#clear doors/walls are the worst...so are mirrors

[transform4u]

Mirror, Mirror on the wall...

Dylan, 32 years old and a rising star in the world of journalism, had finally achieved his big break after years of hard work. Now, he enjoyed a comfortable six-figure income, residing in a stylish one-bedroom apartment overlooking a serene park on Chicago's west side. He was known for his easygoing nature, a friendly demeanor, and a contagious laugh that invited others into his world. Dylan took pride in his caring disposition, always looking out for his friends and partners.

Despite his contentment, one persistent annoyance nagged at him: a particular guy on Grindr who seemed relentless in his pursuit. This individual, far from Dylan's type, exuded a flamboyance that clashed with Dylan's more reserved personality. His profile picture, donned in drag, irked Dylan every time it appeared on his screen. Yet, amidst his success and popularity, Dylan prided himself on being his own person—not conforming to stereotypes, but embodying a cool, composed image that he meticulously cultivated.

After a long day at work followed by a rigorous gym session, Dylan returned home to unwind. Just as he settled in, his phone buzzed unexpectedly with a message on Instagram—not from his friend Kyle about their usual happy hour plans, but from the persistent Grindr user. Irritated yet intrigued by the message's tone, Dylan hesitated before reluctantly opening it.

"Hey Dylan. It's clear now that you don't want to date me. And I'm totally fine with that. Maybe you think you're too hot or too cool or whatever to date me. But you've only lived one life. Hah. That's gonna change."

A doorbell interrupted his thoughts, drawing Dylan to the front door where a package wrapped in vibrant red packaging lay waiting. Curiosity overcame him as he brought it inside and unwrapped it, revealing a mirror shaped like a melting heart. Puzzled by its arrival and wondering if he had made a drunken purchase, Dylan decided to hang it on his wall despite its mismatch with his usual decor.

Upon hanging the mirror, Dylan discovered a small letter tucked within. Reading it aloud, he found himself drawn into an impulsive act—reciting the mirror's enchantment aloud, inviting a change he could not have anticipated.

Dylan stood in front of the mirror, mesmerized and slightly apprehensive, as the first effects of his impulsive incantation began to take hold. The air around him crackled with an electric energy, a sensation he could only describe as a tingling wave coursing through his entire body. It started subtly, a faint tremor in his muscles, like a dormant power awakening. He read a note:

"Dearest Dylan. I'm so happy you decided to hang up my mirror. I know how much you love to look at yourself. Hah. Well. Look deep into the mirror. And soon you love life will change. It's a going to be wicked fun. Just look at the mirror on the wall and speak aloud the following words…

Mirror, Mirror on the wall. Give me a life to be hated by all. Mirror, Mirror my face looking back at me. Give me the personality of someone I'd hate to be. Mirror, Mirror show my worst self. Mirror, Mirror change thyself" As he spoke the words aloud. The paper fell from my hands and the mirror glowed and glowed almost incasing my entire room. What had he done?

At first, Dylan relished the transformation. He watched in awe as his reflection morphed before his eyes. Muscles tightened and expanded, sculpting his physique into something that mirrored the fitness models he had admired in magazines. His abs became chiseled, arms bulged with newfound definition, and his biceps swelled with strength. It was exhilarating; a validation of the hours he had spent at the gym, honing his body to perfection.

But as the changes intensified, doubts crept into Dylan's mind. His initial thrill gave way to a growing unease. He remembered the words he had spoken to the mirror: **"Give me the personality of someone I'd hate to be."** Panic simmered beneath his skin as he realized the gravity of his request.

The mirror, now glowing ominously, seemed to reflect not just his physical transformation, but something deeper—an alteration of his essence. His reflection's smirk deepened, its eyes gleaming with a knowing malice. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this," the mirror whispered, its voice echoing with an otherworldly resonance that sent shivers down Dylan's spine.

As the transformation continued, Dylan felt an unnatural confidence surging through him, mingled with an unsettling arrogance. His once warm and inviting laugh took on a haughty edge. His friendly demeanor hardened into a dismissive smirk, and his generous spirit twisted into selfish impulses. The very traits he had prided himself on—kindness, empathy, humility—began to erode, replaced by a cold, calculating demeanor that he barely recognized.

Despite his growing discomfort, Dylan found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the mirror. It was as though he was watching a collision of his idealized self and his deepest fears, all brought to life by his reckless words. The mirror's reflection taunted him, mocking the person he was becoming.

In that moment of realization, Dylan knew he had to undo what he had set in motion. But the mirror held him captive, its eerie glow pulsating with an irresistible power. As he struggled against the creeping darkness within him, Dylan's heart sank with the weight of regret.

What had he done? And how could he ever return to the person he once was?

As Dylan wrestled with the unsettling changes in his demeanor, the transformation took an unexpected turn. The electric waves that had initially expanded his muscles began to reverse course. He felt a strange sensation of compression, as if his body was shrinking down, compacting itself while retaining the newfound strength and definition.

His arms, once bulging with exaggerated muscles, now tightened into a more refined and compact form. The exaggerated bulk softened, the lines of his physique becoming sleeker yet still maintaining a toned athleticism. Dylan's abs, previously sharp and defined, now settled into a leaner but no less impressive configuration. The transformation seemed to redefine his physical presence, sculpting him into a different ideal—a more compact, agile version of the muscular figure he had momentarily embodied. At first, Dylan didn't realize what was happening. His focus had been on the muscular changes wrought by the mirror's magic. But then, he noticed it: a gradual shrinking, a diminishment of his stature. Inch by inch, Dylan's height decreased, each moment bringing him closer to the ground until he stood at a diminutive 5 foot 4.

