#afab reader-insert

[mazeeelabyrinth]

○●○ Daggers and Kisses ○●○

"And now," he continued, his eyes never leaving yours, "now, you're going to find out just how much of a monster I can truly be."

♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡ Pairing: Sylus x AFAB!Reader

♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡ Tags: 18+, eventual smut, explicit sexual language, explicit sexual scene, enemies to lovers, dubious consent, dubcon kissing, dubcon blow jobs, nipple play, cunnillingus, vaginal fingering, penis in vagina sex, creampie, bdsm, handcuffs and blinfolds, canon divergence au, ooc?

♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡ Summary:

You are a bounty hunter with a long-standing vendetta against Sylus, the elusive and dangerous leader of the criminal syndicate Onychinus. Years of near-misses and unspoken tension have turned your rivalry into something darker, something charged. When you infiltrate his extravagant birthday gala aboard one of his luxury cruise ships, you're seconds away from finally striking—until everything goes wrong. Drugged and captured, you wake up blindfolded, bound to the bed in his private suite.

♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡ Word Count: 7.8K

Chapter II: Gilded Cage, Velvet Drapes

♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡ A/N: It's supposed to be for Sylus' birthday but I was busy with other fics. Better late than never. And yeah, I'm opening the holy gates of LADS fanfics.

MASTERLIST ☆ AO3 ☆ NAVIGATION ☆ TAG LIST

The ocean outside was velvet-dark, its only shimmer the flicker of moonlight splintered by waves. Above it sailed a behemoth of indulgence—an Onychinus cruise liner, gleaming like a floating city, cloaked in celebration and secrets. Music pulsed from the gala deck like a heartbeat, echoing through the ship’s opulent veins.

It was a decadent affair—gilded ceilings reflecting the glittering chandeliers above, their shimmer cascading like rainfall over a sea of masked guests dressed in silk, diamonds, and ambition. Every surface gleamed. Every laugh held secrets.

And at the heart of it all, like a star in his own gravity field, stood Sylus.

The name itself was almost a sin, tasted like something forbidden. White hair falling carelessly over crimson eyes that could ruin you with a glance. He stood near the grand piano, fingers lazily caressing the rim of a wine glass as he listened to a group of investors trying far too hard to impress him. He was barely listening. He never really had to.

Years of pursuit had led to this moment. And still, your breath hitched.

You had tracked Sylus from the shadowy depths of trading networks to rogue Evol labs, always just a step too late, always outmatched. Your assassination attempts were clever, calculated—but he danced through them like smoke. Mocked you, even.

And the worst part? He never retaliated.

You’d survived only because he’d let you. Like a cat with a mouse it wasn’t quite finished playing with. You didn’t know if it was mercy or mockery, and it clawed at you.

You watched him from a distance, holding a silver tray like it belonged to you. Your disguise was simple: black waistcoat, crisp apron, plain white colombina mask similar to those worn by the other waitstaff; and a name tag that read “Isla”—whoever she was. The real Isla was bound and gagged in a supply closet five decks below—your work.

Makeup skillfully applied to conceal your features—particularly your eyes; which he’d seen enough through the masks you wore during your attempts of wiping Sylus’ existence.

Waitress, your brilliant disguise. Nobody important. Nobody worth looking at twice. A perfect shadow to blend in with the glittering snakes of society that slithered through the gala.

The scent of champagne lingered in the air like deceit dressed in silk. You stepped lightly, shoes silent over imported marble, tray perfectly balanced on your gloved hand. But your eyes never left him.

Sylus.

He was a flame in a room of moths—every eye caught in his orbit, every laugh a little louder when it came from his direction. That white hair, always slightly disheveled like he'd just walked away from a fight he enjoyed. Red eyes half-lidded in amusement, danger coiling beneath the velvet of his voice as he conversed with guests draped in silk and sin.

You hated him. You wanted him… dead.

But tonight was different. This time, you had a plan so foolproof it sang in your blood. A few seconds alone with him and you’d deliver a toxin engineered to mimic a slow-onset neural shutdown. He’d never see it coming.

And yet…

Your hands trembled slightly as you passed by him, just close enough to smell the faint musk of his cologne—clean smoke and cedarwood. His voice reached you, smooth and disarmingly amused.

“Careful,” he said, not even turning. “You almost spilled that champagne.”

Your spine went stiff, though you managed to murmur. “Yes, of course, sir. I apologize.”

The party wore on like a fever dream. Dancers spun in silks. The air was thick with perfume, the tension of contracts being made, broken, and reborn. Sylus vanished from the main floor for only a few minutes—and you followed, pretending to carry a new bottle of Dom Perignon.

The hallway was narrow and dim, the hum of the ship louder here, industrial and alive. You’d made it past the ballroom and into the suites' passageway, heart hammering in your chest, adrenaline slick on your palms. You reached for the blade—

And then:

“Going somewhere, sweetheart?” The voice was low, taunting.

Just as you turned around a corner, two men flanked you before you even registered them—sharp suits, cruel eyes, hands like stone. A heavy hand closed around your arm. The tray clattered to the floor, the expensive wine and glasses shattered like fragile illusions. One wordless, the other sneering as he caught your arm. You struck fast, a knee to the gut and elbow to the throat—but you weren’t fast enough.

Before you could draw, the first guard's arm locked around your waist, another hand slamming a linen-dampened cloth over your nose and mouth.

Chloroform. The sickly sweet smell filled your lungs. Panic surged—your pulse raced, your instincts frenzied, your scream muffled.

— ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

You woke with the ache of time lost, your limbs heavy with the residue of the sedative. The room was too quiet. Your head throbbed like a war drum as you stirred awake. Lashes fluttering. Breathing shallow. You blinked, only to find blackness still—until you realized the silk blindfold was tight across your eyes. You tried to move—and realized something was wrong.

You were lying on a bed. Silken sheets cradled your body, disheveled, legs tangled in expensive fabric you didn’t recognize. Your wrists were bound—cold metal cuffing them to the upholstered headboard. Your legs were free, but trembling. The clothes you’d worn had been stripped of their weapons, apron gone, hair untucked, the crisp blouse now wrinkled and half-unbuttoned, askew, pulled halfway down your torso. There was no pain, but the disarray was unmistakably deliberate.

And someone was there.

His presence was unmistakable, even with his back turned. Broad shoulders beneath a crisp button up shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the crimson lining flickering as he lit a cigarette with quiet fingers. The cherry flare cast shadows on the walls like firelight in hell.

Sylus.

He exhaled slowly, a long stream of smoke curling toward the ceiling like a prayer lost on the wind.

“You know,” he said, voice smooth as obsidian, “I had a bet going. How long would it take before you tried again?” He turned just slightly, enough for the orange glow to paint the side of his jaw.

“Happy fucking birthday,” you rasped, voice hoarse with disbelief and fury.

“You remembered,” he murmured in mock sincerity. “I’m touched.”

The silence that followed was thick, electric, buzzing with tension. Your heart thundered beneath your ribs. The cold thrill that swept through your veins wasn’t fear.

Not exactly.

“You gonna kill me?” you asked.

Sylus chuckled—low, indulgent. He flicked ash into a crystal tray and stepped closer. The room felt suddenly too warm as you listened to the faint rustling caused by his movements.

“Kill you?” he repeated. “Now why would I ruin the one thing that’s kept me entertained these last few years?”

His hand touched the bedpost. A lazy drag of his fingers down the metal. “You should’ve worn something prettier,” he mused. “But I suppose we’ll fix that soon enough.”

You swallowed hard, pulse screaming in your ears.

Sylus moved like a predator—slow, deliberate, savoring the prowl. He took a long drag from the cigarette, his movements languid and deliberate. With the soft flick of his wrist, the smoke spiraled upward in thick plumes, and you could feel the faint sting of it in your nostrils, even as the weight of the blindfold made the world blur into darkness.

Your breath hitched as the mattress dipped beside your hips, a subtle shift that sent every nerve ending screaming awake. The blindfold turned the world into a void, and in that darkness, every sound amplified. The faint rustle of fabric. The soft clink of his belt as he sat down. The sharp flick of the lighter once more, followed by a second exhale of smoke that drifted across your cheek like a ghost.

"You look… quite helpless, like this," he murmured, his voice a low hum that reverberated against your chest. "I wonder what you'll do now. You can't even see me coming, can you?"

You could hear the amusement in his tone, and it stoked the fire of defiance inside you.

"I don't need to see you to know what kind of monster you are," you hissed, biting back the tightness in your throat.

Sylus’ presence hovered over you like a storm. He put away the tobacco, pressing it down against the tray until its last ember faded into ash.

You could feel the heat of him radiating, the crisp, clean scent of his cologne growing nearer, mingling with the tobacco and subtle musk of his skin. Every breath you took felt laced with danger, and yet there was something irresistible about the way he moved, like a predator toying with its prey. The luxurious bed beneath you shifted with the weight of his body as he leaned closer, just close enough for the heat of his breath to ghost across the curve of your neck.

He wasn’t in a hurry. There was no rush. The teasing silence between you felt like an eternity—your heart pounding in your chest, your pulse thrumming against the cold, unforgiving steel of the handcuffs. You tugged, pulled at your restraints, but they only gave a small, satisfying jingle that mocked your struggle.

“Struggling?” His voice, like velvet and whiskey, was too close, and yet you couldn’t see him. You could only feel his presence, like an electric charge that arced between your skin and his.

“I’m not your toy, Sylus,” you spat, squirming on the bed, body tense and restless.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers traced the edge of your jaw, delicate and deliberate, sending a shiver skittering down your spine. The touch was light—almost playful—but you knew it was a calculated move to test your reaction. Your jaw clenched, and you turned your head away from his touch.

He chuckled. “You can keep telling yourself that. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You think you’re in control.” His fingers dipped lower, brushing the curve of your collarbone, the pads of his fingers circling as if savoring every inch of your skin.

You bit back a breath, trying to remain composed despite the undeniable warmth spreading through your body. But your body betrayed you. Every brush of his fingers, every exhaled word, coiled your insides tighter.

“You’re playing with fire,” you warned, though the words trembled in your throat.

His response was a soft, dangerous laugh, and then, just as you thought he might back away, his lips were on your ear.

“You have no idea how much I like fire,” Sylus murmured, hot and husky in your ear. “It burns. It licks at your skin until there’s nothing left but the heat.” His lips brushed over your earlobe, making your breath catch, but you couldn’t turn your head away. You couldn’t even see him.

You felt his hand—strong and unyielding—grip your chin, lifting your face toward him. You twisted, but the restraints held you fast, and then his lips were there, brushing over your mouth, just a whisper of pressure.

The kiss didn’t come. He teased you with it, letting his lips hover so close you could feel the warmth of him, feel the pulse of his breath.

“I know what you want,” he murmured, lips still a breath away from yours, “and you know exactly what I can give you.”

You tried to fight back, twisting your body beneath him, but it was futile. The strength in his hands was overwhelming, more than you’d ever anticipated. His fingers slipped over your waist, dragging across the fabric of your disheveled clothes, tracing the lines of your body as if mapping out every secret you tried to hide.

You kicked out instinctively, your heel connecting with his shin in an attempt to push him back. But it only seemed to amuse him further. Sylus’ fingers wrapped around your ankle in a grip so tight you couldn’t move, pulling your leg back and pushing it to the bed as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear.

“You think kicking me will get you out of this?” he asked, voice dripping with amusement and something darker. His lips brushed your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. “It only makes me want to hold you down more.”

Your chest rose and fell with every shaky breath. His proximity made you burn, yet every instinct told you to fight. You bit your lip, forcing your body not to react. “I won’t let you control me, Sylus.”

“Oh, darling,” he whispered, the words sinking into your skin like a promise of something dangerous. He brushed his lips lightly against your earlobe, the touch so soft, it almost felt like a ghost. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

You yanked against the cuffs, trying to twist your body free, but the moment you did, he pressed his knee between your thighs, forcing you to stay still. His touch was all consuming—firm, teasing—his knee nudging, pressing just enough to make your pulse race, but never quite enough to give you what you wanted.

You gritted your teeth, refusing to let him see how much his touch affected you. “Fuck you,” you spat, voice dripping with defiance, though your heart was pounding, erratic in your chest. “I won’t beg.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound rough and amused, as if he was finding your resistance amusing rather than frustrating. His hand moved lower, trailing across your ribs, fingers skimming over the curves of your body with maddening precision. You shivered, trying to turn your face away, but your blindfolded senses only made everything sharper.

You tried to bite at him, teeth snapping in his direction, your breath ragged and angry beneath the blindfold. But Sylus only chuckled again, a sound that made your skin burn and your heart race even faster. He seemed to revel in your resistance.

"Such a fire," he mused, almost to himself. "But it won’t be enough to burn me down."

The lightest brush of his lips against your collarbone made you flinch, your body betraying you in ways you didn’t want to admit. You hissed in frustration, trying to pull away from him, but he was everywhere now—his scent, his heat, his overwhelming presence.

You felt the pressure of his body closer, now brushing against yours. Your breathing was shallow, erratic, every brush of his skin sending a ripple of tension through you. His fingers, still tracing up your thigh, slid higher, pushing the edge of your clothes up with a slow, deliberate drag.

You felt him shift, moving above you like a predator circling its prey. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and your mind screamed at you to fight, to not give in to the burning tension building between you.

“You won’t get away from me,” he whispered, voice dark and filled with something primal. The way he said it made your breath hitch in your throat. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

You squirmed again, trying to break free, but Sylus leaned down, his lips finding the pulse at your throat. His kiss was soft at first—almost gentle—but then his teeth grazed your skin, and you gasped, the sensation sending a flood of heat straight to your pussy. He didn’t let up, his hands moving with a purpose, pulling you closer to him, as though he was marking you as his own.

"I’m going to enjoy watching you squirm, little hunter," Sylus murmured, his voice low and almost pleading with cruel delight. His lips dragged down your neck, his body pressing in close, and the fire between your legs burned hotter, more intense with every breath. The fight was draining from you, replaced by something else—a deep ache that you couldn't deny.

“Stop,” you hissed, the defiance still clinging to your voice even as your pulse betrayed you. Your body reacted—tensed, arched, seeking something you couldn’t name. Anything to break the suffocating tension.

But Sylus wasn’t interested in letting you off that easily.

He didn’t stop. Instead, he leaned in, lips finally meeting yours in a slow, agonizing kiss. His mouth was fierce, claiming, tasting, as his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you deeper into him. The kiss was a clash of heat and hunger, a storm that flooded your senses.

His hand slid down your ribs, and you gasped at the sudden heat of his touch. He was testing your limits, deliberately pushing you until your restraint faltered. His voice came again, softer this time, the heat of it like a furnace against your ear.

“You like that?”

You kicked, thrashing against the bed in a futile attempt to throw him off, but he simply shifted, pinning your legs down with a weight that left you breathless. Every movement only fueled his resolve, deepened his touch.

“Still fighting?” he asked, lips brushing against your neck as he traced his thumb across your jaw. “Such a shame. I thought you’d learned by now.”

He kissed your throat again, his lips moving with dark intention, pressing against the sensitive skin, as if marking you in a way no one else would dare. The contrast between his warmth and the cold steel of your cuffs made your skin tingle, the sensations amplified by the blindfold that left you without sight but all the more aware of every other nerve in your body.

You couldn’t see him. But you could feel him. Every inch of him. Every breath, every whisper of his touch. The taste of him lingered on your lips, intoxicating. He was a drug—something dangerous and addictive.

You were so close. So close to giving in. But the game was far from over.

Sylus pulled away, his smile wicked in the shadows, his breath hot against your cheek. "You're so predictable," he taunted, his voice a seductive caress. "But that's what makes this so much fun."

You could feel the heat of his eyes on you, even through the blindfold, and you clenched your fists in anger. "I'm not playing your games," you ground out, your voice shaking with a mix of fear and desire.

"But you are," he murmured, his fingers tracing a line from the base of your throat down to the swell of your breasts. "And you're losing, sweetheart."

You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to moan as his thumb brushed over your nipple, already peaked and sensitive. His touch was a brand, searing through the fabric of your shirt. You felt yourself softening, your body betraying you with every stroke.

“Please,” you breathed out, not sure if you were begging him to stop or to go on.

Sylus’ smirk was palpable in the air, his thumb circling your nipple with a cruel precision that had you writhing beneath him. “Please what?” he whispered, his voice a dark caress that sent a shiver down your spine.

You clenched your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he affected you. But your body had its own agenda, your breaths coming faster, your chest rising and falling against the restraint of the handcuffs.

Sylus chuckled, the sound a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very bed you were bound to. "I've been looking forward to this," he murmured, his hand sliding down to the hem of your shirt. He tugged it upward, the fabric dragging against your skin as it revealed the softness of your stomach. "To finally see what's beneath that stoic exterior."

You felt the coolness of the room against your exposed skin, the stark contrast to the heat of his touch. The anticipation was agonizing—a delicious torture that had your senses on high alert. The smell of his cologne, the sound of his breathing, the way the mattress dipped and groaned beneath his weight as he leaned closer—it all painted a picture in your mind that was more vivid than any sight.

“You’re going to regret this,” you whispered, trying to sound menacing, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

“Doubtful,” he chuckled, his voice a dark purr that sent a shiver down your spine. His hand slid up under your shirt, his palm flattening against your stomach, the heat of his skin making you quiver. You tried to keep your body still, but it was an impossible task as his fingers danced over your skin.

With a sudden jerk, Sylus ripped the fabric, the sound of the tearing fabric echoing through the room. The shirt was torn away followed by your bra, leaving your breasts exposed to the cool air. You gasped, the chilly bite of the air making your nipples tighten further under his gaze.

Sylus leaned in, his mouth capturing yours again, his tongue demanding entry as his hand moved higher, cupping your breast with a possessiveness that made your toes curl. You whimpered into the kiss, unable to stop yourself, and you felt him smile against your lips. He knew he had you.

His thumb circled your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You arched into his touch, hips moving restlessly against the bed. His other hand moved to your other breast, teasing and taunting until you were panting for more. He broke the kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip.

"Is that all you've got?" you spat out, trying to sound brave.

Sylus’ chuckle was a dark promise. “Oh, no. That’s just the appetizer, darling.” He leaned back, his hand still cupping your bare breast, thumb flicking at the peak. You bit your lip to keep from crying out. The pleasure was unexpected, unwelcome, but it was there, pulsing through your veins like a siren’s song.

He took his time, the sound of his belt unbuckling like a gun cocking in the stillness. The zipper on your pants followed, a slow, meticulous descent that made you feel like a butterfly being unwrapped from a cocoon of steel. You could feel the coolness of the air against your skin, the anticipation making your stomach tighten and your pussy throb.

"You're wet," he mused, “you know that?"

With a firm grip, Sylus pulled your pants down to your knees, leaving you exposed. You kicked again, trying to fight the rising tide of need. But he was too fast, too strong. He caught your ankles in his hands and held them down, his fingers digging into your flesh as he bent to kiss the inside of your thigh. His breath was hot, his tongue tracing the path of your veins, moving closer and closer to your center.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me to taste you, to feel you come apart in my mouth.”

You bit your lip, fighting back the whimper that threatened to spill out. “I want you to go to hell,” you managed, though your voice was little more than a whisper.

Sylus’ smile was a wicked curve against your skin. “Now, now,” he said, his breath warm and teasing against the dampness between your thighs. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

You squirmed again, trying to get away, the movement only serving to arch your pelvis further against the bed. You felt the soft brush of his nose against the fabric of your panties, and despite the anger, your body reacted, your hips jerking slightly. It was a betrayal—but it was a betrayal that had your heart racing, your breaths coming in quick, desperate gasps.

The jolt of sensation, and your breath hitched. He took the opportunity to nip at your inner thigh, teeth scraping just hard enough to make you gasp.

“Say it,” he coaxed, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of your pussy through the fabric. The wetness grew, a silent confession to your body’s betrayal. “Say you want me to lick you until you scream my name. Until you forget why you ever wanted to kill me in the first place.”

You clenched your fists, trying to ignore the way your body responded to his touch. But the way his tongue slid against the fabric of your panties was a sweet agony that made it difficult to hold onto your anger. The heat of his breath against your clit made your hips buck involuntarily.

"You're a monster," you whispered, but it lacked conviction.

"Darling, you kill solely for the money. I don't think you get to tell me that." Sylus' words were laced in sarcasm. He pressed his lips on the damp spot of your lace panties, sneaking a deep inhale of your arousal before pulling away.

Your body was trembling now, your mind racing with a mix of anger and lust. The way he talked about your past made you feel cheap, used—like you were just a toy to him, but the way he touched you...it was driving you wild.

“You’re right, I’m a monster,” Sylus whispered, his breath a warm caress against the damp fabric. “But so are you, aren’t you?” His voice was a seductive purr, his words a dark confession that seemed to resonate deep within you.

You felt his fingers hook under the elastic band of your panties, sliding them down your legs, exposing you completely. The coolness of the air made you shiver, but it was the heat of his gaze that made your skin burn.

"I don't want this," you lied, trying to ignore the slickness between your thighs.

Sylus' response was a knowing smirk that you could feel rather than see. "Your body says otherwise," he whispered, his thumb stroking your pussy lightly. You bit back a moan, the sensation sending a jolt through your body.

You felt the bed shift as he stood, the loss of his weight making you feel exposed and cold. The silence was maddening, but it was broken by the sound of his clothes dropping to the floor. Your heart raced as you tried to imagine what he was doing, the anticipation making you wetter.

“What are you doing?” you choked out, trying to sound more in control than you felt.

“What does it feel like?” His voice was a dark caress as his fingers found the fabric of your torn blouse. He took his sweet time, brushing the stray fabric with a leisurely confidence that made your heart race even faster. The fabric parted, revealing the swells of your breasts more.

“What does what feel like?” you asked, playing dumb, though you knew exactly what he was referring to.

“The anticipation,” he said, his voice a low growl. “The sweet, sweet taste of victory as it lingers on your tongue. And the thrill of knowing you’re about to get what you’ve been chasing for so long.”

Sylus' words hung in the air like a promise as you felt the coolness of your breasts exposed, the air teasing your nipples into hard, sensitive peaks. His fingers danced the side of your breasts, his movements a silent question. You didn’t respond, but your body did, arching into his touch without your consent.

With a smug chuckle, he tugged at your overstimulated nipples, rolling them gently between calloused fingers. The sensation was jolting, making you gasp as your skin tightened into gooseflesh. But it was his eyes—his hungry, predatory gaze—that had your breath hitching. He studied you like a piece of art, his eyes lingering on the rosy tips of your breasts, the way they pointed to the ceiling in silent invitation.

And then, with a suddenness that took your breath away, he leaned in. His mouth closed over one peak, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud in a dance that was both tormenting and exquisite. You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your lips, the sound a mix of protest and pleasure. He bit gently, the sting sending a bolt of electricity straight to your core.

You writhed beneath him, the cuffs biting into your wrists as you tried to arch away from the sensation. But Sylus was relentless, his mouth moving to the other breast as his hand took over, his thumb and forefinger rolling and pinching your nipple, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

“Please...” you whispered, the word slipping out despite your best efforts.

Sylus’ eyes glinted with triumph, his mouth releasing your nipple with a soft pop. He leaned back, his eyes raking over your exposed body with a hunger that was both terrifying and thrilling.

“Please what?” he taunted, his voice a low, seductive murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. “Please stop, or please more?”

Déja vu.

You glared at him, though you knew he couldn’t see it through the blindfold. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you spat.

Sylus’ smirk grew wider. “Immensely,” he admitted, his eyes dark and gleaming. He slid a hand down your stomach, the calloused pads of his fingers leaving trails of fire in their wake. His touch was both terrifying and thrilling—like a dance with a snake, you weren’t sure if you’d end up charmed or bitten.

The bed shifted, his weight moving to hover over your chest. His thighs bracing against the sides of your breasts, the tip of his cock brushing against your cheek. The smell of him was intoxicating—musk and power, a heady combination that made your mouth water in spite of yourself. You could feel the heat of him, the solid length of him, the blunt reality of his desire pressing into your skin.

“Open up, darling,” Sylus murmured, his voice thick with arrogance. “Let’s see if you can handle what I have to offer.”

With a jerk of your head, you tried to turn away from him, the tip of his cock grazing your cheek. The gesture was one of defiance, but it only served to make him chuckle. His hand wrapped around your jaw, turning your face back to him, his grip firm but not painful.

“You don’t get to dictate the terms here,” he said, his voice a soft command. “You’re mine now.”

You felt his hand tighten on your jaw, his thumb stroking your bottom lip, the pressure of his cock against your cheek insistent. You wanted to bite, to make him feel the same pain you did, but the need to breathe was stronger. You parted your lips, the salty taste of him coating your tongue as he slid inside your mouth.

He groaned, a sound that was pure male satisfaction, and you felt a twinge of anger at the power he had over you. But that anger was quickly drowned by the sensation of his length pushing deeper, filling your mouth, his hand guiding you to take him as he wished.

Your tongue worked against him, reluctant but obedient, as he began to thrust in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had your cheeks hollowing with every movement. You could feel the slickness of your own arousal coating your thighs, the wetness a traitorous confession of how much he affected you.

Sylus’ eyes never left your obscured ones, watching your every reaction with an intensity that made you feel both exposed and desired. The hand that wasn’t guiding your head moved to cup your breast, his thumb teasing the nipple in a rhythm that matched his hips. Each tug sent a pulse of pleasure straight to your pussy, making it difficult to maintain your resolve.

But you wouldn’t give in. You couldn’t. You were a bounty hunter, not a plaything for his amusement.

With a growl, you tried to buck your hips, to push him away, but the movement only served to drive him deeper into your mouth. His grip on your jaw tightened, a silent warning not to bite.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice a dark praise that had you clenching your fists. You hated the way your body responded to him, the way your pussy grew wetter with every stroke of his cock.

The hand on your breast moved down, his fingers slipping between your legs to find your clit. The touch was feather-light at first, a mere whisper of sensation that had you gasping around his cock.

You could feel his smirk against your skin even as he began to move faster, his hips pistoning into your mouth, his thumb circling your clit with a skill that was impossible to ignore. You tried to fight it, to hold onto your anger, but the tension was building, the pressure growing with every beat of your heart.

The hand on your jaw released, leaving you gasping for air as he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty. But the relief was short-lived as you felt his wetness coat your cheek, a silent declaration of his intent.

“You want this just as badly as I do,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Admit it.”

You bit back the words that wanted to spill out, the truth that you were dangerously close to begging. Instead, you turned your face away, your jaw clenched tightly.

Sylus chuckled again, a sound that seemed to echo through the room. “Alright, if you want to play hard to get...”

The bed shifted again, and you felt him move away. But before you could take a breath, you felt his mouth replace his hand between your legs, his tongue flicking against your clit with a precision that had your body arching off the bed.

“Sylus!” you gasped, the word torn from your throat despite your efforts to keep it contained.

He chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body. “That’s better,” he murmured, his mouth closing over your clit, sucking and licking with a hunger that was almost terrifying.

Your legs trembled, your toes curling into the bed. The handcuffs bit into your wrists as you tried to find purchase, the pain a strange counterpoint to the pleasure that was building deep within you.

Sylus’ mouth was a weapon, his tongue a masterstroke that painted patterns of desire on your sensitive flesh. He licked and sucked with an intensity that was almost punishing, his teeth grazing your clit with enough pressure to make you jolt but never quite enough to push you over the edge. You could feel his smile against your skin, his enjoyment of your struggle a dark thrill that only added to the tension coiling in your belly.

Your hips moved of their own accord, trying to find the friction you so desperately craved. His fingers slid into your pussy, the invasion both welcome and unwelcome, stretching you as he explored your depths with a curious thoroughness that had you biting your lip to keep from crying out.

