#[deep sigh] housekeeping.....

[gingerbreadmonsters]

ginger your masterlist link is broken :[

[distant effing and blinding]

ok i've redone the main one on my pinned - is that the one that was causing problems? or was it a different one - i know it's become a bit of a maze of links, so there's a lot of bloody links just waiting to go wrong 😫😫

[yuutryingtowrite]

Yandere!Maid who looks at the castle in front of him, then the flier in his hands, then the castle again. Unless there was a typo in the address, the job interview should be here. He hesitantly uses the bat shaped door knocker and waits...This place looks so creepy and ominous, was this a prank ? Was it to scare him? Seriously? Sigh…He has had enough of being treated like a fool. As he continues his descent into frustration, bitterness and self-pity, he doesn’t hear the door opening. Nor does he see the butler standing at the entrance until he hears a: “Sorry for the wait, my kind sir. Are you here for the housekeeper position?”.

Yandere!Maid who thinks the butler is telling him a load of bullshit. According to him, the owner of this place is a vampire in search of additional staff members. He resists the urge to scoff. Whatever, if the “mistress” wants to take part in some weird role-play, then so be it as long as he would get paid. The same guy tells him to “please take a seat” in the living room and that “mistress will come and attend to you in a moment”. Soon after his departure, the air shifts. Black particles float around until it materializes something, or rather someone. The poor boy shock and confusion quickly turn into enchantment. Fuck, you are totally his type. This is bad, he can feel his face burning. “Shall we go to my office?”, you ask with a smile.

Yandere!Maid who hates you. Who hates the fact that your personality matches your looks. Who hates how much control you have over him. The other day, your...pet sneezed on him, so he needed another uniform. “It seems that I only have a female one left ”, you told him. “There is no way in hell I am wearing that”, he sneered. “But wouldn’t you look cute in it? Besides, it is either that or cleaning with your normal clothes on until your new uniform arrives here-” “Alright, shut up, just give me that”, he abruptly took the offending dress from your hands and went to change. Since that conversation, his work attire has fully transitioned to said maid outfit. Maybe he becomes a bit too proud of himself whenever he catches you staring at him. And maybe, just maybe he wants to give you a nice view by bending down and taking his time “to clean the table” whenever he knows you are behind him. He will never admit that though.

Yandere!Maid who, one day, demands asks you about your eating habits. As soon as you answer, something regarding animal blood, he turns oddly quiet. You are about to ask what is wrong, but then he surprises you by climbing into your lap. You watch him get comfortable and, with trembling hands, undo the first buttons of his dress. The cherry on top is him pulling on its collar a bit to show a silver of his chest. He now avoids eye contact as he waits for you to take the lead…You are still just looking at him, so, with a blush becoming darker, he snaps at you: “A-are you stupid or something ? Do you want me to spell it out-” “I am just enjoying the view”, you respond with a teasing smile. Before he can sputter more insults, you grip his chin and tilt his head to the side, exposing his neck to your hungry gaze. “But if you insist…Thank you for the meal <3”

Yandere!Maid who has his face buried deep in his pillow while he tries to calm his flustered self down. After you finished drinking from him, he hurriedly got up and scurried to his room without so much as a word. The more he recalls the embarrassing noises he made in front of you, the more mortified he becomes. It was not his fault, it just felt really good and you even pulled him closer and tugged on his hair and-He whines and squirms in his bed as he feels his body turning hot again like that time. The action causes him to feel a sharp sting on his neck. He freezes. That is right. You marked him. You marked him. You marked him.

...

Don't drink from anyone else, ok?

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

bad idea, right? | f. odair

masterlist

summary: after receiving a late-night call from your ex-boyfriend, finnick odair, you can’t help but agree to meet with him. what happens when you mix a sound-proof train car and an ex you haven’t seen in months?

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: rough-ish smut, a teensy bit of angry sex, swearing, unprotected sex (zon’t zo that), kinda ooc finnick, choking,

notes: based on 'bad idea, right?' by olivia rodrigo. i lost the person who sent the request so sorry this took so long to come out!! i don’t know if i like how this is written, but smut is smut so… enjoy :)

word count: 4.6k

Neon beams of light pulsed in time with the heavy bass blasting throughout your unnecessarily large home in the Victor’s Village. District Two. Masonry. Big houses.

Two shots of tequila and some other very unnatural concoctions were soaking deep into your brain. Everything was swaying—the room, the people, even you. Your small group of friends danced by your side, keeping together to avoid the creeps that might have entered your home. Although, to you, entertaining a stranger that night did not sound like such a terrible idea.

You felt lonely. Undeniably and pathetically lonely. The alcohol only enhanced your emotions and libido, leading you to search the room for anyone who interested you enough to take them upstairs. But there was no one, because in reality there was only one person you really wanted, and he was no longer yours. He hadn’t been for months.

Replacements had come and gone, but they never stuck. None of them made you feel the way he did.

“Excuse me!” an exasperated voice yelled. “Would you please get out of my way?!”

To your right, your housekeeper, bless her poor deafened soul, was pushing through a crowd of intoxicated partygoers and heading straight for you.

“Claudia!” you shouted over the music, tugging down your short black slip dress out of respect for her modesty.

The elderly woman stopped in front of you, her disapproval of the vibrant scene clear as day. You always paid her double in exchange for putting up with the chaos whenever you threw a house party, which was almost every weekend.

She hovered close to your ear. “There is someone on the phone for you!”

“Did you get a name?!”

After she shook her head, you escorted her through the thick crowd of dancers, into a quieter room and thanked her before beelining for the landline.

With a heavy sigh, you brought the corded phone to your ear and said, “Whoever this is, you better make it quick. I’m not nearly as intoxicated as I need to be and in dire need of another shot.”

Over the scratchy static, you could hear a quiet chuckle—a sound you had spent months trying to forget, along with the person attached to it. How many drinks did you have again? The alcohol must have messed with your mind because this could not be real.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” the caller said, his voice low and amused.

Everything you had longed to forget came rushing to the surface at an overwhelming pace. Wisps of hair the colour of a dying fire. Eyes resembling the sea. Arms that once acted as a life jacket. A dangerous mouth that had explored every inch of your body.

No. It couldn’t be—

“Finnick.”

********

Stupid. This was so fucking stupid. You were attempting to sneak out of your own party. A good old Irish Goodbye in your own house. With luck, you would make it out the front door without being caught by your friends, or worse, Claudia. Now that would be scary.

Water flushed through your system, a weak attempt you made at sobering yourself up because meeting up with your ex while drunk was a recipe for disaster. Then again, so was meeting up with your ex in the first place. Nothing will happen, you thought to yourself, we are just going to talk.

A thought even more unbelievable than thinking you would be able to be able to escape the watchful eyes of your friends.

Your high-heeled foot had just crossed the front door when someone called your name. “Damn,” you muttered, turning back around.

Valeria, your closest yet heavily intoxicated friend strutted over to you, her feet wobbling every few steps. “You sneaky little minx,” she slurred. “Someone said they saw you on the phone. It was him, wasn’t it? He asked you to go see him.”

“Just as friends. No, not even. As acquaintances.”

“Oh, my sweet, sweet silly friend.” She grabbed you by the shoulders. “We both know you aren’t that foolish.”

You looked away because you knew damn well that she was right.

“Look, I get it,” she continued. “Your hot, he’s hot.” You smiled. “You both have a history. I just want to make sure you know all the outcomes of what you're about to do. I’ll be here for you if things do get messy but expect a well-versed speech of me saying ‘I told you so’ afterwards.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Val,” you laughed, prying her hands off your shoulders. “I really do appreciate your concern, but I promise all we’re going to do is talk.”

“Alright, but if things go south, call me. Immediately!” she called a little too loudly as you took subtle steps away from the front door and onto the street. “Have fun with your innocent little ‘talk’!”

“Thanks, mum!”

You waved goodbye as you walked down the street, body buzzing with exhilaration and apprehension. Finnick had told you his train stopped in the district’s station for the night. He and his new victor were travelling throughout Panem for the Victory Tour and were currently in District Two. You didn’t know much about his tribute, only that they were a she. The thought of Finnick spending all his time with another girl had that green-eyed monster inside you writhing.

Enough to make you agree to meet with him after midnight while moderately drunk and slightly horny. What a fantastic plan.

District Two’s train station was a short distance from the Victor’s Village, but it was long enough to cause you to remove your heels. You finally reached the train, barefoot and with the wind softly blowing your hair. Finnick had specified a particular door to knock on so as not to alert the peacekeepers residing within the train. So, you knocked. And then you waited.

Your heart was pounding; your hands were trembling. Not long after, a dark figure appeared behind the door’s tinted window. With a click, the door opened and revealed a shirtless smirking Finnick Odair.

Oh, fuck me.

He was even more gorgeous than the last time you saw him. His crossed arms bulged with thick muscles as he leaned against the doorframe, gaze shamelessly roaming over your scarcely dressed appearance before settling on your face. The amusement in his expression was ever-present and ever-growing.

“Finnick,” you greeted.

“Y/N.”

He extended his hand, inviting you inside the train and hesitantly, you accepted. Sparks of electricity travelled up your arm, starting from where his and your hand connected. Some things never changed.

Empty silence welcomed your presence as you entered the train car. Patterned silver vases of white roses were placed atop every available surface. Meticulously crafted chandeliers lit up the room with a golden haze. To your left was an arrangement of black leather couches surrounding a small silver table; further down the car was a rectangular mahogany dining table decorated with fruit and unlit candles.

Somehow a single train car was more luxurious than your entire house.

“Is every one asleep?” you asked, running your fingertips along the pure gold that lined the couches.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes following your movements. “Every room on this train is sound-proof, so...”

You nodded, unsure of how else to reply. Conversations usually ran smoothly between you and Finnick. They were effortless. But that was when you were together. Four months must have passed now since you last spoke.

“Are you and what’s-his-name still together?” he asked.

“No,” you said bluntly. “I broke up with him last month.”

“My sincerest condolences.” His sympathetic tone was as transparent as glass. Sarcasm always was his favourite pastime. “Guess he just couldn’t satisfy your needs.”

Turning around to face him, you leaned against the couch’s arm, jaw clenched and eyes glowering with agitation. “Is there any specific reason why you called me here?”

He raised a glass of rich amber liquid to his lips. “Can’t two old friends just reconnect?”

“Old friends,” you scoffed. “That’s what you call it. From what I remember, the last time we saw each other, we were having goodbye sex in your bed. And in the kitchen and the lounge and on the balcony.”

Something sincere overshadowed his teasing nature, revealing itself in the tension in his facial muscles and the glassy haze that clouded his eyes. Reminiscence. “It didn’t have to be goodbye,” he spoke softly whilst holding your gaze.

You blinked. There was a short pause and only the quiet hum of the lights sounded in the room. You were the one to end the relationship, not the other way around much to your friends’ disbelief. Over and over, you had been asked the same question: why on earth would you break up with Finnick Odair?

Well, behind closed doors, he was incredible. He was loving, affectionate, and thoughtful. He would collect seashells for you that he found on the beach whenever he went fishing, leave hand-written poetry and heartfelt love letters whenever he left for the Capitol, and mother of fucking Christ was the sex just downright extraordinary.

But as previously stated, it was all behind closed doors.

Finnick never wanted to be seen together in public and on the off chance you were, he would practically neglect your existence. Only your most trusted friends and Finnick’s family knew about your relationship. No one else. Eventually, the secretiveness created a deep void inside you that not even the sweetest love letters and seashells could fill. You couldn’t remain with someone who seemed ashamed to be with you in public.

So, with a heavy heart, you said goodbye.

In fear of becoming too emotional, you disregarded his weighted words and crossed your arms. “So,” you began, “how’s the Tour been so far? You must be pretty ecstatic one of your tributes actually won.”

He bounced back fairly quickly. “I suppose it’s always nice to watch someone you trained live for a change,” he said, placing his drink on a nearby table. “Plus, she’s got a lot of charisma. A natural with the speeches and interviews, so I don’t need to do too much coaching.”

And there it was again—that green-eyed monster. “Charisma, huh?” You just couldn’t help yourself. “Is she pretty too?”

Finnick tilted his head, visibly surprised by your blatant jealousy. “She just turned sixteen,” he stated with a small smirk tugging at his lips. Well, no one told you that bit of information. Awkward. “Careful, Y/N. You sounded a little jealous there.”

You pushed off the chair, heading back toward the door you entered through. Maybe this was a bad idea. “Alright, I’m leaving now.”

Just as you turned the handle, a set of rushed footsteps thudded behind you. The door opened a mere crack, sending in a cold draft that caused your body to shudder.

“Wait, just—” A swift hand came over your shoulder and pushed the door shut, eliciting a startled gasp from your lips. You could feel Finnick towering over you, the warmth of his skin spreading onto your cold back and his breaths fanning down against the bareness of your shoulder. He was so close. “I just needed to see you before I leave tomorrow morning.”

Slowly, you turned around, coming face-to-face with the man you shouldn’t have loved. His burning gaze was a stark contrast to the icy metal door your back was pressed against. Tension pulsated in the small space between you and him. The intense attraction that had first brought you two together came rushing forth; trying to fight such a magnetic force was impossible. You needed connection—touch.

This night would not end with just a simple innocent chat, you knew that now.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing. “You needed to see me?” you asked. “Finnick, if you want me to stay, don’t beat around the bush. Tell me what you really want.”

Silence. He continued staring at you and you could see a scheme forming behind his mesmerising green eyes. Then the scheme was unfolding. He leaned down to your level, to your lips, his half-lidded eyes never leaving your mouth as he just barely allowed his lips to brush yours. On instinct, you tilted your head upwards.

“I want you,” he whispered.

You didn’t waste a second to respond. “Then take me.”

He was quicker than a bullet train. Finnick’s lips caught your own and were burning with fiery desire, evident in his haste to wrap you up in his arms and practically merge your body with his. Flames licked just beneath your skin, setting your nerves alight with passion and lust. You burned together in an inferno fuelled by each other’s touch.

Logically, this was wrong. Finnick was your ex-boyfriend and for good reason. But as your hands clung to every inch of him that they possibly could, as his tongue and yours danced fluidly with one another, and as your body buzzed with pure adrenaline, you were willing to abandon all your morals in exchange for five more minutes in his embrace.

A moan travelled from your mouth to his own as you felt him bite your lower lip. You could already feel that familiar throbbing sensation between your thighs and the wetness that exposed how much you craved him. You knew he felt the same. His sweatpants left little to the imagination.

Your hand slipped between your connected bodies, travelling down Finnick’s firm stomach, gliding over his small trail of hair and finally into his pants. Your fingers curled around his cock which already leaked with precum. He was just as desperate as you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound sending tingles down your spine.

You left his lips to press a wet kiss to his neck. “I wonder how many times you pretended your hand was my own,” you purred, leaving another kiss on his clavicle. “How many times you tried to recreate the warmth you only feel when you're inside me.”

His mouth hung open, letting out quiet uneven breaths as you stroked his length, your pace so quick that he already felt an overwhelming urge to release into your soft unrelenting hand. The sound of your voice, so sexy and lustful, combined with your swift pressured movements had his stomach tensing and contracting with a devastating build-up of pleasure.

“Too many times,” he admitted in a strained voice.

You sucked on the warm pulsing skin of his neck, this time receiving a groan that buzzed on your lips. His hands grabbed at your hips for support, roughly kneading the softness and satin in his large palms.

“This dress—fuck!” his voice broke as another hand slipped into his pants, cupping his balls as the other twisted with each stroke of his cock. “Sweetheart,” he chuckled breathlessly. “You look like a fucking siren.”

Your soft lips pecked at his toned chest before pulling away and looking up at him through your lashes. Euphoric delirium was prominent in his eyes. “You should’ve seen everyone staring at my party,” you said. “I wish you saw how badly the men wanted to fuck me right there on the dancefloor; how they undressed me with their eyes. Maybe then you would understand the mistake you made by never showing me off.”

Aggravation blazed in his aroused eyes which only made you so much hornier. Before you could pump another stroke, Finnick had ripped your hands from his pants and spun you around, pinning your body against the wall with his own, his hard cock pushing against the plush of your ass.

“I do understand,” he growled into your ear.

He abruptly started sucking hard kisses onto the side of your neck which had you gasping for air and tilting your head to allow him further access. One of his hands cupped your breast, massaging it with rough fingers and pinching your peaked nipples between his fingertips. His other hand travelled around your hip, wandering beneath your revealing dress and slipping into your lace panties.

You cried out when two fingers plunged into your soaking hole without warning.

“Know what I wish?” he asked, fingers curling in and out of you at such a rapid pace that the wet noises could be heard throughout the entire room. Blissful tears threatened to spill down your face. “I wish those guys could see how you looked right now with my fingers fucking you.” The hand on your breast moved to your throat, applying enough pressure on your carotid to make your head pound with dizziness. “I wish they knew you only enjoy being fucked by me.”

Your walls squeezed around his fingers, pulling him even further inside. Your untouched breasts were squashed against the train door and the fabric of your dress rubbed against your sensitive nipples. Finnick’s cock twitched against you and his hand was constricting the blood flow to your head. Yeah. Nobody else could make you feel better than this.

Finnick plunged his fingers inside again with a hard thrust which forced a broken moan from your lips. “Isn’t that right?”

The heel of his palm dug into your clit and your entire body was overcome with pins and needles; your knees buckled and hit the metal door. That would definitely bruise. You hoped it would—you wanted a reminder of this night.

“Yes!” you gasped. “Finnick, only you. Only you.”

“That’s right.”

Your moans started to rise in pitch, signalling the orgasm which was rapidly closing in. But right before you could come, Finnick’s fingers slipped out of you and out of your now-drenched panties. Your orgasm began to fade due to the lack of friction until it disappeared completely, leaving you feeling frustrated and neglected.

Turning back around with a flushed face, you witnessed Finnick sucking your juices off his fingers with a pop. His grin was conniving, self-satisfied with his actions which proved how desperately you wanted him to fuck you. That smug bastard. You would give anything to wipe the amusement off his beautiful fucking face.

And, well, you did.

“Fuck you!” you exclaimed, shoving him backwards.

“Fuck me?” He raised an eyebrow, smirk twitching at his lips. “I already know you want to.”

With a frustrated cry, you shoved him again, but this time he caught you in his arms and fervidly crushed his lips to yours. You squirmed and writhed and resisted but eventually melted into his embrace when you remembered you wanted this. You wanted this so badly.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as both your bodies continuously curved into one another, neither of you being able to remain still for more than a few seconds. The taste of brandy and you were on Finnick’s tongue as it swirled around your mouth; the flavours, which were polar opposites, sweet and savoury, mixed together to create something utterly carnal.

With the knowledge that this was probably a one-time thing, your kisses became bruising and frantic. Finnick alternated between kissing your lips, your neck, your jaw, and any place he could possibly reach. You hung onto every sound he made, every hot breath he took.

The two of you stumbled around the train car, lips never leaving one another, hands grabbing at every inch of flesh they could reach. You bumped into walls and multiple glass ornaments and laughed together when Finnick just barely caught one before it shattered on the floor.

Eventually, you ended up down the opposite end of the train car. Your back hit something hard and you gasped in surprise. The dining table. Finnick gave a quick glance at the table before pressing another kiss to your lips, this time a little more tenderly.

“Turn around,” he said, and you did.

You immediately felt him press himself against your behind. You stared ahead, chest heaving and swollen lips tingling, waiting for any more commands. His hand walked around your thigh, over the mound of your pussy, and then grazed up your stomach. He left a trail of warm tingles between your breasts before continuing upward to move your hair from your shoulder where he placed another warm gentle kiss.

Finally, he splayed his hand flat between your shoulder blades and pushed, bending you over the table until your torso lay flat on the cold wooden surface. Finnick hiked your dress up to your hips and crouched down, caressing your outer thighs before sliding your panties down to your ankles.

The air hit your bare skin and you exhaled a shaky breath as you anticipated his next movements. As he rose to his feet, he trailed kisses up your leg, ending with a soft bite to your ass which earned him a small giggle.

You could hear him tug down his sweatpants which hit the floor with a muffled thud. Your breaths continued to shake with nerves, coming out in soft pants. Finnick held onto your hip with one hand and held himself in the other. No words were spoken. Both of you wanted this—needed this.

Next thing you knew, your panting breaths had stopped altogether. Finnick’s cock had slid between your folds, filling you up in one single movement, and you both released a relieved moan in sync. Your hands pressed against the tabletop as your body began to rock with his thrusts. You weren’t going to make love or whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears. No. This was pure unadulterated fucking.

Finnick started off fast; neither of you had the patience for a slow build-up. You didn’t even bother caring about the fact that he wasn’t wearing a condom. His hand had lowered to your mid back and the other gripped your hip as your warmth swallowed him over and over.

“Oh god,” you gasped.

The sensations that overtook your body were eagerly welcomed. You had tried to replicate the sex Finnick gave with other men after your relationship ended, but none seemed to compare even the slightest. You weren’t sure how a single human being could provide the sensations of nirvana, how one could master the skills of bringing another person to such an incredible high, but Finnick could. He always could.

It was only at this point that you realised how badly your body had been in withdrawal from his touch. The feeling of him inside you was like a drug. Addicting. Definitely not healthy.

You had tried fingering yourself to replicate his cock, but it was a pathetic attempt. Finnick could hit a deep spot inside you that no one else could like it was some secret forbidden location that only he held the key to. He made your body feel full. Stuffed. Complete. In a way that made you feel like you were going to burst into an explosion of white heavenly light.

Your nails scratched at the wood as he continued to pound into you, cock gliding against the ripples of your inner walls. There wasn’t a single inch of space left inside you. He fit like your pussy was where he belonged.

“Always feel so fucking good,” he muttered between thrusts.

His pleasure was always vocal, voiced with heavy breaths, grunts, and groans. Sometimes he even whimpered, especially when you edged him. He didn’t mind you being more dominant at times, but right now was not one of those moments. Being bent over and fucked into a table was not in any way, shape, or form you being dominant. This was Finnick being in control and it felt incredible.

“Finnick,” you said. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop!”

In response he grabbed your other hip and pulled you back into him, burying himself even deeper inside you with each thrust which had you crying out his name again. He hunched over your body, hips still pounding behind you, and sucked harsh kisses on your shoulder. He left behind red and deep purple marks on your shoulder, moving to your neck, and then grazed your earlobe with his teeth.

He returned a hand to your throat, forcing the both of you into a standing position. His fingers squeezed, reducing the blood flow into your brain which enhanced the explosion building up inside you.

“Harder!” you cried.

Both his cock and his hand increased their vigour. Stars were sparkling in your vision. You were almost completely sober now, yet you felt entirely drunk. Drunk on Finnick. He reached his free hand between your legs and your body fell back into his, only remaining upright from his support.

His fingers rubbed side-to-side on your clit, so hard and fast that his hand almost blurred in motion. Your moans rose an octave as your stomach began to tighten. A fire burned within your muscles, so pleasurably excruciating that you thought they would liquefy inside you. Your pussy clenched around Finnick’s cock, walls fluttering with each of his pounding thrusts.

“Come, sweetheart,” he purred into your ear. You could hear how much he struggled to contain his moans as he talked. “Come on, I know you're close. I can feel you.”

You nodded mindlessly and curled your arm backwards around his neck, in need of something to cling to. As the feeling inside your stomach intensified, your eyes squeezed shut and your hold around his neck tightened until you were almost choking him. With every ounce of strength that he had inside him, Finnick increased his pace until he fit multiple mind-destroying thrusts into each second that passed.

He was almost animalistic with his pounding and unrestrained groans of pleasure. And you were so close, so, so close to falling over the edge. His hand was constricted around your throat; the other assaulted your clit, and his cock was mercilessly hitting that swollen spot inside you. Any second and—

“I’m go—I’m gonna come!”

A potent cocktail of pleasure, ecstasy, and release washed through your body, unravelling the tension inside your stomach and exiting through your stuffed hole. Your juices coated Finnick’s cock with warmth as you repeated his name over and over.

You could feel him twitching inside you, spilling himself onto your clenching walls whilst bending you over to senselessly fuck you into the table. His moans were so loud, so fucking attractive, but may God have mercy on both of you if the room wasn’t actually soundproof.

Neither of you could stop. You came an immeasurable number of times; your hands left marks on Finnick’s body as he did on yours, and every surface in the room had been tainted with your sin. You clung onto one another, desperately prolonging your night together that would most likely be the last. Ever.