As his body underwent this metamorphosis, Dylan's skin tone deepened into a rich, bronzed tan. It was a stark departure from his natural complexion, now radiating with a sun-kissed glow that seemed to intensify under the mirror's eerie illumination. The mirror's magic continued to work its unsettling effects, altering not just his appearance but seemingly his very essence.

Dylan's gaze flickered down in shock as he noticed his shirt melting away, replaced by a garish gold chain draped around his neck. The chain, ostentatious and gaudy, clashed starkly against the more subdued attire he had preferred. It gleamed in the dim light of his apartment, a visible manifestation of the transformation's shift towards a persona he neither recognized nor desired.

The realization hit him hard. What had begun as a frivolous experiment had spiraled into something far more profound and irreversible. His reflection in the mirror now bore the mark of someone he might have once scorned—an exaggerated caricature of confidence bordering on arrogance, adorned with symbols of material excess that clashed with his previous understated elegance.

Fear and regret coursed through Dylan's veins as he struggled to comprehend the depth of the mirror's power. The once-inviting mirror now seemed to taunt him with each passing moment, its glow pulsating with a malevolent energy that mirrored the darker facets of his altered personality.

As he stood before the mirror, trapped in a transformation he couldn't control, Dylan's thoughts raced. How could he undo this? Was there any way to revert to the person he had been before his ill-advised invocation? With each passing second, the answer seemed to slip further from his grasp, swallowed by the insatiable hunger of the mirror's magic.

As the transformation continued, Dylan's mind began to fog up. His once-sharp intellect was dulled by a sudden influx of base desires and primal urges. The mirror's magic had not only altered his physical appearance but also rewired his brain, stripping away any semblance of rational thought or empathy he once possessed.

In its place grew an insatiable lust for women—their curves, their scents, their soft skin against his own hardened form. He found himself fixated on images of bikini-clad models and celebrities with impossibly large breasts and tight asses. His gaze lingered on every woman who crossed his path, imagining what it would be like to possess them in the most carnal sense possible.

His thoughts were no longer focused on intellectual pursuits or meaningful relationships; instead, they revolved around parties filled with alcohol and drugs where he could indulge in casual sex without consequence or commitment. The idea of settling down with one person seemed foreign to him now—a concept that held no appeal whatsoever in this new reality where pleasure was fleeting but easily attainable through superficial means alone.

Dylan's once-passionate love for men had been reduced to nothing more than a distant memory as he embraced this newfound heterosexuality wholeheartedly (or rather whole-mindedly). He found himself drawn towards masculine traits such as strength and dominance over feminine ones like sensitivity or emotional depth—qualities that were now deemed weaknesses by his transformed mindset.

As the transformation continued, Dylan's mind was flooded with more fuckboy thoughts. He found himself laughing along with the reflection in the mirror, which seemed to be enjoying his descent into shallow superficiality.

His flaws and memories began to change as well. His once-kind nature was replaced by a selfish and entitled attitude; he now believed that he deserved whatever he wanted without considering others' feelings or needs. His intelligence had been reduced to a basic understanding of popular culture and trends, leaving him unable to engage in meaningful conversations beyond small talk or gossip about celebrities.

The mirror erased any memories of Dylan's past relationships—both platonic and romantic—replacing them with fantasies about scoring hot chicks at parties or picking up women at bars using cheesy pickup lines learned from watching reality TV shows like "The Bachelor." His once-loving personality had been completely erased, replaced by an insatiable desire for attention from anyone who could provide him with temporary gratification or validation through social media likes or compliments on his physique which now included muscular abs but also featured excessive tanning.

As the transformation continued, Dylan became as shallow as possible. He wanted nothing more than to bang a hot chick who would make him feel like a real man. The image in his mind was that of a blonde bombshell with big boobs, toned abs, and an ass that wouldn't quit. She had to be tall enough for him to feel dominant over her but also petite enough for him to easily lift her off the ground during their passionate encounters.

Her personality didn't matter; all he cared about was how she looked on his arm at parties or how good she would be in bed (preferably multiple times throughout the night). He envisioned himself taking her out for expensive dinners before whisking her away to some exclusive club where they could dance until dawn while sipping champagne from flutes held aloft by waiters dressed in tuxedos.

The thought of waking up next to this perfect specimen of femininity filled Dylan with an almost primal desire—a need so strong it eclipsed any lingering traces of empathy or compassion he once possessed.

With his newfound confidence and shallow desires, Dylan mindlessly walked towards the nearest bar. He knew he would find plenty of women there who would be interested in someone like him—a tall, muscular guy with money to burn and a cocky attitude to match.

As he entered the dimly lit room filled with people drinking and dancing, his eyes immediately scanned for potential targets. Spotting a group of girls at one end of the bar, he made his way over without hesitation or any thought about being polite or respectful.

"Hey ladies," he said loudly enough for them all to hear as he slid onto an empty stool next to them, "what's up?" His tone was crude but laced with false charm as if this was something he did every night instead of being completely out of character for him just moments ago.

The woman he had addressed turned towards him, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in his appearance. "Not much," she replied curtly before turning back towards her friends and continuing their conversation.

Undeterred by her lack of interest, Dylan leaned closer to the group and spoke directly to the woman again. "So what brings you girls out tonight?" He flashed a fake smile that revealed a row of perfectly white teeth now slightly yellowed from too much alcohol consumption over the years.