His tongue swirled and danced, each pass bringing you closer to the precipice, your body tightening like a spring ready to snap. You felt the beginnings of your orgasm building, a crescendo of sensation that seemed to echo through the very air.

Sylus’ teeth scraped your clit, the sensation sending a bolt of pleasure that had you arching off the bed, a desperate sound ripped from your throat. He didn’t stop, his tongue lapping at your folds, his fingers curling inside you, the rhythm of his mouth and hand in perfect synchronization—creating a salacious symphony of wet slurping and reluctant moans of delight.

Your mind was a whirlwind of sensation, thoughts of escape and anger lost in the storm of pleasure. The only thing that remained was the need, the all-consuming demand for release.

But just as you felt the first wave of your climax building, he pulled away, leaving you panting and trembling with need. The absence of his touch was a physical ache, your body crying out for more.

“Please just…” you begged, the word slipping from your lips despite your best efforts.

Sylus’ laugh was a dark symphony that seemed to fill the room, his eyes gleaming with victory. “Ah, so you do know how to ask nicely,” he murmured, his voice a sweet torture that had you clenching around his fingers.

He didn’t move for a moment, letting your desperation build, the anticipation almost as potent as the pleasure. Then, with a smug smirk, he leaned back in, his mouth closing over your clit with a renewed fervor that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

You were lost now, unable to hold back the tide of sensation. Your body bucked against his mouth, your legs tightening around his head as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. The hand that wasn’t cupping your breast slid down to your waist, his grip firm as he held you in place, his other hand continuing to play with your nipples.

You could feel the orgasm building, the pressure in your core threatening to burst like a dam. You didn’t know if you could take much more—every touch, every lick was like a match thrown on gasoline.

And then, with a final, agonizing stroke, you shattered. The world fell away, leaving only the blissful oblivion of pleasure. You screamed his name as waves of ecstasy crashed over you, pussy juices pouring like ambrosia that made him want to taste you more.

Sylus didn’t let up, his mouth working you through the climax, drawing out every last tremor until you were limp and panting, the handcuffs the only thing keeping you anchored to reality. You felt him shift, his weight leaving the bed, and for a moment, panic gripped you. But then you felt the coolness of a cloth against your face, gently wiping away the sweat and tears.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice a dark purr that had your heart racing. “Now, let’s see if you’re as good at giving as you are at receiving, shall we?”

The blindfold was removed, and you blinked against the sudden brightness, your eyes adjusting to the sight of him standing before you. He was completely naked now, his cock erect and the bulbous tip gleaming with precum.

The look in his eyes was a challenge, a promise of what was to come. You took a deep, shuddering breath, your body still humming with the aftermath of your orgasm. You knew what he wanted, knew what he expected of you.

With a smirk, Sylus positioned himself between your spread legs, the tip of his cock brushing against your swollen pussy. Your body was still reeling from the intense orgasm he’d wrung from you, but the anticipation of what was to come had your breath hitching.

He didn’t rush, taking his time to align himself with your sensitized cunt, his eyes never leaving yours. The teasing was a silent declaration of his dominance, a promise of the pleasure—and pain—he had in store for you.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he slid the tip of his cock along the plump folds of your labia, the sensation making you bite your bottom lip to keep from gasping. He watched you, his expression one of dark amusement, his eyes hooded with lust.

The first shallow thrust made you moan, your body already begging for more. But Sylus was in no hurry, pulling out almost immediately and leaving you with only the memory of his thickness. Your eyes narrowed, and you could feel the challenge in his touch. You weren’t going to let him win so easily.

“You’re going to beg for it, aren’t you?” you taunted, your voice a mix of defiance and need.

Sylus chuckled, the sound low and predatory. “We’ll see about that,” he said, leaning in to kiss you again. His tongue danced with yours, the taste of you still on his mouth, making you crave him even more.

The second time he pushed into you, he went deeper, the pressure making you arch your back. You could feel every inch of him, the thickness of his cock stretching you, filling you in a way that was almost painful.

But you wouldn’t beg. Not yet. You’d make him work for it.

He pulled out again, leaving you panting and desperate. The room was filled with the slick sound of his cock sliding along your wetness, a sound that seemed to echo in your ears.

“Please,” you whispered, unable to stop the word from escaping.

Sylus’ eyes gleamed with victory, his smirk turning into a full smile. “There it is,” he murmured, his voice a seductive purr that seemed to resonate in your very bones.

He slammed into you then, the suddenness making you cry out. The handcuffs bit into your wrists, the pain mixing with pleasure, making it impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Sylus’ hips moved in a steady, punishing rhythm, his cock hitting all the right spots, making your body sing with every thrust. You could feel another orgasm building, the pressure mounting with every stroke.

“Is this what you wanted?” you managed to say between gasps. “Is this what you’ve been waiting for?”

His only response was a groan, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration as he drove into you, his teeth gritted with the effort to hold back his own release.

The third time he pulled out, you were ready to beg for more. The need was a living thing inside of you, demanding to be satiated. But you bit your tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

When he entered you again, it was with a force that had your eyes rolling back in your head. You could feel yourself getting wetter with every movement, the friction making your toes curl and your back arch. The hand that had been playing with your breasts moved to your clit, his thumb pressing down with just the right amount of pressure.

Your second orgasm crashed over you like a wave, stealing your breath and your resolve. You screamed his name, the sound echoing through the room as you shuddered around him, your body writhing in pleasure.

You were lost in the sensation, unable to do anything but feel. The handcuffs that had once been a symbol of your captivity now felt like a strange sort of freedom, allowing you to give in completely to the storm of pleasure.

Watching you lose yourself once more to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your veins, Sylus allowed himself an indulgent flush of pride at having brought his enemy to such heights of ecstasy twice in quick succession. With every guttural cry that escaped your trembling lips, he felt himself edging closer towards a gratifying climax.

His rhythm grew erratic, his breaths coming in harsh pants as he pumped into you with a ferocity that sent shockwaves through the very core of your being. The headboard thudded against the wall in a staccato beat, setting the room's atmosphere alight with a primal energy that seemed to feed the flames of your passion.

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, those eyes filled with a mix of anger, desire, and something else—something unidentifiable that sent a shiver down his spine. The fire in your gaze only served to stoke his own, making him push deeper, harder, until you were both teetering on the brink of oblivion.

And then, with a final, earth-shattering thrust, Sylus let go.

"Fucking hell…" He panted heavily, his mind momentarily blanked out by sheer physical exertion required to reach his explosive peak. His eyes rolling back in his head as he emptied himself into you, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. Your walls tightened around him, milking every drop of semen from his body.

For a moment, the world stilled, the only sounds the harsh gasps of your shared breathing. Then, with a shudder, Sylus collapsed on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his heart pounding against your chest.

One of his hands gently cradled the back of your head as he kissed you, his mouth soft and seeking. The kiss was a stark contrast to the raw power of his earlier touches, a gentle reminder that even in this twisted game of power and domination, there was something deeper—a connection that neither of you could deny.

As your breathing evened out, he pulled back, his gaze searching yours for any signs of regret or fear. But all he found was a smoldering challenge. The fire in your eyes had not been extinguished—it had only been banked, waiting for the next round.

With a smirk that held the promise of future battles and even greater pleasures, Sylus reached up to unlock the handcuffs, his movements surprisingly gentle as he freed you from the headboard. The metal clicked open, the sound echoing in the quiet room like the promise of release.

You didn't move immediately, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rippling through your body. But as the reality of the situation set in, you pushed him off, sitting up with a jerk, the fabric of your torn shirt sticking to your damp skin.

"This isn't over," you murmured, your voice thick with a mix of lust and anger.

Sylus chuckled, his cock still semi-erect and gleaming with the evidence of your passion. "On the contrary," he said, his voice a seductive promise. "It's only just begun."

The air in the suite grew thick with tension, the power dynamics shifting once again as you both stared at each other, the unspoken challenge hanging between you like a live wire.

"You're mine," he said, his voice a low, possessive growl. "You've always been mine, even when you were chasing me across the galaxy."

You stood, the remnants of your clothing falling away to reveal the marks his desire had left on your body—the bruises from his grip, the bite marks on your skin; and especially the creamy white liquid that has started running down your inner thighs. You felt a strange thrill at the sight, a dark thrill that made your stomach clench.

"And now," he continued, his eyes never leaving yours, "now, you're going to find out just how much of a monster I can truly be."

The smile that played on his lips was the most terrifying thing you'd ever seen—promising a night of pleasure and pain that would leave you forever changed, forever marked as his. And deep down, you knew that you were ready for it. You were ready for whatever he had in store.

You took a step towards him, the taste of his dominance still lingering on your tongue. "Bring it," you said, your voice a dare.

Sylus' smile widened, and in that moment, you realized that you had just accepted his challenge. You had stepped into the lion's den, and there was no turning back. The hunt was over—now, it was time to become the prey.

The anticipation of what was to come had you on edge, your heart racing in your chest like a wild animal.

[deathc-re]

oh, how he just wants to make a pretty little house wife of you. leave you with absolute freedom and autonomy over your time.

you want to go shopping? here's his card.

you want to join a yoga/ pilates/ kickboxing class? let's register you together!

you want to renovate the kitchen? my buddy knows a guy.

he wants to come home and smell the amazing cooking you have for him. or on lazy days, plop on the couch with you and eat take out.

he wants to smile at his phone while at work because you sent him a selfie of you eating breakfast at noon, or taking the dog for a walk, or with shopping backs in the trunk or with the people you're volunteering with or whatever it is your heart desires.

he wants to see you on the porch, barefoot and pregnant, rubbing your belly and waving to him as he pulls up in the driveway.

he wants to hear you ramble on about the new book you read and hated/loved. or help you brainstorm ideas for your passion project.

he wants to brag about you to all his work buddies and bring you to all the corporate dinners and stroke his own ego while you bashfully tell his coworkers that you "don't have a job, my husband takes care of everything."

NANAMIN, BAKUGO, KIRISHIMA, FATGUM, IZUKU, aizawa, yuuta, armin, iida, iwazumi, sugawara + whoever else you want!

[uglygirltrying]

barbarian!ghost x princess!reader | pt2 to this

princess!reader whose new life, after the wedding, was as easy as it could possibly be. she just had to sit still and look pretty. most difficult part of her new life, was her new husband. he's a hard head. a piece of work, as she liked to think. as if he could be changed.

barbarian!ghost who liked his new wife. enjoyed her, even. she's pretty, sure. but she's a good girl too. and he liked that. he liked how he needed to protect her. keep her safe and warm. fed and happy. and, he'd gladly do just that.

princess!reader whose stuff was starting to make itself home. her clothes filled the dresser. her vanity table stood against the wall. fresh vase of roses on the nightstand every morning.

her smell stuck on the pillows.

barbarian!ghost who would only trust his most loyal men to guard her. the men he trusted, not to let his wife get hurt. not get touched. the men he trusted, to always know, whose wife the princess was.

barbarian!ghost who would probably never admit how much he was actually ready to do for her.

how many men he would kill at her word, before ever asking anything in return.

how many kingdoms he would take over, just for her to wear their riches.

and how much he would sacrifice, just for her to sleep in his arms every night.

taglist: @soapisdaddy

sorry that it's so short, and barely anything. i didn't feel inspired. but i still wanted to post at least something, because it was requested🙏 if i get inspired, I'll probably rewrite in another style, not this listing thing yk

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Werewolf

There's something terrorising your town every full moon. And a stroke of bad luck has you running into it more than once.

There's something terrorising your town.

The chickens are turning up dead, torn apart with their feathers and blood clumped together all over the yard. The pigs spend every full moon squealing and running around their pens like they can smell a predator in the air. The hunters say there's strange tracks out in the deep woods, tracks bigger than any wolf they've ever seen.

And there's scratches on your door - deep, gouged out claw marks like something wants to dig its way into your house.

You try not to get worked up about it.

It's probably just a fox or a coyote, right? Everyone knows they steal a chicken now and then. And you've seen the six-packs of beer your dad takes when he goes hunting. Dog tracks look pretty damn big when you're drunk and it's dark out, don't they?

You try not to get worked up about it, but every full moon you double check your locks.

You're squinting at the local paper when your best friend comes up behind you and slings his arm across your shoulders. He plucks the paper out of your hand and scoffs at the headline.

"Chickens found dead at McKinnly farm? No one should be surprised by that. Old McKinnly doesn't even have the coop properly fenced in."

"Hey! I wasn't done reading that."

He balls the paper up and tosses it into the dustbin with a smooth overhead throw.

"You are now. C'mon y/n, don't tell me you're buying into all this werewolf business too?"

Your best friend towers over you, every inch of him well bred, football star muscle. You have to crane your neck to properly glare at him.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's just sensational nonsense."

"Oh yeah? So you ain't scared of a big bad wolf breaking into your bedroom one night?"

It's your turn to scoff. "That's a pervert, not a wolf. How's a wolf even supposed to open a window?"

The school bell rings before he can give you an answer.

He groans. "I've got extra practice again tonight. Will you come watch me? We can get pizza after."

You grin. "Breaking News! Star quarterback needs his favourite cheerleader around to make life bearable."

He flicks your forehead. "Damn right I do. So whatcha say?"

"Sure. Someone's gotta be around to keep you on your toes."

It's only when he's long out of sight that you remember - you're one night away from the full moon.

He destroys his team mates at practice. When he's pounding down the field, head down and his fingers curled like claws around the ball, he almost looks inhuman.

After practice, he catches you before you can scramble away and rubs his sweaty face all over you.

"Ewwww." You shove him at him unsuccessfully. "You do that every time! It's so gross!"

"Gotta be faster than that squirt," he laughs.

By the time he's done in the locker room, you've already ordered pizza for the both of you.

You head up to the overlook, his old Mustang growling down the highway.

The overlook is exactly what it sounds like - a hill high over town with a great view of the twinkling streets far below. It's a clear night, and the almost full moon casts a silvery shadow over everything.

He slings his arm across the back of your seat and complains when you pick the olives off your side of the pizza.

"God, I hope your taste in men is better than your taste in pizza."

"My taste in men and pizza are equally questionable, thank you very much."

He laughs, "At least you're self aware. Speaking of guys, I know Murrey from Algebra asked you to prom, and Dave from Homeroom."

You groan. "How did you even hear about that?"

"I've got ears like a wolf." He turns to face you. "What did you tell them?"

"I said no. You and I go together every year."

"Atta girl." He sounds pleased.

You offer him some of your discarded olives and he bites them straight out of your fingers.

"Y'know, lots of girls were awfully disappointed you didn't ask them. When are you gonna get yourself a girlfriend, mister star quarterback?"

He leans down and ruffles your hair. "I got you in my life, don't I? That's plenty."

Eventually, his arm finds it's way to your shoulder, and he pulls you against his side. He's warmer than you and when you curl up against him, he smirks and says that's what you get for being hopelessly under dressed.

There's an old love song on the radio and you fall asleep with your hand knotted in his jacket.

He drives home extra slow and when he shakes you awake, his hands linger on your waist.

You rub your eyes groggily. "Goodnight mister wolf."

You're already halfway up the driveway before he replies, his voice too soft to hear.

"Goodnight little lamb."

On the night of the full moon, you wake up to a cloudy sky and your dog scratching at your bedroom door to be let out.

You struggle into your slippers and mutter about better toilet training. When you open the back door, he slips past your legs and shoots off into the trees. Yawning, you rest your elbows on the porch railing and try not to fall asleep.

It's only when you hear him yelping that you come awake fully.

"Cruiser? What's wrong boy?"

The street lights reach all the way to the edge of your lawn but the trees beyond are black dark. You make you way down carefully, your sense of unease growing with every whistle he ignores.

Your dad left his old wind up torch near the shed and you grab it. It whirs to life with a dull flicker.

Cruiser is whimpering louder now. You follow the sound of it, ducking under branches and trying not to slip in your flimsy slippers.

The clouds clear and for a minute or two, the forest is bright enough that you barely need the torch. You find Crusier backed up against a tree, his tail tucked between his legs. He ignores you when you call him, staring out into the dark and whining like you've never heard before.

"What's wrong boy? What's out there?"

You can't help the fear you feel. Your dog is hard to scare and you've never seen him this frightened.

Twigs snap in the gloom and you swing your torch around wildly. You try and tell yourself that it might be a deer, wandering in from the deep forest. But all you can think about is the local paper.

"Chickens torn apart. Vet suspects large wolf on the prowl."

But it can't be here, right? You're practically on the main road. You reach down and grab Cruiser's collar, your heart racing. The dog barely acknowledges you when you tug on it.

"Heel Cruiser. C'mon boy."

You try and whisper, but your voice comes out high and nervous. His whimper changes into a low growl that vibrates through his collar.

That's when the moon comes out again. And you see the werewolf.

It's coat is dark and thick, and it's crouched halfway behind a tree. Less than twenty feet away.

How the hell did it get so close without you hearing it?! Adrenaline slams into you and your heart skips into overdrive. You turn on your heel and run.

The funny thing about adrenaline is the way your own body takes control. You duck under branches before your conscious mind even realises they're there. You run faster than you ever thought possible, trees streaking by in black blurs.

You hear footsteps behind you but you can't tell if it's Cruiser or the wolf. You don't bother checking. You just keep your head down and sprint like the Devil is on your heels. Hell, he might be.

The werewolf catches you just as you break out of the tree-line. It slams into you from the side and sends you sprawling.

As you scramble to your knees, you get your first good look at the terror of the town. It's bigger than any wolf you've ever seen. Closer to the size of a small grizzly, with the thick fur to match. It's down on all fours, but it's forelegs are unusually long. It's paws are strangely misshapen and for a second, they look almost like hands. It's body feels more ape than wolf.

Oh, but it's teeth are all canine. All sharp, curving fangs, shining with spit.

It sniffs the air and with a start you realise that you're bleeding. Your palms are sliced up from trying to cushion your fall. Blood, you think numbly. Blood is supposed to make carnivores more aggressive. Whett their appetite.

Staring up at its drooling maw and narrowed eyes, you find it hard to believe anything could be more bloodthirsty.

It lunges for your throat and if it weren't for Cruiser, you'd be dead.

The dog shoots out from the forest, barking loud enough to wake the neighbourhood. He jumps at the creature's back, sinking his teeth into the fleshy muscle where neck and shoulder meet.

The werewolf roars.

It reaches up and tears Cruiser off with one nasty yank. Your dog thuds into the ground with an ugly cracking sound.

You scream - half terror and half rage. Cruiser is trying to stand, but can't manage it. One paw hangs uselessly. Oh, your poor, brave dog.

You act without thinking.

You lunge forward and punch straight at the werewolf's nose. It's hard and wet, and your fist keeps going even after contact. His teeth leave shallow cuts on your knuckles.

The werewolf yelps. Like a kicked puppy.

It backs away a few steps before lowering it's head and snarling. It gears up for another pounce.

That's when your daddy shoots it. The blast from his shotgun knocks the werewolf right out of the air.

It crashes down and scrambles to its feet. Its head swings wildly between you and your father. It growls one final time before turning on its heel and bounding into the trees.

How the hell could it even stand after a blast like that? You shudder, your eyes fixed on the trees.

You can hear your dad on the phone, frantically reporting to the Sheriff's office. You sink to your knees next to Cruiser. He draws his eyes up to yours and whines.

"My brave boy..." You stroke his head with the back of your hand and accidentally stain his fur with blood. "I'm so sorry. I'm so damn sorry."

He cranes his neck and licks the tears off your cheek. Just like when he was a puppy. You laugh, high and hysterical. And once you start, you can't stop.

Somewhere in the forest, the wolf howls.

You can't sleep at all after that. And when the Deputies question you, it takes almost all night. They don't believe you entirely, but the tracks their dogs pick up are strange enough to garner a few nervous looks.

You're on the porch, clutching a warm drink and watching the sunrise, when your best friend finds you.

He sweeps you up in a crushing hug, his cheek pressed firmly against your hair.

"Are you okay? I came as soon as I heard."

You pull away, confused. He cups your face in his hand and gently twists it left and right, scanning for any cuts or bruises.

"What? Who told you?"

He cooks his head. "You did. A few minutes ago."

Did you? You don't remember calling him. But you're tired and frightened. Maybe you just can't remember everything.

He sits you down on the porch swing and carefully inspects your palms while you tell him what happened.

"It wasn't a wolf. You believe me right? I saw it clear as day."

"You were pumped up on adrenaline and fighting for your life. You can't be sure what you saw." He sighs, "Maybe it was a wolf or maybe it was a bear or maybe it was some exotic animal that we've never heard about. But really y/n, it sure as hell wasn't a werewolf."

"Yeah... but..."

In the daylight, werewolves and horror feel silly. Illogical. You aren't a kid anymore, you shouldn't be letting your imagination run wild. There's definitely a reasonable explanation.

But every time you think about it, the more sure you feel. That creature was nothing normal or logical at all. It was wrong. Anatomy all out of proportion, eyes too bright and aware, the smell of it more like human sweat than dog musk.

No, you didn't imagine any of it. It wasn't a wolf at all.

"How's Cruiser doing?"

You take a sip of your drink and try not to cry. "Not good. The emergency vet came by and rushed him to surgery. Multiple broken bones they say, maybe some internal bleeding."

He sucks in a breath. "Oh y/n, I'm so sorry."

He opens his arms and you curl up against him gratefully. His letterman jacket is soft against your skin and the smell of him envelopes you.

"I still remember the day you got him for me," you say.

He rubs soothing circles across your back.

"He was such a runt back then. All eyes and big floppy ears. When you pulled him out of your jacket, I didn't realise he was a puppy. I thought you got me some weird stuffed teddy."

He laughs. "I tried putting a bow on him y'know. But he kept tryna bite my fingers off."

You laugh too. "I could never figure out why he didn't like you."

"Jealousy I say. Didn't want me to steal you away."

You punch his arm, smiling. "You're the only guy who'll compete with a dog for my attention."

"If that's what it takes. Put a leash on me right now if you want."

You scoff and curl up closer against him. "I would but they don't come in your size big guy."

You're too tired to notice the bruise on your best friend's nose, or the way he flinches when you touch his side. For a little while, you make the awful mistake of forgetting about the beast.

Prom comes faster then you expect. Your dress gets measured and tailored and steamed. You spend days practicing different hair styles. Cruiser limps around behind you, whining for treats like he wasn't touch and go just a month ago. The moon grows thin and then round again.

When you pull up at your best friend's house, his parents are on their way to a party of their own. His mother gives you a peck on the cheek and says you look stunning and to not forget the keys when you leave.

You laugh and wave them off and almost forget about the full moon streaming through the trees.

The house is quiet and you make your way to his room, your heels hanging from your fingers.

"Hey princess!" You knock on his door. "Are you ready yet? I'm coming in!"

You open the door to an empty room, his tux still on its hanger.

"Oh. My. God. How are you still not done?"

You can hear the shower running and you pound at the door. "We're gonna be late! I swear I'm going to kill you when you get out of there."

No response.

"Hey! I know you can hear me!"

Still nothing.

You try the handle and the door swings open a crack. Steam billows out and you slap a hand over your eyes before you can see anything too revealing.

"Hurry it up! We're gonna miss all the good songs if you don't get dressed soon. Do you really wanna slow dance to something Mr Jared the gym teacher picks out?"

You hear the slap of footsteps on wet tile and breath a sigh of relief. "Did all that football practice knock your ears outta wack? I've been yelling at you since I got here."

Something growls, low and deep.

Your eyes shoot open and you step back. But you're still too slow to react and the werewolf leaps at you. Its heavier than a man and you tumble to the floor together, its paws pinning you down by the shoulders.

Its snout is right in front of your face, almost touching your nose. Lips curl away from awfully long fangs.

It growls almost like a man, almost like it's saying, "Mine."

You scream, kicking and tossing and failing to get away. It's claws prick holes in the satin of your dress and draw little beads of blood.

You scream your best friend's name, terrified that the beast got him too. You're going to die, you think desperately, you're going to die and your poor mother won't even be able to refund your prom dress. If you weren't screaming, you might have laughed.

But the monster doesn't kill you.

Instead, it licks the tears off your cheek. Just like Cruiser did a month ago. It growls again, but the sound is lighter. Pleased almost.

You grow still, confused and terrified of provoking it. Your best friend's room is cluttered with football gear - trophies and jerseys and signed helmets. The moon shines dully off all of it. And you're in the very centre, with a monster pinning you to the ground.

The moon dips behind a cloud and the werewolf changes right before your eyes. Hair and snout receding, his eyes darkening from wolf amber to warm brown.

It's only his teeth that stay the same. All sharp points that peak through his lips.

Your best friend is on top of you, totally naked and still warm from the shower.

"I didn't want to hurt you y/n, I swear."

His voice is lower somehow, like the wolf's growl is just under the surface.

You're too shocked to move. Too shocked to scream. This must be a dream. It's too surreal to be real.

He leans down and kisses you on the cheek. "I wanted to tell you. But it would have sounded crazy. I grow claws and teeth on the full moon? I heal faster than I used to? I can smell when you're ovulating and when you're on your period?"

He pulls back and tilts his head. "When we were kids, we promised we wouldn't keep secrets. And now you know."

"You...you were outside my house that night."

He laughs. "I'm outside your house every night dummy. That was just the night you caught me."

"Why?"

He shakes his head the way he always does when you say something dumb. "To keep you safe. To keep other animals away from you. To protect you, like I said I would."

His hands slip from your shoulders to your waist. "But now you know."

He grins, his teeth awfully sharp. "Now I can make you just like me."

He holds you down and kisses you and nips at your neck hard enough to draw blood. And when the clouds clear from the moon, you feel your teeth start to lengthen.

Something is terrorising your town. And you should have know better than to cross its path.

[sunnypopoki]

━ 𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐙𝐋𝐄 : P.1

(𝘠𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘢 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳)

𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦: 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺. 𝘎𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴, 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯… 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶? 𝘓𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘢 𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨.

ᴛᴡ: ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴏᴜʟ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ, ᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴀꜰᴀʙ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴇᴛᴄ.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄɪᴢᴇ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇꜱ, ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴘᴏᴋɪ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, Qᴜᴏᴛᴇᴠ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ.

P.2 / P.3

When you first saw him, you were left breathless.

That was years ago though, back when you were a teenager in high school who was only worried about the acne on your forehead and the 'F' you got in your math class. Now, you were preparing to head into college to become a psychiatrist.

You met Kieran as a freshman and started dating him months after. You weren't sure why you started dating him at first, you couldn't remember what he said that left your cheeks on fire, but the feeling next stopped.

Kieran grumbled curses under his breath as he heaved the last of the groceries through the door. His long black hair was messier than normal, tied into a low bun that curled strands around the nape of his neck. His tanned cheeks were red from the cold outside and a button on his shirt was popped open. Did he tousle a bear to get inside? He put the items on the counter and turned to face you.

"The groceries didn't want to come inside," he mumbled.

"You didn't give me a chance to help you carry them in."

His dark green eyes softened. He didn't look at anyone else the same way he did you. There was a time after you got married that you were afraid that he'd leave you because the two of you were yet to be intimate... but he didn't seem to care. You were glad he didn't care. His arms wrapped around your waist and he pressed a chaste kiss against your forehead.

There it was again. Breathless.

"But you've been working all day, Котик," he cooed, his Russian accent thick whenever he muttered the pet name he always used for you. "You deserve to rest."

All you wanted to do was melt into his arms. You couldn't deny that some part of you already was, sinking further into his embrace, eyes closed—but something was amiss.

