancster]

[endlessdreamworld]

God, I finally caught up on the HSR story and I'm so down bad for this man, this traumatized guy, my poor little meow meow.

So here's some yan! Aventurine X gn! reader headcanons that have been rotting inside my brain for the past few days. Bark bark bark rate up soon please haha!!

In the early stages of your relationship, his behavior matches his superficial self, the shell he shows everyone. One of his first gifts to you would be a credit card attached to his personal bank account. 'Don't ask! Just spend.' He'd get a hit of endorphins every single time he sees a charge coming through from you. He knows it's you because he named the profile attached to that card with some corny pet name with a slew of emojis beside it, taking up an obnoxious amount of space on the screen of his phone.

It doesn't take long for him to be utterly obsessed with you. How could he not? You're just so... everything! His everything. It's at this stage, the mask slips off. Material gifts are no longer enough, and the gifts he gives you are pieces of himself. He'll overrule whatever pet name you gave him in favor of honey -- a reference to his heritage.

And speaking of heritage, he's prepared quite the gift for your one year anniversary. Once the sun had long set on a sinfully indulgent all-day date, and after some desperate and incredibly needy sex when the two of you are tangled up in a knot of your sweat and burning feelings, he'll give you his present. Kakavasha, he'd mutter into the sensitive skin on the side of your neck mirroring his commodity code. It's one of the few things he owns that truly matter to him, and he can only hope you'll accept his humble gift.

He's needy, so very very needy in general, about everything, always, in every single way. Pathetically so. He can't hold your hand like a normal person, your fingers must be laced. Kissing? There's rarely a moment when you're not being kissed, and he's generous with the sheer variety he provides you with. Sometimes it's little soft sweet kisses that are more like whispers against your flesh. Other times, he'll kiss you on the hand or face only to never pull away as if he's moving into the real estate on your bare skin wherever he can find it.

And after a particularly horrible day, he'll return home without greeting you in his usual cheerful way. You'll immediately know something is up, even more so when he puts you into a vice grip, kissing you in such a way where it's like he's trying to suck the air out of your lungs. It's as if he believes you can baptize him with your spit and turn him into something worthy of walking around other human beings, a luxury he can never afford himself. On days like this, he feels so utterly unworthy of the life he's taken from the people who have been unfortunate enough to cross paths with him, one stolen day at a time. Of course, he's shameless enough to steal from you of all people -- the sweet little giving thing that you are.

He dreams about working up the nerve, or maybe stooping so low as to ask for your hand in marriage. Whichever comes first. It's something he would have thought a lot about up until that point. He's got more money than he could ever spend in his lifetime, even if one of his hobbies was lighting huge stacks of credits on fire just for fun. With that in mind, any gem no matter how priceless would be a bauble in comparison to what you deserve for putting up with him. Of course he could carve off a piece of his cornerstone, a piece of him, and give you a fragment of God to decorate your finger. But if life on Sigonia IV taught him anything, it's how quickly your most precious belongings can be taken.

So naturally, there's only one thing he could think of that would be more valuable than that, only one thing comes to mind that can't be taken. The idea came to him in passing, an idea that's quite literally staring him in the face.

He's tried getting rid of his commodity code in the past, but even with all of his money, there's nothing that can make it go away without leaving some sort of mark. It was just easier to accept it and it slowly faded into the background over time.

So what would be more valuable than a piece of him, a piece of God? Why, eternity of course, something truly priceless. It would only be proper to get your wedding band's tattooed. You'd even be considerate enough to encourage him to pick an Avgin pattern.

While the idea of a ring as a symbol of your bond is nice, a ring is an object. Objects can be stolen -- or worse, taken off. Countless times were the things he held dearest taken from him. Although those days are long gone, and even though he's a gambling man, he wasn't about to take any chances. Not now. Not with this.

Having your promise to love one another until death do you part sealed onto your skin would give him tremendous comfort. If anyone wanted to take this away from him, the symbol of his vow to you, they'd have to peel it off of his cold, dead body. But first, they'd have to manage to kill him, of course.

Aventurine is hard to get a read on, which is just how he likes it. He's been many thing: a scoundrel, a villain, a confidante, a friend, a rival, a whipping post, a beggar, a tool, a whore, a hound, a pawn, a con artist, and a killer; all things he wouldn't hesitate to become again if the situation demands it. It's in his nature to adapt to what he needs to do, and who he needs to become. But no matter how much of a shapeshifter he pretends to be, the core of his being is unchanging and inviolable, for better or worse.

He's still that scared, lucky, little shivering Avgin boy no matter how hard he tries to play dress up. He needs you to find Kakavasha underneath all of the masks and bullshit he hides behind.

Every day he bets on you to find him, the real him, and love him. The wager? Just the usual -- his life.

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

Creations Dance

Danny likes to dance in the night sky while flying in his new ghostly form which is very ethereal holding glimpses of different parts of space and creations unknown, this continues even after he moves to Gotham.

The sky around him becomes his stage,

A stage that matches him and follows his lead.

Gotham has never had such clear skies, able to see each and every star shining brightly.

Twinkling in many colours almost seeming to dance alongside Danny,

Sharing his joy in their existence.

~

Duke had seen the new phenomenon that was Gotham's skies, who hadn't it was all he would hear people talking around him anytime he left the house, speaking of which were also discussing the same.

Bruce, Tim, and Barbara all researching to see what had caused the change, their bet so far was on magic but not sure who or what was causing it or the reason why.

He had seen the others also poking around seeing if they could find a lead.

But the most curious of all being Jason's new demeanor, ever since the night skies had changed he seemed to calm down almost seeming peaceful.

Which don't get him wrong was a great thing to happen but the timing of it all was too weird, honestly even Bruce was tense about the sudden turn around in demeanor.

So with everyone else occupied he decided he might as well go and enjoy the night sky, it was a very amazing view to miss out on.

He had discovered a new spot a bit far from home but it was quiet and private and would make the perfect spot to stargaze comfortably without being interrupted.

~

He had fallen asleep accidentally but something had woken him up.

He noticed that it was cold, cold enough that he could just barely see his breath in the air in front of him which should not be possible since it was almost summer, had Mr.Freeze escaped?

Looking around now alert he caught a flash of something up above his head.

Looking up he saw..light and darkness and so many things that his mind couldn't comprehend rather less describe.

His eyes shifted trying to make out what he was seeing, in the center was a being..dancing?

The being seemed to feel his eyes on them because in the next moment they turned to stare at him.

He could feel the weight of their eyes on him their entire presence focused around him radiating power and joy.

Continuing to stare at each other the only thing Duke could think of was,

"You're gorgeous.."

Duke snapped back realizing he had said that out loud his face warming, but the being in front of him seemed delighted.

"Thank you! I'm surprised you're able to see me."

"It's hard not to, you were dancing so happily I could feel it in my chest."

They-he? floated closer

"If you liked my dancing so much you could continue to visit me here to see."

" If you're okay with it then I would really like that, my name is Duke."

"It's a date then Duke! You can call me Danny."

~

God what was he going to tell the others? He found the cause for the change in Gotham but Danny seemed to be good, not a villain.

Well he'll keep it a secret for a while more right now he had to prepare for his date!

~

Duke sees Danny dancing around in the sky: "We'll have a winter wedding."

~

Duke seeing the Bats stressing and losing sleep trying to figure what's going on: "Should I say something? Hm nah."

~

Danny Dancing around in the sky while Duke is in the background being a supporting bf cheering him on with pom poms: "That's my boyfriend woo~!"

~

The bats for some reason arguing about each other's past relationships and crushes

Steph pointing at Dick: You're the one with the strangest taste seriously out of everyone in this family Duke and I are the only ones with normal taste! Right Duke!"

Duke " My Boyfriend is a Being/Ancient Ghost of Space That Most of the Time Doesn't Look Human/Humanoid" Thomas: * face sweating while he tries to sneak out of the room* "Umm..*voice crack* y-yeah."

~

I really enjoyed writing this one, I don't see a lot of Duke/Danny, but the works I've read are all so wonderful ♡

~

Just an Idea

[lqveharrington]

Rodrick heffley………better than revenge

Better Than Revenge | R.H.

summary: after years of friendship with rodrick, the one thing that came in between you was a girl.

pairing: rodrick heffley x best friend!reader

includes: use of Y/N, reader's last name is Johnson, pretty much angst, fighting, yelling, cursing, unspoken feelings, mentions of murder, not proof read

a/n: first time writing for rodrick, tell me how it is!

The one thing you didn’t think would get in between you and Rodrick was a girl. Sure, he had talked with girls who would give him the time of day, but they never really phased you. Not like Heather Hills. Her prissy attitude and selfishness somehow found its way under your skin, riling you up and causing a hitch in your friendship with Rodrick. You knew she wasn’t good for him but — of course — he never listened. It seemed as if you were merely a second thought.

And it didn't help that she looked at you like you were a waste of space. But who was the one getting all the college scholarships and going to college in the first place?

“Rodrick, she’s just using you as a rebound!” You huff and grab your keys from his bed side table, slipping your shoes back on.

You meant to spend an hour over at Rodrick’s before heading over to your cello lesson in preparation for the final concert before heading off to college, but he just had to bring up his date with Heather. You tried to fake a pretty smile for him and nodded politely — you really did. But as soon as he stopped everything to answer a dry text message from the woman herself, you decided you had enough of his nonsense.

Rodrick hastily tucked his phone in his back pocket and watched you with confused eyes, brow furrowing at your sudden desire to leave. “Heather likes me, okay? You know this has been the dream since—“

"Since elementary, I know!" You glare at him and stare at him a second longer before running your fingers through your hair in annoyance. "Whatever, I don't have time for this."

Swiftly, you raced down the stairs and nearly collided with Greg. You quickly apologized and did your best to make it to your car without being stopped by Rodrick. Did you really want to leave the house on a bad note? No, but god he was annoying you beyond all measures.

Rodrick pursed his lips and tapped his foot to the ground before chasing after you, colliding with Greg this time. He pushed his brother out of the way and blocked the front door, narrowing his eyes when you rolled yours.

You moved to the left and he followed. You moved to the right and he followed. Huffing, you crossed your arms and looked up at him in exasperation. “I need to head to cello, Rodrick—“

“Are you jealous?” He breathed out and looked over your facial expression, shaking his head when you sent him another glare.

Rodrick was used to your glares and your occasional arguments, but this one felt more personal. After years and years of friendship, this felt like a final blow to a precarious accord. Like one wrong move would completely change your views on each other.

“Why would I be jealous?” You crease your brows and frown, eyes flickering back and forth between him and the door behind him.

He shook his head and raised his arms in frustration. He didn't know what to say, so he said the first thing his mind thought of whenever he thought of you. “I-I don’t know! Maybe because I'll like her better than you?”

Your mouth parted ever so slightly before you felt your eyes glazed over in anger, shoving him to the side. "Fuck off, Rodrick."

Of course the time you decide to use foul language was when Mrs. Heffley entered the room. She took one look at the two of you and stood in between, hands pushing you two away from each other.

“Language!” She scolded and glanced at your teary-eyed expression, anger dissipating at the sight. “What are you two arguing about now?”

“Nothing.” You both speak at the same time, still staring at each other in glowering hatred.

Several seconds later, you pull away from Mrs. Heffley and move to the door yanking the handle hard like it was the one who insulted you. Mrs. Heffley looked at her soon in disappointment and opened her mouth to speak but got interrupted by you, pursing her lips at how distant your voice was.

“I have cello, so if you’ll excuse me.”

For the rest of the month leading up to your final orchestra concert in Plainview, you were in a sour mood. You would have thought a final goodbye to your childhood town would have been more mournful, but all you felt was annoyance. Even your cello teacher knew something was upsetting you. However she was only in her early twenties, so every so often you felt like she was your friend more than a mentor.

“Then he has the audacity to ask if I’m jealous and never reaches out afterward!” You pace around your cello teacher's office with a heavy heart. You had been complaining for the last thirty minutes of the lesson, and all you wanted to do was burst into tears at the thought of Rodrick claiming you were jealous of Heather. “I swear, he’s such an ass. Even more now that Heather has him wrapped around her finger. She thinks she's so innocent when really she's an actress and known as a w—"

You teacher put a hand up and stopped you, "Enough complaints about Rodrick. I'm almost positive tomorrows lesson will be about him anyway."

You sent her a sheepish smile and sat in your chair again, fiddling with the old friendship bracelet you and Rodrick made way back in middle school. You didn't think twelve years of friendship would wash away because of Heather, but you also didn't think you would end up in the situation you were in now.

"Besides Rodrick, have you hung out with anyone else this summer?" She moved around to wipe the dry erase marker off the board, tilting her head when your face flushed crimson. "So there is one?"

"Only Alex." You murmured and picked at your nails, more interested in the color than the topic.

Your teacher chuckled and gave you a lopsided smile, "Instead of dwelling on the Heffley boy, why not give Alex your time? It's better than whatever revenge you were planning in your head."

Somehow, you flushed an ever deeper shade of red and nodded, hating how she was able to read you so well. Your thoughts went back to the boy who caused all your grievances. If he didn't care how you felt any longer, why should you care about how he felt?

Rodrick didn't know if you even wanted him to come watch you orchestra concert. Since you first picked up a cello, he came to every single concert and in return, you came to watch whenever his band performed. But after the horrid argument he started, he wasn't sure if you would still welcome his family — more or less him — to the concert.

“Rodrick, let’s go! We’re going to be late!” His mother shouted from the bottom of the staircase, causing him to snap out of his stupor.

Grudgingly, he clipped on his tie and made his way to the foyer, groaning when his mother fussed over the dirt smudges over his face. He swatted her hands away and took care of the issue himself, grumbling in annoyance. Susan looked at her eldest and narrowed her eyes, knowing he had something to say.

Rodrick rolled his eyes and shook his head, unruly hair sticking out in various places. “I don’t think she’ll want me there.”

“Of course, she does!" Susan adjusted Rodrick's collar and patted his chest, giving him a reassuring smile. "Despite whatever — uh — conflicts you two have, she’ll still want to see her best friend in the audience for her big day.”

"And we already told her family to save seats for us at the front row." Frank muttered under his breath and earned a smack to the arm from his wife.

Rodrick huffed and messed with his cuffs, not meeting either of his parents' eyes. He didn't need his mother's sympathy or his father's military style attitude to ruin the rest of his already awful summer break.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” He shuffled to the door and swung it open, nearly knocking Greg off his feet. “Let’s get this over with.”

As always, your performance was flawless. From full orchestra to your solos, you were absolutely marvelous. Every time you went to play, you were completely immersed in your own world. You focused on your own instrument and listened for the cues. You were at peace and it was such a display each and every time.

Often you would open your eyes to scan the crowd in between the switching of instruments, almost like you were looking for someone. When you met Rodrick's eyes, he sent you an encouraging smile and only until you sent him a quick smile did his own felt real.

"See, she did want you here!" Susan whisper-shouted at Rodrick and nudged him with her elbow, earning a weak grin from him.

When the concert finally finished and the final applause died out, the institution was finally able to award their seniors as they were leaving in a little over a week. Rodrick had completely zoned out all the other awards, nearly falling asleep before his mother stood and cheered quite loudly when you were called up to the front.

“The Beatrice Huntington Award goes to… Y/N Johnson! Along with the George Barati Cello Scholarship! Congratulations Miss Johnson!” Your cello teacher spoke into the microphone and handed you a plaque, giving you a hug when you appeared by her side with a bright smile.

You beamed at the crowd as many of them knew you since you were only six. Your eyes watered as you took a final bow, earning a louder applause. You knew this would be your last performance for the institution, and when you came back, it would be completely different.

Your eyes met with Rodrick's one last time before the audience was dismissed. You could practically feel how proud he was despite his low effort in looking decent. He sent you a thumbs up and you laughed softly, wiping your tears before your makeup could run.

When you made it out to the auditorium foyer, you were immediately swept into the arms of Mrs. Heffley and felt her attack of kisses to your cheek. Laughing, you returned her hug with the same amount of emotion. She was the one who truly supported your decision in playing the cello at such a young age.

“Congratulations, sweetie!” She squeezed your shoulders and pulled you into another hug, smiling so bright it could out shine the sun. She sniffled and dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes. “Couldn’t be more proud of you!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Heffley.” You pull away and send her a grateful smile, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

Your eyes drifted to her family behind her, smile widening when Manny waved at you. You could see that the entire Heffley family was proud but nothing could prepare you for Rodrick trying to hide his own tears. You were unsure if they were for you or about you, but you were immediately pulled out of your thoughts when Mrs. Heffley offered to take you out for dinner with her family.

“Oh, it's quite alright, Mrs. Heffley!" You tighten your grip on your award and avoid Rodrick's eyes. "My... A friend is taking me out to dinner tonight and I wouldn't want them to feel like I'm ditching them last minute."

Her eyebrows shot up and opened her mouth to ask who, in hopes of inviting them as well when said friend walked up and wrapped an arm around your waist and kissed you temple, smiling down at you. She was even more surprised when you smiled up at the boy and whispered unknown words to him.

