#and i say that because reading it HE IS ALL OVER THE PLACE

[goteique]

| MY STARGIRL + rafayel, sylus, xavier, zayne. 

+cw. — f!reader, headcanon + scenarios format, established relationship, unprotected, s/d dynamics, explicit smut, rafayel is in heat, period sex, oral sex, f!overstim + m!overstim,  | +wc. — 3.5k |

+syn. — the thought of having a quickie with you occurred to him so suddenly and so enormously that all he needed was just to make it go away. However, it did not stop there.

+notes. — something possessed me while I wrote this. So happy that I’m finally making the debut post for this fandom & thanks to @hayatoseyepatch for beta reading all my lads pieces. | redirect to blog navigation

◈ RAFAYEL. 

“It’s just the tip baby,” Rafayel whispers against your ears followed by a prolonged groan. Encapsulated by his arms you feel immobile under his touch. He adds, “I promise.” You know him better than he knows himself. He says it's just the tip but the way he is being handsy with you, playing with the hem of your robes, pressing himself against you it does not strengthen the promise part of his word. 

“I don’t think you will. . .ahaAah!” His lips have already moved onto the bottom of your nape. You can feel his teeth sinking into your skin.  You can still look at the view of the vast blue of the sea through the window but as his hands skim under your dress cupping your breasts you moaningly exclaim, “I bet you won’t stop just at the tip.” There is a hint of mockery in your tone, underneath that, a challenge. Rafayel can take on challenges quite well even though he will whine about them throughout, very well when it is coming from you but not a taunt. That’s still a little hard to digest for him.

“Hah! We’ll see who’s on the winning side,” He rasps against your ears before turning you towards himself. Now your back is against the warm glass window. The heat does not irritate your skin since the sun is not very rowdy today but Rafayel is. Rafayel does not wait any further for any form of resistance but ends up smashing his lips against yours. It is the first time he has been like this, so needy, so rough, and above everything you like it. Is he on his heat cycle already? Both of your hands rest on his chest, trying to push him away at the possible realization because it would be dangerous for both of you but he just wouldn’t budge. So, instead of trying to resist, you just give in. 

“We’re not going to do this here, are we?”Rafayel does not answer your question with words but with his actions. He clusters all your dress up and tucking it over your boobs. You gulp as you help him to unbuckle his belt. As soon as his pants hit the floor, you can see the evidence of his yearning for you. 

Rafayel takes you into his lap by hoisting you up in his arms. The moment he pushes the head of his cock inside you, a gush of warmth washes all over your body. It is a beach resort solely owned by him where you have accompanied him but there must be at least a few staff, right? What if they see you like this? The chances are bleak but never zero. Those worrisome thoughts were pushed aside you feel the base of his cock hitting your skin with a strong deep thrust making you arch and moan.  You tip your head forward to say, “But Rafayel. . .you said. . . it's just the tip.” 

“And you said I —ahh— I can’t be stopped at just the tip.” He states as he starts to rut into you. “I'm just proving you right. Doesn't it feel good to be on the winning side?” it does . . . it does . . . your arms encapsulate around his shoulders as he starts to bob you up and down his fat shaft as you bury your face into his shoulders. He is stronger than his usual self. As he quickens his pace you start to whimper and you can feel him leaking and growing inside you, reaching your sweet spot as he keeps rutting into you in full yet strong thrusts.

By now, he has fucked you in different positions and different places of the resort keeping in mind not to finish inside you. He can not just help it: chasing the thought of cumming inside you especially when he fucked you raw for the first time. But he can wait. No. he will wait for you till you are begging for him.

And, when the sun sinks into the sea making the sky blush at its fullest, you and him are deep in slumber, in front of the fireplace, under the sheets, naked underneath, and holding each other.

◈ SYLUS.

It’s painful. He has been teasing you for a while now and your posture does not make it easier for you. Your muscles feel clammy. The way Sylus keeps rubbing the tip of his cock-head against your soft, tender flesh of your femininity gradually wears off your patience, thinning your limit and testing your sanity. It was you. It was all you. You admit that but you did not think he would be able to keep up when you kept being so needy, so ready for him. By now, you have come to know his melting points and you know when to abuse them and when not to. When you said you needed him, despite being in your months-time, at first he hesitated because you are not someone who can easily beg or ask for things but when you kept being handsy, and distracting him he said he would— with just the tip— a mere quickie but you never knew it would turn out to be this tormenting.

“Wait Sylus. You gasp as he rests both of his palms over your respective knees. This position.”

“Yeah, too deep?” Sylus verbalized with a veil of mischief over his face as he spread your legs apart as a result pushing the tip of his cock-head inside you. But before now, he would jock down to kiss you,  suckle at your nipples, and play with your hair but his cock would still be rubbing against the outer folds of your pussy, and truth be told, it was good, it was okay you felt satisfied but the moment you felt his cock inside you, even just the tip, it made you want all of him. “Let me know if I hurt you, okay?”. He isn’t; if anything he is diluting your self-control by pushing himself in you in small doses.

Sylus smiles as he cups your cheek, rubbing his thumb over it. He sees it the way you keep swallowing, gasping for breath, biting your lip, touching yourself — you do that when you want something yet can not ask for it. As you half-lay on the bed, with elbows resting on the mattress creating dips under the influence of your pressure Sylus leans towards you his hands still intact on your knees, spreading them further as a result of which he sinks more into you; you gasp followed by a moan feeling almost half of him inside you. With a crease amongst your eyes, eyes closed, chest heaving up and down while the night robe is barely covering your breasts you look divine under the dim light of the room.

You can feel how aroused you are. It would merely take a few thrusts to make you cum. He can feel that too yet dares to ask, “Do you want me to move?” Since he asked so nicely you decide to play into his little game. Wrapping one of your arms around his nape, you pull him into a strong, yearnful kiss. He can tell. He can certainly tell how much you want him now. As you slowly feel his hands under your waist locking in, your legs start to curl around his hips The lights go dead when you pull away from the kiss to take a breather and he pushes all of him into you adjusting you in his lap. A gasp of a high note blesses Sylus’s ears followed by a trail of short quick huffs as if he ran fingers along the piano keys. Even with the lights out, when you glimpse his eyes on yours a hot wave of embarrassment washes over you. 

The lights are alive again when you bury your face in his chest. 

“Kitten, you doing good?” He asks that with the whole of him inside you despite knowing how such soul staring gaze while having sex makes you nervous. He walks into a different room in that position carrying you where two mirrors are placed opposite to each other. 

You barely peep seeing him through the mirror at first and then look into his eyes, commanding, “Fuck me as you hate me Sylus.”

A throaty chuckle escapes from his chest as he says, “Y’know I can’t do that.” As he puts you on the bathroom sink. “However, I shall not disappoint my queen.” placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

◈ XAVIER.

Xavier claims that he is not much fond of the idea of punishments in general but he has never denied yours. In fact, he has enjoyed them thoroughly till the end. He has never been the one to ask things right away and always ends up taking detours after detours observing your expressions so minutely, so intently since it sends an ample amount of electric thrill in his heart for a few seconds — the way you look away when he makes advances on you, the way you quickly lick your bottom lip before dismissing his approaches or the quickening of your breaths, the flustered look— even if it is just for a mere few seconds — it’s all worth it in the end when you just give in, doing all those innuendos, craving your walking path only to him and him alone. 

But, this time you decided to try tackling him from a different angle. You did not resist like you usually do when he slowly started to cave into you. In fact, you agreed with him right away. Both of your stress would just sublime especially if you two took a quickie break together. Ah! The look on his face— was priceless: with one of his eyebrows pitched higher than the other as a small crescent appears along his lips: he is so confused. Even if Xavier can not quite navigate your thoughts he is not backing out and you know he won’t.

As you sit on the nightstand crossing your legs, one upon the other with your heels still intact you summon him with your arm raised, all the fingers lightly curled into a fist except your index finger that moved to and fro for him, while Xavier stands at an arm's length from you. He walked towards you but stood, waiting for your next move. You loosen his tie and pull it away from his collar with a swish. He leans into you but stops midway as he feels your pointed nails digging into his chest. 

“Turn around,” you utter with a grave tone. It is so odd to see you like this that Xavier can not help but be pulled into this intimidating daze of yours. After you tie his hands at the back he turns around and then the fun begins. Xavier loses his mind for a good minute when he sees you taking his cock out of his trousers, jocking down with lips forming an unfamiliar pout, only to spit on it, stroking his length all over, coating your saliva on his cock. He groans loudly enough for you to look at him. Is he okay? With his head tipped backward you fail to gauge his expressions so you spit on your hand to use it as a lube for his cock.

Xavier tips his head forward as he feels his cock being surrounded by something, but only a part of it. There is a gap in between your cross-legged sitting posture: the gap between the end of your knee and the apex of your calf muscle with your other knee underneath. 

“You don’t mean — Xavier stammers— that I—

“Yes. I mean exactly what you’re thinking.” You exclaim with a firm tone by keeping your fingertips underneath your hand, elbow rested over your knee as you wait for his move. As he starts to move he can understand how much he has to work for himself to cum and you are just staring at him. It drives him insane, really. With his hand tied at the back, he can only do so much so you decide to help him— out of pity of course. After you unbutton his shirt one by one, you hold his hard nipple with your sharp nails and pinch it; Xavier has to fight the urge to hold himself back from latching his lips on your warm skin.

As your hands move upwards, caressing his cheeks, thumb abusing his lips. He glances before he takes your thumb into his mouth while his hips are in constant motion. “Go ahead. Get yourself off.” Yeah! He doesn’t need to be reminded of that. You watch his face contort, your thumb pressed in between his teeth making you wince as he peaks his orgasm. He pulls out his cock and the exhaustion is heavy on his muscles. 

Inserting a finger into the gap between his belt and trousers, you pull him towards yourself, whispering, “Good boy ”over his lips before kissing him. He moans while kissing and surrenders as you untie the knot of his hands which immediately clamp around your shoulder heads. Well, aren't you an angel for showing kindness to him?

“More. . . more . . . I want more. . .” Xavier mumbles taking a quick breather before diving back to one more kiss and this time he is rougher than usual. 

◈ ZAYNE.

Zayne has been teasing you for . . . ah ! You do know how long has it been since he pushed you over the pool table. His cock is still inside his pants, intact but awake. Although the only view you have is the ceiling and sometimes his face when he rubs the clit folds by running his thumb roughly over them while the rest of the finger rests against your inner thigh. He has unbuttoned your dress shirt enough to have a view of a slice of your supple skin. Every time he presses your bud, followed by a rough rub towards the apex of your cunt he sees your navel sink. It turns him on, too much for him to ignore the attention that his cock has been begging. Your palms lay flat on the green of the pool table yet every time he jocks down to have a taste of your arousal your nails dig into the corase of the table. 

As Zayne stands up again, you whimper before saying, “Stop teasing, me. just put it in already. ” The tip of his nose glistens. Does he know that? He licks his lips before responding, “But I haven’t even. . . he trails off because part of him does not wanna scare you by bringing the thought into light that how he has not taken out his cock yet. He has been touching your folds, lapping over your arousal once in a while. You can not see but only hear the lewdity now while Zayne can see that you are so wet that the moss green of the pool table has become dark green. You don’t need to know that, not now.

“Have a little trust in yourself, I know you can take it.” Zayne supplies in a tart manner but actually, he is reminding himself not to cross the thin boundaries too much otherwise he won’t be able to keep his urges at bay. He is under the influence of the same pain as you yet you are so whiny about it which only makes it harder for him to refuse you in this vulnerable needy state. He was just teasing you, flirting ever so slightly to get you comfortable and now he is in deep trenches of pleasuring you. 

But, there is pain underneath. Your body tells him that you want more but he is not sure about himself how long he can keep at it.

Fuck. He can’t. Not anymore. In a series of rough and messy movements, he has his cock out of his pants, aligning to your entrance. One glance and the moment he is inside you he can feel your cunt clench around his cock while your legs wrap around his hips. He can hear the click of your heels as he leans over you, his face in the nook of your neck, not moving but still adjusting to the feeling of your gummy walls wrapped around him but you are so impatient. He feels your wet suck of the lip over his collarbones which denotes his desire for you. As he starts to buck his hips against you, you suddenly think how the design of the ceiling is not boring anymore.

[breannasfluff]

The doorbell rings, marking a customer, and Danny is jerked from his thoughts as he half-dozes on the counter.

“Hi, welcome.” Straightening up he brushes off his apron and gestures at the table. “Can I get you some water?”

The flat look he gets in return isn’t promising. “No. I need to talk to the boss in the back. Watch my daughter for a minute, would you? Brat keeps running off when I ain’t looking.”

“Ah…” Danny shifts, awkward, and glances around the empty room. 

Customer rolls his eyes and slouches out the door. Then he’s back, bell dinging cheerfully, with a girl’s arm in his hand. “Sit,” he tells the girl, shoving her into a chair. “Stay.”

She’s not a dog. Danny grits his teeth and thinks about the taser, behind the counter he was sitting at. She doesn’t look scared, just huffs and shakes chunky bangs out of one eye. 

Customer looks them both over again. “Talkin to the boss. Watch her.” With that, he vanishes back into the kitchen.

Danny looks at the girl. 

She stares back. “You know what this place is, right?”

“A Chinese restaurant?” he tries. 

The girl blows her bangs out of her face again. “MSG, sure. The good shit.”

“Language,” Danny snaps because she can’t be older than twelve. 

He gets a considering look. “You’re new to town, aren't cha? I’m DeeDee.”

“I’m Dan.” He’s not going to give out his full name, not here. “And what gave it away?”

DeeDee cackles, throwing her shoes up on the table. Danny grimaces at the motion. “You got this…shininess to you. Gotham hasn’t got its dirt in your cracks yet.”

Danny glances at the kitchen where her father went. “Are you…safe?”

“It’s Gotham, dipstick. Nothing’s safe here.” DeeDee reminds him of Ember. A younger, ruder version, maybe. “But Pops ain’t the worst. He’s not my real dad, but street kids don’t get a lot of choices, ya know? I help, he gives me a place to sleep.”

“You help…”

“With the MSG.” Her grin is all teeth. “Gotta keep it on the DL though, you hear? Not supposed to have kids involved.” It’s the first time her cocky manner fades. “Don’t wanna be out on the street again. It’s hard to find a gig. Too young for shit.”

Danny’s frown is going to be permanent if he keeps this up. DeeDee is just a kid, even if she’s had to grow up fast. She's only a few years younger than him when he started ghost-fighting. 

He tears off a scrap of paper and jots down a number before handing it over. “That’s for Tony’s Pizza. If you lose this gig, you call the number and say you want to talk to Dan, got it?”

DeeDee takes it with a sneer that looks forced. “I don’t need no charity.”

Danny just shrugs. “You don’t. But sometimes it’s nice to have the option.”

Read the rest here

[calisturniolo]

☆ IF THE WORLD WAS ENDING I’D WANNA BE NEXT TO YOU

summary. . . cute things matt does in a relationship

warnings. . . mentions of slight insecurity

a/n. . . i was on the plane and thought of this so wrote it down in my notes app and im now writing it while waiting on my second plane and this song has been stuck in my head for weeks now. also i didn’t proof read this because i was rushing to get on my flight but i wanted to post it now

𝜗𝜚 ALWAYS HAS TO BE CUDDLING YOU WHILE SLEEPING, NO MATTER WHAT.

you finish your small skincare routine and put on your pyjamas before climbing into matt’s cozy bed, snuggling into the covers as you get tucked up under them.

matt follows right behind you, climbing into the warm bed. he immediately pulls you flush against him, wrapping his strong arms around your waist with his chest to your back.

you let out a content sigh as you feel his body relax into yours, you place your hands over his hand that is draped over your exposed stomach.

he nuzzles his head into your neck and lets out an equally content sound, his breath warm against your skin. his arms wrap even tighter around you, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

“you just gotta be cuddling me, don’t ya?” you giggle out as you close your eyes, trying to fall into a deep sleep.

matt chuckles lightly against your shoulder, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. he pulls you even closer to him, his warm chest pressing firmly against your back.

“mhm you know it” he whispers out, leaving a kiss on your neck.

𝜗𝜚 HE ALWAYS WANTS TO LISTEN TO YOU, EVEN WHEN YOU THINK YOURE TALKING TOO MUCH

you had been talking matt’s ear off for the past hour about someone in your college — you didn’t even think about how bored matt must be, listening to you talking about the same topic for over an hour.

“then she said to me-“ you stop yourself as you check the time and realise how much you had spoke, you looked up at matt and saw he still had the same smile of adoration sitting on his face as he did an hour ago, “did i ramble on again…sorry” you awkwardly say, scratching the back of your neck.

matt chuckled softly at your comment, his eyes sparkling with love as he looked at you. he took your hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze, his thumb rubbing circles against the back of your hand.

“don’t be sorry” he said with a warm smile, “i could listen to you talk for hours.”

a huge smile came onto your face at matt’s sweet compliment but insecurity quickly taking over you, “you sure… you sure i’m not talking your ears off? i know i yap on and on all the time… but you’re sure?” you ask with a hint of insecurity in your voice.

matt’s heart softened at the hint of insecurity in your voice. he gently pulled you closer, wrapping his arm around your waist as you laid on his shoulder in a comforting embrace.

“i’m absolutely sure.” he reassured you, his voice firm yet tender. “i love hearing about your day, about things you love, about anything and everything. it’s a part of who you are, and i love every bit of it.” he gave you a gentle squeeze before leaning forward to look into your eyes with complete sincerity.

𝜗𝜚 ALWAYS SURPRISES YOU WITH FLOWERS

he knows they’re your favourite and always makes sure to pick out the prettiest bunch. he gives you them before dates too, just so he can admire the way your face lights up when he gives you them.

at the moment, matt was out with nick and chris at a meeting. you were bored so you texted him just to see what he was up too.

| hey baby! where are youuuu? also see if you pass gas station on your way home could you pleaseee get me a blue slurpee????

you pressed send and waited for a reply. you weren’t expecting a reply straight away since he was at a meeting.

matt sees his phone light up with a text notification — once he saw it was from you, a smile lit up his face. the meeting he was just in was boring, your simple check-up made him feel better.

| heyyy we’re just leaving, don’t worry i’ll get you aslurpee. see you soon, i love you

matt sets his phone down in the cup holder after hitting send on his text. his attention goes back to the road as he turns in at 7-eleven to get you a slurpee and flowers.

he walks into the gas station and picks up a bunch of baby breaths and tulips for you, he then gets your blue slurpee, before he leaves he grabs a few bags of your favourite candies and paying, walking out the store and back to his car.

he hands the flowers over to chris and the bags of candies, sitting the slushie in the cup holder before driving off back home. he’s excited to get home and see the look on your face when he gives you the flowers.

he walks inside his bedroom, shutting the door with his foot as he has flowers and candy in one hand and the slurpee in the other, “hey baby, i’m back” he says walking to the desk and putting all the things he bought at the store down.

“oh my god… hey, you’re back” you say, putting down your phone and getting off his bed as you walk into his open arms.

he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. he can’t help but bury his face against your neck, leaving light kisses there.

you felt shivers down your spine as he left kisses on your skin, “how was your meeting?” you asked.

“boring” he mumbled against your neck, still peppering light kisses there, “i missed you” he added quietly, nuzzling closer.

you let out a small giggle but your heart swelled at his comment, “matt, baby, you saw me before you left this morning” you said pulling back from him.

“i know… also i got you a present.” he said walking back over to the desk and picking up the flowers and your slurpee.

your eyes light up as you see the bunch of flowers in his hand and the blue slushy, “matt..they’re beautiful. thank you so much, i love you” you say as he holds the flowers out for you with a smile.

you take hold of the flowers, you admire them with the cheesiest smile on your face.

matt loved buying you flowers, it was his favourite thing to do.

𝜗𝜚 ALWAYS TAKING PHOTOS OF YOU WHEN YOURE NOT LOOKING BECAUSE HE THINKS YOU LOOK SO CUTE

you and matt are sat on the sofa, a little space between you two. you were sitting with your knees up as your phone leaned against your thigh, your hoodie pulled up to your chin. you were scrolling on pinterest and adding photos to your boards, you were in your own little world until you heard matt let out a giggle.

you looked over at him as he looked over at you before talking, “look at this cute picture i took of you when you weren’t looking! it’s so cute, you’re adorable” matt gushed with a smile over his face as he turns his phone towards you to show you the photo.

you squint your eyes slightly to get a better look at the photo but when you get a full view of it, your face turns to a deadpan expression. you don’t see the cuteness matt was talking about, all you saw were flaws.

your messy hair, the unflattering angle, your glasses sitting lob sided on your nose, your bare face with no makeup, and the big pimple on your forehead.

“dude. be so for real, that photo is fucking horrible” you say leaning back to your original position but still looking at matt as he turns his phone back round and admiring the photo.

he playfully kicks your leg with his foot as he giggles, “hey! i thought you looked really cute in this picture, why’re you so negative?” he tilted his head, a curious look in his eyes.

you squinted your eyes and quirked an eyebrow at his reply but you felt butterflies in your stomach as he still complimented you, “no matt! look at my hair, it’s a mess, you can see my double chin, my glasses are lop sided, and look at that fat pimple on my forehead! and i have no makeup on. i actually feel disgusted looking at that right now”

he rolls his eyes, “okay fine, your hair isn’t perfect. your glasses are slightly lop sided, i didn’t even notice the pimple and you look amazing without makeup! why would you be so disgusted at the picture you? you look so cute in it.” he glances between the picture and your face, genuinely not understanding what’s so bad about it.

you jokingly roll your eyes at his obliviousness, “it’s ugly as shit, i just look bad. that’s why im disgusted.” you giggled out.

matt sighs. he doesn’t believe you for a second, “i’ve seriously never thought you looked bad! you’re so pretty, and this picture does not change it one bit” he grins and pokes your cheek and moves your glasses up your nose slightly, “it’s a cute picture and you’re a cute person. get over it”

you lean your head back on the back of the sofa with a smile on your face, “fine, i give up. you win.” you say leaning your head on his shoulder, he leans his head to the side and kiss your forehead.

[luveline]

hey love! first of all: i have to admit i started watching criminal minds for the first time earlier this year only bc of your spencer fics! can we get more stripper!reader and spencer? love your writing!!!

thank you!! It’s a slow routine. You begin in a crouch in your underwear, just like at the club. Chest to your knees, arms twisted with the backs of your hands touching. But, unlike at the club, this underwear is comfortable. There’s nobody watching, and you won’t make any tips. You don’t have a pole nor a stage. 