Ever since high school, Kieran has been odd. He was a transfer student from London but he was born and raised in Russia, so he was always the popular kid in any class he was placed in. Even after he got in trouble multiple times for delinquent behavior. Sure, his behavior was better than what he was in high school and he was mature, but he was a lot more secretive now. So secretive that he refused to tell you where he went whenever he disappeared for "business trips" for days on end.

Now, you were a trusting wife, but you weren't naive. He worked as an editor for authors and yet he disappeared for days on end because of work? Even a baby could realize that was odd!

That wasn't the only thing though.

You've only been married to Kieran for six months but you were already starting to see signs that he wasn't entirely focused on the marriage anymore. Whenever his phone rang, he scrambled to pick it up before you had a chance to answer it for him. On the days you scheduled to go on dates together, he always arrived late with his clothes tousled about and his hair was undone. Late, late, late! He always seemed to be late for every activity the two of you scheduled together. Of course, he'd apologize over and over again, but the behavior never changed.

So maybe he did look at someone else the same way he did you. The thought left a bitter taste on your tongue.

Is he cheating on me?

It was a thought you never thought you'd have with Kieran. Whenever the two of you were dating in high school, he was loyal to a fault. You couldn't erase the memory of whenever a girl started smack-talking you and he yanked her hard so hard that a chunk of hair came from the roots. Even now, looking at him and being held by him, the thought felt distant. But it was there. That gnawing worry got worse and worse each time he got a call, text message, or left the house.

Well, who'd he be cheating on you with? He refused to have female friends in school because he always claimed that you were the only "woman" he wanted in his life. Of course, you didn't care if he had female friends or not, but you doubted it was someone the two of you knew from high school.

Your jaw clenched. Maybe he's bothered I haven't been intimate with him and he's been going to see someone?

The bitter taste worsened. Making out and slight touches wasn't the same as sex, you knew that, which is why you were so nervous to do it, even if it was with him. He never rushed you and he hadn't ever made comments about it. You listened to the thudding of his heart against his chest and pursed your lips.

You couldn't bring yourself to ask him if he was cheating on you. What if he said yes? What if he wasn't and left you because he thought you were a psycho? What if he lied and continued to cheat? Your hands scrunched up the fabric of his shirt as you hugged him tighter. You didn't want your first love to cause you heartbreak by something as revolting as cheating.

A cold hand pressed against your cheek. Kieran tilted your head back and his eyes flickered across your face. His brow creased in worry.

"Are you okay?"

No, not really. I'm worried you might be cheating on me.

But you couldn't say that.

"Yeah! I'm fine," you beamed and pulled him closer to you. "I just missed you, that's all. It was your day off but you've been out doing errands since this morning. You first went to the pharmacy to get our medicine, then the bank, then to get groceries... aren't you tired?"

He didn't look convinced. Then again, he'd known you since you were fourteen years old, so he knew how to read you like a book. His green eyes darkened momentarily and his teeth nipped at his bottom lip. His fingers traced lines above your cheekbone, jaw, and the shell of your ear.

"I'm sorry. I should have spent more time with you today."

"No, Kieran, what are you even saying? Errands need to be run so I'm appreciative that you did them," your hands fiddled at the button that came undone on his shirt. "That can't stop me from missing you though. I just feel as if you've been..."

His fingers stopped. "What?"

You regretted saying anything at all. You should have just said you missed him after a long day and went on with it, dragged him to the couch, and asked him to watch a movie with you. Your hands pulled away from his shirt and you saw the way his body tensed up like a spring. It wasn't too late to change the conversation. Maybe lie to him and say it was just a joke, that you weren't really worried. No, no, that'd be an asshole thing to do to your spouse, to make them worry you for nothing.

"(Y/N)?"

He never says your name unless he's serious or mad. Your eyes dragged back up to meet his and his jaw was clenched. He didn't look mad, he looked worried. Almost like you just punched him in the gut and he was doing his best to stay upright.

Why did he look like that? Based on all your rushing thoughts, worried about the possibility of him cheating on you, you were the one who was struggling.

"...I just feel as if you have been distant lately," you confessed with a tight smile, "but it's okay. I know you've been busy with work and I've been busy with getting ready for my upcoming lectures next week. I'm probably just being clingy again."

He didn't say anything. You weren't sure if you were supposed to feel hurt that he said nothing or relieved, but you knew that he didn't buy a single thing you just said by the way he was looking at you. He wasn't moving from the position he had on you; hand on your cheek, tense jaw, stiff muscles, darkened gaze. He breathed slowly out through his nose and opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it.

You saw a flicker of something else in his eyes whenever he closed his mouth. Guilt.

Why does he feel guilty? you thought, dread creeping up your spine. Am I right? Is he cheating on me?

You blinked in surprise whenever he pulled you into him again. His nose nuzzled into your neck and you almost suffocated with how tight his arms wrapped around you. His lips pressed little kisses against your neck and he breathed in deeply. For a split second, you almost forgot what you were so nervous about, you almost let the worry of him cheating on you slip from your mind.

"Котик, I'm sorry you've felt so lonely. I'll be able to spend more time with you soon. It's just... work, it gets in the way of so much. But I swear, I'll be able to hang out with you tomorrow without doing anything. I promise, okay?" he let go and cupped your cheeks, "me and you can do whatever you want to do for tonight. A date? I'll do it. Go to bed early? As long as you're in my arms. Anything."

Lies were best told with a sweet tongue. You weren't even sure if he meant well by telling you that, not whenever this wasn't the first time he'd promised something like this. In the end, he always got a call which caused him to leave the house for a couple hours (or sometimes a couple of days). You were used to it by now, so you only forced a smile and nodded. His face lit up.

"We can go ahead and watch a movie now if you want?"

You blinked. Now? He usually put things off whenever it came down to sitting down and watching something. You refrained from glancing at the clock. You wanted to spend time with him but you were already fearful of how much time you could before he was called away or got distracted with something. You couldn't remember the last time you sat down and watched something with him. Though, you supposed it was better than him not being there.

"And what movie do you want to watch?"

He grinned. "I believe I said whatever you want. Maybe we can watch a horror movie? So I can..." he twirled you around and hugged you from behind, "wrap my arms around you like this and protect you from evil. Hm?"

You felt your cheeks warm. "That sounds just like an excuse to hold me."

"I'm your husband, I don't need an excuse for something like that," he kissed your cheek. "truthfully, I adore it whenever you depend on me. That includes each time there's a jumpscare and you almost shit your pants each time."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny. I don't get that scared."

"You cried when we watched The Haunting of Hill House together."

"Okay, there's a difference between a demon that you can't fight and some serial killer breaking into your house! I'd rather take the serial killer. Plus, that was years ago when it first came out and it was a sad show."

You didn't miss the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. Maybe the term 'odd' wasn't the best way to describe him with the way he has been acting recently. After the two of you graduated high school, he started to get touchy about certain topics about crime. He always had a fascination with crime back when he was a teenager in high school, but the topic suddenly became grim for him whenever he got older.

You weren't sure why. Honestly, you've never asked. The topic wasn't something you'd be able to bring up with ease, especially when he tried to change the topic each time someone wanted to talk about true crime or the news with him. You remembered that he was worried when he found out you were going to school to become a therapist... worried that you'd get stuck with a patient who did bad things.

You didn't even want to get into how paranoid he was about the police. That was a different topic entirely.

"I find something real to be much more terrifying than a fictional ghost," he murmured.

"But demons could be real!"

There was a long pause. You felt his muscles churn around you, squeezing you tighter, refusing to let you go and he mumbled seriously. "Promise me that if anyone broke into our house and you had to pick between going with them or a demon, you'd go with the demon."

"What are you on about?" you deadpanned, "I thought were talking about movies, and Kieran, I doubt a scenario like that would ever happen."

"Promise me, (Y/N). Demon or not,  you won't go with anyone who breaks into our house."

Your eyes narrowed. "Keiran, I don't have to promise you something that is common sense. I obviously won't be going with anyone who breaks into our house. You act like you think someone will."

He huffed and let go. The warmth of his embrace leaving left goosebumps all over your body. You didn't get a chance to say anything before he flashed a blinding smile, chuckling.

"I was just making sure. You've always been a daredevil, so I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't try and challenge anyone who barged into our house. I doubt anyone would break in anyway."

It was only natural that you didn't believe him. There were a lot of stories where people said that their partners changed after marriage, sometimes for the better or the worse, and you weren't sure if Kieran's change was good or bad. His paranoid nature only made it hard to believe that he wasn't cheating on you. He was clingy before he married you, but he was overly clingy and sweet now. Which was odd because he was often out of the house or on phone calls...

It was just, well, odd.

"Oh... okay then. Do you need help putting up the groceries before we watch a movie?"

"No need, Котик. You can prepare the movie for us to watch. Choose anything you want."

There was a game you played. Each time you noticed Kieran avoid looking you in the eye, you took three gulps of breath. It was mostly a game you played to calm yourself down from the rush of anxiety you felt each time he did. It left you wondering if you did something wrong, if you made him pissed and he didn't want to look at you anymore. Your lips curled into a frown.

He could just be watching a movie so I wouldn't complain about missing him.

You nodded silently and turned on your heel. It would be best to ignore that entire conversation happened. Worrying over his suspicious and paranoid behavior wouldn't change the fact that he was acting that way. You glanced at him one more time as he placed the milk into the fridge. Yeah. Don't worry about it. Just don't worry.

The living room was down the hallway to the left. The floorboards squealed at the weight and you sighed whenever you walked to the couch, picking up the remote and turning it on.  The two of you didn't have a lot of streaming services so almost everything you watched was on Netflix. Your fingers tapped around and you absentmindedly scrolled through the list of movies.

You were tempted to throw on a movie that you already watched. However, it was supposed to be time spent together and you knew he'd get bored if you clicked something that he had already watched. You clicked a random scary movie. The name was confusing and it looked like a found-footage aesthetic, something about the catacombs under Paris and the philosopher's stone.

"I'm sure he hasn't watched this..."

"Watched what?"

You jumped whenever he clamped a hand on your shoulder. Whipping around on the sofa, Kieran was leaning over the back with a sly smirk on his face.

"Already scared?" he chuckled, "I have a gut feeling you're going to be clinging to me throughout this entire movie."

You pursed your lips. He already got all the groceries done that fast? You knew that he didn't like to waste time but he was insanely fast doing that. He massaged your shoulders whenever he noticed the frown you had, his smile growing wider by the second. He jumped over the back of the couch effortlessly and plopped down right beside you.

"Why are you frowning, my sweet Котик?"

"You got done way too fast with putting the groceries away" you squinted. "It's not normal."

He inhaled. There was a rasp in the back of his throat whenever he leaned forward, his breath tickling your skin. The air was knocked from your lungs whenever his gaze flickered to your lips and back up to yours. "Would you believe me if I told you that I have been craving to be close to you? Especially to kiss you..."

Heat crept up the back of your neck. All the worries you had melted away whenever he pulled you closer to him and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. He wasn't avoiding your eyes, now he was staring so intently that you were afraid that you were going to become a puddle of goo in his arms. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip.

"Mm, can I kiss you?"

"...do you have to ask?"

He chuckled breathlessly, "Yes. It's polite."

"But you're my husband."

"Yes, I am."

His lips smashed against yours. Anything you wanted to say was thrown out the window whenever his hands gripped your waist and yanked your body against his. His hand brushed up your spine, up your neck, brushing over your hair and going to cup your face. His lips were cold and his nose was too, breath smelling like the mint gum he always seemed to chew. The hint of his cologne tickled your nose.

Your hands ran up his arms and you tugged at the collar of his shirt. He was still a ruffled mess from when he came in from outside. His hair was a knotted mess that needed to be brushed out, but that didn't stop your hands from tangling in the strands and tugging at them. A groan tore through his lips.

"God, you're so fucking perfect," he whispered against your lips. "I don't want to stop kissing you now. Mmm, do we have to watch the movie? I want to give you more kisses."

You almost agreed. "...But the movie is already waiting to be played."

He licked his teeth and his hands ran up and down your back. He swallowed and you noticed the dip of his adam's apple, his eyes staring at your lips again. "Of course, we should watch the movie, but..."

"But what?"

"Can I kiss you even more after the movie?"

The fire in your cheeks felt like your skin was melting off. There were times when it felt like you were in high school again, getting all flustered because of his needy nature. Ever since you have known him he has always been the type to enjoy kisses. Even something as chaste as a peck on the forehead, he was a sucker for it. Whenever the two of you first started dating, he'd get so red each time you kissed his cheek, stammering over nothing and quickly kissing your cheek back and scurrying away.

Now look at him. He was pulling you in, begging for more, kissing you like you were his only source of oxygen. He even kissed you like that on your wedding day. His entire family was whooping and cheering after that, and your few family members who attended frowned. You remembered being embarrassed at the time... but you were glad that something like that didn't change.

"Very well. You can kiss me all you want after the movie. Don't try and sneak some in while we are watching, because then you won't focus on the movie at all," you mumbled.

"You're flustered so easily, Котик," he grinned. He leaned into the couch and placed his arm around the back, fiddling with your sleeve as he rested his cheek against your head. "But fineeee. I guess I'll obey your orders for now."

You chuckled and rolled your eyes. It only took you a couple of seconds for you to get comfortable and curl into his side, shuffling to find the remote as he tugged a blanket over you both. You never got an answer on if he watched it before or not but by the way his eyes were glued to the screen whenever you clicked play, you assumed not.

Time became a blur. Now and again he'd comment on the movie or just something toward you, but his arm never moved from its spot behind you. He curled his legs up on the couch and mumbled complaints under his breath whenever he saw the characters do something stupid.

You started to forget your anxieties. Even just for a short while, it was nice to relax with him and to feel him close without having to worry about him leaving to go on some 'business trip'. You were focusing on him too much to even care about the movie. The way his lips formed a thin line whenever he was annoyed, his rapid blinking each time something shocking happened, bouncing his leg up and down.

It was impossible to not love him.

He noticed you staring. His cheeks turned a little pink. "What?"

"Nothing."

His ego would explode if you told him you were staring at him just because he was fun to watch. Hearing his endless teasing wasn't something you were in the mood to hear, so you just feigned looking back at the movie to watch it. His eyes burned into the side of your head for a second long before he looked back to the screen.

You glanced back at him. He was sucked into the TV again. He chewed on the edge of his knuckle and you let your eyes wander. You stared at the tattoos that peeked out from under his collar and sleeve. All those colorful tattoos were hidden away. He had some of them before you met him, which you always found surprising that he had tattoos at such a young age, but he just said "It ran in the family".

It was addicting to trace your fingers over them. Kieran liked laying around shirtless whenever it was summer. You always used to visit his old apartment to sit with him and let him read his books while you doodled on his arms and called them 'new tattoos' while you colored in his blank tattoos. Butterflies fluttered whenever you remembered the way he smiled at you each time you drew on him.

He had so many tattoos that you weren't sure how many he had. Some were in Russian, but a lot of them were creatures from folklore and mythology. Like Baba Yaga, who came from Slavic Folklore, which was tattooed on his right hip. You always used to doodle accessories onto her face.

"Котик, are you going to continue staring at me or are you going to watch the movie?"

You quickly avoided his gaze and looked at the TV. "I am watching the movie."

"Surreee."

Everything was fine for a while. A while, you said, because it didn't take long for all that built-up hope and affection to come back down from its high. Soon enough you'd be feeling the withdrawal. You were in the middle of watching the characters climb through a tunnel of bones whenever a phone started to ring loudly. It bounced off the walls and jarred Kieran out of his trance.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Your smile fell. Kieran cursed.

The arm slung around your shoulder tensed, his hand curling into a fist that turned his knuckles white. His jaw flexed, and the phone rang for a couple more seconds before he moved from the couch and grabbed his phone from the cushion.

It was bad luck. You were convinced that you were cursed with bad luck. A sour taste bubbled in your chest and coated your tongue. Biting at the inside of your cheek, you shut the TV off completely as that swell of expectation came back. The remote was tossed to the side and the blanket slipped to the floor.

You caught a glimpse of the phone screen before he answered it. UNKNOWN. Of course, it was another random number that he didn't have saved to his contacts. You clutched the blanket in your lap and a lump formed in your throat. Seriously? Why were you going to cry? You knew that he wouldn't be focused on you forever. It also wasn't like you knew he was cheating on you, you had no proof, it was just a suspicion. But that didn't stop the familiar sting of tears welling up behind your eyes.

You knew it was a lie whenever he promised to spend the rest of the day with you, you weren't sure why you let your hopes get up. But it still hurt.

He pressed the device to his ear and snapped.

"What?"

Just who was it that made him sound like that? You've never heard him sound so hateful, so nasty, to just some random caller on the phone. That meant he knew who was calling him even when the number popped up. The random person he didn't have saved in his phone. Someone he possibly didn't want to be linked to.

Thousands of questions tumbled through your mind. Kieran wasn't interested in men, so if he was cheating, it wasn't a man... unless he was interested in men and hasn't told you? He has a lot of male friends. No, no, having friends of any gender doesn't just mean that you'll sleep with them or have a second life with them behind your partner. So if it was a woman... where would he have met her? Maybe it was a client and he was editing her book?

He did read a lot of articles. There was always the possibility that it was a writer of those, right? Wait—

I'm not being a good wife right now, you thought. Your nails picked at your cuticles. I'm just assuming things without any proof. Am I being like one of those psychotic, obsessive wives? Is there something wrong with me? What if I'm the issue?

Your bottom lip wobbled. You clamped your teeth on it to keep Kieran from noticing.

He started to pace and ramble around the room in Russian. He didn't seem to be talking to anyone, mostly to himself in frustration, as his hand was placed on his hip and he cursed under his breath. There were many times in your life when you wished you knew Russian; when you first met him, to impress him, to have conversations with him, to learn his culture and language... now you were more concerned if he was frustrated about a girl or not.

The only Russian word you knew that he actively said around you was 'Котик', a Russian term of endearment meant for a lover which meant "kitten" or "kitty". You didn't need to jump leaps to guess what it meant even if it was a somewhat cheesy term to use (at least in your opinion), but you never argued, since he has called you it since the two of you were teenagers.

"I thought I told you to—"

Kieran cut himself off quickly whenever he realized you were still in the room with him. He dragged the phone away from his ear and his eyes snapped to you, his face falling into despair whenever he noticed the TV was off and you were staring up at him. Another broken promise. Another lie. Another phone call he just had to pick up, that he couldn't ignore for one night. Just how many more broken promises were you going to take before you finally asked him why he couldn't keep them?

Damn it. You really wanted to cry.

Even if it wasn't him cheating on you, even if it was work, some part of you wished that he included you in it as well. You were aware that you weren't supposed to be in every single part of his life. The two of you were supposed to be comfortable in the relationship, not joined at the hip breathing down each other's necks.

You just didn't get it. It wasn't like 'work' was going to straight up kill him if he didn't answer the phone for one night!

Kieran didn't know what to do. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at you with so many open emotions on his face that you couldn't read all of them. But he knew what he had done. He picked up the phone and that alone was enough to break a promise, even if he hadn't left the house. Yet. You knew how it worked—he always left the house after late phone calls like this. You were slowly starting to get used to the feeling of falling asleep without him there. And some mornings, he wasn't in bed either, only a note left on the counter with breakfast he made.

His shoulders sank. "Котик, I... uhm, I need to take this phone call real quick so I'm going to step into the other room, okay? I'll be right back though and me and you can finish the movie—"

Liar.

"Uhm... I think I'm just going to go to bed. I'm starting to feel tired anyway. Uh, make sure to lock the door behind you whenever you go out."

He always did. You weren't sure why you were reminding him.

Deep down, some part of you wanted him to feel guilty. It was that small whisper of hope that if he felt guilty then maybe he'd start changing things for the better, to start telling you why he was so secretive, and to start sleeping in your bed again. You missed the feeling of his arms wrapped around you. Sure, some nights he did fall asleep in your bed. But some nights weren't most nights, and most nights weren't every night.

I miss a man who's right in front of me.

His entire expression crumpled. He opened his mouth to say something but faltered, watching as you got up and threw the blanket the two of you were sharing back on the couch. Oh how badly he looked like he wanted to say something. And how badly you felt about yourself whenever you saw his expression, because seeing him feel guilty didn't bring satisfaction, it only made your heart hurt more.

"(Y/N), I—"

"It's okay," you flashed a smile, "I'll talk to you tomorrow morning."

If he'd be there tomorrow morning.

You didn't give him a chance to respond before you turned on your heel and scurried to the bedroom. The house which you picked with him seven months ago now felt cold and lonely compared to the warm idea you had when you first saw it. Tears sprung forth whenever you closed the door behind you, choking into your elbow as you did your best to muffle the small sobs that let your lips. You couldn't hear him anymore or the muffled rambling over the phone.

The room was dark. The floorboards were ice cold and you didn't bother to brush your teeth, wash your face, or change into pajamas before you crawled under the covers and hid.

Emotions were a complicated thing. You hated how they felt and how it was so hard to understand them. All you wanted was for Kieran to come to you and have a conversation about what was going on, but now you were dreading that he would because you didn't want him to see that you were crying. He always got so panicked whenever you cried. Always brushing away your tears, cooing sweet things in your ear, kissing your face and neck anywhere he could.

Which made you wish he did see you cry.

See? Emotions were complicated.

You don't know how long you laid in bed. You only heard the whir and popping of heat rushing through the vents, warming up the room until you were toasty under the thick blankets. There were times when you swore you heard a shout from the other room, muffled and something you couldn't understand, but then it was gone. Possibly a figment of your imagination, maybe it was Kieran shouting over the phone.

Your day started with a good start. Then everything deescalated in a whirlwind of emotions that you didn't know how to control. All the suspicions you had about Kieran were becoming worse and worse.

If he is cheating on me, you thought. What would I do?

The idea of divorcing him left your heart aching. Ever since you started dating him, you've never wanted to leave him, but cheating would mean you'd have to. While you loved him, you didn't love him enough to stay if he was living some second life with another woman. You gnawed on the edge of your thumb and curled your legs up to your chest.

If you divorced him, you'd have to find somewhere cheap to stay where you could still go to college and not sleep in the streets. No way your parents would let you stay with them until you got back onto your feet, they didn't like you marrying Kieran in the first place because of his delinquent behavior in school and the fact he wasn't going to college. They'd probably tell you 'I told you so' and let you rot.

The part-time job you had now wasn't enough to live in a decent apartment. The two of you lived on the outskirts of the city,  you wouldn't be able to afford a good apartment in the city closest to campus so you would have to settle in one of the apartment complexes near the beat-down part of the city, where a lot of reports of trafficking and crime were made.

A shiver shot down your spine. While the apartments there weren't the cleanest or nicest, the issue of rampant crime was the most concerning. You'd have to buy a taser or pepper spray, something like that. Or learn martial arts? You'd have to find a teacher that wasn't expensive.

Why am I even thinking about this?

Guilt crashed into you like a barreling stampede of horses. Tears blurred your vision as you nuzzled into the pillow and whimpered, muttering soft apologies under your breath. You hated how your mind worked. One thought and you'd take it and run, not giving the chance for hope and optimism to spark. You had to remind yourself for the umpteenth time that you didn't have any proof that Kieran was cheating.

You were the bad one for treating him like he was whenever you didn't know. At least, that was what you believed. Other wives acted better than you. They trusted their partners, but here you were, already daydreaming about your life if Kieran was cheating on you. Just a was.

Soft footsteps broke you from your thoughts.

The door creaked open and light poured into the dark. You stayed still under the blankets, face hidden away in the pillows to keep the sight of your tear-streaked face away from him. The floorboards creaked a little bit the bed shifted whenever you felt him sit down and lean across. His familiar touch grazed your cheek and traced the contours of your face. He sighed.

"Котик, are you awake?"

You didn't respond. Not this time.

He tugged the blankets down and there was another sigh. His fingers trailed farther downward and rubbed circles on your back and patterns that only he understood. He mumbled under his breath to himself. "She didn't change into something comfortable... not even the belt."

It took everything in your power to not move whenever his fingers fiddled with the metal clasp of your belt and he slipped them from the loops. He put the belt on the other side of the bed and the mattress shifted whenever he got closed, strands of his hair tickling your cheek whenever he leaned over. He pressed a kiss on your jaw.

"Ah fuck," he grumbled.

What is that supposed to mean?

Then there were more kisses; jaw, cheek, forehead, lips. He attacked you in kisses and every now and again he'd sigh and stop to trail his hands across your head or over your back. You could tell he refreshed his cologne. It was subtle but it was there, tickling your nose each time he moved to kiss another part of your face.

"Котик, if you're awake, I'll be back tomorrow evening and we can watch all the movies you want. I'm sorry I'm heading out again, but some people at work are being really stupid right now," he whispered against your ear. He kissed it tenderly. "I'll buy you your favorite ice cream on the way back home too. I know you'll be happy with that..."

There was a long pause. He didn't move.

"I love you."

Maybe he waited for you to respond, to say 'I love you' back, but you didn't. It wasn't that you didn't love him... god, the one reason why everything hurt so much was that you did, but you didn't dare to confess that you were pretending to sleep just to avoid talking to him. You didn't want Kieran to hear your voice cracking from crying. Especially since now, you knew he was leaving the house again.

You didn't believe him when he said it was work and you felt guilty that you didn't. He was an editor, he worked from home or his rented-out office, and it wasn't like he had people who worked underneath him.

"Котик, I'll make it up to you, I promise," he whispered.

He didn't say anything else except for a lingering kiss on your temple before he got off the bed. The weight of his body leaving felt more familiar than him being there. Kieran blew a breath and muttered something in Russian before he left the room. The door clicked shut behind him and you were left in the dark alone once more.

The emotions you felt earlier surged back up to the surface. Your nails bit into your palms and tears trickled down your cheeks and dropped onto the pillow. All you wanted was for him to get in bed with you, hold you, fall asleep, and still be there whenever you woke up the next morning.

So instead of facing them and bawling, you swallowed the lump in your throat and closed your eyes. Sleeping it off was better than facing it. Soon enough, you'd find out what he was hiding and what this "work" meant. Your small cries were muffled as you did your best to fall asleep before you got too heavy into your thoughts and cried even harder.

Luckily for you, sadness was exhausting, and you crashed before the clock hit midnight.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/N ;

So you might have noticed the reader isn’t a Mary Sue or know it all. I tried to make her realistic, someone who’s insecure in her relationship, etc. So I hope that came across well. If you don’t like her, remember she’s human, she can change and develop in the story. She isn’t going to be perfect.

But anyway, did you enjoy this first chapter? You can also find it on my Wattpad and Quotev, which is listed on the top of my account. My discord server is also listed there! Remember to comment and heart if you enjoyed it.

[ Read P.2 ]

[tojisun]

ex-husband price still swings by when your kids and your new boyfriend are out, by the way, to fuck you. he says it's all a quick check and that there's no feelings attached to this, but when he's got you in a mating press or a full nelson, punching his cock in-and-out of your gushing and squelching cunt, he makes you say you love him. when your mind is fried with straining pleasure, and your eyes are crossed, he noses along your ear and murmurs, "look how much more honest y'r poor cunt is. s'all puffy and squirtin'. missed me lots, don't it?"

he slaps your clit, heavy palm striking in quick successions. you howl, pleasure and biting pain razing you, and all john does is muffle his chuckles on your shoulder, his eyes crinkled in his delight.

(and if he timed it well, your boyfriend should be home soon.)

[envy-of-the-apple]

Sun Eats Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 9.1k

Part two: Earth Kills Moon

Part three: Moon Starves Sun

Synopsis: Your boss takes on Gojo Satoru as his newest client. Much to your relief, he doesn't seem to recognize you.