"I'll be there in a second." You murmur and meet his bright eyes, heart swelling when he pressed a kiss to your lips. "Alex..."

"Well you have to introduce me to them, yeah?" He whispered back and pressed one last kiss to your lips before winking at you.

You clear your throat and give the now shocked family a bashful grin, eyes only meeting Mrs. Heffley's wide ones. She continued to look between the both of you, doing her best not to verbally react to the new information.

"Uhm, Heffleys, this is Alex. Alex, this is the Heffley family." You gesture and nearly drop the plaque, Alex's hand coming around to help you balance the heavy glass.

When no one reacted, you awkwardly stood in front of them, smile faltering when they glanced at each other with confused looks. You were about to excuse yourself when Mrs. Heffley finally realized what had happened.

She began to introduce everyone in the family and nodded until you thought her head would fall off. You hid your laugh in Alex's shoulder and sighed softly before you heard Alex mutter something utterly shocking in your ear.

"Rodrick looks like he might stabbed me to death with his drumsticks."

You furrow your brows and look over him, frowning when he did in fact look murderous. He was happy just a few second ago, what happened?

"Sorry to interrupt," You cut of the rest of Mrs. Heffley's confusing rambling. "But we have to get going soon."

"Oh, yes, of course!" She quickly spoke and gave you one last grin. "Congratulations again."

"Thank you." You send her a happy smile before looking back at Rodrick one last time.

He shook his head at you and turned away, leaving you to ponder whether or not he truly was happy for you. But was it your fault? He didn't try and reach out to you the entire month and he expected you to just stay around him. It was unfair and you both knew it.

So without any sort of remorse, you let Alex sweep you away to the diner. It didn't matter what Rodrick thought anymore. Besides, he had Heather Hills to fall back onto.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[cute-n-curious]

Monster Dating App [1]: Surprise Me #1

[Author's note: this is a little long but I promise it goes somewhere fun.]

Your face falls when you first lay eyes on him. He looks so... ordinary. A clean cut, attractive man, maybe late 20s/early 30s, fit but not overly muscular, tidy but unremarkable in his dark navy dress shirt with cuffs rolled up, sandy-coloured pants. A solid 8 out 10 for a man, but a man nonetheless. A human. *yawn*

He smiles cheerily and politely holds up a bottle of some non-descript white wine. Automatically, you open your door wider to let him into your apartment. You don't feel bad anymore about showing up to this "date" in t-shirt and shorts.

As you watch him take off his shoes to survey your living room, your mind races to remember what you had submitted into that app. You were sure you had selected:

✓ Monster/Non-human - subtype: "surprise me"

✓ Open to: fucking (non-violent)

✓ Penetration preference: receiving (no anal)

☓ Agree to being bred

Meeting place: my home

Your best friend had introduced you to that app a week ago. It was strictly invite only, and she sent you the invite as soon as she received it. She could not stop talking about it since she first downloaded a few weeks back. She couldn't believe it at first, an app that hooks you up to occult creatures? Grindr for monsters? Unlike Grindr though, the app sets you up on dates based on your preferences selected. The app says that all date candidates are carefully vetted by the organisation strictly in accordance with submitted requests.

Since she had downloaded the app 3 weeks ago, your friend could not stop gushing about the dates she's been on. She's dated (and fucked!) a werewolf, a shadow creature, a slime man, the latter being her favourite. She's been adventurous with her date preferences, never meeting at home. She's fucked in a forest, an abandoned house, in some alleyway in a neighbouring city.

You were eager to try the app out after hearing about her escapades. Your libido has always been high but it's been through the roof lately and fucking random guys from Tinder just isn't cutting it. But you were also nervous so the dating preferences you had set came out pretty tame.

Is this why they just sent some guy?

You snap out of your musings as you saw him put down the bottle of wine on your dining table. You had prepared a quick dinner, not knowing what to expect to come through the door. Your good manners kick in and you give him a smile and make small talk as you plate dinner - just a simple pasta carbonara for you both. He's cute, you thought, maybe he'll be good enough to dull that ache in your pussy tonight that you've been trying (and failing) to address with your toys.

He sits downs and happily chats away as he steadily goes through the pasta. He says he works in banking as a middle manager, he enjoys hiking on the weekends and likes watching sports on TV. You nod along, trying to keep up with the conversation, sipping on the wine and picking at the pasta, but find yourself absolutely spacing out given the monotony.

You hear him say, "... and she said what can I do if they said you asked if you want the papers..."

Without a second thought you mumble, "I want my pussy stuffed". It takes a second for you register what you said, and mortified you gasp, turning red as a tomato, stutter "uh sorry *cough* ignore that, what did you say?"

Why did you say that?? Ugh, you can just die right now.

He gazes at you steadily, a small smile (is that a hint of a smirk?) on his face. "No worries, as I was saying..." he resume. You gulp down some wine to try to still you thumping heart, relaxing as you see him continue from where he left off. You sit up and try to engage with what he's saying, but it's just so tedious.

He continues, "... and my boss said to do it for John and you can go if you want. So me and John went inside the office and you and..."

Your mind has wandered and you can't think straight. You murmur "...yes, now". You realise too late that his chatting might be having some weird hypnotic effect on you, that certain words he's saying seem to be whispered straight into your ear, fizzing into your brain, shooting down your spine and making you suddenly wet and horny. You're not even embarrassed now, you simply look at him, eyes half-lidded, breathing unsteady, feeling the electric tingle in the air.

He meets your gaze, still with the small smile on his face. "Hm," he appears to muse, abruptly stopping whatever anecdote he was relaying. Suddenly in the silence, you feel something brush against your thigh. It's his hand on your thigh, warm and firm, caressing your skin and very slowly making its way up your leg.

You enjoy the jolt of skin-to-skin contact for a second but quickly realise that something's not right. He's sitting on the other side of your dining table, there's no way his arm is long enough to touch you like this under the table. You look up and gasp, not quite believing what you're seeing.

Your date is still sitting in his chair across from you, the small curious smile still on his face, his eyes looking intensely into yours. But you watch, mouth agape, as long arms start sprouting from his shoulders and torso, fully formed human-like arms with hands at the end of each. His clothes doesn't appear to be actual fabric, but it morphed and distended with his skin. In the still silence of your living room, you hear what sounds like bones and cartilage forming and cracking under skin, as these long arms grow out from him.

Without you noticing, the hand that was snaking its way up your thigh has found the edge of your underwear and is running a finger lazily along the edge. Another hand has come along and joined the exploration. You're breathing heavily, incredulous but so intrigued, at all this was happening so quickly. You look up again and see two of the arms carefully pushing side the dining table as your date gets up from his chair.

You feel like you can't look away as his limbs suddenly close the distance between you two by scooping you towards him. Suddenly, you feel his lips on you, tender and firm, his tongue soft and wet, like a human tongue. But there's nothing human about the arms and hands, oh so many hands, all over you.

You find yourself carried into the bedroom, dark and cool, the lights off and the room only illuminated dimly by the moonlight coming in through the open window. You feel the hands, touching you under your clothes, then removing your clothes. You feel numerous hands running over your breasts, over your hips, through your hair, as your date continues gently kissing you.

You whimper as you feel the hands massaging you, kneading your shoulders, scalp, calves, thighs, feet, back, butt, all at once. It feels so so good to feel the strong hands squeezing and playing with your breasts, pinching your nipples. The hands, in their ministrations, are effectively pining you to the bed, while you date hovers over you, now kissing your ear and your neck.

Why oh why are there no hands on your pussy? You're so wet, so desperate to be touched down there, to be filled. "Please," you gasp, "please touch me" as you writhe and buck up against him. "But I am touching you" he said smiling, looking up at you, a twinkle in his eye. "You know what I mean!" you snap, panting and frustrated.

"Oh you mean like this?" he whispers in your ear. Suddenly you feel fingers, so many fingers touching, stroking your pussy and your clit. You feel the gush of how wet you must be, then you hear how wet you must be, the slick sounds of one, then two then three fingers slowly slide in and out of your pussy while another circle and massage your clit. All the while, the other hands continue their touching and massaging of your body. You've never felt this intensity, this level of touch all over before. You moan and gasp as you try to grind against the fingers, the knuckles, anything to increase the pace, pressure and sensation.

"You're just a delight" he murmurs as you suddenly find yourself flipped by the hands onto your belly. A hand covers your eyes and now all is dark. You only hear your lewd panting and moaning, the quiet squelchy sounds of the fingers relentlessly pumping in and out of your dripping pussy. The fingers in your pussy finally picks up the pace, rubbing over and over against the g-spot inside. The fingers on your clit matches the speed of the fingers inside you. The massaging intensifies and you suddenly feel fingers in your mouth that you greedily suck on, uncaring of the drool seeping out of your mouth.

Your moans turn to whimpers to groans as you feel your orgasm building. Right as you're about to cum a fourth finger is added into you pussy and the additional stretching pushes you over the edge as you grind yourself helplessly against the digits as the waves of pleasure wash over you.

As you come down from the high, you feel the hands giving you a warm gentle hug, as a hand pulls a blanket over your body, tucking you in.

Your date sits next to you on the bed, once again looking like an ordinary human man, his excess limbs gone. He says quietly, "I hope that was alright for you. I haven't been a human for long and it's been very helpful to learn what makes your kind happy. I'm still learning how to best communicate my telepathy, your species isn't very forthcoming with strangers."

You sleepily say, "that was amazing, you're doing great. But as a tip, next time get your cock out, you'll find that many human women, and men, will enjoy using that too."

"Oh you mean these?" he replies, unzipping his pants.

[Part 2 now released.]

[limbsmarriott]

Things you don’t remember

~Angst/fluff~

The first time you see him, he's leaning against the hospital doorframe like he’s holding up the whole damn world with one shoulder. He doesn’t speak right away. Just stares.

You study him, trying to place the dark circles under his eyes, the tired set of his jaw, the way his hands stay clenched at his sides like he’s holding something back- grief, maybe. Or worse: hope.

The nurse clears her throat behind him. “Mr. Clarke… she’s awake.”

He walks in like the floor might shatter beneath him.

“You don’t remember me,” he says, voice rough.

You blink. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but so does your own, and neither comes with a face. You try to find something in his eyes that stirs recognition, some warmth or flicker of home, but there’s just… blank space.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Should I?”

He exhales, and it’s the saddest sound you’ve ever heard. Like a man mourning something still alive.

“I’m George,” he says. “George Clarke. I-” He swallows. “We were engaged.”

Your breath catches. You glance down at your hands instinctively, searching for a ring. It’s not there. Of course it’s not. You don't even remember what love feels like. But when he steps closer, voice low, he says your name like a secret only he knows. Like someone who’s said it a thousand times, through laughter, through tears, through every version of you that you've forgotten. And in that moment, though your mind doesn't recognise him- your heart clenches like maybe, just maybe, it still does.

You stare at George like maybe if you look long enough, something will click into place. It doesn’t.

“I don’t feel anything,” you say quietly, and immediately regret the words. His expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture does, like he’s been punched in the chest but refuses to fall.

He nods once, like he’s been preparing for this.

“That’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t come here expecting a miracle.”

You look down at the blanket on your lap, fingers fidgeting with the edge. “Then why did you come?”

He hesitates. Then: “Because I made you a promise. And you don’t remember it, but I do.”

Your eyes lift slowly. “What promise?”

George steps closer, then pulls a small, weathered notebook from his coat pocket. It’s old, edges frayed, the pages inside bent and loved. He holds it out to you, but doesn’t let go when you take it.

“You told me,” he says, voice like gravel, “if anything ever happened to you, if you ever forgot, you wanted me to bring this. You said it had the truth in it. Not just facts, but... the way things felt.”

You gently tug it free from his hand. On the front, in your own handwriting, are the words: “Just in case.”

You open it.

Page one is a sketch of a coffee mug. His, you think. The caption underneath reads: He drinks it black and complains every time, but won’t admit he likes it that way.

Page two is a scribbled quote: "I think I could love him forever. Maybe I already do."

You look up at him. His jaw is tight, eyes unreadable.

“How long were we together?” you ask.

He swallows. “Four years.”

“And I don’t remember any of it?”

“No.” His voice is barely audible now. “But I do. Every day.”

You flip through the pages- doodles, ticket stubs, half-finished thoughts. Every one of them proof that something real existed between you. That it wasn’t just his memory holding you here. It was yours, too, tucked into paper and ink.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks. “I won’t push. But I’ll stay as long as you let me.”

You look at him, and even though your mind is still a fog, there’s something grounding about his presence. Like gravity, pulling you toward something you don’t understand but maybe want to.

You nod.

“Stay.”

George visits the hospital every day. He doesn’t bring flowers or balloons like the others. Instead, he brings pieces of the life you used to share. The first day, it’s a playlist.

“Your favourite songs,” he says, setting his phone gently on your bedside table. “You said music made you feel things faster than memory ever could.”

You don’t say anything. But when he leaves, you press play. By the third song, your chest aches with a feeling you can’t name.

The next day, he brings your cat.

“He hated me at first,” he admits as the nurse raises an eyebrow, “but I bribed him with tuna and dignity.”

The cat, Garfield, is unimpressed by the sterile room but curls instantly into your lap like he knows exactly where he belongs. Like he knows you. And maybe, for a moment, you believe you know you, too.

Each day, George brings another puzzle piece.

A Polaroid of the two of you at a winter market, noses red, hot chocolate in hand.

A chipped ceramic mug with your initials and a tiny heart carved in the bottom.

A dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre with sarcastic notes scribbled in the margins.

“We used to argue about whether Rochester deserved redemption,” he says one evening. “You said he didn’t. I said he was just a man who made mistakes.”

You pause, gaze drifting over his face.

“And now?” you ask softly.

George smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Now I think maybe we both were right.”

You start to ask more questions. Not big ones. Just quiet, everyday things.

“How did we meet?” “At a bookshop. You made fun of my Hemingway pick. I pretended not to care.”

“What was our first fight?” “You were convinced I didn’t like your cooking. I was just scared I’d mess things up if I admitted I did.”

“What did I say when I told you I loved you?” George looks down at his hands. “You didn’t say it. You wrote it. On a napkin. Slid it across the table like a secret.”

You feel the echo of it, just a tremor, but it’s there.

One afternoon, as the sun spills gold across the hospital floor, George sits beside you, close but not touching. His hand hovers near yours, respectful of the distance between the past and the now.

“Do you ever… resent me for forgetting?” you ask quietly.

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Never. Losing you once was enough. I’d rather have the pieces than nothing at all.”

Your throat tightens. And then, for the first time, you reach for his hand. Not because you remember. But because something inside you wants to.

It happens on a Tuesday. The sky is grey, the kind of heavy-clouded quiet that feels like it’s waiting for something. You and George sit on a bench just outside the hospital’s rehab wing. It’s your first real time outdoors since the accident. Everything feels too sharp. The air, the light, the smell of wet pavement.

George unwraps a sandwich but doesn’t eat it. He’s watching you again. He always does when you’re not looking. Like if he stares hard enough, he can will your memories back. You don’t mind. You’re starting to look at him, too.

He says something about a coffee shop you both used to visit Cedar’s describes it with the kind of affection that feels like a prayer: mismatched chairs, cinnamon in the air, the table by the window you always stole because you liked the light. You blink. Your fingers tighten around the Styrofoam cup in your hands. The cold coffee sloshes.

“Wait,” you say, voice suddenly thin.

George freezes. “What?”

You close your eyes. There’s something. Cinnamon. Wood polish. A squeaky chair. A sound. Your laugh? His. A moment: his hand brushing yours across a chipped table. The curve of his smile when he looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense.

“I remember… that table,” you whisper. “Just for a second. You… you spilled something. I think it was tea? I made fun of you.”

He doesn’t speak. You open your eyes and see the look on his face, pure disbelief, breaking slowly into something softer, something wild with hope.

His voice is hushed. “You always made fun of me when I spilled tea. You said I held the cup like it owed me money.”

You let out a breathy laugh, startled by the sound of it. There’s no full scene. No name. No clarity. Just a flicker. A sensation. But it’s yours. And it’s real.

You glance at him. “It was chamomile.”

George nods once. His throat moves like he’s swallowing something sharp.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling like a man who’s been holding his breath for weeks. “It was.”

You don’t reach for him this time. But you lean just slightly in his direction. And that’s enough, for now.

It’s raining again. A cold, slanting drizzle that turns the sidewalks into mirrors and blurs the world into greyscale. You’re back in the hospital lounge, curled under a too-thin blanket, flipping through the memory notebook George gave you. You’ve read the same five pages for days now, waiting for something else to surface.

He stands at the window, arms folded, jaw tight. Silent. You can feel the storm in him before he says a word.

“George?”

He doesn’t turn around.

You set the notebook down, uneasy. “Is something wrong?”

He laughs, but it’s brittle. “Wrong? No. Not at all. I’m just watching it rain on the day that should’ve been our wedding anniversary. So, no… nothing’s wrong.”

The words land like stones in your chest.

You sit up, slowly. “I didn’t know…”

“I know,” he says sharply, then softens. “Of course you didn’t. That’s the point, isn’t it?”