You run through the routine but forgo any pole tricks. You stretch for long, slow minutes, dancing from one space to another. The music in your head isn’t anything you’d play at home, but it works to keep time. You end on your knees again. 

It’s not fun. 

You stretch toward your phone and pick it up. Spencer’s texted you twice in the ten minutes you weren’t on it. 

Hi gorgeous, the first begins, do you want to sleep over? I can make you dinner. 

The second, Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever called you gorgeous before, is that weird? Please come over and pretend I didn’t say that if it was weird

A third pops up while you’re reading. Can I come get you? 

You text him back with pleasure. He’s the only guy in your life who talks to you just to talk, without thinking he could fuck you if he says enough right things, even though he has fucked you. Hi babe you can call me anything it’s not weird, I’ll come over! Not working this week, maybe I can stay two days(?) let me know so I can pack enough clothes 

You can stay all week, if you want to. I miss you 

You imagine him holding his phone, his cheeks pink with blush. 

I miss you too, you text back. 

Just bring what you want to and we can work it out later

Working it out later could mean anything with Spencer. He’s silly enough to try and put you in his clothes, and generous enough to take you shopping if it saves the time it takes to drive you home. 

You’ve packed a bag of clothes and shower things when your phone rings. Spencer’s contact photo covers the whole screen, the two of you together with your face cut out, his smile wide. You were both a teeny bit tipsy. 

“Hello?” you answer, bringing the phone to your ear. 

“Hi!” He sounds nervous. “I’m outside. Am I gonna get towed?” 

“Not if you stay in the car. I’m on my way down right now.” 

“Okay, see you in a second,” he says. 

He never looks comfortable behind a steering wheel. You aren’t sure why he doesn’t sell his car, maybe because it’s dirt cheap to maintain. He never seems happy to be driving is all. 

He smiles when you approach his door, which is better. He rolls down the window. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. You bend at the knees to see him better. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I had a weird feeling about you, like you weren’t alright.” 

You lean down further. “I’m okay.” 

He grins. You’re waiting for a kiss he doesn’t give, finding yourself a subject for his staring, completely still as his gaze follows around your face. He makes no move to kiss you, and for a moment insecurity blossoms. 

“Well, you look okay. Are you getting in? It’s cold,” he says, nodding toward the passenger side.

“No help with my bags?” you ask, closing the door when he tries to open it. “Kidding.” 

You round the hood and climb inside. Then Spencer kisses you, polite but emphatic, one on your lips and another just under your jaw as he squeezes your shoulder. You feed into them lovingly.

“Maybe you can stay at my place forever? That way I can stop missing you all the time,” he says, pulling away slowly. 

“And when the mystery is gone?” you ask. 

“I don’t want mystery with you.” 

Spencer takes your bag from your lap and shoves it into the back seat. You drop the smaller one on your shoes. 

“Do you wanna get pizza or something?” he asks. 

You hold your jaw where he’d kissed you. “Sure,” you say, tingles of his kiss lingering under your hand. 

“Or Chinese? What do you want?” 

You want more kisses, but you love that he always gives you options. “Pizza for sure. Curly fries, too. Hold my hand?” 

Spencer takes it with gusto over the gearstick, and whatever felt like it was missing earlier fills itself in. “Wait,” you say softly, before he can take the car out of park, “just…” You grab his side and drag him toward you for a hug. Holding hands wasn’t gonna be enough —Spencer doesn’t know it yet, but you love him, love how safe he makes you feel, love how fun he makes your life. You can be yourself with him, no matter who that really is.

Spencer holds you, his hand across your shoulder blade rubbing soft lines. 

[d1xonss]

Practice Makes Perfect

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 11

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : ⚠️ Smut (18+)

✧ Word Count : 8.9k

AN ~ Okay, so this was originally a request sent in by annon, but when I first uploaded it, I wasn't completely happy with the turnout. It felt a bit rushed and there were some things I wanted to change so I figured I would reupload and try again. So in other words, if you've already seen me post this once, no you didn't:) Hope you enjoy! xoxo

ps- Daryl's a sub in this so if you're into that, this is definitely for you;)

Daryl stood slumped over at the kitchen counter in the shitty apartment he now called home, the space oddly silent as the kids were off with Carol for the day. But the quiet was nice, it gave him time to think, time to let his mind wander as he slowly woke for the day. The smell of coffee hit his nose as it brewed softly from behind him, the light streaming in through the opened windows to let in the fresh breeze. 

Though his gaze remained downcast at the piece of paper that sat in front of him, his eyes rereading the words over and over again to the point where he had it memorized. The neat cursive of your handwriting, the small errors in your spelling, and especially the little heart you placed at the bottom where your name was signed. You had left it the first time you came over, and even though you didn’t have a clue in the world, he had kept it ever since. Mostly because he didn’t have the heart to throw it away. Though there might’ve been another small part of him that held onto it because it was something you wrote out for him, and him only.

He reminisced about how stressed he was that day, having just moved into the Commonwealth with two of his kids, trying to figure out the new community and routine they would have to grow accustomed to. It was all very surreal having to go back to a “normal” kind of life, Judith already asking for allowance before he even had his first day of work made his head spin. But then with just a soft knock on the door, came a sight that he never expected to see.

You stood there on the other side, all pretty and perfect, wearing a smile on your face and holding out a container of cookies as some kind of welcome. You explained that you lived just down the hall and heard about the new arrivals, wanting to do something special as you expressed your understanding for how weird it must’ve felt for him. And after offering your baked goods and assistance to whatever they might need, all Daryl could do was nod his head as he stared at you dumbly. He wasn’t trying to be rude, in fact he appreciated your words more than anything in that moment. However, he couldn’t help but ogle you as if you walked straight out of a Disney movie or something.

And it was safe to say those feelings never exactly went away. In fact every time he saw you they only seemed to worsen.

The kids however were even more hooked with you than he was, your cookies really winning them over in the beginning as they finished them within a day and a half. “Marry her.” was the first thing Judith told him after tasting the delicious treat, and he couldn’t deny he was amused. Though he obviously wasn’t looking to date or marry anyone ever, the idea of eating whatever you baked for the years to come...it tempted him a bit.

But the reality of it all was that he didn’t want to ruin his blossoming friendship with you, it was far too precious for him to ever risk. That, and he had absolutely no experience with relationships whatsoever. He had kissed a girl once when he was about fifteen, but other than that, he hadn't been with anyone in his entire life. Never even showed interest in any woman that attempted to flirt or touch him as he simply didn’t ever feel the need to want that. He always preferred to be on his own, that’s just the way that it was. 

But now as he stood there, reading over your note you left on top of the container of cookies all those months ago, he knew he was in way over his head with someone like you.

Just then the front door suddenly opened up, the sound causing him to jump a bit as your familiar voice called out, “It’s me!”

It had become a common occurrence for you to just walk into each other's homes without knocking, and though Daryl didn’t mind, now was clearly not the time. He scrambled to open up a random drawer, tossing the note inside before slamming it shut again, “Kitchen.” he called back with a huff.

He saw your head peek around the corner a few seconds later, smiling as you adjusted the strap of your purse, “Hey, you busy?”

“Nah,” he said as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, “Just…makin some coffee.” he gestured, offering you a thin lipped smile.

You nodded, “Where are the kids?” you asked, sitting yourself down at one of the stools across from him, “I found some things I think they’ll like, I figured I’d stop by and drop them off.”

“They’re out with Carol, she offered to take ‘em for a couple hours.”

“Oh.” you nodded again as you watched him turn around to pour himself a cup of coffee, “Well, that’s nice…you deserve some peace in the mornings every once and a while. I can just leave them here.” you suggested as you took the two little boxes out of your bag, placing them down on the counter.

He hummed a response before retrieving some milk and sugar to pour a decent amount into the mug, making you question everything as he was always adamant on having his coffee black. The way God intended or something. But then your expression softened a bit seeing him setting it down in front of you instead, making it the way he knew you loved.

“Oh, I don’t need any-” you tried to protest.

“It’s just coffee,” he said as if it were no big deal, “No roofies or anything, I swear.”

You snorted at his shitty joke, like you always did, raising the cup to your lips as you muttered, “Smartass.” just loud enough for him to hear.

He smirked a little at your response, pouring himself a cup of the steaming hot beverage as the two of you enjoyed it in the nice comfortable silence. His eyes never strayed away from you for very long however, almost as if he was casually taking in your appearance without you noticing too much. You always dressed up pretty, your hair styled to perfection, wearing some kind of boot or high heel, and paired with some fancy outfit that was far too much for the apocalypse. But Daryl never minded. In fact, he found it endearing.

Though he couldn’t help but let his mind wander a bit, noticing that it had been quite a long time since he had seen you. Usually the two of you would get together a few times a week simply because you had grown to love each other’s company. But recently you had been busy with other things, with other people. Perhaps that’s why he found himself staring at your note this morning, subconsciously missing you without even realizing it.

“You avoiding me or somethin?” he then broke the silence, his question lighthearted but a part of him was a little serious. His insecurities tending to get in the way of things.

Your brows furrowed a little, “What?”

He shrugged a bit, “Just noticed you’ve been busy lately…haven’t seen ya in a while. Miss ya.”

You gave him a sad smile, “Believe me, I’m not doing it on purpose, work has just been insane. We recruited a few new people who don’t know what the hell they’re doing, training them has been a disaster, and…” you trailed off as you looked at him, noticing the small smile he wore when watching you ramble on and on. “...I miss you too.”

“Then stay for a while.” he said, his voice soft, seeing if he could keep you a few extra minutes before you would ultimately have to go to work.

You sat up a bit straighter at the invitation, “Yeah? You want me to?”

“Course.” he reassured, though his statement made him feel a bit uneasy, roughly clearing his throat to slightly divert the topic, “Just…don’t get too comfortable cause you ain’t movin in.”

He heard you laugh softly, the sound being almost too perfect to be real, “Don’t worry, I know you like your little bachelor pad going on here.” you gestured.

He scoffed, “Yeah, when the kids ain’t hoggin it.”

You hummed before a slow knowing smile was brought to your face, gently setting down your mug, “You know, speaking of…I talked to Carol recently. She told me some pretty interesting things.”

He raised an eyebrow, whether it was one of concern or curiosity, you couldn’t tell, “Oh yeah? Bout what?”

“You. And…Connie.” you hinted.

A look of surprise crossed his face, “What bout Connie?”

You shrugged innocently, “She seems to think you have a little thing for her.” you said, taking another sip of your coffee as you looked around, “Maybe this won’t be a bachelor pad for long.” you winked.

Daryl was left baffled. Why Carol would think he had a thing for Connie, he had no idea. But she had gotten it completely wrong, and now the girl he had been pinning over was under the same impression from the misinformation. But he couldn’t necessarily correct you, not without you questioning why. This conversation couldn’t have been going any worse, and all because he just wanted you to stay for a damn cup of coffee.

He couldn’t help but chuckle nervously, running a hand through his slightly messy hair, “You and yer wishful thinkin, girl.” he tried to brush off.

You tilted your head a bit at his dismissive tone, “I just want you to be happy.”

The sincerity in your voice made his heart flutter in an unimaginable way, finding he couldn’t stop the smile that spread onto his face. This is exactly why he liked you, your heart was far too big for your own good. “Yer pretty sweet, ya know that?”

“I’m just being honest,” you spoke softly, “If anyone deserves happiness, it’s you.”

He scoffed lightly in response, “Well, I appreciate that…but I don't think that's somethin I want...it ain’t really that simple for me. I can’t just…do that with Connie. Or any woman really. I ain’t good at that kinda stuff, I dunno what the hell m’ doin. I never even-”

A lump formed in his throat as he suddenly cut off the last part of his sentence, feeling his face get hot with embarrassment at what almost dared to slip out. He hadn’t meant to say that much, he never wanted to admit this kind of stuff to anyone let alone the woman he was enamored by. But now he had gone too far, he became far too open and honest about his inexperience, and now all he wanted to do was crawl into a hole and die. 

Apparently, the conversation could get worse.

Though whether it was because of your innocence or the fact that it was early in the morning, you weren’t picking up what he was putting down as your face morphed into confusion instead. “Never even…what?”

Oh for the love of God.

Daryl cleared his throat awkwardly as he ran a hand over his face, the redness spreading down his neck as he debated on whether or not to tell you. It was mortifying, the fact that he had gone fifty whole years without touching a woman was absolutely the last thing he wanted you to know. Yet at the same time, he trusted you. He trusted you wouldn’t laugh or make fun of him for the matter. And anyway, he felt it was a little too late to back out now given the intrigued look on your face.

“Never had…y’know…” he trailed off with a gesture of his hand, hoping he wouldn’t have to actually say it out loud.

A beat of silence passed before your eyes widened a little as you connected the dots. Though you couldn’t bring yourself to believe it. No way this man was a virgin.

“Shut up.”

Daryl felt his cheeks burn brighter at your disbelief, “M’ serious…I ain’t ever…done that before.”

“You’ve never had sex?” you asked as if to make sure you were truly on the same page.

He blinked, “No.”

You slumped back in your seat with a breath, “Wow…” you muttered, watching as he grew more uncomfortable by the second. Though you weren’t trying to make him uneasy by admitting such a thing, it just genuinely surprised you that he had gone this far in his life without sleeping with someone. I mean…he was attractive, kind, somewhat of a smartass. It was hard to believe no one had fallen for that sort of thing, causing you to wonder just how much he had missed out on.

You nodded to yourself, “We gotta get you laid or something.”

His eyes widened in absolute horror, clearly not expecting that response from you, “No, no that’s- what?” he exclaimed in disgust, “You ain’t gettin me laid.”

“Why not?” you asked in mild disappointment.

He set his mug down on the counter with a soft slam as he grunted in slight frustration, “Christ (Y/N), cause it ain’t that easy. I don’t just wanna screw around with someone, that ain’t me. I would have to have…feelings for that person to get that far, y’know?” he asked, silently pleading with you to understand.

His outlook made you slowly realize that Daryl wasn’t like any other guy you’d ever met. Well, you always knew that, but hearing his genuine words seemed to make you falter for a moment as you just simply stared at him. Any other guy would absolutely dive head first for the opportunity to have a random and meaningless hookup, something to make them feel good before forgetting about the other person as a whole. Using them to just get what they wanted. 

But Daryl…was the complete opposite; probably the biggest sweetheart the world had ever seen. You knew he would want to love and cherish that person he would share such an intimate moment with, treating them with the most respect and consideration. He would probably take it as slow as possible, not only to prolong the intimacy, but to make sure they were truly comfortable. You imagined him to be gentle and kind, even after the deed was done, he would continue to take care of them, offering to get them anything their heart desired. 

Thinking about all of this caused an unexpected flutter in your stomach, one that you didn’t expect. But you couldn’t deny it was there.

You blinked a few times to snap yourself out of it, clearing your throat awkwardly, “I know that…I honestly wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” you smiled softly.

His shoulders relaxed a bit upon hearing your response, nodding in appreciation as he assumed the topic of conversation would end here, hoping to get out of this humiliating misery. But before he could speak, your gentle voice cut off his words.

“Is there someone you have feelings for?"

His eyes widened a little at the unexpected question, "...Huh?"

"Is there someone you’d want to, you know…experience that with?” you clarified.

He paused again, swallowing nervously as there was a certain heaviness to that question he couldn’t place. Of course there was. The way he felt about you was unlike anything else he had ever experienced before. In the beginning he denied it relentlessly, because he simply couldn’t accept the fact that he had managed to open up his heart to someone so special. But there was no denying it anymore, at least to himself. Though you on the other hand, could never know the truth.

“Nah.” he said simply.

You nodded slowly in understanding, quietly tapping your fingers on the counter as if you were trying to figure out what to say. “Well…if there comes a time where there is someone, and you need some advice…I’m always around.” you assured.

He nodded slowly, “Alright...” he said in appreciation, trying to mask how he was really feeling, his heart feeling like it was about to burst out of his chest at the thought of you seeing through him.

“Dropping the topic now.” you said as you raised your hands in surrender.

He chuckled gruffly, “Thanks.”

You smiled up at him, before catching a glimpse of the time blinking on the oven, “Oh shoot, I should go. I have to head into the infirmary in like fifteen minutes.” you said as you quickly drank one last mouthful of coffee.

Daryl tried his best not to let his disappointment show, nodding once more as his eyes followed you when you moved around to place your empty mug in the sink. Though the disappointment seemed to diminish when you turned around to give him a hug, your arms going around his shoulders as you gave him a soft squeeze. He found himself smiling at your familiar gesture, patting your back before he pulled away first, his hand lingering on your arm.

“Stay outta trouble, alright?” he mumbled.

“Always.” you promised in return.

An entire week had passed since that little talk the two of you had in his home, and it was safe to say that it had been plaguing Daryl’s mind ever since. He couldn’t recall the last time he was so open with someone, not being able to tell for certain if he regretted it or not. Though he couldn’t deny that your support and understanding wasn’t something to take for granted. But the longer he thought about the interaction, the more he wished he’d told you the truth.

Maybe he should’ve laid it all out there, but then again he had a lot to lose. Having no idea how you would react to his confession, he could potentially scare you off, and that was something he didn’t know if he should risk. He became a mess of emotions as he pondered endlessly over the things that clouded his thoughts. Although he couldn’t deny that he was slowly starting to find the idea of sex more and more appealing the longer he thought about it. Maybe having a little experience wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. But that also meant having to ask you for that experience, and he knew he would rather die than put himself out there like that.

Though as the days dragged on and he grew more restless, he physically couldn’t stop himself from thinking about it. This was way out of his comfort zone, he knew that, but he felt like he was going crazy at this point. At least if you said no then he could just move on and not absolutely spiral about the constant “what ifs.” So, with that in mind, he smoked an entire joint by himself in order to calm his nerves before gathering what little confidence he had left, and headed down to the infirmary where he knew you’d be at this hour. He couldn’t let himself think about the decision too much otherwise he knew he would surely chicken out. 

The door opened with a soft creak as he stepped inside, scanning the area for you. He disregarded the people sitting in the waiting area, clearly anticipating when their name would be called, opting out to peer around the corner to try and see if he could spot you. And sure enough he managed to catch a glimpse of your frame in the back, stocking up a nearby medicine cabinet as you organized a few pill bottles. You were wearing that little white doctors coat that he knew you hated, thinking it ruined your outfits. But he always found it quite attractive.

He awkwardly stood there for a moment as if debating whether or not to go back there, knowing he didn’t exactly have permission. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, letting out a small whistle in hopes to get you to look at him. It was a quiet, soft sound, but it caught your attention nonetheless, glancing over your shoulder to see him standing there lingering in the waiting room. He smiled a bit, gesturing with a hand as if asking if he could walk over to talk to you, to which you nodded almost immediately, waving him back.

Daryl let out a breath once you beckoned him to come over, silently slipping past everyone else to join you in your more secluded spot, “Hey.” he breathed.

You smiled, “Hey, what’re you doing here?”

Once you said that, it hit him. What was he doing here? He showed up to where you worked of all places to have this private discussion, not even considering the option to invite you over sometime to talk like adults. Maybe he underestimated how high he really was.

“Just uh…just wanted to see ya.” he said quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets as he figured there was no backing out now, “Can we talk for a minute?”

“Oh, um…” you trailed off as you looked around, making sure no one needed your assistance, “You might have to make it quick.”

He nodded in understanding, “Right, course…I promise it won’t take long.”

Your brows furrowed a little in concern, “What’s going on?”

He cleared his throat nervously, gripping the material of his jeans as he felt his palms begin to sweat, “You know, uh…you remember that morning you came over a few days ago? When we was talkin in the kitchen?”

“Mhm.” you nodded.

He swallowed thickly as his heart was beating concerningly fast, trying to force himself to just say it, “Well, I been thinkin…bout what you said and…all that,” he gestured with his hand, “Bout gettin some real experience.”

Your eyebrows raised a little, “Really? You changed your mind?”

“Yeah, I did,” he grunted, “I think it could help, y’know…get outta my comfort zone and whatnot. See what all the fuss is bout.” he joked dryly, purposefully dancing around the subject.

You smiled a bit in surprise that he was willing to take that step, knowing normally he wasn’t one for change or trying new things. But maybe this time he was really ready to put himself out there, and you couldn’t lie, you were happy for him. Though the more you thought about it, the more you became a bit discouraged at the thought of him with another woman. You didn’t know where it came from, this pang of jealousy, but you knew you couldn’t say anything. After all, you were his friend, and he clearly came here in search of the support you always provided.

So, you managed to push your lingering thoughts aside, smiling genuinely as you gave his arm a small nudge, “Well, I think that’s great.”

He hummed as he nodded his head, trying to force himself to just stop being a coward and ask, “But I also had…somethin to ask ya.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Oh? About advice?”

“Nah…not exactly,” he mumbled as he let out a heavy sigh, “I was just wonderin…if you’d…” he trailed off again as he took another moment to look at you. He knew there was no going back after he said this, questioning last minute if it was really worth it. But seeing that gleam in your eyes and the sweetness of your smile, the words just seemed to stumble out without his permission.

“If you’d be the one to give me some experience.” he said quietly, his tall frame leaning down a bit to mutter it quietly for your ears only.

Your stomach plummeted when you heard his quiet request, feeling as if the wind was knocked out of you as that was the last thing you expected to come out of his mouth. The way his tone dropped when he asked, the fact that he took a small step closer to tower over you more than he normally was. It was all doing something to do. The tension between you was there, thick enough to cut with a knife as you stared at him practically gaping like a fish, not knowing what to say.

On one hand, you were flattered, and a little turned on by the fact that he wanted you specifically to give him the experience he craved. But another part of you felt hesitant, as if you weren’t one hundred percent sure he knew what he was asking of you. You wanted him to get out there, escape his comfort zone, but you didn’t want him to do it just because you simply suggested it.

Though just as he was growing a bit worried at your silence, you finally spoke, “...Me? You…you want it to be me?” you whispered.

He let out a soft breath, “Well…yeah. I...I really like ya, and...I trust ya.” he admitted, gazing down at you with a certain gentleness in his eyes, “But you know…you don’t gotta if you dont want to. I ain't gonna pressure you or anythin, I just thought I'd...” he trailed off, realizing he was talking far too much.

But you didn’t feel pressured, quite the opposite really. You honestly just couldn’t believe this was actually happening, it was a lot to process, and you hardly knew what to say. Time seemed to be moving incredibly fast and slow at the same time as you stood there, staring at each other with a newfound feeling.