(Warnings: noncon, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex, bullying, harassment, one mention of choking, penetrative sex, afab!reader, coercion, forced relationships, implied baby trapping attempt, hint of pregnancy kink)

You wanted to quit the second you read the name. 

You should have. It would have been so easy to hand in your two weeks, tell your boss that you just couldn't. Or maybe you could have convinced one of the other paralegals to take your place. 

It's pathetic. Almost a decade had passed and you still felt yourself slink into the girl you once were, rolling under his thumb, utterly helpless. You should be better than that. You worked so hard to reach where you are now. 

You were different now, you told yourself over and over again. You were older, smarter. Besides, it'd been a decade, would he even remember you?

It's Higuruma who notices your restless fingers. You shouldn't have underestimated him, despite how exhausted he looks, nothing goes past your boss. He asks about it when you two are seated in a beige room, waiting for the client. 

"Is everything alright?" 

You're still staring out the window. How high were you? 16 stories, maybe even higher. Resentment, you can feel it rise up your throat, build throughout your body. Of course, he has fancy cars, pretty buildings, and limitless money. Men like him will never know what it's like to have nothing. All men were born equal. What a fucking joke. 

Higuruma shifts, and you jolt out of your thoughts. "Yes," you console, "apologies, I'm just tired." 

The lawyer hums, and you're not sure if he believes you or not. Before he can say anything, the frosted doors open. The rest of the legal team comes in, sitting at the long table you and Higuruma inhabited. 

He comes in last. He'd always had a liking for theatrics. 

Not much had changed within a decade. He was taller, bigger. He'd switched out of his high school uniform, opting for something more business-friendly. He still made heads turn. Became the center of attention. 

It's his smile that throws you. Sincere, real. Lingering on his face like extravagant jewelry. Hard not to notice. 

You react better than you anticipated. You don't shake or tremble or cry when he passes you. You just squeeze your fists, bunching your skirt in your palm. It helps. 

He sits down, right at the end, so everyone can see him. One foot elegantly crossed over the other. When he tilts his head, his soft white hair threatens to shift over brilliant blue eyes. 

"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to explain why we're all here." A few chuckles resonate from the small group. "Let's just do our best and hope nothing gets too out of hand."

His eyes slide over to meet yours, and you steel yourself for his eyes to widen. For something wicked and cruel and nasty to sink into his face. 

Nothing. 

Gojo Satoru maintains that same smile. The blaring sun. Painfully innocent. His gaze lasts barely a second before moving to the next face, and the next, and the next. 

"I look forward to working with all of you."                                     

𖤓

If you could describe Gojo Satoru in one word, it would be: celestial. 

He's like a shining star. Brighter than the sun. Everywhere he went, he was bound to attract attention. Much like how the Earth is drawn towards the sun, people are drawn towards Gojo Satoru. It's the natural order. 

But, if an insignificant planet resists the Sun's gravitational force, it'll get crushed. You learned this the hard way. 

Gojo had always been in your class for years. The third year was no different. Despite the commonality, you two never talked to each other. You had no reason to. Until the vending machine gave you two cartons, and you suddenly remembered from an overheard conversation that Gojo liked chocolate milk too. 

"Want it?" You hold it out to him during lunch break. He was in the middle of a boisterous conversation with his friend. They did intimidate you, but you had no reason to be scared. It's not like they were bullies.

Gojo's sunglasses dip down. He eyes what you're holding in your hand, before his gaze drifts back up to you. 

"The machine gave me extra," you supply, "do you want it?" 

"Oh, sure," he says after a moment. Your hands brush. "Thanks." 

You nod, and then you walk back to the cafeteria. It was meaningless. A favor between acquaintances. He was helping you more than you helped him. You didn't want to carry chocolate milk around in your backpack. You forgot about the interaction within a few hours. 

𖤓

The meeting ends hours later. When you stumble home, it's barely evening but you can still feel the stress creeping through your legs and arms. 

You go straight to your laptop. Fumbling through the keyboard, desperate, searching. 

He's famous. Of course, he is. In his mid-twenties, but already a multi-millionaire. The head of an extremely elite family. Your eyes scan picture after picture after picture. Photos of him drinking with models in skimpy bikinis. Fancy cars. Huge houses. Private jets. Gojo Satoru: the man behind Gojo Co., Gojo Satoru and supermodel Menza hinted at relationship, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru. 

You pull away when it starts to burn, when the rage and sorrow become too much. He has everything. Everything he could want. He made you go through hell for months, and yet he never got punished for it. The universe rewards him with lavishness you'd never be able to touch. 

It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. 

Through your blinds, the sun happily shines. 

𖤓

You don't notice it until it becomes painfully unbearing.

Gojo calls you by your name now (until that day you bet he didn't even know you existed). He's like a ghost, constantly appearing out of nowhere to sling an arm around your shoulder, eager to chase off any of your friends to talk to you about things that don't matter.

He constantly offers to walk you home (and then Gojo ignores your refusals and does it anyway). It stays like that for a few days, never bordering beyond friendliness. You think he's harmless. Maybe he just hasn't had someone genuinely do a nice favor for him. Besides, you're flattered by the attention. Even you can be swayed by the pull of Gojo Satoru. It feels nice to be wanted. 

You reason it'll just be for another week. A week later, you two will be nothing but acquaintances, sometimes exchanging quick smiles during class. 

It doesn't truly dawn on you as to what he's doing until he comes out and says it. 

"What?" Because you must have misheard him. 

"We should," he says, not even bothering to repeat himself, "I mean, we're practically dating already. Let's just make it official." 

You stare at him. As always, he's utterly beautiful. The light of the setting sun makes his skin glow gold. Whenever he's walking you home is one of the rare times he removes those sunglasses. His eyes are like jewels, pretty things that you wish were yours. 

You laugh. It's high and panicky because you still think he's joking. He doesn't laugh with you. You stop. 

"Oh-oh, I'm sorry Gojo-I wasn't-I didn't think. I'm just not...interested in dating anyone right now. It's not you! I think-I think you're great, but it's just the wrong time, and school is getting so much busier and-" you keep rambling, coming up with excuse after excuse because you're convinced Gojo would cut you off with an awkward laugh, tell you it's fine. 

He doesn't do either, letting your flounderings get more and more pathetic. His smile had dropped. You can't read his expression anymore. 

Eventually, you grow quiet, standing with him in that silence. When that gets too much, you timidly tell him to have a goodnight and walk home. He doesn't follow, staying rooted to the sidewalk where you left him. You're not running away, you tell yourself over and over again. And yet, you can't help but feel relief as soon as you can't feel his eyes. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

𖤓

It was something minuscule. 

Barely considered legal work. The case would most likely be finished in a couple of weeks. The defendant had nothing on Gojo Satoru, at least from what you and the other paralegals could see. You highly doubted it would even go to court. Higuruma always had a knack for bringing anyone to the table. Gojo would be let off from whatever he did without a hitch. No punishment. Just like always. 

"Word of advice, don't think about what happens in the private sector," Higuruma says, over whiskey. 

The firm was celebrating another victory at a fancy bar. You were still stewing over the face of that young woman's face when the judge ruled in your client's favor. She looked heartbroken. You can still remember the sleazy smile your client had given her. 

"It's a job," he says, "do it. Boost your resume, and get out." 

He takes another dainty sip of his glass. Tonight, the circles underneath his eyes seem even darker. "You're a young kid. Do something else with your life." 

When he offers to buy you a round, you accept. You think about that night sometimes, and you wonder if Higuruma wished someone else would have given him that advice when he was younger. 

Do the job, and get out. Easier said than done. Especially when the job involved Gojo Satoru. 

Associating with him was dangerous, you knew that firsthand, especially when he was interested in something you had. You'd left, but that wouldn't save you. The space of decades would not help. 

Burn Gojo once, he won't forgive you. Burn Gojo twice? You don't think there's anyone alive who did that. 

Over the coming days, you expect something from him. It's a nagging feeling in your stomach. The delayed response to a gunshot. Dread. You expect him to snap. Push. Break. 

He never does. Gojo remains pliant, the same to you as he remains to your boss. There's no additional touching, no disgusting nicknames, no scathing looks. Nothing. 

You don't get the confirmation until a week later, when Gojo stops you near the elevator. 

"Higuruma's...assistant, right? Sorry, never got your name," he says, and you steel yourself because the two of you are alone and here it comes but if you yell loudly enough maybe-

"He asked for some paperwork, and I finally found it for him." Gojo hands you a stack of sheets with a cheery smile. "You won't mind giving that to him, will ya? Thanks!" 

Just as quickly as he arrives, he leaves, shoes clicking down the hall as he goes. You can only stare at his rescinding back, the palpable feeling of relief nearly making your knees buckle. 

The best news you could have possibly received. Gojo Satoru had completely forgotten about you. 

When you got home later that evening, the rain was heavy, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. 

𖤓

You don't have proof it was him. 

It's unjust to accuse people of things they didn't do. You lack any evidence. It could have easily started by itself. You'd always been meek and timid. People were bound to take advantage of that. 

But the timing was just too perfect for it to not be caused by him. 

In the weeks following the incident with Gojo, school went from tolerant to hell. It started small, at first. Tiny. Unoticable. Insignificant. Some people (Gojo's lackeys, you'd later realize), would nudge you as they passed you by the halls. They apologized, mid-laugh, and in the beginning, you truly thought they were sincere. Then, the nudges turned into pushes, then shoves. That's when you knew you had a target on your back. 

At first, you found it kind of hard to believe. Bullying? It sounded so childish. Something reserved for petty middle schoolers. You were in your final year of high school. You were already an adult. You laughed it off, for a bit. Mostly because it was so ridiculous. Only when it starts becoming more severe, more apparent that you were his target, do you start taking things more seriously.

There was no proof, but everyone knew it was Gojo. And being on Gojo's bad side wasn't something people were willing to risk. One by one, your friends started to disappear, reducing their involvement by sending strained smiles during passing period. The more stubborn ones who were more adamant about staying by your side were chased away too. They'd skip school for a few days, before coming back and completely ignoring you.

Teachers and staff were no help either. Why would they? Gojo's family held them in the palm of their hand. The most your homeroom teacher would do was avert his eyes whenever something was thrown at you for the third time in class, and quietly remind students to settle down. 

You fell on the ground with an embarrassing thump. A chorus of laughter, and a mocking 'sorry' is all you hear from the crowd. Other students step over your scattered papers, giving you looks of sympathy but never bothering to help. You'd call them cowards, but you know you'd do the same.

Instead, you focus on collecting your papers. You avoid the lump in your throat. The tears that threaten to break over your waterline. It's humiliating, being stuck on the floor like this. It's only Wednesday, but you already feel like breaking.

Hands, scarred, move past you, collecting the rest of the sheets. His face is carefully blank as Geto Suguru neatly tucks his share all in one piece before handing it to you. You give your thanks. He ignores it. 

“Are you hurt?” Geto asks, his voice barely loud enough to hear.

You think you scrapped your knee during the fall, but other than your pride, you're fine. You shake your head. Geto sighs. It's not out of relief.

“That's good,” he says anyway.

You found it ironic that Gojo's best friend is the only one who bothers to help you these days. It makes sense, in a way. It's not like he'll send his goons to Geto, instead. In this solar system, Geto Suguru is the only person unaffected by Gojo's solar flares. 

You work in relative silence, collecting the mess that fell out of your bag. Geto hands you the last of the supplies, idly watching as you tuck them away.

“Take my advice,” he says just before he leaves, “give in.”

He stands up. Geto Suguru has always been taller than you, but now the difference feels even worse. When he looks down at you, a flicker of pity lingers in his eyes. It's gone before it can mean anything. 

“It'll only get worse from here if you don't.”

Worse, he had said. God, what could be worse? You were already at rock bottom. All you have left is your dignity. Something you intend on gritting your teeth to keep.

You quickly learned something about Geto Suguru: he knew his best friend. 

Friday. The end of the worst week of your life has finally arrived. The week after is break, and then maybe Gojo will move onto some other hyperfixation, and finally leave you alone.

Classes were out. You were done, free to run home and cry the entire week away. And then, you noticed, your locker was open.

Smashed in, was a better term. Completely, irrevocably, destroyed. It looked like someone had taken a wooden bat to repeatedly smash in the metal until it cracked open like an egg. 

You don't want to look, but you have to. The busted door is barely hanging on its hinges when you push it open. 

It's worse than anything you could think of. 

Your books, textbooks, journals, are all torn apart and written on. All the contents of your bag have been thrown around. Your assignments, your notes, your pens and pencils. But it's your laptop that makes your throat stop. Smashed, broken without any hope of being salvageable. Your everything was in there. Why why why would he do this to you? 

This wasn't bullying. 

This was abuse. 

Fuck pride. Fuck dignity.

You were so tired. 

Despite the hell his lackeys put you through. Gojo Satoru himself never bothered you. In fact, you hadn't seen him all week. He doesn't make himself impossible to find. You know where his group hangs out after school. You're barely holding yourself together when you hear his voice. His pretty laugh. You don't care about how you look, close to breaking, your voice high-pitched and shaky. 

"Why?" 

Your voice catches his attention. He falls into silence, just like the rest of the group. Gojo surveys you for a moment. There's a scoff, a hint of amusement before he waves off the rest of the group. 

"Get lost." 

They comply, dispersing in multiple directions. For the first time, in a long while, you and Gojo are left alone. You and Gojo are left, alone. 

"Well?" he tilts his head, completely bored. 

"What do I have to do?" You ask desperately, "What-what do I have to do to make this all stop? Please I'll-I'll do anything, just-just make it-" 

It's all too much. You can't hold your sobs in, bursting into tears as you fumble through your words. He tuts in mock pity. You flinch when you feel his hand against your cheek, but he doesn't let you shy away. 

"Anything?" He asks when your sobs simmer into hushed whimpers, "Really? Anything?" 

You blink, looking up at him with rough teary eyes. He's grinning, wide and manic. Your heart drops when he lowers himself to whisper in your ear. 

"Anything, right?" 

You nod once. He sighs in pure delight. His breath tickles your cheek. 

"Get on your knees." 

You jerk back, but Gojo doesn't let you go far, a hand on your shoulder, keeping you rooted on the spot. At your look of pure panic, he only laughs a little. 

"I-I-Gojo you-" 

"And call me Satoru now. Since we're gonna get to know each other a lot better," he interrupts with a chiding grin, ignoring your wide eyes. "What? I thought you said anything, right?" 

He's asking, but it's clear you don't get a choice anymore. His grip on your shoulder is tight, close to crushing skin and bone. You're trapped. No, you were trapped the moment you talked to Gojo Satoru. 

To think this all started because of two cartons of chocolate milk. 

You relent when his grip gets too painful, sinking down to your knees. The grass is cool, and you know it will leave damp spots on your skirt, letting everyone know what you did for him. 

"Good girl," he coos, and you shudder at his hand petting your hair. Like you're some precious pet. To him, maybe you are. How could anyone think of treating a human like this? You should be grateful he does it for you, instead of demanding you to pull him out. Still, the jiggle of his belt makes you wince. You turn away, not being able to bring yourself to look. Only when the tip of his cock reaches your peripheral, do you look back. It's big. You should have expected it, considering his height. It's already leaking, a bead of precum that makes you shudder. He moves forward and you instinctively grip his thigh. 

"Gojo I-" 

"Nuh-uh. Satoru," he ununciates, "Satoru. You gotta' start listening to me baby, or else we're gonna have problems." 

You look down at the grass. Green, soft. 

"Satoru." 

His eyes flash in satisfaction. 

"Open up, pretty girl." 

The last of your fight disappears, sinks into the soft grass. You swallow, once, before you take him. It's a slow, torturous process. He's too big, your jaw is already starting to ache. Satoru barely notices your discomfort, sighing in contentment when you start to gag on his cock, reaching down to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 

You make a muffled gurgle and he tilts his head down. His sunglasses fall forward, two pretty eyes stare at you. 

"What? Don't act like this is your first time-" he stops himself, mid-thought. 

"Wait...this can't be your first time, right?" 

If you weren't humiliated enough. You can't even lie, averting your eyes to avoid any further shame. 

"Poor baby," Satoru says, all too delighted, "lemme' walk you through it. Gotta' suck on it, just like a lollipop-that's it-use your tongue," he encourages, still gripping his cock in his hand, like he was feeding it to you. 

You can feel your mouth open wider. Tears stream down your face, not just from your pride, but also from pain. Satoru lets you take him in like this for a few more moments, just enjoying your warm mouth. 

"There we go," he breathes, "take-fuck-take all of me." 

But Satoru isn't known for his patience. You've barely taken all of him in yet before he grabs your hair to fuck your throat properly. You choke, sputtering all over his cock. He barely pays you any mind, his head thrown back as he rams himself down your mouth without a care in the world. 

"Y'know, our first time together could-could have been nicer," he says through gritted teeth, the heat was starting to get to him, "but you just had to go and mess it up, huh?" 

If you were stronger. If you were braver. You would have rejected it. Screamed. Fought. At the very least, you would have denied his delusions. But you weren't strong. You weren't brave. You were weak. Stupid. This was all your fault. Had you just given in the moment he asked, this wouldn't be happening to you. Or maybe, he'd be a bit nicer about it. 

He hisses, gripping the back of your head before something warm and disgusting fills your mouth. Above you, Satoru lets out a shameless groan, a mix of your name as well as a curse. He releases you then, finally letting you sink to the floor. You fall forward, resting on your hands and knees, panting, trying to regain your breath, some semblance of sanity. You can still taste him. It's salty, a sickly tang. You spit as much as you can on the grass. It doesn't help. 

He kneels, getting down to your level. With the way he's silently watching you, you know he's waiting for the right answer this time. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

So, you drop your gaze down. You take in a deep long stilted breath. 

"Yes, Satoru," you say, voice quiet, pliant, "I'll go out with you." 

His demeanor drops in just a second. He smiles, painfully innocent, like you hadn't spent the last few moments choking on his cock. He cups your face with both hands and you wonder how he could look at you like that, gently, as though you weren't covered in tears and his cum. 

(You still feel it drip down your mouth. Tonight, when he finally lets you go home you'll cry for hours in the shower, hoping the water will wash away all the shame you feel. It won't.)

"Finally!" He exclaims, laughing, light, happy, elated, "I'm so glad you finally came around. I was starting to think I was ugly or something." 

 You stay like that for a while. Underneath him. You let his hands run up and down your body, like he's feeling the space that makes up you. Soon, you'd realize Gojo Satoru liked to touch things that were beneath him. A thought muddles it's way through your numb brain. You bring yourself to look at him. 

"Satoru?" you ask. He sighs in satisfaction, stroking your hair. 

"My laptop...it's broken." 

You didn't know what else to say. It sounded accusatory, even to your ears. Righteous. You wondered if he heard it too, if he'd do something about it. 

Satoru only scoffs.

“that old thing?” You flinch. It was a gift from your aunt, you highly doubted he cared enough about the sentimental. He hugs you closer, almost like a snake, constricting you within its scales before it devours you. 

(You think the worst part is that he didn't even deny it.)

“I'll just get you a new one, baby.”

He walks you home later that evening. When he demands a kiss, you comply, numbly pressing your aching lips to his. 

The sunset is pretty today. 

𖤓

It's not a particularly hard case, but Gojo has a knack for keeping those who work for him busy. Higuruma had asked you to stay behind, once again. The two of you were stuck alone in the office building, a room that Gojo had graciously supplied. 

You were milling through a stack of papers when someone new walked in. You didn't recognize her. She was tall, pretty, sparkling jewelry littered her neck and wrists. Your eyes drifted up and down her outfit, something that definitely wasn't business-appropriate. A part of you wants to ask where she got that lipgloss from. 

"Oh," she tilts her head, surveying the two of you with pretty eyes, "is Sato not here?" 

You inwardly cringe at the nickname, but choose not to show it. Higuruma is the one who saves you, in the end. He speaks on both of your behalf. 

"Mr. Gojo isn't here at the moment," he says, "feel free to wait." 

She does as she's told, plopping down on a seat right next to her. Higuruma goes back to ignoring her, dutiful in everything like he always is. You, on the other hand, don't like the way some of the other associates eye her legs. When you wordlessly hand her your jacket, she gratefully accepts. 

"Thanks. I love your bag, by the way," she cheerily says and a part of you feels bad for her. 

Minutes pass. She crosses her legs and then uncrosses them. When she crosses them again, you have to look up from your paperwork and ask if she's feeling alright. 

"Just nervous," she admits, "I-I haven't seen Sato since our...last meeting." 

Everyone in the vicinity knows this wasn't a casual business meeting, you don't get why she's avoiding the elephant like that. Probably to save face. It's clear from her behavior that she wasn't expecting so many visitors, so perhaps this situation is new for her. You found it strange that a booty call would be called up to an office building, especially when people were clearly watching, but you doubted Mr. Gojo cared about that. He was always shameless in that regard, uncaring about anyone's reputation, even his own. That's why he's in this legal mess in the first place. Besides, you were part of Gojo's Satoru's legal team. Part of your job is to be discreet about his extracurricular affairs. 

Gojo Satoru hadn't changed at all since high school. Why would he? His personality has gotten him this far, after all. The Sun would never change, it's a constant sphere of fire. You wouldn't want him to change. You were banking on his stagnant nature to slip by. You couldn't imagine if he did change, improve himself, and realize how horrible he'd been to you. How would you be able to keep yourself together if he pulled you aside one day and tried to apologize? You'd break. Things are better the way they are now. Let Gojo Satoru indulge himself in all this lavishness, forgetting about the people he's tortured. It's better this way. 

You glance over at the girl. She's young, maybe a couple of years younger than you. You can see the flush on her cheeks. The clear swooning. A part of you wonders what she'd think about that man if you ever told her what he did to you. What a monster he is-

"There you are!" Mr. Gojo strides in, just as silent as always, making himself known when he wants to. 

The girl jumps up, her eyes lighting up in pure excitement as she practically drags herself into Mr. Gojo's arms. He places an arm on the small of her back, scarily close to touching somewhere inappropriate as she chatters away. They disappear off to wherever rich men like him go. 

It's so quick. You must have imagined it because, for a second, you were sure he'd glanced back at you. 

𖤓

By now, everyone knows you're Satoru's. That means, like him, you're untouchable. 

You're not celestial. If Satoru was a star, then you were a stray meteor he'd found hurtling through space, and he couldn't resist forcing it to revolve around him. In exchange for suffering through his solar flares and radiation, he protects you from bigger planets that are all too eager to smash into you. The one relief is that no one seems to bother you anymore. You haven't been shoved around, pushed, or prodded. Sometimes, you receive glares from Satoru's old ex's, but it's more tolerable than burnt homework. 

Satoru has officially chased away all your friends, but he's more than happy to keep you company. You sit next to him in lunch now, quietly listening as he prattles on to the rest of his friends (you recognize some of them, the ones who messed with you, they never seem to hold your gaze for long). You used to study on campus alone, right after school let out. Now, you still do it, but with Satoru watching. It's hard to concentrate with his wandering fingers and wet lips. 

He takes all of your firsts. You don't give them to him, much less, he demanded it of you. The first time he fully takes you is far less romantic than you'd ever hoped. It was on his bed after he'd practically dragged you over to his house that night. You went home the next day covered in marks that took nearly a week to heal. A little while after that, Geto came to talk to you again. For the second time ever. 

"Here." He offers you a packet. Pills. You're confused for a moment until you realize Satoru didn't wear a condom. 

"Thank-" 

"Don't," he cuts you off, "Don't thank me." 

He says it with so much hate that you think it's directed at you. It isn't until years later that you realize the disgust was towards himself. 

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

When the moon was out, you often stared at it, reveling in its beauty. Now, trapped in between Satoru's arms, you find its skeleton a bit too haunting to look at. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

Graduation is coming up soon. You already had your college picked out, far far away from this backward town. From his conversations, Satoru was planning on going to some high-end college in Tokyo. With the way he kept looking back at you, you had a feeling he was planning on dragging you there too. 

You were intelligent enough to keep your mouth shut about your plans. Satoru never asked, so you guessed he assumed you would let him bully you into whatever he wanted. He was right, so far. It's not like you'd ever argued with him. 

Your parents were the only people who knew about your plan. They were excited, albeit for the wrong reasons. 

"I'm so glad to see you're this interested in higher education," your mother beamed, "why the sudden change?" 

You look at your mother's face. People have told you that you share the same smile. You wonder if she'd keep smiling if you ever told her about what Satoru's been doing to you, the bullying, the harassment. 

You can't. You won't, because you can't bear to see her give you the same pitiful look your classmates give-the one Geto gives. You don't want her to see you as something broken. 

"I'm just starting to think I might go into law," you finally say, "definitely need college for that."

On Thursdays, you have to sit inside the gym during Satoru's basketball practice. You wait on the bleachers, reviewing notes, and listening to the squeaking of sneakers. Satoru's good at the sport. You know last year they won a few tournaments. Whenever he scores a point, he gives a cheer, turning back to see if you saw it too. In those moments, you remember he's just a kid. He's your age. You can feel the envy. There, but too insignificant to do anything. He pleasantly lives his childhood, even after he stole yours. 

Practice ends, always a little later than it's officially supposed to. Coach gives the final whistle and then Satoru is jogging back to you. Your things are already neatly packed into your bag. His breath is barely ragged, you can smell the hint of sweat as he kisses you on the lips. You can feel eyes on you, same as always. It's getting easier to ignore the gawking. After all, you're Satoru's now. 

"Miss me?" he asks when he pulls away. He grabs your stuff before you can, hauling your backpack away. To others, it may look like he's being a sweet boyfriend. To you, it's another leash, tugging you to where he wants to go. You're not sure how Satoru sees the action. 

You clamber out of the bleachers, following him without a word. Usually, Satoru would walk you home. You'd share a kiss with him on the front porch. And for the rest of the day, he'd finally leave you alone. 

He grabs your hand, shooting you a wink when you lightly jostle into his body. Instead of heading out the door, Satoru turns his gaze towards the empty locker rooms. The light's automated. It flickers an unsettling white, casting a sick glow along the tiles. You are barely through the door before Satoru's pinning you against the lockers, kissing you as aggressively as he can. 

Your hands immediately find their way to his shoulders, squeezing. It's not enough to hurt him, but it grabs his attention anyway. He lets up a little, relaxing into your touch. 

"Sorry, baby," he says not sounding apologetic at all, "just be good f'me, okay? Need you." 

He's pent up, you realize and you look at the door. School's out. The campus is nearly empty. But people are still around. And the door he just shoved you through doesn't have a lock- 

Oh, wait. Would it even matter if someone came in and saw you? Everyone knew you were Satoru's. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

He's trailing down, dropping to his knees. He flips up your skirt, pushing aside your panties, and attaches his hot mouth to your pussy. He's ravenous, today. Sucking on your clit like he can't bear to do anything else. You gasp, immediately assaulted by the shocks of pleasure running up and down your back.

You press against the wall, arching your back, giving him even more to suck on. He hums in approval, his voice getting lost in your wet folds. You're practically dripping now, and Satoru, with all his debauchery, gladly licks it all up as you writhe and whimper above him. Your thighs grow tighter around him, threatening to crush his skull if both his hands weren't carved into the fat of your thighs, squeezing. 

Your initial panic is washed away, crumbled by his insistent tongue and fingers. You whimper out his name again as his tongue circles your clit and two fingers continue to move in and out of your sopping pussy. You're crying now, tears of pleasure and brokenness floating down your cheeks. Despite how blurry your vision is, you can see Satoru looking up at you. 

"Getting close?" he's breathless, but there's still a hint of playfulness in his voice, "gonna sing, pretty girl?" 