He finally turns. His eyes are tired. Not angry. Just… tired. The kind of tired that lives in the bones.

“I’ve been trying not to say this,” he murmurs. “I’ve told myself over and over that it’s selfish, that you’ve been through enough. But it’s killing me, watching you look at me like I’m a stranger.”

You flinch. Not because of his tone, but because he’s right.

“I never wanted to make you feel like-”

“Like I don’t exist anymore?” he finishes. “Like the last four years of my life evaporated the moment your head hit the dashboard?”

You look down at your hands. Shame rises hot in your throat.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

George exhales, dragging his hand through his hair. “I’m not mad at you,” he says, quieter now. “God, I’m not. I’m mad at fate, or the universe, or the idiot who ran that red light. I just… I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending this doesn’t hurt.”

You meet his gaze. And for the first time, you really see it. The cracks behind his calm, the way love and grief have been eating him alive in silence.

“I remember chamomile tea,” you say suddenly. “And the cinnamon. And you… smiling at me, that way you do.”

His breath catches.

“I know it’s not much,” you add. “But it’s something, isn’t it?”

He walks over slowly, kneels in front of your chair like you might disappear if he moves too fast.

“It’s everything,” he says.

And then, for the first time, you reach for him. Not out of obligation, or guilt, or the faint echo of who you were, but because you want to. And maybe that’s the beginning of a new memory.

Spring comes softly. It creeps in through the windows of your new apartment. Smells like rain on warm pavement and the hint of lilacs blooming somewhere unseen. The air hums with quiet promise.

George is in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in deep concentration over an omelet that’s probably going to fall apart. He still can’t cook. You’ve confirmed that much.

You lean against the doorway, watching him with a warmth you can’t explain. Or maybe you can. You just don’t have all the pieces yet.

“I remember something new,” you say.

He freezes. Slowly turns.

“Oh?” he says carefully. Hope flickers in his eyes, but it’s guarded now. He’s learned not to expect too much. You walk over to the table, where a familiar mug waits. Chipped. Painted blue. You pick it up.

“You used to bring me tea in this,” you say. “You’d pretend you didn’t know which one I liked, but you always got it right.”

George says nothing for a long moment.

Then he smiles. Not the broken, uncertain kind you saw in the hospital, but something real. Full. Alive.

“I never forgot you,” he says softly. “Not even for a second.”

You take the mug in both hands. It feels like yours again. Like home.

“I think…” you pause, feeling your heartbeat rise. “I think I want to fall in love with you. All over again. From the beginning.”

George crosses the room in two steps, but he doesn’t rush. He touches your face gently, like you’re fragile porcelain. Like you’re sacred.

“You don’t have to fall,” he whispers. “You can choose me. Every day. I’ll do the same.”

You nod.

“I choose you.”

And that’s the truth of it, in the end: The memories may come back. They may not. But love isn’t always something you remember. Sometimes, it’s something you decide to build, again. Together.

——————————————————————————————————

First time writing again in a while! I hope you enjoyed! I will try and post a little more now university has finished.

Tags

@themdera

@tyna-19

@smzyyx

[sweetpascal]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 — 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

gif by: @richardgrimes

pairing: perv!stepdad!joel x fem!reader

summary: when you do the unthinkable, joel takes it upon himself to let out all of his anger and frustration onto you. the punishments that follow are ones that officially tear you apart and turn you into an unrecognizable girl.

warnings: MINORS DNI. DUB-CON. BIG AGE GAP [18/52], joel is VERY VERY VERY mean in this chapter, face slapping, hair pulling, hella manipulation, finger sucking, spanking as punishment [with his hand and belt], TW: isolation as punishment, TW: emotional abuse, joel spits on your face, oral [m receiving], TW: forced asphyxiation, joel has a very big dick ok, masochism, sadism, dacryphilia, kinda angsty ??

wc: 7.3k

notes: i felt kinda blah about this series cause i feel like i'm not making joel mean enough compared to how some writers write dark!joel (´•︵•`) so i got really sad and put all my emotions into this chapter as a coping mechanism and made joel REALLY fucking mean and just... a horrible and nasty man. trauma ?? i think so. ENJOY. ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

edit: i posted this later than expected UGH. expect two updates in one day.

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By the time you awoke, the space beside you in bed was vacant. You have no recollection of drifting off in Joel's embrace. As you rise, the fluffy blanket cascades down, gathering around your hips. Joel must have draped it over you once you had succumbed to sleep. The absence of his clothes on the floor and the chill of his side of the bed leave you questioning whether he stayed the night at all, stirring a sense of unease within you. He had done something new, something that made you feel good, and he wasn't here when you woke up. Why? Why wasn't he here? Why do you feel so cold all of a sudden? Was this something normal that men do? Embarrassed by the series of events from last night, you pull on your discarded panties and shorts.

The sunrise had not yet begun. Looking out the window, the sky displayed an almost purplish tint with the sun barely cresting the horizon. It was a cloudless sky, yet the faint chirping of morning birds could be heard from their respective trees. Unsure of the time, as Joel had confiscated your phone and you lacked an alarm clock, the day's start remained ambiguous.

As you tiptoe out of your room, you notice the house is completely quiet. Joel usually wakes up before dawn, but today, a faint snore drifts from his and your mom's bedroom. Moving down the hall, you gently push the slightly open door further. In the dim blue light filtering in from outside, you can just make out Joel's form. He's sprawled on his stomach in the center of the bed, clutching his pillow while your mom's lies abandoned on the floor. Shirtless, the sheets are drawn just below the dimples of his back. The bedside clock shows 5:22 AM.

"Daddy?" you whisper faintly into the darkness, pausing for an answer. Only his soft snores, muffled by the pillow, meet your ears. Drawing nearer, you notice Joel is lying on his good ear, the other affected by partial hearing loss. The urge to rouse him is strong, yet you hesitate, knowing these moments of peaceful rest are few for him.

The rumbling of your stomach makes you whimper. Joel usually prepares meals for you when asked. Your mother, however, rarely agrees, often reminding you that you're old enough to cook for yourself. But Joel always protests, saying, "I don't want your pretty little hands to get all cut up and burned." Perhaps he wouldn't mind if you made breakfast just this once. It would be a sweet gesture to surprise him with breakfast in bed. You wonder if your mom ever did something like that for him.

"I'm going to make breakfast for us, okay, Daddy?" you whisper, a bit louder this time, your hand hovering just above his broad back. You can feel the warmth radiating onto your palm. When he doesn't respond, only emitting another snore, you quietly tiptoe out of the room and gently close the door, cringing when it makes a loud noise at the last moment.

Descending the stairs, a sense of unease weighs heavily in your stomach. Alone, with dark blue hues filling patches of the vacant house and shadows stretching across the walls, you almost feel an invisible presence. You find yourself wishing Joel were awake to fend off the lurking shadows. Rushing to the kitchen, you flip on the light, blinking against the sudden brightness until your eyes adjust.

Opening the fridge revealed a lackluster array of dinner leftovers, several half-empty condiment bottles, an empty milk carton, and a bag of grapes beginning to rot. It was disappointing to find nothing inspiring to cook with. A glance at the stovetop clock showed it was 5:30. The local market would open at 6, and it was only a half-hour walk away. However, the prospect of walking that distance didn't appeal to you, dramatic as it might seem. Your eyes then fell upon Joel's truck keys and wallet in the bowl on the kitchen countertop. Surely, he wouldn't mind if you borrowed them for a quick shopping trip.

Right?

By the time you returned home, it was nearly 8 o'clock. The neighborhood had fully come to life. The groceries in the truck's backseat jostled with every gentle turn. A sinking feeling emerged at the thought of Joel's anger over you borrowing his truck without asking and taking some of his twenty-dollar bills. Yet, it stemmed from a desire to do something kind for him in gratitude for his good care during your mother's absence. An excitement bubbled within you, eager to burst.

You hadn't planned to be out this long, but losing track of time and procrastinating on your tasks is a frequent issue. Joel often chides you for this, playfully urging you to get your head out of the clouds and to come back down to earth. Your only hope is that Joel remains asleep, unaware of your absence. However, the missing money from his wallet, the extra miles on his truck, and the depleted gas are sure to give you away.

As you park the truck in the driveway, you notice the porch screen is wide open, though you remember closing it before sneaking out. Your heart sinks at the sight of Joel's daunting figure in the doorway, his gaze piercing through the windshield. It's a wonder the glass doesn't crack under the weight of his stare. Your pulse quickens, a flurry of nervous butterflies takes flight in your stomach, and your palms dampen with sweat as you clutch the steering wheel tightly.

Joel points at you and then to the ground at his feet, silently mouthing, "Now." He then vanishes back into the house, clearly pissed off. Fear grips you, making it daunting to leave the truck's safety. After six agonizing minutes, you gather enough bravery to step out, your breath hitching in your throat and almost making it difficult to breathe.

After hoisting the grocery bags into your arms and nudging the back passenger door closed with your foot, likely leaving a mark on the polished metal, you make your way to the porch with unsteady steps. The door stands slightly open, and you gently push it wider. As you spin around to close it, a hand reaches over your shoulder and slams it with such force that the house seems to shake. Startled, you yelp loudly as Joel grabs your arm firmly and pulls you into the kitchen, his long strides causing you to stumble over your feet.

"Sit your fuckin' ass down," he practically barks, pulling out a kitchen chair and slams it down. He pushes you toward the chair so forcefully that the grocery bags tumble down around you. As you land on the wooden chair, the impact from Joel's shove nearly expels all the air from your lungs.

He stands over you from your seated position, towering and nearly trembling with fury. Joel's hands are clenched into tight fists, his knuckles whitening under the strain. He scratches his jaw and paces, a low growl emanating from deep within his chest as the intensity in his eyes burns fiercer. You close your eyes, sitting motionless, bracing yourself.

"Are you out of your GODDAMN MIND?!" He bends down to scream in your face, his face contorted in a way that makes him look scary and so different from the usual angry Joel you normally see. This Joel was drowning in rage. His eyes were nearly black and the lines on his face deepened as he snarled in your face. "You fucking ANSWER ME!" One hand grabs the back of your hair and yanks your head back so fast that your nerve spasms, a shrieking cry escaping your lips. His other hand grabs your face and squeezes your jaw so tightly that pain blossoms throughout your gums.

"Stop, stop, stop, please, stop!" You're babbling in his face, thick tears sliding down your cheeks from the intense pain in your scalp, neck, and jaw. You could barely catch a breath from how hard you're crying. "Da-Daddy, p-please!" You're grabbing on both of his forearms, nails digging deep through his long shirt, no doubt leaving indentations.

Joel only grunts lowly, his breath heavy and fast. His hands squeeze tighter, and he roughly shakes your head, loving the way your face scrunches up at the pain he's causing. Then, he forcibly pushes your head away, releasing his hands from your knotted hair and your already bruising jaw. Tears streaming down your face, you draw your knees up to your chest for comfort and hesitantly reach for the back of your head, while your other hand softly caresses your jaw. Your eyes are wide, reflecting a state of shock and fear. Joel's gaze is fixed on you, his frown growing more pronounced as you quiver uncontrollably.

He pulls his wallet from his back pocket and flings it towards you. It strikes your knees and tumbles to the floor, unfolding just enough to reveal its barren interior.

"You take my fuckin' truck," Joel says in a low voice, trembling with anger. He steps back, his boots thudding on the floorboards. "You take my fuckin' money." At this point, you're nearly hyperventilating, silently cursing yourself for such a foolish act and expecting him to accept it. He goes on, his tone grave, "And you sneak out without telling me, huh? What, you want more freedom than what I'm giving you here?"

The anger that Joel feels is indescribable. It's coursing through his veins like heroin, poisoning his blood and gradually taking over his body. He doesn't know what to do, or even think. All that he can do is react. How stupid of you to think this was okay. How mind-numbingly idiotic it was of him to expect you to follow his rules and obey him like a good girl. As he looks down at you like smeared shit at the bottom of his shoe, there seems to be only one option left.

Before you can react, Joel has seized your arm and pulled you up from the chair, nearly dislocating your shoulder. His footsteps are long, resounding, and forceful. Tears continue to flow as he hauls you up the stairs. You stumble on each step, crying and sobbing, while you try to keep pace with him. Your knees are banging against every edge as Joel practically drags you up the steps.

"Da-Dad-dy!" Choking on your tears, you can barely see anything. Your vision is blurry, and your hearing is muffled. Every nerve in your body is on fire. "Pl-Please, Jo-el!"

"Get up, girl! C'mon. Get your fuckin' ass up!" He grunts through labored breaths, jaw clenching tightly as he drags your body by the arm up the last step. "I've had 'nough of you."

Suddenly, he kicks your bedroom door open, your heartbreaking cries falling on deaf ears. Your body is shoved into your room with enough force to make you collapse onto the ground. You're gasping for air, your fingers slick with sweat as they frantically claw at the rug, desperate to find something to hold onto.

Joel stands motionless in the doorway, his gaze fixed on you without a trace of emotion. Thoughts flood his mind, overwhelming him like a tsunami. Make her hurt. Make her cry. Make her beg for mercy. He retrieves a key from his front pocket and observes as you pathetically curl into a ball on the floor, your shoulders shaking violently while you cry into the carpet. His hand rests on the doorknob. Before leaving, he speaks in an unexpectedly gentle tone, "Until I believe you've learned your lesson, you're going to stay here, and you're going to think about what you did."

Then, he departs and forcefully closes your door. Amidst your heavy sobs, the sound of the bedroom door lock engaging is audible. Glancing over your shoulder weakly, you notice the doorknob has been altered from before. Gone is the twist lock, replaced now by a keyed lock mechanism.

The epiphany strikes with overwhelming force. Enclosed by a door that's locked and windows sealed shut, you find yourself imprisoned with no means of escape.

Unaware of how much time has passed, you stay on the ground, curled up, emotionless. The tears have stopped, leaving behind an empty stare. The night has already set in, shrouding your room in darkness from top to bottom. Joel's footsteps are audible everywhere, hardly silent. Whenever he approaches your door, there's a halt, a moment of stillness, and then the sound of his steps resumes. Undoubtedly, he was listening with his ear against the door. Each approach brought a heaviness to your heart and a sinking sensation in your stomach.

The aroma of garlic sizzling in oil drifted from the kitchen, prompting your mouth to water and your stomach to knot with hunger. You hadn't eaten since the night before. The clatter of pots and pans, either being used or stored away, brought tears to your eyes. "Stupid, stupid girl," you chide yourself. It was foolish to attempt a kind gesture for Joel, only to have it go horribly wrong. It was a rash and impetuous move. Now, he'll never forgive you for this. This realization has you weeping once more into the spit-soaked, tear-stained rug.

Engrossed in your thoughts, you fail to notice the door has come unlocked and now stands ajar, the hallway light spilling in and illuminating your huddled form. Joel pauses in the doorway, a plate of food in hand, and tuts softly at the pathetic sight before him.

"Sit up," he commands, making his way deeper into the dimly lit room. The sound of his rough voice had your entire body tensing and your quiet cries immediately halting. When you remain still, Joel becomes irritated and prods your hip forward with his muddy boot, leaving a mark on the pristine white dress you wore especially to surprise him. "I said, get your fuckin' ass up, little girl. Don't make me tell you again."

With trembling limbs, you gradually unfold yourself, grimacing as your muscles burn. Your scalp, jaw, neck, knees, and arms feel as though they are on fire. After hours of immobility and neglecting your aching body, the pain strikes you with overwhelming force.

Joel squats before you, emitting a soft grunt as his knees pop and his lower back tightens. In silence, he extends the plate of food between you both: parmesan garlic chicken, green beans, and red roasted baby potatoes. The aroma and appearance make your eyes widen, your mouth water, and your stomach rumble.

The moment your fingertips graze the plate's underside, Joel pulls it away and sets it on the ground. Your faint smile vanishes, replaced by a frown as you meet his stern gaze. He remains silent, his stare unwavering. Looking down at the plate, it dawns on you that there's not a fork, knife, or even a spoon in sight.

"Eat," he commands, his voice a quiet murmur. Joel's gaze is fixed on you, his eyes unblinking, his facial expression shifting subtly. The softness and tenderness that were once reserved for you have vanished. He never used to look at your mom the way he looked at you. But now, his gaze is identical. It leaves you feeling sorrowful and heartbroken.

Confused and very much embarrassed at not knowing what to do, you hesitantly reach out to grab the chicken with your bare hand. Joel's hand roughly clamping around your wrist and shoving it away prevents you from doing so. There was a surge of panic that shot through you like a shotgun blast.

"No," he snaps, his eyes narrowing and his scowl deepening. It's clear he's losing patience. Joel has no time for games. "Bend down… and eat," he commands.

There's a tense, heavy moment of silence as you thoroughly think about what he's telling you to do. Warmth spreads throughout your neck and rises to your cheeks before settling on the tips of your ears. Your heart plummets to your stomach. So, like an obedient little dog, you lower your head down to the plate on the ground and begin eating.