*********

“Don’t leave again.”

Your fingers stilled as you strapped on your high heels. You glanced up at Finnick—who now had his sweatpants back on—from the gold-lined leather chair you sat in.

“Finnick…” you sighed.

“Please,” he said. Crouching down in front of you, he gently took your hand into his own. His face, which previously reflected nothing but pleasure, now looked at you with pained desperation. “I’ll explain everything to you. Why I was always in the Capitol. Why it was too dangerous for us to be seen together in public. All of it.”

The mention of danger took you aback. You had thought he never wanted to be seen together because he was embarrassed, not because it was… dangerous. Brows furrowed together, your eyes flickered between his, searching for any hint of deception, anything that might reveal malicious intentions. But when had Finnick ever been malicious towards you? Never. All you found in his eyes was sincerity.

“I can’t lose you again,” he whispered, lowering his head.

After a few seconds of contemplation, you realised there wasn’t a chance in hell you were going to walk out on him again. Life would mean nothing without Finnick beside you.

Your fingers sat under his chin, lifting his head to meet your gaze. The two of you exchanged a look of vulnerability, signifying an era of newfound understanding and reconnection.

You whispered in response. “You’ve got me, Finn.” 

tags: @tayrae515

[flowershines]

Closer Wrong Room

Summary: Being the 8th member of Enhypen means that you get to spend time with people that actually make you feel special but little does everyone know that during most of those times your on your knees in front of them as you pleasuring them everyday.

Warnings: Smut, caught, desperate Y/n, sub! Sunoo x f! reader x dom! Jungwon, face sitting, blowjob, handjob, spanking, lmk if i missed any…

<previous masterlist next>

Darkness surrounded your figure as you walked further into the room trying to find the light switch, your fingers trailed up the side of the wall flicking on the lights during the process. The room around you was filled with old vintage hotel finds that could be found somewhere in an abandoned building, this hotel was super run down and old. Sounds of yelling was heard from outside your door, being nosey you walked over to it while put in your ear up against the cold wood as you heard one of the members speak angrily at one of the managers. “We are supposed to stay here, in this dump? What happened to the very nice hotel WE booked.” Looking down at your nails your mind tried to think of who’s voice that was, even though you lived and were around them for most of your time you would think that there was no excuse not to know their voices, but honestly you just always tuned them out. “Well Heeseung, we are trying our best to contact the hotel and ask why we are not being booked there, but this was the only hotel we could book for such a last minute.” This was very uncharacteristic for him, sure he gets mad and can take it out on another person but this seemed like there was an underlying message on why he was this upset on a hotel booking.

Opening the door both the men standing outside your door looked at you while smiling, acting as if they were not deep into the argument, sliding by the two of them as you walked into Sunoo’s room which he had been sharing with Jungwon. Knocking on the door you could hear a faint voice say from inside the room in a high pitched mimicking voice ‘housekeeping’, not long after the door swung open to reveal Sunoo who had his hair slicked back with a headband as his face was very shiny. He was doing his skin care. SLiding your feet one after the other on the ground you were placed in front of Jungwon’s bed while he laid down on the opposite side of him, falling onto the bed face first you mumbled into the blanket. ‘What’s Heeseung’s deal?’ a ‘huh’ was heard from beside you as you picked your head up while getting the hair out of your face, “What’s Heeseung’s deal?” he tilted his head in confusion “Him and one of the managers were arguing about why we have to stay here for tonight.” his shoulders lifted as Sunoo started talking “He’s just mad because he was going to meet up with someone and was going to get his dick wet, but now that our plans are delayed he can’t.” Your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape as realization filled within your body, laughing to yourself you thought it was funny about how Heeseung can not go a week without pussy. “What's so funny?” Shaking your head you denied anything being funny which soon turned into you complaining, “I’m so thirsty.” Jungwon’s hand started to message and rub your back which caused your tense shoulders to relax, while letting out a sigh. “Me and Sunoo can go to the convenience store and buy you something because I want some ramen.”

Sunoo jumped up from previously sitting in front of the mirror as he took off his headband and threw it at you like a frisbee, “Want anything else Y/n?” shaking your head as you watched as they left towards the door. Once the coast was clear you pulled out your phone while you started to watch some TikTok to pass the time by, but the more you watched your phone the more an ache would possess your body. No other thought was behind it. Scrolling to the next video your thighs rubbed up against one another uncontrollably while the feeling of your cunt becoming more and more wet by the minute set in, you knew it was just your ovulation cycle but of course she came to say ‘hi’ while you were alone in your friends hotel room. The feeling of desperation started to fill every inch of your body, maybe if i just pleasure myself it will go away faster you thought to yourself. Opening the door; leaving their room and into yours you pushed by the two men arguing, who were left confused as to why you were in such a hurry. Hopping onto your bed you untied your sweatpants the anticipation was making your cunt ache, circling your fingers around your clit you took your pants down to your knees as well as pushing your panties along with it. A soft moan was heard causing you to quickly cover your mouth now turning your clear moans into short muffled ones, brining your fingers down to your entrance you teased yourself knowing which ways and which movements would bring you to the most ultimate pleasure.

You just needed to cum fast, then head back to their room. They would never know. Slowly inserting your fingers into your dripping cunt your head rolled back onto the pillow that laid below you, a soft whimper fell from your lips. Of course you would become the most desperate when it’s the worst time. As your fingers bottomed out inside you the ache of desperation was worsening, your back arches while your toes curled. Even though you were not the happiest person about getting yourself off you have to admit that the pleasure that ran through your body was worth every second, you moans started to become more breathy when your fingers started to move at a faster pace. Closing your eyes you started to imagine how it would feel for someone else to be giving you this pleasure, eating you out, fingering you, fucking you. The members always made it too hard to let you fuck some random person; yet they do it all the time. They say your their ‘princess, nobody can hurt you’ which is completely bull shit, they just don’t want some rando fucking their baby. Dick was the only thing that ran through every thought in your body, you needed it, craved it. What if you just called one of your friends, you have your own room how would the guys know.

Opening your eyes and turning towards the side table away from the door you picked up your phone and started to call your closest guy friend, laying back the phone dialed his number and waited for his response. Pushing yourself up to your elbows your mind went blank as two men stood in front of you. “Y/n?…..Y/n you called?” Was heard from your phone as you laid their staring at the two shocked men with clear bulges popping out of their pants, “W-wh-what are yo-u doin-g here? How long have y-you been there?” hanging up the phone you placed it next to you still not taking your eyes off of the two men. One cleared his throat “We got the snacks, when you weren’t in our room we asked Heeseung and he said you ran past him in here.” his eyes were too focused on fiddling with his fingers which at the moment he could not face you after witnessing you fingering yourself. The other man that stared at your half naked figure couldn’t help but feel his tip start to leak precum. Rubbing your legs together your cunt started to become soaked from the scene happening in front of you, looking down at the man who was fiddling with his fingers you saw his cock twitch while he tried to hide it as best as he could. “Since you both already saw me like this can one of you help me out, please.”

The man finally looked up at you as he turned to the other man for confirmation, he slightly pointed his head towards you as he let his shy hyung get first dibs. Sunoo walked over to your bed softly; not even being able to hear his footsteps, you could tell he was nervous. Stopping once he got to the end of the bed you crawled over to him and laid down on your stomach, picking your arm up you started to rub his bulge over his pants. He hissed from your sudden touch, he looked back at the other man who was already palming himself as he walked over to the other side of the bed and laid down against the pillows. A moan was heard behind you which caused your head to turn towards the noise, Jungwon had freed his cock.

The tip glistens with precum while it was a very prominent red color, the veins were popped due to the lack of pleasure. A pink blush ran cross the bridge of his nose and on his cheeks, you never saw him blush like this. His lips curved into a smirk as you stared at his figure in awe. Turning back towards the man you unbuckled his belt while he quickly unzipped them and pulled his pants down just a little bit above his ankles, a whine was heard from the man. Looking up at him with siren eyes his doe eyes looked back at you as his eyebrows knitted together, his lips parted while his nose was scrunched up. Putting your hand into a small circle you pushed it onto his cock, his eyes rolled back from the sensation of your touch. Turning around to face the desperate man once again you asked him, “You just gonna sit there? or are you gonna fuck me?” hearing your confidence made him only more eager as he jumped onto you. He didn’t need to take anything off as your pants were already on the floor, but he did slowly take off your shirt as he kissed his way down your back till he reached your dripping pussy. A slap was heard as the sudden sting on your ass formed, his lips found their way to your clit as he kissed it.

Parting your legs more, he give himself room to slide underneath your body; till it looked like you would be able to sit on his face. His arms wrapped around your thighs as he tried to pull you closer, your eyes stayed focus on the man in front of you as he guided you through the movements with his hand on top of yours. “Jungwon, i’m gonna suffocate you. Can you just sit up and eat me out like that, I don’t want to hurt you.”

This only gave him more reason to have you sit on his face, “Suffocate me Y/n, want you to sit on my face. Don’t worry about crushing me, sit.” his arms pulled your aching body down onto his face causing his tongue to instead start lapping at your cunt. Putting Sunoo’s tip on your lips you used his precum as lip glass; pulling him down towards you, you placed your lips on his which made his lips shimmer from the leftover precum that was on your lips. As he stood back up you wasted no time while you shoved his cock down your throat, giving him no time to adjust you started to deep throat him. His hands fell to your head as one hand played with your hair while the other was pushing your head down further, you could feel his tip hitting the back of your throat.

Jungwon snaked his tongue into your entrance causing you to moan on Sunoo’s cock, “F-fuck Y/n, W-won ke-ep doing th-hat.” the younger man had listened to him as he pushed his tongue deeper into your cunt. Your constant moans was sending Sunoo into a different realm of life, his head started spinning while his hands that were placed on your head shook. The man below you was eating you out like it was his first ever meal; a starved man, turning your head towards the side out of the corner of your eye you see his hips humping the air.

Desperate for some form of friction. Slowly leaning back you pulled the man in front of you with you, your hand ran over Jungwon’s cock as you pushed his hips down with one hand against the mattress then started to please his aching cock. He hummed against your heat, you wondered where he learned how to please a women this well. Your climax was so close you can taste it as well as Sunoo’s his hands played with your hair while his lips formed incoherent sentences of encouragement.

Your free hand moved down to Jungwon’s head as you pushed him deeper into your pussy, the way his arms wrapped around your thighs you were sure there were going to be bruises left. “Gon-na cum.” Was the last thing the man above you said as his cum hit the back of your throat giving you no time to swallow it; the warm liquid ran down your throat with ease. Seeing him cum made the knot in your stomach loosen by the minute, Jungwon’s hips rutted against your hand causing his balls to slap against your hand. His movements were strong and weren’t stopping anytime soon and till he reaches his climax, he took a breather and exclaimed breathlessly “Cum on my tongue Y/n.” his words sent you over the edge causing your climax to collapse and take over your body.

The feeling and taste of your cum alone made Jungwon reach his long awaited climax, helping him through his orgasm you let go of his limped out cock while he placed it back in his pants. Just before you got off of Jungwon’s face he placed a kiss on your clit sending a shiver to run throughout your whole body.

“Thanks Y/n.” The man turned shy once more while the mother was filled with confidence as the taste of your cum was still in his mouth, “If you ever need to get off, let us know. We could be your little toys.” He said winked at you, kissing your forehead as the other man kissed you on the lips. “Taste yourself.” Pulling away from him he nodded with a smile on his face at your comment, “I mean it Y/n.” was the last words Jungwon had said before he left your room.

tagslist:

@luvyev @honestimage @siria000023 @tooshyshaa @heeseungshim @juliesblogs @wonpoem @weyukinluv @cha0thicpisces @jungwonloveer @zouzie008 @wooziswife @jwonistic @wonniesdoll @wonki-luv @en-gene2 @deobitifull @cupidhee @namdeyuoi @hanienie @gfjydhufvh @nyfwyeonjun @sangzhi4 @peonywon @caravm @heeseungsbabyy @sunoosets @anwonie @jungwonnieee @certified-niki-lover @heeseungsbabyy @aprilsssinterest

if your acc is in white it said ‘no blogs found’

[wwaheoh]

Hey, Hi, Hello!! I don’t know if you’re not taking request or not but If it’s not too much of a hassle or if you have the free time, could I please request a part two of that unrequited love post where the reader starts intentionally avoiding those same characters you posted? Like basically the aftermath of the confession. If you’re closed or busy you really don’t have to accept this but thank you for that read 😭

“Aversion to Heartache…” Zenless Zone Zero x gnReader

Von Lycaon, Zhu Yuan

a/n: not including Anby, since she’s the one avoiding you at the end of Unrequited. also i am always open to requests or chats! just know that it might take some time to get back to you, since i write when i take a break or can’t draw

Sequel to: “Unrequited” (Lycaon, Zhu Yuan, Anby)

It’s been a couple of weeks since your failed confession. You had been purposefully avoiding Lycaon- even Victoria Housekeeping as well as the cafe they used as a front. Ads would pop up on websites, various members on it but the pure white fur of the Therian on your mind sticking out like a sore thumb against the muted colors of the rest of the staff.

Sighing, you clicked on the X to delete the ad, not wanting to see it any longer. You misclicked, accidentally clicking on the web link and being rerouted to the contact page of Victoria Housekeeping. It was familiar- having used it to venture into the Hollow, where you met Lycaon.

Quickly closing the tab, you tried to clear your mind. Lycaon, Lycaon, Lycaon, every day it felt like you got reminded of him. The good times you both had, spending afternoons and sometimes nights with him. Then quickly being soured by you confessing to him- the look on his face more unflattering than what really occurred.

You should go out for a bit… maybe some fresh air would help. Standing up, you put on some casual clothes, fixing a hoodie on and zipping it up before taking your keys.

Closing the door behind you and locking it, you took a deep breath of the cold afternoon air. Fresh, with only a couple of people milling about. A car or two passing by every couple of minutes. Stepping out from the front of your apartment, you began your aimless walk. Letting the sounds of the city fill your ears.

After tens of minutes, you found yourself in Lumina Square. Somewhere bustling with traffic. Following the crowd, you looked through the windows, commenting on things mentally- before something caught your eye.

Lycaon. The wolf-Therian was sitting in front of a noodle shop with… someone else. A figure wearing a blue-orange jacket, hair reaching their chin. Here you were, constantly on the verge of tears and Lycaon had already moved on. Seemingly having replaced you, seeing as how expressive this person was to him.

His ear twitched, a tell-tale sign of where he was going to look- having either heard or smelled something of note. Quickly you lifted your hood up, hiding your face as you quickly followed the crowd, hoping to avoid his gaze and possible confrontation, forever if possible.

Yet he knew you were there. With the aroma and cooking of the noodle shop covering up most of your tracks, but that familiar scent you had snaked its way in. Yet you were already gone, faded back into the crowd.

After the revelation of who Zhu Yuan’s heart had been captivated by, you had begun to slowly avoid Zhu Yuan. The heartache you felt as you spent time with her became more pervasive with each day. Something you wanted became poisoned, leading you to call hangouts off or declining Zhu Yuan whenever she invited you.

She very easily figured this out, but the question was ‘why?’. The two of you hadn’t had a falling out- nothing egregious and there was no reason for you to have any bad blood. Yet every time she approached you, you quickly tried to find an out- you weren’t as slick as you thought you were.

It became harder and harder for her to initiate anything, being stationed in different areas of New Eridu, as well as growing feelings for her partner Qingyi. Yet it still ate at her.

One day on patrol, you were responding to an urgent call, pulling up with lights flashing. A man had a girl hostage, blade to her neck as they ordered the cops to hand them a vehicle to make their escape from a robbery gone wrong.

Just as you were about to go in, a blur passed you, a familiar figure grabbed the girl, cuffing the suspect before roundhouse kicking them, knocking them and a piece of the wall out. As well as a couple of molars.

You watched her in a trance as she consoled the victim. Then you noticed that she was about to turn, with you quickly walking away back to your car. She stepped to follow you but was stopped, having to give a recount and file paperwork for the arrest, as well as return to film the rest of the promotional material for the director.

Qingyi watched you leave as she stepped out of the car, dots connecting in her head as she watched the hurt look on both you and Zhu Yuan’s face. She needed to do something about this...

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Precious Truths: Part 8

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you’ve been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month’s time.

A/N: I will not be taking tags for this series!

Series Masterlist

You and Benedict spent the previous night talking until it was well late into the night. He escorted you back to your home to ensure nothing bad happened to you. No one had seen, of course, since all of the Ton was asleep.

Before stepping back into your home, you gave Benedict a hug, "You will always be my dearest friend, Ben. Never forget that."

He swallowed down the deep rooted desire to inform you of his affections. He can't. He mustn't. No matter how much he's been wanting to for so long.

_____________________

Because James was a friend of Simon and Daphne's, the Duchess decided to throw a celebratory ball at the Clyvedon Castle for your engagement. You tried to decline, but Daphne, much like her mother, is very persistent and convincing. You, Aunt Eliza, James, Auggie, and Daphne all rode back to Clyvedon together.

You had only gone to the castle once and that was for the ball Daphne held after she and Simon married. It was just as beautiful as you remembered.

Simon was there ready to greet his wife and son with open arms.

Daphne steps out of the carriage with the coachman's help, Auggie asleep in her arms.

Simon smiles as he approaches his wife, kissing her head and looking down at his son, "Back in my arms again."

He looks past Daphne and gives you and your aunt a nod, "I see you have come back with a few more guests than when you left, my love," he gives Daphne a teasing look.

She rolls her eyes at her husband, "I wrote to you informing of our added guests as well as the ball I plan to hold here in honor of James and Y/N's engagement."

Simon sighs, "I've yet to read this morning's letters. I have been busy."

Daphne gives him an understanding nod and the stands to the side as Simon walks over to you, your aunt, and James.

"Congratulations to you both. Excuse me for my surprise to your arrival, Y/N. I have been behind on my letters."

"I understand, Your Grace. And thank you for allowing my aunt and myself to stay here up until the ball."

"You are a friend of Daphne's, Y/N. You are always welcome here." he looks over his shoulder and gestures to the housekeeper, "Mrs. Colson, here, will show you to your rooms. I will let you all rest until dinner. Now if you excuse me, I'd like to spend some time with my family."

"Of course, Your Grace. Thank you again for your hospitality," Aunt Eliza says with a bow and watches with a smile as Simon escorts Daphne and Auggie inside.

James looks at you with soft eyes, "Would you like to take a walk around the grounds after you rest?"

"I'd enjoy that very much," he tips his hat to you and your aunt, "I shall see you later then." He then heads inside the castle to get some rest for himself.

________________________

"Benedict, I know this must be painful for you, but you need to show face! If not for Y/N then at least for Daphne," Violet Bridgerton looks at her second son as if he'd grown a second head.

Benedict had just informed his family that he will not be attending the ball Daphne is holding for you and Lord Montclair.

"I apologize, mother, but I already have prior engagements."

"What prior engagements?"

Benedict looks at his mother and the rest of his siblings. He sits up, "Well, I have an interview with the headmaster of an art academy."

"That's amazing, brother!" Hyacinth exclaims in excitement.

"Which academy?" Anthony asks.

"One in France."

"France?!" Gregory's jaw drops, "How did you get an interview?"

"I wrote a letter to them and a friend put in a good word for me."

Anthony scoffs, "You let a friend help you and it is fine. But when I help you, you get upset."

"This friend didn't use money to help my case, brother," Benedict practically sneers. He's clearly still a bit upset about Anthony practically buying his way into the academy. But this time, Benedict's work, determination, and Henry Granville's word, helped him. Not Anthony's money and status as Viscount.

"Well, I suppose I cannot be upset by that. Well done, Benedict."

He grins at Violet, "Thank you, mother."

___________________

Daphne was meant to be a duchess. Violet truly taught her well, you think, as you watch her list off orders and demands to Mrs. Colson and staff. You let her do her thing, occasionally answering questions in regards to what color theme you wanted, the flower arrangements, the entertainment, etc. Other than that, Daphne took the reigns of it all. You admired the young woman.

"Shall we take a break?" Daphne asks as she guides you to the balcony that overlooks the grounds. Some glasses of lemonade are out waiting for you both.

You both sit and sip from your glasses. You sigh, "You were truly meant for this life, Daphne. You fill the role so well."

"Soon you will be in a position similar to mine," she states with a smile.

You let out a deep breath, looking out to the grounds, "Yes, I suppose I will be. I am not sure I am as well prepared as you are."

"I'm sure your aunt has done the best she could. However, if you have any questions, I will be happy to answer them." She shoots you a grin.

You chuckle, "You might regret that, Your Grace."

"Ah, I was wondering where my fiancée had gone," you hear the marquess say as he steps onto the balcony. Fiancée. It was so odd that you were a fiancée now. Even weirder that your husband to be isn't a certain Bridger-no. You mentally scold yourself for thinking about Benedict. You need to not think of him anymore. You and he are not meant to be. Not now. Not ever.

You look up at him from your seat, "Yes. We were just taking a break from planning the ball. To be honest, Daphne is doing majority of the work. Also, I hope you don't mind, but I chose lavender as the colors."

"Not at all. I think you'd look beautiful in the color," James smiles at you and you can't help but shy from his gaze.

You clear your throat, "Yes, it is one of my favorite colors so if you are not fond of it, then we might have to rethink this marriage." You respond playfully, causing the marquess and duchess to chuckle.

"You are a funny one, mon cher," he looks to Daphne, "Is it alright if I steal her away for some time together?"

"Of course not, my Lord," Daphne says as she stands. She smooths out her dress and pats James' arm, "I should get back to planning anyway." She nods to both of you and enters her home, leaving you two alone.

James occupies the spot Daphne previously resided, "I should let you know that my family will also be attending this ball. I figured now would be the best time rather than at the wedding."

You nod, "Of course. I'd love to meet them. Both your parents and sisters will be in attendance?"

"That is correct. I must warn you, my sisters can be rather mischievous," he smirks at you and you giggle.

"Oh, I have experience with mischievous. Growing up with the Bridgertons has made me quite familiar with mischievous."

"My sisters will love you then. They are twins. Both ten and two. My mother does her best to raise them as young ladies, but," he shrugs with a guiltily, "I like to show them a few tricks here and there."

You laugh, "I can imagine the scoldings your mother gives you for teaching your sisters such 'un-ladylike' behavior."

He shrugs again, "I tend to be a bit more progressive in the notion of what women can and cannot do."

"That's...that's very relieving to here, my Lord."

"And why is that?"

You didn't plan on telling James your secret until well after you two married. However, an opportunity to come clean has presented itself. You've come to learn that James is kind, understanding, loving, compassionate, and open to the idea of women having more freedom.

Previously, you were apprehensive about telling James your secret, that you were writing under a man's name to publish your work. But now, you felt even more relieved and comfortable to know he most likely wouldn't treat you differently because you are pursuing your passion.

You let out a deep breath and reach out to James, placing your hand on his, "I must confess something to you."

"Yes?"

You open your mouth to confess, but you're interrupted as Mrs. Colson steps out, "Pardon me, miss, but her Grace has asked for you."

You nod, "Alright. I shall be with her in a moment."

Mrs. Colson retreats and you groan, "I must admit that I've lost my nerve now."

James places his other hand atop yours, "It's alright. Whenever you are ready to tell me, I shall listen with an open mind and heart."

You lean in and kiss his cheek, "I truly don't deserve you, my Lord."

He grins and stands, holding his hand out to you, "Come. Let's not keep the duchess waiting." you two walk together, hand in hand to meet with Daphne.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

A Misuse of Potions 1- Hill Giant Strength

Wrote it, thought I should sit on it to better edit, then decided I ain't patient. Bon appetite.

Rated VERY E.

Astarion has a plan. A nice, simple plan. His love has been gone for almost a tenday, but now she's back, and he needs her to obliterate him in the best way possible.

Night has fallen. Apprentice spellworkers dart through the streets to light the lanterns as the pale wash of sunset fades into purple, and then black.

Astarion stands near the window overlooking the front street and the small, rather overgrown garden his love has been somewhat tending to.

She’s late.

She’s actually two days late, but he’s inclined to blame the wizard for that. No, she should have been here thirty minutes ago, right as the last curve of the sun sank behind the distant buildings and released the creatures of the night to their nefarious doings.

To which he would happily add his own misdeeds. Except that she’s late.