He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit and you're gone. You seize, throwing your head back as your legs shake from the force of your orgasm. It's a scream, so loud and shameless. Satoru gives a groaned pant, lapping up your aftertaste, making you jolt from the overstimulation before he finally gets to his feet. You watch as he haphazardly wipes the remnants of you with his sleeve before he's kissing you again. 

"Always so sweet f'me," he purrs, biting at your lips before he fumbles with his belt. His cock is already red and strained. He pants, head shifting to fall at the crook of your neck as he lines himself up and sinks into you with one full thrust. 

You whine a mix of a sob and a hissed moan. He hushes you with a stilted breath, barely keeping himself together as he pumps himself into you. Both of you are sweating now. You can feel the beads draw down your neck. He licks at your clavicle, biting when he starts to get more aggressive. When it's too less, he hikes your thigh over his waist, keeping it there so he can go even deeper. 

"Fuck, I'm crazy for you," he slurs against your skin. You can barely pay attention to his words, barely keeping your own voice in check, "’would do anything for you, pretty girl." 

He raises his head, looking you in the eye. His sunglasses have been tossed on the floor. You can his beautiful eyes, two cosmic galaxies of blue. You could stare at them for hours, discovering each variant of cerulean, naming each one. You bet each day you look, you'll find another shade. They're so pretty.

You wonder how pretty those eyes would look floating in a jar. 

"'Toru-!" you gasp when Satoru rocks himself into again, even faster. The name you accidentally gave him when you're too fucked out to comprehend language makes him laugh in pure delight, his smile uncontrolled, delirious. 

"Right here, baby," he moans into your sweaty skin, hand reaching down to rub your clit, "your ‘Toru's right here. Just where you need him." 

His fingers move under your shirt, squeezing at your tits, exploring, roughly grabbing at your chest. The sensation makes you wince. Your walls draw even tighter, choking his cock. 

"Too-too much, 'Toru, p-please." He growls at your begging, burying his face in your neck again. He nips at your damp skin, you flinch. 

"I gotcha' baby," he breathes, "just-just lemme-" He presses on your clit. It's all you need. 

You come with a sob, your pussy squeezing, milking Satoru for all he's worth. He's not too far behind, hips stuttering before he whines in your ear. Something warm fills your cunt. 

You flounder, sagging against the wall. Satoru's the only thing that keeps you upright as you fight to catch your breath. He isn't in any better shape, panting just as hard as you are. He lifts his head, pressing his damp forehead onto yours. There's a dreamy smile on his lips. A look of absolute adoration. 

"I love you." 

You look at him. There's nowhere else to look.

"I love you," he repeats, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your lips. His lips trail down, caressing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. It would almost feel nice, but you can only stare straight ahead. You can see the dull green lockers in the distance. You can smell the mold in the damp locker room. You can feel Satoru's cum slowly seep out of you, trailing down your thigh. 

Fuck three weeks. 

You needed to get out, now. 

𖤓

The only reason you went is because you were told Gojo Satoru wouldn't be there. 

His assistant had off-handily mentioned that he had a meeting on the other side of town. Very last minute. The building as a whole would be empty, just a skeleton crew and a couple of security guards to keep the place running. It made sense, it was 8 pm- long past any proper business hours. 

Higuruma could have easily gone, but it's clear the sleepless nights have been getting to him, or the stress. His paralegal is more than qualified to act like a middleman between him and Mr.Gojo's associates. It's an easy mission. Just grab a few things, and get out. 

Gojo Satoru wasn't supposed to be there. 

And yet, there he was, leaning against the door, blocking you into the room. 

His assistant had always been a mousey thing. Tonight, however, he'd been extra ansty, looking around the room. Babbling out excuses as to what was taking him so long. Now, when he can barely even look at you, you realize he was just a distraction. 

"You're off the clock, Ijichi," Gojo finally breaks the silence, "take tomorrow off too, okay?" 

His assistant quickly nods, keeping his head down to flit out the door. You can't even bring yourself to be mad at him. Gojo always had a habit of singling out the weakest, crushing them within his fist, unless they bent or broke. 

The door shuts with a click. 

"You know, I didn't even recognize you at first," he starts. He takes a small step forward. 

You take one back. He puts his hands up. 

"Okay, don't be like that," he sighs, exasperated, "It's been what, 10 years? How you've been?" 

He steps around you, barely brushing against your shoulder to get to his desk. He reaches down, grabbing a wine bottle and two glasses from a cabinet, setting both down on mahogany wood. 

"Wanna drink? Technically, it's against company policy to serve alcohol in the building but I won't tell if you don't." He grins. It looks bloody. 

He looks so casual, the man who's haunted your nightmares, leaning against a desk in a building he owns. Your heart's beating in your chest. It's so loud. You wonder if he can hear it too. 

When you don't respond, he rolls his eyes. 

"Figures." He pops the cork. "You were always such a stickler for the rules." 

"What do you want?" You ask, your tone weaker than you'd liked. 

"What? Don't you wanna catch up? I missed you." You flinch at his words, looking away. "A paralegal, huh? Gotta' say, wasn't what I expected, but it fits you." It sounds condescending, but you don't poke the bear, opting to stay silent. 

He seems to take an issue with that, regardless. 

"Are you mad? If anything, I should be the one upset at how you just ran off like that. After all that time we spent together too. I didn't even get a breakup text." 

 His last words, send a chill up your spine. A warning. Staying here any longer would be a mistake. 

You go to move. 

Satoru's faster. 

Your head slams against the wall. Hard. Enough to hurt. You struggle anyway, clawing at the hand that's gripping your throat, the body pinning you down. Above you (he's gotten so much taller now), Gojo tuts in disappointment. 

"I tried to be nice and look where that got me. You tried to run again," he muses, like he's disappointed, "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always needed something with a bit more teeth." At his threat, his hand on your throat tightens. You freeze. 

It's barely choking you, but it's enough of a warning. His other hand is playing with the end of your blouse, feeling the fabric. You can feel the tears start. They're a familiar taste. Only this time, they're twinged with bitterness. 

"Don't do this," you whisper, "Don't-don't-" 

"Yeah, I don't think you're in any position to make demands right now." He's grinning, but when you look into his eyes, you can see the anger. A fire that has burned for a decade. At that moment, you realized Gojo Satoru had changed. Now, he was better at hiding how he truly felt. 

You should have quit the moment Higurama got him as a client. 

Gojo's dragging you over to the desk, haphazardly pushing away the stuff already on it. The computer, the bottle, the wine glasses all fall to the floor with a deafening crash as he shoves you down, splaying you across the table. He follows you down, leaning to meet your lips in a frenzied kiss. It's different than all the other times he'd kissed you. He'd lost all the inexperience, more keen on making you stay put and bleed. When you try to turn your face, pushing at his chest, he only growls. A large hand grabs your chin, keeping you in place for him. 

When he pulls away, there's a hint of blood on his plush lips. It's not his. He licks it up regardless. 

You're full-on sobbing now; barely in sucking air as your body shudders and jolts. You don't expect comfort, least of all from him, but he's cooing, wiping away your tears. 

"Missed this," he purrs, ignoring the way you weakly push at him, "'guess that was my mistake. I was expecting you to be different. Nah, you'll be the same crybaby you always were. That's how you managed to slip under my radar." 

He buries his face into your hair, sighing in contentment as you shiver underneath him. His lips graze the crown of your head, a complete juxtaposition to his words. 

"Scream all you want. No one's here, baby." No one's gonna save you from me.

 Still, you try anyway. Your hands grip his broad shoulders, digging in your nails until he hisses. 

"Fuck maybe you have changed." He rasps, fiddling with his belt. "You're bitchier now." 

"Gojo-Gojo what are you-" He bites on your bare clavicle. You squeal, stilling underneath him again. 

"Satoru," he insists. You slump over the desk as he takes both your hands, wrapping his leather belt around your delicate wrists. You wince when he twists it into a knot. The leather bites into your skin. The fight dissolves just as rapidly as it arrived. He hadn't even lifted a finger against you. You were just that pathetic. 

"Satoru," you breathe, waving your flag of defeat. He hums, licking at the bitemark. You can feel the heat bloom on your skin. They'll be a mark tomorrow, and much like Satoru, it would go away so easily. 

"There's my good girl," he groans, cold hands fiddling with the buttons on your blouse, opening it up until your bra pops out, "I know I should be more mad, but I've always had a soft spot for you. Guess things will never change, hm?" 

His mouth dips down, tracing your collarbone to your breasts. He wiggles down your bra, letting your tits spill out and into his hands. He squeezes one while taking another in his mouth, swirling the bud with his tongue before devouring. His moan is barely muffled by your tits. Yours is clear, high-pitched and breathy. Satoru always had no problem being shameless. And he often dragged it out of you too. 

He's mouthing something against your skin, but you're too distracted by his other hand, slinking down your waist, pushing up your pencil skirt, letting it bunch around your hips. In the moment, you chastised yourself for wearing something so easy to get rid of, but it wasn't like you were expecting for him to be here, to bring you down just like he did when you were in high school. It's not like you were expecting to fall. 

Satoru feels around your pantyhose, running up and down your thigh, searching. He squeezes the sheer fabric, before he rips a hole into it. You gasp, jerking at the action. 

"That's-"

"I'll buy you new ones," he says, voice muffled by your tits. The conversation feels familiar. 

He bypasses your panties immediately, finding your pussy with practiced ease. You're already soaking. At this, he raises to look at you. You can't keep eye contact, timidly looking away. He laughs. It sounds sickenly affectionate. 

"You're so cute." He purrs just as he leaves another mark on your chest. Your tits bounce under his attention as he pushes two fingers into your tight sopping hole. Your back curls, arching off the desk as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you. Disgust grows within you, not at him, but at yourself, for letting yourself get this low. This desperate. 

It doesn't stay for long. He's cruel like that, moving in a way that makes you forget your humanity. His fingers get even faster, digging into your cunt and curling somewhere deep inside, hitting a spot that makes you gasp. You're reduced to whimpering moans by the time he finally stops, fingers exiting your pussy with a wet noise. He brings them to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste. 

"Fuckin' sweet," he moans, taking his fingers out with a sickening pop before wiping the drool on your heaving tits. 

Your eyes float to the window. The moon is out, you blearily realize. It's a blood moon, a rusty red. Once every 3 months, it'll lose its heavenly glow. The innocent milky white will get shadowed by the Earth's rusty atmosphere. It'll regain its color eventually. The Sun doesn't like to be overshadowed. 

Something hard and blunt slides between your legs. You're barely given a second to comprehend it before Satoru grabs you by the hips, filling you up with one thrust. You yelp, a semblance of his name on your lips, but it's shrouded by the moan you give out. 

He stays like that for a bit. You should be grateful he is letting you adjust to him. His cock is sickenly familiar to your walls. Satoru's hair brushes your cheek as he leans up to whisper in your ear. 

"How many?" he sounds like he's gritting his teeth, barely in control, "how many guys have you let fuck you since you ran?" 

You blink, wondering if he's seriously asking, but you can hear the seriousness in his tone. Even now, he's concerned with the wrong things. He's always been petty like that. 

"You," you say because there's no point in lying, "it's only ever been you." 

You say it like it's a curse, because to you, Satoru had cursed you. He'd stolen something you'd never be able to enjoy, devouring it, keeping it for himself. A part of you will always hate yourself for letting him do that, just like a part of you will always be his. 

Satoru deflates, as if he's relieved, easing his face into the crook of your neck, placing an almost loving kiss on your shoulder. He starts slow, slowly drawing his cock out, just until his tip is barely still in, before he pushes himself back into your hole. His pace is slow, controlled. It's different than when he was younger, more eager to get himself off more than anything. Now, it's like he's enjoying the intimacy, the feeling of your walls squeezing him. The wet noises. He's barely affected. Unlike you, writhing underneath him, close to falling apart. It's his length that gets you, forcing your pussy to stretch just to fit him. His cock hits everywhere, all at once, an endless torture of pleasure. 

It takes you a while to get your brain back together, to collect the mush, and realize that Gojo isn't wearing a condom. 

"S-Sato-" You try, just when he spreads your thighs apart, pushing them close to your chest so he can get deeper and kiss you at the same time. His hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles and you feel yourself getting even closer. You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught. 

"Try again," Satoru huffs, "What's my name? I know you know it, pretty girl." 

"'Toru," you beg because it's all you have left. Your breathless gasps make you sound even more unconvincing but you still manage to stutter out, "I'm-I'm not on anything, so-so please-" 

"That's okay," he mutters, though it's clear he's half-listening, "I'll take care of you and the baby."

"No-I-I-can't-" 

He drops his leisure pace in exchange of shorter, faster thrusts. His cock barely leaves your pussy, grinding in your hole as his breathing starts to get a little less controlled. 

"I'll make sure it takes this time too." 

Your eyes open, and you forget your panic to stare at him. You think back to the pills 18-year-old Geto had handed you. Always discreet. You'd...you'd always thought they were Satoru's idea. 

He hits something inside you, right then. You implode, crashing and burning as you gush around his dick. He's not kind enough to ease you through it, ramming his cock even harder inside your battered pussy until he's hunching over you with a shudder. You can feel his cum settle deep inside your womb. 

You stay like that for a few moments, not saying anything. It feels like hours before Satoru is moving again, drawing his softened cock out of your overstimulated pussy. You can feel the cum drip out of you too, spilling onto the desk, but you don't think Satoru's too mad about that. He flicks your clit a few times, watching your hips jerk and you give an exhausted whine. 

He kisses your breasts. He kisses up your jaw, before finding your lips. Dazed, you find yourself kissing back in reluctant acceptance, your body aching for any semblance of gentleness. 

"I love you." 

You look into his eyes, and you realize he's right. Gojo Satoru loves you, and this is how a man like him loves. He meant it, all those years ago, just like how he does now.

Satoru loves like the Sun. Too bright. With enough heat to burn your soul away. It's why you ran. 

"I love you," he repeats like the phrase doesn't kill you each time he says it, "so you're never leaving me." 

"Not ever again."

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The Sun had eaten it. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then perhaps, you were the Moon. Stripped of your color. Unable to create light of your own. Reflecting only what you're given. 

How foolish of you to think you could ever escape his radiation. 

[ovobawrites]

The Background Character is Avoiding Death in This Life!

Dying? Hard. Reincarnating into a dating sim? Even harder. Doing everything to prevent your predetermined tragic fate? Might as well give up at that point. The bell tolls for you, but you refuse to let it claim you just yet!

(Leona Kingscholar x Reincarnated!Reader)

A/N: I tried to make the reader as gender neutral as possible, but the implication here is that the reader is afab/capable of becoming pregnant and giving birth.

The carriage jostled over gravel as you sat there in silence, clothed in pure white. A marriage to a man you've never met. One that you had done everything you could to prevent.

Waking up with memories of your past life wasn't the worst thing in the world, at least at first. As the third born Royal of the empire, you weren't given many duties, nor were you interested in competing for the throne. All you had to do was study (which you did with ease thanks to your past life), attend balls and tea parties (which at the very least served delicious food), and survive without falling victim to a plague (and the holy magic in this world, thankfully, made this task as easy as the rest). That was until your world came crashing down.

Outside politics weren't much of an interest for you. All you knew was that your older brother, the Second Prince, was a general who would fight and win wars alongside the Emperor, your father. Until you learnt of the development of a protectorate, representative of an alliance between seven kingdoms.

The Night Raven Protectorate was established in Imperial Year 1302. You had just turned 17, and realized who you were.

NRP: Battles of the Heart! was a tactical rpg with dating sim mechanics you had played in your first life. It wasn't the best game, but the art and soundtrack were lovely, the characters were nice to look at, and the gameplay was good enough. Here's the problem: the characters in nrpBoH (as the fandom called it) were at war. War with the Empire you currently resided in. A war the character you were reborn as had inadvertently caused.

The Third Royal of the Empire was engaged and promptly married to Leona Kingscholar, the only Duke of the Sunset Savanna. The two resided in the Night Raven Protectorate, as Leona had been chosen as a diplomatic envoy for his kingdom while his brother Farena, the crown prince, remained in the capital. Leona worked alongside the other diplomatic envoys of the alliance: Crown Prince Riddle Rosehearts, Marquis Azul Ashengrotto, Marquis Kalim Al-Asim, Duke Vil Schoenheit, Duke Idia Shroud, and Crown Prince Malleus Draconia, to establish unity and peace across their kingdoms.

The Third Royal died a year into their marriage with Duke Leona. The Empire, distraught at the loss of one of their royal family, declares war two years later. The Hero of nrpBoH arrives a year before the war starts, and ultimately helps the Seven Kingdoms win the war, capturing the hearts of the envoys and their closest aides on the way.

Essentially the timeline was as such: 1304 > you get married to Leona 1305 > you die 1306 > the Hero arrives and charms the cast of nrpBoH 1307 > the Empire declares war 1315 > the Seven Kingdoms defeat the Empire with the hero's aid, and everyone lives happily ever after

What do you mean you die before the events of the game even start?! And, just to make things even worse for you, your character was barely mentioned and the circumstances of their death were never discussed! Obviously it must have been suspicious, why else would the Empire declare war?! And why was it so easy for your husband, of a year, to get over you and date some floozy so soon after your death!

Okay maybe that last one was stretching it a bit, after all, it's not like Duke Leona had ever loved the Third Royal. When asked in game, all he said was that "They were a suitable partner for me. What, jealous? My heart will always belong to you, herbivore." with a cocky smirk on his face!

And so, you made it your life's goal to do anything to stop your marriage to the Duke from going through. You took a bigger interest in politics, encouraged the Crown Prince to form diplomatic alliances. Hell, you even got your brother, the warmongering Second Prince, the hardest boss in the game, to return home from the battlefield for the first time since he left at 16!

Yet every single action you took ultimately amounted to nothing. Your father, the Emperor, declared that you would marry Duke Leona to solidify the Empire's alliance with the Seven Kingdoms, and that was that.

You had begged and pleaded of course. Both the Crown and Second Princes had fought your father on this decision. Hell, even your younger brother, the Fourth Prince, had argued against the necessity of a marriage alliance. But your father's word was law, and so you were sent to the Night Raven Protectorate clad in your pure white garb, with nothing but your carriage, your luggage, and an entourage of guards and servants who would leave you at the border.

Which brings you back to the present. Slumped over in a grand carriage, with nothing to do but embroider and scheme. Your brothers were not even permitted to attend the wedding (at the Kingscholar family's request and the Emperor's decree), and none of your personal servants were allowed to join you in the protectorate.

So here you were, alone and unsure of if you could even avoid the wretched fate you'd been saddled with. If you couldn't prevent your marriage, were you just destined to die once a year was up? Would any of your actions even prevent the war that would happen in three years?

The carriage stops, and the coachmen knocks on the door to inform you of your arrival to the Night Raven Protectorate. You thank him and listen to the horses being switched out, your guards and maids leaving with the coachmen as your new one announces his presence to you.

"Ruggie Bucchi greets Your Highness." A voice calls out from behind the carriage doors. The windows are veiled, but you can make out the silhouette of a thin beastman with rounded ears. "I will be bringing you to the Duke's Estate to prepare for the wedding."

You sit there and try to ignore your world splitting into pieces. Dread curls in your stomach. You don't reply.

A beat of silence as your new coachman awaits any questions from you, before you watch his shadow pass over and the carriage start to move once more. The ride is much smoother this time. It does nothing to stop your shaking.

You didn't even have a second to compose yourself upon arriving at the Duke's Estate. A whirlwind of maids and valets descended upon you to prepare you for the wedding. You were bathed, dressed and had your make up done over the course of hours, the day going from early morning to evening without you even having a bite to eat, lest you risk 'ruining your figure'.

Your wedding garments were traditional to the empire. Shining white and decorated with diamonds as a display of wealth, a delicate veil hiding your features from the world. The servants beamed in pleasure as the head maid sang praises to your beauty.

"Trust me, Your Highness. His Grace will not be able to keep his hands off of you during your wedding night!"

You doubted it. If Leona had been spending regular nights with the Third Royal, a mention of their pregnancy would have been somewhere in the game (after all, the death of his unborn child would have made his backstory all the more tragic). But you took their praise with gentle nods and thanks, waiting until you would be led to the altar.

A knock on your door came a moment later. "Sir Jack Howl wishes to greet Your Highness and escort you to the altar."

You stood up and let a maid open the door for you. A wolf beastman dressed in armor stood before you, his ears twitching as he offered you the crook of his elbow. You took it with grace, each step making the death knell in your ears ring ever louder.

The Duke's estate was large enough to host hundreds of servants, but thankfully someone had the forethought to dress you in a guest room close to where the wedding would be held. Your garments were made for you to be displayed, as evident by how hellish it was to walk in them, the weight of them making each step feel laborious. Sir Jack graciously matched your pace, the heels of your shoes clicking against tile as you reached the altar.

Your husband-to-be stood in front of you, dressed in Empire wedding garments. Based on the in-game marriage cg, you'd expected him to be wearing the colorful wedding attire of the Sunset Savanna. Yet he stood in front of you, clad in black.

You thought it was fitting for him to be clad in the colors of a reaper. His green eyes pierced through your veil, flitting over the death grip your hands had on your bouquet before returning to the priest, looking ever so slightly bored.

The two of you stood through a lengthy speech about the union of two countries and the solidification of the alliance between the Empire and the Seven Kingdoms. Sir Jack stood behind you in parade rest, while a blond beastman stood behind Leona in a more lax pose.

A quick glance through the crowd saw that the rest of the game's main cast, from Crown Prince Riddle to Sir Sebek, all sat in the cathedral, with Crown Prince Farena sitting with his wife and son at the back. It was, by all means, a perfect imperial wedding.

Eventually, the priest's prattling stopped as he gestured for the rings to be presented to the betrotheds. The rings were simple. Gold bands rested on a white velvet pillow in a white cathedral adorned by white flowers on white tile and-

"-take Leona to be your husband in life, death and the lands that lay beyond?" The priest gazed at you, and you snapped back to attention.

"I do." You said in a lilting voice, taking the ring and placing it upon Leona's ring finger as he did the same to yours.

You couldn't hear what the priest said next through the pounding of blood in your ears, the polite applause in the cathedral barely registering.

Sir Jack offered you his arm once more, and you took it to be readied for the reception.

You could faintly make out Duke Leona being surrounded in congratulations from his friends and colleagues. You glanced at Sir Jack through the veil, and for a second saw your second brother instead.

Your heart ached in time with your hollow steps.

Here's the thing: Out of all the diplomatic envoys, the only one you could ever be married to was Leona.

The Emperor never had a blood heir, his kind heart instead adopting children he'd find during his conquests of other lands. Neither you nor your brothers had a drop of royal blood.

The nobles of the Empire took issue with that, or they did when the Crown Prince was adopted. The Emperor's threats quickly shut them up.

The Empire would not accept you being married to anything less than another land's prince, but the Queendom of Roses and Briar Valley would never accept one of common blood on the throne.

Leona was the only option for you to marry to solidify your lands' alliance.

(It was too bad the Third Royal's death caused the alliance to dissolve anyways)

The wedding reception was a blur to you. Faces passed by and congratulated you and Leona (mostly Leona), presenting gifts upon gifts as the hours ticked by. Marquis Kalim offered you a littany of jewelry. Prince Riddle gave you books on the history and etiquette used throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Duke Vil gifted you a variety of beauty products, with a guide for when and how they should be used.

You could barely eat the wedding food provided to you. You numbly watched your husband scarf down his steak, avoiding each and every vegetable. A flicker of amusement ran through you at that, and a smile quirked up your lips.

Duke Leona noticed, of course. "What're you smiling at?" He asked, voice flat.

You ducked your head down at that. "I simply was admiring how gracefully you cut your steak."

A moment of silence as he looked at you before he went back to eating without a word.

The Third Royal's death in nrp14 was rarely brought up. There were two things the playerbase knew about it:

It happened on the exact anniversary of the wedding

The Empire found it suspicious enough to declare war against the Night Raven Protectorate, and by extension, the Seven Kingdoms that the Protectorate belonged to.

A suspicious death was all you had to go off of. The Third Royal was likely murdered, and all you knew was when it happened. Honestly, it might not have even been a quick assassination. It could have been a gradual poisoning that eventually killed them on the day of their anniversary, a 'quiet' heart attack, hell it could have been a freak horse riding 'accident' for all you knew.

The Empire declaring it suspicious was, in itself, suspicious. It might have been a genuine accidental death, but was a convenient excuse to declare war. It might have even been your own Empire that killed the Third Royal for this reason.

All you knew was when you were meant to die. Therefore, everyone was a suspect. If Duke Leona did it (which, judging from how flippant he was about his spouse, he very well might have), then all you could do was be the model spouse in hopes to please him. If one of the other diplomatic envoys did it, then you have to make yourself invaluable to their diplomatic maneuvers to avoid it. If the Empire did it-

If the Empire did it, then you had to make yourself as nonthreatening as possible to it.

The room you shared with Leona was beautiful. A wide balcony adorned with plants opened the room up, letting you watch the night sky. The bed was grand, populated in numerous feather-soft pillows. Colorful rugs, trademarks of the Sunset Savanna's weaving expertise, lay across the floor. A carved chessboard and pieces rested on the table.

Leona noticed you looking at it. "D'you play?" He said as he threw his court coat across the room without care.

You brushed your fingers over the pieces. "Not really, Your Grace. That was more of my brothers' thing..."

Leona's eyes trailed you as you carefully placed your veil on a sofa cushion, before he turned away as you started to fiddle with the clasps of your outfit.

He spoke up after a moment. "I didn't ask if your brothers played." You heard the rustle of clothing as you put on your nightwear. "I asked if you played."

"I do, but I'm not very good at it."

"I'll be the judge of that."

He strolled over to the chessboard, clothed in a thin silk shirt and pants. He gestured for you to sit across from him as he reset the board, black facing him.

You moved your white pawn to D4, wondering if this would be your wedding night. A preferable outcome, really. You barely knew Leona. Plus he might kill you if you performed badly enough. You chuckled at the thought.

Leona raised a brow. "Something funny?" Knight to F6.

"Just a passing thought, Your Grace." Knight to H3.

A grunt of acknowledgment. Pawn to D5.

You played through a few more moves before speaking up again. "Is this..." You tossed the words around in your head. "Will you be..." Your fingers brushed over the queen.

"If you're asking about our wedding night, I'm plannin' on sleepin' after this." He tapped his finger on the table as he waited for your next move.

"I-" Thank you, you wanted to say, but you moved your pawn to H4 instead.

He checkmated you with ease, barely losing any pieces. But instead of gloating, he simply went to bed, expecting you to follow.

Being the master of the duchy was different from being a royal. You were in charge of managing all the internal affairs, while Leona was in charge of the external ones. While this would usually mean that you'd be managing the servants and budget of the Duke's Estate, in your case it meant that you were doing not only your paperwork, but the late paperwork Leona had neglected to do.

You looked at the towering stack of paper leaning against the desk in your new office. It would take more than a week to get through all that.

Ruggie laughed nervously by your side. "The rest is in Leona's office."

You sighed and reached for a quill. "Right. Shall we get started then?"

Sir Jack, who you soon learnt was Leona's most trusted knight, and Ruggie, Leona's aide, were invaluable to you running the duchy as smoothly as you did. While Leona napped, you had Ruggie deliver the needed letters and replies to the other diplomatic envoys. While Leona trained the knights, you were stamping all the paperwork he hadn't finished the day before. And when Leona finally entered the office, you were hurrying down a lunch you barely had enough time to eat.

Still, you never said a word about it to Leona, even when the workload threatened to swallow you whole.

You needed to be a model spouse; to be invaluable to the duchy. If you did most of the work, then what reason would Leona have to kill you? If he did, then he'd be the one stuck doing paperwork in the office all day.