Joel smiles at your obedience, one hand gently petting your head and tenderly massaging the tendrils of hair connected to your scalp that he viscously yanked. He softly quiets you when you flinch and unintentionally whimper. He maintains the gentle, affectionate strokes of his hand through your hair, even gathering it into a ponytail to help you eat more comfortably.

"That's a good girl," he softly praises, settling onto his knees in front of you and using his other hand to gently stroke your jaw. "See how easy it is to obey Daddy? You just needed some of Daddy's tough lovin', huh?"

Is this what it was? Some tough love? You've never encountered that before, much less experienced it. Since you were never a problem child, discipline was seldom necessary. Maybe this is exactly what you needed to be a good girl for Joel. Maybe this tough love is what will help you do better and learn from your stupid mistakes.

As you continue eating, Joel finds himself slowly loving the sight of you eating like a fucking mutt in front of him. Knowing that he can push you so far as to do something like this excites him. His hand tightens in the makeshift ponytail he has your hair in, and his eyes darken. Letting out a whimper that was muffled from your food, you make sure to not complain about it to Joel. He was already upset with you from earlier and you really don't want to push it further.

"That's enough," he declares, his hand in your hair stopping your movements while his other hand takes your plate away, leaving half of the food untouched and uneaten. His hand pops you on the cheek when he hears you protesting, a pained yelp escaping your slobbered lips. He forces your head up to be eye level with his. "Listen to me, little girl. From this moment forward, Daddy will decide what you eat, when you eat it, and how much you can eat. Have I made myself clear?" His voice's tone is so authoritative that it holds no room for argument, not that you could muster one even if you wished to.

Nevertheless, you find yourself nodding within his grasp. Choosing not to protest was wise. Should this behavior be part of your punishment or his version of tough love, you certainly wouldn't want to witness him at full strength. Merely the thought was enough to make you shudder with fear once more. Joel was an incredibly strong man, often unaware of his own strength. He could break your jaw with one squeeze--he almost fucking did it this morning.

Joel mocks your nod. "Good," he hums, offering you a pleased smile as he lovingly strokes the apple of your cheeks. "Now, come to the bathroom so Daddy can brush your teeth."

Leaving your half-finished plate behind, you follow Joel into the hallway. You trail behind him aimlessly, your steps shaky and limping. He notices but chooses not to comment. It's for the best, a silent reminder that such consequences will recur if you act carelessly again.

Joel opens the door to the main bathroom and guides you inside with care. He lifts you with ease under your arms and sets you down on the countertop. A small squeak escapes from your chest, a sound that Joel finds adorable. He flashes a subtle grin and begins to wet your toothbrush, dabbing on the toothpaste. He shuffles between your thighs and thumbs your mouth open to start brushing your teeth. His actions brought you comfort, making you feel cherished and cared for. Even though you could have done it yourself, witnessing Joel display his nurturing side was touching. You longed to see more of this aspect of him, silently promising to be well-behaved with every passing minute.

"Alright, babydoll," he says as pats your thighs lovingly and rinses off your toothbrush after instructing you to lean over the sink and spit out the minty froth. "Now, get your butt back to your room and lean over the bed, panties off."

Joel notices the confusion spark in your eyes before it manifests in the furrowing of your brows. Your lips part to question him, but the words become stuck in your throat as his eyes darken and he gives a subtle shake of his head, tutting softly to himself.

"And here I thought you were goin' to start listening to me," he lets out a dark chuckle before invading your space with his strong chest pressing against yours. The force of the action causes your back to crash against the mirror, your head striking the glass while the sink spout presses into your lower back, causing discomfort and pain.

He bares his teeth just barely as he gets in your face, nostrils flaring and eyebrows furrowing, the storm brewing wildly in his eyes. Joel laughs gruffly as your eyes widen and you put your hands up in front of your body against his chest to protect yourself from his unpredictability. Oh, how cute. You were shaking under his hold like a frightened little bunny. Joel presses you harder against the mirror, no doubt forcing the sink spout deeper into your back. He grumbles pleasantly under his breath. He was causing this terrible fear clear as day on your face. The blooming bruises on your body are caused by his hands. The finger shaped bruises looked like a work of art on your delicate skin.

"Oh, babydoll," his breath fans across your face. He gives you a mocking pout, hushing you softly when the tears spill. "You're makin' it real hard not to paint that ass black and blue, you know that?"

Your bottom lip trembles and your body quivers, eyes shutting tightly as you mentally prepare yourself for Joel's next action. Tears spill and disappear underneath your aching jaw. He wipes them away at first, but when they keep sliding down, he wipes a tear-stained thumb across your lips before pushing the appendage deeper into your mouth and pressing down on your tongue.

"D'you taste that?" He asks you so quietly that you almost missed it. He's looking at his thumb between your lips and bites down on his own. Joel gazes into your wide eyes, which stare back at him as if he were the boogeyman. In a way, he is. "That's the taste of fear, sweetheart. Don't it taste fuckin' delicious?" The laugh he lets out is depraved, deranged, and delirious. With his thumb still in your mouth, he uses the other fingers to wrap under your chin before using that grip to force your head to move up and down roughly. "That's what I thought. Now, I ain't going to ask you again, babydoll. Take your ass back to your room and take off your fuckin' panties. When I get back, you better be leaning over the edge or so fuckin' help me God."

The mere threat was sufficient to send you scuttling down the hallway, pushing past Joel in a rush to get to your room. He watches you do so with a sadistic smile on his face. To see you react in such a way has him so fucking hard in his jeans. He cups a hand over the thickness and squeezes. There was a brief warmth pooling in his groin, and he let out a husky moan before his hand falls away. In due time, he silently tells himself.

Shaking, stuttering breaths were muffled in the bedding. You did exactly as you were told. The tips of your toes just barely skimming the rug, you were leant over the edge of the bed with your panties pooled at your ankles. One of your hands had blindly reached across the bed to grab onto your stuffed animal to curl an arm around it and press it against your side. The only comforting thing you can have at this moment that can hopefully ease the unsettling anxiety that won't go away.

Uncertain of how much time has passed, it might have been five minutes, ten, or perhaps even an hour. You caught a fleeting sound of Joel entering the room to retrieve your plate, then he left, securing the door with a lock behind him.

Long stretches of silence enveloped you, allowing the sound of your own heartbeat to echo mercilessly in your ears. It was a fleeting moment of tranquility before Joel determined his next move. In this stillness, sleep nearly overtook you, the exhaustion from hours of weeping creeping up silently. Then, the door unlocks, knob slowly turning. The ominous creaking of your door opening has you tensing as you hold your breath.

The steady stomp of Joel's footsteps enters your room before the door is shut behind him. The sight of you in a position that he demanded from you was driving him fucking wild. Panties at your ankles and your cute ass on display, the hem of your dress stopping just at the middle of your cheeks. He can see your pussy nearly calling out for him to play with her. But he can't, not at this moment. He needs you to understand that your actions, done behind his back, were unacceptable. They were reckless and dangerous—just the thought of it is enough to make Joel feel like punching a wall over and over.

"Now, what am I goin' to do with you, babydoll?" The question is rhetorical. He knows what he's going to do to you, but you don't. Leaving you in the dark of where his mind runs wild, keeping you pure from his deranged, perverted thoughts was for your own good. He intends to maintain a safe distance to prevent any critical harm, beyond what has already been inflicted.

The sound of Joel's voice has your hips shifting, your pussy lips just barely parted to give him a show of your exposed clit poking out from the hood that protects the exposed nerve. As he gets closer, he can see your stuffed animal in a headlock under your arm. How cute and pathetic.

"I gotta say, honey," he starts talking, his voice humorless and no longer holding that warm tone he previously had when he walked in. "It was adorable you thought I was done with you tonight. I mean, you really thought Daddy locking you up here was all that he was goin' to do?"

Unsure if the question was rhetorical or not, you still answered in a breathy voice, "Y-Yes, Daddy."

A smile makes its way onto Joel's face. "Yes, Daddy," he mocks your high pitched, breathy voice. The act of him doing so caused an embarrassed flush to warm your cheeks and ears. To be mocked made you feel so small. But that's what you are to Joel; this tiny, little thing that is so easy to crush in his big hand.

His groin rests against your ass cheeks, both of his hands lifting your dress higher until it pools around your upper back, further exposing your naked body to his eager eyes. The rough denim of his jeans and the cold metal of his zipper pressing into your backside made you hiss under your breath. Joel's hands hold onto your hips, forcing your body further onto the bed until your toes are no longer skimming above the rug, your feet now only dangling a few inches up.

"That's more like it," he grunts quietly, biting down on the plump flesh of his body limp when he sees goosebumps erupt on your soft skin. So, so fucking soft and untainted. As one hand pins you down at your lower back, his other hand gently rubs across your left ass cheek. Barely glancing at you to make sure you're prepared for what's to come, Joel mutters, "Brace yourself, sweetheart."

Then, he thwacks his palm across your skin. The force and strength of the smack made you cry out in surprise and pain. He smacks your other cheek with the same force. He does it again and again, back and forth, back and forth. Your legs kick behind you as fiery warmth blossoms along your backside. Your arm squeezes tighter around your stuffed bunny as you blindly reach a hand behind you to cover your bottom. Joel was quick to grab your wrist to pin it at your lower back.

He doesn't fucking stop spanking you. Not even when his own handprint is starting to show on your skin. He grunts with every thwack of his hand across your sensitive flesh. The cries that are forced out of you were music to his ears. Your backside feels like it's on fire underneath his wide palm; he doesn't know when to stop or ease up. The frustration and irritation from earlier were slowly making their way into Joel's mind.

"Bad." Smack. "Bad." Smack. "Fuckin'." Smack. "Girl."

Joel grunts like an animal as the smacks happen in quick succession. You're wailing into the covers, feet kicking weakly as you try so desperately to wiggle away from him. He won't stop. The pain is indescribable. It burns so badly, throbbing non-stop and feeling like a million needles are being stabbed into your skin. Your throat hurts from your pain-filled wails that are muffled into your bedding.

He's panting heavily and sweating. Wiping a forearm across his forehead, Joel removes his hands from your body, tilting one hand to the side to observe your marked ass. His handprints are on your skin, clear as day. He can feel the blazing heat radiating from your backside. But again, he's not done with you yet. And he tells you just that.

"Quit your fuckin' whinin'," he orders, both hands lowering to his thick leather belt to undo it from the hoops of his jeans. "We're not done until I say we're done." He folds the leather and snaps it together, the resounding sound causing you to cry harder in the sheets.

You learned your lesson. You know that you've been a bad girl. You know this. But the words fail to emerge, your voice and mouth unable to coordinate effectively enough to communicate with Joel. A tumult of emotions rages through your violently trembling body: fear, confusion, intense pain, and fatigue.

Folded, thick leather smacking against tender, angry skin is what forces a scream to erupt from your throat. With your bunny discarded, both hands desperately grab at your bedsheets to pull you away from Joel and his offending belt. You can faintly hear him sucking his teeth before one of his hands roughly yanks you back down by the back collar of your dress.

"Cry as much as you want to, babydoll!" he shouts through your pained wails. Then, the belt strikes across your ass repeatedly. Joel was barely giving you time to breathe through your tears and dribbling snot and drool that slides down your chin. "Kick all you want! Daddy ain't stopping!"

He lowers the position of the belt so that he can strike the back of your thighs as well. You're sure that after tonight, you won't be able to sit or speak for a very long time, for your vocal cords are nearly shattered from how hard and loud you were screaming, and Joel's hands and belt are bruising your backside. You're wishing that this torture will end. You're wishing that Joel will stop and hold you while you cry in his arms like a blubbering baby. Stop. Stop. Stop.

"Stop!" You screamed and screamed, both hands desperately reaching back to cover your backside. Everything burns. Everything feels like it's on fire. The pain only intensified when Joel tossed his belt aside and resorted to the palm of his hand again. "Please, please, stop, p-please!" Your speech now slurred and unrecognizable from thick tears, your hands claw at Joel's wrist, his hand wrapped around both of your own wrists to pin at your lower back again.

Only then does Joel snap out of it.

He's breathing so heavy that an innocent bystander would think that he was having a panic attack. Joel looks down at his creation and finally pulls his hand off of your wrists. Your arms go limp at your sides; you don't even bother trying to cover yourself. He looks at your backside, his thumb gently wiping away some blood that dotted around broken skin that was caused by his belt. He hums thoughtfully, bringing his thumb to his lips and licking your blood from the tip. In a day or two, your ass was going to be badly bruised and marked, all thanks to him.

"Such a sweet girl," he whispers, leaning down to press his nose behind your ear and inhaling deeply. Your body violently shakes underneath his chest. His groin is crushed against your horribly bruised ass, the pressure of it making you cry weakly, all the energy suddenly drained from you once he stopped abusing your ass.

Glancing down at his hard cock, now thick and pressing uncomfortably into his thigh, Joel decided now would be a good time for you to make him feel good. Though he knows you're not up for it, he doesn't fucking care. A darkness lurks within his mind, akin to an alter ego that commandeers his body, a monster in its purest form. This other facet of him is sadistic, vicious, and relentless. With you, it's so easy to fall into this second body. It's addicting. He can't stop, even if he knows this is wrong.

With a hoarse grunt, Joel grabs the back of your arms and yanks you off the bed to drop you down onto your knees. With a hand under your chin to keep your face pointed up to him, his other hand unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down, along with his underwear. He pushes both offending fabrics mid-thigh, sighing with satiated relief when his cock slaps up, nearly poking you in the eye.

You could hardly pay attention. Your eyes were unfocused and hazy, swollen lips parted to inhale and exhale shakily. You were so deep in another world that Joel had to roughly shake your head to bring you back down the earth. Unsure of why you feel so dizzy, you tried focusing on the pain in your backside that was still throbbing relentlessly, the burning fire now sizzling into a numb sensation.

"Tongue out," Joel demands roughly as he holds your hair into a makeshift ponytail with one hand as the other holds the base of his cock to tap his leaking tip against your lips.

Hearing his order, you look up at him with tear-filled eyes and do as you're told. You don't even know what exactly you're doing, but all you can hear in your mind is be a good girl and listen to him. Your eyes almost cross as you get a better look of his cock, and they widen comically. God, Joel was really long and thick. You wondered if all men were this size. It was intimidating to look at. You don't know if even less than half could fit in your mouth, let alone inside of you. Joel observes the revelation in your eyes and drops his left into a wink.

"Careful with your teeth, baby," his voice was gruff and strained, his mushroomed tip throbbing against your lips as his heavy balls tighten from the warmth pooling intensely in his groin. "Yeah, just like that."

His praise was something that you desperately needed tonight. Forgetting about the unrelenting abuse you endured on your backside, you can make it up to him by showing you that yes, you really are a good girl, and you will listen to him and do what you're told.

When you take too long to give Joel what he wants, he decides to take charge in one way that he knows how. Both hands grab either side of your head, forcing it to stay still as he shoves half of his cock into your mouth. Your eyes widened and you sputtered sloppily around his dick, your hands frantically fisting his jeans at his thighs. He grunts and groans, sweat pooling behind his neck and sliding down the line of his back.

"Goddamn," he hissed under his breath, moving his hips forward and back to start fucking your mouth with a brutal pace that has his balls slapping against your wet chin. "Born natural, ain't ya?"

Coughing and choking around his cock, you gagged and dry heaved as his thickness fills your mouth repeatedly. Spit dribbles down your chin and slides down your chest as you bite back the bile pooling in the back of your throat. Joel's breathing stutters for a split second at the sight below him. Your lips were obscenely stretched around his girth, eyes wide and glassy with thick tears just waiting to spill over. The sloppy, wet noises coming from your mouth nearly made him bust right in your mouth.

"Let me try somethin'," Joel mumbles to himself before roughly grabbing the back of your head and forcing your head all the way down until your nose and lips were crushed against his dark public hair. The contractions of your throat squeezing around his cock has him moaning gruffly at the ceiling, his head thrown back, Adam's apple bobbing in time with each moan that comes out.

Taking advantage of Joel's lax state, your nails dig into the thick meat of his thighs to push yourself off of him. His cock slips from your lips, strings of spit connecting from the enlarged tip to your puffy lips. You're coughing and dry heaving, your throat burning terribly. Joel looks down and grins wolfishly.

His hand languidly strokes his soaking cock. The sight of you struggling from his size was an image he wanted to engrave in his mind so he can watch it over and over again. He liked seeing you struggle. Hell, he fucking craves to see it again. Without giving you any time to prepare, he grabs the back of your head to force you down onto his cock once more.

The sopping wet choking sounds that are emitting from your throat are driving him insane. He wonders what would happen if he just...

Both hands roughly grab your head to yank you down until his cock goes down your throat again. This time, he keeps you there for a few, long, grueling seconds. You're sputtering wildly, eyes wide with terror as tears spill over your waterline. Your fists are weakly punching at his thighs, and you try to pull your head back, but Joel only crushes your head harder into his pelvis until your nose is pressed so deep into his pubic hair.

Joel grunts like a wild beast. "Just like that. Fuckin' choke on it." He sees your lashes flutter weakly, your eyes half-lidded and rolling into the back of your head. The lack of oxygen to your brain has your heart slowing dramatically. This is your death. Yeah, this is definitely how you're going to die: choking on Joel Miller's dick, also your mom's husband.