The woman rolled her eyes but didn't respond right away, instead choosing to ignore him completely while sipping on her drink nonchalantly.

Feeling emboldened by his new persona, Dylan reached out and grabbed the woman's ass without hesitation or consent. She let out a surprised gasp but didn't move away as he expected her to do. Instead, she turned towards him with a look of amusement in her eyes that made his heart race faster than it had in years.

"Well aren't you just full of surprises?" she said playfully before taking another sip from her drink. "I must admit, I wasn't expecting someone like you to hit on me tonight."

Dylan grinned widely at this small victory, feeling more confident than ever before as he ordered himself another round at the bar while keeping one eye on the group of women across from him.

As the night wore on, Dylan found himself growing more conservative and homophobic. His new persona seemed to thrive on these negative traits, embracing them as part of his identity. He began making crude jokes about gay people, laughing along with his friends at the expense of anyone who didn't fit into their narrow definition of masculinity.

His once-open mind had closed itself off completely, leaving no room for empathy or understanding towards those different from him. Instead, he focused all his energy on maintaining an image that would impress others—a tough guy who wasn't afraid to speak his mind even if it meant hurting someone else's feelings in the process.

Looking into the mirror, Dylan saw a reflection of himself that he barely recognized. Gone was the thoughtful, kind-hearted man he once was; in his place stood Austin—a tall, muscular straight fuckboy with a cocky attitude and an insatiable desire for women.

Austin's hair had grown out slightly longer but still maintained its sleekness thanks to regular trips to the barber. His eyes were now darker and more intense, reflecting his newfound confidence and willingness to take risks without considering consequences or others' feelings. His clothing consisted of designer labels that screamed "money" while showing off just enough skin to be considered tasteful by those who shared similar tastes as him.

Fuckboy Austin was the perfect embodiment of shallow, straight masculinity. He had an impressive physique thanks to hours spent at the gym each week, but he didn't let it go to his head—he knew he could always do better. His wardrobe consisted of expensive designer clothes that fit him perfectly, showing off his toned abs and broad shoulders while remaining tasteful enough for any upscale event or club scene.

His personality was just as well-crafted as his appearance; he had a cocky attitude that made women swoon but also came across as arrogant when dealing with others who didn't meet his high standards for attractiveness or success. He loved nothing more than hitting on beautiful women at bars and clubs before taking them home for a night filled with passionate sex followed by morning-after regrets on their part, which only served to fuel Austin's ego even further.

Fuckboy Austin lived a life filled with meaningless hookups, expensive nights out at clubs, and endless self-improvement efforts to maintain his perfect physique. He spent hours each day at the gym, lifting weights and running on treadmills while listening to motivational speeches on his headphones. His diet consisted mainly of protein shakes and pre-workout supplements that he believed gave him an edge over other guys trying to score with the same women as him.

Austin was also quite popular on social media platforms like Instagram and TikTok where he shared videos of himself flexing in front of mirrors or giving workout tips for those looking to get into shape themselves. His follower count continued growing daily thanks largely in part due to his good looks but also because many found inspiration in seeing someone so dedicated towards achieving physical perfection.

As far as hobbies went, Austin didn't have any real interests outside of working out or picking up chicks at bars; however, this lack of depth didn't seem bother him much since it allowed him more time focus solely on improving himself physically instead wasting energy pursuing meaningful relationships or intellectual pursuits.

Fuckboy Austin's life revolved around one thing: himself. He spent every waking moment thinking about how he could improve his appearance, his social status, or his chances with the latest hot girl who had caught his eye. His days were filled with trips to the gym followed by hours spent on social media, where he would post pictures of himself flexing or posing in front of mirrors while wearing nothing but a pair of tight briefs.

His nights were even more action-packed as he would hit up various clubs and bars looking for new conquests to add to his ever-growing list of notches on his bedpost. He had no qualms about using cheesy pickup lines or playing mind games with women just so they would give him their numbers or agree to go home with him later that night. Once he had secured a willing partner (or two), Austin would shower them with compliments and gifts before taking them back home for an evening filled with passionate sex followed by morning-after regrets on their part (which only served as fuel for Austin's already massive ego).

Despite all this success, there was still something missing from Fuckboy Austin's life—a sense of purpose beyond superficial pleasures like material possessions and casual encounters. Deep down inside, he knew that there must be more out there than just endless parties and meaningless hookups; however, those thoughts were quickly pushed aside whenever another beautiful woman crossed paths with him at some trendy nightclub.

[its-avalon-08]

HI! i know you are on brk, so do write this whenever you want, take all the rest you need carlos x norris!sister

age gap of about 3 years

angry lando, secret dating, angst then fluff

im backkkkk!!!!!!!!!!!! im so thankful for all of the adorable messages, thank sm for the support, without you i would not be able to do this! p.s get ready for post spams because your girl had too much ready!!!!

give me a chance (cs55)

✦ pairing - carlos sainz x norris!sister!reader

✦ genre - angst, fluffy ending

The tension in the motorhome kitchen was thicker than the stale coffee Carlos was reheating. You, Lando's younger sister by three years, fiddled with your phone, stealing nervous glances at Carlos. He nursed his mug, a self-conscious hand brushing over the small, purple mark blossoming on his neck. It mirrored the one blooming on yours – a secret souvenir from a stolen kiss in Monaco the previous weekend.

"We should be more careful," you whispered, pushing the stray tendril of hair that kept escaping your ponytail back behind your ear.