...You barely had time to eat dinner with him. You entered the bedroom hours after he went to bed, and woke and ate breakfast when the sun rose.

You would be running on fumes soon, and there was nothing you could do about it. Ruggie started to slip you snacks during the lulls between one stack of paperwork and the next. Jack started pulling you away every so often, if only for a few minutes, just so you could get some sunlight.

It still wasn't enough to get you to leave your office for more than an hour or two each day. The paperwork seemed never ending, impossible for one person to do. Until, eventually, Leona stepped in.

"I'll do that." He muttered as he swiped a pile of paperwork off your desk.

You blinked through bleary eyes. "There's no need, Your Grace. I can-"

"Where'd this 'Your Grace' stuff come from." He shot back. "Call me Leona."

"I- fine. I can get through that stack of papers Leona, there's no need for you to burden yourself with it."

His tail swished as he glared at you. "Then why're you the one doing it? If it's a burden, then give it to Ruggie or someone."

"...Because it is my duty as the Duke's Spouse to complete any paperwork necessary to the functioning of the Duchy." You tucked your hands in your lap, twisting your fingers through each other in a facsimile of a hand holding your own.

"Is that so?" A dangerous smirk played at your husband's lips. He started to glance through papers, separating them into two piles.

"I- Your Grace- What are you doing?"

He didn't reply, merely continuing to sort through the stack on your desk.

Was he seriously going to ignore you until you called him by his name? What kind of immature, childish-

"Leona, what are you doing?" You asked through gritted teeth.

"Makin' sure you're only doin' paperwork necessary to the functionin' of the Duchy, dearly betrothed." He replied with ease, holding the larger stack of papers in his arms.

"But- you- let me do the larger stack at least, you're already so busy-" You attempt to appeal before you are cut off.

"Busy doin' what? Sure, my naps are incredibly important." Leona ignored Ruggie's eye roll. "But I'm sure I can fit in time for this somewhere."

You gnawed at your thumb, before trying again. "There's really no need, I've been managing fine on my own-"

"Ruggie told me you fainted yesterday." Leona's eyes flashed as the room turned cold. "I'm not lettin' you do this at the expense of your health."

"It was only a minor occurrence, really I'm fine! I'll take better care of my health, just let me-"

"Why are you so insistent on this?" You froze, and Leona's eyes saw right through you. He scoffed. "You don't need to be walkin' on eggshells around me all the time. I can handle my own work."

"Obviously not if you let it pile up to this point!" You snapped back, teeth digging through the flesh of your thumb. "If you don't want to do it, then why not let me? You can keep your naps, and I can do the work, that's perfectly alright with me!"

"And watch my spouse waste away? I barely see you at dinner, and when I do you're picking at your food like some kind of bird. You barely eat, you barely sleep, Sevens, you barely even talk to me!" You flinched at Leona's raised voice, and he paused, taking a breath. He continued with a gentler tone. "We may not have married for love, but I expect a life partner. I don't want to watch my spouse overwork themselves to the grave just to please me, okay?"

You hesitated, scanning his face for any hint of a lie. Leona's eyes met yours, a steady green. "Alright. But, in exchange-" You looked at him for any sign of objection before continuing. "I- I want to help with your diplomatic envoy meetings." At his crossed arms, you struggled for an explanation. "It doesn't even have to include me being present, I can just help with your appeals. I don't even have to look at any of the documents I just-"

"It's a good idea." He stopped your rambling with a raised hand. "The others've been asking how you were doin' anyways."

"I- really?"

"Why'd you ask if you didn't even think I'd say yes?"

You ignored his snarky comment and moved past your desk, legs shaky like a newborn fawn. Still you persevered, Leona moving closer to hover over you. You grasped his hands in yours, ignorant to the shocked expression that flitted over his face. "Thank you thank you thank you! I won't disappoint you, I promise!" You squealed as you bounced up and down.

Now you just have to make yourself useful to the envoys, and that's two death flags down! Leona seems to care about your continued well-being, which removes him from the culprit list. Jack was way too noble to even think about hurting you (He almost cried when he saw the slight bruise around your wrist. He had gripped you a little too hard to save you from falling during your fainting episode.). And Ruggie saw you as a comrade against the paperwork Leona kept leaving for him to do. (He had cried tears of joy when the two of you had gotten through that first stack. Apparently it had been tormenting him for a month.).

If things kept going your way, then you could probably prevent the entirety of the main cast from killing you. Then, it's just making sure to stay far, far away from the Empire until the year is over.

You will get through this year! And then, once the hero arrives, you can take a backseat and graciously allow Leona to pursue them, then return to the Empire with a war averted, divorce papers in hand! You just have to continue to be useful to the main cast, before taking a bow and exiting stage left.

Surely you could just get through your lines without issue. Right?

Leona frowned as he looked at your hand. Your thumb was bleeding. He glanced at Ruggie, and with a tilt of his head the hyena was off to grab you some gauze.

An unbidden, soft smile came to his face as he basked in this moment with you. He'd been apathetic to this union from the moment it was clear he'd have to marry you, a royal he'd never even seen before. But looking at you, you with your bright smile and your warm hands around his, he could admit to himself that a marriage with you as his spouse couldn't be too bad.

A/N: And that's a wrap folks! I'm not sure if I will be continuing this story, I mostly wrote it to get it out of my system, but if people seem interested in a continuation, I might write one. If you can't tell, this is based off of the many, many otome isekai manhwas out there. If you're looking for a fluffy one like this story, I recommend "The Villainess Wants to Marry a Commoner!!". You can read it ad-free on mangadex.org <3

[moonstruckme]

hi mae!!!! i was wondering if you could write any marauder x reader where it's the readers first time and during she begins to not enjoy it as its kinda painful for her and wants to stop, and the marauder of your choosing is just very lovely and reassuring about her not wanting to continue. i love all your writing!!! xoxo

Love you, thanks for requesting <3

cw: mature content mdni, afab reader, implied inexperienced/virgin reader

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 825 words

You keep James close. There’s safety in his embrace, in the gentle press of his lips against yours, and you crave that solace right now. You hold his face in your hands, making sure he doesn’t retreat far enough to see your face or to leave you here by yourself. 

You want a partner, not a witness. 

“You feel so good,” he says, voice dropped about two octaves since you got him out of his clothes in the dimming light of his bedroom. “So perfect, angel.” 

You keep your hips still and kiss up at him half desperately. 

James groans. “Oh, god. You’re so perfect. How’s that feel?” 

Your kisses turn breathier, your tight chest not taking in quite enough air. You let him cup your breast in a loving hand. 

“Angel? Talk to me, m’love.” 

You don’t feel confident you have the breath to speak. You don’t know why you can’t just do this.

The next exhale you send out pushes James away. 

“Stop,” you say, voice already breaking. 

To James’ credit, he follows your instructions immediately. “What? What’s wrong?” 

“I’m sorry, I want to stop.” 

“Okay. Okay, lovely.” You cover your face with your hands as James sits up. The slight movement of him inside you isn’t enough to hurt, but the feeling makes you tighten anxiously anyway. You hear him hiss. “I’m just going to pull out, alright?” 

It’s a funny sensation when he does, loneliness and relief both at once. You try not to make a sound as tears turn your skin slippery beneath your fingers. 

“What’s the matter?” James’ tone is gentle, devastated in a way you think he’s trying to hide but can’t. “Does it hurt?” 

“No,” you choke out. 

Impossibly, his voice quiets further. “Did it hurt?” 

A tiny sob jostles its way out of you. You nod without moving your hands. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” James sounds gutted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whimper. 

“What’re you sorry for? Hey, can I touch you? Is that alright? You can say no.” 

There was never any doubt in your mind that you could, but you wouldn’t want to. You nod again, and in an instant James’ warm hands are soothing up your sides. The loneliness dissipates. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do it,” you say, still unwilling to move your hands. “It didn’t hurt that badly, I just—I freaked out.” 

“Angel.” James sounds like he might be chiding you, if he could bring himself to do it. He takes your hands, and as it turns out, you’re perfectly willing to have them moved by him. His gentle touch has your face coming out of hiding, bearing witness to his crushed expression. 

“Please don’t apologize,” he begs. “I don’t want to hurt you at all. I definitely don’t want to scare you.” 

“I know that.” Your voice is frail. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

James’ brows hook. “I think I probably had some role,” he says, dropping a tender kiss to your cheek. “Does it still hurt?” 

“No.” 

“Would you tell me if it did? You won’t hurt my feelings.” 

He’s absolutely lying, but you’re telling the truth. “It doesn’t, James. It barely even hurt when it happened.” 

Your boyfriend makes a soft, sad sound. “Still.” He places a kiss next to your nose like he’s planning to soothe you inch by inch. “Do you think you might be bleeding?” You’re unsure. “Can I check?” 

You hum your consent, albeit somewhat nervously. James kisses you in thanks. He reaches a hand down between your legs, bringing it back up to find only the sort of wetness you both intended. He wipes it off on his own leg, kissing you again. Kissing, kissing, kissing. 

“We can try again,” you start to say. “Maybe not today, but—” 

He shushes you. “We don’t have to, lovely. I mean, if you want, of course we can give it another go, but don’t feel like you have to.” 

You feel a sort of shrinking in your chest. A quiet, vicious insecurity darkens your thoughts. “You don’t want to?” 

James’ eyebrows jump. “Do you?” 

“I…” 

“Sweetheart.” He rubs your hip, brown-eyed gaze soft. “You said you got freaked out, right? I mean, it’s understandable, I would have too, but when I have a bad experience with something I usually want a bit of a break before going at it again. Don’t you want a breather?” 

“Oh.” Your voice quiets. “I don’t…I’m not sure.” 

“That’s okay,” he says. “Take your time, lovely, I’ll be here. You just have to say the word, yeah?” 

Your reply is a low hum. You finally muster the courage to go to him. You sit up to put your arms around James’ shoulders, your warm chests pressing together. He envelops you without hesitation. 

“It wasn’t a completely bad experience,” you mumble into his skin. 

You can practically feel the bloom of his smile as he presses it into your forehead.

[running-with-kn1ves]

A/N: This came to me in some wackass half-dream haze and I felt so strongly about it that I spent way too much time on it :'0

Synopsis: Your annoying werewolf friend with benefits “accidentally” forgets to pull out one night.

CW: NSFW, Fem! Reader, friends with benefits turns yandere, yandere had previous FWB’s, baby-trapping, pregnant reader

Werewolf! Yandere X Fem Reader

“I'm so glad we can fuck like this,” Your, lack of a better word for it, fuckbuddy huffed in your ear. “No falling in love with me, not having to dote on you like an idiot of a boyfriend.”

You tried to block out his manic, cock-driven rants when you first started sleeping with him, how he was surprised you didn't pretend to bat your eyelashes and hold on desperately to his arm like a clingy lover after the first ‘session.’ so many other girls, other partners, other “sleepovers” he's had would get attached, annoyingly so in his opinion. 

A part of his hubris in creating unwanted lovers made you dislike him even further, even if he was good at making you claw at the bedsheets and beg for more of him inside you. 

How could he blame your fellow humans for falling for a beast so much larger, naturally protective and possessive while he was railing them? You were only safe from any kind of affections for him because of how irritating you found him as a neighbor in your apartment complex. Knocking things over with his giant tail, cussing in the middle of the night for breaking yet again another bed, or perhaps bedframe. 

Maybe if he didn't have such a sick fetish for humans like your kind, your frailty as a species and longing for such an obsessive protector, he wouldn't have so many admirers, and simultaneously so many nightly lovers. 

Despite his permissive behavior and attempts to disgust his fuck partners, they came crawling back hoping for more-- for a family and a life with a beast who no human man could match up to,in size, strength, or pleasure. 

but you were always welcome in his bed-- leaving before he tried to kick you out, taking your birth control immediately in a panic after, hardly making conversation in the halls-- it was a great give and take situation. You both satisfied each other, with no strings attached. 

He knew you were irritated by his teasing, by how he gloated in how much you loved his werewolf cock, how you probably couldn't wait to come back for more. You'd shove out of his way, annoyed and sick of his charades. And yet, like clockwork at midnight, you'd be at his door, or he'd be at yours-- and the rest would be history. 

That didn't make him any less insufferable while he was busy making you squeal, however. but it was worth it, the ecstasy you felt after and the seeming addictiveness his pheromones brought you. Your whole week was brightened, you were less irritable-- when you weren't around him, atleast-- and you felt fresher, more like yourself. 

It was hard not to come crawling back for that same euphoria again, even if it hurt your pride to do so. So you kept up a reluctant “friend's” with benefits relationship, Ignoring how he seemed to stop bringing anyone else over, blocking out how he tried to kiss you when you writhed beneath him. Even taking his time when he ate you out like a prisoner devouring his last meal. 

It felt far more…personal. Like you weren’t two strangers who had become accustomed to each other’s beds and ceilings. You didn’t even know what he did for work, what he ate for breakfast, or if he even had family. 

It meant hardly anything to you, knowing there was no chance for more seeing how guarded the werewolf was about relationships, no expectations extending for him to treat you to dinner or kiss you after making you cum. So why was it so physically exhausting when he became more gentle, less apathetic when he roughhoused with you on the bed as his form of foreplay? 

He actually let out a satisfied groan at witnessing the dips and flesh of your body now, smelling you from the sweat on your forehead to your knobby ankles. He grew quiet with animalistic intensity as the bulge in his sweatpants got damper, more constrained. 

What really hit the nail on the head for you was how your “sessions” got slower. He was savouring being inside of you, drawing out both of your orgasms instead of chasing it as roughly as physically possible-- like he had when he first laid eyes on your naked self. He dared to edge you at the cusp of an orgasm a few times, slowing and grinning at the burning in your eyes, your attempts to overpower him with no avail. You thought it was just some twisted game, another irritating part of his obsessive power grab that he’s been trying to wave over your head since you first met him. 

But no, he merely wanted that glare to be on him, to be eye to eye with you. No matter how many times you attempted to stare at the ceiling and prevent from falling into those hazel, speckled eyes, he kept his attention right at yours. He wouldn’t force you to look back, but he would never look away, like some kind of stalker you were letting on your bed and into your pants. 

You had tried to stay away, to ease your addiction of that pheromone-causing high that was making you more aroused and beautiful by the day-- but you caved. And that, was the moment you knew you had officially messed up. Hearing his jaggy, breathy, “You’re mine,” in the midst of his ruts was not as hot and heavy as most would perceive it as. It created a pit in your stomach, a feeling that never went away after he finished. You could only vaguely get up, taking your clothes and finding your way to the door. 

You avoided him indefinitely after that, ignoring the craving inside of you to be intimate with him, to know that he was near and ready to pounce on you. But after weeks of your fucking sessions coming to a strange halt, it was no surprise that the werewolf wouldn’t let you off easy.

“I slammed on your doorbell like 50 times last night. And you didn’t even say hi in the lobby, what the hell? Why’re you avoiding me?” He slammed his rickety green apartment door shut behind him without a forethought. “Listen, you made me drag you in here, okay? I wouldn’t have had to do this if you would just talk to me.”

You sigh, irritated and mind far too busy to deal with his mood swing.

“I wasn’t. I’ve just been busy. I don’t have time for, being here every night anymore.” You shrugged your coat off, trying to remind him you were still in control even if he was blocking your method of escape. 

“Oh, Is that it? Or have you found someone new instead to fuck you, someone else in this apartment building maybe?” He came up behind you, watching as you stared at the bed’s rustled sheets, white linen that you couldn’t tell had been washed or not. 

You let out an exasperated “ugh”. Of course his first thought was that you were busy fucking somebody else. 

But you weren’t given time to argue, to point out his hypocrisy. You were flipped on the bed, staring again at the blurry ceiling you’ve become so familiar with in his apartment. 

“No… You smell just the same, exactly as you should. Like me.” 

He pried your legs open to make room for straddling you, pushing his crotch directly below your jean’s zipper. 

“So what’s the problem? Why’re you so uptight, thinking you’re too good to come ‘round my place.”

He grabbed at your hips, your cotton shirt rolling up as he dug under it. And there, lied the problem. 

“Hey!” You shouted, trying to push his invasive hands off. 

“What--” Pulling down your shirt didn’t matter much, he had already seen it. 

“I was leaving you alone for a reason,” You gritted your teeth, sitting up on the bed. Both of you went quiet for a moment, his eyes wide, but not as bewildered in anger like you expected.  

You spoke quietly, trying to ease the tension. “I’m going to take care of it. I didn’t realize this would happen, I was doing everything right--”

“I can’t believe.. It actually worked.”

You looked at him, not with fear this time, but explosive fury. 

Now it was your turn to shout an unbridled “What!?”

“Well…” He rubbed the back of his neck, hair getting so long to the point it brushed against his short fingernails. “I can’t really remember! I just know something took over me, maybe it was the whiskey… but all I knew was, I needed to finish inside of you. I wanted to see you glowing and full, I couldn’t help myself with the idea keeping me going.” 

You were ready to release a full assault on him, eyes beginning to prick with tears of anger and absolute shock. 

“I wasn’t thinking, okay! It’s not like I’m particularly ready to handle a kid either. But.. I guess I wouldn’t mind a few pups; we’re not getting any younger. My mom’s been pestering me a lot lately actually…”

Your mouth sat agape, grabbing a fistful of sheets to prevent from hitting him, which would just end up hurting yourself. 

“I thought you weren’t interested in girlfriends or family or bullshit like that?! Mister, ‘I can’t be bothered with full-blown relationships’ wants to move along and ruin my life?!”

“Baby that was months ago, I haven’t seen anyone else in a long time; and y’know, that’s not normal for me. I think… you’re different. Something about ‘us’ is different. If it’s with you, I don’t mind the idea of seeing you carrying my children. It feels.. God it just sounds so sexy.” 

“ ‘Baby?!’ Okay, we are nothing to each other, I don’t even know where you work, where you’re from-- and all of a sudden you want to start a family together?”

The werewolf winced at your wrath, mildly annoyed at your loud tone and thrashing hands. 

“Is it so outrageous to believe that it’s a species difference? Werewolves have their mates, humans not so much. Is it crazy to believe we’re meant for each other, that I would kill for you? That you were SUPPOSED to be mine, and we only just now found each other?”

You were mind-boggled at the rush of information, not believing your eyes when you saw a near love-struck dog at your feet, the creature you once knew to be an irritating bachelor keen on fucking you ‘till your eyes rolled back, and that was it. 

The stress was getting to you, the fear for your future, the sudden “relationship” you had been thrown into with a man you knew nothing about besides the layout of his apartment and the ridges of his cock. 

“Hey, hey its okay. I promise its going to be alright. I’ll take such good care of you-- you’ll have nothing to worry about, I’ll be the perfect father for our pups; You’ll have a family, someone to take care of you, someone who loves you.” He stroked your head, watching as you furiously wiped away tears of anger and fear. “I’ve never felt that before… but I promise it’s not something I take lightly. I promise, you make my heart throb just as, if not more, than my cock. I promise.”

Was that supposed to be a compliment? Well, there’s not much else you can get from a fuckboy who’s main priority in life had been satiating his lust. 

You mumble something incoherent about needing to get back to your apartment, needing to get away from everything. But if the werewolf heard it, he didn’t acknowledge your desire to leave. 

“I know, I know it’s hard. I’m scared too. But I promise you’ll make the perfect mother. I can see it now, your pretty belly, your needs for me…we’ll be together, it’s new for the both of us. And, on the plus side, I can fuck you now without pulling out...”

You shuddered at the thought, hating the idea of how possessive he was seeming to grow, laying you down as he spooned you from behind, not daring to let go for a moment. Your jeans were clawed to scraps of denim as he tried to shimmy them down, no success other than tearing them into pieces. 

“Why don’t we try tonight? Make you feel good,” The werewolf was running himself between your inner thighs, pressing against your bare cunt before he whispered. “I know you’ve been wanting me too, all desperate without my touch, my scent. Let me take care of you, of us.”

[idiotmf]

omg please write a piece about reader getting fucked by a ghost i neeeeed it

Hey, anon! Fear not, I shall deliver. I wasn't sure whether you wanted afab or amab, so I went with the usual afab. I'm happy to rewrite it into amab, if anyone wants it!（＾ω＾）

Edit: Here is the amab version!

Feel free to send me asks and requests or little imagines, I'm always happy to expand upon it, it gets the creative juices flowing a little. ^-^

NSFW, Minors DNI, I can see you.

TW: dub-con

Anyway, enough talk. Here's Reader getting not-so-respectfully railed by a ghost:

When your grandma left you a house after she passed, you assumed your troubles would finally be over, and for a while, they were. When you moved in, things were amazing. You didn't have to worry about rent anymore, and the utilities were surprisingly cheap. It's like you hit the jackpot, finally able to live with a few less worries.

Obviously, when you weren't working or hanging out with the odd friend that came over, you spent your time at home, keeping yourself occupied, mostly by either watching something, playing something, or masturbating out of boredom.

Things continued like that for a while, until you found a rather cryptic note from your late grandma that explained in unnecessary detail how there was a ghost living in the house. She strictly referred to the ghost as "him" and mentioned he was fairly friendly, unless provoked, and even then he would only play pranks on you.

Being the rational person that you are, you chalked it up to grandma being senile and that she was just keeping herself entertained since she lived in the house all alone. It would have been fine if that's where it stopped.

One night, your old friend came over, and you did your usual routine of watching something, and then halfway through, you ended up fucking. That's where it really all began.

The next morning, things were on the ground, not like someone had ransacked the place, but it was noticeable enough, though of course you thought it must've been just your old friend who had knocked some stuff over while leaving in a hurry. When you went to bend over to pick some things up, you could feel something grabbing your ass, and without hesitation, you turned around, only to be faced with nothing. Maybe you were going crazy, you thought; it wasn't an awfully strong grip, so maybe it was something your body did.

This excuse became increasingly less effective as time went on. You felt hands everywhere and at the worst times. Caressing your arms and legs, tracing your stomach and back. Eventually it got to the point where you could feel a hand slipping into your pants, playing with your clit. Of course, you were scared at first. Something was clearly there, and it reminded you of the letter your grandma left you.

You began shouting at the ghost. Telling it to stop fucking around and leave you alone. However, the ghost didn't really care; you broke his one rule that he had agreed on with your grandma, and even if you didn't know, he was going to punish you. How dare you bring another man into his house and have the audacity to fuck him?

His touching escalated the more you allowed him. Eventually you noticed a mouth and a wet tongue licking your neck, tracing down to your breasts. It seemed strange, considering you were usually clothed when this happened, yet it felt like it was touching your skin directly. The licking felt nothing like what your old friend would do, although in truth the sex with him wasn't all that good and really just a way to get fucked every once in a while.

Before you knew it, multiple hands were all over you, joined by at least three tongues licking you. This made no sense; you wondered if there were multiple ghosts. It became increasingly difficult to even find the logic in this when you were constantly being groped and licked. One tongue had found its permanent place on your sensitive nub, flicking and sucking it with every move you made; one was carelessly sucking on one of your nipples, alternating with one hand that usually played with the other one. The third mouth seemed to like making out with you, its tongue constantly shoved in your mouth, wrestling yours.

Despite feeling all these ministrations as if they were real, when you looked at your reflection, there was nothing there. Your mouth was gaping, but nothing was in it; your panties were soaked beyond belief most of the time, yet nothing seemed to be there. But truly, the worst part about it all was that it wouldn't let you finish. Whenever you were just about to cum, the mouth disappeared before continuing its torture. It took about two days before you couldn't take it anymore, pleading with the ghost to let you cum. It didn't listen, though it did use more hands to restrict you when you went to touch yourself before shoving something inside of you.

It wasn't much of a sensation, and you felt it curl, so you naturally assumed it was the finger of another hand. “Please,” you began whimpering every other minute, your tone getting more needy with every ruined orgasm that he put you through as minutes began to feel like hours.

“I'll do anything,” you finally managed to choke out through tears as he played with your sodden pussy for what you could only register as an eternity again, bent over the kitchen counter, legs held apart, wrists gripped tightly by the ghost. For a moment, there was nothing but stillness; all the mouths stopped what they were doing, and most of the hands disappeared too, except the ones keeping you in place.

“Anything?” A shiver ran down your spine as you heard the noise that you assumed to be the ghost's voice. It sounded distant and more like the wind howling than a human voice, yet you knew immediately who it was. You nodded, the tears running down your face falling onto the kitchen counter, your twitching cunt trying to feel any sort of stimulation now that the mouths and hands were gone.

“Yes, anything.” The words came out before you could even attempt to stop them, accompanied by a howling sound, which made you wonder whether it was meant to be a laugh or not.

Another few moments passed before a loud noise forced itself out of your mouth at the sensation of something stretching you open. It was long and thick, covered in strange bumps, providing nothing but the most torturous pleasure as it thrust into your hungry cunt at a punishing pace.

Despite your mind still questioning whether this was okay and logical, your body was writhing against the kitchen counter, hands still held still by him, your legs forced apart as he fucked you from behind. No matter how much you attempted to stop it from happening, desperate, high-pitched mewling sounds escaped your lips at a rapid rate as you felt another orgasm approach, hoping this would be the one to finally let you cum after two days of torture.

“What a willing little slut,” the ghost taunted with his howling voice, making him sound distant yet all around you at once. The insults made you mewl louder; something about being used like this by a ghost made your pussy clench harder.

In a small moment of defiance, you glanced back at what might be behind you, but just as expected, there was nothing. Despite your pussy being stretched to an almost painful level, gaping around air, no figure was there to account for it.

Just as your orgasm threatened to spill over, something was shoved into your mouth, making your jaw hurt, before it found its way down your throat, drowning out your mewls and desperate groans.

“Be quiet, whore. I'm not done with you yet.” With those words, your eyes fluttered closed as you let this torture continue for another minute or two, pussy and throat both stuffed full with invisible cocks, bigger than any human's you've ever had. The thought alone was enough to trigger your orgasm, finally sending you over that sweet edge with a loud groan that only came out as a hum. Your body went limp from the impact, and you saw stars in front of your eyes, the ghost holding you up by your wrists as if it were nothing.

Without a word or even a moment to spare, he kept slamming into you, the bumps rubbing against your insides, making you feel like you were stuck in a never-ending orgasm for a moment before it did finally subside, though you could feel the cocks twitch, their movements becoming more erratic and aggressive. You tried to say something, but your throat was simply too stuffed to make any worthwhile noise.

Suddenly, you felt a hot sensation in both of your holes, almost making you gag and cry in pain, as the sheer amount of ectoplasmic seed forced its way into your womb and down your throat, spilling back into your mouth, even running down your chin. Before you could fully register what happened, you were dropped, the ghost probably leaving you to deal with the aftermath. As you lay there, the sheer amount of cum almost formed a small puddle on the ground, your fucked-out pussy leaking more as you desperately tried to swallow the remnants in your mouth.