Suddenly, your head is pulled off and you're gasping for air like it's the last thing on earth. Your head is spinning and you're doubling over until your forehead is almost touching Joel's boots. Your throat burns and you can barely feel your tongue. This wasn't supposed to be happening. This is all your fault. You deserve this punishment. Bad girl. Bad, bad, bad girl. Slowly rocking yourself back and forth, you sniffle softly and take a weak glance up at him. A shadow almost casts over your face from where you kneeled, his long cock perfectly aligned below the ceiling light.

Joel bends down to lift you higher on your knees. His big hands gently hold your cheeks, and your eyes shut as this is the first tender touch you've felt in hours. You savor this moment, sniffling again and licking your bottom lip. Joel smiles sweetly, lowering his head to kiss your forehead, nose, and then your lips. A sweet little whimper reverberates against his lips. When he pulls away, he quietly instructs you to open your eyes, babydoll.

When you do, you're met with sweet, nice, tender Joel again. Have you really made it to the end of your punishment? Are you his good girl again? Is this really it? The moment doesn't last long. The smile on Joel's face vanishes gradually slowly. There's a sick feeling that returns back inside your stomach. This is going to be never-ending. This is your well-deserved punishment. Pain, pain, pain.

When Joel purses his lips, you flinch when a wad of spit lands on across the bridge of your nose and slides down your cheeks prettily. Your eyes open and your mouth drops. This was the most demeaning thing for him to do. Spitting on your face is a clear indication that you're nothing more than a personal toy for Joel to use. This whole entire night was of him showing you what you mean to him. The thought added a crack to your heart. All you ever wanted was to be good.

Joel's fingers filthily rub his spit all over your face, a crude smile on his face as he does so. His middle and index fingers are shoved into your mouth, the pads of his fingertips covered in his slick and are now laying against your wiggly tongue. "There we go," he breathes out, gently prodding his fingers further down your throat until they brush against your uvula, causing you to gag and sputter.

You barely have enough time to react before he's yanking his fingers from your mouth and landing a smack to your cheek. It almost sends you flying to the side if it weren't for his hand holding onto the other side of your face. Joel hushes you quietly when your eyes shut tightly, fire spreading across your face.

"This is for your own good, babydoll," he whispers against your forehead, pulling away to pop your cheek again, and then landing another smack to your other cheek. He shushes your pained cries again, giving you a messy, tongue-filled kiss. You can't stop crying against his mouth, snot, spit, and tears all over your face. The anguish won't diminish. It gets stronger and stronger the more Joel breaks you apart little by little.

His hands curl into your hair, tightening into fists and yanking your head back a few inches from his face. His eyes darken as he sees the fear in your beautifully broken eyes. He spits on your face once more, trailing his eyes over the artistic splatter across your nose and cheeks. His cock, still rock hard and soaking wet, hangs out of his jeans.

Joel is a patient man. In due time, you and he will finally become one. Whether you liked it or not, you were his--his to use, his to play with, his to destroy. You don't have a voice anymore. Joel Miller broke you apart with his bare hands and left you scrabbling to pick up the pieces.

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[lorelune]

(minors & ageless blogs dni. a piece for @ainescribe for helping me with my theme 💓 cw: predator/prey, hints of dubcon)

"i'll give you a head start."

jing yuan tells you this with a pleasant, easy smile and his hands behind his back. and no context. you cock your head at him from across the little table you share, and take a sip of your cold tea.

"come again, dear?" you knock your ankle against his under the table.

"i'm giving you a five minute head start." jing yuan leans closer and rests his chin his palm. his eyes take on a cat-like glint. "i've already started counting. i'd get going if i were you, sweetling."

you only want more of it.

your chest feels tight all of a sudden.

"jing yuan—"

"i won't be going easy on you." his smile verges on smug as he leans forward. "and i would advise to take full advantage of this time. i think you'll need it."

he leans away from you and tilts his head. it would be cute if you couldn't see the rapidly darkening mischief in his gaze. you jolt up from your little table, clattering your chair on the cobbled walkway. he eyes you up and down like a big cat sizing up its next meal as you step backwards, nearly stumbling.

something in your gut twists, like a hot iron.

you turn on a heel and walk as fast as you can without drawing too much attention to yourself. weaving around the late-night crowds and ducking around street vendors and their burning latterns, your heart pounds. faster and faster.

this had been your idea originally. you just hadn't expected jing yuan to entertain it (though on some level, he entertains all of your ideas.) this desire of yours seemed too risky, too innately... unlike him. at least to you.

this game had been a fantasy. one you'd confessed your interest in a few weeks prior, while luxuriating in a pleasantly steaming bath together. you shared a glass of wine, passed between sips after a slow, tender evening. you'd playfully started a conversation about things to try in the bedroom, and somehow, the Divine Foresight and honey wine managed to wring a few previously unspoken desires out of you.

this is the result, you suppose, as you stumble around a corner, toward jing yuan's estate.

you should've known that jing yuan would spring this fantasy on your unexpectedly. that was part of the allure. the hunt, the chase— you're just prey now, with no time to prepare or plan. the innate helplessness has already stirred something in you, even though jing yuan hasn't done anymore than send you hungry looks and promises.

you're sure five minutes have passed. you're positive that the man is trailing you, even if you can't hear or see him. you don't have the military prowess that he does, you're just a civilian. your footfalls are loud as you break into a run near his estate and its towering walls.

your hands shake as you hold your jade abacus to its lock. the slow 'clunk' of gears opening the gates feels like it goes on forever. your heart is pounding in your ears, like a drum that won't stop. you're out of breath, but force yourself to sprint the moment the door swings open.

you hide in one of his gardens.

jing yuan has many green spaces on his estate. it's situated on a large enough space to allow for a small stream running through the largest garden into the front yard. ponds gurgle nearby, filled with fat, sleepy fish. you wake them as you dash around the greenery and shrubs, uncaring of the dirt that is staining your shoes. the bottom of your outer most garment must be getting torn as it snags on the brush below.

the gate of the estate opens and closes once more, somewhere not far behind you. your heart lurches, your stomach feels cold and hollow and you run.

jing yuan knows his estate better than you, clearly. you don't know where is safe, but in his largest garden, there are large gingko trees and stones that seem okay to hide behind. maybe. you are too anxious, too out of your fucking mind, to use sound logic at this point. you scramble behind a smooth quartz boulder and lay a hand on your chest. panting. tears sting your the corners eyes as you desperately try to catch your breath.

you listen the best you can to see if you can hear him follow you. it's hard to pick up every little sound, breeze shakes the tree branchers into a late-evening song. cicadas chirp to disguise any potential footfalls. it would probably be best to hide somewhere on the edge of the garden. you're in the center of it, not far from the stream. you don't dare peak out from your hiding spot, but you should move— you feel so exposed—

a floorboard creaks nearby. you freeze.

the wind almost stills with the sound. you can't breathe as you strain to hear more. it came from the west, where you know there's an entrance to this garden. you think. probably. your heart pounds so loudly, you can barely hear anything over the roar.

you do another sound, though. the sound of a boot fall, onto stone. there's a path laid with them not far from where you are.

something white-hot, old and feral burst in your chest.

you need to fucking run.

with a burst of energy that makes you feel light-headed, you push off the ground and throw yourself over the rock you were hiding behind, away from the sounds that are surely jing yuan stalking you.

your feet hit the ground and you run. run, run, run—

you swear you can feel more footfalls than just your own, but you can't look behind you. all of your focus is on weaving through the gardens trees and shrubbery, to gain and sort of ground.

you stumble, eventually. it's inevitable that you lose. the game is set up that way.

you trip over your own feet as you near the little stream that cuts the garden and gurgles. your momentum ruins you; you can't right yourself fast enough.

a hand catches the back of your collar and pulls. your breath catches, caught in your throat by the pressure. an arm, his arm, bundle you up at the waist and slams your body into his. your back to his front. the force of it knocks the air out of you.

you still scramble, you can't help it. squirming and kicking, you fight against the unyielding grip he has on you. he's hot against your back, scalding even. the metal bits of his armor and belts dig into your as your struggle fruitlessly.

"what's this?" jing yuan says into your ear, soft and curling. "i thought you would do a little better than this."

you whine. your stomach feels cold.

jing yuan laughs then, rich and low like he always does. but there's a darker edge to it now. you can feel it spread down the back of your neck, your spine, drenching you down to your toes. he squeezes you, and you feel yourself get wet.

(you're fucked.)

"you'll have to try harder next time." jing yuan says. "maybe i did go a little easy on you."

"s-sure you did—"

jing yuan nips your ear. "what was that? i didn't realize prey animals were capable of speech."

you crane your neck, ready to snap at him, but you don't get the chance too.

in a single motion, jing yuan has you thrown over his shoulder. blood rushes too quickly to all of the places it shouldn't be. you feel dizzy with it and whine and sputter with it.

jing yuan doesn't yield, only laughs again, and gives your bottom a few firm (very firm) pats. you gulp.

(lucidly remembering the other details you revealed to jing yuan in the bath that night. all of the filthiest bits of your fantasies. jing yuan hardly had to ply you for them.)

and jing yuan is a strategist. you should have known he would use this new information advantageously against you in such a way.

as you enter his manor, heart still pounding, palms clammy, and feeling like a rabbit in the jaws of a lion, you feel foolish and turned on all once. jing yuan so easily catches you off guard when he chooses. he so easily undoes you, puts you in a place of his choosing and let's you fester there just enough that he can remedy it— either with sweetness or, as he now so adeptly showing you, with something an edge darker.

you gulp, light-headed.

[moonstruckme]

Ik you're probably busy rn and you don't have to write this ir you don't wanna-

So remus with. Sensitive reader? Like i, personally, get teary any time someone yells at me or is angry ot condescending and i feel like even though Remus is th sweetest person ever when it comes to scolding, being reprimanded by my favourite person would so make me cry.

And we all know that Remus can get abit hot headed around the full moon so maybe smth along hurt/comfort w that ❤️

Thank you for requesting lovely <3

cw: weed, mention of vomit (no description of any kind, just a brief reference)

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 755 words

You steal the blunt from between Remus’ lips, holding out your bag of crisps as a trade. 

He accepts, side-eyeing you in a way you choose to interpret as playful. Although you know the days leading up to the full moon are hell for Remus, neither of you mind this part so much. You’d prepared last weekend, stocking your shared flat with lavish quantities of chocolate and weed which you allow yourself to sample as payment for your efforts and general good-girlfriend standing. You think you’ve done a decent job; your boyfriend is lax on the couch next to you, the space between his brows wonderfully smooth and free of the wrinkles that accrue there when he’s having one of his migraines. 

“Alright, you’re done after that,” he says as you inhale.

“What?” You let your mouth drop open in faux indignation, a giggle building in your chest. “No fair.” 

“Mhm.” He crunches noisily on a crisp, mindless of your pouting. “You’ve had enough, dove.” 

“Fine."

He leans forward for the blunt and you hold it for him as wraps his lips around it, exhaling the smoke with an insouciant expertise. He reaches forward to take it from between your fingers, but you move quickly, leaning away from his reach to take a swift hit. You imagine the smoke curling and winding in your lungs as you suck in a great breath. You blow it out the corner of your mouth, your lips twisting into a grin. 

Remus isn’t smiling. 

“Are you serious?”

His tone is incredulous, and your giggly high fades as you realize he’s not joking. 

“I just said you’ve had enough,” he fumes, snatching the blunt from you and squashing it into the ashtray on the coffee table. “Are you trying to green out? Because I’m not in the mood to clean up your vomit.”

Your mouth has gone dry. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

Remus huffs, closing his eyes and tilting his head towards the ceiling. Your face burns. He’s exhausted with you.

“Why would you do that?” he asks, and though his tone has cooled slightly, the exasperation is almost worse.

“I don’t know,” you say. Your voice comes out squeaky and wrong. “I’m really sorry.” 

He looks over at you, some of the storminess clearing from his expression. 

“I thought we were playing, I—I wasn’t trying to—“ You take a shuddering breath, trying to keep the wetness in your eyes from escaping. “I won’t throw up, I promise.” 

“Hey.” He sounds almost confused, but it morphs quickly into alarm when you blink and a tear skids down your face. “Hey, don’t cry.” 

“I’m sorry.” You push your fingertips into your eyes as if you can forcibly dam the flow. Your skin is hot to the touch. “I’m not trying to.” 

“Dove, come on.” Remus’ hands encircle your wrists. He pulls them towards him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so harsh.” 

“No, you’re right.” Your voice quavers. “I wasn’t taking you seriously.” 

“I didn’t need to be stern with you,” he says, tone firm but soft as he raises your hands to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. “It was a misunderstanding. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that.” 

You press your lips together, unsure how to respond but resolute on stopping your tears. 

Remus frowns. He sets your hands down carefully, using his thumbs to soothe over the hot tracks on your cheeks. 

“Sirius always says I get bitchy this time of the month,” he murmurs. A little laugh startles out of you, and he grins. You get the sense that was his aim. “Thank you for dealing with me when I get like this.” He kisses the tip of your nose. “I know you don’t have to, and I appreciate it. I’ll try to keep a better leash on my temper.” 

“I always want to deal with you,” you laugh, following it with a sniffle. “I think I need to keep a better leash on my delicate sensibilities.” 

“I love your sensibilities,” Remus argues. He mushes your face affectionately between his hands. “I’m sorry for scolding you, sweetheart. Do you feel sick?” 

You take hasty stock of yourself. You’ve definitely reached the point just past too much, but you’ll be okay. “Nope,” you report back happily. “But I do feel like I’d like some snacks, please.” 

Remus passes you the bag of crisps, then some chocolates, then a tin of biscuits. And you feast on kisses for the rest of the night.

[coupsie-daisies]

Kinktober '23: Breeding | Choi Seungcheol

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x Fem!Reader (established)

Genre: Smut (minors DO NOT interact), Kinktober 2023

Summary: You and Cheol had talked plenty about the future, but nothing could have prepared you to see his huge frame cradling a tiny baby and the absolute reaction you'd have to it

WC: 2.5k

Warnings: Seungcheol with a baby, very baby-centric breeding, baby fever hits Reader like a train, breeding, unprotected sex (obviously, I'm not even gonna apologize for this one), fingering, Cheol goes feral, talk of having kids, Seungcheol runs his mouth, petnames, Daddy kink, reader is referred to as a mommy like once, multiple orgasms, slight body worship, praise

A/N: Let me know if I missed anything in the warnings and, of course, I hope you enjoy!

Tags: @dragonofthenorth0726 // @wooyussy // @burningupp-replies // @bunnypig18 // @decaffedthoughts // @brownieracha // @ferrethyun // @snow-pegasus // @walkxthexmoon // @aesteraceae // @wonuqrtz // @mixling-blog // @wonwooz1

Main Masterlist

Kinktober '23 Masterlist

This fanfiction is property of @/coupsie-daisies, reposting on any other platform is prohibited

Maybe going to your friend's house with Cheol was a bad idea. Maybe visiting Joshua and his partner to finally meet their baby was an experience you weren’t altogether prepared for. It had been a few months now since their little boy had been born, and you had only seen him through pictures and facetimes, wanting to give the couple a bit of space to settle into the new dynamic.

But now you were sitting on their couch, trying desperately to have a conversation with your friends while being distracted by the little swaddled bundle cradled carefully in your boyfriend's arms. The delicate little thing, pudgy cheeks and drool running from his lips that Seungcheol delicately wiped away, all fragile and peaceful against his chest. You were always aware of how handsome Cheol was, how hard he worked to keep his physique, but it wasn't something that had ever fully sunk into your psyche until you saw the way his biceps looked with something so tiny sleeping on them.

A voice caught your attention, a gentle call of your name, and you looked up, a little shaken from how deep in thought you'd been.

"Do you want to hold him?" Cheol asked, nodding to the sleeping infant in his arms. Your face split into an adoring grin, and you nodded eagerly. The care with which your boyfriend handled him was enough to make your heart skip in your chest as he carefully transferred the baby into your arms. The boy fussed a little, and you shushed him gently, swaying back and forth until he was sound asleep again.

The others continued talking, but all you could think about was having one of your own. Maybe a little girl, one with Cheol's eyes and your nose. A family where the two of you became three, a unit that always took care of each other.

When the two of you got home, Cheol dragged you to the bedroom, pulling you close and cuddling up to you in the comfort of your bed. You curled closer, letting him trace your arm quietly.

"What's on your mind? You've been in your head all day." He asked you. You hummed thoughtfully. You and Seungcheol had talked about it before, having kids, but you had never fully planned anything. You were still so young, and you hadn't fully settled on whether or not you two were ready to take that step.

"I'm thinking about Jaehan." You said, finally turning your attention back to him. "He's cute don't you think?"

"Yeah, he's adorable. Looks like his dad." He said. You nodded, propping yourself up on your elbow.

"Keep thinking about how natural you looked holding him. Didn't really know that it would be so...attractive seeing you hold a baby."

Seungcheol hummed, placing a large hand against your hip to pull you onto his lap. You looked down at him, smiling brightly at the sight of his dark locks in a wavy halo around his head.

