#it's not cheating to trace a pose

[wasteland-wrecker]

Your art is amazing and I admire how consistent your art is for characters! Could you share your process or a speed paint of your work?

Okay so first of all I’m not a professional, so keep this in mind while you read.

My process for a colored piece is very simple: sketch - refined sketch (lineart) - flat colors - shadows and lighting rough placement- rendering - final adjustments (+ a bit of chromatic aberration and noise)

Tricks I use: flip horizontally the canvas a lot of times while sketching - zoom out to see the whole canvas in a miniature (easy to spot mistakes) - put on a gray filter on the colored piece to see if the contrast is good - go away from the drawing for some time, come back to find the mistakes you couldn't see before - never do a piece in one day from start to finish - avoid tangents…

As long as I’m happy with the results lately, I see there’s much I could improve.

Anything else you want to know, feel free to ask!

(Sorry for the bad quality of this recording 😭)

[crittercisms]

heyy i saw u were looking for requests 👀

can i get a uhhhhh paulkins? no milk no sugar just a cup of paulkins? :)

look at these losers!

loved this, haven't drawn them together in my life despite loving paulkins

[ineffable-romantics]

Almost Kiss

1941 pt. 3

(Photo inspo below)

Mansfield Park (1999)

[marco-the-vampire]

Shy touches.

Just a little thing that I couldn't get out of my head, so I made it!

I finished "A tale of crowns" in like two days because it is so good!!!! I await semi patiently waiting for more!

AND BY EVERYTHING!!!! ASHTI!!!! She's absurdly adorable and funny and cool... I love her so much! I think it also helps that I had no idea of how anything worked so I accidentally got her route lol

Inspiration:

[magicalgirlartist]

[ID: digital drawing of a young man with slicked back purple hair, yellow eyes, a long purple shirt with a cropped black vest, and a black cowboy hat. He's seen from above, frowning slightly, arms at his side. The one arm we can see is holding a gun pointed down. End ID.]

DEJ Day 11: Onepu

Sloooowly catching up (last week was INSANE) and the thought of Onepu being a cowboy (crabboy?) made me laugh when I saw this pose so that's what I went with lol. Who gave him that gun honestly

[Commissions open!]

[ctommyisnt]

I think all beginning artists need to hear this. IT IS OKAY TO TRACE ART. YOU CAN LEADN BUT TRACING ART. TRACING ART IS REALLY GOOD TO LEARN WITH IVE IMPROVED LEAPS AND BOUNDS BY TRCING

JUST DONT PASS IT OFF AS YOUR IWN!!! IF YOU POST IT ASK THE ARTIET AND CREDIT FIRST!!!!!!

BUT DONT BE AFRAID TO TRACE!!!!!!!!

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

hii!! could i request a snow fic where she finds out she cheats on him and voluntarily tributes and hes trying to get her back? i loved the other fics!! I NEED MORE CHEATING SNOW FICS OMGG

Don’t blame me, love made me crazy. || Young President!Coriolanus snow x district!reader

A/n: Sorry anon I hope you’re not disappointed that I didn't fully write your request. I wanted Coryo to lowk suffer in this which is why I didn't dive into details of him getting her back. There is also one scene that is heavily inspired by a scene in the movie Priscilla! I also spent so many hours perfecting this and it was super fun!!!

Warnings: fem!reader, implied infidelity, toxic!coriolanus, manipulation, not proofread, if there's anything else pls lmk!

Wc: 1609

Divider by @firefly-graphics

The rapid clicks echoed throughout the hallway, the sound reverberating off the 12-foot-high ceiling walls. You walk with an eager stride, each step filled with anticipation as you take the familiar route to Coriolanus' office where he spent most, if not, all of his time cooped up in due to the upcoming hunger games.

There was a heaviness in your heart. You have always been the epitome of grace and composure, a woman who played her role in the political theater with finesse, albeit your brief upbringing in district 2. However, behind closed doors, the truth unfolded, resulting in you heartbroken and most of all betrayed. You couldn't ignore the letters that would pile up weekly, the gifts, all for him, from someone by the name Lysandra.

Not bothering to knock, knowing it would provoke a reaction from him, you forcefully swung the double doors open. There sat Coriolanus Snow, seemingly unbothered at your entrance. "Is there a problem?" An icy, impersonal tone carried his words, sharp and emotionless.

Your nose flared as you felt a surge of frustration, his lack of concern and emotion fuelling your anger. Besides, you had never stormed into his office unannounced before. Surely, he would question your sudden abruptness and, visibly, your anger.

Your voice, though filled with a trembling resolve, posed the question, "Who is she?" You hold a letter between your fingers, lifting it up to show him. He lifts his head up from his papers. "And why on earth is she sending my husband gifts and-and love letters?" You stammer, throwing the piece of paper with writing and a kiss—in the form of a lipstick mark in a shade of deep red—on his desk; your façade crumbling at your feet.

Snow stares at you before a scoff leaves his lips, leaning back on his chair. "You know how the people admire me, it's likely that whoever it is, she's simply passionate about expressing her feelings to me," Coriolanus shrugs. Your eye twitches at his response. Lies.

"Really? Well, Lysandra is ever so passionate about expressing her undying love for you," You recite the words from her letter as you watch a subtle glint of knowing in his eyes, "She's the only one who has described her so-called affection for you so intimately!"

As you question your husband's loyalty, an unsettling quiet settles around him. His eyes, cold and calculating, hold yours without a trace of vulnerability. The absence of words from his lips becomes a formidable response, leaving an ominous uncertainty lingering in the air.

His office echoed with a tense hush, broken only by a subtle tapping of his fingers against the armrest in a rhythmic patter. "For god's sake, Coryo. Say something! Who is she?" The slip of his nickname makes you swallow.

"I won't entertain your accusation. She's merely an admirer, nothing more! Have you finished exhausting yourself with this matter, wife?" Coriolanus seethes, abruptly standing up as he gathers his papers, opens his drawer, shoves them in, and slams it shut with such force that you swore you felt it in your bones.

"Is there something your hiding from me?" There was a tense silence that followed your question, Snow's features contorted with a mix of frustration and defiance. Avoiding eye contact, he clenched his jaw and emitted a sharp exhale. The air was thick with unspoke tension, revealing an anger that simmered beneath the surface.

"I have nothing to hide from you," He says calmly but you knew damn well there was anything but calmness within him. Annoyed and frustrated at the lack of information, you open your mouth again.

'"Throughout our entire marriage, I have done nothing but showed you how grateful I am that you chose me to marry, a district girl. You helped me build a reputation here in the capitol so that I would finally be respected, and now, I ask just one simple thing of you," As you speak your voice wavers slightly, revealing the depth of emotion behind your words. "Who is she to you?"

In mere seconds, Coriolanus storms past you, a blur of motion, leaving you momentarily bewildered as you blink, only to find yourself in the same spot. "Coriolanus!" You yell, spinning around as you follow him. "I've just had about enough of you for today y/n," He spat as he briskly walked up stairs, you following him. Servants who were around hurriedly walk pass, heads down.

He steps into your shared private chamber, adorned with decadent furnishings and overlooking the Capitol. He walks a couple steps before he just stops. His breath came in heavy, rhythmic waves, his chest rising and falling with urgency, leaving you standing frozen at the entrance.

"You know, I think you should go see your family for a little while," He turns around as you felt your heart drop. "What?" Your voice echoed with a helpless tone. "You heard me, I think your family has been missing you in the districts, go pay them a visit. Tell them how grateful you have been that I chose you as the First Lady of Panem, hm?"

He takes purposeful strides to the next room, filled from top to bottom with expensive, lavish pieces of clothing befitting both him and you. Coriolanus then pulls out a travelling trunk. The thought of you going back to district 2 sent shivers up your spine. You knew that everyone there now thinks of you as a traitor.

"What- No- Coryo, I'm not going-" Coriolanus cuts you off with a yell, tears forming in your eyes, "I think you should! Matter of fact, I'll help you start packing." A loud noise comes from the trunk making contact with the floor making you jump, a sob leaving your lips. The trunk opening as he starts aggressively pulling your clothes from the black velvety hangers, tossing them into the trunk.

"Coryo- please. Don't make me go back there," You fall to you knees in front of the trunk as your shaky hands remove the pieces of clothing from it. "Yeah, well I think a few months in the districts, away from your lavish life here, will make you realise how easy it is that I can send you back there." He forcefully takes your chin in between his thumb and index as your glassy eyes stare back at his icy, raging, blue eyes.

"Please, please don't send me back there-" Your beg becomes interrupted as he drops his grip on you and yells out the door, "Simon! Get the train ready now for Y/n to go back home!" He calls out to his assistant who answers out a "Of course Mr. President," You let out another sob as you rest your head on the pile of clothing.

Coriolanus glances over his shoulder, his breaths lingering in the air, he could hear your quiet pleas. There's a yearning within him, a desire to approach you and envelop you in a reassuring hug, to tell your that everything is alright and that forgives you. Yet, and unyielding pride restrains him, holding him back from acknowledging that what he was doing was wrong.

With one final look, he turns around, leaving you in a crying mess. Coriolanus was going to send you back to district 2 until the hunger games finished, then, he would come get you and hope that your time there made you ponder your actions, although he knew they were quite reasonable.

Your allegiance to your husband shattered when you were forced onto the train, Coriolanus stood a couple metres away from you as you squirm in the peacekeeper's grips. As you made your way back to a place you once called home, a quiet determination settled within you as you hatched a plan that would not only expose Coriolanus' betrayal, but also allow you to reclaim a piece of your shattered identity.

~

As the Reaping day approached, you made a choice that sent shockwaves through the carefully orchestrated world of Panem. With a steady hand, you inscribed your own name on a slip of paper and placed it in the glass ball, committing yourself to the Hunger Games.

On the day of the Reaping, the Capitol Square buzzed with anticipation, the districts, not so much. Coriolanus, very much unaware of his wife's hidden actions, stood in front of the dignitaries on the stage.

The customary ceremony began, the escort pulls a slip pf paper from the glass ball, announcing the male tribute who would face the Capitol's twisted version of justice.

As the tension mounted, the escort unfolded a slip of paper and read aloud, "Y/n Snow." A gasp rippled through the crowd, and Coriolanus's face contorted with disbelief. Time seemed to free as he processed the shock of seeing his wife's name called out. Surely there was a mistake.

The realisation hit him like a sledgehammer, and anger boiled within him, mixing with the shock and confusion as the crowd erupted in whispers. A woman of Capitol elegance was now standing among the district 2 residents.

You weave through the rows of people, maintaining a stoic expression. As you step up on the stage, your eyes land on the camera a couple feet away from you where you know Snow was watching back in the Capitol.

Coriolanus stared at your face and in that moment, he saw the resolve and defiance that had replaced the hurt in your eyes. The Capitol, known for its love of spectacle, witnessed an unprecedented turn of events. Coriolanus Snow, the powerful President, was rendered speechless as his own actions came back to haunt him in the cruelest twist of fate.

[paniniani]

I think Bakugou would be a Pilates girlie in secret and if anyone walks in he’ll roll over and do push ups

BAKUGOU PILATES PRINCESS (drabble)

been waiting to write this silly little drabble for a little while! bakugo x reader, sfw (wowww everybody cheer), misinterpretation of cheating

"gently roll forward, and exhale to come back up. focus on engaging your core.." what the fuck? keys still jingling in the door, you stepped into your apartment that you shared with your boyfriend. why the hell did it sound like a.. woman was in here? alone with him?

"thats it.. right there" you saw red as you came to the conclusion that your LONG TERM BOYFRIEND KATSUKI BAKUGOU was with some other bitch. trying to step quietly and not angrily, you stood at the closed door to your shared room. in your own room? unable to hold back any longer, you threw open the door to see-

"inhale slowly for a count of four-" Katsuki, horror filling his eyes as he looked up at you from his pilates pose on the floor, one leg raised as he lay on his back. before you could even speak, he moved in a flash, twisting onto his stomach into a plank position. before your eyes, he started doing franzied pushups until he was interrupted by his laptop once more.

"now slowly exhale as you bring your leg back down". throwing his computer halfway across the room in a frenzy, the instructor from his Youtuber was suddenly cut off, quickly replaced with his own shouting as he sat with his head in his hands.

"WHATTHEFUCKWHYAREYOUHOMESOEARLYSTUPIDWOMAN" he yelled, immediately flushing red from his cheeks down to his shoulders. his screams did nothing to distract from the scene that had just unfolded in front of you, and you tried to hide a giggle as you carefully replied.

"are you... doing pilates?" his hands sparked as he replied, you could practically see steam coming out of his ears.

"SO WHAT THE FUCK IF I AM! IM ALL SORE AND SHIT FROM FIGHTING STUPID DEKU ALL THE DAMN TI-"

you cut him off with a quick peck on the lips, laughing at how much his face resembled a tomato. "kats.. you think i give a fuck? you don't gotta justify it or anything... and here i was thinking you were with some other woman behind my back" your mouth turned down at the end of your sentence, remembering how your jealousy took over.

"what the fuck would i need some other extra for? got all i need here."

"and here, apparently" you pointed at his laptop to the instructor, who had now moved onto a resistance band. bakugou had recovered from his embarrassment enough to roll his eyes at your comment.

"nahh. ya scared me real bad though, heard a good cure for a fuckin heart attack is makin out with your hot pilates boyfriend or whatever though." pulling you onto his lap, he met your eyes with a devilish grin as his hands traced your hips.

"now exhale slowly for a count of four-"

“OH FOR FUCKS SAKE”

[cyberceph]

Medic cheat sheet I made entirely for myself but I figured I would post it for other people to use if they want. I swear to god this man’s face changes shape from every angle he’s a damn shapeshifter it makes him so hard to draw accurately (for me.) Also these were traced from various screenshots and sfm poses I’m not that good at drawing him. Yet.

[willyoubemycherryy]

2 𝓭𝓪𝔂𝓼 (𝓕. 𝓣𝓲𝓰𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓪𝓻)

Didn’t I tell y’all I was on the case?? He’s a bad mama jama and his accent is sexy. Here’s my heart, it’s yours.

Contains: kissing and I mean nasty kissing, drool, Fiyero is kinda obsessed and unhinged, you’re BOTH pent up, finger!ng, cursing, dirty talk, grinding, some hair pulling, multiple 0rgasms, unprotected worm riding😂, manhandling, and a whole lotta getting railed🤠 (I’m absolutely insane for him and this shows)

<333

“Alright, bye! Have a save trip back! Love you!” You yell after all your brothers and sisters, having hugged the last of them as they all exit your apartment early morning exactly 2 days later. You exhale a sigh of relief as you watch through the window at them loading into their cars and pulling off, smiling as one of your older sisters blows a kiss at your place before driving off.