[deathc-re]

you hate getting sick, who doesn't? but a part of you loves it at the same time. why? because your boyfriend always treats you so good.

he'll dote on you hand and foot. you want tea? he knows just the one. you want noddles? steaming bowl in front of you. you're too hot or cold? thermostat adjusted to the perfect temperature for you, forget him.

you wanna be close to him, be held and cuddled? anything for his sweetheart. but...what about when you're horny? when this cold/ fever takes you over right in the middle of your ovulation? it's anything for his baby, and that includes slowly torturing himself while you cock warm him under the covers. you're body basically burning up, hot to the touch against his cool skin. moans and whimpers escaping you from the aches and pains in your body but also from the feeling of his cock filling you so good.

you're so weak and tired, basically in and out of consciousness but your dripping all over him and squeezing him so tight.

when he catches that your awake again he rubs your back slowly, "baby," he breathes "can i move? please? you just- fuck-- you feel so good i can't take it."

you muster up a weak chuckle and nod your head, wrapping your arms around him tighter. slowly he switches your position, moving you onto your chest and places a pillow under your hips. the loss of him and the blanket made you whine but when he pushed back into you, you melted into the bed.

it felt like every touch to your body was heightened. your fingers gripped the sheets weakly as you arched further into the soft bed. you heard your lover moan but you were too focused on your own body, every drag of his dick along your walls felt like heaven. when he reached down to rub on your clit a jolt ran through you.

before long you were seeing stars, tired body even more tired as you gasped and whimpered into the sheets, a drool pool forming by your mouth.

your boyfriend, oh so loving, restrained every muscle in his body to keep at this pace. the last thing he wanted was to hurt you. but you felt like heaven, warm walls wrapped around him so tight, your noises, the look of pleasure and daze on your face.

he gripped your ass and leaned down to nip at your ear, "i'm sorry sweetheart but i have to go fast-" he was cut off by your quick nod, reaching a hand back to grip his wrist. just that action made him twitch.

he gripped you tighter and angled his hips upward, speeding up his pace just a bit but increased the force of this thrusts by a lot. your ass shock in waves every time his pelvis met you. like energy was being pushed into you your moans got louder, more urgent, the cord in your belly tightening.

you both came almost exactly at the same time, heavy breathing filling the room. you were out, sprawled onto the bed, barely awake. your lover chuckled at the scene and leaned down to kiss your temple.

"you want a bath my love? i'll make the water extra hot for you." he called while walking to the bathroom. you hummed a response and curled into yourself, drifting off. the warm cum running down your thigh barely registering in your mind.

FAT GUM, aizawa, DEKU, kirishima, sanji, corazon, connie, gojo, CHOSO, geto, SUGAWARA + whoever else you think

[uglygirltrying]

bunny!reader and hare!simon!!!

hare!simon who finds himself a cute, little bunny, and takes them for himself. bunny!reader with soft, fluffy ears, and small cotton ball tail, that twitches and flutters in excitement. bunny!reader is round and soft, the sweetest thing that her mate has ever seen. all that fluff, pressed against hare!simon's abdomen when he pounds into her, and mutters into her ear about kits... hare!simon with a dirty fur and a dirty mind, scars and thinning fur, but a passion for keeping his mates pure white fur clean hare!simon who leads his bunny to calm river, taking a dip into it with her in his lap hare!simon who sniffs his bunny's neck for that sweet aroma, nipping the skin there, while his cock slips inside her. the water around them splashes while the dirty and scarred hare dumbs his load into his bunny's cunt. bunny!reader who whines at a sudden, strange, new smell that wafts through the air. hare!simon whose ears tense up at the same time, but not at her whine, but at the sounds from the forest around them. hare!simon who immediately stands up, ushering bunny!reader out of the water and behind him. hare!simon whose chest puffs out, when fox!graves stalks towards them, out of the bushes, a mischievous smirk on the carnivores face. hare!simon who's always ready to fight, kill, and die for his mate.

[distantdarlings]

STRAY FROM ROUTINE // m. riddle

RATING: R / 4.5K WORDS

Mattheo Riddle x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* You wake up with an evil plan to ignore Mattheo Riddle until he cracks.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (P in V), unprotected, spanking, thigh-hitting, dom!mattheo, sub!reader, mean mattheo, slight breeding kink, controlling mattheo, reader is resisting (but she's doing it on purpose), toxic relationship values, name-calling, degradation, language, not fully proofread (lmk if I missed anything!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Ride or Die, Pt. 2 - Sevdaliza (I can't get it out of my head :'))

- - -

The inspiration that struck you as soon as you woke up was one of some kind of age-old genius. The motivation that came with it seemed to cloud your mind like some kind of drug, flooding your mind and inhibiting all other thoughts that attempted to enter your brain the rest of the day.

You had always been a bit of a shit-starter when it came to Mattheo Riddle, but today, you were feeling downright sinister.

Your eyes flicked across the room to catch the dark boy’s oaken eyes. His strong hand lifted from the counter to toy with his bottom lip teasingly. Every move was calculated, down to the way his shoulders moved when he took in a breath.

He skirted through his usual routine of tracing his eyes slowly down your body, then flicking them back up to steel his eye contact. For the first few months of your relationship with him—if that’s what you wanted to call it—that whole intimidating facade had worked on you effortlessly. But now, you knew he was more bark than he was bite. That was, as far as you could tell.

You supposed that after sleeping with him so long, he’d have lived up to his whole King Mattheo act, but he'd fallen short. You were disappointed, to say the least. The majority of the entire student body, including some teachers, were terrified of this boy that currently stared you down, but you seemed to be missing something.

Was he good in bed? Hell yes. Could he get mean? Also yes, but where was the difference? As far as you could tell, he didn’t fuck any differently than any other Slytherin boy you’d been with. They were practically all the same. Mean, dominant, and rough. They usually had some kind of ego to keep up—or a tiny dick to compensate for. Whatever it was, Mattheo didn’t seem any different.

He was mean, dominant, and rough. The only thing that had surprised you about him was how gentle he was beneath it all. With every bruising thrust, his fingers cradled your hips gently where others gripped with their nails. With every mark he sucked into your skin, he darted a tongue out to soothe where others let it simmer. He was a rough lover, but he was still a lover. The others were just rough.

That was what had kept you going back to him so many times. But you were getting impatient. It was time for Mattheo to step his game up, or you were going to get bored. You wanted him to prove to you that he was different. But you didn’t want to have to ask for it. You just wanted him to know to do it.

By the time the last of the breakfast crowd had dissipated and the campus prepared for their first periods, Mattheo hadn’t broken eye contact once. Nor had you. If there was one thing you weren’t going to do—for Mattheo or any one else—it was back down from a challenge. If he wanted to tease and stare and frustrate, you’d do the same.

Finally, he stood with the rest of his group of friends. They headed toward the door but his focus remained on you.

The tip of his wand peeked out from the edge of his uniform sleeve and, with a few mumbled words, a small slip of paper had collapsed from the tip of the wooden object. It hit the floor silently, and weaved through the swarm of feet marching through the Great Hall. Once it had reached you, it stopped just before your shoes beneath the table.

At risk of being caught by your friends, you refused to glance down at it. But, just like he always did, Mattheo had thought of everything. With a shiver, you felt the piece of paper slide up your leg like a slithering snake.

It slunk over the curve of your knee and seemed to wait for you to grab it. Ignoring the thought that it seemed to be alive like some sort of bug, you slipped your hand beneath the table and pulled the slip of paper toward you. Discreetly, you opened it up and looked down at it.

How do you want me to take you today? was scrawled in heavy, broad strokes across the sliver of parchment.

You bit back a smirk. That little fucker.

But, no. With the inspiration you had today—the inspiration to push Mattheo Riddle as close to the edge as possible—you weren’t going to allow him the satisfaction.

In fact, you were going to ignore him entirely until he cracked. That was the plan and you were settled with it. While this likely wasn’t the best thing for your own health, you weren’t too concerned. Mattheo Riddle was an asshole, but he wasn’t a murderer. You were pretty sure, anyways.

Satisfied with your decisions, you smiled lightly and pushed the piece of parchment into the first pocket of your school bag. As soon as you returned to your room, it would be placed with all of the other notes he had passed to you. Even though you weren’t wildly impressed with Mattheo’s performance so far, it was still nice to have the dirty, little notes sitting around for a rainy day.

- - -

And throughout the rest of the day, you stuck to your plan like glue. Every stare, every sneaking touch, every whispered word from Mattheo was met with a brick wall. You simply weren’t interested in any aspect of his usual antics, today. He needed to earn what he refused to admit he wanted so badly, which was you.

And by third period, you could tell he was nearly ready to explode. His jaw was clenching and unclenching, his fists were wrapped so tightly together, the knuckles were almost completely white. He was fucking angry—possibly angrier than you had ever seen him. And that was exactly what you had wanted. You wanted him to know that you were a million times different than any of the other girls he’d romanced so far.

He tried once more to entice a little desire from you just toward the end of class. The two of you sat in the last two rows at the very back of the classroom.

The room was elevated with the back rows at the highest point of the room, overlooking the rest of the class. Any secret movements were noticed simply by the backs of heads and a nonchalant teacher.

Mattheo sat directly behind you with one of his unnamed friends to his left, and another to that boy’s left. You were alone on your row. The class was not that big. But this was exactly the kind of environment a sly boy like Mattheo Riddle loved. He would take any opportunity he could to slide his dirty lips against your ear and whisper any deviance that popped into his head at the moment. And that’s what he’d done.

His head had settled just beside yours. You’d heard his breathing before even noticing the heat from his skin radiating onto yours. A shiver passed through your body at his proximity. Annoyed at your body’s involuntary reaction to the dark boy, you slipped your arms beneath the table to hide the chills sprouting across your flesh.

He must have seen them, though, because a small breath of a smirk passed across his face in your peripheral.

“I don’t know what your game is, little girl,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “But you’d better straighten that attitude up, or, I swear, I’ll fix it myself.”

He didn’t say another word before he leaned back against his own seat, leaving you to wonder whether or not this was a good idea. You reminded yourself that intimidation was his shtick. That was the majority of the reason everyone was so frightened of him. You couldn’t even remember the last time he’d actually beaten anyone up or done anything to anyone who’d wronged him. Like you’d said, he was all bark.

Still, despite his threatening words, you simply flipped your hair over your shoulder and completely ignored him. He scoffed, seemingly suppressing a laugh. He was mad. But he wasn’t going to admit that to you right now.

Besides, you were sure you’d never hear the end of it once it was all said and done.

Once the teacher had announced that class was over and recited the homework assignment to a crowd of deaf ears, you gathered all of your things quickly and made a beeline for the door. You hadn’t even given Mattheo a second to gain a bit of awareness before you were out the door and halfway down the hallway.

You didn’t have a fourth period, but Mattheo did. He had Potions for the next hour, giving you just enough time to spruce up your appearance a bit and prepare for the storm that was brewing. You knew Mattheo well enough by this point to know how this evening was going to go. He would threaten your body within an inch of its life, ask if you ‘knew who he was,’ then he’d fuck you. Just like he always did. There was too much of a pattern. Not enough spontaneity to keep you occupied—you needed more. Hopefully, today was what did it for him.

The dormitory you shared with your mates was completely barren due to their schedules. Out of the five of you, you were the only one that had chosen fourth period as your free period. It seemed odd to you that they would rather have a late start to the day, than an early end. In your opinion, you’d wake up as early as you had to, if it meant you did not have to yawn your way through the last classes of the day.

You dropped your bag onto your bed and made for the small desk that was positioned just beside the headboard. It was stocked with all of your personal hygiene products—organized impeccably—and various bits of stationery for schoolwork. It served as both a desk and a vanity for you while you were getting ready in the mornings—or getting ready to see Mattheo.

You hoped he would be desperate all through his class. You hoped his eyes would be flickering around nervously, his knee bouncing rapidly, sweat dripping down his throat. It would be a sight to behold.

Mattheo was gorgeous—there was no denying that. It was just his attitude that needed adjusting. You smirked to yourself before taking a seat at your desk, glancing at your appearance in the small mirror you’d propped up against the stone wall.

And before you were even able to apply a second layer of mascara, the large wooden door in the corner of the room rattled violently. Three aggressive knocks permeated the silence so roughly the dust motes illuminated by the sun shuddered wildly.

A chill of anticipation settled in your stomach. Surely, that couldn’t be him. Fourth period had barely even begun.

You rose from your desk and crossed the length of the room, every step echoing through your body like a cannon. Why were you so nervous? The possibilities of consequences of your own actions were really starting to rattle around in your skull.

Your fingers wrapped around the bronze door handle and pulled.

Sure enough, on the other side, stood Mattheo Riddle. A malicious smirk was printed across his lips. He glanced around a few times, seeming to scan the surroundings of your dorm.

“Hi, is there anyone else here?” he asked, his voice sickly sweet. The courteous role he was playing made you all the more nervous. He never acted this way, even when he’d come to your dorm in the past. He was usually just as brash as he always was, no matter who was in the room.

“No, there’s not,” you said, your voice annoyingly shaking just a bit. “And if you don’t mind, I’m actually pretty busy—”

Just as you started to push the door closed again, Mattheo’s foot slammed against it, completely blocking its path. You tried to push against him, but he was much too strong for you to defend against.

“I’m sure you can spare a few moments for a quick chat,” he nearly growled, never dropping the fake smile planted on his face. His strong arm pushed against the door, rendering your protection of it completely useless. He pushed through and into the room as if you’d never been holding it in the first place.

He kicked the door shut behind him as soon as he stepped through, the door clunking shut with a rough thud. You suppressed a flinch at the loud sound, refusing to show any sign of vulnerability. You couldn’t pull away from your plan now that you were feeling his anger—that was cowardly.

“Mattheo, I’ve asked for you to leave,” you warned.

“Yeah? Just answer one question for me, baby…” he said, stepping directly into your personal space and invading it in every way possible.

As if asking for permission, he raised his hand slowly and let it hover just next to your cheek. When you did nothing, he placed his fingers along your jawline. They stroked gently across a small surface area, insisting that you felt every searing second of contact.

His face came impossibly close against yours. His warm breath fanned slowly across your cheek, hints of fire and cinnamon lingering beneath your nose. The feeling of his lips skirting slightly over your skin on the way to your ear sent a myriad of chills down the length of your arms and a pool of heat between your thighs. You silenced a shudder on its way through your lips.

“Did you act that way on purpose?” he whispered. His lips caressed the curvature of your ear, his hot words curling around the room. “If not, I’ll find a new girl to open her legs when I want. But if you wanted this, I will make you regret ever having turned away from me.”

You swallowed thickly, the sound piercing the blanket of silence that fell around the room the minute Mattheo stopped speaking. It irked you to no end, that the entire world seemed to hold its breath to wait for this boy. This dark, irritatingly impossible to resist boy. It was more than you were able to handle, no matter how determined you were to prove a point.

“What I wanted…,” you trailed off coldly. “Was for you to prove to me that you’re not exactly like every other Slytherin that waltzes in here, comes in ten seconds, and then asks me if I’ve finished. I’ve been waiting for that special something to jump out at me, but it just hasn’t. I’m getting bored of you, Mattheo.” You took a deep breath, gaining enough courage to flatten your face and select your next words perfectly. “Speaking of, I was wondering if your friend, Enzo, was single.”

You struggled not to smirk at his reaction. If you didn’t know Mattheo, you’d have assumed he was going to crash out and leave the room. But you knew him and his destructive tendencies. His rage, though extremely stigmatized, was something to be in awe of, and you were ready to see it. And to be the target of it.

His eyes darkened until they were barely reflecting any of the dim light around the room. His lips parted slightly, just enough for an evil smirk to stretch across his face. He was all dark eyes and sharp canines, and it looked as if he were desperate to sink them into your flesh.

“You’re fucking done,” he whispered menacingly.

Then his hand was around your throat, firm and bruising. He walked you backwards until your back roughly hit the stone wall, the cold rock biting into your shoulder blades. His lips met yours with a fervor you’d never seen before.

His tongue cruelly parted your lips and laid claim to the entirety of your throat. You could hardly breathe with the pressure he was applying around your neck and the force of his kiss. Yet, still, you could not deny the heat building within your stomach and radiating downwards.

His free hand wrapped around your waist, the fingers slipping slyly beneath the waistband of your uniform skirt. Just as always, in the midst of the fiery storm, his fingers were able to imitate some form of softness just long enough for his hand to prepare to rip your skirt away. Despite the roughness he provided everywhere else, his fingers were gentle as they slid along your skin so as not to pinch it against the wall. It was just thoughtful enough to melt your heart down into a broiling golden puddle.

His strong hand gripped the material of your bottoms and pulled them roughly down, revealing the absence of anything beneath, save your blackened tights. When he lifted his hand once more to tear your panties away, he recognized the lack of material within his fingers and growled against your lips.

“You fucking wanted this, you dumb slut,” he spat, his pearlescent teeth sinking down into the flesh of your bottom lip. With a whimper and flash of white across your vision, he finally released you, leaving behind a thin slathering of blood across your teeth.

“You wanted me to tear you to pieces,” he whispered, his hand finally freeing your throat, but only to get to work on ripping your uniform shirt apart. The buttons clattered wildly across the floor, rolling freely each in their own directions.

You moved to protest but Mattheo shoved you back against the wall. He shook his head as if in disbelief you’d even try to get away from him at this point in time. In his mind, this was well-deserved punishment. If you were his girl, you were going to fucking listen to him. You knew what you were getting into when you first laid your lips on his.

With your shirt split down the middle, the only thing standing between his lips and your heaving body were a lacy bra and a pair of tights. The cold, gray air hit your soaked body so aggressively, you thought your teeth might start clacking together.

“All this going to waste because you couldn’t ask me for what you wanted,” he whispered. “I’m going to have to destroy this gorgeous body, when it should be worshiped.”

To your disbelief, he sank down to his knees and placed his hands gently on the back of your thighs. His scorching mouth made contact with your thighs—still covered in the thin material of your pantyhose—and he began to place wet, biting kisses along your flesh. He moved slowly from just above your knee to the top of your thigh. Each mean kiss ached as if they were done by a wild animal, but—just as he always fucking did—he soothed them with his skilled tongue afterwards. Never letting you hurt for too long.

Once he reached your core, fluttering in anticipation, he took a deep breath. The scent of your desire filled his senses as if it was his last meal. Just from how he’d loved in the past, you could tell that he was refraining from devouring you. But this was a punishment. No matter how sweet or caring he so often was, he was never going to let you have what you wanted.

“But that won’t do today…” he whispered against the surface of your tights just above your core, so close that his lips brushed across the sensitive skin. You withheld a whimper.

“Seems like it wasn’t happening any other day, either,” you chuckled breathlessly. You weren’t dropping this fucking routine. You wanted this and every inch of teasing Mattheo wanted to give you.

He laid a biting slap across your left thigh. The sound of it echoed throughout the room, only being interrupted by the cry that left your lips at the sudden abuse.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he demanded, his hand soothing the sore flesh.

He pressed one more kiss to the blossoming handprint, before sliding a short nail against the hosiery, ripping it instantly.

You gasped at the sensation, watching as he pulled on the material. It shredded down your leg, exposing your bare thighs to the pale light. Flaming red fingerprints bloodied the soft flesh and marked you as his.

Despite your annoyance at his lack of excitement during the last few times you’d fucked, the feeling of possession that he’d laid on you always made an impression. You felt like you belonged to him in every aspect of the word.

Then before you were able to let another smart-ass comment fly, he slipped his hand beneath the large shear in the tights and ripped a hole right across your aching groin, baring your searing cunt to the world.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Even though he was intending to punish, Mattheo couldn’t help but appreciate your body just a little bit. Though he wouldn’t admit it just yet, he could die happily buried within you.

Seeming to realize his “punishment” was a bit too sweet, he gripped your hips roughly and flipped your body around to face the wall. You helped aloud as the craggy stone bit into the skin of your breasts through your bra. The lace mixed with the cold wall made your nipples prick almost uncomfortably.

“Gonna fuck some manners into you, baby,” he murmured, his gravelly voice echoing against the curve of your spine. His mean fingers traced each nodule of each vertebrae until he reached the dimples imprinted in the small of your back.

His thumbs pressed deep against them, rubbing an easy massage into them for just a second.

“Feel good? You got any other dumbass things to say?”

“Why waste my breath? I’m gonna have to fake my fucking orgasm in a few seconds.”

You bit back a moan as he reached through your legs, gripped the hole he’d ripped in your tights, and widened it between your thighs. He pulled it up and over your ass.

“Yeah? You fake it every time, baby?” he growled into your ear, his heavy bulge pressing into your bare ass.

“Yeah,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whisper. Your hands were settled against your desk, fingers tightened around the edges, nails scratching into the wood. Your back was arched uncomfortably against his core, begging for every slight thrust he pressed into you. You could practically feel him within you already.

“You fake it every time you cum all over my cock, huh?” he asked. Behind you, you could hear him wrestling his belt out of its loops and dropping his trousers.

“Answer me, bitch,” he demanded, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head back against his chest.

“Fuck, Matty, that hurts!” you whined. It was a good, searing kind of pain but you didn’t want him to know that. Didn’t want him to know that your arousal was dripping down your legs by now.

“Yeah? That hurts?” he taunted. “That’s nothing, baby. You can take it.”

Then suddenly, his hot core was leant against the top of your ass. You were biting back a moan and running your fingers into the desk so hard they were going numb. Still, you weren’t going to give up.

“We’ll see if you can give it—fuck!”

He shut you up by slamming himself into you. The force of his intrusion hit your cervix at a sharp angle, sending stars into your eyes.

“Let me hear you fake it, yeah?” he groaned as he pulled himself out of you all the way to the tip before pushing himself back into you.

You couldn’t hide it anymore. Though you could still force some mean comments out every once and a while, you were unable to repress your moans.

“I’m basically an expert at this point!” you moaned.

“I bet,” he growled, his hips increasing in pace. “I know the way you clench around me everytime I take you from behind—” every sentence was pushed out between deep groans that echoed in your womb— “I’ve memorized every possible way you can scream my name…and I’ve learned every single thing I have to do to make that pretty pussy cum all over me.”

Following his words, his right hand snaked around your hip and pressed directly against your clit. He rubbed perfect circles into the sensitive spot, demanding a finish from you as soon as he could pull it from you.

“You’re a bit too cocky for my liking,” you breathed against his ruthless pounding. “I’d still like Enzo’s number.”

And with one final thrust, he pierced the bubble of pleasure that had bloomed rapidly in your stomach. You came impossibly hard, with the evidence of your high embarrassingly gushing around him. He pulled away from you and let your desire cover his stomach.

He laughed almost maniacally at the way your orgasm stretched out for what felt like hours.

And then, as you were finally coming down, he was pumping himself noisily into his hand and coming all of your lower back, painting the dimples he so loved to touch.

He moaned breathlessly, a slight crack in his voice, as he slowed his movements down and came down from his own high.

A tired laugh left his swollen lips as he trailed his finger through the remnants of his spend on your back and pushed his coated fingers into your sensitive entrance.

The overstimulation sent a flurry of ice up your spine. You cried at the sensation. Your legs fluttered before giving out.

On your way down to the floor, he caught you against his arms. Your knees were impossibly weak, but he was ever so strong.

“You faking this too, baby?” he clicked his tongue before settling you against your bed.

“Fuck you,” you sighed, your eyes fluttering against the ceiling. The lightheaded feeling floating through your skull was nearly too much for you to handle, but you were still high up on your pedestal and refused to come down.

Distantly, you could hear him pulling his pants up and rearranging his clothes.

Gently, he slid the remainder of your hosiery down your legs, unhooked your bra, and lifted you up off of the bed bridal-style. Somehow managing to cradle you with just one hand, he used his left to yank your comforter back, and settle you beneath it.

He leaned down beside your ear and pressed his lips to your temple. Just before he pulled all the way back, he began to whisper.

“The next time you wanna act like that—just remember that I fucked you to sleep, brat.”

- - -

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[sunnypopoki]

— 𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐙𝐋𝐄 ; P.2

(𝘠𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘢 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳)

𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘴, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬.

ᴛᴡ: ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴏᴜʟ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ, ᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴀꜰᴀʙ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴇᴛᴄ.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄɪᴢᴇ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇꜱ, ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴘᴏᴋɪ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, Qᴜᴏᴛᴇᴠ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ.

Р.1 / Р.3

The bed was cold whenever you woke up. Your fingers slid across the crisp sheets, feeling for Kieran's warmth even though you already knew he wasn't there. A headache pounded against your temples. Your cheeks were stiff with dried tears. The air was cold and you already wanted to roll back over and go back to sleep, hating the chill in the room.

You didn't feel as distraught as last night. Maybe it was the solid eight hours of sleep, but your brain was fuzzy and lacking. A groan tore through your lips as you stumbled out of bed and wiped at your eyes.

The floorboards were cold and you wondered if Kieran accidentally turned off the heat. You shivered and ran your hands down your arms.

The house was still. Even the dust in the air seemed to move in slow motion, barely drifting through the rays of sunlight that poured through the open windows. You shuffled down the hallway and glanced at the living room. Undisturbed, neat, stale. You almost forgot that you sat there with Kieran last night before he got his phone call. A nasty taste formed under your tongue, lips pursing into a thin line.

If only there was a switch you were able to turn off in your brain. It was the morning and you were already regretting waking up to get breakfast. You rubbed at your eyes and paused at the kitchen doorway and the cold tiled flooring bit at your bare feet.

The clock ticked, telling you it was 4:00 PM. You woke up late again.

A single message was laid on the counter on a pink posted note. You picked it up and noticed Kieran's handwriting that was scribbled down in a rush. Next to it was a small doodle of him holding a heart. It read;

Good morning my кошечка! I'm writing this before leaving for work, but I made you some breakfast and put it in the fridge. Strawberry pancakes and the syrup, if you want any, are in the pantry on the top shelf. I will be back around 5 this evening, remember to eat lunch. I will eat dinner with you tonight. I love you.

You were grateful for any food that he made you. Hell, you were grateful that he even thought of you in the first place to make you food whenever he didn't have to... But you'd rather have his presence instead of some warmed-up pancakes. You crumpled up the posted note and tossed it away. You were hungry but you didn't want to eat, you didn't have the energy or motivation to chew and swallow, much less sit down at the table.

Leaning against the counter, you ran your hands down your face. There were so many things you didn't want to do. You didn't want to brush your teeth, take a shower, or put on a fresh pair of clothes. You didn't want to sleep and you didn't want to be awake either.

The only thing you could think of was Kieran, yet you couldn't shake him off.

The pancakes were left untouched. It was just another meal in the fridge that was waiting to go bad. You couldn't promise that you were going to eat them later whenever you didn't even want to look at them. Kieran would ask later, 'What's wrong? you didn't eat the pancakes I left for you' and you would have to say another lie. It was just your stomach, or you didn't see the note until after you ate something else, or you weren't in the mood for pancakes.

It took everything in your power just to force yourself to go to the bathroom. Even then, he stayed on your mind as you splashed your face with cold water. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you frowned at the dark circles and reluctantly brushed your teeth. A pimple was right above your right brow. God, you didn't want to catch glimpses of yourself either, much less stare into the mirror.

What can I do to make the rest of this day productive?

You hadn't a clue. This only left you waltzing around the house, dabbling in some things, but getting up again whenever you got bored. You couldn't keep still no matter what you tried to do. By six, your mood was bitter, annoyed at your lack of interest in anything and annoyed at why you were feeling so depressed.

Stopping in the middle of the hallway, your eyes snapped to the closed door on the right. That was Kieren's at-home office. He rarely ever used it and it was mostly used as a place for him to store things from his rented out big office or important documents. You were aware that all your birth certificates and SSN cards were locked up in a safe in there. But what else? The last time you went in there was like two months ago, but he usually went in there weekly, even if it was just to grab something.

What if he is hiding something?

Reaching out to the handle, you hesitated. However, that lasted only a short time because curiosity got the best of you. You turned the handle and peeked inside.

His home office was small and cramped, which was why he rented out a room in a small building in the city to have his own office for editing and focusing on work. The walls were lined with books and files, and a small desk was cluttered with papers of all kinds. He needed to clean it out. However, you felt grateful that he hadn't already.

A small look around wouldn't hurt anyone, right? Guilt was already threatening to turn you around and march you back to your room, to put yourself in time-out, but you needed to know if something was going on with him. Your hands fiddled with the handle of the door before you stepped into the room and closed it behind you. A small peak. That's all you wanted. It wasn't like you were going to turn the room upside down to look for things against him.