"You think I looked hot?" He asked, a playful tone creeping into his voice. You rolled your eyes.

"I said it was attractive. I kept thinking about how maybe one day you'd be holding our kid, I guess. You'd be a good daddy." You said, your hands smoothing aimlessly across his chest, up, along the curve of his shoulders, then down his arms and back up again.

You watched his eyes darken, his hands moving to rub gently over your tummy.

"Could be sooner than later if you want." He said, eyes still trained on your stomach, imagining how pretty you'd look round with his child growing inside of you. Some primal, desperate part of him was awakening at the thought. A part of him tying itself to a part of you and giving you something to share and teach and care for. He was already starting to harden underneath you at the thought.

"Do you mean that?" You asked seriously, your hands stilling against his chest. "Because I don't want you to do something you're not ready for. Don't just want it to be an excuse to fuck me."

He softened for a moment, guiding your face gently towards his to capture your lips in a warm kiss.

"I promise I mean it. Want to have a family with you, wouldn't even think of lying about that. Let me do that, please." He kissed you again, his kiss just as desperate and sincere as his words as he flipped the two of you over so you were laying underneath him. You melted into the kiss, your hands tangling into his hair to hold him close as if he'd disappear if you didn't.

His tongue teased against your lips, coaxing you open for him and drawing the sweetest whine from your throat. He pulled away after a bit, breathless and flushed. He sat back, stripping your shirt off with ease, then letting his follow.

"Gonna take such good care of you. You and our baby," He hummed, leaning down to press a string of wet, warm kisses to your chest, along the swell of your breasts, and down until his lips could wrap around your nipple, sucking gently. Your back arched off the bed, and his hands stroked along the curve of your waist, holding you in place so he could switch to the other side and give it the same gentle treatment.

You weren't a stranger to having Cheol worship every inch of you, but this felt different. It was heavy and warm and nearly suffocating in all the best ways, anchoring you to each other and letting the rest of the world fade into blank space. He slid lower, kissing down your sternum, along your stomach until he reached the space just above your panty line. He looked up at you then, a large palm coming to rest against the spot.

"Gonna grow our little one right here. Gonna fill you up so full, make sure it takes. Do it over and over until we're sure." He mumbled, kissing your lower stomach again before tugging your panties down your legs and leaving you bare beneath him.

You were already aching, thighs wet with your arousal. Seeing him so wound up at the idea of you carrying his child was doing things you had never imagined. He pushed your thighs wider apart, hungry eyes burning into the sight of your dripping core. He brought his hand down, thumb swiping through your wet folds before nestling against your clit, pressing heavy, slow circles against the bundle of nerves.

"Fuck," You keened, thighs twitching, but he pressed his free hand against one of them, continuing his work. "Cheol, please. Need more."

"I got you baby, don't worry. Know just what you need." He promised, speeding up his movements and making your head fall back against the pillows. He slid his fingers down, pressing his middle finger into you and pumping it slowly before he added a second.

He was good with his hands, never having any problem getting you worked up or stretching you out with his fingers alone, and this was no different. You watched the way his brows furrowed, his lips curling into a concentrated pout while he worked his fingers into you, curling them to find your weak spot and continuing to grind his fingertips into it when he felt it.

You were breathless, squirming and gripping at the sheets as he fucked you slowly with his fingers. Your sounds were nearly incoherent, just breathless whines and gasps of his name as he milked your first orgasm out of you. He praised you all the way through it, his hand never stopping as you coated it in your wetness. Once the waves of your orgasm subsided, he pulled his hand away, reaching up to slip his fingers into your mouth and watching as you obediently sucked and licked them clean of your cum.

"That's my good girl. Doing so well for me. Deserve to feel good." He hummed, standing up to kick his pants off. His cock stood at full mast, the tip leaking and flaring pink. He stroked himself slowly, just admiring the way that you were sprawled out for him.

He quickly settled himself between your legs again, and you welcomed him just as eagerly. He pressed the head of his cock against your hole, and you whined when he didn't move.

"Baby, please. Don't tease me," You huffed, and he chuckled leaning down to capture your lips in another long kiss as he rolled his hips forward, filling you up in one steady thrust. Your walls clenched around him, adjusting to the way he stretched you out, and you moaned into his mouth. Your hands found his waist, nails digging into the sensitive flesh and reveling in the way he hissed out.

He stayed buried inside of you for longer than you would have liked, but soon enough his hips were rolling, dragging out before punching back in and stealing your breath away. You never got used to how well he fucked you, how perfectly he fit inside of you and hit spots you could only hope to reach on your own.

"So perfect, taking me so well." He praised, his hands settling on your hips and pulling you to meet his thrusts. The only sounds in the room were the slick sound of your pussy sucking him in, and the soft sounds shared between the two of you.

"Cheol, 'm close." You mumbled, eyes falling shut as you focused on the warmth running through you, the tension pulling tight in your stomach and the way his thrusts got harsher at your words.

"Go ahead, pretty girl. Cum on my dick, lemme feel it." He grunted out harshly, his head rolling back as your walls clenched around him, trying desperately to keep him inside of you. Then you were gone, trembling underneath him as your second orgasm hit, a silent moan parting your lips. He continued fucking you through it. He didn't stop even when you came down from your high, chasing his own pleasure.

"Cheollie, please," You whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer, dragging your nails over his broad shoulders. "Want you to cum. Need to be full. Please, Daddy."

He moaned, full and from his chest, his thrusts becoming harsher, less calculated, and then he was burying his face in your neck. His breath hitched, a broken moan of your name, and a sloppy kiss against your neck followed as he spilled inside of you.

The moment after was filled with heavy breaths and the sweetest kisses to your shoulders and collarbone. Finally he pulled out, looking down at the way that his cum dripped out of your hole. He huffed a little, reaching down and using his fingers to stuff it back inside of you. You whined, hips jolting a little from the sensitivity.

"Gotta make sure it stays in so it sticks. Gotta get you knocked up." He said, but it almost sounded like he was talking to himself, voice gravelly and barely audible. Then he was tugging at your hips, flipping you over. You let out an indignant squeak at how easily he maneuvered you around, hiking your hips up so your weight was on your arms folded under your head. "Gotta give you another one. Need to make sure."

You didn't have time to think before he was sliding into you again, still achingly hard and desperate to fill you up just a little more, to give you the baby you were both so desperate for, to start a family and have another precious piece of his life to care for. He needed it, the thought of it taking over the most primal, desperate part of his mind.

His thrusts were harsh, and probably would have been pushing you up the bed if it weren't for the bruising grip on your hips, pulling you back into each thrust and making you absolutely see stars.

"Daddy, 's too much," You whined, burying your face in your arm. His hand smoothed over your back, his pace never faltering.

"You can take it, baby. Just gotta get you nice and full. You wanna have my baby, right? Gotta take it," He cooed sweetly, even as you whined and squirmed. The heat searing through you stung, nerve endings on fire, but it only added to the pleasure that was taking over. You could barely form words at this point with Seungcheol hitting so deep inside of you that you were sure you wouldn't be able to walk, and with the gentle way he stroked your back and sides as if he wasn't fucking you dumb.

"I'm gonna-" You whined high in your throat, a broken moan following as you tried to warn him, but he knew your body better than you did, and he could tell just by the way your hips were pressing back insistently that you were gonna cum again.

"Go on, pretty. Cum for daddy. Cream my cock, please baby. Wanna feel it, know you can gimme one more." He urged you on, and you sobbed as the feeling rocked through you. Your thighs were trembling, and your toes were going numb. You didn't try to open your eyes, but you were sure your vision would have blacked out if you had.

His second orgasm followed not long after, filling you up with his seed again. He leaned against you, one arm holding the both of you up, the other wrapped around your waist to keep you pressed as close as possible to him. You were both breathless, bodies exhausted and minds fuzzy with the blend of pleasure and exhaustion. Once you both were back in reality, he pulled out of you carefully, easing you onto your back and curling against your side. His hand traced against your stomach.

"Was I too rough?" He asked quietly. You shook your head, turning to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“You know I can take it." You promised. He smiled, reaching up to wipe the drying tears from your cheeks

"I know you can. But it's my job to take care of you. And the little one." He said. You laughed lightly.

"Cheol there isn't even a little one yet." You said, your hand landing over his on your tummy and tracing the length of his fingers. He linked your hands together, smiling brightly.

"There will be. If it doesn't take this time I'll just keep breeding you until it does. Wanna make you a mommy. Want our baby to look just like you." His eyes were alight with pure adoration, and you had to admit as you snuggled closer to him that having a couple of mini Seungcheols running around the house sounded like a dream come true.

copyright 2023 coupsie-daisies, all rights reserved

[coffee-at-daybreak]

late night reading | martin septim x reader

a/n: i may or may not have been recently engulfed by oblivion remastered and of course like the gooner i am, i fell for babygirl martin. he has no business being that precious. ik i'm going a lil off script seeing as i've only written skyrim pieces so far but i hope there's at least a few other ppl who can indulge in both <3 ty so very much for stopping by!!

You don't know what's making more noise - the forest outside, the raging thoughts in your head, or the obnoxious snoring of someone else in the Weynon house.

You turn for the tenth time in your temporary bed. It's a perfectly good bed, but like everything else right now, it just feels ... wrong. Too warm, too soft, you don't know. But you do know you cannot get comfortable enough to even think of sleeping.

As if it's not difficult enough with your mind still racing. It's been a few hours since you returned to Weynon Priory with Martin, only to walk right into disaster. A messy fight, a monk slain, the Amulet of Kings gone. Every bone in your body wanted to chase after those attackers, but Jauffre was right - it was foolish to pursue them through the woods at night.

So, you must wait. Dawn can't be too far off, but Gods, the hours are dragging by.

Your head hurts. You don't know whether it's the lack of sleep, the aftermath of the battle, the stress pulling your body tight like a bowstring - or a fun combination of everything.

Exasperated, you dart out of the bed and head downstairs. Maybe some fresh air will help.

You don't bother being silent with your footsteps, especially with that snoring upstairs. You hurry down the steps and start to cross the room towards the front door when a hushed call of your name comes from behind you.

You turn around, your body half prepared to draw a weapon. But instead of an enemy, you see Martin seated on a bench in the corner, bathed in the faint light of a lantern propped up next to him. His pale blue eyes, softened with concern, catch your own.

"Are you alright?" He asks. His voice is as hushed and gentle as ever. "What's happened?"

You hesitate, glancing between him and the door. "N-nothing. I was just..." You turn your full attention to him. "Wait, what are you doing down here?"

He offers a small, sheepish smile and lifts his hands briefly to reveal an open book in them. "I'm sure it's no surprise, but ... reading."

It's certainly not a surprise. Almost every stop and moment of respite you'd had on your way back from Kvatch involved him reading some tome or another. The familiarity of it is oddly relaxing, though. The erratic pace of your heart and breathing starts to come down.

"Sort of an odd time to be reading, isn't it?" You ask. You keep your tone light to show you're only teasing, but your voice shakes a little on the last word. And attentive as he is, Martin notices.

"Perhaps. But is it not an odd time to be heading outside?" His eyes dart from you to the window, where it's very obviously pitch black outside.

You purse your lips and shrug. "What are the odds we get attacked again?"

Martin just looks at you with deep concern. "Please, do not test those odds."

You smile. It wasn't the first time you said or did something to give him that little crease in his brow, or that worried frown tugging on his lips. Something about that look causes your heart to stir.

You heave a soft sigh and finally step away from the door, instead moving for the same corner as him. To your relief, he scoots over on the bench, leaving just enough space for you.

"I take it you can't sleep either?" You ask as you take a seat next to him. You're close enough to sense the subtle warmth of his body and to catch that faint smell of clean fabric and mint he always carries. You don't know whether to be comforted or thrilled by it.

"There was a feeble attempt made," he admits. "It seems my mind is not as exhausted as my body is."

You nod to that. You start to voice your agreement when you're interrupted by another loud snore from upstairs. "I suppose it comes easy to some people," you mutter.

Martin gives you a soft chuckle, a rare but delightful sound to your ears. "I am envious of them," he says.

A moment of quiet passes, then he is asking you again with that oh so gentle voice. "Are you alright?"

You stare at your boots, mulling over your response. "I don't know. I feel a little ... overwhelmed."

There's another pause as he gives you a chance to continue. That's when you realize who exactly you're talking to. You fight back a cringe and turn to look at him. "I'm sorry. I'm sure that's nothing compared to how you feel."

His face softens and he shakes his head. "This is no competition, my friend. Your feelings are valid." He casts a glance to the woods visible through the window. "There is a lot ahead of us, and it's natural to be uncertain."

You feel a small jab in your chest. You wonder if he's thinking of his approaching title as Emperor. To go from a simple priest to the next ruler of Cyrodiil... He sure has a lot on his plate.

"But I have faith it will all unfold as we go, and we are on the right path." His eyes flick back to meet yours. "I am glad we are on it together."

Warmth blooms from inside you. Some of it even reaches your skin, your cheeks tingling a little as you smile at him.

He suddenly looks away, averting his gaze. Maybe you're imagining it in the low glow of the lantern, but it actually looks like he might be the flushed one.

"I am sorry you are unable to sleep," he adds. "If there is anything in particular you would like to speak of, I am here to listen."

Your heart swells at the offer, and you do consider it for a second. "Thank you, but it's alright. I'd rather just keep my mind off of it." Your eyes jump to the book in his hands. "Can I ask what you're reading?"

He turns it to show you the cover. "'Incident at Necrom'. I believe it is a fictional work on illusion magic."

You hum curiously. "Sounds fascinating." You are about to ask him for a summary, but a better idea crosses your mind. "Would you be willing to read it to me?"

Martin is obviously caught off guard by that request, and you almost laugh at that surprised little stretch to his eyes. "Forgive me, but ... is that a jest?" He asks with just a hint of nervousness.

"Not at all. I'd love to hear it," you assure him.

He hesitates only a moment longer, but when he realizes you really aren't joking, he relaxes and opens the book. "Then I'd be glad to."

He flips the pages until he's back to the start of the book, and clears his throat quietly before beginning. "'The situation simply is this'..."

It's suddenly easy to ignore everything else - the forest outside, the raging thoughts in your head, the obnoxious snoring upstairs. Instead you are lost in the deep but soft cadence of his voice. It calms you, soothing away the tension both in your mind and body.

Without thinking much of it, you tip your head down until it's leaning ever so lightly on his shoulder. He stutters on the current word for only a second, but continues in spite of the speedy heart rate you just gave him.

[moonsaver]

I cant stop thinking about being a possible singer from the Iris Family?? Their family is usually responsible for the major "talent" productions that practically are responsible for the entertainment... also Siobhan as hints to what the Iris family would be like.

-

You were a singer.

Barely a singer, to be fair.

It was for the sake of your little compartment of a family. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and you scraped out every last bit of your talents. The one which seems to be lasting the longest, seems to be singing.

You did what you had to. You sang until your throat was raw and hurt, practiced day and night until your ears were sick of your own voice, passed through every elimination tests that were conducted – all so you could have a stabilized, bolted place in the Iris Family, if it meant you and your parents and siblings weren't kicked out.

And, you weren't the best. And certainly not as good as Robin – the gem of the Oak Family. It was ironic, but it didn't matter. Not to you. As long as it kept your family secure, you endured. The comparisons, the hushed, barely pleased audience as they only took your performance as stalling time for the "real stars" of the show, the side-glances all of your other relatives threw your way. It was fine. You told yourself so. It was fine as long as you, your parents and your siblings were secured.

Risks weren't an option for you. Not when you had too much to lose.

-

Sunday has learned to appreciate frequency over output.

Times where schedules had to be rearranged last minute, performances strained and announcements elongated to squeeze out any extra amount of coverage for a missing show, routine dismantled and put together in real time as the neverending perfect show went on.

In all of those times, Sunday kept a usual eye on everyone. Their names, roles, status, popularity, preferences. And most importantly – their reliability.

You were an average performer. But your reliability was notable to Sunday. Oftentimes he found himself looking for you first and foremost for an improvised concert, whenever things even threatened to go awry. He knew perhaps you obliged out of self-interest or a simple fear of upsetting The Head of the Oak Family, but you were reliable in your own way. A simple glance your way and a nod was enough to signal you for advance preparation for improvisation, repeated song lyrics at the tip of your tongue.

If you were lucky, sometimes Sunday would repay you by scheduling you for an opening performance for a small-time event, or letting you in on the recent trends, the general public opinion towards your show, or even drop some personal hints for you to improve.

That was all you were. A reliable stand-in for when there were a disarray of clarity, disagreements upon disagreements, confusion stagnating the scheduling.

-

Until, you became so much more in a simple moment of disillusion.

A break is in order, Sunday believes. He clicks his pen continuously, the sound echoing in the vast space of the room, bouncing off of the sterile, empty walls.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

5 times.

Click.

6 times.

Sunday's restless mind comes to a small halt when he inhales sharply, constraining his fingers. His shaking hand gently places the pen onto the flat, neatly organized desk, back where it belongs. He rests his chin on his hands. Thinking and listing everything on his agenda for the day.