A feeling of giddiness overtakes you because you can finally relax, closing your eyes for a moment as you take in the silence with a grin.

Dead calm. Oh, how you missed it.

The smell of your still burning sugar plum fairy fills the space and you push yourself off the wall to start cleaning, wanting to erase any and all traces of the headache that was most of your family.

As you’re cleaning, you find yourself thinking of everything that happened during the longest 7 days of your life. After the break with Fiyero in the bathroom and later sneaking him out the house so nobody ever found out he was in the bathroom with you- especially your sister- you all had went back to the shopping center in matching ugly pajamas to take purposely awkward pictures to send out. The poses were bad enough but Fiyero being witness had almost killed you with embarrassment. You guys made cookies and Fiyero hung around as the “judge” (it wasn’t a competition) while your sister not so subtle praised him for his looks. She didn’t know you two were dating so you let it slide but after a while you were concerned if Fiyero’s head would fit through the door with how big she was making it. Another thing you all did was something called “blind karaoke”. Basically, someone picked a random instrumental of a song and for whoever’s turn it was, they were supposed to sing the correct lyrics to that song and if they failed a certain number of times then they were “voted off the island”. It was chaotic with plenty of cheating accusations but fun.

Pausing, you look around, not even noticing how much you got done. Counters clean, floor swept and vacuumed; you decide to shower. Thankfully you cleaned your bathroom last night so less for you to do and the guest room will wait. Stripping off your clothes and turning the water on, you tie your hair up while you wait for the water to heat up, stepping in once you see the steam.

Hot water pours all over your body, soothing your muscles. It feels absolutely delightful, making you stretch with a soft hum. The atmosphere is quiet but not eerie as you gently go about your routine. You huff out a little laugh as you remember Fiyero’s critique on your shower routine that he found odd.

“You’re actually exfoliating first?” Eyebrows raised high as he watched you from where he sat on top of the closed toilet seat.

“I don’t think I like that judgey tone of yours.” You reply breezily, ignoring as you continue.

“No- I’d never-! I’m just saying wouldn’t it make sense to after you get all…soapy?” His eyes trail down your form slower, voice dropping at that last word and you flick water at him to keep him focused which doesn’t work the way you planned as Fiyero sticks out his tongue to catch more. You roll your eyes at his ridiculousness.

“Freak of nature. But no, exfoliating first helps the soap clean skin better. Y’know…the part where I get all soapy.” His eyes stay on you, licking his lips as he nods slowly and suddenly your chest feels warmer.

“I see. By all means then, continue.” You flush all over from the way he sounds but you play as if you weren’t affected at all despite the whole thing being strangely erotic. You completely naked and wet, while he watched you touch all over said naked skin while being completely clothed.

“You’ll stay the innocent bystander, won’t you?”, making your voice even sweeter, you coo at him. Your teasing backfires as Fiyero’s words send shivers up your spine.

“No promises, sweetheart.”

You rush to get out before you relive the rest of the way your little shower played out, wrapping a fluffy towel around you as you head to your room, still flushed from the memory and the heat of the water. The sweet smelling lotion you put on feels extra nice against your freshly shaved skin, as you rub it In absentmindedly; still distracted by your thoughts.

Since a hoard of your closest family members had been virtually stuck up your butt for a week, even though Fiyero had been around, you two never had a chance to be alone. Your thighs clench at the thought of the last time his hands were on you, suppressing a desperate whine, falling back onto the warm bedding. Confused as to why the bed was so warm until you remember that you’d left your heated blanket on.

You ignore the new ache in your core as you sigh, closing your eyes and turning over on your stomach. Dosing off before you know it, dreaming of pretty dimples and devious hands…

•

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

•.*

.’° •

You awake to the feeling of soft warm lips pressing all over your skin. A light gasp leaves you when they trail lower, kissing down your back and over your ass as big hands start to knead your shoulders. You call his name, a lovely purr to his ears and Fiyero hums.

“It’s been 2 days, pretty girl.“

A needier gasp comes from you and Fiyero closes his eyes as it reminds him of all the other delicious sounds he can get you to make. He told you earlier that week that he’d be back over after your family left. One: to give you time to wind down after and two: because he needed to cool off. It had been harder than he thought to keep his hands off you- used to following the pull that inspired him to be close to you at all times. Fiyero had been anticipating your reunion, missing you- wanting you so bad..but out of all the ways he’d pictured finally being alone with you going; finding you completely naked smelling like dessert and looking just like it on a warm bed wasn’t one of them. Not that he was complaining.

Feeling the bed shift, his blue eyes flicker down to see your soft thighs slightly parted, giving him the tiniest peek of the slick that’s already beginning to gather, your smooth hips shifting restlessly.

His mouth comes down heavy on your neck with wet kisses, hands wedging underneath you to pull and massage at your hard nipples. Your eyes roll back in pleasure, moaning his name, Fiyero groaning back at how responsive you are. The room feels 10 degrees hotter but it’s so good, your body thrumming as your clit pulses.

“Baby-“, the way you call out for him has him flipping you over so fast you get dizzy. You have only a few seconds to look up into his blown pupils before a pleasant current rocks through your body when Fiyero slots himself flush against your body, sucking wetly at your ears, jaw, neck, and wherever he can reach. His low groans vibrate through you and you don’t hesitate to grind up against his length, the material of his jeans giving you perfect friction, writhing and whining in pleasure. Your body jolts everytime his hips roll and his clothed cock hits your clit just right.

“Mmphf-!” Your grind becomes smoother, causing you and Fiyero to look down, seeing the dark patch your wetness left on the front of his pants. Fiyero furrows his brow before tangling a hand in your hair, dragging your panting mouth to his.

You melt like chocolate under him. Thick heavy fog fills your head and your bring your hands up to feel underneath his shirt, his flexing muscles and the patch of soft hair leading to your favorite place had you positively lightheaded. The kiss is messy and intense. His mouth demanding and merciless; he licks at the seam of your lips before shoving his tongue inside, melding it against yours as his blood rushes from the sensations and your fucked out moans.

If he thought you were wet before, it’s nothing compared to now, as he slips his hand between your spread legs.

You break apart with a gasp but you don’t get far with Fiyero’s hand in your hair as he growls against your open mouth, lips wet. In a clearer state of mind, the sounds coming out of you would have shamed you long into the future but you can’t find the concern for that anytime soon especially when you feel two thick fingers slide into you, wasting no time in fucking your tight walls.

“Damn- look at you…such a good girl, gettin’ so wet f’me”, Fiyero rasps out, not expecting an answer with the hearts in your eyes. Your cunt was practically strangling his fingers, each drag out only bought more arousal from your messy hole, the noises filling the room alongside your voice. It was everywhere and Fiyero closes his eyes at the sudden image of your knees pressed to your armpits, fat lips getting spread open as he licked you raw.

You felt so good you were on the verge of tears, hiccuping moans bubbling out of you as you finally got what you needed. Your shaky hands had undone his pants but couldn’t steady strong enough to pull them down, settling for massaging the fat length in his pants, all the pre made the glide easy, your head swimming when you imagine being fucked by it.

However, you don’t know if you even make it that far because you’re already so close to orgasm and he knows it, adding a third finger to stretch you out and the nasty squelch has him pulsing hard in your hands. His fingers go from thrusting to aiming upwards, hitting that special patch of nerves inside you and you’re soaking the bedding with all the slick pooling from you.

Drool seeps from the side of your lips and your so gone you don’t even notice Fiyero lick it off until he whispers against your lips after a particularly rough grind of his fingers has you keening high,

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me-“ he cuts off with a gasp when your thumb rubs hard into his leaking tip, heat racing up his spine like electricity.

“Y’gonna cum for me sweetheart? Gonna let her make a mess for me?”

Your lower stomach spasms visibly and he can barely move his hand from how tight your cunt is, hard clit pulsing against his thumb.

“Yeah, you are.”

In the last seconds before you come, you’re grateful that you’re pinned under him because if you were let loose, you could bite the roof of a house from how feral you’re feeling. One last roll of your soaked nub and you unravel with a scream.

Fiyero’s mouth covers yours in time before you convince your neighbors of possible murder, licking into it and swallowing your screams as you white out from the intensity, each spasm of your stuffed walls sending you higher and it takes a while for you to come down.

Popping of your mouth to give you a chance to breathe, Fiyero strips his shirt off, eyes on your boneless form. A light sheen of sweat coated both of your bodies but you’re far from done. Tilting your head up just in time to see Fiyero take his pants off, biting your swollen lips at way his fat cock slapped against his stomach, thick thighs flexing as he makes his way back on top of you. Your heart pounds hard enough to be felt through your entire body when he takes your hand, dragging it slow down his chest before pulling your hand back up, sucking the digits with a low hum, pleased at the flush that blooms all over you.

Fiyero slides his cock between your lips, coating himself with your arousal as he lines himself up to your hole. You whine in protest, “wait, lemme suck you off first-“ you’re cut off with a sharp moan when Fiyero slaps the head of his cock directly on your clit, blue eyes almost black as the sea at night as he stares down at you, voice heady and thick with desire.

“Later…but right now-“ he pulls your bottom lip down with his thumb, licking a stripe across your teeth, he continues, “mmm, right now, I need you to take it for me. She can do that f’me right, pretty?”

You nod so hard it almost gives you a headache but the soft chuckle from Fiyero adds to the pleasant buzz as he slides in, gripping your hips as you moan in unison.

You were always tight but after a week of no contact, you were damn near choking his cock as it stretched you out. Your scent — how fucking soft you are — your voice — the way your wetness left messy strings dripping off his cock every time he pulled out— everything was too much. He wouldn’t be able to go slow like this, the sound of your warbled desperate moans ricocheting off his skull and driving him insane.

The first slide in of Fiyero’s cock is always overwhelming. You doesn’t think you’ll ever not be gagging for this, the feel of his filling you up. You bite down on a moan, arching your back further, you need more. The darkly-amused chuckle Fiyero gives just makes your blood run that much hotter. You don’t have time beg him to fuck you stupid before he thrusts, relentless and brutal, fucking into you so good you sob from it. So good, so fucking good, you’re going to feel the ache in you for days but it’s exactly how you need it.

Fiyero’s abs contract, head tipping back at the way you feel, grinding and whining down onto his cock; letting him have you so wet and pliant as he rams into all your spots, trying not to lose himself in the waves of you. Unfortunately, you can’t help it — you feel yourself clench hard around him, hips twitching as he grabs your waist, holding your ass tilted up to hit deeper as he pounds you. Eyes rolling back at the stifling the cry from your throat as his cock bottoms out with every wonderful thrust inside you.

The room fills with obscene sounds: your scream moaning, the slapping of skin on skin, the squelch of your cunt as Fiyero plunges into it. Air can’t come fast enough and you know if you cum now you’ll pass out but you needed this so bad, whining as Fiyero takes two swollen nipples between his fingers rolling them, enjoying the cute way you cried for him.

“You’re gonna cum for me again, aren’t you?”, Fiyero coos down at your tear stained, drooling face, furrowed in pleasure. You try to prove him wrong; that you’re not coming, that you’re not about to make a mess but you give up quick. It just felt too good.

“Mmhm! Yes- cummin’!”, you let out a ear piercing wail as you get closer, almost right there, looking at Fiyero with pretty lidded eyes like he hung the stars in the sky just for you.

“Cum,” he breathes hot in your ear, teeth closing down on the delicate whorl. “Make your mess all over me, baby.”

You cry out against Fiyero, hips humping against his cock, shaking violently, back arching, almost lifting off the bed completely as your orgasm wracks through you, eyes flickering back into your skull. Drool dribbles down your lips between moans; dripping, your cunt gushing around the delicious stretch, sucking Fiyero’s cock in as far as you can.

Fiyero grits his teeth hard, his thrusts growing erratic and messy as he’s hurdled quickly towards his climax, lost in your pull. He cums with a wrecked low moan, burying himself deeper in the wet heat of your cunt, releases as deep inside you as he can. Lowering himself on you in a satisfied heap.

You two stay like that for a while, catching your breath, kissing softer this time- less rushed like you aren’t in a race to get the other pregnant by midnight, basking in the afterglow. He’s heavy like this. Laying completely over you but you love it, closing your eyes as you snuggle into him. He’s like a giant weighted pillow.

Fiyero is the first to move since you won’t be going anywhere for a while, looking down at you tenderly, rubbing the tip of his nose gently against yours, and you smile back tiredly.

“Give me 15 minutes and I’ll be ready to rock your world, pretty boy.” You say it like it’s a promise and Fiyero laughs because he’s always the one to tire you out.

“Cute. Maybe you’re just being cocky because we’re alone?”

“Guess you’ll have find out”, you say through giggles, squirming at the sounds he blows into your neck, smiling with you.

“I can’t wait.”

[theprissythumbelina]

I've made so many mistakes.

I hurt my ankle somehow and so, with nothing else to do, I'm gonna draw fanart for my own fanfic

[insidekatmind]

Bet~Kwon Jae-sung

Wearning: +18,smut,cheating.

The air was filled with tension, but also excitement. The Sekai Taikai wasn’t just a tournament; it was a chance to prove your dojo’s worth on a global scale. You had been chosen as the captain along with your adoptive brother, Miguel Diaz. The weight of responsibility was heavy, but the adrenaline of fighting made it bearable.

As you posed for photos with the other captains, your gaze lingered on Kwon, who seemed eager to get the boring photo session over with. However, something changed in his demeanor when his eyes landed on you. The irritation disappeared, replaced by a mischievous smirk.

When a competition to perform the highest kick began, Kwon immediately seized the opportunity. With agility and confidence, he executed an impressive kick, leaving many of the spectators speechless.

“No one can top this,” he said with a laugh, but his eyes flashed with challenge when he saw Hawk advance.

Hawk, always ready to take a taunt, decided to up the ante. "Let's make a bet. If I win, I take your room. If you lose... I take yours."

Kwon raised an eyebrow, then noticed that Hawk was sharing a room with you. His smile widened as he accepted the challenge.

Robby, who was nearby, snorted. "Seriously, Hawk? Are you betting my sister?"

But Hawk was already focused on his performance. He braced himself, took a deep breath, and leapt for the kick... but couldn't get past Kwon's height.

Kwon chuckled and held out his hand to Hawk. "Deal."

Hawk, frustrated, handed over the keys with a pout, while Kwon grabbed them with satisfaction, giving you an amused look. The tournament hadn't started yet, but the evening was already getting interesting for him.