Something happened. They were waylaid by pirates. A kraken rose from the deep to smash Waterdeep and pulled that wizard tower down on top of them, and her body is so human and so, so mortal. He needs to go. Needs to check—

Magic stirs below. The scent of cinnamon and licorice he always associates with Gale’s spells. A glimmer of purple flickers in the space right before their front gate—she painted it teal and seemed quite pleased with herself—before a shimmering, purple cloud unfurls taller and taller and…

His breath sighs out of him. She emerges. Eleanor. His former leader, his friend, his love. She’s back. She’s home.

He lets the curtain fall back into place.

They’re plush things, and heavy. Purchased with him in mind and enchanted to boot. Usually, the moment it’s safe to do so, he throws them open to catch the fading light still painting the sky.

But not tonight. He doesn’t care about the sky, today. And he doesn’t want an audience.

Well, aside from one, anyway.

She unlatches the little gate and steps through. Her footsteps sound heavy. She must be tired. He hopes that won’t alter his plans. Because he did. Plan. He’s getting better at that. But now she’s late and it’s thrown him so he hurries down the stairs, soft as a sigh.

Not that he needs to. Her hearing is awful (she says it’s quite good for a human and he feels a twinge of pity at that). Plus their townhouse is enchanted against noise. Can’t have the neighbors (he has neighbors) complaining about the screaming (it’s not even bad screaming; usually involves a lot of “yes, yes oh god” even).

He hits the ground floor and surveys the room. It’s nothing grand. Nothing like the mansion he still gets dragged to in reverie sometimes. But it’s bright and tidy (they pay someone for that, because it turns out neither of them is particularly good at housekeeping). The wooden floor is well-swept and decorated with colorful rugs and potted plants (dearest Eleanor says her people were farmers). The walls are covered in patterned wallpaper and bookshelves and trinkets, tapestries and paintings she should have haggled better for, but didn’t because “good art is worth the artist.”

It's very her. And, he thinks, it might possibly him, as well? Part of him? They change things as they need to as he figures that whole mess out.

But he’s really here to check that everything is in place. No elaborate staging, though. He chose his own clothes for his own reasons, for his own purposes. He’s in their home. And it smells of them.

Or it did smell of them, And that’s the problem.

Oh, his scent is everywhere. He can’t escape that. But she’s been gone the better part of a tenday, and it’s her that’s beginning to fade.

The first, few nights were tolerable. He could nuzzle into her pillow and remember to breathe. The bedding smelled of her: rich blood, the linden soap she favors, and that wonderful, clean scent she carries on her skin. It was nearly enough for him to imagine he held her as he rested.

But the bedding wasn’t warm, like her. And though the late, summer sunlight warms the stone walls of their home and chases away the burgeoning chill of autumn, there was no living body within the walls to fill it with heat.

She wasn’t there. He was alone.

He’s been alone before, of course. Was practically alone for two centuries before he threatened her on that beach (he sighs fondly at the memory: her on her back, staring up at him with what he initially mistook for a simpleton’s vacancy, but later learned was a vicious cunning) (when she wasn’t tired) (and when what she calls her “brain chemicals” were correctly balanced).

Then they were together (he feels himself smile) for a little over a year, now. And in that time, they’ve never been apart as long as this expedition of hers.

And now their home is too cold. Too quiet. And nerves twist his stomach.

It’s almost hilarious. Centuries at seduction, and he’s now reduced to fussing over his clothing as he waits. Second guessing: where he’ll stand, how he’ll position himself. It used to be as effortless as, well, not breathing, but blinking, perhaps (even that’s a stretch). He barely thought about it. Wasn’t entirely present for more than half of it.

But now every moment drags. Her steps up their walkway. The way her lungs draw air. The beat of her heart and there’s no one to witness the slight stumble as his knees go stupidly weak.

He ought to sneer at the thought. A little over a year ago, he would have done far worse. Probably stabbed someone. But now, it’s Eleanor and he missed her, gods help him, and he smooths his hands along his front and takes up position at the door. Waits until…just…there.

Opens that door for her.

Her hand is raised to grab the knob. Now it hovers and slowly falls to her side as she boggles.

He chose well, it turns out. He doesn’t need a mirror to know he looks good. He’s retrieved his heels and laced them up. Unpacked another purchase he kept from her: a long, blood red dress of embroidered silk. It’s a slim fit, meant to hug his form. Would be tight along the legs if it wasn’t for the slit up one side.

The sleeves fall off his shoulders in a way he knows highlights them. She does love his shoulders (loves to clutch them as he works between her legs) (curl her head upon them as he reads to her) (dig her fingers in to try to ease the tense muscles when that blasted joke of an editor at the Baldur’s Mouth throws some feeble counterargument back at him).

But it’s the way her eyes follow along his collarbones to the dip that leads down his chest. It’s his chest that’s her favorite part of him (well, second) (alright, third because she says disgusting things like “your eyes” and “the way you smile” and “but if you didn’t have a mouth, I couldn’t hear you talk about plagues”).

(And she means all of those statements; she’ll just…sit there and listen to him prattle on—)

“Good evening, lover,” he purrs.

She almost drops all three bags she carries.

***

The rest on AO3 so no tumblr horny jail for me.

[tookhimtomypenthouse]

Hate Yourself - Chapter One

series warnings: female!reader x oliver quick, past/implied felix x oliver, dub-con, stalker behavior, voyeurism, degradation, dacryphilia, bloodplay, gaslighting, manipulation, untagged story elements (the warnings aren't exhaustive!), DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT bbgirl

summary: you’re hired as a maid after Oliver comes to own Saltburn, and find your employer to be very invested in your work

minors dni!

Your palms felt sweaty as you gripped your bags, staring into the massive gates of the mansion. You were tempted to turn around and run as the grandiosity of the building overwhelmed you. It felt like the iron jaws of the gate could open and eat you at any moment. Your torment was short-lived, however, as the creaky gates opened as you nudged them forward. Just beyond the courtyard, imposing wood doors awaited. Gravel crunched underfoot as you made your way over to them. Just before you could knock upon the doors, they swung open to reveal a graying, stern man.

"Welcome to Saltburn, miss." The man gives you a tight smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You must be the new housekeeper?"

"Yes, that would be me," you laugh awkwardly, unsure of what to say next. 

"Lovely to meet you. My name is Duncan, head butler. Anthony will take your bags to your quarters. Come, and I'll show you around the grounds." You set your bags down and hurry after Duncan, who, despite his age, has a considerable stride. 

Each room in the house seemed grander than the next. The soft autumn sunlight pouring in from the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminated the formal dining room. Sheer red curtains floated elegantly to the sides, fluttering as you swished by. 

"Wow," you breathe out as you catch a glimpse of the massive garden. You can't help but gape at the massive hedges that seem to form a huge wall of green or at the multiple elegant fountains spraying in the air. "The grounds are so beautiful."

Duncan casts a fleeting glance through the window and continues on with the tour. Your head spins as you try to remember all the rooms and build a mental map of the estate, but the rooms seem to never stop coming. You are lost in the task when you finally arrive in the master bedroom.

"Here is the master bedroom," Duncan says, startling you out of your trance. The room is grand, with large wooden furniture and sumptuous fabrics and paintings. The closet door is ajar, revealing a closet full of crisp suits and hanging shirts without a single wrinkle. Expensive ties are neatly tucked into an organizer above a row of pristine dress shoes. "Sir Oliver is particular about how this room is made up, but Lyuba will teach you the specifics later."

You give him a nod, soaking in the finery and sheer wealth of this place. It's a far cry from the squatty brick council house you grew up in. The momentary thought of home makes your eyes prickle. You push the thought away and follow Duncan as he continues. Tears won't help you navigate the maze that is Saltburn. 

~

You flop into your bed with a deep sigh. The rest of the day passed so quickly as Lyuba, the woman whose job you were taking over, taught you the ins and outs of the job. When you close your eyes, you swear you can still see towels and sheets being folded. Lyuba was impressed at the speed at which you picked up the proper technique for all the linens, but you were no match for her practiced hands. It would take some time before you perfectly replace the experienced housekeeper. No use worrying about it now, you thought as you slipped towards sleep. The room you had in the servant's quarter of the estate was still larger than any you'd ever stayed in.

Right before sleep could overtake you, you heard a loud creaking sound. Icy fear flooded into your chest as you bolted upright. Your eyes weren't adjusted to the room's darkness, but it didn't stop you from frantically peering into the dark for the source. Through the shadows, you couldn't make out anything specific. After a few moments, you noticed that your door was open a crack. Did I leave it open? You aren't sure if you did. Your furiously pounding heart starts to slow, and you rise out of bed to close it. It is an old house, right? Surely some shifting floorboards or creaking of the structure caused the sound. Must've forgotten to shut the door, too. You chided yourself for getting so worked up over the noise. Fears soothed, you climbed back into bed and dozed off.

~

"Not so much water," warned Lyuba as you went to lift the mop out of the bucket. You quickly wrung the mophead out a bit more before starting on the tiled floor. You and Lyuba cleaned one of the guest bathrooms mostly in silence, only interrupted when she caught a mistake you were making. You turn to see Lyuba's snowy white bun bobbing in time with her careful movements. The older woman was only going to stay to teach you until the end of the week before she embarked on her retirement. You were at first shocked to find she was the only maid for the sprawling estate, but you quickly realized why.

This place is a fucking ghost town.

It had been three days since your arrival, but you had only glimpsed the owner of this place a handful of times. He was the only actual resident, not counting the help. Oliver Quick was his name, according to Duncan. You were debating whether to ask Lyuba more or let the mystery about the man of the house linger.

Curiosity won.

"Lyuba," you started cautiously, "what is the owner like?" You notice her movement halt with your question.

"Why?" Her response comes almost as an accusation. She turns fully to face you, and her face searches yours carefully. 

"Oh, I just was wondering because I've hardly seen him," you reply, unsure of how to respond.

Lyuba shuffles close to you until you are nearly touching. She gently grabs your wrist. "Strange. Be careful, girl," she whispers in a gentle tone. "I worked for the family before him," she continues, hushed and serious as the grave, "and then he swoops in and inherits that place." She drops your wrist and stares into your eyes intently. "Practically a stranger when he-"

"Hello." You and Lyuba jump as you see a man leaning against the doorframe.

"H-hi," you stutter, taken by surprise. His eyes meet yours, and you're drawn in by the shocking blueness of them.

"My name is Oliver," he offers, "and you must be Lyuba's replacement?" A small smile makes its way across his face. 

"Yes," you breathe out and offer him your name. Your surprise at being interrupted fades, and you finally take him in. He wears a fine button-down shirt and slacks, his hair combed back without a single strand out of place. You suddenly feel shabby in your black uniform dress and messy hair. You flick your wet hands behind your back to try and appear more together. His unnerving gaze has you self-conscious.

"Pleasure to meet you. I'm sure Lyuba has taught you all you need to know." His eyes dart to her briefly but soon return to you. He stretches in the doorway, and you can't help but see the muscles of his arms under the thin cotton of the shirt. "It's nice to have a new face around."

"Ah," you splutter, face hot. "I'm sure it is." You can't help but feel skittish as he watches you return to your work. He'd always made himself scarce before today, so his presence feels overwhelming so near to you.

"We have much to do," cuts in Lyuba, her annoyance clear, "and we need to finish, sir." She turns her back to him and returns to her cleaning. 

"Of course," replies Oliver, lifting his hands in a gesture of resignation. "Don't stop on my account. I wouldn't dare interrupt her training." He backs out of the bathroom, but not before throwing you a small wink. 

You shake your head and return to your work. Lyuba's hushed condemnation and Oliver's surprise entrance have you cleaning in silence. You could practically taste the animosity between the two of them but get the sense you won't get much more out of Lyuba today. Instead, you pass the day with the gnawing feeling that you're missing something very important.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Eccentricities

Yandere!Miguel x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, DDDNE, Yandere themes, mental manipulation, obsessive behavior, allusions to violence, blackmail, angst, masturbation, Tyler Stone is also a warning lmao

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Yeah, after a million years, it is me! I'm sorry it's been so slow to update, y'all; things have been... *A lot*. Seems like every time I get a one-up something else happens, like my dad being in and out of the hospital for example.... As I stated in my previous post, this story won't be continuing for much longer!

Part 3

Taglist: @vineberries9 @irmiki @autismsupermusicalassassin @obi-mom-kenobi @rin-matsuoka345-blog @loosecan @6thhokageswife @selarus @heyohalie @sapphire-and-ruby @night-spectrum @famouscattale @thespaceinbetweennothing @lazy-idate @toshimoshiko @saharadesertaj @flaps200 @amelialysm @fried-milkfish @zaunsin @darksidescorner @renareyouhere @vide0-vamp @reverieblondie @bunnibitez @kaqua @peterbparkersburger @tojishugetiddies @aisyakirmann @itslariette0 @xxeclipze @oharasfilipinawife @amber-content @ixanne2006 @miguels-aranita @scaleniusrm @stopxplease @blueapplesiren @ruexvn @jadeloverxd @theitchbbbb @realifezompire

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

Pt. 4

You had gotten so used to the quiet and privacy of Miguel's mansion that you weren't entirely sure how to handle when the infamous Tyler Stone dropped by for a visit. You certainly didn't enjoy the energy the man put off, nor the looks he would send your way as you "entertained" him until Miguel arrived home; having sent word to Lyla that he arrived.

You noticed that even Lyla seemed uncomfortable with Tyler's presence, her holographic avatar was actually fidgeting when you looked at her. Whatever went on between Miguel and Tyler must not have been very good, judging by how perturbed Lyla was with the older man.

"So... You're the little mouse that my boy Mike has hired, eh?" Tyler grinned, swirling the wine in his glass around as he watched you wipe down and clean the bar. You were well aware of his eyes tracing the entire shape of your ass as you kept your back turned to him.

Yes, having him leer at you wasn't enjoyable... But you preferred it if he looked at your ass instead of your chest or face. Something about that man's gaze made you very uncomfortable; it wasn't at all like with Miguel. You felt safe with him... Even if sometimes he came home from work with the energy of a man ready to catch a criminal charge. You had chalked it all up to the stress of running Alchemax; and now, having his former boss just show up out of the blue while he was gone...

How the hell did Tyler Stone even get in? You assumed only you and Miguel had the passkey to get in. So, how--

Tyler grinned once again, tapping the rim of his glass with one of the gaudy rings on his fingers, catching your attention once again. "Well, sweet-cheeks?"

You grit your teeth and turn, giving him your best sweet smile, "Ah! Right, yes, sir. I'm Miguel's housekeeper."

"And a damn fine bartender..." Tyler hummed, downing the rest of his wine in one swift gulp, licking his lips of the excess as he eyes you up and down once again. "In fact, I'm thinkin' about snatching you out from under my boy... What do you say? Your job will come with all the perks I'm sure Mike holds from ya... A nice fat check..."

His hands constantly groping you...

Your shoulders stiffened, his offer making your blood curdle; "I--"

"She's off-limits, Stone." Miguel's deep voice rang out from the threshold.

You sighed with relief, looking over at him, holding back a shocked gasp. Miguel looked... Disheveled. His face was sweaty, chocolate locks stringing around his forehead, droplets of sweat rolling down his sculpted cheeks.

He straightened his posture as he stalked towards the bar, casting you a soft look before focusing his attention squarely on Tyler, the look in his eyes from behind his red lenses just exuded one word: murder. You almost swore Miguel was about to reach out to snap his neck, until Tyler clasped Miguel's larger hand in his, shaking it with a laugh.

"Ah, don't be so serious, Mike." Tyler laughed like Miguel wasn't currently staring daggers through his skull. "I was just proposing a business deal with your lovely little maid, here!"

"You wouldn't be trying to poach my own employee from me, would you, Stone?" Miguel asked, his voice relaxing to a more soft pitch; his body language still tense but not so aggressive. You could tell there was some definite bad blood between the two men.

Your fingers fiddled nervously with each other at the obviously thick tension in the air, "Miguel..."

"Ah, don't worry, querida." Miguel assured you with a smile, his gaze softening once it landed on you. "Tyler and I need to have a private discussion. Go ahead and take the rest of the day off..."

You nod, swallowing hard. Something was off, but you weren't willing to risk pissing Miguel off in any way, despite how gentle he seemed with you, even in the face of the former CEO of Alchemax. You quickly placed your cleaning supplies in the cabinet and scurried out of the room, closing the doors behind you.

Tyler didn't fail to notice how Miguel tracked your movements from the corners of his eyes as you left, and a shark-like smirk made his lips quirk dangerously. "Oh, now I see why you're not so keen to let me take her from you."

Miguel scowled at the older man, "Why the hell are you here, Stone? Don't bullshit me."

Tyler pressed his hand over his own heart, feigning innocence. "Why, Mike! I would never bullshit you, my boy... Wouldn't dream of it, in fact."

Miguel glowered, his temper already short from dealing with a troublesome Kraven variant that wrought havoc in another universe, plus an "incident" in one of the labs at Alchemax. Tyler's sudden manifestation was testing his patience.

Oh, he had so looked forward to coming home, having a nightly drink with you... maybe work some aggression off. Maybe he could have convinced you to help...

But now, that little fantasy faded in the light that was his sperm donor's annoying fucking mile-long smile. That stupid fucking face that reminded him so much of his own, sometimes he couldn't stand to look in the mirror.

"Don't play coy. Tell me why you're here."

Tyler raised his thick brows, his forehead creasing from the slight wrinkles, there. "Mike--"

"Miguel." The tall man hissed.

"Mike." Tyler corrected, pouring himself another glass of wine. "I've heard you've been a little distracted, lately. A little... scatter-brained. So unlike you. I came to see what was bothering my boy in his personal time--"

"I'm not your fucking child, cabrón." Miguel snarled, breaching Tyler's personal space and standing almost nose-to-nose, "Now stop. Fucking. Pontificating."

He sighed deeply, frowning softly at Miguel's "mood". Oh, how he hated when he got like this. Too uppity for his own good, too ambitious. And after what happened between them... rather dangerous.

Oh, if he only knew how dangerous he was...

"Fine. I checked your financials and saw you had arranged a payroll to a rather cute houseworker." Tyler peered at Miguel almost boredly over the rim of his glass. "As well as some purchases for very small cameras, a number of which happen to be waterproof..."

Miguel felt the hair bristle on the back of his neck. Tyler had.... He had implanted a bypass-shunt program into his personal files? Without Lyla picking up on it? How the fuck did he manage that?

He must have hired someone to do it. He had to have hired someone to do it!

His fists clenched and his jaw tightened microscopically; but Tyler seemed to pick up on it anyway as he casually sipped his wine.

"Oh yes, I've been keeping an eye on you. Can't let my most promising progeny be left to his own devices for very long, now can I?"

"You--"

"How often do you spy on the girl, hm? I imagine watching her undress is rather titillating." He smirked, "She has a very nice body... Almost wasted just being looked at..."

Miguel grabbed Tyler by the collar of his 10,000-credit suit, bunching his fists and lifting him off the stool, sending some of the wine splashing from the glass and onto the bar top; snarling Miguel spits at him. "You stay the fuck away from her, you hear me, Tyler? If you so much as lay a pinky on her, I will--"

Tyler laughed, completely unfazed by Miguel's aggression. "Careful, now, Mike... Wouldn't want some evidence of your little Rapture addiction slipping out and making its way to your pretty little doll, no?"

Miguel snorted, his nostrils flaring as his face heated up. He dropped Tyler back in the stool, turning to stomp away, his fists balled and chest heaving to control his rage, just barely controlling himself enough to avoid burying his talons in the meat of his palms.

Tyler sighed, downing some more of his glass, "We wouldn't want the public finding out that the great Miguel O'Hara was a junkie, now do we?"

His head was abuzz; adrenaline pumping so hard through his veins, he could feel that primal urge to just reach out and snap Tyler's neck. Hiding or disposing of the body would be easy enough, concealing any other evidence would also be a snap. Unfortunately, if anybody knew he was coming over to Miguel's...

Fuck. Tyler also probably had some kind of implant to contact emergency services in the event his heart stops or he's severely injured. Then, Miguel would obvious be a shoe-in for a brand new jumpsuit; not one of his own design.

The multiverse would suffer, another Spider-Man demonized by the public for murdering a man who outwardly appeared somewhat decent...

Then, it felt like a tension wire snapped; realization dawned on Miguel as clear as a sunny summer day.

Tyler was baiting him. He wanted him to snap.

He wouldn't give in to his cheap taunts.

Miguel forced his body to relax, reaching up to slick back a stray strand of hair, and turns to give Tyler a cool smile, "Well... if that were to happen... I would have to tell them where the Rapture came from. How you used it to control me, manipulate me, threaten to kill me."

Miguel felt sick glee at how Tyler's smile instantly fell, and the Hispanic man tipped his head to the side, his smile eerily calm.

"Oh... You thought I didn't have evidence of that? Now, imagine how the public will react when news of me being your illegitimate son--the result of a disgusting affair--gets out?"

"You--you wouldn't." Tyler spat, throwing the wineglass to the ground and shattering it, the red liquid running out to pool around it, soaking into the grout in-between the tiles like a thin, watery pool of blood.

"Your mother would be--"

"I don't give a fuck what Connie deals with. She's had her dose of karma a long time coming... and it's honestly only fitting that I be the one to deliver it." Miguel sneered, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Tyler swallowed, glaring up at his own flesh and blood like it was Hercules fighting the lion. Only... it was up to anyone's guess who would emerge the victor of this bout.

But... He knew that Miguel was much larger, much stronger, faster--younger...

It was an uphill battle and he currently had a bullet wound to his knee.

So, Tyler Stone relented in the seething rage that was Miguel O'Hara. He adjusted his coat from where Miguel has mussed it before, wiping up some of the wine on the counter with his handkerchief before tossing it to the floor indignantly.

"Very well, Mike... I'll leave your little toy alone. But... do be careful enough to take care of your toys in the future. Don't want to forget what happened to your last girlfriend..."

That slight sting didn't hurt as much as he'd hoped, Miguel merely jerking his head to the side, his lip curled in an irritated snarl. "Get out of my house."

As the smaller man began to walk briskly out, he gave Miguel a smirk over his shoulder; "Y'know, my boy... some stuff really is genetic. You don't realize just how much like me you really are."

Miguel scoffed, his body finally relaxing as he turned to clean another one of Tyler Stone's messes, wiping the bar you meticulously cleaned for him clean, tossing the piece of cloth into the nearby trash bin, and turning on the little disc-shaped cleaning bot to clean up the shattered glass and suck up the wine.

"Lyla." Miguel sighed as he took off his sunglasses, his hand shaking as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Hey, boss man." She greeted hesitantly. "Whaddya need?"

"Find out how Tyler got into the system. How he got past you. I'm going to upgrade your code later with stronger firewalls, too." He said, staring at her flickering avatar.

"Yeah, believe me... I don't like him getting past me. It feels... gross. Violating." She shuddered.

Despite changing her programming to see the logic in his words by default, Miguel was emotionally attached to Lyla. For a long time, she was his only true friend. She was there for him after the Rapture incident...

And to now watch as Tyler had essentially brute-forced his own program onto Lyla felt akin to some form of assault on her; one of his greatest creations to date.

But... the shreds of his conscience began to thread together as he remembered you. The cameras, the stalking, having Lyla be hypocritical and spying on your personal business...

"You... You know everything I do is to keep her safe--both of you safe, right, Lyla?" He asked softly, staring down at the little robot as it chirped as its cleaning cycle was finished, returning to its charging dock.

"Well, yeah.... I saw the crime reports... saw how that guy probably would have killed her... and... well." She shoved her hands in her pockets and looked up at him, a brow quirking upwards. "I mean... the cameras are just as good for safety, right? Like how people put baby monitors in their kid's room, or to spy on the nanny. Keeps her from getting hurt even where she should be safe..."

Miguel smiled warmly at her. Yeah... she was programmed to see his logic, but... hearing it made him feel much better.

"Thank you, Lyla. Let me know if anything goes wrong with her personal stuff, alright? I want to make sure Tyler isn't spying on her, too." He turned to begin leaving the room, "I'm going to work this adrenaline off. Make sure my Pequeña Ave is relaxing like I told her to, hm? When you're not busy sorting through the bullshit Tyler pulled, that is."

"Can do, boss!" Lyla chirped happily, giving him a little salute. "Have fun gettin' those reps in!"

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

You couldn't find Miguel in his office, the lounge, his bedroom, the bar, at the pool... the only other place you could think of was his small gym.

He didn't seem to have had a good day at work, and Tyler's presence only seemed to worsen it when he came home. You wondered what exactly happened between them to make their relationship so hostile in the first place...