The inside wasn't dusty and you noticed recent documents on his desk. It was good that he didn't desert the small room entirely for his bigger office. You shuffled to sit on the chair and drummed your fingers against the wood.

Where to start?

You didn't know what you were looking for. Something to give you peace of mind that didn't include talking to Kieran about it. If he was cheating, he wasn't going to outright tell you about it. You weren't sure where he'd hide things if he didn't want them to be found. He had his phone on him and that wasn't something you felt comfortable snooping in, but his laptop had everything about his work.

You hesitantly pulled his laptop closer and opened it. A small peak. It wouldn't do anything. It wasn't like you were going to shame if you found anything raunchy. Sure... it was something he probably should talk to you about, but you didn't blame him, since you weren't exactly someone who was giving him fun nights even if the two of you were married.

Maybe he has gotten bored of me because I haven't had sex with him yet, you thought. It's not that I don't find him attractive it's just...

The idea of intimacy like that scared you. All the possibilities of what could go wrong, what would hurt, and what would be uncomfortable.

Kieran always said he understood and that it didn't bother him that the tow is you weren't intimate in bed. But maybe that was a lie. Maybe he found pleasure in stuff on the internet or some woman he kept seeing. You'd be fine living a life with him even if it meant no intimate pleasures at all, but maybe he didn't think the same way you did. He probably had a lot of pent-up stress and desires, so was it your fault for not doing it with him? Right?

Was he going to leave you for someone else because of that?

Your hands were shaking as the screen turned on. His password was his old childhood cat's name: Sonya. At least he didn't bother to change the password into something you didn't know, that was a good sign, right? You swallowed the lump in your throat and tapped at the keyboard. Ding. You were in.

There were a lot of random things on his desktop. You noticed the editor and graphic design apps, such as Microsoft and Blender, and a few games that you haven't played before in your life.  You tapped at the desk absentmindedly and debated with yourself, wondering if you should just go and watch TV, but an app caught your eye.

M?

You noticed the icon at the bottom of the screen with the letter M. It wasn't a familiar-looking app, nothing you've downloaded onto your laptop before, and it was suspicious. The design wasn't good at all. You chewed on your bottom lip and dragged the cursor over to open it. This app would be the only thing you'd look at. Not his search history or anything—no. You'd have to give him some privacy.

That didn't change the fact that it was hard giving him privacy—not whenever his privacy was the whole reason you were suspicious of him in the first place.

The one thing you wanted to know was where he was going with his business trips. As an editor, you knew that he could have a business trip. Sometimes he met up with clients, however, lately, it's been very frequent. You were jealous of it. If it was someone he was meeting, even for work, why were they more important than his wife? he didn't need to go to work that often, right?

The app opened up and you blinked at the messages that were waiting there. All empty chats with numbers as names, except one. It was named 'Sam' and you noticed a couple of messages within the chat. Maybe a client? Or was it someone he was cheating on you with? Your mouth ran dry.

Okay, maybe you shouldn't be looking at his stuff. Just because you were suspicious, shouldn't you wait until you see him in the act of cheating instead of snooping? This wasn't right. It was a shady app, but maybe this was a client that he wasn't supposed to tell you about. As an editor, he wasn't allowed to share the works he was helping writers with, which went against his agreement.

"I shouldn't be looking at this..."

Yes, you shouldn't, but you needed to know. Why was he always leaving late at night and going on long business trips? Why was he always late whenever the two of you went on dates? Why was he always getting calls? Why did he never stay long enough to sleep in your shared bed? It didn't even feel like his bed anymore...

"Just one peek and that's it," you whispered, "please, don't let me find anything."

You opened the chat and gnawed on your bottom lip. There were only a couple of messages, all of them sporadic at what time they were sent. You paused, freezing when your eyes were glued to a specific set of messages.

Sam -- 3:25 AM

Come see me.

Kieran -- 3:27 AM

Make it quick.

Your hands froze above the keyboard. If you had to be honest, you weren't sure what you were looking at. That was about two weeks ago. What was he doing two weeks ago? Your brain wracked to remember what he did that week and how many times he left the house, but it was a blur. Every week was the same in the long run. You glanced down at the most recent message. It was from Sam.

Sam -- 10:00 AM

Where the hell are you at? Respond to this when you see it. You told me you'd see me today.

Your muscles collapsed. Falling back into the seat, you stared at the screen dumbly, lungs gathering in as much air as they could before you stopped breathing entirely. Everything was cold; your bones, muscles, and blood.

Sam was a unisex name. For all you knew, this was the woman he could be cheating on you with. The messages were distrustful enough. The one from two weeks ago was at three in the morning and this Sam person was asking to meet him? He agreed, so even if you didn't remember that week perfectly, it wouldn't have surprised you to know he went somewhere at three in the morning. Just last night, he left at an odd time and has yet to come back.

Is he with her now?

The thought was crushing. You could imagine it at the forefront of your mind; you saw him panting, grinding his hips into some woman you didn't know, moaning her name like some sort of mantra. His hands would be all over her body and her palms would graze down his inked skin, tracing the very same lines that you have. He would hold her hands, he would kiss her lips, and move his hips like a starved beast.

Tears rolled down your cheeks.

No.

No, no, no.

None of this was real. You were just jumping to conclusions again, you didn't know that this person was a woman, and even if it was—him going to meet her at 3 in the morning wasn't cheating, right? That didn't guarantee that he was having sex with her, dating her, kissing her.

Your nails carved crescents into your palms.

You were angry. You didn't quite get it, but all the hurt you felt manifested like a hot steel rod through your heart. Short breaths escaped your lips and a choking sob followed. You didn't want to cry, you were tired of crying, but that didn't stop your heart from collapsing and burning all over again. So you punched, you punched at your knees and thighs until you knew bruises would form later, and you didn't stop.

"Damn it!" you wheezed, fist slamming down on his desk so hard that a pile of papers slipped to the floor. "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!"

He didn't.

He wouldn't.

The chair tipped back whenever you got up. You were dizzy and you blamed it on how fast you were breathing, aggressively wiping at your tears until your eyes turned red and raw. The office door slammed shut behind you as you fumbled to throw on some new clothes and shoes, tossing on a hat to hide your hair. You needed out of the house. Anywhere, yes anywhere! You'd go anywhere that was better than this place.

He wouldn't have done it, right? No, he wouldn't have! You didn't know anything for certain. Yes, you just had to stop jumping to conclusions. In fact, it would be better if you just stopped thinking entirely. Shut your brain off and stop questioning your husband's loyalty, because no way he would cheat on you—

But what if he is? you thought, Sam could be better than me in everything. She could be prettier, smarter, sexier. What if she gives him what he wants with sex? What if he is happy and satisfied with her?

Wouldn't that make you selfish for wanting to keep hanging onto him?

You kicked the pot outside. It shattered when it fell off the porch and you cursed, stomping past it, and going down the street. Your eyes were puffy and red, cheeks blotchy from your stupid waterworks, and you looked messy. You didn't care. You couldn't gather the energy to care. So you walked down to the store that was a couple blocks away at the bottom of the hill, gripping your wallet tightly.

You needed a long walk to calm you down. So you did just that—you walked to the store as slowly as possible, sucking in the cold air, wishing all your foul emotions would melt away like that sloshy snow on the side of the road.

It didn't take long to reach the store. Unluckily for you, you didn't notice the slightly dimming sky. It always got dark early in winter.

The store was welcoming. There was no one inside except two workers who were minding their own business. They flashed you a smile before you scurried to the back of the store, grabbing a pack of your favorite chips and a soda from one of the fridges. You exhaled and glanced at the tempting chocolates near the front. You didn't need them, plus you had a feeling you'd eat them all in one go and make yourself sick, so you refrained from buying them.

Sighing, you walked up to the front and placed your items on the counter. An older lady walked up to the register, the pretty red ribbons styling in her hair catching your eye. They matched the red eyeshadow around her eyes and the red mascara she was wearing.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" the cashier raised a worried eyebrow when she noticed your appearance, glanced around, and then lowered her voice, "Do you need me to call someone for you? Are you in trouble?"

You managed a weak smile. "I'm good, just a rough day."

It took everything in your power to not spill your guts to this lady. Oh, how you wanted to tell someone about what you were going through, what you were thinking, but who would you tell? All your friends were in happy relationships, they wouldn't understand, and couldn't speak to the one man you usually told everything to because it was about him.

The cashier smiled softly, saying, "Oh, I apologize. I heard there have been a lot of kidnappings around here recently, so I wanted to make sure there was no bad person in the store with you. Women need to look out for other women!"

Your chest warmed up at her smile. "Yes, we do. Thank you. I love how your charms and makeup match, it's very pretty."

The cashier bashfully waved her hand and laughed. "Aww thank you! You look like you have a kind heart, so I things get better for you, sweetie. Hopefully, these snacks will make you feel better."

She handed you the bag and you nodded, muttering a 'thank you' and a simple 'I hope you have a good evening' before you turned on your heel and bolted for the exit.

The doors slid open and that warm feeling in your chest faded, pausing to stop and stare at the sky. It got dark quickly. It wasn't fully dark, the sun was just over the horizon, painting orange and pink streaks into the clouds. A bird flew down and perched on a lamppost.

If only you were a bird. They were able to fly anywhere they wanted to go, they didn't have a care in the world, and they didn't have to struggle with whatever mess you were struggling with. You didn't know how you should label what you were going through. You didn't know if your spouse was a cheater, you didn't know if you deserved to be cheated on, and you didn't know why you were dragging it with you.

Just like that, the nice interaction you had was in the back of your mind, and you felt like shit again.

Why can't I just be the type of wife who trusts him?

You always compared yourself to the images of wives you saw on TV and the internet. Smiling, happy, and who had great communication with their spouses—yet here you were, afraid to ask your husband just because you didn't want to face the fact that it might be real. To face the fact you could potentially lose him. You were angry at him too, you didn't want to hear excuses, and you didn't want to look at him.

Yeah, maybe you did deserve to get cheated on, but you were still pissed at him for discarding you if he did. For tossing you out like you were nothing as if he forgot all the years the two of you have been together.

If he cared, you were starting to no longer feel it. That gnawing thought that each time he kissed you, he imagined it was another girl. His touches felt distant at times and you wondered what else he had on his mind to make him so ghostly.

You glanced down at the chips and soda in your bag. So much for trying to eat the pancakes he made later. You didn't have the desire to eat anything he made, you'd end up crying again if you did. Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you glanced down, moving the heavy bag around as you struggled to get your phone out.

Speak of the devil, and he shall arrive.

Kieran ❤︎  -- 9:48 PM

Where are you?

Your lip twitched into a frown. From what you saw earlier, you didn't want to talk to him at all. Your mind was still reeling with what message you saw on his laptop, wondering just who Sam was, and why everything was so suspicious. Your face was stiff from the bitter cold and all the dried-up tears you sobbed earlier.

It wasn't fair. He was asking where you were but each time you asked him, he either was vague or said some sort of response that didn't make sense! Your teeth gritted together and you felt tears welling back up. Angry. You were absolutely livid at him. You were livid at yourself. Hell, you wanted to scream at something but you didn't know who deserved to be screamed at.

Was it you because you weren't a good enough wife for him to stay around? Or was it him for not staying around in the first place?

You managed to type back. Even so, no matter how angry you were, or how sad, you always found yourself responding the longer you stared at his name on the top of the screen.

You — 9:49 PM

Store. Walking home now.

You watched the bubble appear. Within seconds, before you had the chance to put your phone away and pretend you never saw his message, he replied.

Kieran ❤︎ — 9:50 PM

Stay put and don't leave the store. I'm coming to pick you up. It's not safe for you to be walking out when it is getting dark ❤

You wanted to throw your phone. You stomped your foot and shoved your phone into your pocket, glaring holes into the cement as you stood out on the sidewalk outside the story.

It wasn't terribly dark yet but it was dark enough that it wasn't safe. That was your fault, you were the idiot for giving into your compulsions and going to the store whenever you wanted to go out of the house. Yes, you should wait for Kieran, no matter how angry you were because it was the responsible thing to do.

But you didn't want to wait. The house was only two blocks away and you knew everyone in the neighborhood. It wasn't like you hadn't walked out to the store before in the dark, so what would happen this time? You had your keys and the can of soda in the bag would be a good weapon to swing at someone.

He never tells me where he's going, you cussed inwardly, so he can just suck it up and wait for me to walk home.

Yes, you were being petty.

But who wouldn't be? You just found a very suspicious message on your husband's laptop from someone named 'Sam', and now he wanted you to wait for him to come and pick you up. You were hurt. You were angry. You were confused. You didn't want to see his face but at the same time, all you wanted to do was to snap at him for him to explain everything.

It had to be your fault, right? Why else wouldn't he want to spend time with you if it wasn't your fault?

You let your emotions get the best of you, storming down the side of the street as you ventured farther and farther away from the sanctuary of the store. Street lamps flickered as you walked up the hill with your shoes clicking against the sidewalk. There was no sign of the car he was in.

The thought of sitting down on the concrete and letting your heart out was tempting. There was no one around and you were getting tired of the same bleak, lonely expanse of your home. The sidewalk looked more welcoming than the bed at home you could cry on. You stopped dead in your tracks and sighed, tears welling up. 

You didn't even realize you were sinking to your knees before you were already sitting on the sidewalk. You weren't sobbing, no wailing, but single tears that rolled quietly down.

So many people would say so many things if they saw you like this. Maybe they'd call you dramatic, maybe they were right, but everything felt so suffocating. You felt trapped. You didn't want to go home but you wanted to be home, you wanted Kieran to hold you but you also didn't want to see him. It was all so complex.

Maybe everyone would call you cowardly and pathetic. God, you already knew that. You were crying on the sidewalk instead of going up to him and asking him—but what if he said an answer you didn't want to hear? What if he admitted to cheating? What if he said he didn't love you anymore? The fear of rejection was the one reason you kept your mouth shut... the fear of losing him.

If you lost him, you didn't think you could fall in love again.

You don't think you would want to.

All you wanted was to have the love of your life back; his smiles, his hugs, him holding you to sleep. You wanted the man you saw at your wedding—when he looked at you as if you were the only person to exist. But now maybe that wasn't true. Maybe you were just a woman he didn't want to be around anymore. Maybe you were dragging him down and he was just waiting for the perfect time to tell you.

God, I'm so scared, you thought. What if I'm right? What if it isn't all in my head?

Your phone buzzed. No. You wanted to ignore him, you wanted to stay here, you wanted to cry until all that was left was a numb destroyed path.

The last time you had a good unashamed cry, you couldn't remember. It was always muffled because Kieran was around or you were in your car, but now no one was around, but now you were too tired to sob like you wanted to. Crying made you feel like a crybaby, like some bitch who couldn't keep it together, even though you had every reason to shed a couple tears.

You were angry at yourself for going behind his back to snoop through his laptop because you were too scared to have an adult conversation with him, you were angry at him for always leaving you alone and confused, and you were angry that this situation was even happening.

God, you felt so repetitive. Yeah, you were angry and sad, maybe you should just stop whining and dwelling on it. How easy everything would be if you could.

"Hey girly, you okay?"

You froze. For a split second, you thought it was Kieran, but it was two men when you looked up. Two white men, one with a buzz cut and the other had a short perm, tattoos covering their arms. Cigarettes hung from their fingertips. Maybe it was because you were used to how Kieran looked, but you didn't immediately assume they were 'bad guys' because of how they looked.

You wiped your tears away and sniffled, "Uhm, shit, yes I'm okay."

The man with the buzz cut raised an eyebrow. A shiver shot down your spine whenever he smiled. Okay, maybe he was a bad guy because something about this felt wrong.

"Why is a cute thing like you cryin' in a place like this?" he asked, then glanced at his friend, "a poor girly like this shouldn't be cryin' out on the street, don'cha agree?"

The other man nodded, "Yeah. Where are ya' going?"

Sweat trickled down your back. You stumbled up from the ground, backing away from them, gripping your bag just in case you had to swing it. You cleared your throat and did your best to sound firm, "I'm heading home, so if you'll excuse me..."

The men smiled like preying hyenas. "Oh, we can walk you home--"

"(Y/N), thank god!"

Your head snapped to the side when Kieran shouted. There he was, rushing towards you in a jog, stopping to catch his breath. Why wasn't he in the car? He looked distraught. His hair was a wild mess, sweat on his brow, panic in his eyes that fell into relief whenever he saw you. He didn't give you a chance to speak before he grabbed your shoulders, yanked you into him, and crushed you in a hug.

"Why the hell did you not answer any of my calls? You didn't text me back either, fuck, I thought something happened to you! I told you I was going to pick you up!"

You were stunned. He pulled back and cupped your face, noticing your tear-stained cheeks. He looked like he just got sucker punched in the gut.

"Why are you crying, Котик? Did something happen?"

Oh, how it looked in his eyes. He probably assumed the worst happened to you whenever you weren't at the store and all his calls and messages were ignored. You couldn't blame him for being panicked. Guilt stabbed you through the heart; you just scared him to death just because you were angry and sad over a questionable situation. It was an immature reaction based on an assumption and now he was the one dealing with the aftermath.

Suddenly, you felt like the worst piece of shit in the world.

However, anything you wanted to say was stolen from your lips whenever Kieran looked up. The two men who tried talking to you stared back with unimpressed, raised eyebrows. Kieran's eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?"

The man with the buzz cut grinned. "Oh, well we saw this girly sitting on the sidewalk so—"

"I asked who you are?" Kieran deadpanned, "that means your name."

Both the men shuffled on their feet. The man with the shaggy hair spoke, glaring, "What do you want our names for? It doesn't matter."

Kieran pursed his lips. Whatever he was thinking, you couldn't read it, and you could tell they couldn't either by the way they started to glance at each other. He sighed and his fingers fumbled with the edge of your shirt. He glanced down at you, giving you whiplash with how soft he looked at you.

"Did these men hurt you? What happened?"

"Hey! We already said--"

Kieran's voice dropped and he glanced at them, his glare cold enough to send a chill through hell, "I didn't fucking ask you, so keep your mouth shut until I tell you to open."

You didn't try to speak, you just shook your head and gripped his arm tighter. Kieran snapped his head back up to glare at them and they squirmed. He analyzed them for a bit, letting them get increasingly nervous by the second.

"Now that I look at you, you seem familiar. Elliot? Elliot Smith?"

The man with the buzz cut, Elliot, froze.

"I heard about you. I have a friend who works in the police, he told me about you. Weren't you charged with sexual harassment three months ago?" Kieran stared, his expression cold, "There have been some rumors recently that you've been trying to get into gang activity as well."

Elliot's face turned red as if all the air supply was cut off to his face. He looked like a plum when his cheeks grew from red to purple, his eyes shifting through different emotions to gauge what to say next. You blinked. He was charged with sexual harassment? How did Kieran know about something like that? When did he get a friend who was a cop?

Is the cop Sam?

Kieran wasn't a man who watched the news that often, so you doubted he was lying about where he got the information. You shuffled on your feet and his hand held you tighter. Damn it. You really threw "stranger danger" out the window just because you were pissed and wanted to spite your husband by walking home instead of waiting for him.

Elliot stumbled forward and started to stammer out his words. Kieran didn't step back, but you didn't miss the way his muscles tensed up like a wild cat about to lunge forward. He started to drum his fingers against your arm—you weren't sure if he was trying to comfort you or distract you.

"I am not in the mafia, Russian bastard!"

Kieran raised an eyebrow. He ignored the obvious attack on his ethnicity, not caring that he was called a Russian bastard. He tilted his head, "the mafia?"

"Yeah! You're accusing me of working with the mafia just because of some still rumors you heard from a cop. Those rumors aren't--"

"Ah, no," he smiled humorlessly, "I imagine they aren't interested in уличные дворняги. Plus I said gang activity, as in little boys running around with baseball bats and pockets filled with drugs."

Elliot's buddy jumped forward to save his friend's skin. His glare didn't match Kieran's, it was weak and anxious. His hand was shaking and he pointed a hand at you. You feared what bullshit he was going to come up with and you didn't get a chance to interrupt before he spouted it.

"You should give us to her, man. If you go around accusing people of crimes, you probably do shit yourself, like abusing her. I bet you're the one who made her cry. Her eyes are puffy, she looked fuckin' defeated when we saw her. So hand her over before we call the cops."

Time stopped.

Kieran sucked in a breath.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm saying that you probably abuse her or something! If you don't leave her with us, man, we will call the cops on you!"

Kieran's face shifted into something darker. Much darker. That sweet and worried expression he had for you molded into something malicious. The last time you saw a look like that was whenever some kid in your freshman year of high school insulted you. That same kid got two of his teeth knocked out that same day. Kieran never told you he did it, he acted like he didn't know, but you remembered vividly how he tried to hide the blood caked under his nails back then.

You never thought something like this would happen. Sure, they haven't harrassed you, but accusing Kieran of abuse whenever he hasn't done anything wrong made your chest bubble up. You were the one who screwed up and got all of you in this situation, not him.

"Hey, he's not—"

Kieran squeezed your shoulder. You saw the way he glanced down at you, subtly shaking his head, telling you to leave it to him. You weren't sure what he was thinking anymore or what he was doing—all you wanted was to go home. It was you who put everything in this situation because of an emotional mistake, so you should be the one to suck up your responsibility and leave the situation.

"leave her with you?"

Elliot spoke up. "The poor girly was crying and now some tattooed, large bastard like you comes up! You think the police would believe—"

"And they'll believe someone who was recently released from prison for sexual harassment?"

Elliot clamped his mouth shut. His eyes snapped to you, narrowing into daggers, and sweat built on your brow. He pointed an angry finger at you.

"Well isn't it her fucking fault for walking out whenever it's dark? She doesn't have brains if she thinks that someone looking like her would be able to go home without getting hit on! It's normal for good-looking women."

Oh, if looks could kill, you were sure that those two men would have dropped dead. Elliot paled when he noticed how Kieran was glaring at him. He was on the edge, two seconds away from grabbing that hand and seeing how many times he could bend his finger until it snapped off.

It was scary. You'd be lying if you said that you weren't scared of an expression like that, because you had a feeling that the only reason he wasn't violent was because you were there.

Just like when the two of you were younger.

"...Kieran, why—why don't we go home? Okay?" you stammered, "We don't need to waste our time here. We wanted to have dinner together, remember?"

Kieran's lip twitched and his green eyes shifted down to you. They were sharp and calculating, his arm wrapped around you like a coiled spring.

"Let's just go home," you whispered. Please.

By the look of Elliot's face, he was hoping the two of you would leave too, scurrying back closer to his friend who had been quiet throughout the entire ordeal. You didn't blame him. He looked just as grey and sickly as the cement beneath their feet.

Kieran's jaw was clenched. He stared at you as if he was debating all the options he had. You knew him, he didn't like being violent in front of you and always lied in the past about where he was. You weren't naive. You were very much aware that he was violent and you knew that he hated that you knew. To him, he just wanted you to view him as a dazzling husband.

Which he was—just dangerous too.

The two men didn't dare act cocky whenever he finally turned to leave with you. His hand grasped yours and he dragged you back down to the store, not looking back, as if he feared he might actually break their fingers off if he looked at their faces again.

You had a hard time keeping up with his long strides. His head was in the clouds so he didn't bother to slow down, gritting his teeth as he barely managed to make it to the parking lot without turning back.

Kieran sometimes had to use self-restraint when it came down to hurting others. Sometimes, you said, because it wasn't every day that he listened to it. You stumbled behind him.

"Slow down a bit! My legs—my legs aren't as long as yours!"

It was a miracle he actually heard you. Like a dog hearing a special command, he stopped dead in his tracks and you almost rammed your nose into his back. You inhaled sharply and let the burning of your legs rest a bit. He was basically jogging! You barely had enough courage to meet his eye whenever you noticed the familiar sensation of his gaze boring into your head.

His green eyes were dark.

Oh.

He was angry at you.

The silence was loud even though there was the distant sound of cars honking, the wind between houses, and some cat in an alleyway. You didn't know what to say. You wanted to apologize to him, for making him worry and putting yourself in a dangerous situation because of an emotional decision, but nothing would leave your lips. You opened your mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it again. You must have looked like a gaping fish out of water.

He had every right to be angry at you. You were aware that you tended to blame yourself in situations where you weren't involved, but you knew that you messed up.

Guilt twisted your gut up into one big knot. You didn't know what to do or say to untangle it, much less make it to where Kieran wasn't staring at you in the way that he was. Angry, confused, questioning why the hell you didn't just wait for him—and you felt guilty because you knew you couldn't just tell him why.

"I..."

He wasn't speaking. Was he waiting for you to give him something to work with? Even if it was some shitty lie or bad excuse? Your hand let go of his and started to fuddle at the hem of your shirt.

"...I'm sorry, I know I—I messed up. I, uhm, I made a bad decision—"

Kieran took a deep breath. How odd that such a small action caused every word you planned to speak to collapse, cutting your apology short. You couldn't look him in the eye. Dangerous thoughts started to swirl around in your head like poison; was he disappointed in you? Was dumb mistakes like this the reason he never stayed around you? Maybe he viewed you as a child who couldn't make reasonable decisions? Were you being emotional? Maybe he wasn't mad at you and you were assuming things?

You wished you had the courage to ask him all those questions. You wished you had the bravery to listen to the answers without crying. But you didn't, so you kept your mouth shut.

Kieran shuffled on his feet and placed a hand under your chin, lifting your head.

"Look at me."

His green eyes weren't as dark as before. He wasn't happy, yeah, but he looked as if he was trying to be gentle and understanding. You swallowed the lump in your throat.

"Thank you for apologizing," he murmured sincerely and he took a deep breath,  hanging his head, "I'm also sorry that men like that decided to target you. You were probably so scared and me acting like... me probably wasn't helping, was it?"

"Well, you—you were with me so I wasn't scared. I was more just... nervous I guess. I don't know, I went off on my own because I was emotional, I'm sorry—"

His eyebrows creased and his hands cupped your face. He was so tender with how his thumbs brushed over your cheeks and he leaned in close, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. He melted at the touch of your skin, fluidly stepping forward and leaning in as close as possible. He drank in your presence, your warmth, the smell of your hair, and the rising and falling off your shoulders.

"Let's... let's talk about this at home, okay? I'm not mad, I just..." he trailed off and his eyes darkened, "I was scared something happened to you. When I couldn't find you at the store, when you weren't responding to my calls or texts, and when I saw those fucking свиньи with you—"

He cut himself off. He closed his eyes and took a couple of breaths.

"We're going home. Come on."

You yelped whenever his hands curved under your knees and he picked you up, carrying you like you were some damsel in distress. Any questions, excuses, or complaints you wanted to say dissipated when you saw that distant look on his face. Just like you've seen before, he looked ghostly, like he saw something you couldn't see. Just where was his head at?

You looked away. Anger buzzed in your bones, guilt was drowning your heart, and you too had a fuzzy feeling inside your head that made you feel distant.

I shouldn't have left the house.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

LINKS :

— 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘳

— 𝘞𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘱𝘢𝘥

— 𝘘𝘶𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘷

[ P.3 ]

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

I just really like subby monster boys that like to be coddled and mothered… just wanna be taken care of and snuggled…

He just loves how gentle and soft you are, how you whisper sweet nothings while you stroke his cock and let him suckle at your breast. Never before has he been treated like he’s a precious little thing that needs to be protected and cared for… it makes him feel loved.

And being inside of you feels so warm and safe, he could fall asleep while you keep his cock nice and warm.

Planting soft kisses all over his face makes him let out a contented sigh… you’re such an angel to him, he’d do anything for you.

Your baby, you sweet boy… call him all those sweet pet names, just as long as he gets to be all yours.