Kwon tried hard to control his gaze as you strolled out of the bathroom in your short pajamas. His eyes flicked over your body appreciatively, taking in the tantalizing curves and toned limbs. The thin fabric left little to the imagination, and Kwon found himself struggling to keep his thoughts from wandering.

He knew it was wrong to ogle you that way, but he couldn’t help it. The sight of you in that outfit was making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. He tried to look away, but his gaze kept returning to you as you moved around the room getting ready for bed.You snort at him as you lie down on the bed next to him.

Kwon tried to look innocent, but he couldn't help the smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips. He knew you had noticed his wandering eyes, but he wasn't going to apologize. Instead, he raised an eyebrow at you and said, "What? Can't a guy appreciate the view?"

“Don't get any ideas, Kwon,” you said, lying down with your back to him.

Kwon chuckled softly, his eyes roaming over your back and down to your legs. "Oh, come on. Can't a guy fantasize?" he teased you, his voice light and playful. He shifted closer to you, the mattress dipping under his weight.

"Besides, how could I not have ideas when you're lying there looking like that?" he murmured, his tone carrying a hint of desire. He reached out and lightly traced a finger down your spine.

You blushed slightly at Kwon's compliment, your cheeks flushing a rosy pink. You tried to keep your composure, but the sensation of his finger tracing along your spine sent a shiver down your spine. You glanced over your shoulder at him, her eyes meeting his.

"Is that so?" you replied, trying to maintain a cool and collected tone. But the effect he had on you was undeniable, and you could feel a flutter in your stomach.

Kwon's grin widened as he saw the color rise in your cheeks. He knew he was getting to you, and it only fueled his teasing. "Oh, it's definitely so," he said, his gaze locked on yours. He inched closer still, his body now practically pressed against yours.

His hand continued to explore your back, his fingers tracing along the ridges of your spine, his touch leaving goosebumps in their path. "Don't act like you haven't thought about it too," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear.Your breath hitched as Kwon's hand moved lower, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, and the sensation was both thrilling and overwhelming. You tried to maintain your composure, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

“I have a boyfriend,” you tried to say but you could feel Kwon's cock on your ass.

Kwon chuckled at your feeble attempt to remind him of your boyfriend."And? You think that matters to me?" he asked, his voice low and seductive. He moved his hips, grinding against you ever so slightly, the feel of his hardness against your ass sending a wave of desire through him."I don't care if you have a boyfriend. I can't stop thinking about you," he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

You moaned at his words and leaned into him, wanting to feel more of his hardness.

Kwon's smirk widened as he heard your moan, and he let out a low growl of satisfaction. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer to him, his body flush against yours. He could feel your desire for him, and it only fueled his own need."You're playing a dangerous game, darling," he whispered, his breath hot against your neck. "You know what you're doing to me."

Kwon's hand slid under your shorts and thong, his fingers finding their way between your thighs. He groaned softly as he felt how wet you were, his cock twitching in anticipation."You're so wet already," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "You want this as much as I do, don't you?"

You moaned feeling his cock inside you, you grind yourself to feel more of his cock. Kwon's breath hitched as you ground against him, the feeling of your body moving against his driving him wild. He tightened his grip on your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he tried to hold back from taking you right then and there."You're driving me crazy," he growled, his hips moving in sync with yours, his cock buried deep inside you.

“Kwon” you moaned as you felt his cock destroying your ass.

Kwon's eyes darkened as he heard you moan his name, his grip on you becoming almost possessive. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he started to move faster, his hips snapping against yours."Say it again," he whispered, his voice laced with desire. "Say my name again, darling."

"Kwon" you say groan.

Kwon's breath hitched again at the sound of his name on your lips, and he let out a low, guttural moan. He gripped you tighter, his fingers leaving bruises on your skin as he pounded into you, his body moving with primal need."Again," he growled, his voice hoarse. "I want to hear you say it again."

You closed your eyes feeling his cock destroying you. "Kwon" you said moaning. Kwon's eyes fluttered closed as he heard you moan his name again, and he felt himself getting closer to the edge. He buried his face in your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he struggled to hold back."Fuck, you're driving me insane," he hissed, his hips moving even faster, his cock hitting deep inside you with each thrust.

The sound of your skin slapping together filled the room, a loud and lewd reminder of what was happening between you two. Kwon's breath was ragged and uneven, his body tense as he fought to hold back his release."You're so perfect," he murmured against your skin, his lips trailing kisses down your neck. "So perfect and mine."

You moaned as you nearly drooled at how his cock was destroying you. "So good"you muttered. Kwon smirked at your words, his ego growing even bigger as you praised him. He loved the way you were completely at his mercy, your body submitting to his touch."That's right, darling," he said, his voice a low growl. "You're mine, and I'm going to make you feel so good."

He reached down and lifted your leg, wrapping it around his waist, allowing him to drive deeper into you.

You whimpered with pleasure. Kwon's eyes widened at the sound of your whimper, and he felt a shiver run down his spine. He loved hearing you make those sounds, knowing that he was the one causing you to feel pleasure.

"You're so sensitive," he said, his voice a mixture of admiration and desire. "And you're mine to do with as I please."He began to move even faster, his hips thrusting into you with a brutal rhythm, his grip on your leg tightening possessively.

“I'm coming,” you moaned.

Kwon felt your body tense up as you reached your peak, and he let out a guttural groan of satisfaction. He buried his face in your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he tried to hold back his own release."Come for me, darling," he growled, his voice strained. "Come all over my cock."

You moan and come on his cock, and your pussy tightens around him. Kwon's eyes widened as you tightened around him, and he let out a loud moan of pleasure. He buried himself deep inside you, his hips stuttering as he reached his own release."Fuck, you're so tight," he panted, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm. He held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you, as he rode out the waves of pleasure.*

You whimpered as you felt his cum inside you.

Kwon shuddered as he felt his cum fill you, a low growl escaping his lips. He continued to thrust into you, riding out the last of his orgasm, before finally stilling, his body pressed against yours."God, you're perfect," he murmured, his voice hoarse and breathless. "So perfect and mine."

You were shaking with pleasure, whimpering.

Kwon gently pulled out of you, and he watched as his cum spilled out of you, a possessive look in his eyes."You're mine, remember that," he said, his voice still low and rough. He lifted your chin, forcing you to look at him. "Don't forget who owns you."

You shivered at his possessive words, a wave of arousal and submission washing over you. Despite your attempts to maintain some measure of control, Kwon's dominance overwhelmed you. "Yes, I'm yours. I won't forget," you responded, your voice trembling. You could feel his gaze burning into you, claiming you as his own. The intensity of the moment left you breathless and at his mercy. In that moment, you were completely under his control.

Kwon's eyes darkened at your words, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He loved the way you submitted to him, how you willingly gave yourself over to his every whim. But he wasn't done yet. He wanted to make sure you understood the depths of your submission.

He leaned in, his mouth hovering just above yours, his lips brushing against yours lightly. "You're mine in every way," he whispered, his voice laden with desire. "My body, my mind, and my soul. You belong to me, completely and utterly."

[innerfare]

Random Shanks Headcanons 

Summary: A random collection of Shanks headcanons

CW: None // SFW

———

Has a fake arm that he uses for gags. Only he and Yasopp find it funny. Beckman once tossed the arm overboard after Shanks ‘lost’ the arm in a pot of Lucky Roux’s stew, only for Shanks to enter the mess hall the next morning with another attached to his body. 

Can do magic tricks, especially good with coins and cards. A very skilled sleight of hand artist. Also not above using these tricks to cheat while playing cards. (Inspired by the coin game w/ Luffy flashback). Cheating is the only way he can beat Beckman, who’s by far the best player on the crew. But he doesn’t even cheat to win, he just likes the thrill of getting away with it; also enjoys the thrill of getting caught. There was a rabbit loose aboard the Red Force for a solid month after the captain tried to learn how to pull it out of a hat.

The best beer pong player in the New World, probably the entire world. Would challenge all of his enemies to a game of beer pong to settle their disputes if he thought they would respect the results of the game. Good at drinking games in general (has a little too much experience).

Is an infamous gossip. If a member of the crew wants word to get out about something, they just mention it to their captain. 

Enjoys playing matchmaker. Always acts as a wingman for his crew when there’s a pretty bar maid. The only one he never tried to fix up with one of his crew mates was his darling Makino. 

Are soap operas a thing in the One Piece universe? Because if so, he has a favorite that he never misses an episode of (fights hardest on Thursdays so he can be home in time to catch the latest episode of Search for One Piece, a pirate drama based loosely on Roger’s life. He particularly enjoys the harlequin character). 

Loves meddling in any drama that comes up aboard the ship. Sometimes even starts drama just for entertainment, like the time he told Lucky Roux that he saw Limejuice sneaking steaks from the freezer, or when he robbed Beckman blind and left traces of a turkey leg at the scene of the crime. 

Thinks childish pranks are the funniest thing in the world. Pranks prospective crew members to see how they respond; screens them based on whether they find his jokes funny. Beckman insists this is not the best way to do things but Shanks persists. But Shanks isn't just being childish. He's making sure everyone who joins his crew has a good nature as that is, in his opinion, the most important thing. If you can't trust your crew, you're dead in the water.

Was definitely posing when the government snapped the photo for his wanted poster but pretends it was completely candid. Has a habit of comparing his wanted poster to the posters of his enemies.

He also uses his wanted poster to fish for compliments, especially from his crew. “That’s a pretty good picture, isn’t it?” “I don’t look half bad in that, do I?” “The real reason the marines are hunting me- the sight of my wanted poster makes their wives swoon.”  

Refers to himself as, “that handsome devil.” 

Smells like body odor and weed, but in a Matthew McConaughey kind of way (that is to say, it works for him). 

Animals and babies always like him. He insists the trick is to act uninterested. 

He is genuinely good-natured, but he definitely uses his sense of humor to disguise how terrifying he truly is. Is a pro at lulling people into a false sense of security. Definitely slouches on purpose to seem less intimidating.

Secretly paid off Luffy's "treasure tab" at Makino's bar. Didn't do it just to be kind to the poor kid but actually because he believed Luffy when he said he'd pay it back in full and did it to annoy Luffy a decade or two down the line. (When Luffy finally goes back to pay Makino and she informs him Shanks already did, Luffy blows a gasket.)

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[twistedheartsclub]

Badge Of Control Male X Female Reader

⚠️ Warnings: non-consensual touching, sexual assault (implied), psychological abuse, stalking, authority figure manipulation, gaslighting, forced intimacy, grooming, trauma response, dissociation, domestic violence (referenced), coerced engagement. This is a work of fiction. The portrayal of law enforcement in this story does not represent real officers or the profession as a whole. It is purely for dark fictional narrative purposes.

A/N: I AM making a tag post if you wish to be tag in future stories please respond here <-

Everyone in town knew Officer Grayson Wolfe.

He had a presence that couldn’t be ignored—tall, broad-shouldered, always dressed in a perfectly pressed uniform, gun resting at his hip like it belonged there. The silver in his hair only made him look sharper, more dignified, like age had refined him instead of softened him.

He was everywhere.

At the high school football games, he stood tall on the sidelines, barking commands and clapping players on the back like he was still one of them. The boys loved him. Their parents trusted him. On Sundays, he knelt in the front pew of the church alone, head bowed, hands folded in reverence. At the grocery store, he helped elderly women load their bags with a smile. At the town fair, he shook every hand, posed for every photo, always looking like the man every mother hoped their daughter would marry—or avoid disappointing.

People adored him. Worshipped him, even.

“Solid man,” they’d say. “A real role model. Damn shame about his wife.”

Everyone knew the story. She’d left him five years ago—cheated on him, they said, packed her bags in the night and disappeared without a trace. Some said she ran to the city. Others hinted at something darker, but never too loudly. Not with Wolfe always nearby. Always watching.

Lately, it was her he’d been watching.

It started subtly. A smile that lingered too long. A hand that brushed her arm when it didn’t need to. A few too many “coincidental” run-ins—at the diner, the library, outside her apartment. And when he spoke to her, there was something in his tone that didn’t match his words. Like a warning dressed as a compliment. Like a man who’d decided something—and expected her to fall in line.

Grayson Wolfe had already made up his mind about her.

And no one was going to stop him.

Y/N had always been the quiet type.

At twenty-five, she was in her second year of teaching at the elementary school—the same one she’d once attended, now standing at the front of a classroom instead of behind a desk. After a few years in the city chasing something bigger, she’d come home. Said it was temporary at first, but then her mother’s smile softened something in her, and she stayed.

It made her mother happy, especially after her father passed. It felt like the right thing. And Y/N had always done the right thing.

She lived in the same small house she grew up in, still hung laundry outside on Sundays, still folded programs at church with the older ladies who’d known her since birth. She wasn’t flashy or loud. She didn’t drink, didn’t date, didn’t stay out late. Her world was small, structured—early mornings, lesson plans, parent conferences, potlucks, and PTA meetings. She brought casseroles to funerals. Volunteered at school dances. Organized bake sales.

People admired her. Thought she was sweet. Responsible. Safe.

They called her “a good girl.”

Some said she was wasting her youth. Others whispered that maybe she was still grieving. But no one really asked her. They were content to keep her in her box—small-town golden girl, reliable and pure.

Grayson Wolfe watched her like something holy. Like something breakable.

And Y/N, as kind and careful as she was, had no idea how dangerous it was to be noticed by a man like him.

Grayson had known of her, of course.

Everyone did. Y/N had been the quiet, polite girl in the back pew—always with her parents, always dressed modestly, always helping someone. When she left for the city, most figured she’d disappear like the others her age. But she came back.

And he noticed her—really noticed her—the first time she stepped out of her mother’s car that morning last spring, fresh-faced and soft around the edges, carrying a tray of cupcakes into the school.

She wore a long skirt that caught the wind and a cardigan pulled tight around her, her hair pinned back like she hadn’t meant to draw attention to herself. But she had. She always did. Not with her body, but with her goodness—that kind of small, radiant warmth that made men look twice. That made him look twice.

Grayson had pulled up beside the school in his cruiser, just to check on things—he told himself. She hadn’t even looked in his direction. She was laughing with the secretary, brushing flour off her cheek with the back of her hand.

She didn’t see the way he stared. Didn’t feel how long he sat there in his idling car, fingers tightening on the wheel.

That was the first time.

But the craving came later.

It was a week before summer break. He’d gone to speak at the school, part of some local “community heroes” program. She was there, seated near the front with her students. She wore a blue dress—soft fabric, high neckline, delicate sleeves. A gold cross hung at her throat.

He spoke to the kids. But he only looked at her.