But, you shoved that curiosity to the side. You decided to try and give Miguel a little pick-me-up. You remembered the story he told you of he and his little brother sneaking off to enjoy their snack of mango and chili salt.

You cut the mango in half, pulled the large seed pod out of the middle, and halfway sliced the halves into little cubes; and finally sprinkled on the chili salt. Afterwards, you placed the snack on a tray with a nice, ice-cold bottle of his favorite sports drink. If he was in the gym, he would definitely need to replenish some electrolytes after working out.

As you walked down the hall, you noticed Lyla's avatar following you. "Hey, Mamacita." She said. "I'd steer clear of the boss. Mr Stone-head reeeeeeeally made him mad."

You wiggled the tray a bit and gave her a smile, "That's why I'm bringing him this, Lyla. Snacks do wonders for mood improvement!"

She tilted her head, taking a moment to respond. "Oh. Right. Good idea, actually..."

You noticed her seemingly distracted nature today, which was almost unheard of for the AI. "You ok?"

"Yeah, going through my files before Miguel puts in a new update for me tonight. Gonna get me a niiiiice makeover, program-wise." She grinned, wiggling her eyebrows at you. "I'll be pretty indisposed however; one, from going through my millions of lines of code, and two; he's gotta put me out while he works on me."

You chuckled, "Ah, well I'll leave you to that, then. Hope the update goes well."

Lyla gives you a snarky salute before her avatar disappears as you near the gym. As you reached the arching threshold--no door, you noticed some time ago; he apparently liked a bit of an open floor plan when it came to that--you could hear the sounds of him grunting, huffing, and swearing. It sounded like he was working hard.

You round the bend and open your mouth to announce yourself--until you see why Miguel was really making those sounds.

His back was to you, shirt abandoned on the floor by the dumbbells. He sat in his boxers, pants discarded the same way his shirt had been in favor of working out almost entirely naked.

Or, well.... maybe it started with him working out--until he went to the weight bench and it devolved into something else entirely.

The mirrors lining the opposite wall gave you a perfect view of him despite him sitting with his back to you. His boxers were shoved hastily down to his thick thighs, leaning on one hand as his other one slowly stroked up and down his rigid, leaking cock. Miguel's head was tipped back, his eyes closed in frustrated pleasure, sweat making his body shine as though he had almost appeared oiled-up. His usually well-kept hair was messy, tacking to his forehead and scalp with thick layers of sweat.

The sight immediately sent a throb down to your core; heat roiling and pooling low in your belly and had you biting your lip in equal parts mortification, shame, and arousal.

He grunted, grinding his teeth as he tipped his head down again. You quietly jumped back out of sight as he looked down and opened his eyes, growling as his hand circled the head of his dick before twisting and stroking back down.

"Fuuuuuuck." You heard him sigh. "That's it, bebita... fuck, I'm close."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you imagined who he could possibly be picturing in his mind's eye; what dream woman he probably had at his feet, between his legs, worshipping the thick shaft he stroked in his hand

You pinched your thighs together, feeling your arousal already begin to soak through your panties, threatening to breach the fabric of your pants. Your face heated up, flushing with color as the sounds of him pleasuring himself assaulted your ears in the all-too quiet house. Hell, it felt like he was being so loud, his sounds of self-pleasure drowned out the blood rushing in your ears.

You couldn't contain your curiosity, and peek around the corner again. Miguel had his eyes closed again, a blissful crease prominent on his brow as he bucked his hips in time with his hand.

You watched as he snagged his plush bottom lip between his teeth, his face twitching as his hand jerked faster, the thick precum dripping down his cock and coating his fingers, assisting in the glide as he fucked his own hand, his release imminent.

You squeezed your legs together even tighter, taking care not to jostle the tray in your hands and not make any noise that would give you away.

This was... wrong. You should turn around, and leave your treat to him in the kitchen for him to find on his own. You should...

You swallowed the gasp that wanted to come from you as he muttered something to himself, something you couldn't quite make out--before the thick ropes of his cum spurted from the tip of his cock.

Continuing to stroke and pull, to lengthen his orgasm as long as possible; to ride the high further, Miguel rolled his head back with a gutteral moan, his cum splattering on the floor mats below him, his legs trembling.

As he began to even his breathing out, you turned and as quickly and quietly as possibly rushed back down the hall to avoid being caught--and maybe attend to the pressing matter that stained your panties.

Miguel however--

Miguel knew you were there. He could smell your perfume as you made your way down the hall, hear your soft footsteps and conversation with Lyla.

He grinned as he looked into the mirror, his eye tracking where you had once been peeping in on him. He could smell you the moment you got wet; hear the way your heart thudded in your chest as you spied on him.

He had been edging himself; not intentionally of course, but with how frustrated and angry he was, Miguel had been dancing on the edge of a climax for most of the time. Until he caught your scent, the smell of your wet little cunt filling his senses and making his mind buzz with his budding orgasm before driving him over that peak.

He wondered what you thought of the sight. You were aroused, certainly. You very much liked what you saw. He almost hoped you would walk in, and offer your own soft, sweet little hands to stroke him to relief.

But ah, you were a polite girl. Scurrying away like a frightened little mouse before getting caught and possibly pissing him off.

Miguel heaved a heavy sigh as he grabbed his sweat rag from beside him, wiping at the mess he made of himself. Despite the circumstances, he couldn't help but smile.

Maybe getting into your head was going to be easier than he anticipated.

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

Part 5: I have no idea Imma be real with y'all

[clxja16]

Our Life

Pierre Gasly x Reader

Genre: established relationship, parents au!, dad Pierre

Warnings: angst, yelling, arguing

Word Count: 1.5K+

Author's Note: I realize this is probably the most I have ever posted here. and this is probably the first time I have two different 'on-going' stories out at the same time. well I had this idea for a while, except it was with Charles and I can't keep posting things with Charles man. but this concept works with Pierre so yeah. I don't think there will be a part two, unless you guys absolutely beg for a part two but there's a happy ending so yeah. also Idk if this is a fear for a lot of people or if im just being irrational, because its definitely a fear for me lol. anyway enjoy reading, pls let me know what you think.

------------------------

“If I want my son at the race then he will be at the race,” Pierre spoke loudly as he tried to get his point across to you.  

“Pierre, he’s only 10 months, I don’t think a race track when cars are flying past is the best idea for him,” you matched Pierre’s volume, you couldn’t understand why he just wouldn’t get it.  

“He can wear a headset, just like all the other drivers' kids do, I want my son at the race with me,”  Pierre wouldn’t let it go. 

“No Pierre, I don’t want him there, and I don’t want all the media with pictures of our son, we’ll be…”

“You don’t have to come this weekend, but my son will be there this weekend, nanny can come with him.” 

“Pierre you’re not getting it, I don’t think that's the best environment for our son, right now, maybe when he’s a little older.”  

“y/n what do you think is gonna happen to him?” 

“I don’t know,” you shook your head at this point, “anything could happen to him, I don’t wanna risk it.” 

Pierre sighed, running his hands through his hair, “he’s coming to the race this weekend, he’s my son…” 

“OUR SON,” you shouted at the top of your lungs, cutting Pierre as the tears finally escaped you, “he is our son.” 

The sound of the baby crying coming through the monitor stopped you from continuing on.  You and Pierre both sighed, knowing that you’re shouting at each other is what woke him.  “Let me…” Pierre spoke up first.  

You waved your hand to dismiss him, “I’ll get him.” You quickly exited your shared bedroom with Pierre and made your way to the nursery, wiping away the escaped tears.  Down the hall, before you entered the nursery you took a deep breath, calming your racing heart.  

“Hi boy,” you spoke softly to the crying baby, picking him up.  You held him close to you, afraid that he would be taken away.  You closed your eyes, breathing him in, your perfect son. You cradled him in your arms, rocking him back to sleep.  You watched him sleepily yawn, he had his father’s eyes. Eyes you loved very much.  

“Dear,” Marta called out to you.  Marta was an older woman that Pierre hired as a housekeeper to help around the house.  Marta didn’t have any kids, her husband had died many years ago.  She became a mother to you, since your mother wasn’t anywhere near.  

“Marta,” you sighed, “I’m sorry, did me and Pierre wake you?” Because it’s only Marta by herself, Pierre had her move into the downstairs bedroom, it’s especially helpful when Pierre is away during the season.  

“Don’t worry about me, I can sleep plenty when I’m no longer here,” Marta smiled, taking a seat next to you in the nursery, “what’s bothering you?” 

You shook your head, as you smiled at your little boy in your arms, “Pierre wants to take the boy to Monza this weekend, and I don’t think it’s a good idea.”  

“That’s not it,” Marta said, as she gave you a look.  A look a mother gives when she knows her child is lying. 

You felt the tears begin to well in your eyes, “he’s our son.” You whisper into the night, like the words are a sin.  You look up at Marta, meeting her kind eyes, her eyes telling you to continue you on.  “He’s our son,” you speak a little louder, as the tears fall, “he’s not just Pierre’s son, he’s my son too.”  

“I see,” Marta hums, nodding her head, “and? Why does that bother you?” 

“He’s all I have left Marta.” You pulled the baby closer to you.  “He’s all I have.”  You took a deep breath, closing your eyes.  You breathed him in, you burned this moment to your memories.  You treat this as if it’s your last moment with your son.  You opened your eyes looking at Marta, “He’s all I have.  You know, when I got pregnant, it wasn’t planned.  It was an accident, me and Pierre had only been together for just under two years.  But we said we were gonna do this, we were gonna have this kid and raise him together.  Pierre makes more money than me.”  You took another deep breath, trying to gather all your thoughts.  “I had a good job, a place of my own, but there was no way I could raise a child by myself, and I couldn’t expect Pierre to move.  He lives in Milan because it’s best for his career, he was set up already.  I gave up all that I had, so he could be in his son’s life, and maintain his career.”  

“You regret that?” 

“No, no, never, Pierre is so good with him.  He’s such a good father,” you smiled at the thought of Pierre with the boy.  “But I’m so scared Marta.” you felt guilty for even speaking your feelings aloud.  “Everything belongs to Pierre.  I live in Pierre’s house, I drive Pierre’s cars, I fly on Pierre’s dime, I am completely dependent on Pierre.  We’re not married, I own nothing, all I have is this boy, and Pierre has all the power to take him away.”  

“You think…” 

“I know,” you spoke quickly, “I know Pierre wouldn’t just randomly kick me out, but that doesn’t mean I don’t fear the possibility.”  You felt the hot strikes of your tears, “If Pierre doesn’t want me anymore, I won’t have anything.  I have no money to my name, I have no job, no place to stay, I have nothing without Pierre.  If he decides he no longer wants me, I have no way to support myself or go back home.” 

“That possibility scares you?” 

“It does, and everytime we argue, he reminds me of that possibility, by saying ‘my son.’  He’s not his son, he’s our son, our child.  Both mine and his, our son, together.” 

“Oh dear,” Marta sighed, as she stood, pulling you close to her standing figure.  

“Is it wrong to be scared?” you asked as you silently sobbed, holding your son closer to you.  

“No dear, it’s not wrong to be scared, it’s the world we live in.”  Marta said, as she held onto you tightly, wishing she could take away your fears.  She wondered where in her lifetime did she go wrong?  Why do the women of today have the same fears as the women of before? 

Little to your knowledge, Pierre had overheard your conversation with Marta.  And he thought how could he be so stupid?  How did he not realize how damaging his words were?  How did he not realize the weight they carried?  How could he allow this to happen?  He mentally slapped himself over and over again for not realizing his mistake.  Our son, the boy, was your’s and Pierre’s son.  

-

“Pierre, where are we going?” you asked as you sat in the passenger seat, as Pierre drove.  

“To do something I should’ve done a long time ago,” Pierre said, as he pulled into a parking garage.  

“Isn’t this your lawyers’ law firm?” you asked, as Pierre parked the car.  

“Yes,” Pierre answered, as he made his way around the car to open the door for you.  

“What are we doing here?” 

“You’ll see,” Pierre said, taking your arm, as the two of you walked into the building lobby.  You silently followed after Pierre, as he made through the lobby, up the elevator and to his lawyer’s office. You watched him exchange a few words with the man behind the desk, before the two of you took a seat, opposite of the lawyer.  “I’m sorry these changes are a bit spur of the moment, but it’s something I should have done a long time ago.” 

“Since the house is paid off, it was actually really easy changes,” the lawyer spoke before setting down paperwork before you and Pierre.  “I’ll just need you both to sign on the line, and initially at the tabs.” 

“Pierre what is this?” you asked, picking up the paperwork before.  

“I’m putting your name on the house,” Pierre said, as he signed his set of paperwork.  

“What?” you asked, as you threw the papers back on the desk, as if they were burning your hands.  “Pierre this is a big thing, that’s your house…” 

“Our,” Pierre said, correcting your statement.  The one word had you shutting your mouth.  

“Huh?” 

“Our house,” Pierre said, as he set his paperwork and pen down, “We have a son together, and our son needs a home.  We need a home for our family.  This house can be our home, together.  y/n, I should have done this when you gave up everything for me, for our family together.  I am sorry this is so late, too late, but I want it to be our home together.  This is our life together, none of this mine anymore.”  

You couldn’t wipe the smile from your face even if the devil himself appeared before you.   You signed away at the line and initialed at all the tabs.  You were so grateful that Pierre was willing to share his life with you.  “You know, you could’ve just asked me to marry you,” you joked as you and Pierre made your way back to the car.  

“I am, I’m just going to do it right,” Pierre smirked at you, “plus it actually doesn’t cost money to add someone’s name to the deed of a house, when the house is paid off.”

[dreamingofep]

Forbidden Love pt. 2 💔❣️

Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Reuniting with Elvis was supposed to be the highlight of your summer, but with unresolved tensions between you two, things aren't what they seem. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Cussing, TENSION, kissing, grinding, fingering

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Hello everyone! I had originally wrote all of this part out a few months ago because this is where the idea sprang from! There’s so much more to uncover and this part definitely needs to be in Elvis’ perspective later on so be on the lookout for that. 🤭

Here are the songs I included in this part too! Listen if you haven’t heard “I’ll Never Let You Go (Little Darlin’)” It’s so sweet and I just pictured Elvis singing this soft and low on the piano. 🥹

If you'd like to read any of my other fics, start here or Ao3!

Hope you enjoy and message and comment what you think.

September 21, 1958

Your heart was heavy as you walked up the driveway. The house was illuminated by the lawn lights and the hum of people inside grew the closer you got to it. Graceland was always so beautiful, especially at night. The large Corinthian columns were so stunning and made the whole house stand out. It was made for Elvis you thought. No ordinary man could live here. It had to be someone as grand and special as Elvis Presley was. 

You walk up the steps to the front door and take a deep breath. Emotions were flowing through you today. You were going to say goodbye to one of your favorite people. Elvis was always there for you, in good times and bad, he would always listen. He was supposed to be gone for two years in the army. It couldn’t have been a worse time to be drafted. He was at the top of all the charts and his career was just taking off. You two had gotten close the last two years or so. You think it was a way to ground Elvis and keep him connected with the real world. You both loved to hang out with each other's family and have barbecues together. 

Now all of that was going to change. He was leaving and you knew you’d be a wreck without him. You don’t have a lot of friends as it is. But Elvis was special. There was no replacing him. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry at this party. Elvis wanted everyone to have a good time and not think of it as his goodbye party. You took a deep breath before you decided to go in the house. You smoothed out your pale pink dress and opened the front door. 

The entire house was lively and some of the people that were standing by the stairs greeted you. Your eyes frantically search for Elvis. You wanted to spend as much time with him as possible before he left. Walking to the kitchen, you set down the bottle of champagne you brought. One of Elvis's housekeepers hugs you and tells you she’ll open the bottle for you. Someone hands you a flute already filled with champagne and you graciously take it. 

The bubbly drink danced on your tongue and went down smoothly. You squeeze your way through the sea of people and continue to search for Elvis. There had to be over fifty people crammed into the first floor of the house. You accidentally bump into a taller man and apologize for that. You decide to ask him if he knew where Elvis was. He has this awe-struck look in his eyes as he looks at you. You silently roll your eyes at him, you didn’t want to talk to him, all you wanted to do was spend time with Elvis. 

“I uhh… I don’t know. But you can hang out with me. I’m John, you’re y/n right?” He asks. You don’t have the patience to be making small talk with anyone tonight but you fear this guy won’t get the message. 

“Yeah, I am,” you say as you keep looking for Elvis and taking another sip of champagne. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen you around here. How long have you known Elvis?” He asks. You sigh unamused, you weren’t in the mood to have another one of Elvis’ friends hitting you. Maybe you would have actually given it a shot if it was another night but it was not the right time at all. Your mind was so focused on getting to Elvis. 

“Quite a while. He’s my best friend,” you say flatly. 

“Well, that’s something you and I have in common. He and I go way back. Can I get you another glass of champagne?” He asks pointing to your glass. 

To get through this conversation with you, I’m going to need ten, you think annoyed. 

“Yeah sure,” you say flatly, creeping your way in slowly to the living room. You stretch on your tippy toes to see if you can spot Elvis. He was almost always the tallest one in a crowd and you hoped you’d get a glimpse of his dark black hair. It was useless because all you see are other people’s heads and couldn’t see anything else. You huffed annoyed, time was ticking by and you hadn’t even greeted Elvis yet. 

You get tapped on your shoulder and you look up to find John with another champagne glass in his hand. 

“Thanks, see you around,” you say as you quickly push your way into the crowd and make your escape from the annoying man. 

The sound of the piano fills the living room and you just know that Elvis is the one playing in it. He did that so often at parties. He played so beautifully and loved to entertain even though it was his party. You finally squeeze yourself to the very front and see him. He looked so happy with all his friends around the piano waiting for him to burst out in song. He wore a white short-sleeved button-up that was ruffled on the chest and tucked into white pants. He cut his hair the shortest you’d ever seen it for boot camp but he still looks so handsome. 

His attention gets torn from his friends and he catches a glimpse of you. His face lights up when he sees you and instantly gets up from the piano bench. 

“There’s my favorite girl! Where have you been?” He asks excitedly, scooping you up in his arms and squeezing you tight. You can’t help but smile and giggle softly as you feel how happy he was to have you here. 

“I’ve been looking all over for you! You’re impossible to find in your own house,” you giggle.

He gently sets you down and looks at your outfit, taking your hand in his. “And you look like a million bucks too!” He says twirling you around. “Thank you for coming. I’m so glad you’re here!” He says gleefully.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it!” You say with a smile.

“Perfect timing too. I was just about to play some songs, and you get to sing with me,” he says cheekily, pulling you onto the piano bench with him. You get extremely nervous, you do not like to be in a crowd of people and have the main focus on you.

“Oh no no no Elvis please I cannot sing,” you say nervously, trying to scoot away from him.

He wraps his arm around your waist and keeps you right next to him.

“Oh no, you’re not running away from me. You just got here! Come on, please sing with me. I love it when you do,” he pleads. He looks at you with soft eyes and a cute cheeky smile. God, you couldn’t say no to this man even if you tried.

You sigh defeated, “Okay fine. Only for a few songs, and then I’m hiding in the corner again,” you say jokingly, taking another sip of champagne. He lets out a big boisterous laugh, bringing his hands to the piano’s keys, and plays a few chords to warm up. He plays so effortlessly, stretching his long fingers across the ivories. 

Well it’s one for the money

Two for the show

Three to get ready now go cat go

But don’t you step on my Blue Suede Shoes…

He radiates so much energy when he sings. There’s no way anyone could have a straight face while he performs. A huge smile forms on your face and you start clapping along to the beat. He bumps your shoulder to join in and you sing along with him softly. His mood is contagious and you can’t say no to him and join in. 

The longer he plays, the less nervous you become. You don’t pay attention to any of the surrounding people in the living room. Song after song, it felt like it was just you and Elvis singing to each other. Or he was just singing to you. You honestly lost track of time as he continued to play more songs and you kept drinking your champagne. And come to think of it, you lost track of how many drinks you had too. But you didn’t care, you were having too much fun singing with Elvis. He was handed a few drinks and he was drinking them too. It surprised you because he normally never drank but the mood in here was so joyful and fun, you were sure he didn’t care tonight.

Before you knew it, the living room was slowly clearing out and the house was getting increasingly quieter. People were saying their goodbyes to Elvis and telling him how much they’d miss him. Some of the guys were going to go out driving and invited you both to join them, but Elvis wanted to stay here. You didn’t want to leave either, every second you had with him was precious. 

It was past 1 am and Elvis started playing slower ballads while humming the tune. You could sit next to him for hours listening to him play. You were entranced by the way he played, how his fingers almost danced over the keys and the most melodious sounds rang out. You put down the last glass of champagne down and felt your head spin a bit. You tried not to focus on it too much and tried to draw your attention back to Elvis.

I’ll never let you go little darlin’

I’m so sorry, ‘cause I made you cry

I’ll never let you go because I love you

So please don’t ever say goodbye…

He plays the song so beautifully, letting the chords ring out fully before he sings the next line. You wish you could snap a picture of this moment and never let it fade away in your memory. Sitting here, listening to him sing a ballad as it pulls at your heartstrings. You were going to miss him so much. He wasn’t going to be down the street from you anymore. You couldn’t just stop by to see how he was. He was going to be thousands of miles away, in a different country, on a different continent. You promised yourself you weren’t going to cry, but you feel the tears well in your eyes as he finishes the song. Damn, the alcohol getting the best of you and your emotions.

Because I love you, pretty baby

I’m so sorry ‘cause I made you cry

I made you cry

Yeah, I’ll never let you go

“Cause I love you, little baby

So please don’t ever say good-bye

He finishes the song so beautifully and you both sit there in silence. A few tears were rolling down your cheeks and you don’t bother to wipe them away. He looks over at you and sees your tear-filled eyes.

“Aww y/n, what’s wrong? Why you cryin’?” He asks as he gently turns your head towards him. His thumbs gently wipe the rolling tears off of your face but that only makes it worse. You take a deep breath before speaking and try to hold it together.

“I’m just… I’m just going to miss you,” you say weakly. He instantly pulls you into his arms, your head resting in the crook of his neck. He rubs your back, trying to soothe you through your cries.

“I know, I am too. It’s going to be so different,” he admits.

“I don’t want you to go. You’re my best friend. Who am I going to talk to now?” You sob, holding onto his shirt.

“You’ll still have me. Write to me any time you want or put on one of my records when you’re lonely. Think of it as though I’m singin’ to you and only you. I love singin’ for you,” He coos. Your tears continue to pour down your face. That thought was too much. You couldn’t fathom the idea that the only way you were going to be able to hear his voice was on a record. You didn’t realize how spoiled you were that you could hear him sing right next to you any time you wanted.

You lift your head up off of him and nod your head. You look into his own tear-filled eyes and somehow his eyes look more blue and mesmerizing. Your head felt light after all the champagne but you didn’t care. Nothing could tear your focus away from Elvis right now. He wipes your tears away once more as his own fall down his cheeks.

“And what do I do if I find myself missin’ you?” He asks through sniffles.

You search for the right thing to say, not exactly sure what to say in a moment like this. You had nothing to offer Elvis. He was the man who had everything even though you both were so young. You look down at your hands, unsure what to do, and see your heart-shaped ring on your ring finger. It was something you found at a little boutique downtown. The band was gold with a black heart that had a sun and a small little diamond in the center. You thought it was cute and a nice find. You slide it off and lift it up for Elvis to see. 

“Then you take this with you. I’ll always be with you if you have this,” you say softly. He carefully takes it out of your hand and looks at it closely. He looks up at you in disbelief.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to take something so valuable to you,” you waivers. 

“No please, I insist. It’s the least I could give,” you sniffle.

He pulls you in for another hug, squeezing you tighter than he ever has before. You so desperately wanted to freeze time so you could live in this moment forever. You didn’t want to let go of him. You were terrified he would come back from the Army and become a totally different person. But you had to stop thinking that, just enjoy these last few moments with him.

“I’m gonna miss you so much,” he murmurs.

“Me too,” you say weakly.

“Don’t forget about me,” he whispers into your ear.

“Oh God I could never,” you tell him.

He breaks away from you, looking deeply into your eyes and placing his hand on your cheek. His thumb glides back and forth along your cheek and sighs to himself. You aren’t normally so close to him like this and can see so clearly how gorgeous he is. You swore his eyes sparkled when they looked at you. His nose was perfect and his skin was flawless. You watch as his eyes drift down to your lips and you do the same. Maybe you never consciously thought about it, but his lips were beautiful like the rest of him. They were full and plump with a soft pink color to them. They looked soft and pillowy almost. 