"Yeah," Carlos agreed, his voice low. "But seeing you in that dress..." He trailed off, a blush creeping up his neck.

A laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. The memory of you slipping into the tiny hotel balcony, the twinkling lights of Monte Carlo sprawling beneath you, still sent shivers down your spine. Just as Carlos leaned in for another kiss, the door swung open and Lando burst in, interrupting your stolen moment.

"There you two are! Let's go, debrief's about to start."

Relief washed over you, momentarily eclipsing the disappointment. Keeping your relationship with Carlos a secret had been stressful, but Lando finding out was your worst nightmare. He was fiercely protective of you, the age gap somehow making him feel more like a brother than a sibling. He'd never approve of you dating a teammate, especially someone older.

The following days were a tightrope walk. Stolen glances across the paddock, whispered jokes in between briefs, unsupervised moments – it was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure.

Then came this morning. Lando had been glued to his phone all breakfast, oblivious to the way your hand instinctively brushed against Carlos's under the table. But just as your fingers intertwined, Lando looked up, his gaze landing right on your neck. His eyes widened, then flickered to Carlos, who was sporting a matching mark.

The silence stretched, thick with dawning realization.

"What the…" Lando finally sputtered, his voice a strangled whisper.

Then, a volcano erupted.

"Y/N! Carlos!" Lando slammed his phone on the table, the clatter echoing off the metal walls. "What is this?!"

"Lando, it's not what—" you began, but he cut you off.

"Don't you dare lie to me!" His voice was laced with a fury you'd never heard before. "You two? Since when?"

Carlos opened his mouth to speak, but Lando wasn't done.

"I can't believe this! You, Carlos? You're supposed to be like family!"

"Lando, please," you pleaded, standing up. "We can explain."

"There's nothing to explain!" He threw his hands up in the air. "This is a disaster! You know I wouldn't have approved!"

"That's exactly why we didn't tell you," Carlos said, his voice surprisingly steady. "We were afraid of this reaction."

"Afraid? You should be ashamed!" Lando glared at both of you. "This is unprofessional. This makes things awkward. This messes with everything!"

And with that, he stormed out of the motorhome, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the entire vehicle.

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You looked at Carlos, his expression mirroring your own – a mix of guilt, fear, and a stubborn determination to fight for what you had. You knew this wouldn't be easy, but one thing was clear – the secret was out. And the real race for your relationship had just begun.

The slam of the door echoed through the motorhome like a thunderclap, leaving behind a silence that vibrated with tension. You stared at the empty doorway, tears stinging your eyes. They spilled over unchecked, tracing a warm path down your cheeks.

Carlos reached out a hand, hovering hesitantly in the air before settling on your shoulder. "Y/N," he said softly, his voice laced with concern.

You turned to face him, tears blurring your vision. "What have we done?" you choked out, the question a ragged whisper.

Carlos flinched. "We… we just tried to be happy," he defended, his voice strained.

"But look at what it's done," you sobbed, gesturing towards the doorway. "Lando's furious. This is exactly what we were afraid of."

"We can talk to him," Carlos insisted, his jaw set. "Explain things better."

"Explain what, Carlos?" you snapped, a spark of anger igniting through your despair. "That we broke his trust? That we jeopardized everything for a few stolen moments?"

The anger in your voice seemed to take Carlos aback. He recoiled slightly, the hurt flickering in his eyes a fresh wound.

"That's not fair, Y/N," he said, his voice low. "We both knew the risks. We both wanted this."

"Maybe I shouldn't have," you mumbled, the words tasting like ash in your mouth.

The weight of your words hung heavy in the air. Carlos's eyes widened, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Maybe this whole thing was a mistake," you said, your voice cracking. "Maybe we should have just—"

You couldn't finish the sentence. The regret in your voice, the implication that you wished you'd never let things go this far, ripped through Carlos like a punch to the gut. He felt a lump form in his throat, his own tears threatening to spill.

"Y/N," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Don't say that."

But you were already shaking your head, tears streaming down your face. "I can't do this anymore, Carlos," you said, your voice breaking. "This is tearing everything apart."

Without another word, Carlos turned and walked away. His broad shoulders slumped, his steps heavy with unspoken hurt. He didn't look back at you, and as the door to his room slammed shut with a dull thud, you sank to the floor, the weight of your words crashing down on you like a tidal wave. You had just broken his heart, and in that moment, you weren't sure if you had broken yours too.

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Regret, a bitter taste on your tongue, pushed you to find Lando. You found him on the balcony, overlooking the bustling racetrack, a world away from the storm brewing inside you. The sight of him, usually your confidant, now felt daunting.

Taking a deep breath, you approached him hesitantly. "Lando," you choked out, hating how shaky your voice sounded.

He turned, surprise flickering across his face before it settled into a guarded expression. "Y/N," he said simply, offering no invitation to sit.

You stood awkwardly, fiddling with your fingers. "Lando, I…" The words stuck in your throat. "I messed up. Big time."

The anger you'd seen in him earlier had morphed into a wary curiosity. He crossed his arms, waiting for you to continue.

Taking another deep breath, you launched into a monologue, your voice trembling. "It started with his eyes, Lando, the way they crinkle when he smiles. And his smile, oh God, his smile makes my heart skip a beat. And then there are his hugs… warm and safe, like a place I can always go home to. And his kisses," you whispered, the memory sending shivers down your spine, "like fireworks, Lando, exploding with a kind of magic I've never felt before."

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. "I love him, Lando. I never knew I could love someone like I love Carlos."