A tandem of knocks resound from the smooth wooden surface of the door.

"Mr. Sunday?"

Ah. It's you.

He supposes his asisstants and servants don't realize he's noticed the recent pattern as of late. Whenever something changes in the schedule that could possibly threaten to dampen his mood or displease him, they send you in as some sort of collateral. He's gotten used to your presence enough to not mind it.

"Come in."

Short, quick clicks of your heels accompany the entering of your figure into the room. Your front is warmly illuminated by the yellow lighting of the room.

"Changes have been decided within the schedule again."

"As expected."

He gets up from the leather chair with a subtle creak, the steps of his shoes muffled by the carpet. He walks around his table, fingers trailing across the ridges of the masterfully crafted desk.

"Can I ask a favor of you, as always?"

"Of course."

His wings slightly flutter, pleased at the response. You can tell, despite his back facing you.

His fingers trail and come to a slow halt at the edge of the desk. His index finger taps on the surface.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

5 times.

Ah, you think. He's anxious.

"Mr. Sunday?"

"Hm?"

His finger stops, you note.

"I've heard guests have taken more to berry-flavored items as of late."

He chuckles a bit, softly.

"There's an uprising trend. Berry-flavored items have been on the rise, and as such, food follows."

Sunday half theorizes it could be due to the recent intreview Robin had. Strawberry flavored lipgloss was something she mentioned in particular.

"Ah. I see. So I suppose those colors may also influence the recent fashion trends?"

Sunday hums, in thought.

The moment is interrupted by an abrupt knock at the door.

"Mr. Sunday, there's a few tasks that need your approval to go ahead."

The male asisstant's voice resounds confidently through the previously quiet room. Sunday looks over at you and nods. You turn to take your leave. You can only hope it was enough of a reprieve for him.

-

"It seems fashion trends are inspired, aswell."

Sunday mentions, standing beside you. His eyes are watchful, analyzing the current performance from behind the curtains.

"I see."

You respond. Making conversation was not your strongsuit. Sunday smiles slightly at your awkwardness.

He continued the conversation after a few moments, talking about color palettes, scents, and general observable trends. Your usual,basic gowns and dresses will now see a noticeable change, due to Sunday's suggestions.

He admits, even at times, he looks forward to them. Sometimes, as foolish as it sounds, he slips in a mix of his own personal opinion, thinly disguised as the "general preference", which manages to then take presidence over your usual pick of gowns. He won't admit it, but he secretly does enjoy sometimes "picking out" your outfits. It's never harmed anyone in the long run, and Sunday's personal theories of whichever color would look good on you are confirmed.

-

"May I ask.. what this is..?"

The artificial, blue light of the Dreamscape softly highlights Sunday's face, as he stands before you with a pleased look. The same, usual smile on his face.

"I believe incorporating a few gold accents into your palette may help."

You look at the black, velvet bag; the ends of it scrunched into a closure. Your fingers gently pry it open and meddle around a bit, before they pull out a single, gold earring. It glimmers wonderfully under the soft, blue light. There's a flower at the very top with an encrusted diamond, from which a long, elegant thread of gold dangles, ending into a small golden stalk.

You curiously examine it, slightly dangling it to inspect the weight and movement of the accessory.

Sunday walks toward you with a few, short strides, and holds out his hand.

You look at his open, gloved palm, then him.

You inhale deeply, before taking off your current earrings and placing them onto his hand, and gently replacing their former stations with the new earrings. Sunday places your previous earrings into the velvet bag, and glances at your ears, then you.

"Consider it a.. company gift."

How fanciful.

"Thank you for your generosity."

Sunday's eyes linger on your ears, then trail down to the junction of your jaw. His eyes close as his smiles widens slightly.

To be fair, he wanted more.

‐

Sunday has been getting closer to you as of late.

Because you wouldn't imagine ever being this close in proximity to Robin of all people.

Her lips are glossy with a strawberry tint, and her eyes are a beautiful lake green, you note. You also take note of the fact she's much more warmer and approachable than she is appeared to be on digital surfaces.

Both of you engage in polite conversation, her taking the lead, noticing your awkwardness. She's sweet, and understanding. She discusses general things regarding singing and songwriting. You take her for a very warm individual. It's no wonder she's a well-liked popstar. Talent alone can take you so far.

What you also wouldn't imagine is her managing to entangle you within her daily affairs. She leads you to private rooms, asks for advice on outfits, practice, and all sorts of things, despite the contrast of your styles almost bizzare, you oblige anyway.

And it's almost brazenly obvious she's trying to get you and Sunday to spend more time alone outside of work.

It's of no coincidence that she suddenly has to leave and take care of a few things or shuffle around a bit outside whenever Sunday manages to pop in and check up on you two. It wouldn't have been so uncomfortable if for the fact, Sunday's eyes are always lingering on your ears.

Once, he'd taken note that you'd been wearing them more often to your performances and shows. It can't be helped – you've gained more popularity and as a result, keener eyes inspect your choice of practically everything. Including your earrings. Your fans aren't hesitant to point out how exquisite and specific the craftsmanship of your earrings are, and it's not long before your fans have understood it was gifted to you. By who, became the newest sensation regarding you. Petty rumors were incriminating, but you suppose if it brought you more fans, it was enough.

Sunday chuckles softly when you briefly touch on the subject.

It wasn't long before he'd gotten you another pair as a result.

You only worry about paying him back, more and more.

‐

There are a plethora of thorns on Sunday's side. Many, of which the public, and many members of the Oak Family aren't privy to.

One of them was currently busy darkening his doorstep;

The IPC.

Or rather specifically – Aventurine.

What he wasn't expecting, was for you to be an exclusive invitee to his mischief.

You were rather in an unlucky spot. You had always considered your luck to be rusty, having struggled so much just for average recognition and a barely tangible career that's keeping your family afloat.

On top of that, you were being heavily persuaded by Aventurine, who was persistent in his offer to you. His desperation was more than obvious, like a nervous dog waiting for the bone toss, holding you in place with a firm grip on your arm. It didn't help that he'd forced his way into your hotel room aswell.

And Sunday just witnessed the pinnacle of this forsaken deal.

...

"Aventurine."

"Mr. Sunday."

After a beat of silence, you pathetically try to step in,

"This–"

"I see you've taken to familiarizing with my employees."

Sunday's smile remains well plastered on his face. Aventurine only smiles back.

"I was actually in the middle of striking a deal. There's always opportunities in the best of places, right?" Aventurine side-eyes you. You shrink back a bit.

"My employees are unfortunately off-limits to contracts from unauthorized branches. I look for your understanding in this.. complicated form of approach."

You watch Aventurine's smile strain. Sunday continues.

"Perhaps, if you are in need of a singer, I may direct you to an appropriate employee from the Iris Family to search for someone."

"That won't be necessary. I wasn't looking for a singer. You don't think that's all they're talented at, do you?"

Sunday's eyes slightly sharpen at him. Aventurine's smile becomes more genuine.

"Oh, you've positively ruined the mood. I guess it's just not my lucky day, and it looks like I'm not getting a deal with you anytime soon."

Aventurine's eyes hone in on you. You stand stiffly, your arm tense from the uncertainty your body feels physically.

His grip loosens, languidly. You'd think he was doing it slowly on purpose if not to tick off Sunday more.

"I'll take my leave, then."

Aventurine breezes past Sunday, rounding the corner of the door. He casts one last glance to you as the turns.

His footsteps echo down the hallway. As soon as they fade, Sunday's smile drops slightly.

"Are you perhaps.. unhappy with your current circumstances?"

‐

[luvs4haechan]

Hiiii

Could you write a fluff fic about Mark and the reader where they're engaged and it's some romantic scene where they slowdance in their apartment or somthn? Thank you, no worries if u don't want to!

slow dancing

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: fluff!!

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: mark x fem!reader

𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵/𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: established relationship, literally so much fluff, no use of y/n i think

𝘸𝘤: 1200

masterlist

the computer screen had become blinding, the coffee mugs on your desk had piled up, and it was fair to say you'd had enough. exam season and every day cramming had definitely gotten the better of you. picking an academically challenging degree seemed like a good idea at the time, but now - staring at the equations on the screen - you realise it might not have been the best choice.

in the midst of you debating whether an engineering degree is worth all this, your phone made the familiar noise of a new message. sluggishly moving your eyes from the computer you read the message. "i know you’ve been studying for too long. you need a break. come over?" it said. seeing the words from your boyfriend caused a smile to spread over your face, no matter how much the oppisite you were feeling right now. you realised a long time ago, that mark seemed to know you better than you knew yourself. keeping that in mind, you closed your laptop and got ready to head to his place.

after a short walk, you were face to face with the front door of mark's apartment. you knocked a few times and the door immediately opened.

"have you been waiting by the door? what was that?" you said, a confused expression on your face.

"no?" he looked at you, just as confused. however, your expression stayed the same. "dude, come on," he took your hand and pulled you inside. this caused a smile to break out on your face, something he never failed to achieve. before you could react, mark's arms were around you and you were pulled into his warm embrace. you hadn't realised how much you needed this until you felt a soft kiss being pressed into your shoulder. "you okay?" he whispered.

blinking away the sudden tears, you sighed. "i am," you said, pulling back slightly to look him in the eyes. because now you really were okay. mark took a moment to look over your features, analysing whether you were telling the truth. when he was satisfied with your answer, he pressed a quick kiss on your forehead.

"i made you dinner. figured you hadn't eaten," your boyfriend said, taking your hand and leading you to the kitchen.

"i haven't," you said, slightly embarrassed. "mark be so glad you never wanted to be an engineer, because why am i doing triple integrals," you sighed, leaning against the counter in his kitchen.

"i'll pretend to understand what you're talking about right now," he threw a playful look your way before focusing on the meal waiting to be reheated. "but i do know how hard you've been working, and trust me it will pay off. i'm so proud of you for never giving up on your dream," mark was speaking sincerely, meaning every single word. when you didn't think you could spare more of your heart, he always proved you wrong, taking all the space in there for himself.

"thank you, baby. it means a lot, really," you said, looking at him with a look that, you hoped, conveyed all the love you held for him.

mark sent a smile your way, giving you a very similar look to yours. "can you set up the table, please? i'm almost done here," he asked, getting some plates out the cupboard. you nodded, making your way towards the table, swiping a bottle of wine on your way. you placed everything very neatly, all edges squared off. finally, you put some music on - mark's record player is probably your favourite part of his apartment, and his vinyl collection is always enticing. as the slow buzz of some slow indie song filled the apartment, mark placed two plates on the table. the both of you sat down, digging straight into the dinner mark had prepared.

"mark," you started, mouth full of pasta. "this is so good," he didn't miss the surprise in your tone, nethertheless he smiled at the compliment. "thank you," you said, more serious now. "for knowing me better than i know myself," the look you shared said more than words ever could. you never thought there could be so much love between two people, but what you and mark shared always proved how wrong you were.

the boy across from you took your hand in his own, a small smile on his face. "you know caring for you is my favourite thing to do," he looked you, he really looked at you - seeing all that you've been silently fighting. you nodded hearing his words, not sure words would do what you're feeling justisce so you settled for a squeeze of his hand and a loving gaze.

after a lovely meal, which mark swore he made fully by himself, you were both in the kitchen cleaning up. the slow melody of a song you hadn't heard before hung in the air, as mark washed the dishes and you dried them before placing them in their destined spots in the cupboards. "this is a good song, i've not heard it before," you commented, swaying slightly. mark looked at you, a smile spreading on his face.

"the vinyl's new, i bought it last weekend when i went to that music shop with hyuck," he spoke softly, washing some cutlery.

"of course you're going on dates with donghyuck," you rolled your eyes, instigating. mark laughed at your words, shrugging yet not denying what you said.

after he finished washing the last of the dishes, he dried his hands and took your own in his. your boyfriend pulled you to the space between his kitchen and living room, pulling you close. his hands rested on your waist, as he started swaying the both of you to the soft notes of the song playing on his record player. despite your initial surprise, your hands crossed behind his neck pulling him even closer. you could smell his cologne that fainted over the day, his laundry detergent that smelled like a field full of flowers in the spring, and the wine you shared over dinner. mark's embrace felt comforing, as the song faded into another equally slow and moving record.

"i love you," he whispered over the words of the song, sealing his words with a kiss beneath your ear. "i can't wait to make you mine forever," he punctuated his words with his fingers caressing your ring finger. you closed your eyes, feeling his heartbeat mingling with your own. knowing your hearts were pressed against each other, and beating in the same rhythym comforted you beyond belief.

"i love you too," you whispered back, your hand making its way into the hair at the nape of his neck. you pulled back slightly, looking him in the eyes - your gaze darting to his lips for a moment. mark followed your movements, leaning in closer. he pressed a kiss to your lips, conveying all his love for you in one gesture. he was sure you could feel it, as he felt all the emotions you tried your best to communicate. the both of you pulled away after a short while, embracing each other again as the song once again changed.

slow dancing with mark was the best distraction you could ask for.

𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘺𝘢𝘱𝘴!

first request omggg thank u sm anon hope this is what u meant!! listened to 'too much ain't enough' by arthur hill while writing this can u tell?? send more requests bc i really enjoyed writing this 😛😛😛

[halfway-happyyy]

lowkey in a weird funk depressive episode and i need boyfriend!frank to take care of me out of desire and not consolation (shoutout jeff buckley) like i want him to want to take care of me because it makes him feel better

I'm sorry you're going through this, I know how rough it can be. sending love & holding space for you.

right so, it's safe to say that frank knows his way around a depressive episode or two. knows what it's like to be at the mercy of thoughts that swirl around his brain like a virus, infecting every good feeling he's ever had. so when your sleep becomes shoddy, when you start to disappear mid-conversation, he knows something's up.

"where'd you go just now?" his voice lacks the accusatory tone you think should be there, and in its place, is genuine worry. his concerned gaze on yours, searching for a solution, or a clue, as to what's going on in that beautiful mind of yours.

"I'm right here, frank." your smile is laughably fraudulent, but it's all you can manage at the moment, and fortunately for you, he sees right through it.

he reaches for your hand, as if mere touch could scare away the ugly feelings, and murmurs, "you don't gotta do that, kid. not with me."

and in your mind - this episode could not have come at a worse time. what often feels like a series of blissful years, has only been about six months. that's how long frank's been a permanent fixture in your life. and while you guys haven't made the jump to housemates yet, he's over almost every night any way.

he clears his throat, pulling you from your reverie. "how about this, huh? you tell me what percentage you're operating at, and I'll carry the rest. I promise."

taking a deep breath, you murmur - "I'm sitting at about a solid twenty percent."

he nods, keeping his low voice even and measured. "alright kid, we can work with that. I've got the other eighty percent."

he starts by preparing you your go-to survival meal, and while he doesn't expect you to finish all of it, he encourages you to have as much of it as you can. next up is a shower; he offers to get in there with you, but you're content just to have him in the room with you.

and the thing about frank, is that he's doing right by himself when he's taking care of you. in the six months you two have been together, you've pretty much become an extension of him. so when you're off - when your world feels like it's caving in on itself, his does as well. and the old man is nothing, if not a fixer.

it's only when you're curled up against the solid warmth of his naked chest later on, that you're able to utter, "I'm sorry you feel obligated to take care of me, frank."

he doesn't say anything for a long while but the breath that hitches in his throat gives him away. his hand resumes the reassuring circles against your shoulder blade.

"I don't feel obligated at all, kid."

he understands the complexities of chemical imbalances, well. it's a road he's traveled down many times, though it's mostly been a lonely one.

silence settles between you before he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

"all I'll say, is that you could do your worst, and at the end of every day, I'll still choose you every single time." another kiss. "that's how this thing works, kid."

the measured rise and fall of his chest tells you he's drifted off, until he clears his throat and gruffs, "we don't have to figure everything out today. we just gotta take it one step at a time, and I'll be right behind you for all of it."

and for now, that's enough.

[artsninspo]

FORGIVELESS - IX - BETTER WATCH HOW YOU THINK OUT LOUD, IF IT'S 'BOUT ME THOUGH 📜

🖼️ moodboard

« previous part

➨ rio's library - good girl nbc

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

Note: We made the magic number 🎊, sorry to post so late but I know you guys dont like to wait a moment longer than necessary.

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Reader

Word Count: ~2.7K

Warning: The usual apply. Trigger warning for all the toxicity that comes with Narc abuse.