Though just as you were about to open your mouth to speak again, someone popped around the corner and called your name, clearly needing some help. Daryl silently cursed at the interruption, though it was to be expected. He was coming to the conclusion that this was probably the worst time to be having this discussion.

“Sounds like they need ya...” he said softly.

You tilted your head as you didn’t want to go, your expression turning sympathetic, “I’m sorry.” you whispered.

Daryl shrugged it off, “It’s alright.” he said, hesitating for a moment, before reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind your ear. Your eyes widened a little at the gesture, the comfort of his touch, feeling yourself almost leaning into his hand before he took it away too quickly.

“I’ll um…I’ll see ya around, okay?” he said with a nod before turning to head out, not even giving you a chance to respond. 

You were a little shocked at his sudden rush to get away, but at the same time you understood. He must’ve been incredibly embarrassed and ashamed, especially since you hadn’t given him an answer. A part of you wanted to call him back, but you knew better than to do that, knowing he was already too far gone to hear you anyways.

Daryl couldn’t even begin to describe his regret as he walked back home, the distance between his apartment and the infirmary giving him way too much time to think. You didn’t seem completely disgusted, but clearly you weren’t a huge fan of the idea given the look on your face. He knew this was a bad plan from the get go, but he still somehow convinced himself to do it, now wishing he had never opened up his mouth at all. He felt a certain grief wash over him as he could imagine he had ruined whatever relationship he had with you, needing to learn to let it go. 

The remainder of the day passed by in a flash, ending with him taking a long, hot shower in an attempt to ease the tension in his muscles and the thoughts circling his mind. The water sprayed down on him like an element of lava given the harsh temperature, his fingers running through his wettened hair as he rinsed out the soap and bubbles. Perhaps the longer he spent under the running faucet, the more it would make him forget about the embarrassing events of the day. It caused him to wonder what you were thinking at this moment in time, but then again a part of him didn’t want to know.

“Daryl?”

His eyes widened in surprise when he heard the sound of your voice, momentarily considering it to be just his imagination, but the sound of the front door closing with a familiar slam convinced him otherwise. What the hell were you doing here? And with the worst timing in the world.

“Y-Yeah? I’m in the shower.” he called out without thinking, the door being opened a crack and just enough to where he hoped you could hear him.

You fidgeted nervously near the front entrance, hearing his slightly muffled words made you rethink your decision to come over, seeing it clearly wasn’t the best time. “Oh, okay...should I um…should I come back later?”

“No, no,” he quickly called out again, “Just…just gimmie a sec.” he said as he frantically finished up before you had the chance to leave.

With his reassurance in mind, you stayed put as you waited for him, briefly hearing the water shut off after only a few seconds. Your thoughts ran wild as you pondered over the things you wanted to say, having not been able to take your mind off the interaction for your whole shift. It was distracting, nerve racking…but it was also a bit enticing. You had no idea what you were going to say to him, but one thing was for certain, you weren’t about to deny that his request didn’t intrigue you.

The sound of his footsteps approaching is what snapped you out of your thoughts, your eyes widening a fraction as you saw him step into the living room in nothing but a towel. The truth was, he was just far too anxious to hear what you had to say to take the time and put on real clothes. Though now as he stood a few feet from you with just a thin piece of fabric shielding him, he felt a little exposed under your lingering gaze. But you couldn’t bring yourself to look away, his messy hair sticking to the sides of his face and the water droplets that clung to his skin, it truly was a sight to behold.

Had you always looked at him like this? From the moment you met, you always saw him as a close friend and someone you could count on for anything. But now it was like a switch flipped or something, nearly drooling as you saw him in a way you never had before.

“Somethin you need, sweetheart?” Daryl’s voice broke through the silence.

You blinked a few times as you were brought back to the current situation, nodding absentmindedly, “Yeah, uh…I was hoping we could talk.”

He shifted a bit on his feet, subconsciously tugging his towel up a bit, “Bout what?” he asked dumbly. He knew why you were here; he just didn’t know what else to say.

You gave him a look that made him feel stupider than before, “About earlier…” you trailed off after a moment, attempting to find the right words, “Were you…um…did you really mean all that?”

He shrugged, “Yeah…” he breathed, “You really think I didn’t mean what I said?”

“No,” you quickly reassured with a shake of your head, “It’s just…it was all really unexpected, you know? You’ve never done anything like this before, and now all of a sudden, you’re asking me-”

“I know how it looks,” he said as he dared to take another step closer to you, “But…I’ve had these feelings for ya ever since you first knocked on that damn door, alright? It’s new to you but it ain’t new to me.”

Your expression softened as he admitted this wasn’t some spur of the moment thing, not that you thought it was. But his confirmed feelings for you only drew you closer to him, hearing the assertiveness behind every word.

“Look,” he sighed, “Goin down there and askin ya that was me bein a fuckin idiot. I shouldn’t have gone about it like that, hell, maybe I shouldn’t have even asked at all...I don’t know. But I don’t want ya to feel like ya owe me a damn thing, cause ya don’t. If you don’t wanna do this-”

“I want to.”

Daryl paused for a moment when you interrupted him, feeling a bit shocked that you had made your decision just like that. But then again, you did have hours to think it over. Meanwhile he didn’t even have to think twice when it came to you.

“Y-You do?” he asked, not meaning to stutter. He was just thrown off and absolutely floored that someone as breathtaking as you would agree to something like this with him of all people.

You took a breath as you stepped closer to him, leaving just a few inches of space, “Yeah…I really do. Honestly, I’m...pretty flattered.”

He felt a sudden burst of nervousness in his chest as the reality of the situation began to set in for him. You wanted this too. He could easily see how genuine you were being as you moved to be closer to him.

Clearing his throat gruffly, he spoke again a bit quieter, “Yer flattered?” he couldn’t help but chuckle, “Ya don’t even know the half of it.”

You smiled a little, sensing both his eagerness and unease which you seemed to find charming, “It’s just me.” you reminded.

He nodded quickly, “Yeah, yeah I know…” he said as he hesitantly rested his hands upon your arms, as if to help steady himself. “I just…I don’t know what m’ doin.” he admitted a bit sheepishly.

“I know,” you reassured, “I’ll show you…you trust me?”

He nodded again, his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage as he grew more anxious by the second. Not because of her, but because of the unknown. But it was clear he was in good hands. “I trust you.”

With his simple nod of approval, you reached up to gently grasp the back of his neck, before pulling him down to meet you halfway where your lips clashed together. He gasped quietly against your mouth, the softness of your lips already addicting as his hands instinctively squeezed your arms, wanting to keep himself grounded. The taste of you was better than he ever could’ve imagined, heavenly, unreal…but what else did he expect from someone as perfect as you? As the kiss deepened, you slowly coaxed his mouth open so you could slip in your tongue, his groan in response to you only encouraged you to keep going. His kiss was hesitant and a bit sloppy, though you couldn’t help but love it.

Your free hand moved up to his wrist, guiding his hand down toward your hip as if silently encouraging him to touch you. Daryl received the message loud and clear, but he was still a bit clueless when it came to how, slowly allowing his hand to roam the curve of your back blindly. He then pulled you a bit closer to him, wanting to feel every part of you against his skin. But with his swift movement, caused his towel to nearly slip all the way off his waist, feeling him quickly grab it before it had the chance to hit the ground. 

He cursed quietly as he pulled away from your mouth, his breathing coming out in short, harsh pants as he grew a bit flushed at the idea of being completely naked in front of you. You allowed him to collect himself for as long as he needed, noticing the red that dusted his cheeks, but you still didn’t miss the blatant lust that filled his eyes.

Your hand reached up to gently brush some hair away from his face, “You don’t have to be embarrassed around me.” you spoke so softly, so patiently, leaving a few kisses on his cheek as if to help ease him.

He sighed shakily, trying to gather himself as his eyes fluttered closed for a moment at the feel of your touch, “I know, just…never been this exposed in front of anyone before.”

“I know,” you assured again, your mouth traveling to gently nip at his earlobe, “How about we move to your room? And you can take it off when you’re ready.”

Daryl hissed softly as your teeth grazed his ear, nodding frantically at your suggestion, “Okay…yeah.” he said breathlessly before taking your hand to guide you back down the hallway.

In a flash he had taken you into his room, shutting and locking the door behind the two of you before you gestured for him to sit down on the edge of his bed. He followed your suggestion without saying a word, willing to do just about anything you wanted right now with how incredibly turned on he was. Though he was extremely nervous, he couldn’t deny how badly he wanted you, how many times he had imagined himself in situations much like this one. Completely at your mercy.

His eyes followed your movements as you came to stand in between his legs, cupping his face to angle it up toward you. “Just relax.” you whispered before slowly kissing him again with a little more force than before.

This time he couldn’t stop the moan that bubbled up in his throat, feeling the smoothness of your skin on his aging cheeks, his body physically shuttering. His hands reached out to pull you closer to his bare chest, wanting your body flush against him as his touch seemed to roam a bit more confidently. You felt his hands travel down to squeeze your ass, groaning into your mouth as your tongue invaded his mouth to taste him again. At this point he couldn’t help but wonder if this was a dream, or some kind of sick hallucination, his mind tricking his body that this was actually happening with how fast they seemed to move. But he honestly couldn’t bring himself to care right now.

You smiled against his lips as he gently groped your ass, your hands moving up towards his hair to give the roots a gentle tug as your mouths worked frantically. A shiver ran down his spine, the action making his head spin. You were so good with him, so gentle yet so firm as well. He couldn’t stop himself from breaking away from your mouth briefly, his lips moving down your neck as if he wanted to trace and memorize every last bit of your skin.

You sighed softly as your head instinctively tilted back for him, “You sure you’re a virgin? You seem pretty good at this.” you teased lightheartedly.

Chuckling against your skin, he took his time to kiss the underside of your jaw a few times before responding roughly, “Just have a good imagination is all…”

“You’ve thought about this before?”

He nodded a bit timidly against your neck, growing a bit shy at the admission, “A lot, actually…”

A smile broke out onto your face as you looked down at him, “Well, now I’m even more flattered.”

He groaned in slight embarrassment as he buried his face in the side of your neck, the words just slipping out without him being able to stop. His mind was too far in the clouds to realize fully, the lingering effects of the weed he had smoked making his mind a bit hazier. But he desperately wanted to remember every little detail, his hands trailing down toward your thighs as if he was itching to memorize your body.

“Here...” you then spoke again, moving his hands up toward the buttons of your blouse, “Help me out.”

Daryl looked back up at you with slightly widened eyes, swallowing thickly as he gave a shaky nod, beginning to undo them one by one. His calloused hands, though rough, couldn’t have been more gentle when it came to touching you. He treated every part of your skin like it was delicate glass, a piece of art to admire, as he almost didn’t feel worthy of being in this position. How could he have gotten so lucky when this was the last thing he thought he deserved.

“Keep going,” you encouraged when you felt your top fall to the floor, feeling his hands hesitantly move to unzip your skirt.

The piece of fabric slowly slid down your smooth legs and bunched at your feet, leaving you in practically nothing as you believed bras were a waste of time and effort to wear. His eyes took in every inch of you, mentally trying to capture this moment as he was already reluctant for it to end. And yet it hardly even started.

“You’re so beautiful…” he whispered as his hands reached out to touch you again, his face filled with desperation.

You smiled as you looked down at him, “Yeah?”

He nodded instantly, “Yeah…I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

A laugh escaped your lips as you leaned down to be aligned with his face, “We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.” you said sweetly before leaving a kiss on his cheek.

Daryl let out a breath as you kissed his cheek, the reminder that this was far from over was almost reassuring. His growing need and want was beginning to be unbearable, his hands gripping your thighs a bit tighter as he felt his erection start to ache.

“You wanna take that off for me?”

Upon hearing your request, the gesture of your hand that pointed toward the towel still around his hips, he grew a bit anxious. It was no secret that he was a bit insecure with the way he looked, he was older, his hair and beard a bit graying, his skin worn and scarred. He knew he was about to be fully vulnerable with you, that being both a good and a bad thing. He did trust you, but he just hoped you liked how he looked despite the fact that he didn’t.

It took a moment for him to build up the courage, to which you were incredibly patient, before he finally pulled the towel off of him, leaving him completely bare in front of you. But your reaction was far from a negative one. Your eyes widened a little as you took him in, not being able to see his flaws he was so worried about as you were solely focused on how breathtaking he looked. His arms could’ve been sculpted by gods, his toned chest rising and falling with every heaving breath, and as your gaze traveled south, you were shocked at the bragging rights he seemed to hold. 

But the thing you wanted him to know the most, was that he was just as perfect to you as you were to him.

Though seeing his pleading expression seemed to stir something inside you, quickly slipping off your thong before stepping forward to straddle his hips in a fit of impatience. His eyes widened at your fast actions, but he wasn’t about to complain, his hands immediately going to your hips to hold to in place as he loved the feel of your skin against his. He didn’t know what to do now exactly, but he did know that he wanted more of you.

“You’re so handsome.” you praised, your mouth coming down to suck softly on the side of his neck. "So perfect for me."

A small gasp escaped him at your praise, your mouth working against his skin caused him to nearly melt beneath you. He had been called a lot of things in his life, but handsome and perfect were never one of them. It was new, different…and he loved it. He soaked up everything he could like a sponge, wanting to ravish in your touch forever. But when he felt you begin to rock against him, stroking his length with every pass of your hips, he couldn’t help the strangled moan he dared to let out. His hips instinctively bucked up against you in return, unable to help himself as he craved more than what you were giving him. All he could feel was his heart racing, his skin burning up, and his dick twitching as he physically needed more. His face nuzzled in the side of your neck, breathing you in as shivers of pleasure ran through him like currents of electricity.

You hummed, “You like that?” you asked, your mouth hovering over the shell of his ear where your teeth grazed his sensitive skin.

Daryl nodded his head frantically against you, losing himself in the lust he had never felt before in his entire life, “Yes…yes, I like it.” he stuttered out desperately, gripping onto you as a signal not to stop anytime soon.

He had never felt so good, the rhythm mixed with your kisses and taunting praise, he felt he could’ve imploded right then and there. He wanted more, his body craved more of you, but he didn’t know how to ask for it. His breathing was ragged at this point as he tried to hold himself back, his face still hidden in the crook of your neck as his lips began to place soft kisses against your skin. But as your pace grew more tortuous and slow, he couldn’t help but writhe and moan beneath you, not being able to take much more of your teasing.

You felt him pull back to look up at you, a distressed look painting his face, “Please.” he nearly whined. It was a tone you had never heard from him before, finding that you loved the way he was falling apart for you.

“Please what, honey?” you asked sweetly as if you didn’t already know, cupping the sides of his face, “Tell me what you want.”

A soft whimper escaped him in your agony, knowing damn well you knew what he meant. He looked up at you pleadingly, the smooth skin of your hands on his face feeling so good, but not good enough. “You…” he whispered needily, “I want you…please.” he begged.

Whilst he was beneath you, whimpering and pleading for you to fuck him, you on the other hand learned something new about yourself. The scene that played before you was something sinful, but you loved it far too much to feel even a little bit guilty. The burly man you had come to know as tough and stoic, just whimpered because of you. And for that, you had no choice but to give him what he so desperately needed.

In an instant you slowly sunk down onto his length, the size of him causing a moan of your own to escape through parted lips. Though Daryl on the other hand groaned loudly as he felt your tight walls enveloping him, his head falling back as he bit his lower lip in an attempt to silence the noises you threatened to pull from him with one simple move. It felt like he had just walked through the pearly gates of heaven, the feeling so surreal and pleasurable he couldn’t help but let it cross his mind.

As you adjusted to him, you looked down and studied his face, his brow already lined with sweat and his expression one of pure bliss. “You look so good like this.” you whispered, your finger gently tracing his jawline.

He wanted to scoff at your comment, thinking that he no doubt looked like a mess in front of you, but he couldn’t help but feel prideful at the thought of you loving it. It made him feel good, perhaps more confident even though he was fully flushed and exposed.

Though as he felt you begin to move, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and a low moan left him in response, feeling the heat in his stomach already beginning to build. His hands moved from your hips down to your thighs as if to encourage you to keep going, giving them a firm squeeze as he panted to try and catch his breath. He felt as if he were going insane with the waves of pleasure washing down upon him, the feeling like no other as he knew he was a goner from the moment you agreed. His head was spinning though he tried to concentrate, not wanting it to ever come to an end as he watched you steadily pick up the pace from above him.

His mind was lost on him as your movements quickened skillfully, his hips pathetically trying to match your pace though he was failing miserably. But he didn’t care. It felt too good to care. His fingers nearly dug into the soft skin of your thighs as he whimpered and squirmed, feeling himself already starting to chase his high. He felt a little embarrassed that it had taken him close to nothing to reach his peak, but then again, he couldn’t bring himself to tell you to stop.

Daryl grew desperate to say something, to warn you that he was getting more and more overwhelmed with the feeling of ecstasy, though he wasn’t able to form any coherent sentence. All that managed to come out were pathetic whines and moans as he desperately tried to pound into you, looking up at you with widened eyes in hopes you would get the message.

And you did. You understood completely. With a simple kiss on his lips and encouraging words, you let him know that it was okay. “I know, honey, I know.” you said sweetly, “Let go for me.”

He whimpered against you lips when you kissed him, hearing your words made him feel a bit more at ease as he felt himself just on the brink of losing all control he had left. But he couldn’t help the way you were making him feel. With his mind beginning to cloud and the desperate movements he made, he finally felt himself release deep inside you, burying his face in your neck as he came. You slowed down your pace a bit as you guided him through his high, trying to make it last as long as possible for him as he just gripped and thrusted into you harder. Near sobs began spilling from his lips as he clung onto your limbs, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths as his body was practically vibrating.

He hadn't meant to be this much of a mess, completely falling apart from underneath you as he chased his high so desperately. But with how unbelievable you made him feel, it was like he had no control over the noises he made t or the emotions he felt. Like you had complete control. And he loved it more than he was willing to admit.

It took him a while to come back down to earth, but you waited patiently the whole time, running your fingers through his tangled mess of hair as he collected his hazy thoughts. Though he couldn’t help but feel a bit ashamed and a bit vulnerable, knowing he didn’t last as long as he would’ve hoped. When he finally gathered the courage to look you in the eye, he feared your reaction, as if he expected you to regret what just happened.

But instead you smiled, “You okay?” you asked gently.

All he managed was a small nod in response, letting out a breath as it was clear you weren’t upset in the slightest. But as his mind wandered a bit, he began to feel selfish, realizing he couldn’t make you feel as good as you made him feel. Leaving him overthinking the things he could’ve done differently.

“I’m sorry.” he then whispered gravely.

Your brows furrowed a little in concern, “For what?”

He blushed a bit with embarrassment, almost not wanting to explain his reasoning for speaking up in the first place. But your gaze remained expectant, and he knew he should answer. “For not…makin ya feel good.” he said sheepishly.

“Hey…” you said softly as you titled his head up to look at you, “You did make me feel good.”

The truth was you enjoyed yourself, even if you didn’t finish, you didn’t care. He was still new at this, and that wasn’t something you were about to shame him for.

He grew a little surprised at your admission, “But…you didn’t…” he trailed off, almost not wanting to say it out loud.

You smiled a little at his lack of words, “It was your first time, Daryl. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” you said, kissing his cheek reassuringly.

He sighed, “I know…but I wanna make ya feel good too.” he tried to explain.

“You will,” you nodded, “Practice makes perfect, right?” you said with a small wink.

He perked right up at that, the idea of doing this again with you hadn’t even crossed his mind. He assumed it would only be a one time thing, but hearing you say that sent a spark of excitement through him.

“So…there’ll be a next time?” he asked, trying to hide his hopefulness.

You laughed softly, “Only if you want there to be.”

He quickly nodded, he would have to be an absolute fool to say no to something like that. “Course I do…I want ya…as many times as you’ll let me have ya.”

Your smile widened as you leaned in to kiss him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to bring him flush against you. He groaned softly as his hands danced across your back, suddenly feeling very grateful. He almost couldn’t believe someone as kind and understanding would actually want him, but he couldn’t bring himself to question it for very long. Just simply wanting to live in the moment and not take it for granted.

“Wanna go again?” you asked against his lips.

“Mhm.” he hummed immediately as he deepened the kiss, his response not having any hint of hesitation. It made you laugh softly, feeling him already getting excited all over again. It was safe to say it was going to be an eventful night.

~ Thanks for reading!

[mrs-stans]

Sebastian Stan Tells All: Becoming Donald Trump, Gaining 15 Pounds and Starring in 2024’s Most Controversial Movie

By Daniel D'Addario

Sebastian Stan Variety Cover Story

It started with the most famous voice on the planet, the one that just won’t shut up.

Sebastian Stan, in real life, sounds very little like Donald Trump, whom he’s playing in the new film “The Apprentice.” Sure, they share a tristate accent — Stan has lived in the city for years and attended Rutgers University before launching his career — but he speaks with none of Trump’s emphasis on his own greatness. Trump dwells, Stan skitters. Trump attempts to draw topics together over lengthy stem-winders (what he recently called “the weave”), while Stan has a certain unwillingness to be pinned down, a desire to keep moving. It takes some coaxing to bring Stan, a man with the upright bearing and square jaw of a matinee idol, to speak about his own process — how hard he worked to conjure a sense Trump, and how he sought to bring out new insights about America’s most scrutinized politician.

“I think he’s a lot smarter than people want to say about him,” Stan says, “because he repeats things consistently, and he’s given you a brand.” Stan would know: He watched videos of Trump on a loop while preparing for “The Apprentice.” In the film, out on Oct. 11, Stan plays Trump as he moves from insecure, aspiring real estate developer to still insecure but established member of the New York celebrity firmament.

We’re sitting over coffee in Manhattan. Stan is dressed down in a black chore coat and black tee, yet he’s anything but a casual conversation partner. He rarely breaks eye contact, doing so only on the occasions when he has something he wants to show me on his iPhone (cracked screen, no case). In this instance, it’s folders of photos and videos labeled “DT” and “DT PHYSICALITY.”

“I had 130 videos on his physicality on my phone,” Stan says. “And 562 videos that I had pulled with pictures from different time periods — from the ’70s all the way to today — so I could pull out his speech patterns and try to improvise like him.” Stan, deep in character, would ad-lib entire scenes at director Ali Abbasi’s urging, drawing on the details he’d learned from watching Trump and reading interviews to understand precisely how to react in each moment.

“Ali could come in on the second take and say, ‘Why don’t you talk a little bit about the taxes and how you don’t want to pay?’ So I had to know what charities they were going to in 1983. Every night I would go home and try not only to prepare for the day that was coming, but also to prepare for where Ali was going to take this.”