As you spoke, a figure appeared in the doorway, frozen in place. It was Carlos, his face a mask of pain, each word a fresh blow to his heart. But he couldn't tear himself away. He needed to hear it all.

You continued, your voice thick with emotion. "I panicked, Lando. I thought this would ruin everything, for you, for the team. But all I see is broken trust and a pain I caused the man I…" Your voice broke, a sob escaping your lips.

Lando watched you silently, his initial anger replaced by a flicker of understanding. He took a slow step towards you, his expression unreadable.

Then, to your surprise, he pulled you into a tight embrace. You buried your face in his shoulder, your tears soaking into his shirt.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "It's okay. You love him, I get it."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Just… promise you'll take care of each other. And promise me you won't keep things from me again."

A choked laugh escaped your lips. "I promise, Lando. I promise everything."

Suddenly, you felt a warm presence behind you. A tear slipped down your cheek as you turned to see Carlos standing there, his eyes red-rimmed, a tear tracing a similar path down his own face.

He didn't say a word. He simply walked towards you and pulled you into his arms, his embrace a silent promise. You buried your face in his chest, tears streaming down as the weight of the last few hours lifted.

Lando stepped back, a small smile playing on his lips. He watched for a moment, his heart heavy but strangely at peace. "Alright, lovebirds," he said, his voice gruff. "Let's not turn this balcony into a waterfall."

You both pulled away slightly, but Carlos kept his arm wrapped around you, his touch a warm anchor. You looked up at him, his eyes glistening.

"Thank you, Lando," Carlos said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Just don't break her heart," Lando warned, a hint of his usual playful banter returning. "She's the only sister I've got."

Carlos nodded solemnly, his gaze fixed on you. "I won't," he vowed, his voice a husky whisper.

And you, nestled in Carlos's embrace, knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you wouldn't face them alone. You had love, forgiveness, and a newfound understanding – a foundation strong enough to weather any storm.

[minarisplaything]

The Producer - PART THREE

pairing: Chaeyoung (Fromis9) x M!OC / Jiwon x M!OC rating: explicit word count: 4.2k summary: After introducing himself to the girls, the Producer has a run in take place in the bathroom with two trainees who want to make a good first impression before anyone else. PART 1, PART 2 tags: double blowjob a/n: apologies for two bathroom fics in a row. this one was just the next fic i had completed so i figured f*ck it let's just post it.

"What a day."

With a sigh you collapsed into the couch, conveniently situated in your office. Your uncle, or whoever he had intended on this being for, clearly had a taste for leisure. But right now you didn't want to think about that. Not your uncle. Not the job. Having just gotten out of your first meeting with the girls you would be put in charge of you really wanted nothing more than to just close your eyes and let your mind go blank.

Of course, that was easier said than done. As you let your mind drift, you inevitably found yourself thinking back to the meeting that had taken place only earlier that same day.

[EARLIER THAT DAY]

The way down to the training room was perhaps some of the most nerve wracking of your entire life. If you thought this morning had been stressful it was nothing compared to what was currently racing through your mind. All you kept seeing was images of Yewon writhing against your thigh and Jessica's voice echoing in your ear. Now, in just a few moments, you'd be seeing her as part of the line-up of trainees.

It's fine, you thought to yourself. She probably hasn't told anyone else. Hopefully not anyway. God, I am fucked.

The worst part of it was that despite your internal dread, the mental imagery still turned you on. In fact, one of the many rogue thoughts wandering around in your head was the fact that you wished you could have gone further with her. The shock of learning that Yewon was a trainee had effectively killed any erection you had at the time but it didn't change the fact that you were extremely pent up right now.

With a sigh you did your best to push those thoughts aside as you arrived at the door as Jessica emerged from the practice room.

"Alright," Jessica said, emerging from the room, "I've prepared them for you. Are you ready?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm ready."

"Are you sure about that? You look like you've seen a ghost," she offered you a sympathetic look.

If only she had any idea of the truth she wouldn't be asking that question. Honestly, at this moment you envied Jessica's ability to compartmentalize things. Maybe you'd ask for tips on it the next time the two of you went out for drinks. Assuming there was a next time.

"Is it that obvious?" you asked.

She pressed her lips together and gave you a nod. Jessica walked over towards you, her heels clicking on the floor. She reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, "Remember, they are just as intimidated to meet you as you are them. Maybe even more so. "

"I don't know about that," you muttered.

"Just remember, you can walk away from this before it even begins. For them, this is their whole lives."

"Was that meant to make me feel less nervous?"

Jessica grinned, a twinkle in her eye, "Just trying to give you some perspective. Now come on."

Unable to delay the issue any further, you followed Jessica into the practice room, fingers digging into your palm.

The room itself was quite spacious. Like much of the rest of the building, it was clear that your uncle had spent recklessly investing in this endeavor. At least from a financial perspective. Bright ceiling lights illuminated the room while a mirror that ran the full length of the back wall ensured there would be no lack of reflections. There was an argument to be made that if one were going to splurge on any one room, this was the one worth the investment. Aside from the decor of the room, your eyes were immediately drawn to the lineup of fifteen women standing at attention. One of whom was a familiar face who was avoiding your gaze, her cheeks flushed bright red.

Immediately, you felt the nerves start to creep back into your mind. You looked away from the beautiful lineup and glanced to the corner to see Jinyoung standing there with a clipboard. Something about seeing him made you feel a little more relaxed. After all, he didn’t seem bothered at all.

He probably didn’t have one of his employees grinding on his thigh only a few hours earlier, a rogue thought whispered.