You can feel your breathing hitch in your throat the longer you stare at him. His hands tighten around your body but are still very gentle as though he’s afraid he’s going to break you. He leans in ever so slowly, biting his lower lips as he does so.

“Good, me too…I can’t forget you even if I tried,” he murmurs sensually.

The tension he is giving off makes your head spin more and you can’t wait any longer. You lean into him and crash your lips into his.

He felt like heaven. Each kiss was tender and soft and yet there was so much urgency behind it. You were right, his lips were softer than you could have ever imagined, and felt like you were kissing pillows. You can’t catch your breath as you both kiss each other with more passion. His hands roamed up and down your back, clutching onto the material of your dress. Oh, those hands, they felt so good on you. They were addictive and you wished you could feel them on your skin instead. You had no idea you needed his attention like this.

You boldly slip your hand into his shirt, feeling the soft chest hairs that resided there. He responds with a soft pleased groan into your mouth. Your heart races in your chest, not believing that this is happening right now. You felt on fire with the way he was kissing you. He was so needy and desperate for your attention as his hands kept moving along your body. He slips his tongue into your mouth and you both groan when he does so. You had never thought. You needed him like this, you were always so adamant about staying friends. Maybe things could be different…

There was a throbbing developing in between your legs and was only growing worse by the second. It was so different than other times you’ve felt this way. You had felt this way in private moments by yourself but with Elvis, it was amplified to a whole other degree. Your chest heaves and you feel yourself become more needy. You slowly stand up and try to get Elvis to do the same thing. He breaks the kiss and looks at you a little perplexed. You push him backward to the couch that is right behind the piano. He quickly sits and stares up at you wide-eyed. He smooths out his pants and spreads his legs apart slightly. Your eyes drift to his long legs and how good he looks like this. He just exuded sensuality and temptation without even trying.

You notice how his length was hard and pushing up against his pants. Oh God, you’ve never felt more needy in your life. You wanted to feel what he was like underneath you. You quickly straddle his hips and scrunch up your dress before sitting down on him. Your core rests on top of his length and the heat from him makes it hard to breathe. You let out a small groan as you feel him underneath you. The straps of your dress slide off your shoulders and you’re left looking at Elvis’ luring eyes.

You both don’t say anything, just the sounds of your labored breaths fill the room. His hands drift from your back to the front of your body, gently cupping your breasts in his hands. You whimper softly, loving the way his hands feel on you. You look down as he does this, watching how his hands consume your soft breasts and have you reeling for more. He sighs as he continues to touch you, looking up at you with an awed gaze. You needed his lips once more and leaned in to kiss him again. The kisses somehow got even better with his hands on you like this. Your arms wrap around his neck and feel his soft hair with your fingertips.

Something instinctual takes over your body and your hips begin to move on him, grinding your core onto his hardened length. A bolt of electricity runs through you as you begin to move. You had no idea something like this could feel so satisfying. You break the kiss and gasp out, needing breath more than ever. Elvis lets out a deep groan and lets his head fall back with his eyes closed. Another wave of pleasure runs through you seeing him like this. He looked so attractive with satisfaction running through both you and him. His eyes pop back open with his mouth falling open slightly.

“Oh God honey… that feels so good,” he moans.

Honey.

Oh God he had never called you that before. Hearing that come from his lips made you feel like the actual word; a sweet sticky mess.

You nod your head at him and whimper in agreement as your breathing hitches. You keep eye contact with him as your core continues to throb with every movement of your hips.

“Elvis,” you whine.

He nods his head at you, his hands slithering to your back and grabbing handfuls of your ass. He helps you grind into him harder, his hands helping your hips move back and forth onto him. You gasp loudly, loving how this feels.

“I know honey, I know,” he groans, “You feel so good on my cock,” he whimpers into your ear. 

You helplessly moan at just his words. You hold onto him tighter and move more as he helps you. The friction of your panties against his slacks made a coil in your belly form and it tightens with every move. You couldn’t get enough of him. You didn’t want to stop having him make you feel this way. He stills you and you look at him with needy eyes.

He takes one of his hands and moves it to the front of your body. He scrunches the material of your dress in his hand and looks up a you with pleading eyes.

“Can I touch you?” He asks softly. You nod your head quickly and help him lift up your dress. His fingertips graze your mound and move down to your folds. Wetness had pooled in your panties and you squirmed underneath him. Elvis moves his fingers slowly, taking his time exploring you.

“Jesus honey you’re soaked,” he groans. Your hips move with his curious fingers and moan in agreement. You feel his finger pull your panties to the side and continue to slide them through your wet folds. You cuss softly, loving how he’s making you feel. He pulls you in for a kiss again and you both moan when you feel each other’s lips. He puts more pressure on your clit, rubbing it in soft circles. Your body jolts forward with each touch and you are more breathless than you thought possible. You stare at him in awe as your pleasure builds and builds. He has a pleased smirk on his face as he watches you grind on his hand. You couldn’t imagine you could feel this good but it’s somehow possible with Elvis.

Your hands quickly work the buttons of his shirt and spread it open. You then work your way down to his pants and fidget with the button and slide down the zipper. Elvis stills you, not letting you go any further.

“Honey, wait,” Elvis sighs.

“Please, I want you,” you whimper.

“I know, so do I,” he grumbles into your neck.

“Please… please make me feel good. I want you,” you plead, grinding your hips onto him again. He lets out a loud groan, unable to denounce how good you feel. You move back a bit and your hand finds his length. You rub it softly, feeling how much heat is coming off of him and how it is throbbing from your touch. Your head spun when you felt him, you needed him more than anything. 

“Please honey, please. Make love to me,” you beg, looking up at him with needy eyes, your hands scratching down his arms. He looks at you in awe. He reacts to you like he’s never heard such beautiful words in his life. He looks like he’s feeling just as weak as you and his hand slowly comes out from underneath your dress.

His demeanor suddenly becomes sorrowful and melancholy. He lowers his gaze and shakes his head somberly.

“I can’t honey. We can’t right now,” he says low.

You can’t help but feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. Being rejected by him hurt. You could have sworn he wanted you just the same.

He can see how you’re a bit hurt and taken aback by his words.

“It’s not that I don’t want to honey. Trust me, I would love to as you can see,” he says as he glances down at his hard length. “It’s just not the right time. I don’t want you regretting this kind of thing. I don’t want it to be because I’m leavin’ tomorrow,” he explains.

“It’s not because of that I just-,” you try to insist but end up stopping yourself, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked for sucha thing,” you say embarrassed. You quickly get off of him and stand wobbly. Your head spins more than you were prepared for and almost stumble sideways. Elvis thankfully grabs you and holds you upright.

“I gotcha, it’s okay. I don’t mean to make you feel bad honey. You need to know I loved every second of that,” he says sweetly, taking your face in his hands and placing a soft, tender kiss on your lips. You sigh at the feeling once more, not wanting to forget how this feels. You gently pull away and take a deep breath.

“I guess I should be going,” you tell him.

“Oh no, you should not be driving like this. Just stay the night,” he insists.

You didn’t have any fight left in you and you just nodded your head. He keeps his arm around your waist and leads you up the stairs with him. It was a challenge walking up those stairs while the whole world was spinning. He opens his bedroom door and helps you in. 

His bedroom was warm and inviting. It smelled like him and made you want to put that scent into a candle. He turns on the lamp by his bed and you get a better view of the room. Most of his furnishings were black and there were piles of books on his dresser and on his nightstand. 

He’s such a little bookworm.

You glance at the clock on the wall and it is past two. You feel his arms go around your waist again and he steps in front of you.

“Did you want to go to the bathroom or anything? Or would you rather lie down?” He asks you.

“I’ll just lay down,” you say sleepily. He nods his head and turns to pull back the sheets for you. You reach your hand at the back of your dress as he does this and struggle to find the zipper. You let out frustrated little sighs and he turns back to face you, concerned with what you’re doing.

“Help me unzip this dress please,” you say defeated as you turn around and lift up your hair. Elvis doesn’t say anything, all you can feel is his fingers gently pull on the zipper and drag it down to the small of your back. He turns you around and he has that needy look in his eye. You reach up on your tippy toes to give him a small peck on the lips. You can feel the smile forming on his face as you do this. You step around him and go to the bed. Before stepping in, you let your dress fall at your feet and quickly get underneath the sheets. They were soft and silky and the heavy comforter made it feel extra cozy.

“I’ll sleep on the floor, honey. You let me know if you need anything,” Elvis tells you. You slowly roll over and give him a pouty face.

“No please, stay with me. You can sleep with me,” you insist. He looks like he’s going to denounce this request but you don’t let him. You hold the sheets across your chest and pull at his hand.

“Please, Elvis. I want you to sleep in your own bed before you leave,” you plead.

He lets out a frustrated sigh and nods his head.

“Okay, let me change real quick,” he says. You smile sweetly at him and close your eyes as you wait for him. The room still felt wobbly but lying down did feel better. You hear Elvis sift through his closet and walk back into the room fully changed. The shift of weight in the bed made your eyes pop back open to watch him get into bed. He was shirtless with only his underwear on. He was still hard and could clearly see the outline of his cock in these. You tried to subside the needy feeling you had for him and just focus on sleep. 

He lays down and gets underneath the sheet with you but leaves plenty of space between the two of you. You grumble annoyed, wanting him to get comfortable in his own bed.

You scoot closer to him, laying your head on his chest.

“You can get closer to me, I don’t bite,” you giggle. 

He chuckles softly to himself, “oh good I was worried about that,” he teases.

You feel his arms wrap around you as you start to close your eyes again. You had never felt so safe and comforted in someone’s arms before. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” he whispers.

“Mhmm, me too,” you slur sleepily.

“Don’t forget about me,” he says softly.

“Never,” you hum as you let the dark blanket of sleep take over.

*

The crack of sunlight shone in through the curtains making your eyes flutter open. You stretch your limbs and feel the soft silky sheets wrapped around you. Your eyes instantly pop open when you realize these do not feel like your sheets at home. 

“Shit,” you say as you sit up quickly in the bed. 

You look around and realize you’re in Elvis’ bedroom. You clutch the sheets around your chest and look down to realize you’re practically naked underneath them. Your heart hammers away, trying to scramble to remember what happened last night. 

Did we? No, we couldn’t have… you think to yourself. You feel you still have your panties on and see your dress crinkled on the floor next to the bed. You try to recollect last night’s events as best you can. You remember singing with Elvis on the piano, smiling and laughing at him. Then you remember those eyes. Those beautiful, seductive blue eyes peering into yours with an intense blazing heat… how good he felt underneath you as he moaned your name. The need that grew inside of you to have him take care of you in a way you didn’t know existed. 

But he stopped you… telling you that it wasn’t the right time. Your heart drops. That’s right, he stopped you from going any further. You sat there wishing he took care of you. Fulfilled the need he created inside of you. It still lingered in you as you sat there.

“Elvis?” You say out loud, seeing if he was still in the bedroom.

You frantically search for the clock and see it’s ten past ten. Your heart sinks again. Did he already leave? No, he couldn’t have, he would have said goodbye to you. You quickly put your dress back on and rush down the stairs.

Peeking into the dining room, the table was empty with not a trace anyone has been there. You go into the kitchen to see if you can find anyone there who might know where Elvis went to. You see one of his housekeepers at the sink rinsing off dishes. She hears you enter the kitchen and has a surprised look on her face.

“Oh hey darlin’! I didn’t know you were here!” She says excitedly.

“Yeah I stayed the night,” you say a bit timidly. “Where’s Elvis?” You ask.

She looks at you somberly, turning off the faucet and wiping her hands dry with a dish towel.

“Aww honey I’m sorry, you missed him. He left at dawn for New York. I’m sure he didn’t want to wake you. But you probably said your goodbyes last night right?” She tries to say positively.

You look down at the floor, trying to hide your flushing cheeks. Yeah, that was one hell of a way to say goodbye…

“Yes we did. I better get going. I’ll see you soon,” you tell her.

You make your way to the front door and stop dead in your tracks as you see an envelope on the side table with your name on it. You quickly grab it and make your way out the door. Your heart beats uncontrollably in your chest as you walk to your car. You quickly open the door and lock it as you stare at your name written in Elvis’ handwriting.

You hesitated to open it for some reason. A part of you thought he was going to confess how he regrets last night’s events. It scared you to see if that was the truth but had to see for yourself. You carefully tore the envelope open and pull the letter out. Your hands shook as you unfolded the paper.

My Girl,

I didn’t want to wake you this morning. You looked too peaceful. I had a wonderful night with you.

I’ll carry your ring with me wherever I go. It’s the greatest gift you could’ve ever given me.

I will be

With love,

Ep.

Tears roll down your cheeks as you stare at the words he wrote to you. You couldn’t help but feel like this was more than a goodbye letter. It was an end of an era for you two and he just put the nail in the coffin.

•

•

•

Tagging: @loving-elvis @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise@theresalwaysep

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog

@myradiaz @tacozebra051

@thatbanditqueen

@18|kpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873

@austinswhitewolf@eliseinmemphis

@everythingelvispresley@chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything. @ohjustpeachy-

@elvisalltheway101@austinsmutler@kingdomforapony.

@generoustreemystic @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley. @iloveelvis @rimartin11@that-hotdog.

@louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8

@arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69

@mh777ep1938

@50sexyshadesfashionista

@oldhOllywOod @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs @sloppiest-of-jos @thisis-theway @gatheraheart @aphroditebabygirl @faeolwen

[ladylaviniya]

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Chapter 1 || Masterlist || Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: After your wedding night, you find Sherlock to be most unusual and confronting in nature.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Insults, Rough sex gone too far, internal bleeding, Menstration/Period, Arguing, Typical Victorian Era Sexism,

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes: Hi all!! Here's the next chapter, sorry no smut but lots of tension. Love you all and appreciate those most that have been showing their support through comments or Reblogs or both ★

Inspiring Song: "Caprice N° 24" by Paganini

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

12:49pm Monday 5th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

Sherlock, as he paced his own bedroom was frustrated...and furious to say the least...he touched the cut on his bottom lip and hissed.

He was not equipped for this arrangement. He was unprepared for the handling of a wife. He was not aware he would be so much for his new bride to take...no whore in Mayfair Row demonstrated such complaints...however he reminded himself they were experienced women...you were a new lamb.

He hit the side of his bed, hearing your crying through the walls. Guilt became his executioner.

You were so frigid, he just didn’t expect you to struggle so viciously. You were unexpectedly a savage bitch!

He decided to take a deep breath. The deed was done.

He palmed his soft red cock and wrinkles his nose at the blood. There was so much...his throat clenched, mayhaps he was too rough...normally blood excited him...normally tears and sobbing made his member thick and hard...

He eyed the trunk chest at the foot of his bed...you could not survive his flavours. There was no possibility...He was a wicked handler and he knew you couldn’t ever meet that side of him...

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

12:55pm Monday 5th May 1890, 221A Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

The Housekeeper slapped her novel shut. She heard the many thumps and shouts, and now she could hear the horrid sobbing coming up from the floor above...your bedroom.

She sighed...it wasn’t the first time she had heard such things from the apartment 221B. There was single difference...you were his wife...not some perfumed pretender with a pimp expecting a percentage of commission.

Mrs Hudson felt for you. She didn’t leave her apartment until she heard the stomping of Sherlock’s heavy feet going down the stairs.

Her eyes widened, surely he wouldn’t leave you when you were in such a state?

Mrs Hudson was an old woman, she knew it was expected she would ignore it and carry on with her daily activities, Mrs Hudson though knew many married women who had died from that lack of acknowledgement in a violent husband.

She stuck her head out her door and saw him making his way to the front door of the building.

“What have you done?” she scolded him as his hand clenched hard on the door handle.

His face was red. The elder gasped at the line of red rolling down his chin from a cut on his lip...His teeth were pink and set in a vile snarl.

“Nothing that concerns you Mrs Hudson, return back into your hole!” he hissed back as he left with another door slam.

Mrs Hudson tutted greatly and ignored his words all together.

She gathered her skirts and climbed the stairs to Apartment B. She slid the key into the hole and entered the premises speedily.

She heard your weeping in your room and followed to the closed bedroom door.

She wrapped her knuckle on the wood three times, “My dear,” she called, “It’s Mrs Hudson, may I enter?”

When you sobbed harder incoherently, she took it as a sign she should enter. In truth you didn’t know or have enough time to process what she had asked.

The elderly woman pushed the wood open and gasped in horror at what she saw...a naked girl...your bottom half and blankets drenched in crimson red. Your skin was covered in the stench of sweat.

She covered her mouth and tutted, “oh you poor, poor deary.”

You sobbed harder at feeling her cold hands touch your hot shoulder.

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

2:12pm Monday 5th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

You hissed and sulked softly as your body sunk deeper in the warm bath water.

Your housekeeper had so kindly spent an hour filling the tub up with hot steamy water. During that time you cried and faded into light sleep before coming back to life with the painful memory of what your holy beloved had done to you

The elderly woman would come back every so often to check the packing of linen rags between your legs. For a honest moment she was afraid you might die. She called for the doctor...one she could trust...Doctor John Watson.

After the bleeding had lessened, she encouraged you to drink a cup of water and come out for the room to enjoy the afternoon bathwater...

You hadn’t said a word to Mrs Hudson this entire time. Too ashamed and shocked to form a word.

You couldn’t even form a ‘Thankyou Mrs Hudson.’ Only quiet tears would melt down your cheek.

The hot waves helped your muscles relax and sooth the anxiety under your skin.

Your head flopped on the lip of the bathtub.

With fluttering eyes... exhaustion took over and you fell asleep in the bath tub listening to the crackling of the wood and flames of the fireplace.

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

6:30pm Monday 5th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

A hot hand touched your face and you gasped at the dramatic change in temperature. You were sitting in a freeze tub of water....it had gone cold hours ago...

Your eyes opened and focused on the deep smooth voice of a man. Not just any man however.

“Mrs Holmes...” he purred softly, “The bath is cold, it would be in best interest if you redress.”

Your body was incredibly weak and chilly while also impossibly hot. You were a slight dizzy and confused. Your lips parted and closed again repeatedly like a fish.

When his face met his voice and his nose and eyes came into true focus, you shivered and leant back and flinched away from his touch.

Your husband released a lengthy sigh and rolled his eyes, “Very well,” he murmured before forcing both his arms into the icy bath water and hooked them beneath your back and legs.

As he lifted you out, your stomach dropped and you squeaked, feeling that gravitational pull to which you might fall. Instinctively your arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders. You clung to him savagely digging your nails into his coat.

You felt him walk, your wet body trailing and dripping all over the carpet.

He journeyed back to your bedroom.

As the cold air hit your skin you started to tremble and felt him lay you down on your mattress.

Your mind was a mess.

Another person was in the room you noticed in the corner of your eye. You cowered in your nude state and whimpered. You felt delirious and confused.

You blinked up at the other stranger. Another man.

You didn’t know if he was real at first until his burning hands pulled from his black gloves and gently touched your knees.

“Sherlock, she’s sick.”

“Yes, how eloquently obvious Watson, check her,” you heard your husband hiss.

You tried to move away, roll and crawl but you were flipped once more onto your back, your legs weakly spread.

You groaned and your eyes fluttered. You needed to vomit.

You felt a body climb onto the bed with you. Sherlock. His thumb dabbed and rubbed across your wrinkled forehead, he hushed you softly like you were some weeping babe or startled horse.

You felt the doctors hand touch your intimates and you panicked, your breath hitched and you moaned a soft, “N-no.” You tried pulling your thighs together but Sherlock reached down and spread your knees forcefully.

You didn’t understand what he was doing and the worst thoughts washed over you, was Sherlock sharing you with another man like a sick villain?

You wept tiredly.

A cold hard contraption pierced the hole of your body. A shudder ripped out of you as you felt your vaginal walls expand.

“Minor tearing...what caused the amount of blood is your wife starting her menses.”

Sherlock sighed, “Thank god, I thought I almost killed her.” The metal object pulled out from between your thighs.

The room was lit by candles and kerosene lamps. And so in the low light, Sherlock’s face was softened. The shadows kissed his cheeks and lips.

“Bed rest and warm towels, give her a few days to rest, heal. Usually women finish their blood within a week.”

The doctor pulled away and you heard the snapping of a bag lock. You managed to catch a medical case in his hands in your blurry line of sight.

The doctor fled to your door, before he left, his hand clenched the handle and he turned lightly. He hissed at the detective.

“Be gentle next time you participate in these activities Sherlock,” John snapped, “She is your bloody wife, not your whore.”

Your husband, ever so gently pressed his hot lips to your forehead. You had not predicted such soft kindness after his mistreatment earlier today. He hummed. He held and pissed your back up, he forced you to bend you knees and slipped your naked body beneath the coverings. Your wet body soaked the sheets, your cheek dug into the soft pillows.

“My dear Watson,” you heard him snicker, “I am nothing more than a mere gentleman.” You heard the doctor scoff and shut the door behind him.

Warm hands squeezed your shoulders and rubbed your jawline.

Peaking up at Sherlock, he wore an unreadable expression...he did not appear happy nor angry, rather he appeared tired. Bags beneath his eyes could tell you that much. His bottom lip was slightly swollen, a little red line cut through it, you softly huffed, it was where you’d bitten him hours ago to get him off you.

You couldn’t believe you were back in the same bed he had hurt you in. It made you feel cold and a desire to be distant again...but the warmth of his hand and the blankets had a power over you.

Your chest was sore and a light cough climbed out of your throat.

He did not speak and for that you were grateful. It would’ve been a near impossibility to continue a conversation with him with the state of your being.

The nauseas sickness sweeping of your belly subsided. All you wanted to feel was the warm covers, the goose feather pillows and his warm hand, softly patting your head...it took you back to a happier time...a time where your father and you shared a bed and he held you until you fell asleep...some days it felt like a dream...

You didn’t want to admit it but you dearly missed those times. Sherlock smoked the same tobacco, the scent soaked in his vest. It brought you the tiniest comfort...

You yawned and lazily blinked up at him.

“Try and get some rest wife...should you need anything, knock on my door.”

And with that he climbed off the mattress. Your body flipping lightly as it sprung up. Your nose sniffled softly.

Your heart deflated, ah there it was again. The coldness, the disdain, the reminder...he didn’t want to marry you.

After his foul entrance earlier, you wondered if such a feeling was unanimous at this point.

You shut your eyes and moaned. You tried to roll onto your side...you hissed lightly at the sore stabbing of your pelvis and the stinging stretch inside of you.

As sleep carried you out of reality, Sherlock made his slow departure, quietly sliding his way to your bedroom door.

He looked over the room and shook his head slowly...this once was his friends chambers, and before that a space where he kept his fun tools and artefacts.

Now he had a sick woman in the bed, his wife whom he hadn’t meant to brutalise earlier.

You were finally snoring when he managed to find the courage to leave the room, put out the living room fireplace and finally return to his bed.

As he removed his own clothing, he stared at the wall that separated your rooms. He wondered how badly your sickness might continue and if it was permitted to leave you alone while you bleed so profusely. 

He thought about how these few weeks were in fact meant to be a honeymoon, how he had most furiously refused the ship tickets to France where his brother Mycroft insisted you both go for your romance to blossom.

Sherlock had very little intention to be a romantic for a woman he didn’t desire.

He tore off his shirt and rolled his eyes at the memories that transpired over the last two weeks.

You were nothing but a baby carriage to Mycroft, the future mother to the future Holmes son. So of course Sherlock could not understand his brothers incessant pandering to be a match maker of lovers.

The detective was no small minded idiot either...he knew plenty about you just from today...he knew about you before meeting you... He knew exactly why this marriage occurred on your end.

A bastard daughter of sir Y/L/N, son of the Lord and Lady Y/L/N. This was merely a way to keep your social hierarchy to a suitable and respectable level.

He had heard and read the scandalous rumours.

You were half the soft rose and half a weed in regards to your breeding...which meant you were a weed in the end, an illegitimate, unrecognised bastard.

He sat on his bed and untied his shoes.

Sherlock was not one to participate and discriminate the classes. Many a time it was speculated by John that Sherlock might’ve been a socialist.

The detective might’ve not cared for your breeding, but he didn’t appreciate being used as a climbing ladder of society which he didn’t receive well either way.