Looking at Stan’s phone, among the endless pictures of Trump, I glimpse thumbnails of Stan’s own face perched in a Trumpian pout and videos of the actor’s preparation just aching to be clicked — or to be stored in the Trump Presidential Library when this is all over in a few months, or in 2029, or beyond.

“I started to realize that I needed to start speaking with my lips in a different way,” Stan says. “A lot of that came from the consonants. If I’m talking, I’m moving forward.” On film, Stan shapes his mouth like he can’t wait to get the plosives out, puckering without quite tipping into parody. “The consonants naturally forced your lips forward.”

“If he did 10% more of what he did, it would become ‘Saturday Night Live,’” Abbasi says. “If he did 10% less, then he’s not conjuring that person. But here’s the thing about Sebastian: He’s very inspired by reality, by research. And that’s also the way I work; if you want to go to strange places, you need to get your baseline reality covered very well.”

A little later, Stan passes me the phone again to show me a selfie of him posing shirtless and revealing two sagging pecs and a bit of a gut. He’s pouting into a mirror. If his expression looks exaggerated, consider that he was in Marvel-movie shape before stepping into the role of the former president; the body transformation happened rapidly and jarringly. Trump’s size is a part of the film’s plot — as Trump’s sense of self inflates, so does he. In a rush to meet the shooting deadline for “The Apprentice,” Abbasi asked Stan, “How much weight can you gain?”

“You’d be surprised,” Stan tells me. “You can gain a lot of weight in two months.” (Fifteen pounds, to be exact.)

Now he’s back in fighting form, but the character has stayed with him. After years of playing second-fiddle agents of chaos — goofball husbands to Margot Robbie’s and Lily James’ characters in “I, Tonya” and Hulu’s “Pam & Tommy,” surly frenemy to Chris Evans’ Captain America in the Marvel franchise — Stan plunged into the id of the man whose appetites have reshaped our world. He had to have a polished enough sense of Trump that he could improvise in character, and enough respect for him to play him as a human being, not a monster.

It’s one of two transformations this year for Stan — and one that might give a talented actor that most elusive thing: a brand of his own. He’s long been adjacent enough to star power that he could feel its glow, but he hasn’t been the marquee performer. While his co-stars have found themselves defined by the projects he’s been in — from “Captain America” and “I, Tonya” back to his start on “Gossip Girl” — he’s spent more than a decade in the public eye while evading being defined at all.

This fall promises to be the season that changes all that: Stan is pulling double duty with “The Apprentice” and “A Different Man” (in theaters Sept. 20), in which he plays a man afflicted with a disfiguring tumor disorder who — even when presented with a fantastical treatment that makes him look like, well, Sebastian Stan — can’t be cured of ailments of the soul. For “A Different Man,” Stan won the top acting prize at the Berlin Film Festival; for “The Apprentice,” the sky’s the limit, if it can manage to get seen. (More on that later.)

One reason Stan has largely evaded being defined is that he’s never the same twice, often willing to get loopy or go dark in pursuit of his characters’ truths. That’s all the more true this year: In “The Apprentice,” he’s under the carapace of Trumpiness; in “A Different Man,” his face is hidden behind extensive prosthetics.

“In my book, if you’re the good-looking, sensitive guy 20 movies in a row, that’s not a star for me,” says Abbasi, who compares Stan to Marlon Brando — an actor eager to play against his looks. “You’re just one of the many in the factory of the Ken dolls.”

This fall represents Stan’s chance to break out of the toy store once and for all. His Winter Soldier brought a jolt of evil into Captain America’s world, and his Jeff Gillooly was the devil sitting on Tonya Harding’s shoulder. Now Stan is at the center of the frame, playing one of the most divisive characters imaginable. So he’s showing us where he can go. The spotlight is his, and so is the risk that comes with it.

Why take such a risk?

The script for “The Apprentice,” which Stan first received in 2019, but which took years to come together, made him consider the American dream, the one that Trump achieved and is redefining.

Stan emigrated with his mother, a pianist, from communist Romania as a child. “I was raised always aware of the American dream: America being the land of opportunity, where dreams come true, where you can make something of yourself.” He pushes the wings of his hair back to frame his face, a gold signet ring glinting in the late-summer sunlight, and, briefly, I can hear a hint of Trump’s directness of approach. “You can become whoever you want, if you just have a good idea.” Stan’s good idea has been to play the lead in movies while dodging the formulaic identity of a leading man, and this year will prove just how far he can take it.

“The Apprentice” seemed like it would never come together before suddenly it did. This time last year, Stan was sure it was dead in the water, and he was OK with that. “If this movie is not happening, it’s because it’s not meant to happen,” he recalls thinking. “It will not be because I’m too scared and walk away.”

Called in on short notice and filming from November 2023 to January of this year (ahead of a May premiere in Cannes), Stan lent heft and attitude to a character arc that takes Trump from local real estate developer in the 1970s to national celebrity in the 1980s. He learns the rough-and-tumble game of power from the ruthless and hedonistic political fixer Roy Cohn (Jeremy Strong), eventually cutting the closeted Cohn loose as he dies of AIDS and alienating his wife Ivana (Maria Bakalova) in the process. (In a shocking scene, Donald sexually assaults Ivana in their Trump Tower apartment.) For all its edginess, the film is about Trump’s personality — and the way it calcified into a persona — rather than his present-day politics. (Despite its title, it’s set well before the 2004 launch of the reality show that finally made Trump the superstar he longed to be.)

And despite the fact that Trump has kept America rapt since he announced his run for president in 2015, Hollywood has been terrified of “The Apprentice.” The film didn’t sell for months after Cannes, an unusual result for a major English-language competition film, partly because Trump’s legal team sent a cease-and-desist letter attempting to block the film’s release in the U.S. while the fest was still ongoing. When it finally sold, it was to Briarcliff Entertainment, a distributor so small that the production has launched a Kickstarter campaign to raise money so that it will be able to stay in theaters.

Yes, Hollywood may vote blue, but it’s not the same town that released “Fahrenheit 9/11” or even “W.,” let alone a film that depicts the once (and possibly future) president raping his wife. (The filmmakers stand behind that story. “The script is 100% backed by my own interviews and historical research,” says Gabriel Sherman, the screenwriter and a journalist who covers Trump and the American conservative movement. “And it’s important to note that it is not a documentary. It’s a work of fiction that’s inspired by history.”) Entertainment corporations from Netflix to Disney would be severely inconvenienced if the next president came into office with a grudge against them.

“I am quite shocked, to be honest,” Abbasi says. “This is not a political piece. It’s not a hit piece; it’s not a hatchet job; it’s not propaganda. The fact that it’s been so challenging is shocking.” Abbasi, born in Iran, was condemned by his government over his last film, “Holy Spider,” and cannot safely return. He sees a parallel in the response to “The Apprentice.” “OK, that’s Iran — that is unfortunately expected. But I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Everything with this film has been one day at a time,” Stan says. The actor chalks up the film’s divisiveness to a siloed online environment. “There are a lot of people who love reading the [film’s] Wikipedia page and throwing out their opinions,” he says, an edge entering his voice. “But they don’t actually know what they’re talking about. That’s a popular sport now online, apparently.”

Unprompted, Stan brings up the idea that Trump is so widely known that some might think a biographical film about him serves no purpose. “When someone says, ‘Why do we need this movie? We know all this,’ I’ll say, ‘Maybe you do, but you haven’t experienced it. The experience of those two hours is visceral. It’s something you can hopefully feel — if you still have feelings.’”

After graduating from Rutgers in 2005, Stan found his first substantial role on “Gossip Girl,” playing troubled rich kid Carter Baizen. Like teen soaps since time immemorial, “Gossip Girl” was a star-making machine. “It was the first time I was in serious love with somebody,” he says. (He dated the series’ star, Leighton Meester, from 2008 to 2010.) He feels nostalgic for that moment: “Walking around the city, seeing these same buildings and streets — life seemed simpler.”

Stan followed his “Gossip Girl” gig with roles on the 2009 NBC drama “Kings,” playing a devious gay prince in an alternate-reality modern world governed by a monarchy, and the 2012 USA miniseries “Political Animals,” playing a black-sheep prince (and once again a gay man) of a different sort — the son of a philandering former president and an ambitious former first lady.

When I ask him what lane he envisioned himself in as a young actor, he shrugs off the question. “I grew up with a single mom, and I didn’t have a lot of male role models. I was always trying to figure out what I wanted to be. And at some point, I was like, I could just be a bunch of things.”

Which might seem challenging when one is booked to play the same character, Bucky Barnes, in Marvel movie after Marvel movie. Bucky’s adventures have been wide-ranging — he’s been brainwashed and turned evil and then brought back to the home team again, all since his debut in 2011’s “Captain America: The First Avenger.” Next year, he’ll anchor the summer movie “Thunderbolts,” as the leader of a squad of quirky heroes played by, among others, Julia Louis-Dreyfus and Florence Pugh. It’s easy to wonder if this has come to feel like a cage of sorts.

Not so, says Stan. His new Marvel film “was kind of like ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’ — a guy coming into this group that was chaotic and degenerate, and somehow finding a way to unite them.”

Lately, knives have been out for Marvel movies as some have disappointed at the box office, and “Thunderbolts,” which endured strike delays and last-minute cast changes, has been under scrutiny.

“It’s become really convenient to pick on [Marvel films],” Stan says. “And that’s fine. Everyone’s got an opinion. But they’re a big part of what contributes to this business and allows us to have smaller movies as well. This is an artery traveling through the system of this entire machinery that’s Hollywood. It feeds in so many more ways than people acknowledge.” He adds, “Sometimes I get protective of it because the intention is really fucking good. It’s just fucking hard to make a good movie over and over again.”

Which may account for an eagerness to try something new. “In the last couple of years,” he says, “I’ve gotten much more aggressive about pursuing things that I want, and I’m constantly looking for different ways of challenging myself.”

The challenge continued throughout the shoot of “The Apprentice,” as Stan pushed the material. “One of the most creatively rewarding parts of the process was how open Sebastian was to giving notes on the script but also wanting to go beyond the script,” says Sherman, the screenwriter. “If he was interested in a certain aspect of a scene, he was like, Can you find me a quote?” he recalls.

Building a dynamic through improvised scenes, Stan and Strong stayed in character throughout the “Apprentice” shoot. “I was doing an Ibsen play on Broadway,” says Strong, who won a Tony in June for his performance in “An Enemy of the People,” “and he came backstage afterwards. And it was like — I’d never really met Sebastian, and I don’t think he’d ever met me. So it was nice to meet him.”

Before the pair began acting together, they didn’t rehearse much — “I’m not a fan of rehearsals,” Strong says. “I think actors are best left in their cocoon, doing their work, and then trusted to walk on set and be ready.” The two didn’t touch the script together until cameras went up — though they spent a preproduction day, Strong says, playing games in character as Donald and Roy.

After filming, both have kept memories of the hold their characters had on them. They shared a flight back from Telluride — a famously bumpy trip out of the mountains. “He’s a nervous flyer, and I’m a nervous flyer,” Stan says. Both marveled at the fact that they’d contained their nerves on the first day of shooting “The Apprentice,” when their characters traveled together via helicopter. “We both go, ‘Yeah — but there was a camera.’”

Stan’s aggressive approach to research came in handy on “A Different Man,” which shot before “The Apprentice.” His character’s disorder, neurofibromatosis, is caused by a genetic mutation and presents as benign tumors growing in the nervous system. After being healed, he feels a growing envy for a fellow sufferer who seems unbothered by his disability.

Stan’s co-star, Adam Pearson, was diagnosed with neurofibromatosis in early childhood. Stan found the experience challenging to render faithfully. “I said many times, I can do all the research in the world, but am I ever going to come close to this?” Stan says. “How am I going to ever do this justice?”

Plus, he had precious little time to prepare: “He was fully on board, and the film was being made weeks later,” director Aaron Schimberg says. “Zero to 60 in a matter of weeks.”

The actor grappled for something to hold on to, and Pearson sug gested he refer to his own experience of fame. “Adam said to me, ‘You know what it’s like to be public property,’” Stan says.

Pearson recalls describing the experience to Stan this way: “While you don’t understand the invasiveness and the staring and the pointing that I’ve grown up with, you do know what it’s like to have the world think you owe them something.”

That sense of alienation becomes universal through the film’s storytelling: “A Different Man” takes its premise as the jumping-off point for a deep and often mordant investigation of who we all are underneath the skin.

The film was shot in 22 days in a New York City heat wave, and there was, Schimberg says, “no room for error. I would get four or five takes, however many I could squeeze out, but there’s no coverage.”

Through it all, Stan’s performance is utterly poised — Schimberg and Stan discussed Buster Keaton as a reference for his ability to be “completely stone-faced” amid chaos, the director says. And the days were particularly long because Oscar-nominated prosthetics artist Michael Marino was only able to apply Stan’s makeup in the early morning, before going to his job on the set of “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.”

“Even though I wasn’t shooting until 11 a.m., I would go at like 5 in the morning to his studio, or his apartment,” Stan recalls. The hidden advantage was that Stan had hours to kill while made up like his character, the kind of person the world looks past. “I wanted to walk around the city and see what happened,” Stan says. “On Broadway, one of the busiest streets in New York, no one’s looking at me. It’s as if I’m not even there.” The other reaction was worse: “Somebody would immediately stop and very blatantly hit their friend, point, take a picture.”

It was a study in empathy that flowed into the character. Stan had spoken to Pearson’s mother, who watched her son develop neurofibromatosis before growing into a disability advocate and, eventually, an actor. “She said to me, ‘All I ever wanted was for someone to walk in his shoes for a day,’” Stan recalls. “And I guess that was the closest I had ever come.”

“The Apprentice” forced Stan, and forces the viewer, to do the same with a figure that some 50% of the electorate would sooner forget entirely. And that lends the film its controversy. Those on the right, presupposing that the movie is an anti-Trump document, have railed against it. In a statement provided to Variety, a Trump campaign spokesman said, “This ‘film’ is pure malicious defamation, should never see the light of day and doesn’t even deserve a place in the straight-to-DVD section of a bargain bin at a soon-to-be-closed discount movie store, it belongs in a dumpster fire.” The campaign threatened a lawsuit, though none has materialized.

Asked about the assault scene, Stan notes that Ivana had made the claim in a deposition, but later walked it back. “Is it closer to the truth, what she had said directly in the deposition or something that she retracted?” he asks. “They went with the first part.”

The movie depicts, too, Ivana’s carrying on with her marriage after the violation, which may be still more devastating. “How do you overcome something like this?” asks Bakalova. “Do you have to put on a mask that everything is fine? In the next scene, she’s going to play the game and pretend that we’re the glamorous, perfect couple.” The Trumps, in “The Apprentice,” live in a world of paper-thin images, one that grows so encompassing that Donald no longer feels anything for the people to whom he was once loyal. They’re props in his stage show.

“The Apprentice” will drop in the midst of the most chaotic presidential election of our lifetime. “The way it lands in this extremely polarized situation, for me as an artist, is exciting. I won’t lie to you,” says Abbasi.

When asked if he was concerned about blowback from a Trump 47 presidency, Stan says, “You can’t do this movie and not be thinking about all those things, but I really have no idea. I’m still in shock from going from an assassination attempt to the next weekend having a president step down [from a reelection bid].”

Stan’s job, as he sees it, was to synthesize everything he’d absorbed — all those videos on his phone — into a person who made sense. This Trump had to be part of a coherent story, not just the flurry of news updates to which we’ve become accustomed.

“You can take a Bach or a Beethoven, and everyone’s going to play that differently on the piano, right?” Stan says. (His pianist mother named him for Johann Sebastian Bach.) “So this is my take on what I’ve learned. I have to strip myself of expectations of being applauded for this, if people are going to like it or people are going to hate it. People are going to say whatever they want. Hopefully they should think at least before they say it.”

It’s a reality that Stan is now used to — the work is the work, and the way people interpret him is none of his business. Perhaps that’s why he has run away from ever being the same thing twice. “I could sit with you today and tell you passionately what my truth is, but it doesn’t matter,” he says. “Because people are more interested in a version of you that they want to see, rather than who you are.”

“The Apprentice” has been the subject of extreme difference of opinion by many who have yet to see it. It’s been read — and will continue to be after its release — as anti-Trump agitprop. The truth is chewier and more complicated, and, perhaps, unsuited for these times.

“Are we going to live in a world where anyone knows what the truth is anymore? Or is it just a world that everyone wants to create for themselves?” Stan asks.

His voice — the one that shares a slight accent with Trump but that is, finally, Stan’s own — is calm and clear. “People create their own truth right now,” he says. “That’s the only thing that I’ve made peace with; I don’t need to twist your arm if that’s what you want to believe. But the way to deal with something is to actually confront it.”

[catssluvr]

𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏, spencer reid

spencer reid x fem!reader (870 words)

in which you convince spencer to dance with you in the rain

warnings: kissing, fluff :)

based on this request by my sweet anon 🪼 <3

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You walk down the leaf covered streets, one hand holding Spencer's while the other is buried deep inside your jacket's pocket. It's not unbearably cold, but enough to prickle your bare hands. The crunch of the leaves under your feet and the warmth of his hand is enough to make you content.

Spencer's rambling on about the history book he finished recently, making sure to tell you every little fact he didn't know until reading it.

This isn't unusual, you take the tub together everyday and he insists on walking you home from there. Even though you're pretty sure he has to walk for two more blocks than he usually would.

Your attention feels like it's divided between listening to him intently and admiring the way he scrunches his nose when he's trying to remember the exact words on the book while quoting them.

"You know, with technology and basic tools, the egyptians built constructions that are more than three hundred feet tall. The biggest question is how they managed to lift the materials up, what's believed is that they used ramps." He occasionally rubs his thumb against the back of your hand as he speaks, stealing glances at you to make sure you're still listening.

"Yeah? I didn't know that." You answer with a small smile.

He pauses as he's about to go to back to talking before saying, "I'm not boring you out, am i?"

"No, never." You reassure with a gentle squeeze to his hand.

You don't blame him for feeling nervous, this is all new to you too, dating him. You're just glad it's him.

"Are you sure? Because you don't have to-" You don't let him finish as you lean to kiss the corner of his mouth. His cheeks turn a dark shade of red and his lips turn upwards into a shy smile.

"I'm sure. Promise."

Before either of you can say anything else, you feel a drop of water hitting your cheek. It's only now you realize how dark the sky is, water pouring down more and more which each passing moment.

"We should hurry." Spencer grips your hand, pulling you to walk at a fast pace.

Your house is still a few streets away and you can already feel the water making it's way through your pants. Truth is you don't think that there's any way you're going to get to your house without getting completely soaked, not even if you actually run.

That's when the idea hits you. You drop your hand from his, waiting for him to turn around with a confused face before saying, "Dance with me?"

"What?" He asks, brows furrowed in confusion but a smile threatening to spill from his lips at any second.

"We're not gonna get home dry anyway." You give him your best pleading eyes, grabbing at the sleeve of his coat to persuade him even quicker.

"We'll end up catching a cold, angel." You know he's probably right, but the idea of dancing with him in the rain is way too tempting to care about getting sick.

"C'mon, Spence. Live a little." You tease with a warm smile, it's quite obvious he's going to give in. "Please?" And that's all it takes for it to be impossible for him to reject your request.

"Yeah, alright." Spencer rolls his eyes to feign annoyance, though his eyes tell you the opposite.

With a triumphal grin, you pull him to the middle of the empty sidewalk. Your arms find place around his shoulder and you take a moment to appreciate the sight of him with wet hair. You don't think you've ever seen him like this before but it certainly is one look that you like seeing him in.

His hands move to rest on your waist, encouraging you to sway gently. He rubs your hip with his thumb over your jacket ever so tentatively, gazing at you so softly you feel like you might melt into a puddle.

It's like you're not even bothered by dancing to no music, the sound of the rain pouring and your breathing against his cheek being enough of a melody to him. He suddenly regrets thinking it was a bad idea.

Spencer pulls you flush against him, barely any space between both of your mouths. "Is this okay?" He asks in almost a whisper.

You barely have time to nod before he's smashing his lips against yours in a feverish kiss. Your fingers tangle themselves in the wet hair at the nape of his neck, nose nudging his gently as you return it just as eagerly.

Your hands fall to his chest after a moment as he moves to cup your face, the kiss becoming soft but just as addicting.

You're not sure how long you stay like that, you don't care. It feels like doing this forever would be a quite easy task.

"We should probably go." You pull away breathlessly, giggling at the way his lips follow yours and your comment almost falls into deaf ears.

"Live a little." He quotes what you had said earlier, all the shyness from earlier disappeared as he smiles teasingly.

You don't have time to answer again as he kisses you one more time.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

love you,

cat 🤍

[featherdixon]

aftercare / daryl x mute!reader

summary: after spending a night with your boyfriend, you need to tell him how much you love him during aftercare. but the only problem is that you can't.

warnings: daryl x reader, mute!reader, fluff, kisses, sightly angst, aftercare, mentions of sex (they just had it ♡).

words count: 880.

taglist: @negansbestie & @vaniniweenie / if you want me to add you, just let me know!

You pulled a thin cotton sheet over your bare skin. Its softness embraced your legs, just as it did your arms. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, and when you opened them, the darkness was gently pierced by the faint glow of fragile stars. Your body was still unraveling all the emotions—your lips, swollen and tasting faintly of him, your hands still feeling as though they were intertwined with his. Deep inside, an ache settled in the space he left behind.

Your hazelnut-colored hair spread across the pillow, and in a flash, you remembered something that made your cheeks burn—how he loved to grab it, pull it, in the heat of the moment. In a world where sound had been stolen from you, every sensation became sharper, a pleasure heightened when it was him who provided it.

Daryl sat at the edge of the bed, framed by the window, bathed in the soft light of the stars, as if they clung to him like dragonflies to a flower. You smiled, feeling a slight pull at the corners of your mouth, the happiness you felt by his side so immense it almost hurt.

What you admired most about him was how he embraced silence, turning it into a safe place. He rarely spoke, even though he knew you could read his lips; instead, he always tried to use his hands. A month after meeting you, he found a book to teach himself sign language, just so he could tell you one thing.

"I want to teach you how to use a bow." He could’ve communicated it more easily, but he wanted to learn your language. Soon after, he started using his new skills to warn you of danger or to tell you he’d brought food. Everything he did was genuine; they were little details he had for you because his heart guided him. That made your heart tell you to love him.

You had never been this lucky before.