"Everyone," she started, "This is Mr. Park, he's the nephew of our CEO and he might be working with us soon."

A resounding "Hello" reached your ears, causing you to smile just a bit.

You could already feel your cheeks burning with embarrassment. You had to resist the urge to tell them that they didn’t have to be so formal in their greeting. You were a nobody as far as you were concerned. Barely qualified for the job. But you swallowed down that self-deprecation and offered a small smile and wave in response. You could already feel their eyes on you, judging you. Were they surprised you were so young? Maybe they were expecting your uncle or someone older? You noticed a few of the trainees started whispering to each other and tried not to get too paranoid about it.

Once she was satisfied, Jessica continued, "I'll let him introduce himself and we can go from there."

She looked over, metaphorically turning the floor over to you. Moment of truth. You cleared your throat, adjusting your tie once again in the process.

"Ah – right. Good morning, ladies. It's a pleasure to meet all of you and I look forward to working with you all. I hope we have much success in the near future.”

When you stopped, Jessica elbowed you in the side. You looked at her, brow furrowed, before she gestured for you to continue speaking. You suppose it was a bit of a robotic and corporate introduction, but you were just trying to be formal! What did she expect you to say when you hadn’t even taken on the job!

“I, uh, I know nothing has been made official yet but I’ve gotten to know some of you,” a brief glance at Yewon who immediately looked away. You cleared your throat and attempted to focus on your speech, “...through your files and what Ms. Jung has told me. I just have to say I’m looking forward to seeing what you all have to offer.”

You paused for a moment, considering how honest you wanted to be with them. Was it more beneficial to be honest with how green you were in this field, or should you fake it as long as possible? Considering you held their futures in your hands, being upfront felt like the best option.

“Truthfully…this is my first time working on something of this scale. I know some of you have experience at other labels or have been at this for a long time trying to achieve your dream so…I want us all to work on this together to succeed. My door is always open.”

They gave a short round of applause, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it had been genuinely encouraging or if they were just being polite. You supposed both options could be true. You looked over to Jessica and were surprised to see a small smile on her features. That meant you did good…right?

You looked over at the ladies, trying to read their reactions when you found yourself locking eyes with one of the shorter members in the lineup. Park Jiwon, if your memory serves right. What was more was that you found her eyes looking back. Your gazes locked for a long moment, and you almost felt like you were imagining things when you saw her eyebrow cock and her bottom lip get pulled between her teeth.

Fuck.

After what had happened with Yewon had left you high and dry, you could feel yourself getting turned on by the mere thought of shoving your cock between her pretty lips. This wasn’t good. You averted your gaze only to find yourself meeting Yewon’s gaze. Immediately, her cheeks reddened and she looked away from you, her thighs pressed together tightly. Was she having the same thoughts as you? Fucking hell, at this rate you’d be fantasizing about half the members on the team you were arranging. And the worst part was you didn’t find yourself hating that idea.

“Do you mind if we take a brief break?” you whispered to Jessica.

She gave you a bemused look, eyebrow arching, “Need to use the little boy’s room?”

“Something like that.”

Jessica chuckled and nodded her head towards the door, “Down the hall and to the right.”

You gave a small nod of appreciation. As you shuffled out of the room you heard Jessica telling the girls we’d be taking a break. Hopefully, this would give a chance for all the tension in the room to have a breather.

You splashed water on your face and looked into the mirror. You were undoubtedly having a moment of second thought. Just when you thought you had conquered the anxiety of taking on a post like this. Except this time the reasoning had nothing to do with performance fears. At least not of that sort.

“What have I gotten myself into,” you muttered.

Maybe you could get a chance to talk to Yewon privately. Clothed and keeping your hands to yourself this time. You could clear the air and move forward like nothing had happened…Even as you looked at your own reflection you were unconvinced by that line of thought.

Getting Jessica’s advice on the matter didn’t seem worth the risk. Especially considering that you still didn’t know what exactly your relationship with her was after the other night. Honestly, she seemed more likely to get upset for business reasons than jealousy but neither option seemed worth the risk.

As you wrestled with your own thoughts you were faintly aware of the sound of the bathroom door opening.

“Jinyoung, tell Jess I’ll be back in a minute,” you said, not paying any mind.

“I can tell her for you, PD-nim. Though I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

Immediately the color drained from your face.

You had assumed it was Jinyoung entering because frankly, you didn’t know of any other men that worked at the company. Therefore one could only imagine the expression on your face when a feminine voice reached your ears instead. Your head snapped to the side to see two familiar faces looking back at you. Familiar because you had only just been introducing yourself to them moments earlier. One was the girl whose gaze you had met, Park Jiwon. The other, a taller trainee, was Lee Chaeyoung. A name you remembered just from her height standing out on her file that Jess had shown you.

“Girls,” you stammered, straightening, “What are you doing in here?”

Chaeyoung turned, locking the door behind you as Jiwon took a step towards you, looking up at you as her hands were laced behind her back.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Chaeyoung responded.

Your cock jumped, imagining what she could be referring to. Still, you decided the safer route was to play naive and let them lead you to the answer. “I’m not sure it is…”

“We’re here to give you a proper welcome to the company,” Jiwon stated directly.

She came to a stop in front of you and Chaeyoung soon stood next to her. They were gorgeous, there was no doubt about that, and they currently had you cornered against the sink. You swallowed thickly, wetting your bottom lip with your tongue as your gaze darted between the two women.

“Is that right?”

They nodded simultaneously.