He was using you so that Mycroft didn’t cut him off financially, you were using Sherlock so that the people of culture no longer shunned and ignored your existence.

Mycroft was a down right fool if he believed such a union could ever bring together a matrimony of love. So Sherlock accepted it quickly...this would be what it was...a contract...you now needed to complete you aide of the bargain.

You needed to let Sherlock impregnate you...

With your stunt in rebellious adversity, you acknowledged his size and struggled to accommodate him, ergo your fear, pain and bite.

Sherlock huffed, he would need to wait another seven days before he could perform his husbandry duties upon you and press his seed within.

He laid back into his covers still staring at the wall...

He bit his lip. Oh if only he could punish you for such misdirected behaviours...he wondered how willing you really were and what lengths you were prepared to take to remain his Mrs Holmes so that the meek people of the middle and upper class might continue their false smiles your way.

A wicked smirk spread along his lips...

Perhaps a innocent bride was a perfect ingredient for his most filthy pleasurable plans...

Mycroft never stated how quickly it was expected of you to conceive and carry...he just said

“Soon.” And “Before he met the grave.”

He rolled onto his side and imagined you there with him in his bed. He imagined how your body curled up into such a small figure.

He envisioned the likeness of your tear stained face and an exhausted smile...

For now he would let you rest.

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

7:00am Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

The sound of a loud violin cord strong woke you up from your hours of needed sleep. You groaned as your head began to ache....

You drowsily tossed your head to the direction of your door way...your eyes narrowed. Someone was playing a violin very loudly just outside your bedroom.

You sniffled unladylike as your runny nose clogged your breath. You lifted your hands to cover your ears. Onto shaking legs you pulled out of your bed and used the canopy wood to steady yourself. You walked slowly to the wardrobe and plucked out a nightgown.

You hobbled to your bedroom door and as you opened the wooden barrier, the buzz of Paganini hit your ears. You wrinkled your nose as you watched your husband play the instrument, leaning over a table covered in papers, maps, receipts and a plate of toast.

As he saw you, his eyes widened slightly...you were not dressed appropriately for the hour of the morning. At any moment he might’ve had a client come inside if it were not for his honeymoon.

“Good morning, Mrs Holmes,” said Sherlock as he placed his instrument down on the table.

You sternly eyed him. Your hands trembled lightly. His face. His handsome evil features upset you. He offered a soft smile and kind eyes. You didn’t dare fall for his trickery. From the moment you had met him he had provided a twisted exchange of false care that twisted quickly to brutal cruelty.

You decided, you did not like your husband and it was not something you would hide from him.

“My grandmother insists that is the devil’s music,” You proclaimed, “It is most wretched to hear of a morning.”

He sucked in a deep breath of air and grounded, “I do not entertain superstitious conversation,

Paganini was gifted and because of this, other composers jealously invented rumours of a pact with Satan to dissuade the public from ever enjoying the expanses of musical differences.”

You glared at him. Of course he would say something so infuriating and liberal in the works. His tone tilted on belittlement and you felt there was absolutely no standing that could allow him to talk to you like this especially after yesterday’s events.

You lightly snorted, “As it may be so, I still urge the request you refrain from playing it so early and while in my presence. It woke me up most fiercely.”

In truth it isn’t what woke you up…You could still feel him there. The memory of his violent embrace haunted the muscles of your lower half. He was like a ghost remaining between your thighs. It made you feel ill to think about.

He looked down. A deep frown on his face. He wouldn’t meet your eyes. He pushed the plate with toast closer to you, “Mrs Hudson bid you a fair morning wife, you should be up earlier from now on to receive her.”

You looked to the softly ticking clock on the fireplace mantel and blinked, “Indeed, I shall need to apologise to her,” demurely you conceded, “I usually rise by six in the morning.”

“You are ill,” Sherlock said now holding the plate out to you for your weak hands to take, “I insist you sit and eat and return back to bed for further rest.”

You wanted to raise your voice at him. You wanted to scream and yell that you were not I’ll but rather hurt and in suffering after his careless mistreatment.

You couldn’t figure out if his gentleness last night was really a delusional dream. This world around you felt like some vicious game.

You chewed the inside of your cheek. You wanted to be a spitfire and tell him he needed to apologise for hurting you yesterday before you take anything from him...yet as your insides tightened at the smell of the warm butter soaking the hot cooked bread, you obeyed his demand.

You glided over to him and lightly pushed some of the papers on the table around. Sitting at the end, Sherlock mirrored your seating and went about picking up a newspaper.

On the front was a illustration of Lord Thaddeus Pennicott, a baron who from the title of the paper had gone missing.

You looked back to your breakfast and pondered on your husband’s work. How the articles written by John Watson had designed Sherlock to be a saviour to the public with a intelligence that might put most scholars to shame. The Sherlock you had come to meet was nothing like the gazette’s description, rather he was rude, ill tempered and coarse in handling any woman.

You chewed the soft delicious toast and swallowed gradually.

It was difficult to accept but not hard to see, you had married a brute.

You glanced at Sherlock again. His face was hidden behind the paper, his thick long fingers cradled and framed the edges of the news securely as he flicked through the gossips.

You nervously fidgeted in your seat as you ate breakfast. You did not see any tea and assumed you slept through any Mrs Hudson might’ve deliver.

It was so unusual waking up in a foreign home, having to accept this would be your place of residence for as long as your husband desired to live here.

You noted the oddities of your surroundings...objects you didn’t much think of as you moved in yesterday. There was a underwater helmet, a skeleton of some type of odd mammal, and even a telescope sitting on top of a piano.

You read over some of the framed newspaper headlines which were the retellings of your husband’s crime and mystery stories.

The will to speak to him again with level head and calm tones was as hard as walking through mud up to your ankles. You squeezed your eyes shut. You couldn’t ignore him nor refuse to speak to him for your entire marriage.

You licked your bottom lip and coughed into a napkin. Looking back to Sherlock’s newspaper you nodded and called across the table, “Are you helping with the Pennicott case, Mr Holmes?”

He flattened the paper on the table and stared at you as if you’d said something obvious.

“Of course not. Clearly he’s a man who ran out from his wife. It happens more often than you think,” he cleared his throat and picked up his cup to his lips, speaking into the cup “Perhaps you should sit pretty rather than voice your false interests in my work which you have no business in.”

You didn’t like the tone he used on you. Condescending. Icy. You wouldn’t allow it to continue. You remembered your grandfather telling you to put your foot down as a new wife or else you would be unattended to. It’s not that you desired the attending after yesterday, but you wouldn’t accept rudeness.

“Sherlock,” you hummed and crossed your arms over your lap as you tongued the inside of your cheek trying to not scream at him, “I am your wife,” you said it sternly, “Not a child, when I inquire on the better part of your interest, do not speak down to me like a dog.”

You jerked your chin dignified, holding your ground despite almost dropping the last crust of your breakfast.

He pursed his lips with narrowed eyes and thought before spoke. It was a chilling moment before announced, “You are my wife, that is true...and so I shall speak to you however you tempt me to, and this very morning you’ve put me in a disagreeable mood.”

Disagreeable mood?! You refrained from rolling your eyes at him.

You sat back and sighed, abandoning the last and tiny piece of bread. He was so foul to think of himself so justified. You expressed a disinterest to his music tastes and that indicated his deflating concern for you.

Not once had he asked in your wellbeing. Perhaps he was clouded with shame? ‘he should be shameful, he hurt an innocent woman.’

“Perhaps, you should practice on controlling and restraining your moods then Sherlock,” you griped, “I do not much care for your habitable outbursts.”

For the first time you caught his face expressing a new design...shock, flabbergasted. His face grew a small hue of pink.

You smirked a little at the small victory.

His chewed his bottom lip, “My habitable outbursts?” he pried, offence costing his words.

You swallowed and nodded curtly you leant back in your chair, “Now here at breakfast, the church flee yesterday, and the marriage bed rage also yesterday.”

An indignant chuckled crawled from his throat.

“You bit me like a wild cat,” he voiced rightfully, pointing hard at the small wound still in his mouth. The redden skin was a symbol of your defiance and escape. Instead of being embarrassed, you surged with pride that you punished him in such a manner.

You quipped back quickly, “and you stabbed me like an merciless villain.”

“A villain, you say?” his brows now raised and his eyes widened.

“Quite,” You glanced down at the plate and muttered, There’s no other term for what you did to me.”

Rape was not in the current vocab for this situation you believed. You were married and he was taking what was rightfully his as husband, he could have been gentler however. Your grandmother never shared that it could be so agonising, surely your grandfather had never inflicted such abuse into her?

Your husband slowly rose from the table and leant across it. You flinched and squeezed your eyes as you feared his sharp hand. Sherlock Holmes had every strength to hurt his weak wife, so why did you feel so mouthy in the sense of easily provoking him to rage or even potential violence?

The handsome detective with hot pale hands ran his knuckle down your cold cheek...it was wet. A tear had escaped. Dear god...you were trembling and clenching your skirts beneath the table.

“I can think of a plethora of words for what I did to you,” Sherlock muttered, he pulled his hand away and scoffed, “I did not think Mycroft to saddle me with such a stupid bride.”

A fresh flow of hot tears flooded your eyes.

A growl of outrage accidentally climbed from your chest, it came out like a needy whine, “I beg your pardon?”

“Granted my dear Mrs Holmes,” he smirked and clapped his hands gesturing to the room you left, “Now off to bed with you, I see your withering state worsen by the moment. Doctor Watson informed me you needed rest during your delicate...situation. Perhaps it has brought you to these hysterical theatrics.”

A light gasp of horror and a written expression of disgust painted your face, “I shall not, nay! I shall sit an disembowel your words,” you sniffled and tried not to fall into a pathetic sob, “D-did you just call me stupid?!”

As his smile widened and you angrily threw the last piece of bread at him, hitting his chest.

“You sir,” your bottom lip wobbled “Are out of place and feverishly I have discovered your lack of empathy most stunning, that or rather the amount of your selfish conceived motion that I am a docile woman who will put up with your conceited arrogance!!”

How dare he hurt you as terribly as he did in humiliation and physical behind that he should also find it acceptable to brandish you with further insults of your intelligence.

Before he could sit back down, you slapped your hands on the table, the china tinkled as you pushed yourself up to your feet. You hissed at him as you wobbled around the wooden furniture, “You may be London’s finest Detective, but I am your wife.”

You mapped your finger harshly into his chest and snarled with great venom dripping from your tongue, “By the lord of heaven, if I had only known the telling’s of our futures, I would announce full heartedly that you Sherlock Holmes would be the very last man I would prevail to marry.”

The room fell silent. His cold eyes burned I to your gullet. He licked his teeth, left slightly speechless and unsure if he should entertain the argument any longer than necessary.

Your belly felt tight. The toast was not sitting well. You were anxiously awaiting his roar, his bite or his strike. Your chest rose and fell with every desperate breath you took as to not fall into a heap of wailing. Breathe through the pain and the fear.

He stared at your lips and fluttered his eyes, shaking his head at you.

“...Good morning Mrs Holmes,” he bid gruffly and bowed his head before leaving the table to head over to the coat rack.

“And where is it you run off to this time?” You raised your voice shakily and waved your hands as if to conjure the words of his locations destination, “The same place you fled to yesterday and yesterday evening? To hide in a bottle?”

Mr Holmes snapped his head back at you, his eyes scowered your poorly glad form beneath the dressing gown. It took everything in him not to fuck your miserable mouth off.

“No...” he swallowed harshly, “I seek the companionship of bearable company.”

Your chest tightened and the whimper left, that could’ve been anyone or no one with how mysterious your husband had proven to be.

You rubbed your hot forehead and grunted softly to remind him, “It is our honeymoon.”  

During the week of a honeymoon it was deemed improper to seek or receive guests and the company of any other than your married partner.

Sherlock leant forward, right down to your cheek, his lips scarcely touching the skin of your love and jaw as he whispered hauntingly, “And your honey is blood. I shall not interrupt your peaceful rest....” he kissed your face gently, and said at a room tempt tone, “Good morning Mrs Holmes.”

Argument over it would seem.

He picked up a walking cane and a hat, leaving the flat to yourself.

You sighed frustratedly and stomped a foot like a feral child. You wouldn’t put up with this, for this is not what was promised by the outline of marriage by every book, paper and word of mouth. You crossed your arms and sniffled. You wiped your eyes again.

Sherlock made you feel more like a child than a wife with how he used his words and the looks he threw at you. It was unfair and cruel.

You were a very smart young lady and practiced the skills of refine ladyship over the years of your teenage hood. You were a paragon of brilliance and etiquette...only for some lout you called a husband to drive you to irritation so unbearable that you felt it necessary to toss your breakfast scraps at him.

You ground your teeth and returned to your rooms to pick out a modest covering wrap over the dressing gown you already wore. It would be most annoying to have to strip your body everytime you vomited or perhaps didn’t reach the bed pan in time.

You shuddered and went about washing your face and fiddling with your hair...

As you stared at your washed out features, you heard your landlady arrive...

You thought about your wifely duties beyond the bedroom. With Sherlock going off to god knows where, you were totally left to your own devices and for the very first time in years, you had freedom to decide your days habits.

You thought half heartedly about calling upon Sherlock’s brother or the Doctor Watson to grant a visit and answer some questions beginning to form in your head.

‘Why is Sherlock so different in person compared to the papers?’

‘What displeases Sherlock into his outbursts and what pleases him to calm those said outbursts to dust?’

You tried to wonder on your marriage contract. You were not entirely privy to it even though you felt you had every right. It was a deal conspired by Mycroft and your grandfather after all. You wondered if Sherlock even caught a glimpse of it.

Why did Sherlock even agree to marry you if it was only to lead to his foul manners and hands to you?

Tapped your lips and shook your head.

What does every contracted marriage consist of? Land? Babes? Livestock? Wealth? Status?

You looked around your room and out the open door to the sitting room.

Sherlock did not strike you as someone in need of money...and yet...many of these items, surely were not affordable on a wavering wage as his alone? His family wealth most likely was directed towards Mycroft as the eldest.

And then you recalled your darling sister in law, her shrieking at the wedding, the words echoed back like a tunnel, ‘I can help pay off your debts when I marry’ she had said.

So it was money...debts...and enough to cause strains that would force him to accept your hand in marriage. You tried not dwelling on being reminded how undesirable you were as a bastard woman. This newly accepted information could be used to your advantage.

A fabulous idea occurred to you. An idea that would prove to Sherlock that you were in fact not a stupid imbecile.

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[beardedjoel]

new habits

part two of new addiction | part one 

boss!joel x f!reader one-shot collection

summary: you can’t place the emotion - is joel miller guilty for the rendezvous you two had in his office? you soon get an answer in the form of  another late night visit with him.

warnings: 18+! MDNI! non-apocalypse au, boss!joel is a lil mean but not too mean, oral sex (f recieving), dirty talk, unprotected piv, fingering, cum play, squirting, size kink kinda, panty stealing, daddy kink (my hand slipped i swear)

word count: 5.1k

a/n: hellooooo back with another part for boss!joel and reader, i got literally one request for another part and was like yep i’m not tired of them yet at ALL so here we go! time to get more depraved with my fav manager

If you didn’t know any better, it would seem like Joel Miller was avoiding you. 

The day after what you’ve been referring to as the incident (the most mind blowing incident) he hadn’t even stopped by the office, spending the entire day out at the construction sites. That was a Friday, so the entire weekend you pined, plotted, and over thought the whole thing. Could it be possible that Joel - the same Joel who had gladly and enthusiastically spit right into your mouth for fuck’s sake - was feeling guilty? He certainly hadn’t seemed it when his cock was shoved so deep in your pussy you could’ve seen stars, so what the hell gives now?

Monday came, and Joel breezed into the office in his typical manner, too busy for anything other than a quick “morning” to you all, grumbling that “there’d better be coffee made” before working on scheduling and blueprints in his office for a few hours. 

Just having him so close by, your desk mere feet from his office door, makes your skin buzz. Knowing the things you did in there, the depths of your depravity with him that nobody else in the room could even dream about, makes you wild. You realize halfway through the day you’re practically soaking your panties with just your thoughts alone. You really could stand to get it together, you think as you sneak into the break room for a cup of tea, hoping the calming drink could take your mind off of things. 

Suddenly the exact opposite is happening when Joel enters the room, sidling up next to you at the counter, fixing to pour himself a cup of coffee. For a few moments just the potent, rich smell of it hangs in the air between you two and Joel clears his throat a little. 

“How was your weekend, doll?” he asks quietly, and when you glance at him in semi-shock, he has a knowing smirk on his face. He’s enjoying this, he knows he’s been making you squirm for days, and is testing your patience.

“Was alright. I had a lot to think about,” you reply, and Joel snorts a tiny chuckle out. 

“I’ll bet,” he replies, and before you can even return the favor to ask him about his weekend, his hand is around the mug handle and he’s leaving the room. 

He doesn’t interact with you for the rest of the day. 

You’re practically fuming as you walk to your car after work, not having heard much else from Joel other than the things he was telling everyone in your vicinity, from upcoming projects to a few housekeeping items he needed done around the office this week. The only respite you’d had was when his eyes lingered slightly on you, legs crossed and stretching out gracefully from your short dress. His gaze had raked over your body in a quick, ravenous glance, and that one look could’ve eaten you alive with how much power was behind it. Only a flash of the man you’d met that night, that was all you got for now. 

You don’t know what to do from here. Are you supposed to wait for another note? Or did your last secret rendezvous mean that it was free game to pay him a visit any time you wanted as well? You had a feeling the former was more his style, wanting to be in control, to have the upper hand here. You sigh as you grip the wheel on the way home, knowing there isn’t exactly a handbook for the perfect way to have a secret affair with your boss. 

When Wednesday comes around, with Tuesday having had almost the same outcome, you’re practically seething, ready to confront him privately and figure out just what the hell is going on in that twisted mind of his. If he likes playing games, fine, you’d just like to at least be clued into them so you can get some enjoyment from the chase of it all. 

Your phone pings in the middle of the workday, and your lips part in shock as you glance down at the screen and see words that make the blood rush inside your ears and your heart jump. A new message from Joel Miller. You’d completely forgotten you’d even saved his number on your first day of work, him claiming he wanted every employee to have it for emergencies. And you have to wonder if what he messaged you for truly was, well, an emergency, just of a different nature. A sly smile creeps onto your lips as you read the words on your screen. 

Joel Miller: Feeling awful stressed today. Meeting after fuckin meeting. Think you could help me out with that, babydoll? 

Your fingers go flying, not caring just how desperately quick you’re texting him back, all the anger brewing inside of you at him quickly forgotten. 

You: Whatever you need from me boss ;)

Joel Miller: How about some pretty photos of you to ease my pain

You swallow hard, sneaking off the bathroom, your heartbeat pounding against your chest as if every single person in this office can read your mind and knows what you’re about to do. You lock yourself inside a stall and try to think quickly of what Joel would want to see from you.

You pull the backside of your dress up, showing off the curve of your ass adorned by a cheeky, red lace set of panties and try to angle your phone in a way that will capture the sexy essence you’re going for, feeling absolutely ridiculous with the way you’re contorting your body to try to get the shot. Next, you put a foot up on the toilet seat and try to get an upskirt shot, placing your free hand dangerously close to your pussy, letting the fingers rest comfortably, spread out along your thigh teasingly. 

Fuck. Yes. You’re surprised at just how well the photos turned out given your time constraint and shaky hands. You’ve taken a few photos like this before, but something about these, knowing they’re going to Joel, your heart flutters with anticipation as you queue them up with a message for him.

You: Hope these help until you can get the real thing

When you exit the stall with a shaky breath and return to your desk, he hasn’t answered yet, and you assume with good intentions that he’s just in a meeting, not ignoring your absolutely perfect nudes you’ve sent over.

You tap your foot impatiently, trying to get some work done, when your phone lights up next to you, alerting you to a message.

Joel Miller: So dirty baby. Need to get my hands on that perfect ass

You decide on a bold whim to leave him hanging, let him stew without a response from you to egg him on, only the photos.

Joel’s appearance in the office later that evening shows just how long he felt his day was - his tie askew, the knot partially pulled down to give his neck some room to breathe, and hair mussed from running his hands through it too many times. In some perverted little way, you find the sight of him looking so rough exciting. The more stressed Joel is, the more likely he’ll need to lean on you tonight. When your life got this pathetic, you don’t know, but you have a feeling you could trace it back to the first time you laid eyes on Joel Miller.

He walks through the space, saying quick goodnights to a few of his employees that are finishing up for the day, claiming he forgot something at the office when he went out for his meetings earlier. As he reaches to pass your desk, your heart jumps into your throat, and suddenly it’s so dry you can barely swallow. 

An imperceptible nod. That’s all he gives you when he passes, but it says everything you need to know. He needs you tonight. 

You wriggle in your seat, the dull ache of arousal coming to your attention between your legs as you start to anticipate Joel’s advances being focused on you in just a few short moments. You impatiently wait out everyone else in the office, practically jumping out of your chair at the last of your coworker’s departures.

Shoulders back. Deep breath. Exude confidence.

The silent chant moves through your thoughts as you approach Joel’s office door and poke your head in the small space where the door was left cracked, slowly pushing it open as you enter. The sight that awaits you, Joel sitting back in his office chair, legs spread, as if inviting you to his lap, makes your knees want to quake.

He hasn’t said a word yet, so you choose not to either, taking careful, bordering on feline-like steps around his desk to where he sits. You swing your leg over him delicately, spreading yourself wide as you settle onto his lap, straddling him. He instantly groans at the pressure of your warm body on him, as if that was all he needed in the world to satisfy him.

“Dressed up today, huh? I kinda like it,” you say, wrapping your fingers around the tie and pulling slightly, nudging his head a bit closer to yours.

“Client meetings for a big project, hate wearin’ this shit,” he grumbles. He reaches up to loosen his tie and pull it off over his head, tossing it on the floor next to his chair.

His lips find your neck, but he’s more reserved today, already knowing he has you right where he wants you. His lips graze the skin lightly, sending shiver after shiver of goosebumps over your body. Playful light kisses press onto the sensitive skin over and over, Joel’s tongue flicking out every so often to taste you even deeper. 

“Smell so fuckin’ good, all a man needs after a day like mine, swear,” he says gruffly, barely pulling off of your neck, taking a deep breath of the perfume you’d put on just for him, every single day since you started working here.

“You can talk to me, y’know. What I’m here for, all to take care of you. I’m whatever you need,” you say huskily, already lost in all the touch he’s delivering. He simply lets out a small hum of satisfaction, running his large, rough hands along your back, feeling the curve of it as you arch into his touch.

“That make you all wet, babydoll? Wantin’ that pussy to get all used up by me when I need you?” His lips are on you the second his sentence finished, sucking on your neck lightly before tracing up to your earlobe and lightly taking it between his lips.

“Yes, Mr. Miller,” you reply, barely a hushed whisper. You mewl quietly at his lips’ various movements on you, drawing your hips down onto his lap, trying to find any sense of relief. The dull ache from earlier has been replaced quickly with a full on throbbing on your sensitive clit, making you feel wild with need for him.

“Mmm, so polite, sweetheart. Weren’t so polite earlier, were you? Takin’ naughty photos in the bathroom for me.”

You blush under his words and his gaze, unable to control the slightly burning creeping onto your cheeks at the thought of you taking those photos for him earlier. It had felt wrong, contorting and perching yourself just right to get a photo to help fulfill his little fantasies, and you loved every minute of it.

“Liked what you saw?” you ask, your hips starting to grind absentmindedly against his center.

“Y’know I did,” he says, hands sliding to your ass, pulling you closer so that your movements get more friction. You can feel yourself seeping through your panties already, probably about to soak the front of him at any moment. “Such a tease, those little photos, thought ‘bout ‘em all day.”

“What did you think about, huh? What got you through the day?” you whisper melodically in his ear, trying to be the soothing presence for him that you desire so badly to be.

Joel chuckles, deep and throaty. “Little slut, want to hear me talk about how I love your pussy so bad, don’t you? Thought about it all fuckin’ day, could barely hear a word in those damn meetings.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” you purr, hips grinding a little harder, and you let out a breathy sound. You pinch your lips together, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed at just how shamelessly you’re moving yourself against him. At the least you’re comforted by the fact that you can feel his hard length straining against his jeans as you rub against him, meaning he’s enjoying this just as much.

“Go on, don’t be shy,” Joel says, looking down in between you at the way you’re moving on him. “Kept you waiting a long time, didn’t I, babydoll? Needin’ this cock again so badly.”