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you wiped it away before he could notice. The same finger that caught your tear traced the scars along Daryl’s back. He turned his head slowly, catching your gaze. Every time you were together, he would ask if you’d enjoyed it, if there was anything he could do differently, or if you wanted more. That last question was always the hardest, because there was no reality in which you wouldn’t want more of him.

You parted your lips, trying to form a word. It had been years since you’d attempted this. You knew it was impossible; sound was a world closed off to you, but it still felt unfair not being able to tell him you loved him. Daryl turned gently when he realized what you were trying to do, placing his warm hand on your cheek.

Your throat ached from the effort. Heat surged there, yet no sound would come. You felt helpless, overwhelmed by the pain of not being able to express how much he made you feel. Daryl picked up the book to refresh his memory, and it broke your heart even more. He spent hours learning your language, while you couldn’t speak a word of his.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, his gray eyes searching yours. You pressed your lips together because you didn't wanted to be in tears.

"Nothing," you signed with your right hand, though your heart ached. You sat up in bed, letting the sheet fall from your torso.

Daryl moved closer, placing his lips gently on your bare shoulder. His touch made you shiver, and his lips were as soft and warm as ever. Before he could pull away, you reached for him, bringing your mouth to his, deepening the kiss, letting your tongue savor the taste of him. You wanted him to understand everything you couldn’t say. He wasn’t expecting that boldness and gently pulled back.

Before he could speak, you moved your hand swiftly.

"I just wanted to tell you I love you." Daryl blinked, staring into your eyes.

"You’ve been telling me all night," he replied softly. A wave of embarrassment washed over you as you lay back down. He didn’t hesitate to move over you, his lips tracing delicate patterns on your neck, collarbone, shoulder, and down to your stomach. He always lingered there, he loved leaving kisses on your belly.

He lifted his head slightly, and you tenderly caressed the scar beneath his eye.

"I wish I could say it out loud..." You traced the words with your lips, and he understood them instantly, without even looking at your hand. He dragged his lower lip from your belly button to the mole near your most sensitive spot. You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling your heart open wide.

He moved back up to kiss you, and you glanced at his hand.

"I love you," he signed. You smiled, mirroring the same sign back to him.

He lay beside you, and you rested your head on his chest. Even if the words would never be spoken, together you had created a language of touches, signs, and kisses that no one could break. You hoped with all your heart that your future daughter would be able to say those words for you—words you would have shouted a thousand times for this man you loved.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Eddie noticed things. Well, not always right away, but he noticed things. He noticed that Steve liked to be affectionate with the people he cared about: Robin, Dustin, Nancy, and so on. He tried not to read into it when Steve immediately started doing it with him in the Upside Down. He could still feel the tingles from when Steve had placed his hand on his lower back for the first time. The shock that shot through Eddie and the realization that it might not be just women for him nearly sent him crashing to the ground. Worst time to have a sexuality crisis. It had made him realize that he had been checking out Steve on that boat, though. They hadn't gotten together for a long time, though, with them both still healing and Eddie dealing with the aftermath of everything, still dealing with the weight of Chrissy's death. Not until after the kids had gone back to school again.

"I'm just worried, you know! Nancy, Robin, Jonathan, and Vickie graduated. Who's going to look after the kids? Plus, becoming a basketball coach is something I would definitely enjoy doing. Is that stupid?" Steve asked.

Eddie was leaning back against the counter, watching Steve restock the shelves in Family Video. It was empty except for them. He loved the way that Steve’s eyes lit up all protective-like when he talked about the kids. It made Eddie's insides all fuzzy.

"Fucking marry me," Eddie had blurted out.

"Buy me dinner first," Steve said, blushing.

"Okay," Eddie said. "It's a date."

Steve looked at him for a moment, trying to decide if he's serious or not. His face split into a grin, and he put the wrong video on the shelf. He was ridiculously goofy-looking with the way that he grinned, the way his hazel eyes got bigger, and his prince charming hair just looking even better today. Eddie couldn't help but let out a dreamy sigh. That was that. Being with Steve was an adjustment because he had to change his entire view of jocks. He could no longer look at them all as the enemy. It was just a game, just like his own game. The real assholes were the ones that hunted him down, who accused him of murder, and bullied him and his group of misfits. No, the real enemy were the people like Higgins who thought there needed to be division and hatred because they had different interests. Eddie couldn't prove it, but he was pretty sure that Higgins had encouraged their behavior and, because of that, had given Eddie a skewed view of jocks. So, it's all Higgins' fault, really.

Over the last few months of being with Steve, he had come to accept a few things: that jocks weren't all bad, that he was actually starting to like sports, and that he was absolutely in love with Steve. Though he wished Wayne would stop cackling at him. Yeah, yeah, all the shit he gave Wayne about liking sports, and Eddie had to go fall for a jock. The one thing he really loved about Steve was how much he would do for the people, but he hated that he would sacrifice taking care of himself to do it. Although, Eddie was guilty for taking the opportunity to swoop in like a brave knight to help take care of the former king of Hawkins High.

"Where do you think you're going?" Eddie asked from the doorway of Steve’s bedroom.

"Dustin needs a ride," Steve groaned as he rolled out of bed.

"How are you going to do that when you're sick?" Eddie asked.

"I'm not sick," Steve scowled. "I do not get sick."

Steve sneezed so hard that he fell back onto the bed. He groaned, a snot bubble coming out of his nose.

"Sexy," Eddie grinned.

"Fuck off," Steve groaned.

"You say such sweet things to me," Eddie said.

Steve got up off the bed, stuffed his feet into two different pairs of shoes, and tried to move past Eddie. He grabbed Steve’s shoulders.

"I got to give Dustin a ride," Steve said. "I promised."

"Hm, okay, what day of the week is it?" Eddie asked his very stubborn boyfriend.

"It's Tuesday," he scoffed.

"Yeah, try again, big boy. It's Thursday," Eddie said.

"If it's Thursday, does that mean I already gave him a ride?" Steve asked.

"I gave him a ride, and I'm here now. You don't have to be a single mom anymore, Stevie," he teased, flashing his dimples. "Daddy's here."

Eddie picked Steve up and laid him on the bed.

"You're just trying to get into my pants. I'm not sick," Steve said and coughed up phlegm.

"And what's that?" Eddie said.

"I forgot to swallow again," Steve said. "I'll do better. I just need practice."

"Right."

Eddie had stayed all week to take care of Steve and another week for Steve to take care of him when he got sick. Supposedly, he had been worse than Steve, but he was pretty sure that Steve was lying. Steve hadn't complained about it, though. Apparently, he had gotten used to it when he had to take of Eddie when he gotten bit by the bats. Eddie really didn't remember how needy he had been, but apparently, he had been. It was amazing how easy it had been to slip into the role of caring boyfriend, considering that he had never really been one. The first girl he had been with had been a dare for her, and the second had been Paige. He had epically screwed that up. He wasn't perfect, and neither was Steve. Oddly enough, he liked that about their relationship. They didn't have to try so very hard to be perfect. There's always a little give and take in every relationship, though.

"Steve, honey, what are you wearing?" Eddie asked him one day when they were hanging out at Steve's house.

He was dressed all in black. Okay, the black pants were a good fit, but there was something off about everything else. There was something missing.

"You don't like it?" Steve pouted.

"I mean, I do, and I don't," Eddie said, shaking his head. "Where the fuck is your polo?"

"I just thought a change might be good," Steve said.

"No! Nope! No way!" Eddie exclaimed. "If I wanted to date myself, I would take my hand out for a nice little dinner!"

"Robin said - "

"Robin also believes that there are little demobat eggs waiting to burst out of us like in Alien," Eddie said. "So, what she says might not be so trustworthy especially since there's the possibility that she's fucking with you."

"So, you really don't like it?" Steve asked.

"Steve, baby, I love your sweet little sexy numbers," Eddie said. "Do you know why I love seeing you in them?"

"Why?" Steve asked.

Eddie sighed and pulled Steve into his lap.

"Because you like wearing them," Eddie said. "I don't want you to be me or anyone else. I fell in love with Steve Harrington, and Steve Harrington is what I'm going to get. I love everything about you, from your pastel colors to your polos to you playing basketball. Everything. So, if you don't want to wear these clothes, you shouldn't."

"I love you, too," Steve said. "I mean, I kind of like the black pants with the polo, but other than that, I'll change back."

"Yeah, I figured," Eddie grinned. "I mean, there's nothing about me that you want to change?"

"No! I love everything about you," Steve said. "I mean, I wish you wouldn't leave the wet towels on our bathroom floor. I totally busted my ass on them the other day."

"I think I can work on that," Eddie said and caressed his butt. "Wouldn't want to do anything to damage this sweet thing. But seriously, Stevie, don't change a thing. I'd rather you butt ass naked than try to be me."

"I think I can work on that too," Steve grinned and kissed him. "Let me go change."

Eddie sighed and watched him walk out of the room. When Steve came back in, he wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing, and his hands were firmly on his hips.

"Well, I was going to put on my polo, but I got a little hot and bothered," Steve said.

"Goddamn, darlin," Eddie whistled, stood up, slapping Steve’s ass. "I guess I have to go put up those towels. It's not fair if only you make the effort."

"I love you!"

"I love you more!"

"More than Dungeons and Dragons?!"

"Don't push it!"

[daydreamerwoah]

Love Through It All Pt. 10

tw: mentions of cheating, mentions of divorce; hurt; angst; anger; rollercoaster of emotion; sadness; arguing; crying; a worried Ghost; brief mention of self-hurt; brief mentions of Ghost's past

Read Part 1 for my author notes for the beginning of this story if this is your first time here.

I want to say here that I won't be going too deep into Ghost's past when he was captured by Roba.

Walking into the apartment, you were fuming. So upset to the point that you wanted to take the wine bottle that was still on the kitchen counter and chuck it across the room to pieces. You were embarrassed, confused, and mad. You all but snatched off your heels and tossed them by the side of the front door and stormed your way to the bedroom to try and get out of the dress you had on.

Simon cautiously followed behind you after making sure the door was closed and locked. His eyes watching your every move with a mix of sadness and lingering rage; not at you, but at the image of what set him off only 20 minutes ago.

He had gone to two places - with Johnny still trying to talk him out of it - before finally walking into the club you were at. His dark eyes scanned the entire room before they landed on your figure amid the crown. The damn dress that hardly covered you caught his eyes immediately. Johnny even swallowed an uncomfortable lump in his throat at your outfit. While you looked beautiful... it was weird for him to see you swinging your hips to the music. Your dress showed much more skin than the last one he saw you in.

His eyes shot to Simon, who continued to stare at you. He hadn't moved an inch as he only watched and somewhat admired. He was getting both slightly turned on and about to burst with anxiety. When the fuck did you buy that dress? How were you able to move in it without showing your underwear and a nip slip? He had so many thoughts racing through his mind, but that all came to a screeching halt when a guy placed his hands on your hips.

His eyes widened, and before he took a step, Johnny's arm stretched out over his chest to stop him, "Don't do it mate. If y'go over there now she'll never forgive ya."

The damn Scot was right. But did it ease his lieutenant's mind? Of course not... Especially when he saw the fucking man snake his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his body, and put his lips on your ear. That's when he saw red... nothing but dark, sizzling, fiery red. His feet reacted on instinct, pushing him through the crowd with clenched fist.

"Ah fuckin' hell!" Johnny yelled out as he tried pushing his way through after Simon. He knew what was going to happen before it even did. And fuck did he try to stop it before they got thrown out of the club.

But now that you and him were back at home, the wrath had simmered... just a bit. He was still mad.... but more with himself. He wanted to cut off the man's hands, but looking at you made all thoughts about that vanish.

"Sweetheart-"

"No!" you yelled as you turned on your heels to face him, "Don't fucking sweetheart me Simon! What the fuck was that back there?"

He pulled his balaclava off, tossing it on the bed before glancing back at you, "Please-"

"Stop! No more fucking talking!" It was your turn to see red, "How could you do that?! You went looking for me?! I told you I was coming home!" He tried to speak but you didn't even let him open his mouth, "And you punched someone! Because what?... he danced with me?! Because he had his arm around me-"

"I saw him kiss your neck, Y/n!" Simon shouted. In all the years you had been married, he rarely raised his voice, especially at you... but he also had never cheated until he did. "I saw the way he looked at you!"

"So what?! You think I wanted him back! You think I was going to leave with him! That I was going to cheat like you did to me!" Simon's hard eyes softened, "You stepped out on our marriage! Six times! SIX! Not one, but six! And you didn't even have the balls to tell me. You didn't even tell me how you felt before then! Instead, you fucked some girl! All because you like having rough sex! I'm not some fucking fragile toy that will break! I'm not weak! And you won't even divorce me!"

He stepped closer to you, but you took a step back, "Love-"

"No! I'm not done! I'm so fucking mad right now I could punch something!" You started pacing, "You say I'm yours but you go and act like this?!"

"You are. Sweetheart I swear-" He tried to reach out for you.

You smacked his hand away, "Don't touch me!"

"Hit me love. Y'can punch me. Slap me. Do whatever y'need-"

"STOP!" You screamed. You screamed so loud that Simon's eyes widened so big from your tone. You thought someone would come knocking on the door from how loud it was, possibly thinking you were being hurt. When you thought about it, you were being hurt.... just not physically.

The tension in the air only grew. The anger that was racing through your body was going to force its way out, and that terrified you. You weren't a violent person. You didn't want to see what would happen if you hit Simon... you knew he wouldn't do anything back, but the thought of being like your ex made you want to vomit.

A shift in Simon's eyes only confirmed that what you did wasn't like you. It wasn't the woman he married. But he hated himself to know it was all because of him that you had changed. And he couldn't stop it.

It was as if a dam burst as tears began to fall down your cheeks. The mascara and eyeliner causing black streaks on the skin. You didn't even care if he saw you in pain or not. You wanted to scream and to lash out at him, but your throat had become so dry from shouting already you had no energy left in you.

You lowered your head, softly shaking it, "I need space, Simon. I need to be away from you... You need to be away from me." you said.

"Wait, please don't-"

"Please, Simon... please just give me space and time to think about everything," you sniffed, "I'm begging you.... please."

He stood there, eyes shifting between yours as he listened to you. As he heard your plea. He had been so worried about losing you that he only made things worse. And there was nothing that he could do to fix it other than give you what you wanted. Give you the space you needed.

He slowly nodded as tears formed in his own eyes, and a sob left your mouth as you clamped a hand around your lips to stop the sound from escaping. "Alright," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "I'll give you anything y'want. Promise. Just-" He stopped himself from finishing his sentence, "Alright."

It was the last thing he said before he grabbed his balaclava off the bed and left the house. As soon as the door shut, you couldn't help but sink down to your knees and let out one of the hardest, silent cries you ever had. It was so hard to do anything but cry, and that you did. You cried as you took your dress off. You cried as you sat on the floor in the shower, letting the water fall all over you. You cried as you gazed at yourself in the mirror, feeling like you wanted to punch the glass.

************************************************************************

Simon opened his office door before quickly shutting and locking it once he stepped inside. It was cold and dark, like it always was. But this time, it felt colder... damper. The windowless room offered no light source until he flicked on the small lamp on this desk. It barely lit up anything, but it was enough for him to find his way to the couch located off to the side of the room.

He slumped down with a low and painful groan leaving his mouth. It wasn't the smartest idea for him to even be fighting when he was still bruised and battered from the mission he left not even 24 hours ago. Actually, it was a stupid idea, and he knew that. The adrenaline no longer pumping through him, he felt how the knuckle on his right hand had split a little. When he glanced down at it, he felt a rush of sadness fall to his stomach as he looked at the dried up blood.

"Fuck," he said.

He wished someone could punch him in the face. The amount of force that he struck with his first on the guy at the club, he wished it was his face that he hit. He felt like he could take one of his knives and stab himself in the chest. He didn't deserve anything after what he did to you.... You had given him more than he truly deserved by staying with him at the beginning of all of this. All he did in return was made you cry damn near every day.

Maybe he did deserve to let you go; to let you leave him. He thought about if he should just be alone for the rest of his life. Retire and move somewhere remote, so he couldn't have any human interaction. So he wouldn't ever hurt you again by seeing him, by thinking about what he did to you. Or if he was lucky, he'd get himself killed on the next mission he was sent off to. It'd be quick and painless, he hoped. You could even be free from him.

He laid down on the couch, looking up at the ceiling as his huge frame barely fit comfortably on it. But he didn't deserve comfort. He didn't deserve to live, he thought. Maybe one day, he could finally be with his mom, his brother.... his nephew. If they were alive, he was sure his Tommy would have punched him square in the face. He could see the look on his face so vividly. The pain in his heart was worse than the hook that pierced through his rib so many years ago. He thought he deserved another hook.... and he'd let it happen if that meant making you happy once again.

A little shorter part, but wanted to gear up for the next piece of them having space. This was sort of hard to write for me as I know what it feels like when you feel like you ruined something and you think about if you could bring yourself pain, it would ensure the other person would be happy. Won't lie I teared up a little lmao!! This part was originally supposed to be something else, but I changed it because I have more plans for Jax's position in this story so I hope you all like it lol!As always...... comment, like, give feedback :)

Taglist: @kalypsoox @fruitymoonbeams-blogz @kylies-love-letter @xrosegoldwolfx @linaaaaa654 @jessicab1991 @darkravenqueen98 @yazyazali @thychuvaluswife @chloeforde @cownini @ssc7514

[wooziorgans]

moon song || ljh

warnings: post breakup au. ex idol!reader. reader has an implied suicide attempt(s) in the past. reader is implied to do something akin to relapsing at the end of the fic. ed talk. lots of pressure that comes w being an idol. clubs. drinking. seungcheol hates y/n for leaving. leaving the idol industry behind. seeing your ex after four years. hurt w very little comfort. right person, wrong time.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: vent piece mostly. abt my frustration of still being sick, abt my frustration of not seeming to get better, abt how it never seems to stop. abt all of my wasted potential as a person. all of it, none of it, everything and nothing at all. i am so tired.

please read with caution. this is just a lot of emotions all in one place.

The loud bass that hits your head as soon as you enter the club makes your head pound immediately. It’s been four long years since you’ve even been in this part of Seoul, let alone been in a club with this group of ex-colleagues.

Ex-colleagues is certainly one way to put it. They were all so much more, and you know that this is just an excuse for all of them to get drunk. You wonder briefly if Jihoon’s here. He never used to drink, but then again, he didn’t do a lot of things until you were in the picture. You wonder how much has changed now that you’re not.

The memory of him burns like a hot iron branding your back, and you head to the nearest table of refreshments to grab a drink. If he’s here, you’ll need all the alcohol you can get your hands on. Maybe that makes you no better than anyone else; no better than the scene you so desperately needed to leave four years ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.

You’re no longer apart of it. What you do now won’t cost you your career. If the night ends with you passed out in an alley way simply because you saw your ex at an album release party for an album he produced, so be it. He never comes to these things anyways.

At least, he didn’t when you knew him. You haven’t known Jihoon for a long time. It’s been four years after all; a lot can change in a week, let alone four years.

Like your decision to leave the K-pop industry. You had mulled over it for weeks, before you brought it up to anyone, and you didn’t go to Jihoon first. He was the last person you told. At least, officially, that you were leaving.

All those years of work as a trainee, just for it to be nothing. All of the tears, the angry screams into your pillow, the poverty your company forced you into in the first few years of your career because it was boarding on bankruptcy. All of this wasted potential. Maybe you could’ve been someone great.

You were, for a few years. Your group took off, and the first few years of success made all of the hard work feel like it was worth something. But as the saying goes, too much of a good thing won’t be good for long.

The pressure started to build, and it built until it boiled over and you were found on the verge of doing something terrible in your bathroom by your boyfriend and your manager after a week of unusual silence. Jihoon never was a crier, but god did he sob as he held you in the back of the ambulance. He had never begged for anything the way he begged for you to talk to him.

Please, god, please talk to me Y/N. Please, baby. I can’t— I can’t lose you.

It’s funny, really, how things work out. You dug yourself so deep into this hole of despair from the pressure of being an idol, that the only way out of it was to completely separate yourself from that life and start over.

After terminating your contract, you broke up with Jihoon. Or, you didn’t break up with him, only told him that you needed to take a break while you sorted yourself out. After being on a break for four years, is it still just a break? Or are you broken up at that point?

Both you and Jihoon know the answer to that.

Three years of no social media, no articles about you, none of your old friends reaching out to check in on you because they held a contractual obligation to be nice to you in the hallways. Three and a half years out of the spotlight. Three and a half years of peace, of healing, of sorting your life out and learning how to breathe again.

It’s been four years without Jihoon, and you didn’t really think much about the consequences that potentially sharing a space with him would have. But now they’re suffocating. All you can think about is the potential possibility of him being here, which, he wouldn’t be, right? He hates these kinds of gatherings. He used to skip his own release parties to watch shitty romance movies with you on the couch in his studio.

Does he have someone new to watch romance movies with? Or has he given up romance altogether? You know from the first few months, updates provided by Soonyoung, that he didn’t take the distance very well. You know that he missed you, and he worried about you constantly. You know you’re spiralling, and you know all those years of therapy will be for nothing if you don’t pull yourself out of it.

You don’t have to do that, because Seungkwan does it for you. “Y/N? You came!” He seems elated that you’re here, off his rocker, probably drunk.

“Of course I came! It’s your first album as BSS, Seungkwan.” You smile, and it’s not forced at all. You have completely forgotten how easy it is to fall into banter with Seungkwan. It’s almost like you never left in the first place.

Except something in his eyes seems off. That’s your first red flag to turn around and get the fuck out of this club, but you don’t. “My god. It’s been so long. How are you doing?” With anyone else, the small talk would’ve taken you out back and killed you. It’s different with Seungkwan.

Different how? He was one of the only people who consistently checked in on you when you first left. As you settled into your new life, the texts became less frequent; now, four years later they’re hardly anything to notice, but he’ll still send you a text on every holiday, and he’s wished you happy birthday every year since you met him.

“I’m doing a lot better. I’m… I’m good.” You laugh softly. Seungkwan smiles at you.

“That’s good. I’ve missed having you around— of course I don’t expect you to come back into this scene, but it would be nice to see you sometime.” Seungkwan squeezes your shoulder softly and smiles wider.

“Yeah, of course. I know I’ve been gone, but I’ll make it less hard to get a hold of me. I’ve missed all of you, truth be told.” You smile back. “I’ve just… been doing a lot of healing and I think it’s about time I finally start reconnecting with people. Is everyone here?” You ask.