“You know…” started Jiwon, her hand moving to the button of your pants, “Yewon’s face turned red as an apple when she saw you enter the room. I wonder why that was.”

Chaeyoung grinned as she perched herself on your shoulder, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear as she spoke, “We had her do a lap around the building with a vibrator slipped inside of her.”

You could feel my own cheeks start to redden at that revelation. No wonder she had been practically begging for any kind of touch. How long had she been in that state before you found her? Clearly long enough that she was willing to find relief on your thigh.

As you considered the implications of her words, Chaeyoung’s hand moved to join Jiwon’s as the button to your pants came undone. Her fingers slipped inside, easily cupping your growing bulge over your underwear. Her fingers massaged it, only causing your cock to stiffen further. In turn, she gave a throaty laugh and smiled at Jiwon who mirrored her actions with her own hand.

"He doesn't seem surprised to hear that," Chaeyoung continued, her breath hot against your ear as their hands stroked your cock.

"I think I know why. You know Yewon's face was so red when she came back it made me wonder why," Jiwon chimed in. She looked up at you, biting her bottom lip as her eyes held mischievous intent. “I think it’s because she had more stimulation than just that vibrator.”

“Did she have this?” Chaeyoung whispered, giving your length a firm squeeze.

“N-no,” you managed. However, lying at this point seemed fruitless. They had you cornered and you were already letting Chaeyoung jerk you off with her long fingers. What harm could the confession do at this point? “...It was my thigh. She rode my thigh. But I didn’t know…”

“Oh my god,” Jiwon laughed, “That little slut. I didn’t think she had something like that in her. Just wait until the others hear.”

You stumbled a bit, gripping the sink as Chaeyoung continued rubbing your cock. It was a bizarre experience; trying to hold a conversation with Jiwon while her taller accomplice nibbled at your earlobe and stroked your cock. All while your whole career was only a few feet away outside of the bathroom door.

“You can’t,” you muttered. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“Is it our secret, PD-nim? What else are we going to keep secret?” Chaeyoung teased.

“You know if we had more time we could really have fun,” Jiwon said, “Is he close, Chae?”

“From the way he keeps throbbing in my hand and the look on his face I’d say yes.”

You felt Jiwon’s eyes turn to you and instantly knew she was up to no good, “Ladies…”

“We have to be the first ones. Before anyone else hooks their claws into him.”

Before you could protest or even ask what she was talking about, Jiwon’s hands were grabbing the waistband of your pants and boxers. She yanked them down your thighs, fully exposing the sight of Chaeyoung’s hand wrapped around your cock. There was no denying it now. In fact seeing it only turned you on further. Not to mention the taller girl had been right: you were practically ready to burst. The physical touch combined with her teasing and the memory of what had happened with Yewon; it was all too much.

You watched as the two trainees slid to their knees on the tiled bathroom floor. Together they began tag-teaming your cock, taking turns letting their tongues run over the swollen head and engorged shaft like it was their favorite lollipop.

“Fuck, ladies, we really shouldn't...” you moaned. A pathetic last attempt at the righteous choice.

Both girls looked up at you with their pretty eyes and grinned. It was clear they were enjoying this; listening to you fight with your morals while refusing to push them away.

Jiwon pulled back, looking up at you with wide eyes and pouting lips, "Should we head back to the practice room?"

The sincerity of her question was undermined by the fact that Chaeyoung's tongue was still teasing the head of your cock. You found yourself speechless and Jiwon's pout turned into a devilish smile. "Don't worry, PD-nim. You don't have to feel guilty, I bet we aren't the only ones who'd want a taste of this."

She gave you a wink and returned to the task at hand. The thought was enticing to your most primal instincts. Something you were supposed to be above. However, there was no denying the appeal. The thrill of the taboo and the risk of being caught combined with the feeling of their soft hands and lips made was already making this far too addicting. Sure when you signed on for this job you never imagined this would be the outcome but now that it had happened, who were you to say no?

And if others wanted to join...

Your thoughts were cut off by the feel of something warm and wet around your cock. Jiwon had taken it fully into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she bobbed her head up and down the shaft. Meanwhile, Chaeyoung had wrapped her hand around the base, pumping your shaft in time with the bobbing of Jiwon's head. Your eyes were fixed on their teamwork, mesmerized by the sight unfolding while reveling in the pleasure.

"Shit," you hissed.

"It feels good doesn't it, PD-nim?" Chaeyoung asked. "She's small but she still swallows your cock like a pro."

Her eyes locked onto yours, gaze bearing down into your soul. You had never quite understood the concept of eye-fucking until that very moment.

Of course the answer to her question was obvious. From the way your body reacted to the look on your face to the swell of your length each time it hit the back of Jiwon's throat. If things kept going like that you'd be at your peak in no time. Which wasn't exactly a bad thing given you had little time to waste. On the other hand, you had yet to experience Chaeyoung's throat.

"If she keeps going like that I won't last," you grunted in response.

Chaeyoung grinned and Jiwon doubled her efforts.

"Don't be so greedy," Chaeyoung chastised her.

The shorter girl popped off of your cock with a long slurping sound, offering it to Chaeyoung who quickly picked up where her friend had left off. Her head bobbed on your cock, her short raven-cut hair swaying back and forth. You could only watch, mesmerized as her tongue slid against the underside of your cock. Jiwon didn't sit idle, one hand moving to fondle your balls while the other slipped past the waistband of her yoga pants.

"This is so hot..." she trailed off.