And when she met his eyes for the briefest second—nervous, polite, nothing more—something inside him shifted. Snapped. A sweet, trembling sort of hunger bloomed in his chest. A need. Not just to look at her.

To have her.

To be the one to teach her what the world was really like. What men like him were really like. She didn’t even know what kind of danger she invited just by existing.

That night, he sat alone in his dark kitchen, replaying the way she’d smiled at a child, the way she’d nodded respectfully when he passed. That smile. That softness.

His hand curled around his glass. He hadn’t touched a woman since his wife left. But this wasn’t about sex.

It was about ownership.

And Grayson Wolfe had just decided that sweet little Y/N belonged to him.

The sun was low when Y/N stepped outside, the weight of another school day settling in her shoulders. She had a stack of graded papers tucked under one arm, her hair pulled into a loose bun, a soft blouse clinging to her from the early summer heat. Most of the kids were gone by now, the buses long disappeared. Only a few straggling parents stood near the front office, chatting quietly.

She didn’t notice the cruiser parked near the curb until she was almost to her car.

“Miss Y/L/N.”

The voice was smooth, deep, and too familiar. She turned quickly, startled, blinking against the sun.

Officer Wolfe stood beside his patrol car, sunglasses in hand, gaze steady on hers. He smiled. Not a wide smile—just a slow, practiced tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh,” she said, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “Good evening, Officer Wolfe.”

“Evening,” he echoed. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Just saw you walking out and thought I’d say hello.”

She shifted her books slightly, suddenly hyperaware of the low neckline of her blouse, the sweat at the back of her neck. “That’s kind of you.”

He moved closer, just a step, slow and casual. “How’s the second year treating you?”

She smiled politely. “Better than the first. Still learning a lot.”

“I bet those kids adore you.” He said it like a fact, not a compliment. “You’ve got that...warmth. Gentle voice. I’ve had teachers like that. Ones you don’t forget.”

Her smile faltered for a moment. “That’s very kind of you.”

“I meant it,” he said, eyes sweeping over her—not with lust, not overtly. But there was a hunger there. Controlled. Contained. “Your mother must be real proud. I see her at church sometimes.”

“She is,” Y/N replied, her voice softening slightly. “She’s happy I came home.”

He nodded slowly. “We all are. It’s good to have you back here, where you belong.”

The words lingered strangely in the air.

She glanced down at her keys. “Well, I should get home. Papers to finish, and I promised my mom I’d help with dinner.”

“Of course,” he said, but didn’t step back. “Still living out on Cypress Lane?”

She froze for a half second. It wasn’t a secret, not really. Small town, everyone knew everything. But the way he said it—so smoothly, so certain—sent a strange chill down her spine.

“Yes,” she said. “Same house.”

He nodded. “If you ever feel uneasy, or if anything strange happens—someone hanging around your place or whatnot—you let me know. Call me directly. Don’t even bother with dispatch.”

Y/N hesitated. “I...thank you. I appreciate that.”

His eyes didn’t leave her. “Pretty girl like you. Living alone. Makes a man want to keep watch.”

Something flickered in her chest—discomfort, warning, but wrapped in layers of politeness she’d been raised on.

“I’m alright,” she said gently. “But I’ll remember that.”

He stepped back then, just enough to ease the moment.

“You do that.” He opened his car door. “Be safe, Miss Y/L/N.”

And then, with one last look, he drove off slow, the cruiser disappearing down the road.

Y/N stood frozen for a moment longer, clutching her keys, her papers suddenly feeling far too heavy.

She didn’t know why her heart was beating so fast.

The road was empty, bathed in quiet darkness, save for the dim hum of Y/N’s headlights cutting through the mist that clung low to the trees. She wasn’t in a rush—just tired, her shift at the church potluck cleanup running later than expected. The leftovers were boxed in the back seat, her mother’s prized cherry pie wrapped carefully in foil for Sunday service.

The blue and red lights in her rearview mirror came out of nowhere.

Her heart jumped.

She pulled to the side quickly, hands shaking slightly as she rolled down the window. She already knew who it would be. She knew.

Boots approached slowly on gravel. Purposeful. Then the tap of knuckles against the window.

“Evenin’, Miss Y/L/N.”

She looked up into Officer Wolfe’s face. Calm. Professional. Smiling.

“H-hi, Officer. Is...is something wrong?”

“You were movin’ a little fast back there.” He shone his flashlight inside the car. “Mind telling me where you’re headed so late?”

“I was just driving home from the church, sir. We had cleanup after the potluck.”

He leaned in a little, sniffed the air exaggeratedly. “Been drinking?”

Her eyes widened. “No. Of course not.”

He tilted his head. “Mm. Step out of the car for me.”

“Officer, I—”

“Now,” he said, more firmly.

Her pulse roared in her ears. But she obeyed.

She stepped out slowly, the gravel cold beneath her flats. The night felt far too quiet, the two of them alone on that stretch of road. His flashlight skimmed over her body in a way that made her arms fold tightly around herself.

“Stand straight. Feet together. Hands by your sides.”

She complied, trembling.

He circled her slowly, voice low and deliberate. “You know, I’ve pulled you over three times this year. You think maybe you’re distracted when you drive? Or maybe just nervous around me?”

“I didn’t mean to do anything wrong, sir,” she whispered.

“No, I don’t imagine you meant to,” he said softly, stepping behind her. “But you’re such a little thing. Shaky hands. Flushed cheeks. Someone might think you were guilty of something.”

His hand landed on her waist—firm, possessive.

She froze.

“Officer—”

“Shh. Just making sure you’re steady,” he murmured, leaning closer, his breath hot against her ear. “That’s what I’m here for. To make sure you’re safe. To keep you in line.”

His fingers skimmed lower, brushing the curve of her hip, the swell beneath her blouse. Her stomach turned, but her body locked in place. Powerless.

“You ever get lonely in that house?” he whispered. “Ever wish someone’d come knockin’? You’d open that door in your nightgown and realize you didn’t have to be alone anymore?”

Her throat constricted. She couldn’t speak.

He held her there for a second longer—his hand pressing just a little too low, his breath ghosting down her neck—then stepped back, slowly, letting the air shift between them.

“Alright,” he said suddenly, all professionalism again. “Everything checks out. But do be careful. Wouldn’t want anything happening to you out here alone at night.”

Y/N didn’t move.

He tipped his hat, smile returning. “Can’t wait for that pie on Sunday, sweetheart.”

Then he turned, walked back to his cruiser, and drove off—leaving her standing in the dark, shaking, her skin crawling.

The house was full of soft music, laughter, and the smell of pot roast and candles. Her mother was glowing, seated at the head of the table surrounded by neighbors and cousins, beaming at the simple beauty of her birthday dinner.

Y/N moved quietly through the kitchen, refilling glasses and bringing out slices of cake. It was warm, loud with chatter, and usually this kind of night would’ve brought her comfort. But her stomach twisted when she heard the knock at the door.

“I’ll get it!” she called automatically, wiping her hands on her apron and crossing the living room.

She opened the door—and froze.

There he was.

Officer Grayson Wolfe, in casual clothes that somehow looked more dangerous on him than his uniform. Jeans, dark button-up, sleeves rolled. His eyes dropped immediately to her apron, then up to her face.

“Evenin’, Miss Y/L/N,” he said smoothly. “Heard it was your mother’s birthday. Figured I’d stop by with something sweet.” He held up a small bakery box.

Her lips parted. “I—thank you. That’s… very kind.”

Before she could protest, he stepped inside. Just like that. Familiar. At home.

“Officer Wolfe!” her mother’s voice called from the dining room. “Grayson! You didn’t have to come all the way over here.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said, moving through the house like it was already his. “Town treasure like you? Deserves a proper celebration.”

Y/N stood rooted, heart pounding. Her hands trembled as she reached for the box he’d brought—but her fingers slipped, knocking over a full glass of tea on the counter.

It shattered on the floor with a loud crack.

“Y/N!” her mother gasped. “Are you alright?”

“I—yes, I’m sorry,” she muttered, already kneeling, her face hot with embarrassment.

“Let me help with that,” Grayson said, crouching beside her.

“No, it’s fine,” she said too quickly.

But he was already reaching for the broken pieces, his large hand brushing hers—then lingering. His fingers curled around her wrist, firm, steady.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly, close enough for her to smell his cologne. “Careful, sweetheart. You’ll cut yourself.”

She tried to pull back, but he didn’t let go—not right away. His eyes dropped to the curve of her chest where her blouse gaped ever so slightly, then to the way her skirt rode up as she knelt. His gaze lingered there far too long.

“You wear these skirts on purpose, don’t you?” he murmured under his breath, too quiet for anyone else to hear. “Pretending not to know how soft you look crawling on your knees.”

Her breath hitched.

“Such a little thing,” he whispered, his voice low and hot at her ear. “You keep trembling like that, and I’ll have to come check on you tonight. Make sure you sleep alright.”

She jerked away finally, grabbing a towel and mumbling something about more napkins. She stood quickly, trying to hide her panic behind a forced smile.

Grayson rose too, slow and calm, wiping his hands like nothing had happened.

He turned toward her mother with that practiced grin. “All cleaned up. No harm done.”

Y/N slipped into the kitchen, heart thudding against her ribs, hands gripping the counter as if it might ground her.

From the other room, she heard her mother laugh softly.

“You’re always so helpful, Grayson.”

He chuckled back, voice like honey.

“I just like taking care of what’s mine.”

It had been a week since she last saw him.

Seven days of shallow sleep, nervous glances through the window, flinching at the sound of tires on gravel. A full seven days of pretending everything was normal—teaching spelling words, grading worksheets, hugging little arms during recess.

She thought maybe, just maybe, he had let it go.

But then Career Day came.

The children were buzzing with excitement, squirming in their seats as they took turns listening to local professionals—farmers, nurses, mechanics—talk about what they did. Y/N stood at the door with her clipboard, scanning the list. There were three slots reserved for the local sheriff’s department. Three officers. Three chances.

She prayed it wouldn’t be him.

When the cruiser pulled up, her stomach dropped.

He stepped out slowly, in full uniform, mirrored sunglasses on, badge gleaming under the spring sun. A few parents outside waved at him cheerfully. Some clapped him on the back. He smiled like he hadn’t crushed her under the weight of his hands a week ago.

She had hoped for anyone else.

But he chose her classroom.

Officer Grayson Wolfe strode in like he owned the building. The children gasped in awe, thrilled by the presence of a real police officer. Y/N stood stiffly to the side, arms crossed in front of her, heart thudding with every step he took closer to her desk.

“Well, hello there,” he greeted the class. “Heard there were some bright young minds in here. I’m Officer Wolfe, and I keep our town safe.”

The children clapped.

One little boy raised his hand. “Do you get to use your gun?”

Grayson chuckled. “Only when I have to. I try to use my words first. Most problems can be solved if you look someone in the eyes and speak slow.”

His eyes flicked to Y/N. She felt her blood run cold.

Another hand shot up. “Do you arrest bad guys?”

“All the time,” he said. “But not everyone who does bad things looks like a bad guy. Sometimes they smile real pretty. Sometimes they pretend to be sweet. But I see right through that.”

The kids giggled, but Y/N’s stomach turned.

Then a little girl near the front raised her hand and asked innocently, “Do you know Miss Y/N?”

He smiled wide—too wide.

“Oh, I know Miss Y/N very well,” he said slowly, letting the words roll out like molasses. “We go way back. She’s someone I keep an extra close eye on.”

The kids laughed, confused but delighted.

“Why?” another asked.

He chuckled low. “Because sometimes the people who look the softest... hide the most trouble.”

Y/N’s heart stopped. Her mouth went dry.

“But don’t worry,” he added, kneeling dramatically beside the girl who asked. “It’s my job to protect people. Especially the ones who don’t know they need it.”

He stood and looked right at Y/N, gaze unblinking. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Right, Miss Y/N?”

She swallowed hard and forced a tight nod.

“R-right.”

Grayson winked. “Told you I’d make it to class someday.”

The children clapped again.

And she smiled for them—because she had to—but behind her back, her hands were shaking.

The children’s laughter still echoed in the room as he made his exit, tipping his hat like some old-fashioned gentleman. He was halfway down the hall when she slipped out behind him, her steps fast, hushed—barely louder than the rush of her own heartbeat.

“Officer Wolfe,” she whispered, catching up to him.

He stopped without turning, his body still, but she could feel the tension in the air as if he’d been expecting this.

“Please…” her voice cracked. “Please stop.”

He turned then—slowly, eyes scanning her face with clinical calm.

“Stop what, sweetheart?”

Her lips trembled. She kept her voice low, afraid to be overheard. “The stops. The comments. The way you… the things you said in there.” Her voice tightened. “This isn’t right.”

He stepped forward, and she instinctively backed up until her spine met the cool cement of the wall. He followed, not quite touching—but close enough for his breath to fan across her cheek.

“I am the law,” he said, voice low and sharp. “You don’t get to tell me what’s right.”

His hand came up slowly, brushing her hair from her face in a mockingly gentle gesture. “You think I don’t see how you flinch? How you run off and shake behind closed doors? You think you’re hiding it?” He leaned in, his mouth near her ear. “I could press you against this wall right now and no one would stop me. You’d cry, sure. You’d sob like a little girl. But in the end? You’d be mine. You already are.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes, her mouth opening in a silent gasp.

Then—

“Officer Wolfe!”

A cheerful voice rang out from the other end of the hall. Mr. Delaney, the P.E. teacher, strode toward them with a clipboard in hand, utterly oblivious.

Grayson’s hand dropped instantly. He took a casual step back, his whole posture shifting like a light switch flipped—from predator to polite.

“Hey there, Delaney,” he greeted smoothly, like he hadn’t just whispered filth into a trembling woman’s ear. “Good to see you, man.”

Y/N quickly turned her head, blinking hard, willing the tears not to fall. Her hands were still clenched at her sides.

Mr. Delaney gave her a bright smile. “Miss Y/L/N, you okay? You look a little pale.”

She nodded, too fast. “I’m fine. Just—long day.”

Grayson clapped a hand on Delaney’s shoulder with a soft chuckle. “She’s a hard worker. That’s why we all keep an eye out for her.”

Delaney laughed, distracted by a question on his clipboard.

But Grayson turned just slightly, just enough to murmur one last thing before walking off—

“Keep pushing me, sweetheart. See what happens when I stop being polite.”

Then he was gone, whistling as he walked, like nothing had happened at all.

Sunday morning came with soft bells and sunlight streaking through stained glass. Y/N sat stiffly in the pew beside her mother, hands folded in her lap, the Bible untouched. Her heart wasn’t in the sermon. It hadn’t been for weeks. Not since him.