You nod as you look at him with heady eyes starting to glaze over with need. “Thought you didn’t need me anymore. Wanted to do my good little job for you.” You whine with a pout, your voice is a low pitched hush, head buried in his shoulder as you continue to get yourself off.

“Doin’ so good, waitin’ on me every moment in case I need ya,” Joel says, and you’re embarrassingly close to climaxing, your soaked panties rubbing perfectly against your clit as you grind on his jeans, the firmness of his cock pressing deliciously against your folds.

“I’m- I’m close…” you whimper.

Joel chuckles again, clearly amused at just how easy it is for you to lose yourself to him. His hands move from where they’ve been kneading your ass through your dress to your hips, and he grips tightly, lifting you up. Your hips grind out into nothing, and you groan loudly at the unexpected interruption in your quickly approaching bliss.

“N-no, Mr. Miller, I- please -” Your entire body shudders down with the loss of the coming climax, your insides feeling like they’re clawing to get the sensation out, but with nothing there to edge it forward, you’re lost. You sigh in desperation, reaching to grip his shoulders and pull yourself back down.

“Nuh-uh, sugar,” Joel tuts with a devious glint in his eye. “Playin’ with you will make me feel better, isn’t that what you want?”

Your entire body shakes as you nod yes, and Joel smirks happily. “Good girl,” he says, “Now what to do with you…” He looks you over, his eyes roaming over your tits now starting to spill out of the top of your dress with the way you’d been rubbing against him, moving the fabric.

“You like dressin’ like a little whore for me, don’t you, havin’ your tits out and everything,” he says, releasing your hips to palm both of them, squeezing them upwards, testing the weight in his hands. 

“Want to give you something fun to look at at work,” you say with a little giggle, which Joel returns with his own gruff chuckle.

“Y’sure do,” he concludes, tearing the dress down to reveal your chest to him, and he hisses through his teeth, seeing your bare tits bounce out at him.

“Knew you’d look so perfect,” he practically growls out, immediately going for one of your nipples, rolling it between his fingers. You let out a gasp, your hips defying all logic and moving of their own accord, grinding down on him again as your back arches.

“Lemme taste you, that’ll make daddy feel so much better,” Joel says, eyes transfixed on the way he’s playing with your nipples and your body’s eager reactions to it. You’re not even sure he realizes the new shift in dynamic he’s just introduced, the words flowing out of him so naturally.

“Yes, daddy, taste me, taste me,” you say, echoing him without a second thought. You weren’t sure where it came from, but whatever gets Joel off seems to get you off, if you’re honest. Your cunt is aching beyond control now, the throbbing bordering on painful now, your breath hitching at the thought of his tongue licking the increasingly sensitive spot.

“Be good and get on up there, then,” Joel commands, nodding towards the desk. You sit on the edge, legs dangling and spreading open for him. “All the way back,” Joel corrects, grabbing at your hips and scooting you himself, then placing a hand on your chest and pushing back, so that you eventually end up laying down completely. Joel hovers over you, playing with the hem of your dress, slowly pulling it up. 

You writhe and wriggle, strangled little cries coming out of your mouth, unable to take the anticipation anymore.

“Joel…” you whine.

“Haven't even started yet and you’re callin’ my name,” he laughs before his fingers reach the band of your underwear, sliding a finger along it. You cry out again when his finger brushes further down on your mound. You want to slam your fists onto the desk in pure desire-fueled frustration, but you refrain, showing Joel how eager you are by movements and twists of your hips.

When he finally pulls your panties down, the cool air touching your bare sex, you sigh a bit of relief at the coming pleasure. 

“Didn’t get to ‘preciate this ‘nuff the last time, sugar,” Joel muses. “Bet you taste so sweet too… fuckin’ divine…” One of his fingers swipes through your slit and you gasp, peering up at him as you watch him slide it through several times to your entrance, gathering as much slickness as he can. He slides the finger into his mouth, tasting it almost pornographically, groaning in pleasure before popping it out.

“Was right, y’know. Ever tasted yourself, babydoll?” Joel asks with an enticing lick of his lips, like he needs to clean every bit of you off that he can.

“N-no, I haven’t,” you answer, too stunned by his behavior and your distractingly aching pussy to think of anything witty to retort.

“Oh, you’re missin’ out,” he coos before repeating the same motions on your pussy, every time he brushes the sensitive bud of your clit it’s own tiny form of torture. He leans over your body, his shiny, slick finger reaching towards your mouth. 

“Don’t make me hav’ta ask,” he warns, and you sit up on your elbows and part your lips alluringly, allowing his finger to slide right in. You suck hard with a swirl of your tongue, hoping it emulates the way your mouth had felt on his cock just a few days ago. It seems to do the trick, Joel’s smile growing into a devious smirk as he groans a little.

“This fuckin’ mouth,” he says with a shake of his head, letting his finger linger a few moments longer, pumping it in and out of your mouth in slow strokes. “Such a pretty mouth, but does such dirty things for me, doesn’t it?”

You nod for him before Joel pulls his finger out of your mouth and moves back to position himself between your legs.

“Legs up, just like that,” Joel says, manually lifting your legs so that your knees are bent with your feet flat on the desk, legs immediately falling open for him. He takes a long pause to look at your completely exposed cunt, a burning look of desire in his eyes.

“Poor baby, ain’t ya? So wet and ready with no cock inside ya to ease the pain. You achin’ for daddy’s cock, sugar?” Joel delivers a swift slap to your pussy that sends your hips lurching forward for a moment before he laughs. 

Asshole, you think with a little rush of desire. But this absolute asshole is about to make you come, so you decide against saying anything of the sort.

“Mhm,” you say instead. “Need you to use me and fuck yourself better, daddy.” Joel nearly snarls at the nickname leaving your mouth, starting to undo his belt as he lowers his head in between your legs. One hand is gripping onto your thigh while the other steadily works to free his cock from his pants, palming it tightly as his mouth licks a long strip up your pussy. His fingers dip inside of you gathering up your arousal before he brings it down to his cock, spreading it along the lengthy shaft. He moans into your cunt as he licks, beginning to stroke himself as he tastes you. 

You’ve never been treated like this before, like Joel is a man hungry for his last meal as he ravenously slurps and licks up every bit of arousal that keeps pouring out for him. His enthusiastic yet gruff reactions and noises start a vicious cycle - you’re so turned on by it that you’re getting impossibly wet, and in turn, Joel laps it up like he’s never tasted anything better in his life. It brings you close to the brink faster than you’d expected, another high quickly building low in your stomach. The tingling sensation starts to overtake every one of your senses and you let out a moan low and deep from your throat.

“Oh, Joel, p-please, I’m so close…” you murmur, your head rolling wildly on the desk as his tongue flicks on your clit and then sucks for a few pulses. “Daddy…” you whimper, and the guttural noise he makes is indescribable before he pulls off of you completely. You cry out, feeling tears start to form in your eyes at the injustice he’s been serving on your pussy tonight.

“Let daddy play with you a bit, it’s half the fun,” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, and it instantly adds to your frustration just how much he’s getting off on this. The sound of his hand slapping against his own flesh comes and goes, and he seems to be bringing himself close to climaxing along with you.

He brings you back to the edge again moments later with just the lightest flicks of his tongue right on your clit, and as he senses your entire body tensing he stops again, leaving a desperate moan to die out in your throat as you’d nearly reached the throes of ecstasy again.

“Please… I’m begging you, it’s too much, Joel,” you whine. Your whole body is starting to tremble, your hips squirming along the surface of your desk from the throbbing of your swollen, aching heat just wanting him to give you release.

“Little longer, babydoll, be a good girl and keep begging me,” Joel replies.

“Please, let me come, I’ll do anything,” you say, your frown deepening despite the way that you’re also getting off on this, maybe just as much as him. You’ve never had someone give you so much careful, specialized attention like this - taking the time to make you feel this insanely turned on and desperate for them. 

Joel puts his face between your legs again while you let whispers of your continued begging along with his name pass your lips over and over until he edges you one more time and you nearly scream, letting out a choked back moan for him instead.

“Music to my ears,” Joel chuckles, and you breathe heavily, then peer down at him with your slick covering his face from the way he’s been indulging himself repeatedly on your pussy and you feel yourself clenching, nearly reaching your climax from the sight of him like that alone.

You nearly feel like passing out at this point, your breathing so erratic and body so overstimulated that you nearly can’t take it anymore when Joel returns to his former position, but this time inserting two fingers, stretching you as he scissors them apart while his tongue works on your clit. You cry out a furious whimper, your body bordering on madness as you feel Joel push deep inside of you with his fingers before pressing right on the perfect, spongy part inside that has your eyes rolling back.

“H-holy shit,” you blurt out, the tension coiling deep in your belly quickly as Joel presses over and over while he works his tongue on your abused clit. His other hand pushes down low on your belly, only increasing the sensation of everything and you’re panting, wild, incorrigible sounds flying out of your mouth.

“Don’t stop, please, please, don’t… let me come this time, I can’t take it anymore,” you manage to say as your body tumbles towards a cliff, your insides clawing for release and escape from this heavenly torture he’s put putting you through. Joel doesn’t stop this time, but intensifies everything - his fingers, his mouth, his warm, large palm pushing down on the bottom of your stomach.

You scream over and over, barely registering the sheer volume of the sound leaving your mouth as you gush and spasm onto him, the tether to reality snapping as you're transported to another place for a few moments, your vision going dark as you squeeze your eyes shut in pure bliss. You’re coming so hard that it seems like it’s never ending, sloppy, wet noises filling the room along with your little sobs. A sudden gush escapes you in the midst of everything, and when you finally come down, only then do you realize the reason everything felt so unreal for a moment, so much.

You can feel the excess wetness on your dress, all over the desk underneath you, and you nearly die with embarrassment at how much of a mess you’ve made because of this man, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind one bit, sliding you forward and wrapping his arms underneath your back, sitting you up and pulling you to your feet. You sway dazedly in your current state, practically useless to speak, think, or move, but Joel seems to be covering those bases for the two of you.

He swings your body in his grip, slamming your back against a nearby tall cabinet full of files that you’d spend hours helping organize, but you tear your mind away from the droll thought and back to Joel, whose cock is now pressing against your slick folds as he lifts one of your legs and hooks under your knee, holding it up.

“Fuckin’ filthy girl for me aren’t you? Squirting all over the place… like the way I make you come, don’t you?”

“Fuck yes, I do. S-so- so good,” you reply, hips bucking forward towards his cock despite the oversensitivity now raging there. He pushes in with one swift stroke, burying himself deep and you yelp at the sudden stretch. You’ve been warmed up plenty, but the sheer size of Joel is still enough to cause a sharp moment of discomfort before your body adjusts.

“I know, c’mon babydoll, you can take it. Want to make me feel good, don’t you?” Joel coos, his voice a little gentler now, urging you along. 

You nod enthusiastically for him, grinding forward to take the last bit of him into you until he’s fully seated. He grins wildly, his eyes flashing intensely as he starts to fuck you in earnest, snapping his hips into yours quickly.

“That’s a good girl for me,” he praises as you continue to take his cock over and over, and you’re so full, you can feel everything - him throbbing against your walls as he slides in and out.

“So f-fucking full of you, Joel,” you murmur as you flutter your eyes. 

“That’s right, babydoll, y’like my big cock using your little pussy, like it when I fill you up,” he grunts as his breath starts wavering more. Your own body is trembling, another climax building right where Joel’s cock is slamming into you each time he pushes in again. 

“Yes, Joel, fill me up today. Don’t pull out,” you beg.

Joel groans loudly, and you feel a rush of satisfaction at the way your words hold so much power over him. You can feel how you drive him wild, in and out of your own private world in his office. The way he steals glances at you, ogles your short skirts and dresses, the cleavage that you show for him, down to right now, when simply telling him to come inside of you has him practically spasming.

“Want me to fill you up with daddy’s come, that it? Like the little slut for me you are,” Joel retorts, his movements more sporadic now as he chases his own climax. 

“Only if it’ll help your day get better, Mr. Miller,” you tease with eyelashes fluttering, and Joel lets out a strangled little chuckle, his eyes completely glazed over with lust as you look into them. 

“Fuckin’ kiddin’ me, sugar, ‘course it would,” he says simply, letting out a little moan as he feels you squeeze around him slightly as he brushes against your walls over and over.

“Then do it, fill me up, daddy,” you say, and Joel doesn’t need to hear anything more, can’t hear anything more as he thrusts deeply into you and you gasp, feeling him come and fill you up so deeply. You milk every bit of it out of him, feeling your own climax overtake you unexpectedly at the pure power trip you’ve gotten from making him come this hard. You shudder into his cock still inside of you, your own white creaminess coating his shaft along with his cum and you let out a breathy moan at the sight of it pulling out of you a few moments later. 

“Sure made a mess, bad little girl,” Joel sucks his tongue between his teeth a few times, chastising you. “Half a mind to make you clean all this up.” He shakes his head as he steps away, but you just smile bashfully at him, still leaning against the cabinet, dripping pussy and tits still falling out of your dress. 

“Really gonna ask that from me after all I did for you tonight, baby?” you ask him with a saccharine smile, your voice dripping honey like off your tongue. 

“Lookin’ like that? No way in hell. You just stand there pretty and let me get a good look at ya all fucked out like that f’me,” Joel replies, tucking himself back into his pants. 

You spy your underwear on the ground, and as Joel follows your eyeline he swipes them off the floor, but tucks them in his back pocket again instead of handing them over to you. After the second time, you can see this is one of his things, and take a mental note to buy some more panties.

“Need to do this more often, don’t we?” Joel asks as he settles back into his office chair, groaning a little as he goes down. 

“Absolutely,” you grin. 

[sassenach77yle]

THREE NIGHTS LATER, I WOKE FROM a restless sleep in an inn in Wilmington, my throat parched as the salt bacon I had eaten in the dinner stew. Sitting up to find water, I found that I was alone—the moonlight through the window shone white on the vacant pillow beside me. I found Jamie outside, behind the inn, his nightshirt a pale blotch in the darkness of the innyard. He was sitting on the ground with his back against a chopping block, arms wrapped about his knees. He didn’t speak as I came toward him, but turned his head, body shifting in a silent welcome. I sat down on the chopping block behind him, and he leaned his head back against my thigh, with a long, deep sigh. “Couldn’t sleep?” I touched him gently, smoothing back the hair from his face. He slept with it unbound, and it fell thick and wild about his shoulders, tangled from bed. “Nay, I slept,” he said quietly. His eyes were open, looking up at the great gold moon, three-quarters full over the aspens near the inn.

“I had a dream.”

“A nightmare?” He had them seldom anymore, but they did come sometimes: the bloody memories of Culloden, of futile death and slaughter; prison dreams of hunger and confinement—and sometimes, very rarely, Jack Randall returned to him in sleep, with loving cruelty. Such dreams would always drive him from his bed to walk to and fro for hours, until exhaustion cleansed him of their visions. But he had not dreamed that way since Moore’s Creek Bridge.

“No,” he said, sounding half-surprised.

“Not at all. I dreamed of her—of our lassie—and the bairns.”

My heart gave an odd little hop, the consequence of startlement and what might almost have been envy. “You dreamed about Brianna and the children? What happened?” He smiled, face tranquil and abstracted in the moonlight, as though he still saw some part of the dream before him. “It is all right,” he said. “They are safe. I saw them in a town—it seemed like Inverness, but it was different, somehow. They walked up the step of a house—Roger Mac was with them,” he added, offhand. “They knocked at the door, and a wee brown-haired woman opened to them. She laughed wi’ joy to see them, and brought them in, and they went down a hallway, wi’ strange things like bowls hanging from the ceiling. “Then they were in a room, wi’ sofas and chairs, and the room had great windows all down one wall, from the floor to the ceiling, and the afternoon sun was streaming in, setting Brianna’s hair to fire, and makin’ wee Mandy cry when it got in her eyes.” “Did . . . did any of them call the brown-haired woman by name?” I asked, my heart beating in a queer, fast way. He frowned, moonlight making a cross of light over nose and brows. “Aye, they did,” he said. “I canna just—oh, aye; Roger Mac called her Fiona.” “Did he?” I said. My hands rested on his shoulder, and my mouth was a hundred times drier than it had been when I woke up. The night was chilly, but not enough to account for the temperature of my hands. I had told Jamie any amount of things about my own time over the years of our marriage. About trains and planes and automobiles and wars and indoor plumbing. But I was nearly sure that I had never told him what the study looked like in the manse where Roger had grown up with his adoptive father. The room with the window wall, made to accommodate the Reverend’s painting hobby. The manse with its long hallway, furnished with old-fashioned light fixtures, shaped like hanging bowls. And I knew I had never told him about the Reverend’s last housekeeper, a girl with dark, curly hair, called Fiona.

“Were they happy?” I asked at last, very quietly. “Aye.

Brianna and the lad—they had some shadows to their faces, but I could see they were glad nonetheless. They all sat down to eat—Brianna and her lad close together, leaning on each other—and wee Jem stuffed his face wi’ cakes and cream.” He smiled at the picture, teeth a brief gleam in the darkness.

“Oh—at the last, just before I woke . . . wee Jem was messin’ about, picking things up and putting them down as he does. There was a . . . thing . . on the table. I couldna say what it was; I’ve never seen the like.”

He held his hands about six inches apart, frowning at them. “It was maybe this wide, and just a bit longer—something like a box, maybe, only sort of . . . humped.” “Humped?” I said, puzzled as to what this could be. “Aye, and it had a thing on top like a wee club, only wi’ a knob to each end, and the club was tied to the box wi’ a sort of black cord, curled up on itself like a piggie’s tail. Jem saw it, and he reached out his hand, and said,

‘I want to talk to Grandda.’ And then I woke.”

He leaned his head back farther, so as to look up into my face. “Would ye ken what a thing like that might be, Sassenach? It was like nothing I’ve ever seen.

”The autumn wind came rustling down from the hill, dry leaves hurrying in its wake, quick and light as the footsteps of a ghost, and I felt the hair rise on nape and forearms. “Yes, I know,” I said. “I’ve told you about them, I know.” I didn’t think, though, that I had ever described one to him, in more than general terms. I cleared my throat.

“It’s called a telephone.”

121 ACROSS THE ABYSS~ A Breath of Snow and Ashes

[sofiascripts]

detentions secret soundtrack

mha band au (lemonade mouth inspired) // eventual bakugou x reader

★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆ striking a chord!

while tidying up the bandroom in the school’s basement, someone suggests a spontaneous jam session to lighten the mood. the drab room quickly transforms into a lively stage as they perform a kyoka jirou original, with each student adding their own flair to the impromptu performance. the music infuses the group with new energy, lifting their spirits and easing the tension. when the jam session wraps up, ms. midnight, who has been observing from the sidelines, enthusiastically praises their unexpected talent. her encouraging feedback hints at the group’s potential and opens the door to new opportunities. could something so silly really turn into something more?

╰┈➤ tw: not proofread #imsorry </3

the end of the day arrived much faster for the troublesome six than they had hoped. each of them left their respective classrooms, going through their end-of-day rituals before making their way toward the music room, which was inconveniently located in the basement at the farthest end of the school.

to bakugou’s distaste, there was only one way downstairs, meaning he had to walk through every single club that had been banished to the basement. his gaze was fixed ahead, his body rigid as he moved through the narrow, dimly lit halls. students and staff alike quickly moved to the side, avoiding his path, their conversations dying out as they felt the intense energy radiating from him. kaminari, who had run into bakugou in the elevator, took advantage of the clear path and practically skipped through the hallways, trailing closely behind.

when the pair finally reached the end of the hallway, they stopped at an old, battered lemonade vending machine. bakugou reached for his wallet while kaminari obnoxiously patted himself down, feigning surprise at his lack of funds.

kaminari slowly turned to bakugou with a silly grin. “you got me?”

“seriously?” bakugou grumbled, his tone dripping with irritation. kaminari just shrugged, unfazed. the two grabbed their respective drinks, with kaminari forcing their bottles to clink together in a mock cheers before they took a swig. kaminari didn’t bother hiding his obvious distaste for the sour drink, while bakugou struggled to maintain his signature scowl.

“it’s not that bad,” bakugou muttered, though the slight twitch in his eye suggested otherwise.

finally, they entered the music room, where the others were already inside. jirou was facing the small, high window in the top corner of the room, her expression unreadable. momo was beside her, typing furiously on her phone, her face contorted in a deep frown. shinsou sat in front of them, his head resting on his folded arms, already fast asleep. you were across from him, your head hung low as you absentmindedly wiped down a desk.

bakugou and kaminari slowly made their way to some seats in the corner of the room, settling down with a rustle of clothing and the clink of bottles. the room fell silent once more, a heavy, uncomfortable quiet that lingered for only a moment before the door creaked open again, revealing mr. aizawa. he stepped in with a clipboard in hand and a stern expression on his face.

“today, you’ll be doing some housekeeping. some of you have earned multiple days—” his eyes flicked towards jirou for a moment, causing her to sink further into her seat.

“and you will be expected to finish up whatever doesn’t get done today.” groans and sighs filled the room, but the six teens reluctantly got to work. bakugou managed to find a broom and began sweeping the floor, his movements more aggressive than necessary, sending small clouds of dust into the air. the others wisely chose to work on the opposite end of the room. kaminari and jirou dusted off the various instruments while momo sat on the floor, organizing sheet music. you focused on wiping down the teacher’s desk, meticulously cleaning the many trinkets that filled it, while shinsou worked at the shelves, emptying out the cardboard boxes filled with books.

“so… what’s the deal with you and monoma?” kaminari’s voice broke the silence, his curiosity getting the better of him. jirou was quick to slap him on the back of the neck, muttering an exasperated “idiot.”

you gripped the rag a little tighter, your knuckles turning white as you turned to offer them a forced smile. “just a little misunderstanding.”

“a misunderstanding, huh?” shinsou’s smirk grew wider, his voice dripping with amusement. “that’s not what it looked like to me. seemed pretty clear-cut.”

“it’s complicated,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even. “but, in essence, yes, a misunderstanding.” you didn’t owe them an explanation, but their stares were unwavering, pressing for more. the lack of noise from their end of the room suggested that they had all stopped cleaning to face you, their curiosity practically tangible.

the tension in the room thickened, the silence amplified to an almost unbearable degree. all that could be heard was your violent scrubbing, the rag squeaking against the desk, occasionally shifting it with the force of your movements. you tried to gather your thoughts, searching for anything to say that might lighten the mood, but your emotions were hard to keep in check.

all you could think about was the way monoma had looked at you when you tossed that drink in his face. his expression was a mixture of shock and anger, but that was it. that was all that was there. he didn’t look at you like someone who had spent the entire summer with you. no, he looked at you like you were some random psycho who had a bad day and decided to take it out on him.

your grip on the rag tightened further, the fabric digging into your palm as the memories swirled in your mind. the silence continued to stretch on, oppressive and heavy. finally, unable to take it anymore, you muttered under your breath, barely audible but enough to break the tension.

“it’s not worth talking about.”

with that, you turned back to the desk, determined to focus on anything other than the prying eyes behind you.

the tension lightened on its own, everyone in the room seemingly understanding that you weren't ready to talk about it and decided to respect your wishes. everyone except for bakugou.

“you gonna tell us or what?” he grumbled, his tone impatient and rough.

you quickly turned your head towards bakugou, meeting his sharp gaze with a glare of your own. “there isn’t anything to talk about. we worked together over the summer and got a little close. that’s it.” your words had come out a little more strained than you had hoped. 

you wanted to end it there, already continuing to clean off the desk in front of you, but there was a tight knot of heat rising in your chest, coiling tighter with each passing second, threatening to unravel if you didn’t get the words out. “it’s messed up, but i kind of saw it coming,” you said with a bitter laugh.

“he’d been pretty distant lately,” your tone a little sharper this time, cutting through the air with a bitterness that surprised even you. 

the words hung in the air, and you felt a surge of frustration bubbling up inside you. “but i just can’t stop thinking about it,” you continued, your voice rising with both anger and disbelief. “like—who even does that? who cheats so obviously, so publicly?”

your frustration began to boil over as you paced the room, your hands gesturing wildly. “it was almost like he wanted everyone to see it—including me,” you said, your voice now a little unsteady with rage. “and the worst part? he didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. like it didn’t matter at all.”

the room thickened with tension, the air heavy as everyone exchanged uneasy glances but remained silent. you could feel their eyes on you, waiting for more, but you had nothing left to say. the silence grew oppressive, pressing down on your chest and making it hard to breathe. you turned back to your little section, your movements more deliberate as you tried to push aside the painful thoughts.