“Oh, yeah. We’re all here! I kind of spilled that I invited you so everyone decided to come just in case you showed up.” The depth of all doesn’t really seem to cross Seungkwan’s mind; he’s certainly not thinking about Jihoon right now, or Seungcheol for that matter. You’re pretty sure Seungcheol would punch you if he caught sight of you. Maybe Jihoon would too. You have no idea how Jihoon even feels about you.

“Even, uh, Jihoon?” The smile falls from Seungkwan’s face.

“Oh. Yeah. He’s here too.” Seungkwan swallows when he sees your face shift. “You… he-he wants to talk to you. It’s not my place to really say, but he’s not mad. I think he just wants closure.”

So maybe Jihoon wouldn’t punch you. That’s a bit of a relief.

“Oh my god! Y/N! You came!” It’s Seokmin, very clearly drunk. You didn’t keep in contact with him, though he did send you a few paragraphs over text as he wished you all the best, telling you to reach out if you ever needed anything. You didn’t take him up on the offer.

“I did!” You smile, tilting your head as you look up at Seokmin.

“Can I have a hug?” He’s already opening his arms and you slide right into them. His hug is firm and warm. You’ve missed Seokmin a lot more than you cared to admit. Seungkwan grumbles about how he should’ve asked for a hug and you laugh, pulling him into one.

You catch up with Seokmin briefly before he’s being pulled away by someone you don’t know. You stick with Seungkwan, talking about your life, the album, avoiding the subject of Jihoon.

And then you turn your head at the bright sound of laughter, and you see him. You see him, and he’s not the same mess he was when you left him with no promise of when you’d see each other next. He’s not the scared man in his early twenties who had no idea if you were going to die on him. He’s not the man who stayed with you in the hospital for days on end.

He’s not the producer you knew who’d slide his headphones over your ears as he pulled you into his lap. He’s not the warm hand that held yours because you forgot your gloves again. He’s not the hushed giggles at four in the morning, or the hurried kisses, or the soft whimpers and praises as you tangled yourselves in his bedsheets.

Jihoon isn’t yours anymore.

You had hoped he wouldn’t be such a sore subject for you anymore, but seeing him in all of his glory four years later… god does it fucking hurt. You’ve done a lot of healing in the last four years, but in that time you never really had the time to process the loss of Jihoon.

Soonyoung spots you, and that’s when you know you’re doomed, because if Soonyoung is distracted, Jihoon always notices the thing that catches him off guard. You try to pull your eyes away from Jihoon, but you can’t. You swear he’s gotten more beautiful in the last four years.

He’s gotten bigger, physically— far more muscular. You can see the curve of his pecks through his shirt, one that isn’t even tight against his body. Jihoon’s always been a big fitness buff, but it appears he’s put more effort into himself. His biceps strain against the fitted sleeves of his long sleeve black shirt.

Jihoon’s face looks different too. He still has the same round cheeks you used to always pinch and prod at. His jawline is still soft, but it’s more defined. His eyes are bright, and the bags under them are still there. You wonder briefly if he’s ever gotten rid of them; if the skin under his eyes has ever matched the rest of his milky complexion.

His hair is longer than you’ve ever seen it. Dark and flowy, it’s reflective and healthy, half tied up with what would be his undercut hanging freely. A few pieces frame his face. It looks soft and healthy. Jihoon looks soft and healthy.

He’s smiling as he scans the crowd to find what Soonyoung is distracted by, and then he spots you. The smile is wiped off of Jihoon’s face faster than your brain can even register it. Seungkwan stiffens beside you, hand finding your shoulder to steady you as you stumble briefly, but the pull between you and Jihoon is too much.

Both of you start moving towards each other, pushing your way through the crowd. “Y/N.” His voice comes out in a breath, chest heaving and then he’s there, right in front of you, after four years.

You don’t know what to say, can’t process the fact that he’s in front of you, as beautiful as ever. “Jihoon,” you echo, “hi.” You can’t help the small smile that threatens to pull at your lips. The tension on Jihoon’s face eases, but he doesn’t smile back.

“Hi. How are you doing?” Jihoon asks, and if it was anyone else, it would’ve been a sad attempt at small talk. It’s Jihoon, so you know he’s asking how you’re doing now, if you’re better. A part of him is asking if you still feel like killing yourself. The answer to the last part is no.

“I’m… better. A lot better.” You laugh awkwardly. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t doing okay.” Now, Jihoon actually does smile at you, and though it’s small, it’s still there.

“You look a lot better. Healthier. I’m glad.” Jihoon takes a sip of his drink as he looks down at you. He’s right; you’re much healthier now. There’s solid meat on your bones, your thighs touch and your ribs don’t show anymore. Your face has filled out, cheeks full and round. Your eyes don’t look as though they’re sunken into your skull, they’re brighter now; they seem to shine with life in a way they never have before.

Jihoon takes you in properly, and god, you’ve gotten so much more beautiful since the last time he saw you. It hurts. It hurts a lot to see how good you look now, without him. He knows it’s a lot more complicated than that, but it still hurts nonetheless.

You look healthy, like an actual person and not a skeleton, and you were never that way when you were an idol. You were never like that when you were with Jihoon.

“Oh, um, thank you. Should we… should we sit? We have a lot to talk about.” You laugh again to hide your nerves. Jihoon can still read you, and he knows you’re brimming with nerves. He knows you’re a little scared, probably more than a little, and he is too.

You’ve never breached the subject, hardly even talked about your breakup. Jihoon doesn’t like to think about it. He just doesn’t. He doesn’t like to think about how much worse you were doing, even if it destroyed him. The breakup was harder on you, tenfold, and you went through it alone.

“I- uh. Yeah, yeah, we can go sit. It’s probably about time we talk.” Jihoon laughs nervously, closing his eyes for a second. He wordlessly starts walking towards the vacant booths of the club. You follow close behind.

Jihoon sits down, and you take a seat across from him. It’s silent for a few moments. Both of you are staring at your cups, not drinking, just swirling your liquids of choice.

Jihoon speaks first, but he can’t look at you. “Why’d you have to leave me?” He asks, and his voice breaks softly as he says it. You certainly weren’t expecting that as the first question he asked, but you don’t really know what else he would’ve asked.

“I… I had to leave everything that had to do with being an idol behind. You… you included.” It’s a shitty answer, but you can’t think in Jihoon’s presence.

“I understand that, but I would’ve been there for you. I would’ve helped you get help. You didn’t have to do it by yourself, Y/N. I loved you; I would’ve done anything to make sure you were safe.” Jihoon’s bites at his lip, eyes sparkling in the low lights of the club. He looks like he’s about to cry, and god does it break your heart.

He loved you, past tense. It’s jarring. It stings, but what else did you expect? For him to still want you? That’s unrealistic and completely unfair to expect from him.

It hits you then that you might still be in love with him. That makes this next part so much harder.

“I know. I know, but it made sense to me at the time. I can’t- I can’t rationalize anything that I did at that time in my life. None of it makes sense, but I made a lot of choices that I regret and I can’t go back on them now. It’s too late for that and I’m- I’m so sorry for everything I put you through, Jihoon. All of it; everything, god, I’m so sorry.” You spill, and the soft burn in the back of your throat makes it hard to speak as you try not to cry. “You didn’t deserve to deal with any of it.” You whisper softly.

“Y/N,” Jihoon whispers back, “I forgave you a long time ago. I just want closure.” Closure. Jihoon wants closure, meaning he wants to move on. The tears in his eyes shine brightly, though they don’t fall, but he’s crying nonetheless, and that makes you feel worse.

“I don’t deserve that though. I don’t deserve to be forgiven for just leaving you. Seungcheol still hasn’t forgiven me; why the hell would you?” You swallow hard, and that seems to break the dam as the first few tears slip down your cheeks.

“Seungcheol has his own issues. We never told him the full story, and maybe that’s why he’s still… iffy about the whole thing. But I forgive you. I just, I want to stop hiding from you. I don’t want to be worried about running into you somewhere and not knowing what to say. I still care about you, so much, and, god does it fucking kill me to still worry about you when you’ve never made an effort to reach out to me.” Jihoon’s always been blunt, so you should’ve expected this, but it makes you feel worse; guilty. “I would’ve answered your calls, in a heartbeat. You know I would’ve.” Jihoon blinks, and the first few tears fall down his face.

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to call you after so long. I spent six months in and out of the hospital, and after that I had to get back on my feet. By the time I even had time to think about calling you, it’d been a year, and to me that was too late.” You close your eyes and exhale deeply, fingers twitching.

Jihoon used to hold your hands when you were upset to stop them from twitching so much. He used to pull your head close to his chest and wipe your tears with the pads of his thumbs. He makes no effort to do so now. Jihoon can’t even look at you properly.

He’s focused on picking at the calluses on his palms. Some things never change.

“You- six months? Y/N, fuck, I had no idea. I knew it was bad but, shit, really?” Jihoon’s voice breaks fully, and all you can do is nod. “How many more times? How many times did you—?” He can’t finish his sentence. His throat closes up.

“Four.” Jihoon has nothing to say in reply. He can’t, not with the deep hurt that settles in his chest, so you elaborate. “I really just wanted to die. The media was on my ass for the first year and it was just bad. I spent the next year after that in a rehabilitation program to fix my relationship with food and it helped a lot. I found a good therapist and I’m still seeing her. It’s helped a lot. I’m- I’m clean.” You pick up your cup, hand shaking, and take a large drink to calm your nerves.

“I’m really glad that you’re healthy now. Really, god, that’s such a relief.” Jihoon’s tears are steady now. He wipes at them with his sleeve. You mutter a soft thank you.

Outside of the booth, the noise has been blocked out by your conversation, but you hear something peculiar. It’s Seungcheol, his voice is loud and booming. He’s angry.

“What the fuck are they doing here?! Seriously, why did you even invite them?” Both you and Jihoon look up at the same time to see Joshua and Mingyu trying to deescalate the situation. Seungkwan is yelling back, face red as he tries to block Seungcheol’s view of the booth you and Jihoon are sat in.

“No, I’ve fucking had it with all of you. Defending them for just fucking leaving Jihoon without a word. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you bring them here?” Seungcheol is drunk and looking for a confrontation with you, and that’s enough of a threat to have you and Jihoon standing as he tries to usher you out of the club without Seungcheol seeing.

“Fuck, you should probably go.” Jihoon pulls you close to him, shielding you from Seungcheol’s view. You nod, walking fast beside him as you push your way through the crowd.

“Yah! You, get the fuck back here!” Neither of you listen as you push your way out of the door. You make the mistake of looking behind you to see Joshua and Mingyu physically holding Seungcheol back. Wonwoo is there now too, standing in front of him to prevent him from walking.

The outside air is cold and bitter. You shiver as you pull out your phone to order a ride. You and Jihoon are completely silent. He’s standing so close to you that you can feel his body heat radiating off onto you.

“I’ll wait with you. How long?” He asks, voice shaky.

“Two minutes.” You only have two minutes left with Jihoon. It’s so finite, the time you’re spending with him. If only you had more time.

You’re not afforded that luxury as you shiver beside him. “Can I- is it okay if I—?” You nod, unsure of what he’s asking. It’s a yes either way. Jihoon pulls you into his arms in a tight, warm hug. His hands don’t find their way into your hair, or rub your back. He just holds you. It’s all he can do.

Both of you ignore the mutual swell of warmth in your chests. You’re still in love with him, you know that, and that’s why the car seems to show up in no time. Your phone chimes as the car pulls up in front of the club as you reluctantly start to separate yourselves.

There’s so much you didn’t get to talk about. You tell him so. “We, fuck, I had so much more to say. I had so much more to explain. You, god, you were the right person, Jihoon. Everything else was just so wrong.” You thought the weight would’ve been lifted off your chest, but it only hurts more. You close your eyes as you turn away.

“Y/N, fuck, don’t do this to me right now.” Jihoon whispers, eyes filling with tears once again.

“I’m sorry Jihoon. I love you. I’ll see you around.” You open the door to the car.

“I, yeah. Take care of yourself.” Jihoon can’t look at you, no way in hell can he look at you as you close the door and drive off. He stands still in the cold, watching as the car disappears from his sight. He leans against the wall, head falling back as the tears start pouring freely.

As he pushes the door to the club open, it hits him hard, fills his whole body as a bone deep love for you settles. And it hurts, god does it hurt. Seungcheol’s calmed down, but the snide remark that slips past his lip doesn’t even register in Jihoon’s brain. All Jihoon recognizes is his tone, and that’s enough.

“I’ll punch you right in your fucking mouth, Seungcheol, I swear to god. Shut the fuck up.” Jihoon hardly ever makes threats, but when he does it has everyone going quiet. Seungcheol, Joshua and Mingyu stop in their tracks. There’s been enough drama for one night.

Jihoon grabs a new drink and chugs it, before he goes to grab his coat. He needs to get out of here before the sob building in his throat bursts.

You manage to keep your tears at bay until you enter your apartment. You find yourself in the bathroom, against the cold tile and the porcelain of the bathtub. You don’t do anything, just sit there and breathe as the tears flow freely.

It wasn’t supposed to end like that. You were supposed to have more time to reconcile with Jihoon. You and bathrooms have seen a lot of hurt. Most of your bad decisions are made in bathrooms. You don’t do anything, you just sit there for a few minutes as you cry.

Nothing happens the next night. Or the night after. A week after the release party, Jihoon still plagues your mind and that’s when you crack. Your old manager turned friend answers the phone.

“Hi. You okay?” Yena asks softly, voice ridden with sleep.

“Drive me to the hospital? I think I need stitches.” You laugh nervously. The adrenaline has worn off and all you feel is regret.

“Y/N.” She sighs, but it’s not disappointment. She’s seen a lot of things with you, and supported you through all of them. You’re the reason she quit being a manager and went back to university. You made her realize the idol life isn’t as glamorous as it seems, and you’ve formed a very solid friendship over the past five years. “You know they’re gonna keep you for a few days, right?”

“Yeah. I know. It was impulsive. Like, I’m fine now. I just couldn’t stop thinking.” You sigh.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll be on the way. Cold water and pressure until I get there, yeah?” You laugh softly.

“Already on it.” The call disconnects soon after, and you look up at the mirror. Briefly, you imagine Jihoon standing behind you in a much different situation than the one you’re in now.

His thick arms are wrapped around your waist, head leaning against yours. He’s smiling in your vision. You smile softly in your reflection, though it’s strained. The blood on your hands pulls you out of it.

a/n: i wrote this when i was going through it. i’m fine now but i seriously can’t do angst like i used to so i might write a part two or something where they end up back together.

[solbaby7]

Hiii, can I get a margarita with a salt rim on the rocks, please? Thank you!💕

[ “got a mouth on you. someone should teach you how to use it.” + smut + rhysand ]

-> BLURB BAR <-

Rhysand liked wild things—had this affinity for collecting strays; plucking them from their prisons and providing a life of freedom and luxury.

Maybe that’s why he’s so drawn to you. This rabid animal of a thing with a serious aversion to proper clothing and absolutely no regard for others personal boundaries. “Back for more charity work?”

“Is that how you think of my visits? I’m hurt.”

You look down at him with amusement, crouched low on a branch with a skirt so short it takes effort not to stare. “We both know you aren’t,” You make tree climbing look easy, bare toes trodding across branches that don’t look sturdy but hold strong bearing your weight. “What’d you bring me this time?”

Rhysand dangles the wicker basket before him with two fingers. He’s teasing, offering; luring you in closer as the laws of the Middle insists that its lands and the creatures in it must welcome you and not the other way around. “Come see for yourself, trouble.”

He’s grown fond of the wild way you move, confidently twisting and ducking through the forestry—the breathable linen of your strapless top flows with the breeze. Handmade necklaces kiss at your clavicle, all braided leather with bleached bones, carefully woven shells and shiny geodes. Once you get close enough he can see the neat braids peeking through loose strands, interwoven thread adding pops of color in haphazard places. “More naughty words on paper,” You chuff out when the weight of two books sits in your hands. The pages are pristine; probably first addition and perfectly cared for. “Always knew you High Lords were just pampered perverts.”

“Didn’t seem to bother you when you read the last two I brought you.”

Rhysand is sure he’ll have dreams about the pretty blush on your cheeks. He’s certain fantasies have planted their seed with intent to grow and grow like fucking ivy until nothing in sight could be see but you and that feisty furrow of your brow and the sharp roll of your eyes. Curious hands dig around the basket, sifting through cured meats and cheeses, parchment paper and oil pastels, rich fabrics and a case full of fresh sewing needles. “You trying to turn me into a fucking housewife or something? Charcuterie boards and fixing the buttons on your rich boy clothes.”

“Got a mouth on you.” Rhys chuckles in amusement, aubergine irises twinkling with silent adoration. “Someone should teach you how to use it.” You don’t seem the slightest bit ashamed when forcing him to hold onto your things, urging him to follow with a jerky nod of your head. “Could start by saying thank you.”

“Make me.”

Something in the air shifts. It alters the way he stands. Awakens a creature lurking in his shadow and its sights lock on you—the female with no fear of monsters. No, instead you hunt them, wrangle them up and tame them. Rabid beasts crooned into fucking house pets and Rhysand yearned to be the stray you took pity on. “Make you use your mouth properly? Or make you say thank you?”

“Both.” He’s hooked; shoes sinking into your footsteps until thick forestry breaks into a clearing with a house built smack dab in the middle. It’s surrounded by flowers, lavender and lemongrass guarding hand built basins labeled with fresh produce to fend off freeloading animals. Ivy creeps up one side of the greenhouse attached to the back. “Show me how to do it like they do in the books you bring me.”

Is it possible for a mouth to dry up and salivate at once? Because Rhys suddenly finds his in an odd mix of something in between. You barely notice the clumsy way he sets aside your basket of goodies but you’re fully aware of the eager way he pulls you in, stopping you from taking a step further. “You sure you know what you’re asking for?”

You scan the length of him, running over the strong set of his shoulders and the practiced ease in the way his arms rest at his sides. Every breath strains against the soft cotton of his shirt, solid muscle radiating warmth when you rest the palm of your hand against it. It’s a slow drag down and you feel no shame for your curiosity when exploring the length of his abdomen, fingers hooking in the loop of his belt. “I’ve got a pretty good idea.” The metallic click of his belt unbuckling, the sharp undoing of tied dress pants. “But, I’m a visual learner.” Rhys’ heart throbs in his chest when you sink to your knees, blood rushing lower until the true extent of his affection towards you is standing at attention in your face.

“I can help with that,” He’s already easing down the top of your shirt, groaning at the sight of bare breasts and pebbled nipples. “Though, my teaching style is a little more…hands on.”

You don’t have time to ask what that means when he’s giving you exactly what you asked for; tugging down his pants just enough to show off a throbbing erection, ruddy tip leaking pre-cum. Two fingers tap at your cheek twice and you have no control over the way your mouth drops open.

He knows he’s being a little rougher than he should—it’s probably your first time giving head and yet he can’t slow down his movements. You don’t even complain, breathing through the way his cock is fed to you, spit glistening along the length and dribbling down your chin. “Quick learner, aren’t you?” Rhys praises so prettily, such nice words spewing free as if he wasn’t rutting his prick down your throat.

Thumbs clear away the tears from under your eyes when you gag. The rasp of his voice urging you to work harder, to hollow your cheeks and run your tongue along that vein that has blunt nails digging into the nape of your neck. Swears spill in a sloppy slur, hands guiding the bob of your head until his release shoots down your throat with a choked grunt.

There’s no way you don’t look a mess when you peer up at him. Fucked out eyes. Tears tracking down your cheeks. Bruised lips. A wet patch dripping down your chest and still you utter the words, “Thank you.”

Just perfection and something inside him screams ‘mine’ the same time Rhysand replies with a breathless, “You’re welcome.”

[tragedy-of-commons]

"are you crying?" + blade + platonic/familial (found family father figure blade with teen!reader) please :3

"Are you crying?"

Oh no.

Blade's question - if you can even call it that, considering he says everything in that deadpan tone of his - hangs in the air for a stagnant minute and then some.

Maybe if you don't make a peep, don't move a muscle, he'll give up and go back to minding his own business. It's not too far-fetched! Despite how savage and brutal he is in combat, he's surprisingly calm (and daresay gentle at times). Maybe he'll read the room, absorbing your aura wordlessly like Kafka can.

He grunts your name, an edge present that wasn't there before.

...or maybe not.

You break your silence, whirling around to face him, plastering the hugest, most saccharine smile on your face. It doesn't matter if there are tears rolling down your cheeks and a bit of snot sticking to your upper lip (ew). You have to try to get him off your back before something worse happens.

"Crying? I'm not doing that, no, never. You see, Firefly was in here chopping onions earlier," you chirp, rattling off lies like it's your second nature. Well, it is, that's why you got roped into joining this questionable team in the first place - but that's neither here nor there!

Blade looks at you.

You look at Blade.

Deflating and dropping the act, you swallow, trying to retain some of your cheery tone while you sniffle. "Okay, you win. I just... it's been a rough day, I'm sure you know how it is."

If there's one thing you know about your ancient colleague, it's that he can't make small talk for the life of him. You don't think it's his fault, really. Silver Wolf let it slip that he's lost pieces of himself to mara over the years - some days he can't hold functionality beyond a weapon without Kafka's pacifying mind tricks.

So, trying to keep up casual conversation with Blade is akin to yapping at a brick wall. You've gotten used to it, sure, but the way he's looking at you right now - with a pinched brow and somewhat of a snarl - is starting to unnerve you.

Does crying piss him off? You understand it's not a pleasant thing to deal with (not that you expect him to). But seeing him this angry outside of battle makes you want to run and drop off the grid for the rest of your life, abandoning your very important Stellaron Hunter duties and Blade in the process.

You swallow, wiping your face with your sleeve. You can't seem to stop miffing him, because he stalks over to you completely in two strides while you freeze up in muted terror.

Is he going to execute you?! Has he decided to circumvent Elio's rules just to shut you up? Is your pathetic sniveling really going to be your undoing? Will the others have to scrape your remains off the walls and floor, your life forever immortalized as a reminder to keep the waterworks under contro--

He all but shoves something into your limp hand, closing your fingers around it a little too tenderly before sidestepping you like he's been scalded by boiling hot water.

It's soft, and you eventually realize it's a handkerchief. It's the darkest navy can pass without actually being black, embroidered with neat red stitching and obviously made with love. You don't know why he even has something like this - it's not like he ever cries - but you let the train of thought go in favor of soothing your frayed nerves.