Officer Wolfe sat just a few rows ahead, as he always did—his broad frame taking up space like a shadow. He laughed when the pastor made a joke, nodded at each verse like he believed it. When the congregation rose to sing, he tilted his head toward Y/N’s mother and offered a small, respectful nod.

Her mother smiled back, completely unaware of the ice that ran down Y/N’s spine.

After the service ended and people slowly filed out, shaking hands and offering hugs, Y/N slipped from her mother’s side and made her way to the front, where Pastor Lawrence stood shaking hands by the altar.

“Pastor?” she said softly.

He turned with a warm smile. “Miss Y/N. Always good to see you. How’s your mother feeling?”

“She’s well, thank you. I—I was wondering if I could speak with you. In private.”

The pastor's brows lifted slightly in surprise, but he gestured toward a bench by the side wall. “Of course.”

They sat. Y/N kept her voice low, her fingers twisting in her lap.

“It’s about Officer Wolfe,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t watching.

Pastor Lawrence’s smile didn’t falter. “What about him?”

“He’s been… following me. Saying things. Pulling me over for no reason. I think he’s—” she hesitated, throat tightening, “—I think he’s watching me. And I don’t know what to do.”

The pastor listened, but his expression didn’t change. He sighed softly, placing a gentle hand on hers.

“I know Grayson can be...intense,” he said kindly. “But he’s a good man. A little lonely since his divorce, maybe, but he’s been nothing but respectful to me and my family. He’s served this town for almost two decades.”

Y/N blinked. “I’m telling you he’s—he’s touching me. Whispering things. He makes me feel unsafe.”

Lawrence’s face grew tighter, more patronizing. “Sometimes when a man has lost as much as Grayson has, he doesn’t always know how to express himself. I’m not excusing anything, but maybe give him grace. The Lord asks that we show compassion.”

Her chest tightened. “But—”

“I’ll say a prayer for your heart, Miss Y/N,” he said gently, already standing. “You’re a strong girl. Don’t let misunderstandings trouble your spirit.”

Y/N stood too, the weight in her chest heavier than before.

Outside, her mother waited near the car, chatting with a neighbor. Y/N walked up slowly, eyes down.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” her mother asked as they got inside.

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “Can we… talk? About something?”

Her mother buckled her seatbelt, not catching the shake in her daughter’s voice. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

Y/N stared at her hands. “It’s about Officer Wolfe.”

Her mother looked over with a raised brow. “Grayson?”

Y/N nodded. “He’s been… acting strange. Saying things to me. Pulling me over. He—he’s making me uncomfortable.”

Her mother’s lips thinned in confusion. “But he’s always been kind to us. He brought me that pie on my birthday. And didn’t he help you clean up after that mess in the kitchen?”

“That’s not what it was,” Y/N said quickly, voice cracking. “He’s… he’s scaring me.”

There was a pause. Then, gently:

“Honey,” her mother said, “I think you’re just stressed. You’ve been working so hard lately. Maybe you’re reading into things. Grayson’s a good man. Maybe a little forward, sure, but men like him don’t come around often.”

Y/N turned to the window, biting her lip to keep from crying.

And in the mirror of the church across the lot—she saw him again.

Standing at his cruiser. Watching.

Smiling.

Later That Evening

The house was too quiet.

Y/N sat curled on the couch, blanket wrapped tightly around her legs, a cup of tea long since gone cold between her palms. The TV played softly in the background, but she wasn’t watching. Her eyes were fixed on the door. The deadbolt was locked. She’d checked it three times.

Her mother’s words rang in her head like poison.

“Grayson’s a good man.” “Men like him don’t come around often.” “You’re just stressed.”

She’d almost screamed. Almost begged.

Instead, she just nodded.

Because it was pointless. He had them all. The town. The church. Her mother.

And now she was alone with the truth no one would believe.

A sudden knock shattered the silence.

Y/N jumped, her tea spilling onto her lap. She clutched the cup tightly, frozen.

Three more knocks. Slow. Measured.

She stood, legs trembling, and approached the door quietly. She didn’t need to ask who it was.

“Open the door, sweetheart,” came the low voice through the wood. “You know it’s me.”

Her breath hitched. She didn’t move.

“Come on now. I was real patient all week. Didn't even call. Didn't come by. Just watched. I thought you'd appreciate that.”

Her fingers hovered near the lock.

“I just want to talk,” he said, voice softer now. “You said you didn’t feel safe. I’m here to make you feel safe.”

Y/N swallowed, backing away from the door. “Please go home.”

A pause.

Then the handle rattled. Hard.

“You don’t tell me to go home,” he growled. “You’re home. This is where you stay. Where I’ll keep you. Because no one else sees what I do.”

There was a sound—a loud, metallic scrape—as if something ran down the door. Her heart dropped.

And then… silence.

She waited five minutes before she could even breathe again. Then twenty more before she finally opened the door a crack.

The porch was empty.

But on the doormat sat a small pie tin, still warm.

On top of it, a note scrawled in neat, all-caps print:

“I WANT TO BE INSIDE WHEN YOU BAKE THE NEXT ONE.”

The Field Trip – Thursday Morning

The sun was bright, too cheerful for how heavy Y/N’s chest felt.

She stood among a swarm of second graders waiting to board the buses for their field trip to the local nature preserve. The kids were buzzing with excitement, backpacks stuffed with juice boxes and hand wipes, teachers organizing roll calls and laminated name tags.

Y/N tried to smile as she crouched to tie a loose shoelace.

She didn’t see the cruiser until it pulled into the parking lot.

Her body stiffened.

Officer Wolfe stepped out, dressed down in his county-issued polo and cargo pants, sunglasses hiding his eyes. His badge was still clipped to his belt, gun at his hip. He looked casual. Approachable. And when the principal waved him over, he offered that same easy grin that fooled them all.

“Just here to help supervise,” he told the staff. “Keep an eye on things.”

Y/N felt cold all over.

They boarded the buses, and of course, Grayson chose hers. He sat toward the front, but his presence filled the small space like smoke—inescapable. Every time she looked up, his eyes were on her.

At the preserve, the kids scattered toward the nature trail in pairs, teachers trying to herd them like cats.

Y/N stayed near the back, gently guiding stragglers forward—until she felt it.

A hand on her lower back.

She froze.

“Careful,” came his voice beside her, too close. “Trail’s a little uneven. Wouldn’t want you twisting an ankle.”

She moved away, mumbling something about needing to help a student.

But it didn’t stop.

At the bird-watching post, his hand brushed her hip as he “reached” past her for the guide pamphlet. At the pond, he stepped too close behind her, his breath ghosting over her neck as he asked about the curriculum. At the narrow trail bridge, she slipped on the damp wood—just slightly—and he caught her.

Both arms around her waist.

She gasped, her palms pressing against his chest as she tried to push off. But he didn’t let go immediately. His hands lingered. One thumb brushed over her ribs, slow, calculated.

“Easy there,” he murmured, low in her ear. “I’ve got you.”

Her cheeks burned as she stepped away, murmuring thanks, the kids nearby unaware.

But others noticed. Just not in the way she feared.

Later, as the group sat on picnic blankets for lunch, a couple of fellow teachers sidled over to her, smiling like they’d just uncovered a juicy secret.

“Y/N…” “Girl, he caught you like a movie scene.” “Is something going on there? That man’s been hovering around you all day.”

Y/N forced a laugh, brushing it off. “No, it’s nothing. He’s just… being helpful.”

But her sandwich sat untouched in her lap. Her hands shook.

Grayson, a few yards away, leaned against a tree, sipping from a water bottle, eyes locked on her.

He smiled when she looked up.

And mouthed something only she could see:

“You belong to me.”

Back at School – That Afternoon

The sun was already sinking low by the time the buses rolled back into the school parking lot. The kids were loud and exhausted, the kind of chaos that usually made Y/N smile.

But not today.

Her nerves were frayed from the constant grazing touches. From the way he’d watched her—all day—like he was waiting for the exact moment she'd break.

She hurried her class inside, gently herding them to their desks with instructions to start their quiet drawings. She just wanted a moment. Five minutes to breathe. Five minutes to feel alone.

She turned to reach for a stack of papers on her desk when the door eased shut behind her with a soft click.

Her breath caught.

“I was hoping we could talk,” Officer Wolfe said from across the room, voice smooth, as if he belonged there. “Privately.”

She turned slowly. “Now’s not a good time. The kids—”

“I won’t be long,” he said, already closing the distance. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t—”

“You have,” he said, stepping closer. “But that’s alright. I understand. You’re scared.”

She backed slightly, her desk pressing into the back of her thighs.

“I have to get back to the students, Officer Wolfe—”

“Grayson,” he corrected softly. “Say it.”

She didn’t.

He sighed, mock disappointment curling the corners of his lips. “You know, most women would be grateful for the kind of attention I’ve given you. But you... you’re special, aren’t you? So good. So soft. You don’t even know how badly I want to ruin that.”

His hand reached out, brushing her arm—barely, but it lit her skin on fire.

She flinched.

He leaned in slowly, not touching her face, not forcing anything overt—but his lips pressed firmly, deliberately against her temple. A long, claiming kiss that burned.

“Mine,” he whispered against her skin.

The doorknob rattled.

He stepped back instantly.

A teacher—Ms. Crane—opened the door, pausing when she saw them.

“Oh,” she blinked, smiling awkwardly. “Everything alright?”

Grayson gave her a charming grin. “Just checking in. Making sure Miss Y/L/N here’s got everything she needs after the trip. She's a real trooper.”

Y/N's voice didn’t work, but she nodded, eyes wide.

Ms. Crane didn’t question it.

Grayson tipped his head. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

He left, boots thudding quietly down the hall.

Ms. Crane lingered only a moment before disappearing too.

Y/N shut the door behind them with trembling hands, her heart hammering. She leaned against it, trying to slow her breathing, eyes stinging.

No one said anything.

No one ever said anything.

She pressed her hands to her cheeks, forced a deep breath, and smoothed down her skirt.

Then she walked back to her class, smiling gently as if nothing had happened.

Sunday Morning – The Party

By Sunday morning, the whispers had already started.

The women at the bakery counter spoke behind cupped hands. Parents at the school drop-off gave her knowing looks. Even the pastor’s wife paused too long when shaking Y/N’s hand after service, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

They didn’t say it outright—but she heard it in the tone. The way her name came attached to his.

“I heard Officer Wolfe’s been spending time with Miss Y/N.” “Well, she is of age.” “He’s such a gentleman. Maybe she needs someone like that. Older. Stable.” “Bit strange, though... isn’t it?”

Y/N tried to smile through it all. Pretended she didn’t hear. Pretended she didn’t feel the eyes.

It only got worse by the time the town’s spring celebration rolled around that afternoon. It was tradition—live music, homemade food, and decorations strung between trees in the community square. Y/N hadn’t wanted to go. She told her mother she wasn’t feeling well.

But her mother had already picked out the dress.

“It’ll cheer you up,” she said. “Besides, I worked hard on it.”

So Y/N came.

The dress was lovely—soft lavender, fitted just right, flowing at the hem like a petal when she walked. Her mother had curled her hair that morning, humming with pride as she pinned a silver clip behind her ear.

Y/N smiled because she had to.

But the moment they arrived, she felt it—that shift in the air.

People were watching.

Not cruelly, not yet. But with that curiosity. That hungry little flicker of interest small towns never failed to fan into flame.

She tried to blend in. Helped serve punch. Sat beside her mother during the raffle.

But then—she felt it.

That stare.

Her eyes snapped up—and there he was.

Grayson Wolfe.

Across the square, standing near the band, dressed sharply in a deep navy shirt with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. His badge wasn’t pinned tonight, but he didn’t need it. He carried the same heavy air of control. The same cool charm.

And he was staring straight at her.

Not blinking. Not smiling.

Just watching.

She looked away quickly, heart climbing into her throat.

Her mother nudged her lightly. “He cleans up well, doesn’t he?”

Y/N forced a laugh. “I suppose.”

“You could do worse,” her mother murmured. “A man like that would keep you safe.”

Y/N’s throat tightened.

She excused herself soon after, slipping behind the tents to try and breathe. The dress clung to her skin with heat. The curls felt too heavy on her neck.

But even back there—beneath the string lights and laughter—she felt it again.

He was coming.

Behind the Tent – During the Party

The laughter and chatter of the crowd faded as Y/N slipped behind the tent lined with paper lanterns and folding chairs. The space was quiet—mostly storage, crates of leftover drinks, a few balloons still tied to a beam. She exhaled, trying to press a hand to her chest and force her heart to still.

“Run out of smiles?”

The voice came like a blade across silk—familiar, sharp, low.

She froze.

Grayson stepped into view slowly, hands in his pockets, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, a picture of false ease. He looked so perfectly composed. So handsome. No one else saw the storm behind his smile.

“I just needed a moment,” she said quietly, already inching toward the side opening.

He stepped in her path.

“Mm. I’ve been patient all day, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You wore that little dress. Curled your hair. And then you ignored me like I’m nothing.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did.” His voice hardened. “You let them talk. Let them whisper about us like it’s a joke. Like you haven’t been the one crawling under my skin since the day I saw you walk out of that damn school.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. “Please, someone might—”

“No one’s listening.” He took another step, and the backs of her thighs brushed the tent wall. “They see a man trying to be good. Trying to give a lonely girl a future. But you?” His hand rose, fingers trailing the edge of her neckline, thumb grazing her collarbone. “You keep making me into something I’m trying so damn hard not to be.”

She whimpered, shoulders pressed back, her body trembling beneath his touch.

“You’re gonna be mine anyway,” he whispered. “You know that, right?”

Then—just as quickly as he stepped in—he stepped away.

Straightened his collar.

And disappeared around the side of the tent as if nothing happened at all.

Y/N stood frozen, trying to will the heat from her cheeks, her skin crawling where he’d touched her. She wiped her face, steadied her breath, and returned to the crowd just before her absence was noticed.

End of the Party – Dusk

The celebration wound down slowly. The sun dipped low, painting the sky in deep pinks and golds. Children were picked up by tired parents, the band packed their instruments, and neighbors waved their goodbyes with leftover desserts wrapped in foil.

Y/N was gathering her mother’s purse and a few paper decorations when his voice came again.

“I’ll walk you both home.”

Grayson was already beside them, smiling wide, looking like a savior to anyone watching.

Her mother smiled. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“No, that’s not—” Y/N started.

But her mother was already nodding, tucking her arm around Grayson’s as they started walking.

Y/N had no choice but to follow.