Summary: This chapter is sunshine and a storm. Rio and the Reader enjoy a day out together in Mexico. Their last day abroad together only makes their bond stronger. The rest you'll have to read and see 😉

IX - BETTER WATCH HOW YOU THINK OUT LOUD, IF IT'S 'BOUT ME THOUGH 📜

Sitting relaxed Rio watches the sun cast golden hues on you as it prepares to set. The ocean sprays along the boat as dolphins lead the charge ahead of the boat ushering you back to the resort. The day had been incredible. The two of you had shared several moments of firsts. Your connection could not be denied. It was way too strong so much so that you felt like you were in sync. Turning around you find Rio watching as you hold over the edge of the boat to watch the dolphins. Your eyes find each other and he nods giving you an encouraging smile. He admired how much you enjoyed every bit of effort he put into the trip. It makes him want to do even more to keep a smile on your face. He made a mental note to tip the member of the hotel staff well for recommending the set of excursions that he had. Rio had asked what were the bestsellers for couples and women and then booked accordingly. The day started ziplining which was rough considering the night's festivities but after a nap during the ride to swim with dolphins you were ready for the day. He’d been around you long enough to detect any personality defects, and found none. Building a business meant great people management skills. He couldn't think of any sensible reason for James’ cheating. Instead, he understood why James was being such an asshole about letting you go. Smiling Rio takes a video of you looking at the dolphins happily. Wearing a cheeky bikini bottom and short sarong, the video would only be for him but he would keep the memory nonetheless. 

“Rio, come see!” you call him over. He obliges despite not giving a single fuck about the dolphins, fish and everything else exciting you at the moment. He smiles mostly at your excitement. “It’s so gorgeous, thank you for this” you smile looking up at him.

“You’re welcome” Rio nods.

You sit enjoying the sunset as the boat takes a scenic way to the doc by the resort. Rio settles feeling you next to him, his mind is on what will happen when you return home. There were a couple of properties he was managing, he would schedule some showings and do his best to respect your need for space if that's what you needed. Only he’d already started shifting his schedule to be around most nights, he would have to find someone to keep eyes on James too just in case the entitled fuck decided to do anything sneaky. 

“Did you have fun?” you ask, interrupting Rio's thoughts. He smiles nodding, he did but not for the same reasons as you.

Rio nods, “I enjoyed myself.”

“I don't think you did” You respond both amused and appreciative that he’d taken the time to make today all about you and your enjoyment.

“I enjoyed seeing you enjoy yourself. I like making money and taking care of my people.” Rio says, a simple man. Looking him over you realise he’d revealed no vices during the entire trip. He didn’t drink too much and there were no frequent smoke breaks. His eyes never lingered on the assortment of scantily clad women scattered around the resort. No flirting, or whispering on the phone and he seemed too proud to lie. He’d also managed to make you feel considered every step of the way. 

“Well I had an incredible time, I’m really really really happy you invited me out here and made it so special.” you smile smothering him with quick kisses in your giddiness.

“I know,” Rio nods, pecking your forehead.

Getting off the boat you walk hand in hand with him through the resort and towards your room. You pass by a group of his family eating and the smirk on Nick’s face is unsettling. Marisol looks apologetic but it’s Tia’s eyes that catch yours. She stands coming over and pulling both you and Rio away.

“Rio, can I talk to Y/N quickly?” she asks.

“No” Rio interjects holding your hand tighter. “What is it?” He asks.

“Come here sweetie” Marisol says standing and reaching for you only for Rio to grab your wrist.

“She ain’t going nowhere, what the fuck is up?” Rio snaps getting upset.

“She's married” Nick mocks glaring at Rio. Everyone tenses but Rio who relaxes much to everyone's shock.

“See, I told you there was more to the story!” Marisol says to Nick reading Rio’s body language and Tia rolls her neck at Nick with folded arms.

“What happened?” you ask.

“James, whoever the fuck that is messaged all of us.” Tia signs and Rio loosens his grip.

“What did it say?” you ask as your anger surges. She hands you her phone allowing you to read it.

Hello Tia, I regret to inform you that I have discovered an ongoing affair between your cousin and my wife. This situation has caused immense pain and distress to our family. I am reaching out to you in hopes that you can address this matter with your cousin directly. It is crucial that this affair ends immediately for the well-being of all parties involved. My wife and I have a loving relationship, and this indiscretion is merely a result of her current state of boredom and emotional instability. Continuing this affair will only lead to more hurt and damage. I implore you to intervene and help put an end to this destructive behaviour. Your cousin risks significant emotional harm if this continues. Please, for the sake of both our families, help bring this to an end.

Looking up from the phone embarrassed isn’t the word. You flush overheating as you become nauseated. Your eyes water looking at the lies.

“He sent this to all of you?” Rio asks, having read the message too.

“Everyone tagged me on my story last night, got one” Tia explains.

“Christopher” Marisol interjects as Rio’s anger reaches a ten.

“You okay?” Rio asks, taking your chin. Blinking you close your eyes and tears run down. “Hey, he’s lying don't cry” Rio says trying to calm you down.

“I need some time alone” you swallow turning away from the crowd as the walls close in around you. Your hands and face are hot. Emotionally unstable?! You feel it now as you head to the room feeling crazy. Heading into the room you try to regulate your breathing and manage to dial James number from memory. It goes to voicemail but youre so angry you call five more times until he picks up.

“Who is this?”James’ voice says grating your nerves.

“You piece of shit!” you shout.

“Mexico really!?” he shouts back. “And youre so fucking messy youre there with another man, and you have the audacity to post him and be kissing him at the airport while being married-”

“You're so beyond unbelievable JAMES!” You scream. “YOU’RE FUCKING A BIMBO FOR MONTHS AND I DON’T CALL HER, I DON’E MESSAGE HER I LEAVE YOU TO ALONE! YET YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE THE DECENCY TO DIVORCE ME AND LET ME BE IN PEACE. YOU ALWAYS TOLD ME KEEP PEOPLE OUT OF OUR RELATIONSHIP AND YOU MESSAGE HIS FAMILY WITH BULLSHIT ABOUT US BEING IN LOVE. I WAS EMOTIONALLY UNSTABLE WHEN I SAID I DO AT THAT ALTER, I’VE BEEN EMOTIONALLY UNSTABLE OUR ENTIRE RELATIONSHIP TO LET YOU TREAT ME LIKE AN AFTERTHOUGHT AND A PERSONAL ASSISTANT BUT I’M DONE WITH THAT. I’M DONE WITH YOU! DON’T CALL ME OR MY MOTHER OR ANY OF THE PEOPLE I ASSOCIATE WITH.”

“Calm down” he responds, gaslighting you further. You nearly blow a gasket. There's a knock at the door and you swallow trying to remain calm as you head to the door. Marisol’s sympathetic expression awaits outside the door. Overwhelmed, you step back to let her in. If you could disappear you would. 

“Baby, where are you? I’ll book a flight and be there as soon as you need me to be” James continues driving you crazy.

“James, I don't want you and after what you did today I never want to see you again, don’t call me, don't write me, don't call my mom, my friends or my family!” you snap.

“Then stop posting! If you wouldn't have posted for everyone to see I wouldn't have had to intervene you're taking this too far. This guy whoever he is doesn't mean well, you're vulnerable he's taking advantage” James’ words are just more manipulation.

“Speak for yourself” you scoff. “I’ve never done anything to deserve what you did and what you’ve done to me today” you snap.

“I’m not sorry, at least it made you call,” he says, making your ears ring. It’s Marisol that hangs up the phone on your behalf. You take deep breaths as her eyes hold yours. She looks horrified.

“I’m sorry I’m ruining your wedding trip” You apologise, feeling horrible.

“The fact that you're even apologising after that tells me everything I need to know” she swallows, shaking her head at James' abounding audacity. “I’m sorry about Nick, he thinks you're too good for Rio and it would be a funny aha moment if you were playing him. It was just a shocking message you know” she apologises.

“Marisol, there’d be no apologies if it weren't for my drama on your wedding vacation.” You apologise.

“Girl, there’s always drama. I don't care about a party more than I care about a human being. James will pay for this mess I promise you that. Nick owes us big time for that stunt back there, I can imagine your divorce hearing will be expedited and after those messages. We’ll explore an injunction for both a gag and restraining order. Besides, his actions will do wonders for pain and suffering - extra alimony. We can talk and I can report on emotional abuse.” Marisol says in full therapist, problem solver mode.

“Really?” you can't contain your surprise.

“Really sweetie, now that you're okay I’ve got to make sure Rio doesn’t kill the guy or Nick first” she says.

“Please, James isn't worth it the drama” you mutter.

“I will try, just decompress and relax unless you want me to call him here?” Marisol asks.

“It’s alright, just please apologise to everyone for me” you repeat and she smiles.

“Fuck that asshole James” She says and theres a knock on the door. You open it and Tia walks in with a tray of treats. Marisol leaves and Tia stays sitting with you in the cozy living room. It’s the venting session you’ve missed out on. You video call your mother too and the three of you talk everything out. It ends letting you feel lighter. You order room service and eat with Tia once your mom ends the call. You tell her about your day trying your hardest not to let James ruin all of Rio’s planning. It’s how he finds you when he comes in smelling like weed. His energy is tense as he nods heading in the bathroom.

“You think he’s mad at me?” you ask Tia as she checks her phone.

“Nope” she smiles showing you a video of you and the dolphins today. There’s no caption, only the business is tagged as well as you. You smile too. “Your James might be used to winning, but nobody beats Rio” she says getting up.

“It’s dark Tia, let me walk you back to your villa” Rio says emerging from the bathroom.

“I was leaving, asshole, you don’t have to be like that and rush me out” she stands fanning him off.

“Keep playing with me and I’ll tell Granny what you be doing with her zucchini loaf” Rio warns. Tia deadpans pretending to zip her lips.

“Y/N say you have an allergy. It’s dis-gus-ting!” Tia warns, making you laugh.

“Can I come with you guys?” you ask.

“You don't need permission, you're grown” Tia smiles, linking arms in yours. The walk to Tia’s side of the resort is about ten minutes and full of her colourful personality. Once she’s settled you take Rio’s hand he hasn’t said much to you since James stunt. He takes your hands and kisses them before pulling you in.

“Don’t apologise” he says before you can.

“I made you look bad to your family” you say.

“Nah, you made Nick look terrible. Everyone sat there ripping him a new one. I don’t owe them explanations but I told them about James and it’s settled” Rio says and you smile feeling overwhelmed by his support.

“I’m happy he cheated. If he didnt I wouldnt be here with you. Today was amazing and you’ve been a godsend through all of this. I know you tell me not to thank you but I really appreciate everything” your words are from the heart.

“You deserve it, people always get what they deserve. James will too for making you cry” he says and you nod trusting him with a smile. Ready for war you post more pictures from today to fan the flames. Rio’s family members along with yours rally in the comments hyping you up. You ignore any DM’s from James' family and smile when you see Tia addressing the chaos in your comments, airing out the truth to James. You watch attentively, refreshing until the comments from disgruntled family members of James’ start disappearing and make a mental note to take Tia to dinner.

Rio sits on the couch watching it too from his personal phone getting more and more pissed. Having had it with showing restraint he calls his people, as much as he wants to personally make James pay there’s no way to from here. He gets a two for one special on James taking both of his women out of the picture. His instructions are as follows. Make Japan an offer she won’t refuse to leave town and end communication with James. Scare her real bad. It’s the least of what she deserves for being complicit in your harassment. It has to be done tonight. Rio wants absolutely nothing to allow James to feel safe or content in his life. No woman to slide into, no one to listen to him, no one to call. James couldn’t play with you, not anymore. His mental health accusation would ultimately come back to bite him in the ass when Rio was through. Rio’s second set of instructions were for the cheating bastard James himself. He knew James would be at a bar tonight. He was the type. First Rio’s boys would be friendly while James drank. After James started talking too much they’d start to taunt him quietly. With the liquor in his system it wouldn't be long until a fight started. Only James wouldn't win this one getting the brakes beat out of him. He’d tried restraint but it was clear now more than ever that James needed to be broken and put out of commission. Nothing else would stop him from messing with you.

Pausing from the instruction Rio ponders if there’s anything else. Hearing the bedroom door open he ends the call after giving his people the green light.

“You alright?” he asks, eyeing the third of your lingerie sets. He makes a mental note to check the tags and buy out the store. When you sit in his lap instead of the free seat beside him he relaxes instantly.

“Yeah, you?” you ask him as he adjusts you for his own comfort.

“Better now” he nods.

“I’m exhausted from today baby, can you come to bed so we can sleep?” you ask him and he sees it in your eyes. He had a romantic dinner planned to commemorate the last night. He’d planned to ask you to be his properly, officially to clear any confusion but of course James fucked that up.

“My ego isn't so fragile you gotta tip toe around being tired mama.” Rio smiles reading between the lines. Though his appetite for you felt insatiable he didn’t view you as his personal sex-slave regardless of any jokes he’d made in the past.

“It’s not about your ego Rio, I know what it’s like to be unappreciated and I don't want to be that person” you yawn. Rio leads the both of you to the bedroom. Pulling the sheets back he watches you get under the covers first before settling in himself. You fall asleep in no time but Rio’s slower to go. He watches you sleep, each breath quells his anger until he drifts off too knowing ain’t shit sweet or peaceful for James tonight.

Author's note: Whew, chile this one was a rollercoaster. I feel like thats how it goes sometimes, unfortunately. Can we believe the ish James pulled? Like the audacity of him to send that mass message. At least Rio has some real ones in his family. Let me know what your favourite part was?

» next part

TAGS:

@meadows5 @wnbweasley @becauseimher @ariiaeltheedonn @woahthatshitfat @miniaturehideoutmentality @kokobells @ffenthusiastt @sowhatariyana @1xtral1983 @theegoddessofmelanin @fictionalreads

[weirdsht]

I have this random idea and I neeed to yap about it here lmaoo

I'm just thinking about krs taking care of a teen around locks age, he met them at some point of the apocalypse and decided to take them under his wing.

let's say they transmigrated together or reader a bit after krs, but they meet at some point in the novel, anyways bc krs!cale took care of them for a good 3-4 years before the transmigration he subconsciously does the things he did before without noticing.

another random thing that came to mind:

idk someone: "wow young master, you really know this kid"

cale: "I hope i do i took care of them for a good 3 years"

random person: "when???"

ignore how this might not make sense storywise and probably characterwise, I'm really sleepy 🙏

Homecoming - Cale & Teen! Reader

a/n: i want to write more but my brain is all out of creative juices because almost all of my profs are making us write essays every day. not to mention that directing thingy i need to do for that stupid uni short film

tags: fluff, platonic, reader is unhinge if you squint, gn!reader

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Requests are open and welcome

Navigation Masterlist

“...What are you doing here?”

That was the first thing Cale asked you as soon as he saw you.

“And you are..?”

Was your question to respond to his question.

Because why is this random nobleman talking to you as if he knew you? Sure he reminds you a bit of Kim Rok Soo but still.

This guy is essentially a stranger and your big brother Rok Soo has taught you stranger-danger.

You can see the redhead sigh before pushing his hair back with his left hand. There’s a look of fondness and frustration in his eyes, another thing that reminds you of your big brother.

Kim Rok Soo wasn’t actually your big brother biologically speaking. Both of you were orphans who found each other in the middle of a ruined world. Two abandoned people who found solace within each other. 

You quite literally tripped into Rok Soo’s life a few months after he became a team leader.

The same way how you literally tripped into this weird noble’s porch. 

Speaking of which, that said noble is now telling everyone to give the two of you some privacy. He even asked the cute baby dragon to put a soundproof barrier around the room.

“Are you doing that to mask my screams when you kill me?”

You couldn’t help but ask once everyone was out of the room. Rok Soo had always told you about not letting your impulsive thoughts win but you couldn’t help it.

Cale sighed loudly and tiredly, exactly the same reaction your Rok Soo would do when you said something stupid.

“No I’m not gonna kill you, and no I’m not going to eat you either so don’t even ask.”

You clamped your mouth shut after that. The question dying on your tongue before you could even ask it.

“I’m going explain myself and then you’ll do the same okay?”

You nodded seeing as you don’t really have a choice. You’re in this guy’s turf and there’s no way you can outrun a dragon and whatever monster of a people this guy has with him. And so you behaved yourself and settled on the plush couch you were escorted to.

“My name is Cale Henituse, or at least that’s my current name. I used to be Kim Rok Soo back on Earth before I died.”

…okay what?

What now?

He was who?

Kim Rok Soo— well you guess he goes by Cale now — knows you well enough to know that this information would cause your brain to overdrive. And so he has a glass of iced water prepared for your poor self to drink.

“Wha- how- huh?”

You tried to formulate words after gulping the water but your mind is still reeling. There’s simply no comprehending this new information bought upon you.

But it’s fine since Cale is willing to wait for you to come around.

Even after 3 weeks of waiting, his still very patient.

He knows when to give you space, but also knows when to spend time with you. Cale knows exactly when you need him to be there for you and when your mind is confused about him being a stranger but also being the big brother you dearly love.

Of course, this raised some questions with the others. Cale suddenly took in another teen one day and he seemed to have known them all his life even though he just met them 3 weeks ago.

“Young master you seem to really know that kid.”

Hans asked one day. In a short distance, Ron was also listening in while dusting some decorative vases.

"I hope I do, I took care of them for a good 3 years."

Was Cale’s nonchalant answer before leaving the room in order to go to your bedroom. He had promised you that he’ll let you wander around the forest today after all. 

Meanwhile, the two servants are flabbergasted — Ron was just hiding it better than Hans.

“...3 years? How did he hide from us that he took care of a child, an entire human being, for three whole years??”

Hans asked and the only answer he got was the dust from Ron’s feather duster flying towards his face.