You don't think twice before bringing the cloth to your face and wiping the remnants of your sadness away, trying to find your words in the process. Your coworker is now standing shoulder-to-shoulder with you, all traces of perceived anger gone. The foot or so between you and Blade isn't a wide berth, but it's still too far.

"Oh," you manage dumbly, now sporting a considerably drier nose.

Unimpressed, he replies. "I know."

"What?"

Okay, you sense his frustration this time. Blade sighs and wrenches his head in your direction for just a moment, exasperated and tense. "I know... how it is. Like you said."

You tighten your grip on the handkerchief wadded up in your hand. It's strange to hear him converse with you willingly, let alone try to comfort you (at least, you think that's what he's doing). Even so, his admission strikes a certain chord in your heart that's dusty from neglect. You sneak a glance at his figure, and when you meet eyes of burning coal, he returns to glowering at the wall.

Everyone on this ship has been through so much, especially him. You're certain that Blade does know what it's like to have some shitty days; he's probably had thousands of them.

You shrug. "Yeah... um, I figured. Nothing much I can do about it though. Bad stuff happens to everybody."

A lengthy pause stretches on until Blade takes up the mantle.

"You can't do anything about it," he repeats, statement curtailing into a dangerous drawl, "...but what about someone like me?"

Someone like him. Dread and something like fondness washes over you at the implication. The type of person he is - an eponymous sword and scabbard that slaughters on command - cannot fix the type of anguish you're dealing with. He's offering to help in the best way he knows how, you realize slowly.

The fact that he's even offering to shed blood in your name is a bit scary - not just because murder is wrong or whatever, but because he's actively trying to care about you.

No one's ever done that before.

"Alright, who are you and what have you done with Blade?" you joke, grinning genuinely this time, even if lingering moisture clings to your lashes. "Kidding. As nice as the offer is, I don't think your, um, solution... will help either."

You don't think it matters anymore - you're already starting to forget what got you so down in the first place. Perhaps you haven't given him enough credit, because by the way Blade's posture relaxes, he also notices this. No murder necessary tonight.

"Stand tall," he commands, pointedly not meeting your eyes as he pats your head. Before you have any time to process that, he disappears quickly down the adjoining hallway, likely slinking off to shred some training dummies.

You fly into a double-take, jaw practically on the floor.

Seems like you'll have to interrogate the old man whenever you get a chance to wash and return his handkerchief.

As you open up your messages app to text Silver Wolf all the details (with a concerning amount of stickers), your day doesn't seem so rough anymore.

"Thanks, Bladie," you whisper secretly to no one but yourself.

🏷️: @akutasoda, @aviiarie, @lowkeyren, @https-sourlimes

a/n: i finally got it done! so psyched to work on another platonic/familial prompt and it's BLADE i'm so sick. thank you for this request! :D

event post here

[missfertileandferal]

lowkey super anxious to post this but im missing you guys so much <3

i plan on a solid return soon! i just wanted to get off my chest whats been going on:

Earlier this year, I dealt with an awful situation of my kinky stuff leaking into real life. My insane coworkers found my content and as I was serving on the clock, proceeded to show my customers and all the staff. then i was fired. Im traumatized to say the least but I over came it.

Come mid summer, I planned so step back for a little bit to move apartments no more than a couple weeks. What happened was both my job (i worked with close family friends so stressful) and a really bad situation with a companion found about my kink stuff. i never expected or was prepared for the humiliation, deception, and pain that would come from my fetish journey

My last job was such a loss. I had been blessed with a cute job as a medical office assistant without any credentials (i wasnt doing anything out of my capabilities of course) it was so peaceful and perfect compared to the drama of my last gig plus working with familiar people felt just like home honestly. Then I got covid. I was out for 2 weeks, at the same time i was moving into my new place. I tried calling them back to let them know I was cleared and ready to get back to work. I received a humiliating text. I was dismissed. That turned into a crippling anxiety of them confessing to my family what I do in my past time

The following week I was met with more disappointment. Ive said this before but I dont have many people in my corner. It used to suck to admit but I stand with pride now knowing those who are around me love me 100% regardless what I do or dont do.

One of my dearest dearest friends, who I had previously communicated what I do (not to a full extent they always respected it) called me very dramatically only a week before I planned to see them (they live across the country and we ALWAYS visit each other when in our cities) It still doesnt feel real tbh, the call only last 40 seconds. I was informed that “I was going on the wrong path” and could no longer be associated with. That’s alls that happened. 8 years down the drain

I was informed by outside sources that my hometown opps had gotten hold of my content (who my ex friend still associate with but I despise bc they’ve always been obsessed with me but in a bad way) and they had confronted him about being my friend. he pussied out and cut me off. they also mass reported my last instagram account😡🤬

I had to take some time back to seriously debate if these loses were worth it. I was swallowed with so much anxiety knowing that an uncomfortable amount of people in my zip code knew what ive been up to. its already complicated being into this and while at the same time not being in a plus size body. thats another conversation tho

That debate has turned into me accepting these events as the universe weeding out people/things that no longer serve me. This has shown peoples true colors, if I am not to be associated with because of my sexual freedom, body acceptance, and undoing of fat phobia then PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE.

Im recovering ❤️‍🩹 but my heart and hedonism can’t be helped. i love being a kinky lil gut slut. its helped me grow in so many ways from acceptance to living an esoteric dreamy life. i love all the hot girls and guys that i see on my timeline. they hype me up and vise versa. i love this little corner of the internet. my fellow freaks keep me going. i’ve been so on and off online but every time i come back to the sweetest words and support. thank you guys for your patience and consideration

my anxiety is to the roof as im typing. its crazy that these privacy problems havent been within the actual community. funny. if your still reading this I love you extra. ill be streaming on ig on my comeback day!

new ig acc @missfertileandferal💘

[valerie-is-in-the-cupboard]

Taking Care - Part Four - human!Alastor x human!fem!reader

MATURE CONTENT AHEAD! MINORS DNI!

Go to Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Hello! I know this chapter is quite long, but I realized that after writing it and decided not to split it into two separate chapters. Please make sure to pay close attention to the trigger warning, as the beginning is a bit intense. I don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable while reading it. I hope you enjoy it! ❤️

Words: ~6300 TW: time specific views on women, domestic abuse, murder, violence, gore, masturbation

Francis's footsteps echoed through the silent forest, his breath heavy as he was desperately looking for a way out. Alastor told him one single word after he untied him: Run. And that's what he did. He ran as fast as he could, hoping that maybe he could escape. Maybe there was still a chance for him, but frustration caught up to him when he realised there was not a single clue in his mind about which way to go. His heart was pounding in his chest and he could feel the adrenaline pumping in his veins. The scent of damp earth filled his nostrils, mingling with the coppery taste of fear on his tongue as he ran, his body numb against the biting cold. His breath caught in his throat as branches clawed at his skin, the sharp crack of twigs beneath his feet only deepening his sense of impending doom.

He stumbled, his legs weak from all the running, as he hardly hit the cold ground. He tried to get up, but his body felt weak, exhausted from all the running.

Whistles echoed in the forest, getting closer with every moment. The idea of escaping suddenly felt so dumb, the realisation painfully getting to him. Alastor knew this forest like the back of his palm - of course, he wasn't going to be worried that his victim would escape.

He cheerfully came closer, looking around like a cat toying with a mouse, pretending not to notice its futile attempts to escape.

He stopped whistling when he found Francis on the ground, crouching down to his level. He placed a hand on his shoulder with a gentle and yet...devious smile.

"My my my, look at you. You're completely out of breath. You look exhausted..."

Francis tried to find his words, but everything that came out was only panting. He couldn't even find the strength to stand back up on his own. He was completely worn out and at Alastor's mercy. "I... I can't... can't run anymore..." He managed to stammer out in between pants, his breaths coming out short and quick.

"Tired already?" Alastor’s voice dripped with mock concern, his fingers tracing Francis’s trembling shoulder like a predator savouring its prey. His smile turned sickly sweet, eyes narrowing in mock disappointment. "Such a shame," he sighed, brushing his fingers lightly over Francis’s skin. "We were just getting started... I had so many games planned for us."

Francis laid his head on the ground, tears starting rolling down his cheeks, as he sobbed, realising this was the end for him.

Alastor chuckled to himself as he noticed the tears rolling down Francis' face. Seeing him crying because of him...pleased him. With a sadistic smile, he put a hand under Francis' chin and lifted his face up, to make him look at him. "Aw...What's wrong, my dear friend? Why are you crying?"

"Please..." he managed to say. "Please, don't..."

Alastor only smiled, leaving his head to fall back on the ground. With a hard kick, he hit the man in the stomach, making him roll over on his back, screaming in pain. "Now, now... No need to make such a fuss..." Alastor's heel dug into his stomach, keeping him in place. He leaned over him, looking down with an overly calm smile.

The man's eyes fell on the big object in his arms, the moonlight making it shine. "You've noticed my pretty little friend here..." He lifted the axe up just a little, waving it from side to side, as a way to taunt him. But Francis didn't react anymore, the last bit of hope in him leaving. He just stood there, looking at the sky, trying to ignore the horrible pain that shot through his body.

Alastor's smile faded slightly, and he huffed in disappointment. "Ah, you're no fun... I expected more of a reaction out of you. I guess you've completely given up at this point."

Alastor raised the axe high, watching as the moonlight glinted off the blade, savouring the moment just before impact, the tension thick in the air. The axe bit deep into Francis’s shoulder, and the forest reverberated with a scream so raw it sent a shiver down Alastor’s spine. He paused for a moment, savouring the sound, his breath catching in the thrill of control. "Ah, there it is," he whispered to himself, almost tenderly, "A voice worth breaking."

He repeated the motion, the axe came down hard on Francis's other shoulder, and with a sickening crack, the bone shattered. The snap echoed through the trees like the snapping of a dry branch, followed by Francis's agonized scream. His body convulsed in shock, blood quickly soaking through his shirt as the jagged ends of his broken clavicle pressed against the torn muscle. Each blow sent shockwaves of pain through Francis’s body, his nerves alight with agony, but there was something worse—the suffocating realization that this was the end, that nothing would stop the next swing from severing the last thread of life clinging to his body.

Alastor's blows became erratic, but Francis's body was unable to react anymore, the shock slowly overcoming it. Slowly, his screams began to fade, the sickening sound of the axe hitting his body slowly conquering them.

Alastor raised the axe high, grinning as he swung it down with all his might toward Francis's neck. The first strike tore through skin and muscle, but it wasn't enough. Francis's head lolled to the side, blood pouring from the jagged wound, his eyes wide and glassy. Alastor, undeterred, pulled the axe out with a wet sound, and swung again. This time, bone crunched, and the head fell, rolling a few inches away from the twitching body.

The silence finally settled back over the forest, as Alastor's ragged breath echoed slightly. He took a few steps back, crouching next to a tree, trying to catch his breath. As the blood pooled around the lifeless body, Alastor’s mind began to wander, the rush of violence slowly melting into something else—something darker. His thoughts turned to you.

The adrenaline pumped through his veins, his skin burning against his clothes, a feeling of arousal slowly filling his body. He palmed his clothed, erected cock, the thought of you finding him like this, even if impossible, intoxicating him.

He wished you'd see what he's done for you, only for you. You deserved to know what kind of man he was, what he was willing to do for you. He’d let you watch, let you decide the fate of those who hurt you. He wasn’t just killing pests—he was erasing anyone who dared to dirty your world. Even if you didn’t ask for it, even if you begged him to stop, he’d continue… because he knew what was best for you.

His breath quickened, heat pooling in his body as his thoughts fixated on you. He convinced himself that you'd understand, that you'd appreciate how far he'd go for you. His hands twitched, craving the touch of something more—of you, of your approval. He leaned back, eyes half-lidded, letting the thought of you fill every corner of his mind. You’d see him for who he really was—the one who protected you, the one who cared for you enough to stain his hands with blood. The idea of you watching him, knowing his devotion, made his pulse race.

A low sound rumbled from his chest as your face flashed through his mind. His breathing grew heavier, the intensity of his fixation on you overwhelming him. His desire wasn’t just physical—it was something more profound, a twisted need for you to see him, to understand why he did this. The violent act itself was for you, and that thought alone pushed him over the edge, his body trembling with dark satisfaction.

This wasn’t just about the kill—it was about you, about proving his devotion in ways no one else could. Bloodied hands meant he was worthy, a protector who'd stain his soul so yours could remain pure. You had to see him, understand him. Only then would you realize how deeply he cared.

A few more pumps, and he finished. His hand slick with cum, a loud moan escaped him, the pleasure crashing through his body. His mind cleared, the intoxicating rush now replaced with a cold, creeping unease. He took deep, ragged breaths, staring at the sticky mess on his hand. For a moment, he allowed himself to linger in the afterglow, the dark warmth of victory washing over him. But the pleasure didn’t last, couldn’t last. It curdled in his chest, the weight of what he’d done sinking in.

Shame gnawed at him, creeping in slowly like a cold fog, wrapping tighter with each breath. At first, he tried to push it away, tried to bask in the satisfaction, but it lingered, curling around his gut, pressing deeper. He had never felt this kind of arousal after a kill before—it felt foreign, wrong in a way that unsettled him. His fist clenched reflexively, trying to dismiss it as adrenaline, a momentary lapse, but there was a darker whisper at the back of his mind. A whisper that told him this feeling wasn’t just a fluke. Maybe, just maybe, this was who he truly was.

At first, the satisfaction drowned out the guilt, a dark warmth spreading through him. But as the adrenaline ebbed, something colder took its place, gnawing at him. This...this wasn’t just about them. It was about you. The thought curdled in his stomach, the lingering pleasure twisting into something he wasn’t ready to face.

"Damn it..." he muttered quietly, wiping the cum on his bloodstained trousers. For a moment, he stood still, his breath uneven, his mind clouded with the lingering thought of you. The fantasy of you accepting this part of him, even enjoying it, clung to his mind like a shadow, but deep down, he knew better. You’d never understand why he did this, why he needed to do this—for you. A bitter smile tugged at his lips as he resigned himself to waiting. He wouldn’t force you, not yet. You could play your part however you wanted, but in the end, it was always going to be him deciding how this game would finish. You might not know it yet, but he would make sure you saw—one way or another.

You looked at your own reflection in the mirror, your eyes scanning your face for every sign that the bruise was still visible. You moved your head from side to side, comparing each cheek just to see if one was more swollen than the other.

It wasn’t the first time you had done this, and a part of you wasn’t sure if it would be the last. You had learned how to hide your scars—painful, vivid reminders of a past you desperately wanted to escape. As you turned your head, you could almost feel the sting of past hands and the echo of past words. Would Alastor’s touch always remain gentle? Or would the softness of his hand one day become something else?

Even if it wasn’t him, it would be someone else—this was your fate. You were destined to serve and nurture him, no matter the pain you might endure.

You looked at your reflection—you were pretty. Especially now that you looked like someone else. You didn’t resemble the waitress who had narrowly escaped assault the night before or the woman who had been abused throughout her childhood. Tonight, you looked like someone who could attend a fancy party without a care in the world.

And if you were honest, you didn't quite dislike it at least for a night.

You checked the clock: 19:35. You've been ready for twenty minutes already. There was not a single thing you could've checked anymore, but where was he?

He wasn't too late, but you expected him to be earlier here. That's why you got ready so fast. But you would've spent a few more minutes inside, just so you wouldn't seem too eager to see him.

But he wasn't here. The anxiety crept on you when you thought that maybe he just lied, to make a fool out of you. Or maybe he was sick, and since he doesn't have your phone number, he couldn't announce you.

You looked at your reflection once again. Would he like you? Maybe it was too much makeup. Maybe you should've done something more discreet. Or maybe it wasn't enough. No, no, less is better. Your products weren't that expensive anyway so putting too much might make you look like a cheap woman.

Your hand ran over the pearls on your neck, as your eyes fell on the other pair you had to choose between. You thought for a moment if you should change them. The simple, white ones were good and classy. But the green ones were more vibrant. No, keep these ones. Classy is better.

He's not coming.

The room suddenly felt warmer as you thought about it. The dress suddenly felt itchy and the shoes were uncomfortable. Maybe you should change them, but you had to try more pairs on to decide... No, it's too late for that.

19:40.

The black gloves on your hands were long, simple, above your elbow. You've seen many actresses wearing them and you really liked it. But... did they make your hands look weird? You looked at your hands. They kind of do, you thought.

19:42.

Maybe you should take them off... But what if everyone wears them? No, you'll take them off there if that's the case. But you should take some rings with you then... To wear them on your bare hands. But maybe...

A knock.

Your heart stopped. You quickly got up, looking around yourself, making sure you didn't forget anything.

Another one.

You ran to the door, glancing into your purse to make sure you had your lipstick.

Another knock.

You open the door. When Alastor finally appeared, his smile felt like a beacon in your swirling sea of anxiety. You couldn't help but smile back, your mind going blank for just a moment. He looked so marvellous in this black suit, a crimson shirt underneath the coat.

As Alastor’s eyes lingered on you, a wave of conflicting emotions surged through you. Could this really be a new beginning? Or was this just another façade, hiding the same pain you had always known?

"You look absolutely ravishing, my dear~" he finally spoke, his smooth voice and charming Southern accent making every word even more pleasant. The warmth of his compliment was a stark contrast to the chill of your past, leaving you to grapple with the uncertainty of whether this moment was a fleeting illusion or a step toward something real. He leaned down as he always does, taking your hand into his, and placing a small kiss on your wrist, his eyes never leaving yours.

You chuckled. "Oh, you’re too kind!"

"Forgive me for being late, my dear. That little ol' car refused to start."

"It's alright," you said locking the door behind you. He took your hand and looped it around his arm, holding you close to his side. As he walked, his eyes occasionally glanced at you, still admiring the way you looked. He chuckled to himself quietly, unable to tear his eyes away.

"You really do look amazing," he said, his voice soft and sincere. "Those pearls, that black dress... and those shoes-" He let out another chuckle, his eyes falling on your shoes. "I have quite a weakness for a woman in nice shoes."

Your cheeks burnt as you tried to content your smile at his words. "You're flattering me... I'm sure every woman there would outshine me in no second."

He huffed in amusement, glancing down at you. "Oh, you are far too humble," he teased, "but I must say, I’m quite happy that you’re the one I’ll have on my arm all night." He paused for a moment, before continuing. "And for the record, I truly doubt any woman there could outshine you, my dear. I’m willing to bet everything on it."

You only smiled at his words as he opened the car door for you. As you stepped into the car, Alastor's eyes followed you, admiring the way you moved, the way the light from the streetlamps hit your face, making your skin glow. He chuckled quietly to himself, before closing the door and making his way around to the driver's side, climbing into the car himself.

As he began to drive, he stole a glance at you, his smile widening slightly. "Feeling nervous, my dear?" he asked.

"A little... I’ve never been to a party like this before," you admitted.

He chuckled, keeping his eyes on the road. "Ah, I see. Well, I can assure you, my dear, this party will be far more interesting than your average ones." He paused for a moment, before continuing. "But don't you worry? I'll be by your side the whole time, you won't have a thing to worry about. I promise."

You smiled at his words, your anxiety wearing off just slightly. You took the pocket mirror from your purse, checking again if the bruise is not visible.

"I must say, you’re quite the makeup artist," he chuckled. "You could probably give those beauty counter girls a run for their money." His voice pulled you from your trance.

"Yes, I... I was inspired by Greta Garbo... I really do appreciate her makeup style."

Alastor turned to you, a smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, Greta Garbo. Classy choice, my dear. She does have that elegant and timeless style." He chuckled and turned back to the road. "But that's not what I meant, darling."

You looked out the window for a moment, thinking of what to say. "It takes time to master hiding bruises... but once you learn, it’s quite a useful trick, isn’t it?" you said, a small smile on your lips as you turned to face him.

He clenched his jaw, his grip on the wheel tightening slightly, the knuckles of his hands turning white. "Yes, I suppose it does..." he said, his voice low. "Although I must say, I'm not particularly fond of the reason for learning those tricks."

"Well... It's always good for a woman to have some tricks in the sleeve... for a reason or not."

Alastor huffed, his eyes darting to you for a moment before returning to the road. "Perhaps you’re right... but I still don’t like it. I don’t like the idea of a woman having to conceal her pain like that." He paused, his grip on the wheel tightening once more. "It bothers me, my dear. More than you can imagine."

Your eyes never left him. You rarely heard men talk like this and something told you it wasn't just an act - not just a game to try and earn your trust.

"There it is," you heard him say, his smile returning. He pulled the car to the side, his eyes returning to you as you scanned the somewhat concealed building, muffled jazz music drifting from inside. You could see some people at the entrance, talking and drinking, their exquisite attire making you feel a bit self-conscious.

"Don’t worry, my dear," he said softly, making you turn your attention to him. "You won’t have to worry about a thing inside."

You nodded and waited as Alastor got out of the car and walked over to your side. He opened the door for you, offering a hand to help you out. He chuckled as you stepped out, his eyes taking in the full view of your dress and the way it hugged your figure. "You really do look beautiful, my dear..." he murmured, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

You made your way inside, as Alastor walked by your side, his hand hovering gently on the small of your back as he guided you to the entrance. He spoke to the bouncer, a word or two exchanged between them, before the bouncer nodded and moved out of the way, allowing you both to step inside.

As you walked in, Alastor leaned down slightly, his voice a soft whisper in your ear. "Just stick with me, my dear. I'll take care of everything."

As you step inside, the room greets you with a haze of cigarette smoke and the rich, brassy pulse of jazz. The low murmur of laughter and clinking glasses fills the air, blending with the lively swing of a trumpet from the corner stage. Dim lighting casts shadows across the faces of well-dressed men and women, their pearls gleaming in the smoky glow, flappers in silk dresses twirling on the dance floor. The scent of cheap whiskey and perfume merges into the heady atmosphere. You feel the electricity in the air—a sense of freedom, rebellion, and secrecy as if you’ve entered a hidden world.

"It's a speakeasy, right?" you asked as Alastor leaned in to hear you more clearly.

"Yes, my dear," he said, his lips brushing gently against your ear. "One of the more elegant ones, if I do say so myself."

You couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement as you stepped into the speakeasy for the first time, despite the knowledge of its illicit nature. The thrill of the forbidden, coupled with the allure of the hidden world before you, made your heart race with both anticipation and a hint of nervousness.

As you and Alastor made your way through the speakeasy, his eyes scanned the crowded hall, taking in the sights and sounds. It wasn’t long before something caught his attention—a lively figure in the middle of the room, surrounded by a small group of admirers. Alastor recognized her instantly: Mimzy.