The walk was quiet, deceptively peaceful. Her mother chatted with him about the town, the food, the music. Grayson played the part well—nodding, laughing, glancing back at Y/N with that sick satisfaction when her mother wasn’t looking.

At the front porch, her mother turned to open the door.

“I’ll let you two say goodnight,” she said, unaware of the iron in Y/N’s spine as she froze on the steps.

Grayson turned to her, eyes heavy with intent.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” he murmured. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted me to watch you.”

“I didn’t,” she said quickly, quietly.

He leaned in close—far too close—pressing a kiss just beneath her ear. “Lie to me again, sweetheart.”

Then he stepped back, smiled toward the door, and called out: “Goodnight, ma’am.”

He disappeared into the dark like a ghost—leaving Y/N trembling on her porch, trying not to cry as her mother called her inside.

Monday Afternoon – The Sheriff’s Office

Y/N stood outside the sheriff’s station with clammy hands and a heart beating out of rhythm. The sun was bright overhead, but it felt too cold inside her chest. She hadn’t told her mother. She hadn’t told anyone. This—this—was her last card to play.

She stepped inside the station, her flats scuffing against the worn linoleum. The front desk deputy glanced up.

“Help you?”

“I… I need to speak with Sheriff Daly. Privately. Please.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “You got an appointment?”

“No. But it’s important. It’s about Officer Wolfe.”

That made him pause. Then he muttered something under his breath and nodded her toward the hall.

She followed the long corridor to the office at the end and knocked with shaking fingers.

“Come in,” said the familiar, tired voice.

Sheriff Jim Daly sat behind his cluttered desk, glasses perched on the edge of his nose, paperwork spread in lazy stacks. He looked up when she entered, brows lifting in mild surprise.

“Well, Miss Y/L/N. Haven’t seen you in a while. Everything alright?”

“No, sir,” she said, voice cracking. “That’s why I’m here.”

She told him everything.

Not all the details—she couldn’t find the words for the worst of it—but enough. The traffic stops. The touching. The way he followed her, whispered things, cornered her when no one was looking. Her voice broke halfway through, but she kept going. She had to.

Daly didn’t interrupt. Just watched her the entire time, lips pressed into a tired line.

When she finished, there was a heavy pause.

Then he sighed.

“Y/N… I believe you feel scared. I do. And I’m sorry for that.”

Her heart dropped. “But?”

“But,” he said, leaning back, “Grayson Wolfe’s served this department for nearly two decades. I’ve never once had a formal complaint. He’s respected, connected, and next in line once I retire. Which—” he motioned toward a plaque on the wall, “—is in three weeks. You understand?”

Her breath hitched. “You’re not going to do anything?”

“I’m saying… maybe this is just a misunderstanding. Maybe he’s being too forward, sure. But men like Grayson?” He shrugged. “They don’t just snap. They’re measured. Thoughtful. If there was something real here, I’d have heard about it from more than one nervous schoolteacher.”

Y/N’s face crumpled. “You don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that,” he said quickly. “But if this is a situation you can handle quietly, I’d strongly suggest doing so. No need to stir up trouble that could follow you around this town.”

She stood there, blinking hard. “You’re letting him take everything from me.”

“No one’s taking anything. You’re still safe, still working. Still whole.” He opened a drawer, pulled out a tissue box, and slid it across the desk. “And Wolfe? He’s a good man. But I’ll remind him to stay professional. That should ease things up for you.”

She didn’t take the tissue.

She turned and left, tears falling silently down her cheeks as she exited the building and stepped into the sun that now felt so far away.

Inside the Sheriff’s Office – Moments Later

Sheriff Daly waited until the front door clicked shut behind her.

Then he picked up the desk phone and dialed.

“Yeah. It’s done.” He scratched his chin. “She came in. Shook up, real upset. You’ll want to get a handle on your situation before it gets messy.”

A pause.

“Don’t worry,” Daly added, glancing at the retirement plaque again. “It’s all yours soon anyway.”

The sky was dimming by the time Y/N pulled into the driveway, her trunk full of groceries, her bones aching with exhaustion. Her visit to the sheriff had left her raw, exposed—like she’d peeled back a wound and been told to keep quiet about the bleeding.

She killed the engine, grabbed the first few bags, and forced herself up the front steps. Just one evening. One evening to herself. That’s all she needed.

As she unlocked the front door, she heard it—the low crunch of tires on gravel.

Her heart dropped.

She turned her head slowly, dread blooming fast and thick in her chest.

Officer Grayson Wolfe’s cruiser came to a stop just a few feet from her house. He stepped out casually, as if this was normal. Expected.

Her fingers clutched the paper bags tighter.

“Evenin’, sweetheart,” he called, walking up the path like it was his own.

She turned quickly toward the door, fumbling with her keys. “I’m fine, Officer Wolfe. Just getting groceries in. Thank you.”

He was at the steps now.

“Let me help with those.”

“No—thank you,” she said too fast. “I’ve got it.”

“I insist.”

His voice was soft, but there was an edge beneath it. A warning.

She opened the door and stepped inside, hoping—praying—he would stay on the porch.

But he followed.

No invitation.

No hesitation.

The door clicked shut behind him.

She turned around slowly, groceries still in hand, trying to keep her breathing even.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He tilted his head slightly, stepping further into her space. “I shouldn’t be? That’s a funny way to talk to someone who just wants to take care of you.”

“You’re scaring me,” she whispered.

His smile disappeared.

“Good.”

She blinked, stepping back.

Grayson moved in closer, reaching for the bags in her arms—not gently, but with a sudden jerk that made her gasp. He set them on the counter too hard, one nearly tipping over.

“You went to Sheriff Daly today.”

Her blood ran cold.

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice dropped, low and sharp. “You went there, you told him stories, you cried to him about how the big bad cop touched you.” He stepped closer. “And do you know what he did?”

Her silence was answer enough.

“He called me. Told me to handle it. Told me to keep my little problem quiet.” He leaned in, brushing her hair back with the back of his knuckles. “So here I am. Handling it.”

She flinched away, but his hand snapped forward, grabbing her by the jaw.

“I was gentle with you,” he hissed. “I gave you time. I played nice. But you don’t want nice, do you?”

Her eyes filled with tears, lips trembling under the pressure of his grip.

“You want truth, sweetheart? Fine.”

He shoved her backward—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make her stumble against the kitchen counter. He stalked toward her, a dark gleam in his eyes.

“No more playing house. No more smiling and waving like we’re strangers. You are mine. You’ve always been mine. And if you ever even think about going to someone else again—”

He grabbed her wrist, twisting it until she let out a soft cry.

“—I’ll break something. Something that won’t heal right.”

Tears slipped from her eyes.

Grayson stared down at her, his chest heaving, face flushed with quiet rage.

Then—like flipping a switch—he let go.

His fingers trailed down her arm slowly. “But you’re gonna be good from now on, right? No more trouble.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

He leaned in, kissed her cheek so slowly it felt like a brand. Then another kiss, lower, along her jaw, hovering near her lips without touching them.

“Clean yourself up,” he whispered. “Someone might stop by and think you’ve been crying.”

And just like that, he turned.

Strolled back out the door like nothing had happened. Like he didn’t leave her standing in her kitchen, cradling her wrist, shoulders shaking, silent sobs breaking loose as soon as she heard his cruiser disappear into the distance.

Two Days Later –

It was a bright, windy afternoon. The sound of children laughing and screaming on the playground filtered in through the open windows, their voices rising and falling like waves. Y/N stood by her desk, sorting spelling tests and trying to breathe through the ache that never quite left her chest anymore.

Then came the knock. Three slow, deliberate raps on the classroom door.

Her stomach turned.

Grayson Wolfe stepped in, dressed in a casual button-up and his duty belt, smiling wide as he held up two takeout bags and a tray of drinks.

“Brought lunch for the teachers,” he said cheerfully. “Thought you all could use a treat. Recess duty’s no joke.”

Y/N forced a smile. “That’s… thoughtful. Thank you.”

“Of course,” he replied. “But I saved yours for last. Figured we could eat together.”

She hesitated. “I have some things to grade—”

“Y/N,” he said, voice dipping just enough to make her freeze. “Please. I brought your favorite.”

He didn’t wait for permission. He was already setting down the food at her desk, pulling out her chair for her like it was some kind of date.

She sat, slowly. Trembling on the inside.

He pulled his chair close. Too close. Their knees brushed beneath the table.

He handed her a sandwich, unwrapped hers, and began to eat, relaxed like they did this every day. He talked between bites—about the school, the upcoming festival, the weather. But it all shifted when his gaze wandered to the window.

To the children.

He stopped mid-chew, a strange softness spreading across his face.

“You ever think about it?” he asked, his voice lower now. “Kids?”

She blinked. “I… I teach them every day.”

“No, I mean yours. Ours.”

She froze.

Grayson smiled, watching the children tumble across the grass.

“Little girl with your eyes. Little boy with my jaw. They’d be perfect. You’d be a beautiful mother.”

She gripped her sandwich tighter, her appetite gone.

“Grayson, I don’t—”

“You’d raise them right. Gentle, but firm. You’ve got that in you. That warmth.” He looked at her, his expression more serious now. “I think about it all the time, you know. Waking up to you. Coffee brewing. Kids in pajamas running around.”

Y/N’s breath shook.

She didn’t know what compelled her—defiance, fear, desperation—but she whispered, “What about your first wife?”

His jaw tensed.

The entire mood of the room changed. Like a storm sweeping in too fast to run from.

Grayson leaned back slightly, chewing slowly. “What about her?”

“I just… I don’t understand what happened. She left so suddenly.”

He was silent.

The sound of children outside continued, oblivious to the tension flooding the room.

Then he smiled—but it was all teeth.

“She didn’t appreciate what she had. Thought she could find better.” He leaned in again, close enough that his breath brushed her lips. “She disrespected me. Lied. Shamed me in front of people who owed me respect.”

Y/N tried to look away, but he gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“She forgot her place.”

Her pulse raced. His hand tightened ever so slightly before he let go.

“I’m not worried about you doing the same,” he added, voice soft again. “You’re smarter than she ever was.”

She nodded, mechanically, just to get him to stop.

He kissed her temple—slow, deliberate—and then stood, tossing his sandwich wrapper in the trash.

“Next time, I’ll bring pie,” he said casually. “We’ll talk names.”

And then he was gone.

Leaving Y/N alone in her classroom, still holding a sandwich she couldn’t bring herself to eat, the taste of ash in her mouth.

Spring Dance – Two Weeks Later

The community hall glowed beneath string lights and paper lanterns, the scent of fried dough, sweet cider, and blooming lilacs filling the warm spring air. It was supposed to be a celebration—Sheriff Daly’s retirement, the end of the season, a chance for the town to gather and laugh before the summer heat rolled in.

Y/N had been working since dawn.

She and her mother had cooked nearly everything on the buffet table—apple pies, cornbread, baked chicken, deviled eggs stacked in glass dishes. A few other church ladies had helped, but it was Y/N who’d set the centerpieces, folded the napkins just right. She hadn’t planned to stay long, just long enough to serve and smile politely, then slip out quietly.

But the music was loud, the mood festive, and everyone kept pulling her back in.

“You’re glowing, dear,” her mother said, adjusting a curl that had fallen from her updo. “Now, when was the last time you danced?”

“I’m fine, really.”

“Oh, nonsense. Go have a little fun. Just one.”

And that’s when he asked.

A young man—maybe in his late twenties, familiar but not close—offered his hand. “Would you?”

She hesitated, but the crowd around her cheered.

“Go on!” “Don’t be shy!” “You deserve it, Y/N!”

Peer pressure. Kind smiles. And a yearning in her chest she tried to ignore.

She took his hand.

And for a moment, just a moment, she smiled.

They moved in a slow circle beneath the lights, the fiddle music lilting around them. He was respectful, hands careful, conversation light. She laughed once—softly—when he made a joke about burnt cornbread.

She didn’t know Officer Wolfe had arrived.

Didn’t see the way he stood at the edge of the crowd, his jaw tight, eyes locked on her. His fists clenched at his sides as he watched her laugh, watched her dance, watched another man’s hands resting—however innocently—on his girl.

The moment the music ended, Y/N thanked her partner, smiled, and excused herself to the bathroom.

She never made it back to her mother.

The hallway behind the dance floor was dimmer, quieter. The sound of music faded behind closed doors as Y/N stepped into the small bathroom and splashed water on her neck to cool herself.

When she opened the door to leave, she didn’t get two steps before she ran straight into him.

Grayson.

He was waiting.

His hand closed around her upper arm before she could react, guiding—shoving—her back inside the bathroom.

The door slammed shut behind them.

“Having fun?” he asked, voice low and venomous.

“Grayson—please—”

“You think I wouldn’t hear about it? You think I wouldn’t see it? You, smiling like a little flirt, dancing around like you're free?”

“I didn’t—he just asked—and people—”

“People?” he snapped, his hand tightening. “People think you’re mine. Because you are. And now they’re going to think you’re loose. That you’re looking.”

He backed her up until she hit the sink.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were. And you liked it.” His voice dropped. “You liked having him touch you. Liked being looked at.”

Her chest heaved. “I just wanted to feel normal.”

His expression darkened.

“You don’t get normal anymore, sweetheart. You get me.”

He grabbed her jaw then—firm, painful—and leaned in close. His breath was hot and heavy with anger. “And I hope you danced real pretty, because it’s the last damn time you ever do it.”

He kissed her then—not with tenderness, but with punishment. A hard press of his mouth to hers, forcing her still.

When he pulled away, her lips burned, and her eyes were wet.

He stared at her for a long moment. Breathing heavily.

Then—soft again, suddenly—he brushed a tear from her cheek with a mock-gentle touch.

“Fix your face,” he said. “And go back out there before your mother starts asking questions.”

He turned to the door. Paused.

“Oh—and tell that boy if he ever touches you again, I’ll break every bone in his hand.”

Then he left.

Y/N slid down against the wall, clutching her stomach with trembling arms, the music beyond the door now feeling like a cruel, distant dream.

Her fingers couldn’t move fast enough.

Y/N had rushed home straight from the spring dance, skipping the goodbyes, ignoring her mother’s calls. Her skin still burned from his touch, her lips throbbed where he’d kissed her like punishment. The moment she stepped inside, she locked the door and flew up the stairs to her room.

She grabbed the old duffel bag from her closet—the one she hadn’t used since college—and started throwing in clothes: sweaters, socks, a pair of flats. No plan, just go. She didn’t know where, only that she needed to leave before morning. Before he came back.

But it was already too late.