“you should’ve hit him instead,” bakugou said gruffly, breaking the silence with a sharp edge to his voice. “dumping soda is for kids.”

you shot him a glare, your patience wearing thin. “what did you expect? a brawl in the middle of the cafeteria?” your voice dripped with sarcasm,“i’m not a violent person, unlike some people,” you snapped, referencing his infamous temper. “heard about your little incident with the soccer coach.”

bakugou’s smirk widened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “should’ve taken a couple of notes and tossed that can at his head,” he retorted, his tone lightening with a hint of amusement, but still laced with that familiar bite.

you huffed, crossing your arms as you faced him. “not everyone solves their problems with their fists, bakugou. some of us try to handle things like normal human beings.”

he rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall mimicking your pose. “that shits boring. you wanna get back at someone, you make sure they don’t forget it. that bastard deserves more than a soda bath for what he did.”

bakugou’s words hung in the air, and for a moment, the room seemed to pulse with the intensity of his conviction. his eyes were locked on yours. your eyes narrowed, a mix of frustration and something else—something like agreement—simmering beneath the surface. bakugou might have been blunt and abrasive, but there was something in his words that struck a chord with you. he wasn’t pitying you; he was angry on your behalf, and that made his support, twisted as it was, feel oddly genuine.

“thanks for the advice,” you muttered, your voice a little steadier now as you turned back to the desk, focusing on the task at hand. “but i’ll handle it my way.”

bakugou paused for a moment before shrugging “your loss,” he muttered, turning away with a huff as he resumed sweeping, his movements no less aggressive than before.

as the clock ticked closer to the end of detention, the atmosphere in the room began to shift. the earlier scene between you and bakugou had fortunately been enough to let the room settle back into a more comfortable silence. you all continued to work towards a clean room, consistently glancing at the clock in the front of the room.

jirou, who had been dusting off a set of old drums in the corner, paused for a moment, her eyes flicking over to the guitar propped against the wall. in this quiet, awkward moment, it seemed to be calling to her. without a word, jirou picked up the guitar, her fingers instinctively finding the chords from the song she had been trying to write earlier that morning. she strummed a few notes, testing the strings, and the sound filled the small room, breaking the silence in a way that felt almost magical. the melody was soft at first, a gentle, soothing tune.

momo, a little intrigued, put down the sheet music she had been organizing and moved over to the piano in the corner. she sat down, her fingers hovering over the keys. she paused for a moment focusing on the tune. jirou made her way towards her helping to count her in, and soon she began to play, adding a delicate harmony to jirou’s guitar.

kaminari, catching onto the impromptu performance, quickly grabbed a guitar from a nearby shelf. he adjusted the strap, tuning it with quick, practiced movements before joining in with an upbeat rhythm that contrasted with the gentle melody.

shinsou, watching the growing musical ensemble, found a bass guitar leaning against the wall. he picked it up, his fingers gliding over the strings as he added a smooth, steady bassline that nearly tied everything together.

bakugou’s sweeping had slowed to a near stop, watching the scene with a mixture of irritation and something else—something that looked a lot like interest. despite himself, he found his foot tapping along to the beat, though he kept his face set in a scowl, determined not to show that he was enjoying it.

kaminari noticed his friends behavior and looked over at him with a cheeky smile, “cmon bakugou, you gotta know how to play something”

bakugou glared at him, but there was a spark of something in his eyes—a challenge that he couldn’t resist. with a low growl, he finally gave in, he put down his broom and marched over to the drums, plopping himself down in the little stoll, quickly finding the drumsticks, his movements were loud and brash, but precise and added a flare that caused the others to cheer.

shinsou had locked eyes with you and slowly walked towards you as he continued to strum to the rhythm, he nudged you with his foot, his voice low as he teased, “scared to join in? thought you were better than that.”

you rolled your eyes, but the playful challenge in his words was enough to make you crack a smile. without giving him the satisfaction of a reply, you started humming along, your voice adding another layer to the growing chorus.

jirou was quick to reach into her bag and point to the song she had been playing, lyrics already spread across the page. it would be rude to ignore her invitation so you began singing along, your voice adding a bright, energetic layer to the growing melody. as you sang, you moved around the room, book still in hand, draping furry scarves over shinsou and kaminari, who both looked momentarily surprised but amused by the sudden accessory.

kaminari wore a goofy grin as he tapped his foot to the beat, while shinsou raised an eyebrow but couldn’t help a chuckle as the scarf was wrapped around his neck. you picked up a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses and plopped them on bakugou’s face, who initially tried to swat them off but eventually gave in with a reluctant smirk.

jirou, still playing the guitar, laughed as you placed a sparkly crown on her head, and momo soon found herself wearing a matching crown as you draped one over her too. the playful transformation gave everyone an almost surreal, whimsical look, turning the music room into a makeshift stage of goofy fun.

the room erupted into spontaneous dancing. jirou and momo twirled around with their crowns, while kaminari and shinsou tried to keep up with the beat on their instruments, all while their furry scarves whirled around them. bakugou, had pushed his heart sunglasses up, wearing it as a headband, and he couldn’t suppress a genuine laugh as he played the drums with extra flair, his usual intensity softened by the sheer absurdity of the moment.

the room now resonated with laughter and music. you all played together, your individual sounds blending into a surprisingly harmonious and fun song. bakugou pounded the drums with intensity, a fierce look of concentration on his face. jirou's guitar riffs were energetic and playful, while momos keyboard added an unexpected but beautiful layer to the music. kaminari guitar strumming was enthusiastic and full of life, and shinsous bass lines were steady and grounding.

as the song came to an end, they all exchanged glances, a mix of surprise and amusement on their faces. but a loud squeal snapped you all out of your excitement. 

“wow, that was amazing!” ms. midnight said, clapping her hands together with a beaming smile. mr. aizawa, standing behind her with his usual stoic demeanor, nodded approvingly but remained quiet.

ms. midnight’s playful challenge hung in the air. “you guys should definitely give that monoma brat a run for their money. if this is how you perform when you’re having fun, imagine what you could do on stage!”

despite her praise, the six of you exchanged awkward glances before shrugging off her suggestion as you all made your way back to your seats. but ms. midnight wasn’t one to let things go so easily. she quickly approached the group, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“ms. yaoyorozu, your precision and control are impeccable, as always,” ms. midnight said, turning to momo with a warm smile. “you brought such elegance to the performance—it really grounded everything.”

momo gave a modest nod, her cheeks tinged with pink from the compliment. “thank you, ms. midnight,” she replied with a small smile, always the picture of grace. “but–”

“and as for you three—you were the driving force behind this whole thing! mr. kaminari, your energy was contagious, ms. jirou, those riffs were killer, and mr. bakugou, that intensity? perfect for the stage.” passion was practically spilling out of her as she danced around the room complimenting everyone. 

kaminari’s eyes lit up, and he grinned widely, clearly pleased with the praise. jirou smirked, nodding her appreciation, while bakugou crossed his arms and scowled, “whatever.”

“oh, don’t be like that, mr. bakugou,” ms. midnight teased lightly, her gaze shifting to shinsou. “and mr. shinsou, your cool, laid-back vibe really balanced everything out. it’s like you’re the calm in the storm, keeping everyone on track.”

shinsou gave a casual nod, “just doing my part.”

finally, ms. midnight’s attention turned to you. her expression softened, and she looked directly into your eyes with a more intimate focus. “and as for you, y/n…”

you felt your heart drop to the depths of your stomach as her gaze zeroed in on you. her voice lowered slightly, making the moment feel more personal. “your voice was just incredible out there.”

you flinched slightly, taken aback by her sudden closeness. “uh, thanks. just... was having fun with it.”

ms. midnight leaned in even closer, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “oh, don’t be so modest! it was fantastic. you have such a unique tone—meshed beautifully with those friends of yours. how come ive never heard it before?”

just as you were about to respond, a chuckle came from the back of the room. shinsou, who had been silently observing the interaction, smirked and spoke up.

“you know, y/n’s got the talent, no doubt,” shinsou said, his voice tinged with amusement. “but i think i remember—”

before he could continue, kaminari suddenly chimed in, cutting him off. “honestly, ms. midnight, you’re giving us way too much credit. we also dont even know each other, calling us all friends seems like a stretch”

shinsou frowned slightly, sinking back into his seat, clearly a little annoyed by the interruption. but it gave you a sense of relief. ms. midnight pouted slightly but wasn’t ready to back down.

“oh, come on, kaminari!” she exclaimed. “imagine how stunned everyone would be if you guys took the stage at the halloween bash. picture it: a lineup of raw talent that’d have everyone’s jaws on the floor, a feast for the eyes and ears!”

jirou, who had been quietly observing, chimed in with a smirk. “sounds like you’re really pushing for this, ms. midnight. ya sure you’re not just trying to live vicariously through us?”

ms. midnight laughed, waving off the comment. “maybe a little, but mostly, i just know talent when i see it. you all have something special, and i’d hate to see it go to waste.”

as ms. midnight stepped back, you let out a small sigh of relief, your cheeks flushed from the close encounter. the conversation had clearly left an impact, with some more than others, but you all remained resolute. the idea of becoming a band, especially for the halloween bash, was firmly off the table. you were ready to move on and put this performance behind you, knowing full well that there was no way in hell you’d be performing again anytime soon.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“hell no, headphones!” the shouting echoed down the hallway, the frustration in the voice was unmistakable. your face flushed with annoyance, the events of the day already wearing your patience thin. you glanced over at shinsou, who had his head resting against the wall of the elevator, muttering curses under his breath. the kid next to him shot nervous glances in your direction.

you and shinsou trudged down the hall towards the music room, neither of you particularly eager for what awaited inside. what was supposed to be a single day of detention for the group—except for jirou—had turned into a second round of cleaning thanks to the chaos you’d all caused with the instruments.

apparently, there had been a very intense chess match in the room next door, a title match that could’ve earned the chess club a spot upstairs with the regular clubs. but because of your little ‘band practice,’ their star player got too distracted and lost his round, condemning the club to another year of basement meetings. 

you had all been made aware of your later detentions during your homerooms. while everyone had grudgingly accepted their fate, bakugou nearly earned himself another week. he was quick to find and scold the chess player, claiming that if he were as skilled as he said he was, he would’ve won despite the distractions. mr. aizawa, however, let him off with just a stern warning about his temper. it seemed aizawa was either feeling lenient or simply couldn’t stand the thought of dealing with bakugou in detention for another week.

you both reached the end of the hallway where the small yellow vending machine was placed, you exchanged a knowing look with shinsou and before you knew it you shinsou was already putting in the bills for a drink, a small indulgence from the day’s frustrations.

as you reached into the machine to grab your drink, you heard a call of your name causing you to turn around. kaminari and momo had arrived and they both offered kind greetings. they came up behind you, each buying drinks of their own. kaminari had seemingly remembered his wallet this time. the four of you made a show of clinking your cups before grimacing at the taste.

you all entered the classroom and you made your way over to an empty desk, dumping your stuff onto the chair before walking over to grab a rag and a spray bottle. however, you were quickly stopped by an uncharacteristically cheerful jirou. she held your spray bottle in one hand and the rag in the other. you gave her a small smile and a quick thanks before reaching out for the set, but she took a quick step back, her smile unchanging. you furrowed your eyebrows, confused, and reached for them again only for her to take another step back.

“wh-”

“pleasejointhebandireallywanttocompeteandifeelliketheressomethinghere—”

“what are you saying?” you asked, tilting your head to the side.

“midnight got into her head with all that bullshit and now she wants us to become a band for the night and play at that stupid halloween dance,” bakugou grumbled his voice laced with irritation as he continued to empty our boxes and organize the various music books into their respective shelves.

a collective groan erupted from the group as the realization sank in. it was obvious that the earlier outburst had come from bakugou, who had reacted explosively when jirou first proposed her idea.

“tried to tell her that we already did the singing thing once. no need to turn this into a thing,” bakugou added, slamming a book down with enough force to make everyone jump.

momo shook her head, clearly unimpressed. “jirou, while i do admit it was rather enjoyable, i have to agree with bakugou. it was supposed to be a one-time thing. we’re in our final year now. we have more important things to focus on.’”

jirou’s enthusiasm didn’t wane. “cmon guys, you all have gotta hear me out.”

she continued to follow you. even while you began working at your own section, hoping that she would take the hint. “ it’s a chance to showcase our skills, have some fun, and—” she paused dramatically. “monoma’s gonna be performing as well!”

you knew what she was implying, but you couldn’t stop yourself from humoring her just a bit, “so?” 

“sooo thisll be a fun way to humiliate him by simply being better than him! and i’m pretty sure the best band gets some sort of prize, who doesn’t love a good prize” jirou clasped her hands together and looked at you with large hopeful eyes. and when you turned to face her, you swore you could see a literal twinkle inside of them. 

“i will admit i do love prizes.” kaminari muttered, jirou was quick to turn her attention towards him slamming both of her hands down on his desk dramatically.

kaminari leaned back in his chair, trying to escape the intensity of jirou’s gaze but clearly intrigued. “but isn’t monoma just going to show off? hes been doing this kinda thing for a while now.”

“exactly!” jirou grinned triumphantly, as if kaminari’s reluctance was exactly the confirmation she needed. “that’s why it’ll be so satisfying to beat him. and think about it—we’ll be the highlight of the dance! plus, it's halloween! we can dress up, add a theme to our performance, make it unforgettable!”

bakugou scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at jirou. “you really think we have time to mess around with costumes and setlists? i’m not interested in stroking monoma’s ego by even pretending he’s competition.”

jirou didn’t miss a beat. “oh, please, bakugou. like you wouldn’t love to blow him off the stage with one of your killer drum solos. ”

for a brief moment, bakugou’s expression wavered, as if he was genuinely considering the idea. but then he shook his head, returning to his usual scowl. “it doesn’t matter,” he said firmly. “we’ve got exams, college applications, and real-world shit to deal with. we can’t waste our time on this nonsense.”

momo nodded in agreement, “bakugou’s right. our schedules are packed. we don’t have the luxury to divert our focus from important tasks.”

kaminari, who had been unusually quiet up until now, suddenly perked up, his face brightening with enthusiasm. “i’m with jirou on this! come on, guys, it’s our last year! we should make the most of it. plus, we’ve got the talent—why not show it off?”

shinsou, who had been quietly listening to the exchange, finally spoke up, “i dunno. it could actually be kinda fun.”

bakugou shot shinsou a heated glare, his frustration boiling over. “you too, eyebags? i expected this bullshit from him,” he said, jabbing a finger towards kaminari, “but i didnt think youd be dumb enough to fall for this crap too.” 

 shinsou shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “it’s not exactly my scene, but i don’t have much else going on right now. why not give it a go? besides, i’m not a fan of monoma either. it’d be satisfying to put him in his place."

“yeah, come on, bakugou, you’ve already got the jump on him in soccer and academics—why not try this?” kaminari asked. he’d known bakugou since they were in grade school, understanding exactly how he ticked and which buttons to push.

bakugou shot him a sharp glare, carefully weighing his response. after a tense pause, bakugou finally spoke up, “alright, so what if i agree? what happens if this turns into a disaster?”

jirou placed a hand on her hip, her smirk widening. “disaster? with you in the band? please, bakugou. the only disaster here would be if we didn’t give the crowd a show they’d never forget. and let’s be real, if anyone can turn this into a win, it’s you.”

bakugou’s eyes narrowed, the tension in the room clear as he glared at jirou. the two locked eyes, the unspoken challenge between them crackling with electricity. jirou didn’t flinch, her gaze steady. she knew she was playing on bakugou’s pride and competitive spirit.

bakugou’s lips twitched, a flicker of a smirk betraying his resolve. after a long pause, he finally growled, “fine. but we’re doing this my way. no half-assed performances. we’re going all in. you screw up, and i’ll make sure you regret it.”

jirou’s face lit up with victory. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

before the excitement could fully settle in, momo stepped forward, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. her expression and tone were serious as she spoke, “i’m not trying to be a killjoy, but have you all thought this through? this isn’t just about jamming for fun. if we mess this up, it’ll reflect poorly on all of us. we’ve barely got two weeks, and we’re up against monoma—who, despite his flaws, knows how to put on a show.”

momo’s frown deepened. “and if things go wrong, we’re risking our reputations.”

unfortunately, that sense of responsibility and reputation really only applied to bakugou, momo, and kaminari. each of them had made a name for themselves at the school, though for very different reasons. you, shinsou, and jirou were on the opposite end of the popularity spectrum. both you and shinsou preferred to stay out of the spotlight. you both typically chose to avoid unnecessary attention. jirou, having transferred midway through last year, was still somewhat of a mystery and had yet to establish a reputation of her own.

 kaminari, ever the optimist, waved a hand dismissively. “so what if we embarrass ourselves a little? we’ll have a good laugh about it later. besides, mo, you’re always the one telling us to balance work and play. this could be our chance to do that.”

momo hesitated as she weighed her options, glancing around the room she could see the resolve in their eyes. she also couldn’t deny the fact that part of her found the idea of a band a bit exciting.

“fine,” momo said slowly, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “but just promise that we are going to approach this with the seriousness it deserves. i cant allow myself to be part of something that falls apart because we failed to put enough effort ”

jirou’s face broke into a wide grin, and she clapped her hands together in excitement. “yes! this is going to be amazing! i promise, momo, you won’t regret it.” 

now all eyes were on you, and you were still trying to grasp how things had changed so quickly. barely a few minutes ago, the idea had faced the strong resistance as yesterday, yet jirou had managed to win everyone over, with bakugou’s agreement being the most surprising. 

that scene in the lunchroom was the most spotlight you’d had in years, and you had always preferred to remain in the background. it had taken years for the whispers about that middle school incident to fade, and now this performance felt like a shortcut to more unwanted attention and awkward reminders.

but it was clear that no matter what you said now, they would continue to push and attempt to persuade you. you were unfortunately fighting a losing battle. you sighed in defeat, meeting the eyes of your peers. “alright,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “i guess it won’t be that bad.” the group exchanged quick glances, a mix of excitement and apprehension settling over them.

jirou clapped her hands together, her excitement reaching a fever pitch. “this is going to be amazing! we’ve got the talent, the drive—now we just need to figure out the details.”

the room buzzed with a renewed energy as the group began tossing around ideas, discussing song choices, potential costumes, and ways to make their performance stand out all while continuing to tidy up. 

but as the conversation continued, your mind wandered, a flicker of doubt still lingering. you couldn’t shake the nervous knot in your stomach. the idea of standing up in front of the entire school, putting yourself out there like that, was daunting. you could only hope that this gamble would pay off and not end in disaster.

a/n: GUYS PLS TELL ME IF THE SCENE WHERE THEY LIT JUST BROKE INTO A JAM SESH IS CRINGE PLS I WANTED IT TO BE LIKE THE MOVIE BUT OMFG FELT LIKE I WAS WRITING A Y/N SINGING FIGHTSONG DURING THE SPORTS FESTIVAL SCENE. but anyways, i decided this is going to be a band au with lemonade mouth elements bc i lowk fucked up with the characters and the plotline! also i have my full outline now #yippie! also sorry for deleting and uploading, i kept changing the picture. still not a fan of this one, might have to mess around and make my own...

taglist:

likes & reblogs & constructive criticism are all welcomed and appreciated <33333

thank you sm for reading this! im gonna try and pump out another chapter tomorrow or the day after <3

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 7

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw.

one. two. three. four. five. six.

Seven. 柒

The next day you are going about the house doing your duties, cleaning, vacuuming, dusting. Every day you do a deep clean on a room. Today is the theater room, the den with all the dark monitors that you find so creepy. It almost feels like a lair to you, and you spend as little time as possible in there.

You are caught by surprise to see Mr. Mark is in the center of the long couch. Usually, he's not home at this hour. He's seated with his arms up on the back, watching martial arts tournaments, it looks like. He turns his head to look at you when you pause in the open door, clearly wondering if he noticed you, and if you can run away. 

"Excuse me, sir, I didn't realize you were home." You turn to go, praying, but he calls you back.

The satisfaction he feels for catching you off guard again is so very sweet. He flashes you a predatory curl of lips, calling out to you before you can escape in a commanding tone. “Wait.”

Slowly you approach, clutching your cordless vacuum like it might save you from this imposing man.

Donaka feels a dark gratification as you slowly approach. He almost chuckles in his throat like a Bond villain, the way he can feel your intimidation. He pats the empty spot on the couch beside him, gesturing for you to sit. “Come here,” he repeats, his voice low and authoritative.

"Sir, I'm on duty, and I already had my break..."

Your resistance irritates him, as though your true occupation is not obeying his every whim in this house. 

“I don’t care,” he says firmly. “Come. Sit.”

With a small sigh you do as you’re told, perching on the edge of the black leather seat like a bird ready to take flight at any moment. It is comfortable...and it does feel good to sit down.

Donaka enjoys a small sense of satisfaction as you finally do as you’re told. His eyes roam over your tired features–he’s sure you’re exhausted from your day before. A part of him delights in how adventurous you are, even if it just makes him want to clip your wings all the more. 

“You look tired. You overdid it yesterday.” 

You frown, open your mouth to deliver a sassy reply–then think better of it. “Maybe. My feet hurt,” you admit. 

“When you make use of a driver, you don’t have to walk so much,” he quips. 

However, you wouldn’t have changed a thing about the way your birthday went…except maybe that little midnight ambush in the garden. You’d had a field day writing that up in your journal into the wee hours of the morning–perhaps the real reason you were tired that day. 

You just narrow your eyes at him, and somehow this seems to delight your employer, counting your cowed silence as a point for his side.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he admonishes, holding out his hand. “Give it here.” 

Puzzled, you tilt your head at him. 

“Your foot,” he clarifies in a tone that brooks no argument. “Give it here.”

You are horrified. If this man gets those big strong mitts on your aching feet–you’re done for. You will melt for him.

“Sir–”

He has the urge to simply drag you over into his lap. 

“Do I always have to tell you twice? Give. Me. Your. Foot.” He beckons with those long fingers, snapping and pointing like you are a naughty dog. His annoyance is palpable; his hunger, undeniable. At last you give in with a sigh, slipping out of your sandal to reluctantly offer up the appendage in question. 

Your foot looks tiny in his hands, as he wraps his fingers around you, squeezing. His thumb runs down your plantar fascia, and you think you see god, a small sound escaping you.

His lips curl in a triumphant smile. “Not so bad, is it?”

“No, only slightly mortifying,” you sigh, closing your eyes. It feels too good.

He’s semi hard just watching your reaction to his touch, even if it is just your feet.

“Why? You have such pretty feet.”

You wish the couch would just swallow you whole. 

You just shake your head, unable to engage with him while he works this magic on you. His gaze trails up your legs, and he imagines how he would like to caress the sweep of your calf, the sensitive skin behind your knee, and keep going until the curve of your ass is in his hand. He could just…pin your body down with his weight and his mouth on yours. You might even welcome it, opening to him like the soft petals of a lotus flower after he's sweetened you up. He wants to take you, but he also wants you to want him. That is something…unexpected.

A squeak of pain escapes you as he squeezes your foot too hard, his handsome features pulled in a frown of consternation as he glares down at your leg. Your protest brings him back from somewhere–when his blazing dark eyes meet yours, you think this man could burn down the world. You have trouble distinguishing, as ever, if the rollicking adrenaline his hungry look inspires is due to fear, or desire.

Donaka’s eyes suddenly re-focus on your face as you sit up straight. He could have pushed you over with a feather, when his touch softens, his big hands just holding your foot, and a single soft word leaves his mouth: “Sorry.”

You can hardly believe what you heard.

"You're...very strong." You try not to sigh like you're in some stupid bosom buster bully romance book. Never mind the fact that you know later you’re going to write all about this in your ongoing fantasy epic, and it will not be G rated.

Just like that, the moment shatters, when a smirk pulls his lips again. He gestures for your other foot, and this time you obey without protest. Might as well, or you’ll be walking in circles…

The satisfaction Donaka feels for your submission spreads through him like warm poison. It was just a matter of time. He had to remember to be patient with you.

It would make his victory all the sweeter.

When he’s done with your foot he sets it aside with a light final caress of your arch. “There now. Get back to work, tou zai yee.”

You don't know what that means, but you take your opening to escape without questioning his sudden generosity.

Deep down, you know he’s just biding his time.