Alastor’s grip on your back tightened as he observed Mimzy. Dressed in a dazzling silver dress with intricately curled blonde hair, her laughter echoed through the room. A group of men hung on her every word.

Alastor leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear. "You see that woman over there?" he murmured, his eyes never leaving Mimzy. You looked in the crowd, as your face lit up at the sight.

"Is that... really Mimzy?"

Alastor nodded."Indeed it is, my dear," he confirmed, his voice low. "She's quite the social butterfly, isn't she?"

"Can I... Can I meet her?" you asked, like an excited child.

"Of course, my dear," he said, his hand gently guiding you towards where Mimzy was standing. "But I must warn you, Mimzy can be a bit... much."

Your smile grew wider as you approached. "Oh, Alastor... I've always wanted to meet her!"

He led you towards the group of people around Mimzy. The woman's sharp eyes caught sight of you both, a smile immediately lighting up on her face.

"Well, well, well!" Mimzy said, her eyes darting between you and Alastor. "Alastor, fancy seeing you here!"

Alastor chuckled, his charismatic smile never faltering. “Mimzy, it’s been quite a while.” The group around her dispersed quickly, the men obviously intimidated by Alastor's presence, but Mimzy stayed put, her eyes locked on yours.

“And who is this lovely lady you have with you~?” She questioned, tilting her head.

Alastor chuckled, his hand still gently resting on your back. "This lovely lady is my companion for the evening," he said, his smile never once wavering. Mimzy's eyes darted to you, taking in your appearance. Her eyebrows raised slightly as she looked you up and down. She stepped a little closer, a sly smirk on her face. “You know, Alastor, you never told me you had a lady.” She chuckled, crossing her arms in front of her chest, her eyes flickering between the two of you.

Your cheeks started to burn at her remark, the way she was acting as if you weren't even there made you feel a little insignificant. Alastor could sense where Mimzy was going with this, and he wasn't particularly thrilled about it. He tightened his grip on your back ever so slightly. "That's because it hadn't come up in conversation," he said, his voice still polite but cool.

Mimzy laughed, her eyes still on you. “Oh, Alastor, you’re such a gentleman. Not one to kiss and tell, are you?” She stepped even closer, almost pressing up against you. “And what’s your name sweetheart? You seem far too pretty to be with someone like Alastor.”

You smiled politely at her. "My name is (Y/n). It's quite a pleasure to finally meet you! I've always been a fan."

Alastor's eyes flicked between you and Mimzy, his smile still in place but his patience was starting to wear thin. Mimzy let out an exaggerated gasp, her hand coming up to her chest, a fake look of shock on her face. "A fan, sweetie? Well, I'm flattered, really, I am. But how on earth did you end up with Alastor of all people?"

You were taken aback by her question, looking up at Alastor as if asking for some help, and you could slightly see his eye twitching as he eyes the woman.

"Um... We..." you started, not sure if you should tell how you two actually met. But before you could continue, he took a step forward, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "That's none of your concern, Mimzy," he said, his voice as polite as always, but with an undercurrent of steel.

Mimzy's eyes widened slightly as Alastor pulled you closer to him, a small frown tugged at the corner of her mouth. "My, my, Alastor, there's no need to get all defensive on me, I'm just simply trying to get to know your companion." She looked you up and down once more, her eyes lingering on Alastor's arm that was wrapped around you. "The two of you make an... interesting couple."

You looked away as you could feel the mockery in her voice. Alastor's smile faltered for a moment, his grip on you tightening imperceptibly. He knew Mimzy's intentions all too well. She was trying to get a rise out of him, and he was not going to give her the satisfaction. "We make a perfect couple," he said, his voice smooth but with an underlying menace. "And our business is no concern of yours, Mimzy.”

He leaned towards you. "Now, my dear, why don't we go order something?"

Alastor gently steered you away from Mimzy, who stood there with a mix of surprise and irritation on her face. He led you away towards the bar, ordering a drink for himself and a non-alcoholic cocktail for you. As he waited, his arm still around your waist, he turned to you.

"I apologize for Mimzy," he said, his voice low. You smiled softly, trying to stop thinking about it.

"I'm sorry I didn't answer her question about how we met... I didn't want to embarrass you," you said slightly, looking in the crowd.

Alastor chuckled softly, his arm giving you a gentle squeeze. "No need for apologies, my dear," he said, his voice low and amused. "I appreciate your consideration, but nothing is embarrassing about how we met. Mimzy just can't help but meddle in things that don’t concern her.”

You smiled at him as the bartender brought the drinks. "I'll be back in a moment, dear. Some associates are waiting for me," he said as he rubbed your back, walking towards a small group of men.

You turned your attention to Mimzy as she approached you, she stood beside you, leaning against the bar. "So," she said, her voice falsely cheerful. "I have to ask, sweetie. How'd you and Alastor meet?"

You smiled for a moment, thinking of an answer. Lying wasn't really an option as you would probably be easily caught with that, so you figured the truth, embarrassing for Alastor or not, would be the best. "We met at a diner..." you said bluntly, hoping that would satisfy her.

Mimzy's eyebrows raised in surprise, obviously not expecting such a mundane answer. "A diner? How... mundane. You're telling me you're dating Alastor - the most notorious and desired bachelor in the town - because you met him at a diner?"

You cleared your throat, looking at the coloured liquid in your glass. "We're not... dating."

Mimzy's eyebrows shot up in surprise once more, her interest piqued. "Wait, wait, wait," she said, stepping closer to you. "You're not dating? Don't tell me you hooked up with him or something?" She raised an eyebrow, silently judging you.

You frowned your eyebrows at her. "What? No..." you protested. "I..."

Mimzy smirked, a wicked gleam in her eye. "So, you’re just another notch on his belt? How charming." She chuckled, taking a sip from her drink. "Do you know how many girls have come and gone, thinking Alastor would fall in love with them? Oh, sweetie, the list is endless."

You looked away, your eyes kind of watery at her words.

Mimzy smirked as she saw your sudden change in expression. "Oh, don't tell me you thought differently? Alastor's a notorious ladies' man. He'll get what he wants from you, and then toss you aside like everyone else." She chuckled, taking another sip from her drink. .long list of conquests, sweetie."

"Mimzy?" Alastor's voice echoed from behind you, making her eyes widen in surprise.

"Alastor! I was just having a little chat with your... friend here."

"Quite the chat, I presume?" he asked, feigning nonchalance, but you could see the anger seeping through his calm expression.

"Well... I think I should go... It was quite the chat, dearie!" she said, quickly disappearing in the crowd, as your attention returned to the drink in front of you.

Alastor watched as Mimzy scurried off, a scoff leaving his lips. He hated the way she acted. His gaze returned to you, a frown on his face as he saw the downcast look on yours. He placed his hand on your back, gently rubbing a small circle between your shoulder blades. "Are you alright, my dear?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded, your eyes never leaving the glass, not daring to look at him as your eyes threatened to spill a few tears.

He moved closer to you, his hand still rubbing your back, his other hand coming to gently rest on your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. "Hey... look at me," he murmured, his voice soft and gentle, his expression filled with concern. "How about we go somewhere else?" he suggested and you nodded. The last thing you wanted was to break down here in front of so many people.

He gave a firm nod, and his hand moved to the small of your back, gently guiding you towards the exit. He led you out into the cool night air, his arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close.

As you walked away from the bustling speakeasy, he led you to the car, helping you get inside. He slid into the driver's seat, starting the car. He glanced at you, noticing your downcast expression. He reached over, gently grabbing your hand, entwining his fingers with yours.

Hey," he said softly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "You know, you can talk to me, right? Whatever Mimzy said..."

"She said nothing... We just chatted for a bit..." you said, your eyes still on the window. He sighed and started driving, silence falling over you.

"Mimzy... can be a handful sometimes," he finally spoke."Don't listen to her words, my dear. She doesn't know the first thing about our relationship." You slightly looked at him for a moment, the "our relationship" feeling so wrong right now, but you stayed quiet.

You notice he takes a forest road, your heartbeat increasing slightly. "Where... where are we going?"

He glanced at you for a moment, noticing the slight change in your expression. He could sense your anxiety. "Somewhere more quiet," he answered, his voice calm and gentle. "A place where we can talk... without interruptions." The car slowly continued down the forest road, the only sound was the soft hum of the engine and the crunch of the gravel beneath the wheels.

You took one of your gloves off, playing with it as your mind raced. For a moment, the worst scenarios flooded your brain and the idea that there was nothing you could do was sending shivers down your spine.

The car came to a stop in what looked like a bayou. It was quite secluded and away from any passersby.

"We're here," he said, his voice soft, as he turned to look at you. You looked around, your eyebrows slightly furrowed. The place was beautiful, with fireflies dancing in the moonlight as it filtered through the dense foliage. The gentle sound of water lapping against the banks added to the serene, almost magical ambience of the setting.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" His hand gently squeezed yours. "Come on." He opened the door and exited the car, walking around to your side and opening the door for you.

You cautiously got out, the chill air biting at your exposed sleeves. You took a few steps, and your eyes locked on a bush. You got a bit closer, only to be met with the sight of a few deers, peacefully grazing.

"Looks like we've got some company," he said quietly, watching as you got closer to the deer, snapping you out of your trance. He placed his coat around your shoulders, the warmth engulfing your body.

"What is this place?" you asked, turning to face him.

"This place," he said, his voice soft and tranquil. "Is a special place. A place where I come to... think, to be alone." He paused for a moment, his eyes fixed on yours. "I thought you might like it. It's quiet, calming, and... away from prying eyes."

You stepped back a bit. "Alastor... you got the wrong idea..." you whispered, looking at the ground.

He tensed slightly as you stepped back, a frown forming on his face. His smile faltered for a moment, surprised by your words. "What do you mean, my dear?" he asked, his voice slightly shaky. He stepped closer to you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of what was going through your mind.

You sighed, trying to find your words. "Mimzy told me about... the choice of women you have," you said. "It's really not my interest to be here... just for a few nights."

His frown deepened as you mentioned Mimzy's words. He knew exactly what she might have told you and it angered him. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "Is that what you think this is about?" he asked, his voice a mix of surprise and irritation. "You think you’re just another notch on my list?"

"If I'm being honest..." you said, freeing yourself from your grasp and making your way to the car, leaning against it. "I've only known you for a week... We haven't even talked outside of the diner. You can't blame for getting the wrong impression."

He took a step closer to you, his arms crossed over his chest. "You're right," he said, his voice slightly cold. "We haven't known each other for long. And yes, maybe you misunderstood my intentions." He paused for a moment, his eyes studying you intensely. "But is that really all you think I see you as? Just another one of my conquests?"

You looked down, a tear falling down your cheek. "What else could there be...?" you whispered.

"You honestly believe I brought you here just to use you and toss you aside?" he asked, his voice laced with indignation. "You think I'm that shallow, that callous?"

"I don't know, Alastor!" you snapped as you broke down. "Every damn man I met wanted nothing more from me! Should I even expect anything more?" your eyes opened wide as you realised you shouldn't have raised your tone. You quickly looked away, preparing yourself for the worst. But no pain came your way. No harsh words.

He took another step towards you, his hand gently caressing your face. "I'm not those... pathetic excuses for men, you've dealt with before, my dear."

You sighed. "I was supposed to marry someone... someone my father wanted, but I didn't..." you said. "He was rich, smart... any woman's dream... And I actually tried to get used to the idea... He nearly put me in a coma because I refused to be with him while he was drunk." A soft sob escaped your lips. "My parents disowned me... Called me a failure because I refused to be a punchbag like I was my entire life..."

You rested your head against his chest, Alastor's arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. He felt your tears dampen his shirt, but he didn't care. Your words, the memories of your past abuse, hit him hard. He remembered the fear his mother felt, the pain she endured, just like you had. It made his heart ache and his anger flare.

"A woman's job is to obey..." you whispered. "That's what my father told me while I was in the hospital... Luckily, the bastard died before the wedding..."

He cupped your face with one hand, forcing you to look up at him. "You don't have to endure any more pain, my dear." His thumb gently brushed away a tear from your cheek. "Not anymore." Alastor’s gaze was intense, sending shivers down your spine. “I will take care of you, my dear. Like no one ever has before.”

Tags: @ratsematary @littlebluefishtail @starryhiraeth @lafy-taffy @harmfulb1tch @martinys-world @n0tmentallystable @xalygatorx @venusdandy @l3rittany @eris-norwega @maulsgf

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ Marquis of Los Angeles: Ch. 2 - Domination

ཐི♡ཋྀ Thank you for the beta-read, @evrensadwrn! ཐི♡ཋྀ

Summary: LaCroix briefs Vincent on the new world he has just entered into, with the expectation that he will be an obedient ghoul. But Vincent is still struggling to gain the upper hand.

Author's Note: I made myself sad writing this - I want Sebastian to turn from Whumper to Caretaker already!

TW: mind control, emotional manipulation, strangulation, kidnapping

It was not LaCroix’s habit to keep his subordinates close to him. If it was wise to keep enemies close, then it was wiser to keep envious inferiors at such a distance that they had no opportunity to become enemies. Ghouls ought to have no knowledge of their master’s weaknesses, and no importance as anything other than pawns. They ought to view him as a solitary, impenetrable figure, above even their understanding. But Vincent Bisset de Gramont proved himself an enemy from the start, and therefore, an exception.

LaCroix repeated that name in his head and smiled, rolling it and playing with it, along with the bullet in his palm which he had decided to keep as a souvenir. Vincent had become so incensed when LaCroix refused to use his title that he determined on the spot never to use it again. The man had to be taught a lesson. “You are no Marquis any longer, let alone an ‘Autem Imperator,’ Vincent. Those titles have no meaning here. You will learn new titles. ‘Prince.’ ‘Regnant.’ ‘Domitor.’ And they will belong to me, not to you - as do all things where we’re going. Know your place.” He leaned back into the quilted suede of his seat, letting starlight and the dimmed glow of the cabin play across his features to what he hoped was a mysterious and intimidating effect.

“Your hubris knows no bounds, Prince,” Vincent spat back, clutching the arms of his seat as if his wrists were lashed to them. “They’re looking for me even now. Do you think you can walk into a High Table duel and make off with the highest ranking –“

“No one is looking for you, because no one knows you’re missing. Everyone who saw me believes they saw a kindly priest who said his respects over your body before helping that fellow – The Harbinger, I believe you call him – lay you to rest in a casket for your mortician to carry away. Tomorrow, that empty casket will be buried.”

A flash of panic before his pretty green eyes lit up again. “The mortician will – “

“The mortician wasn’t your man. He was mine. I sent a local friend to take his place, and to oversee the proceedings. You’re as good as dead, Vincent. I’m dreadfully sorry.”

He went as ghostly white as his travelling companion then. He remained very quiet while Sebastian explained to him the meanings of those important titles he’d mentioned, as well as other relevant words such as “Masquerade” and “Camarilla” and “Ventrue.”

LaCroix’s hope of entertainment during the flight was very much fulfilled. Vincent made for a captivating (if pitiful) image, with blood still smeared across his forehead and wetness sparkling in his eyes. LaCroix couldn’t stop staring at him and wondering whether he’d really cry or not. It filled him with a strange mix of sadism and sympathy that kept the Prince continuously in suspense. It sent him inexplicably trembling to hear Vincent say, “You’ll have to forgive me, Sebastian, I’m just so confused. Please…help me understand everything.”

He was coherent enough to ask intelligent questions though, and always seemed to latch onto those subjects that were a little too top-secret for a first conversation with a ghoul, whilst sighing that he was just so confused and scared. Clearly, he knew his way around a syndicate like the Camarilla and went straight for the vital information. When at last the Prince tired of this game and started to inquire about Vincent’s own organization, he refused to divulge anything.

It confused Sebastian a little. Every other ghoul he’d ever created had hung on his words in an ecstasy that totally drowned out the loss of their former life. They typically begged to repay him for saving them and fell over themselves to please him until he was either amused or disgusted. They certainly didn’t issue desperate pleas and threats about returning to their old life, or try to ply information out of him, or protect their old secrets. But Vincent? Well…there was no doubt that Vincent was affected by Sebastian. Sometimes his eyes lingered on LaCroix as if he wasn’t quite able to look away. But the look there wasn’t puppy love, it was…horror. Hatred. As if Vincent was looking at an old grudge who had wronged him grievously. Something wasn’t right.

He wasn’t in deep enough, that was all. He’d only taken the first sip of vitae – two still remained to form a full blood bond. And he was hardly a pliant individual, that much was evident. For now, Sebastian supposed he’d have to secure the ghoul’s cooperation via commands. “Vincent. When I ask you a question about the High Table, you will answer me directly, honestly, and without embellishments. Do you understand?”

A glazed, vacant look replaced the pitiful one. “I understand.”

There, good. Sebastian let out a breath, only just realizing how tense he had become, and began his inquisition.

He knew a little about the High Table already. It was not so different from the Giovanni, but even larger by membership the Camarilla, and impressive for a human construction. It was difficult to be anyone significant in either the human or kindred underworld without running across the High Table’s activities at some point. But the Autem Imperator (Sebastian might not call him by his title out loud, but he wasn’t forgetting it for an instant in his own mind) offered a unique view of its proceedings. Within minutes, LaCroix knew who held each seat, how communications passed between members, how those communications might be intercepted, into which countries their influence had spread (it was most of them), and even where the Elder resided.

It had been no idle tip, he realized, that suggested he should pay a visit to his home country and rest in the basilica that day. It had been, in fact, pure gold in the form of an anonymous email. He almost passed it up as an attempted ruse or ambush, even with all the power promised by the stranger on the other end. But it also spoke to a Masquerade violation, and even the Nosferatu could not trace it. The sender must have had a contact, someone who could encrypt on their level. So he went personally, just for 24 hours, with the resolution that he would return to the safety of LA as soon as possible.

Remembering at last to the original purpose of his visit, LaCroix asked his ghoul one final question, shortly before landing.

“Do you have an associate who would go by the initial ‘C’?”

Even under domination, he rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Sebastian held out the message on his phone. “Who could this have been?”

“Is it true that you can help someone live beyond death? If you really are I’ve been told you are, then come at once, to Paris. Come to the Sacré-Coeur Basilica just before dawn. If you’re lucky and I’m unlucky, you will find a man there who cannot escape death any other way. If you keep him alive, he will offer you knowledge and power equal to your own, pertaining to a human organization you may know as the High Table. Take him away from me, change him, disappear him, I don’t care. Only save his life and make him happy, and you will have my eternal thanks. He does not know, and will never know, what he means to me.”

- C”

“My bodyguard, Chidi.” His voice was strained almost to the breaking point, and his eyes still fixed on Sebastian’s phone even after the email was closed. Sebastian had no questions about whether he was faking his tearfulness this time.

“A ghoul of your very own, of sorts! Where can I find him?”

Vincent closed his eyes for a moment before mustering an answer. “…He’s dead.”

“Ah, splendid. That saves me a great deal of trouble.”

And then Vincent did what no ghoul, whether on one sip of vitae or three, should have been capable of doing. He sprung forward and closed hands around his domitor’s neck.

.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸. ཐི♡ཋྀ.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.

It took Vincent much longer than it should have to recall that Sebastian didn’t need to breathe. By that time, he was already being dragged off by the enormous, visibly supernatural thing that Sebastian had introduced as “The Sheriff.”

“Get this brainless lump off of me!”

“Hey,” The Sheriff grunted. Vincent paid him no mind, and continued addressing LaCroix with exactly as much civility as he deserved, all the while straining against the boulder-heavy hands holding him back.

“You will not SPEAK to me that way and you will not – “ Fuck, he hated the way his voice was shaking… “You will not speak of my bodyguard’s death as – as ‘splendid!’”

“And you will not speak to me at all until you can behave yourself!” LaCroix retorted. “SILENCE!”

The voice seemed to go out of Vincent’s throat. All his resistance had been used up in the outburst and he sunk numbly back into his seat.

LaCroix was panting, a shaking hand against his neck. He adjusted his tie and recovered himself enough to laugh. “Imagine trying to strangle a vampire! And the one holding your life in his hands, no less. You’re one to talk of brainlessness. And just when I was beginning to respect your cunning.” Vincent opened his mouth and nothing came out, so he spat in LaCroix’s face instead.

“Oh for god’s sake - You don’t speak AND you don’t move!” Vincent smiled as he watched LaCroix wipe at his face with a handkerchief, scowling. But another wave of terrible compulsion spread through his limbs, and then he was paralyzed.

It was such a strange feeling, being “dominated.” It was the same magnetism that drew him to LaCroix when he first laid eyes on him (that must be the “vitae” he had spoken about), but stronger, and more concentrated. Making him capable of magnificent feats, making him motivated, drawing his focus, making things important to him. As if a power was bursting out from inside of Vincent. It wasn’t so unlike being high, and not wholly unpleasant. But it was not his to control, not a part of him. It was LaCroix’s, and he hated it for that, and he hated LaCroix for that too. Maybe, if he just held onto that hatred…

But LaCroix’s conversation with his Sheriff broke his concentration. “No, I don’t want him in a cell, much less his own apartment. He’s not fully dominated and it’s a security risk. I don’t understand it, but I need to maintain a tight hold over him even if I have to do it by manual override. He stays in the penthouse, with me.”

If The Sheriff understood that, he conveyed it only by grunting.

Damn it. Any chance to get out of LaCroix’s grasp was slipping away. Again, he struggled to protest, but it was useless. He couldn’t speak. His own body was refusing him. It felt traitorous and alien and there was no one to help him, no one looking for him, no Chidi ever again and absolutely nothing he could do. If he had a voice, he would probably be screaming, he realized. But instead, for the second time that day, he floated on a sea of bloody misery, gasping worse and worse by the second. As the jet went into final descent, its weightlessness hit him in the stomach and drove home a second wave of fear.

LaCroix was watching him, leaning over him, speaking to him, in much the same way one might speak to a broken printer shortly before kicking it. He lay a hand on Vincent’s chest to feel his shallow heartbeat and the very core of Vincent’s being rebelled against the way that it soothed him.

“Why are you not calm? You shouldn’t be feeling this way, I don’t understand why it’s not working…” He fixed LaCroix with the most hateful stare he could manage without moving his facial muscles. Why do you think, you useless fils de pute? He felt tears rolling silently down his cheeks. Fine. Good, even.

Again, LaCroix’s magnetic voice overpowered his will with a rush, even more hideously blissful than before. Perhaps it was more in harmony with him than the last had been... “Be calm, Marquis. I command you. Don’t be so afraid.”

And all the wild contents of his heart slipped away into a soft, empty, merciful void.

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