Grayson Wolfe had noticed the moment she vanished from the dance floor. When her car was gone from the parking lot, he knew. Something in his gut twisted into rage, deep and dangerous. By the time he pulled into her driveway, he was seething.

And he didn’t bother knocking.

The door creaked open slowly.

Y/N didn’t hear it at first. She was in her room, heart pounding, stuffing her phone charger into the side pocket of her bag. But then—footsteps. Heavy. Measured. Purposeful.

She froze.

A slow creak on the bottom step.

Then—

“Going somewhere?”

His voice slithered up the stairs before he did.

She turned, pale and breathless, just as he stepped into the doorway of her bedroom.

Grayson’s face was unreadable at first. Just cold. Silent.

Then he saw the bag on the bed.

His jaw clenched.

“Don’t do this,” she whispered. “Please—just let me go.”

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

“You think you can just run?” he asked, his voice low and deadly. “After everything I’ve done for you? Everything I’ve planned?”

Her hands trembled. “I’m not safe with you.”

He laughed—just once. A bitter, humorless sound.

“You were never safer than you are with me,” he said. “I protected you. From the world. From men like that little boy you danced with. You think he could’ve kept you safe? He couldn’t even keep your attention for ten minutes.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “I never asked for any of this.”

“You didn’t have to,” he snapped, moving fast.

He reached the bed, grabbed the duffel, and threw it against the wall. It hit with a dull thud, the zipper busting halfway open.

“You don’t get to leave me.”

She backed up, but he was already there—pinning her between the dresser and his towering frame.

“You belong here,” he hissed. “In this house. In my life. And if you ever try to run again—” he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up, “—I swear to God, I’ll make sure you can’t.”

Her voice came out in a broken whisper. “You’re hurting me.”

“Good,” he said, his face twisted with betrayal. “Because you hurt me the moment you even thought about walking away.”

His hand slid down to her throat—not squeezing, but cradling it, thumb brushing under her jaw.

“But I’m not going to lose you,” he whispered. “Not to fear. Not to stupidity. Not to anyone.”

His lips pressed against her temple, almost gentle—but it wasn’t comfort. It was claiming.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said softly. “And if I have to break you to keep you... then so be it.”

He finally pulled away, breathing hard, and looked around the room like he was deciding what to do next.

“Unpack the bag,” he ordered.

She didn’t move.

He grabbed her wrist, hard this time, and dragged her toward the bed.

“Unpack. It. Now.”

Y/N stared at the bag crumpled against the floor, her breath coming in shaky gasps. Her body wouldn’t move. Her limbs had gone numb. Grayson stood over her, eyes dark with fury, his presence filling the entire room like a cage.

“Unpack it,” he said again, slower now. “Or I will.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Her knees buckled as she slowly sank to the floor. With trembling hands, she crawled toward the duffel and began to pull her clothes out—one by one. A shirt. Socks. The small framed photo she’d packed of her and her father fell out last.

She paused.

Her throat burned as she reached for it.

“Please,” she whispered, cradling the photo to her chest. “Please let me go. I’ll disappear. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t ruin your life—just let me go.”

Grayson knelt behind her.

He didn’t speak right away. Just watched her.

Then, slowly, he reached forward and took the picture from her hands. Studied it for a moment.

Without a word, he placed it gently back in the bag.

“I told you,” he said softly, dangerously. “You don’t get to leave. You don’t ask to leave.”

His hand slid down her arm—mockingly tender—before curling around her waist and dragging her upright, against him.

“You made me like this.”

She shook her head, sobbing now. “I didn’t—”

“You did,” he snapped, gripping her face again. “Every time you looked away. Every time you smiled at someone else. You made me starve for you.”

He kissed her then—not gently, not lovingly. A hard, possessive press of lips meant to punish.

When he pulled back, his hands moved lower, down her sides, gripping her hips.

“You want to run?” he growled. “Then run now. Go on. Try.”

She didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

He smirked.

“That’s what I thought.”

He stepped back slightly, hands still on her waist.

“Take it off.”

She blinked in confusion, breath catching. “W-what?”

“Your dress,” he said, voice low and commanding. “Take it off.”

Her heart stopped.

“No,” she whispered.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t strike.

He just stepped closer.

His fingers moved to the zipper at her back, slow, deliberate. “Then I will.”

She reached behind her in a panic, trying to stop him, but he grabbed her wrists and yanked them forward, pinning them against her chest.

“I said,” he murmured in her ear, “we do this my way now.”

He dragged the zipper down.

Her dress slipped slightly off her shoulder.

“Good girl,” he whispered, breathing heavy. “Let me see what’s mine.”

The zipper whispered down her spine like a blade.

Y/N stood frozen, the room spinning as her dress slipped from one shoulder, then the other, the fabric loose around her waist but still clinging—like it, too, didn’t want to fall. She trembled beneath his stare, her arms slowly rising to cover herself.

Grayson didn’t let her.

He gripped her wrists and gently—so gently it made her sick—pulled them down.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said, voice a low, shaking breath. “You don’t get to pretend you’re not mine.”

Tears streamed silently down her face. She didn’t sob. Didn’t scream. She just stood there—barely breathing—as he looked at her like something sacred he was about to desecrate.

“I waited,” he murmured, running his fingers along the curve of her shoulder, down her arm. “I was good. I gave you time. Patience. I let you dance and cry and run... but now?”

His hand slipped around to her lower back, pressing her closer, their bodies flush.

“Now I take what’s mine.”

Her lip trembled. “Please don’t.”

He kissed her. Not her mouth—but her cheek, wet with tears. His lips dragged slowly down to her jaw, then her neck.

She didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Her body shook beneath his hands, her knees weak. She felt like she might collapse—but he held her upright, firm and steady.

When he pulled back, her dress fell to the floor in a hush of fabric.

And then—

He began to unbuckle his belt.

She watched through blurred vision, her face pale, lips parted in silent shock as the leather slid through the loops with a hiss. Her entire body locked. The sound was too loud in the stillness. Too final.

Grayson watched her as he worked—his expression unreadable now. Almost reverent.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” he said, eyes dragging down her figure. “This is the part where you finally stop running. Where you let go.”

She whispered something—maybe no, maybe please—but her voice was too small, too broken to matter.

He dropped the belt to the floor with a heavy thud.

Then stepped forward, lifting her chin with two fingers, forcing her to look him in the eye.

“Look at me,” he breathed. “I want your eyes on mine when I make you understand.”

And in the silence of that room, surrounded by shattered hope and a ruined duffel bag, Y/N stared into the eyes of the man who had been allowed to own her world—and knew there was no one coming to stop him.

And in the silence of that room, surrounded by shattered hope and a ruined duffel bag, Y/N stared into the eyes of the man who had been allowed to own her world—and knew there was no one coming to stop him.

Grayson watched her, chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. He looked calm. Certain. Like every inch of her had already been signed over and sealed.

“Lie back,” he murmured.

She didn’t move.

His hand—warm, heavy—pressed against her chest, not rough, but firm. Not allowing resistance. He guided her backward, until her shoulders touched the mattress, until the world tilted above her, swallowed in shadow.

She tried to speak. Tried to say no again. But her voice wouldn’t come. Only a dry sound, broken and small.

He leaned over her, and kissed her.

Not her lips.

Her neck. Her collarbone. Lower.

His hands were moving now—slow, intentional—touching places they never should have touched. Fingers grazing her inner thigh, pressing gently until her legs shifted without meaning to. Until she was laid bare beneath him, and he sighed like she was something he’d earned.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered, his voice thick with hunger. “I could keep you like this forever.”

She turned her face away as he touched her—beneath the hem of what was left, over the curves of her chest, trailing down her ribs. His hands were everywhere, pressing, exploring, taking. Her body flinched under him, but he didn’t stop.

He only groaned softly. “That’s it… you feel it too, don’t you?”

She shook her head, tears rolling silently to the pillow.

But he didn’t care.

His hips settled between hers.

The moment stretched thin—horrible, quiet, and shaking with her silent refusal.

Then—

He pressed his forehead to hers. His breath heavy. His hands holding her wrists to the bed as he whispered:

“This is the part where you stop pretending. Where you let me make you mine.”

She closed her eyes.

And everything went still.

Grayson hovered over her, his body heavy between her thighs, her wrists pinned above her head like offerings.

“Sweet little thing,” he whispered against her skin. “All that innocence wrapped in silence. All mine now.”

His hand moved between them, slow and deliberate. She felt pressure—an intrusion, terrible and inevitable. Her breath caught as he pushed closer, pressing against her like he had every right to be there.

She turned her face away, tears slipping freely now. Her legs trembled, but his hand slid around one thigh, curling it around his hip like it belonged there.

“That’s it,” he murmured, breath hot against her throat. “Knew you’d hold me. Knew you’d feel good like this.”

He guided her other leg up with forceful tenderness, locking her beneath him. Her legs were around him now—not by desire, but because he put them there, tangled and helpless.

“Perfect little fit,” he breathed. “Tight and soft. God, you were made for this.”

His hips rolled against hers, and she whimpered—quiet, broken, like a sound she didn’t mean to let escape. He kissed her then, muffling the noise, stealing her voice with his mouth.

“You’re gonna take it,” he said, rougher now. “Take all of me. Because you’re mine.”

One hand moved to her chest, groping her roughly, possessively, like he was molding her into something that had never belonged to herself. He thumbed the sensitive skin with no care for her whimpering, only focused on what pleased him.

“God, you’re sweet,” he growled. “Sweeter than I dreamed.”

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

He buried his face in her neck, breathing her in like a drug, groaning as his rhythm deepened, his grip bruising now.

“So tight, baby,” he gasped. “You’ll remember this. Every time you look in the mirror. Every time you feel me dripping out of you.”

Her eyes filled again, her body shaking.

And then—with a deep, guttural sound—he buried himself against her and shuddered. His whole body went rigid.

She felt him still, panting, his weight pressing her down like stone.

He stayed there for a long moment, his hand moving gently over her ribs, brushing her hair back.

“You were perfect,” he murmured. “So good for me. So sweet.”

She didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

The Next Morning

Y/N stirred slowly.

Her body ached in ways that didn’t feel real. Her limbs felt too heavy. Her skin too thin. Everything between her legs throbbed with a dull, violating heat. She didn’t remember falling asleep—only the dark, the weight of him, the way her body had finally gone still under his.

She blinked awake at the soft clink of metal.

His belt.

He was dressing.

The sun hadn’t even fully risen yet, pale light just beginning to leak through her curtains. Grayson stood by the edge of the bed, sliding the leather strap through the loops of his uniform pants. His back was to her at first.

Then he turned.

Smiling.

“Well, good morning, sweetheart,” he said in a voice too warm, too soft. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Y/N slowly sat up, the blanket falling from her bare shoulders. Her lips—bruised, cracked—parted with shallow breaths. Her arms instinctively pulled the sheet tighter around her.

Grayson’s eyes dragged over her like a slow hand.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Still shaking.”

He stepped closer, reaching down to brush a finger along her jaw.

“You should see yourself,” he said with something like awe. “Covered in me. Bruises on your hips. That mouth all swollen. God, you’re beautiful when you’re used.”

Her throat tightened. She wanted to cry, scream, vomit—but she stayed quiet. Still.

He leaned down and kissed her lips, gentle but unyielding. She didn’t kiss back.

“Still sore, huh?” he whispered against her mouth. “Good.”

He pulled back and ran a hand through his hair, fixing it before grabbing his badge and keys.

“I’ll see you at work later,” he said cheerfully. “Thought I’d stop by and bring your favorite lunch—those little lemon bars you love. You’ll like that, won’t you?”

She didn’t answer.

He didn’t need her to.

As he reached the door, he glanced back over his shoulder—eyes roaming her bare form beneath the blanket.

“Maybe next time, I won’t let you sleep so much after.”

Then he left.

The door shut behind him with a soft, final click.

Y/N stared at the wall for a long time.

And only then did the tears come—slow, silent, and without end.

That Morning – At School

The halls of the elementary school were alive with morning chatter—children unzipping backpacks, sneakers squeaking across the linoleum, and the familiar chime of the bell echoing through the building.

Y/N walked in slowly, her steps careful, too careful.

She smiled when people said hello.

She nodded when the receptionist asked how her weekend was.

She even laughed—once—when another teacher made a joke by the coffee station.

But it didn’t reach her eyes.

She wore long sleeves today. A sweater that went down to her wrists, even though it was nearly 70 degrees. Her skirt brushed her calves, conservative and stiff. The neckline of her blouse sat high on her collarbone, where a faint bruise peeked just under the fabric.

She’d woken up early to put on more makeup than usual.

Foundation layered until the discoloration around her mouth was nearly hidden. Concealer under her eyes to mask the shadows carved there. Mascara to make her lashes look alive.

But nothing could cover the way her hand trembled when she picked up her clipboard.

Or how she winced when one of the kids hugged her waist.

“Miss Y/N?” one of the students asked during morning circle. “Are you sad?”

She blinked.

“I—no, sweetheart,” she said softly, forcing a smile. “Just tired today.”

But she could feel it—eyes watching her.

From the staff table during lunch. From the teacher down the hall who’d always been warm but now tilted her head with quiet concern.

Even the janitor, Mr. Hale, paused longer than usual when he greeted her, his brow furrowing as he looked her over.

Still, no one asked.

No one said the words out loud.

She moved like a ghost through her day—smiling when needed, laughing too softly, flinching too easily. Every time the front doors opened, she froze, expecting him to walk in. To drop off those lemon bars he’d promised. To wave at her like nothing had changed.

Her phone buzzed in her desk drawer during planning period.

1 New Message – Grayson “You looked beautiful walking in today. That skirt is cute. I love when you cover up just for me. Can’t wait to see you later. Smile more, okay?”

She locked the screen without replying.

And when the bell rang for dismissal, Y/N kept her head down, voice soft, her eyes flicking toward every shadow.

School – Lunch Period

She should’ve known he’d keep his promise.

Y/N sat in the teacher’s lounge, lunch untouched. Her fingers barely wrapped around the plastic fork in her salad. She wasn’t hungry—her stomach was too tight, too sick. Her eyes flicked to the clock.

12:27.

The door creaked open behind her.

Her blood turned to ice.

Grayson entered, still in uniform, holding a white bakery box and two lemon bars tucked neatly on a napkin. He smiled like they were just old friends meeting on a sunny afternoon.

“Figured you could use something sweet,” he said warmly.

A few of the teachers turned, smiled at him, nodded.

Y/N forced her lips to curl. “That’s… thoughtful.”

“You’ve earned it,” he said.

His voice was light, but when he leaned down to place the treat on the table, his fingers grazed her thigh beneath the table. He squeezed—quick, hard. A quiet warning masked as affection.

“You wore my favorite color,” he murmured close to her ear. “God, you’re good to me.”

She sat still, her pulse thudding in her throat.

He stood upright, smiling at the room. “Y’all take care of her, now.”

And just like that, he was gone.

The door closed.

She couldn’t move.

Her legs were shaking. Her palms were slick. Her entire body buzzed with the aftershock of his presence—his touch still burning on her skin through the fabric.

The room spun.

Five Minutes Later – Girls’ Bathroom

Y/N didn’t make it back to her classroom.

She slipped into the staff bathroom down the hall, locked herself in the farthest stall, and crumpled onto the closed toilet lid, one hand pressed over her mouth to stifle the sobs.

Her body shook uncontrollably.

Her blouse still smelled faintly like him. Her inner thighs still ached from the marks he’d left over the weekend. Her mind kept replaying his voice—soft and cruel all at once—reminding her that no one would believe her. That this was what love looked like now.

She didn’t hear the door open.

“Y/N?”

A voice. Soft. Female. Concerned.

Footsteps.

“Sweetheart… are you okay?”

It was Ms. Rivera—third grade.

Y/N didn’t respond.

Then the knock came, gentle against the stall. “I saw you run in here. You’re crying.”

Silence.

“I—I’m not prying,” she continued quietly. “But… if something’s wrong… you don’t have to say anything. You just need to know someone sees you.”

Y/N’s shoulders crumpled, her face buried in her hands. Her breath hitched, and the tears kept falling.

Ms. Rivera didn’t ask again. She just sat down on the bathroom floor on the other side of the door and said nothing—only stayed.

And for the first time in weeks… Y/N didn’t feel completely alone.

After School – Ms. Rivera’s Classroom

The final bell had rung. The halls were mostly empty now, just a few teachers tidying up, a janitor humming faintly as he swept.

Y/N stood outside Ms. Rivera’s door, her hands clutched tightly around the strap of her bag. She looked like a ghost in modest clothing—exhausted, washed out, but trying to breathe.

The door opened before she knocked.

“Come in,” Ms. Rivera said softly, stepping aside.

Y/N entered slowly, eyes scanning the quiet classroom. Ms. Rivera had dimmed the lights, left only a small lamp on by her desk. The room felt safe. Warm. Almost untouched by the outside world.

“Sit wherever you like,” she offered, pulling two chairs to face each other.

Y/N sat down and twisted her fingers in her lap.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Ms. Rivera leaned forward. “You don’t have to tell me everything. You don’t have to name names. But whatever you say stays between us. I promise.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. Her voice came out in a whisper. “It’s Officer Wolfe.”

Ms. Rivera didn’t flinch.

Y/N’s eyes welled up. “He’s been following me. Showing up everywhere. At my house. At school. He touches me. He… forces things.”

Ms. Rivera’s gaze didn’t waver. She reached over, gently covered Y/N’s shaking hand with hers.

Y/N looked down at the contact. “And no one will listen. Not the sheriff. Not even my own mother. They all love him. They say he’s good. That he’s… respectable.”

Ms. Rivera was quiet for a long moment.

Then she said something Y/N didn’t expect.

“I know.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“I know what he is,” Ms. Rivera said, her voice low. “And I know what he did to his wife.”

Y/N’s mouth went dry.

“She didn’t leave town like they all said. That was the story—she cheated and disappeared.” Ms. Rivera gave a hollow laugh. “But I saw her. I was there. I knew her.”

“What happened to her?” Y/N asked, voice cracking.

“She tried to run too,” Ms. Rivera whispered. “Just like you.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her chest.

“She got as far as her sister’s house in the next county. He found her. Took her back.” Ms. Rivera swallowed. “A month later, she was dead. Car accident, they said. But I saw the bruises before they buried her.”

A cold silence fell over the room.

Y/N’s body went stiff.

Ms. Rivera looked at her, eyes serious, shadowed with something deeper. “You’re not the first. But you might be the last if you don’t get out.”

Y/N’s voice shook. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because no one would’ve believed me then either,” she said. “I was a teacher. A woman. And he was already being groomed for promotion. You see how this town works.”

Y/N nodded slowly, the truth sinking into her bones.

“But I believe you,” Ms. Rivera said gently. “And if you really want to escape, I’ll help you.”

Y/N’s lips trembled. “How?”

Ms. Rivera’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You leave everything behind. No phone. No bank cards. Nothing he can trace. We fake something. Make him think you broke. Then, when he’s looking the other way…”

She paused.

“…you vanish.”

Two Days Later – The Plan

Ms. Rivera laid it out carefully.

They would wait. Watch. Keep pretending.

“You need to let him think he’s still winning,” she said softly, sitting beside Y/N in the back corner of her classroom, where no cameras watched. “Smile. Nod. Let him believe you're breaking on your own.”

Y/N nodded. Her hands were clenched in her lap, but her eyes were hollow with determination.

“We’ll time it with the promotion ceremony. Everyone will be distracted. He’ll be surrounded by cameras, press, half the town. That’s when we’ll slip the first message.”

“A message?” Y/N asked.

“To someone who matters outside this town.”

Saturday Night – Grayson's Promotion Party

The town hall was transformed into a glittering celebration. String lights draped from the ceiling. Tables were loaded with catered food. A banner stretched across the back wall:

Congratulations Sheriff Wolfe.

Y/N stood stiff in a modest navy dress her mother picked out, sleeves to her wrists, neckline high. Her makeup was perfect. Her smile had edges.

Grayson had his hand on her lower back the entire evening.

He looked the part of a rising man—sharp suit, polished boots, and the whole room orbiting around him. People hugged him. Toasted him. Called him “the future.”

And Y/N? She floated from conversation to conversation like a ghost.

Every now and then, she met Ms. Rivera’s gaze across the room. And each time, the older woman gave her a slow, subtle nod.

Hold steady.

Play along.

And then—Grayson tapped his glass.

The chatter in the room died.

“I want to thank you all,” he said, standing beside the podium, Y/N just behind him. “This town raised me. Gave me purpose. Gave me family.”

He smiled at the crowd, then turned slightly.

“But there’s someone else I want to thank. Someone who’s stood by me through everything. Someone who reminds me what I’m fighting for.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

Grayson reached into his coat pocket.

Pulled out a small velvet box.

The room gasped as he turned, got down on one knee—grinning—and opened the box to reveal a glittering, oval-cut diamond set in platinum.

“Y/N,” he said, voice warm and full of command. “Marry me.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

All eyes on her.

Y/N’s breath caught in her chest. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

Then—from the front row—her mother wiped a tear, smiling proudly.

“He came to me first,” she said. “Asked for my blessing. I told him yes.”

Y/N felt everything tilt.

She looked at Rivera.

Rivera nodded once.

Y/N turned back to Grayson, her mouth trembling.

“Yes,” she said softly. “The ring is stunning.”

The crowd erupted in applause.

He slid the ring onto her shaking finger.

Kissed her hand.

Whispered, “Told you we’d get here.”

And Y/N smiled.

Because it was the only thing she could do.

But inside, she was already packing her second bag.

A/N: I AM making a tag post if you wish to be tag in future stories, please respond here <-

[cheruberris]

○ ۫ ⠀،،̲ cheruberries 草莓 ͟ ͟𝐹ame ACTRESS! dr

vogue, 73 questions with ℒILITH MARGARETA TASHEV ✸ ،،̲ how is drew starkey, as a boyfriend? ━━ ' something like this ... ' inspired by the lovely @hrrtshape

⠀⠀၇୧ ⠀ᅟ𓈒⠀drew starkey as my fame dr (actress) boyfriend!

we both get a kick out of roasting the living shit out of pda. but he lowkey uses any excuse to get his hands on me (probably because i once told him how much i loved attractive hands lol) ━ he has this habit of running his fingers over whatever fabric of shirts i have on (especially during interviews shit gets boring yawnnn), and tugging it down whenever it slips up

he knows how much i hate wearing rings on my fingers (ugh the feeling is just to intense??) so now he always gives me an necklace along with his rings so i can wear them comfortably, around my neck. i have a whole tiny collection!! funky rings are my favorite.

my hair falls out really easily (ㅠ﹏ㅠ) which is a running joke like we always say that he wouldn't be able to ever cheat on me, because my hair is everywhere all over his clothes and stuff. now whenever he sees one of my fallen hair strands around, he sends me a picture (no caption. no nothing) just a picture of a lonely hair. he knows how much i like him texting me during the day, even if it's so stupid (i mean hell?? what voo doo doll is mf planning?)

la la la loves my tattoos. always tracing over them, looking at them. he always thinks his starring is not obvious. even though it very much, is.

dude randomly pulled out a large hair clip on a vacation trip. and was like 'yeah i brought it in case you forgot yours' ??? has been carrying it around in every single bag of his ever since. i don't even forget things that often. he also loves fidgeting with it sometimes.

always matches my sitting position. have you seen that one interview with him matching whatever pose rudy is hitting? yeah, that's him like 24/7. i could be crossing my legs 3000 times, and he'd do the same. mama, i could hit a split and he'd probably do it too. idk if it's an uncouncious thing, he has a thing for matching energies / mirroring.

he needs to stop borrowing all my stuff. like recently he was strolling around with my sunglasses ━ the fans eat it up everytime though. like why are you taking my socks??

loves having my head in his lap, likes to untangle little tangles in my curly hair while i dooze of onto his thigh.. it's so dreamy

also squeezes the back of my neck all the time, because he knows it's always tense. there's always one of those hand clips included in his fan edits URGHHH

[koyagifs]

𝓯𝓪𝓬𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

pairing: san x reader au: ex lovers to lovers genre: angst but happy ending word count: 1.093 words summary: san asked to meet up wanting to get you back. warning(s): mentions of cheating, swearing, pregnancy part 1 | part 2 | part 3

There you and San sat at the restaurant, swirling the cup of wine as you both sat there in silence. The soft clinking of glasses and the distant hum of conversation created a cozy backdrop. You glanced at San, who seemed lost in thought, his brow slightly furrowed. The warm light from the overhead lamps cast a gentle glow on his face, highlighting the tension in the moment.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you finally broke the silence, lifting your glass to take a sip.

San looked up, a hint of surprise in his eyes, and smiled faintly. "I'm just surprised you agreed to meet me"

You hummed, " well, you still haven't signed the papers and Hongjoong and I broke up. A mutual agreeing"

San raised an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and hope flashing across his face. “Sorry to hear about Hongjoong”

You shrugged, " like i said, it was a mutual break up. Now, why did you ask to meet hm?"

San hesitated for a moment, his fingers tracing the rim of the glass. “I wanted to talk about… everything, I guess. I know things have been complicated between us.”

You leaned back, taking a sip of wine to give them a moment. A small chuckle leaving your lips. " oh yes, complicated"

" so complicated that you decided to cheat on me"

San winced at you words, the atmosphere shifted instantly, the warmth replaced by an uncomfortable tension. San’s expression fell, and he looked down at their glass, the humor draining from the moment.

“Look, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” San said quietly, their voice barely above a whisper. “It was a mistake—a moment of weakness.”

You felt a mix of frustration and hurt rising within you. “A mistake that changed everything. "

“Everything,” you echoed, your voice tight. “I thought we had something real, San. And then… this.”

San ran a hand through their hair, looking genuinely pained. “I know I messed up. I didn’t think about the consequences at the time. I was selfish.”

“Selfish?” You couldn’t hide the disbelief in your voice. “That’s an understatement. You didn’t just hurt me; you shattered my trust.”

San looked up, eyes filled with regret. “I understand. I wish I could take it back. But I want to be honest now. I want to fix this.”

You took a moment to collect your thoughts, the weight of their words hanging heavy between you. “It’s not just about wanting to fix things. Trust takes time to rebuild. Do you really think we can get back to where we were?”

San nodded, determination in their eyes. “I believe we can. But it has to start with me being completely open. No more hiding.”

You studied their expression, searching for sincerity. “If we’re going to try, I need to know you’re committed to this. No more mistakes.”

“I promise,” San said earnestly. “I want to be better for you—if you’ll give me the chance.”

The tension hung in the air, but beneath it, you sensed a flicker of possibility. The wine cup now empty was placed on the table. San reached out for your hands, taking them into his.

" yn... i can never forgive myself for breaking your trust. What i did - i did it out of spite, which i know i shouldn't have done."

You felt the warmth of San’s hands enveloping yours, grounding you in the moment. “Spite?” you repeated, the word heavy with meaning. “That’s a hard truth to swallow.”

San’s gaze dropped for a moment, the weight of regret evident on their face. “I know. I was angry and confused, and instead of talking to you, I made a terrible choice. I thought it would make me feel better, but it only made things worse.”

You took a deep breath, processing his words. “ do you know how hard it was to pose with you? To act like everything was okay between us? San we basically faked our relationship - hell, no one still knows we're started our divorce process!"

San grip tighten on your hands, " i know - i was so focus on not disappointing our families that i neglected you in the process."

You sighed, laying back into your seat as you looked at San. " i'll talk to my lawyer about dropping the divorce. "

San’s eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and relief washing over his face. You held your hand up, " i'm expecting you to be by the house sunday San. We'll go on a date, publicly."

San nodded his head, "i'm expecting you to also break up with your mistress"

" she's been gone, the day you left with Hongjoong was when i broke it off with her"

You nodded, standing up. San placed a few bills before he stood up at well, holding his hand out for you to grab.

" I'll see you Sunday"

──･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.────

" i think this color would suit the nursey better, don't you think honey?"

San turned to you, a smile placed on his lip as he nodded his head. He walked towards you, placing a hand on your swollen belly that now carries his future daughter.

You felt a warmth spread through you as San's hand rested gently on your belly. “I think you’re right,” he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Soft pastels will make the nursery feel so calm and welcoming.”

You glanced at the swatches spread out on the table, each color reminding you of the little one you were about to welcome. “I just want her to feel safe and loved in her space.”

San nodded, his smile widening. “She will, especially with you as her mom. You have such a beautiful vision for her room.”

You felt a flutter of joy at his words. “And you’ll be a wonderful dad, too. I can already see you reading her bedtime stories.”

“Definitely,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes. He squatted, his face now at your belly. He placed fluttering kisses, the smile on your face evident of pure happiness. You placed a hand on his hair, brushing away a few strain as he muttered loving words to your belly.

“Let’s make it perfect for her,” you said, your heart swelling with love.

“Together,” San replied, leaning in to press a soft kiss on your forehead. “We’re building our family, and I can’t wait to start this new chapter with you.”

In that moment, everything felt right.