The way her eyes were glued to Chaeyoung you weren't sure if she was speaking to you or merely talking outloud to herself. Either way, you didn't disagree.

After a while, Chaeyoung would pull-off then offer it to Jiwon. The cycle continued in that manner. Together they switched between who had the honor of taking your cock in their mouth, letting the other take your cock in hand. One would stroke your cock or fondle your balls while the other gagged herself on your rod.

At one point, Jiwon was sucking your cock while Chaeyoung took one of your balls into her mouth, sucking on your scrotum. Your eyes rolled back, a deep moan echoing off the bathroom walls; discretion completely forgotten for a moment.

Irresponsible and unprofessional? Absolutely. Did you regret it? Absolutely not.

Truth be told, you were still somewhat blue balled from your interaction with Yewon and this felt like exactly what you needed. Besides, it didn't seem like either girl was keen on spilling any secrets.

"Jesus," you muttered under your breath, "Girls, I'm almost there..."

Chaeyoung, who had been taking her turn, popped off of your cock her chin dripping with saliva and pre-cum, "Let's not leave our PD-nim disappointed then. Give him the grand finale."

"Grand finale?" you repeated, slightly dazed and balls aching.

They gave no further explanation, instead leaving you to watch as they moved to either side of your engorged rod. First, they closed the distance between each other, making out with your cock shoved in between their lips. It fell under the category of strangely erotic. Their spit coated your cock as the two trainees made-out, giving you the impression that this wasn't the first time they had done this.

A thought of inspiration struck you. A firm hand was placed on the back of each girl's head. They seemed to understand what was going to come next as their lips puckered around your cock, creating a funnel for you. Immediately you began thrusting between their lips, fucking both of their mouths at the same time while they looked up at you from their position on their knees. If you had any inhibitions left, they evaporated then and there.

"Fuck," you groaned, "I'm so fucking close."

The girls hummed their approval, vibrations against your cock bringing you even more pleasure. God, you would have loved nothing more than to coat their pretty faces with your semen but that seemed like it would create a hard cleanup and even harder explanation. Instead, you kept thrusting between them until finally your cock began to twitch. They watched as you bit down on your bottom lip, length shooting rope after rope of cum that splattered onto the tiled floor. Your head rolled back for a moment, bracing yourself against the bathroom sink.

What the fuck just happened, you thought.

You were brought back to the present by the feel of lips around your cock, cleaning you off.

"Well, I'm horny now," Jiwon stated bluntly as she stood on her feet. "If we had more time..."

"Yah," the taller one hit her shoulder as she stood, wiping her bottom lip, "You're insatiable you know that?"

Jiwon laughed and you could only watch, dick still exposed, as the girls bantered as if they hadn't just sucked you dry. "We should..."

"We'll go," Chaeyoung cut in. She leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. "You should get cleaned up."

Jiwon followed suit, though somewhat adorably, she had to tip-toe to reach your cheek, "Don't forget us during evaluations, PD-nim."

She gave you a wink and just like that the two girls walked out the bathroom, leaving you with your thoughts. Or rather lack of thoughts. Which wasn't a bad thing given you had no idea what to make of this situation. Instead you got dressed; grabbed a few paper towels, wiped up the evidence of your rendezvous and splashed water on your face. When you looked in the mirror, you almost didn't recognize the slight smirk on your features.

"Hopefully Jessica didn't notice my absence," you muttered as you left the bathroom.

"So that's where you were," a voice called.

You looked up to see a face that took you a moment to recognize. She was one of the trainees you had been introduced to earlier. Haewon if you remembered correctly. She had short, straight hair that neatly framed her face. Her eyes were wide and attentive while her lips were full and plump with round cheeks. She was taller than Jiwon but only just.

"Ms. Jung was looking for you," she said.

"O-oh," you stammered, before clearing your throat. "Yeah. I was just on my way back."

You swallowed thickly, eyeing her unblinking expression. It was unnerving really, the way she stared at you arms crossed over her chest. You couldn't tell whether she was judging you or just so disinterested she couldn't bother to pretend. Had she seen Jiwon and Chaeyoung coming from this area too?

"So, uh, I'll just be heading back," you started.

Suddenly Haewon broke into a wide smile, practically beaming at you, "Alright then. See you tomorrow PD-nim!"

With that she walked off, her expression dropping the moment she turned away from you. You were left baffled and confused as you decided to shake it off and head back to Jessica. If she hadn't called you out on fooling around then that was a win enough for today.

As you neared the practice room, you spotted someone standing off to the side. Another one of the girls, though her name escaped you. She seemed upset as she talked on the phone. For a moment you considered going over to her and checking to make sure everything was alright only to stop yourself.

You hadn't even accepted the job offer yet and you were getting involved with these girls. The least you could do was not add emotional involvement to the list as well. You swallowed the impulse to help, maybe you'd bring it up to Jessica when you got the chance. She might know what that was about.

[PRESENT]

When you got back Jessica had already dismissed most of the girls for the day. The two of you decided to call it a day, after all despite your speech you still had an official decision to make.

You pulled out your phone, scrolling to your uncle's contact information. Your lips pressed together in thought. In many ways it was a no brainer, even ways that it shouldn't be. In other ways the more you learned about these girls the more you hesitated. If you failed you'd be doing more than just taking your uncle's money. You closed your eyes, your mind briefly flashing to images of your load covering Jiwon and Chaeyoung's faces. The decision was easy, wasn't it?

"What did you always say, uncle? It's about the journey not the destination," you muttered to yourself.

You quickly typed out a message.

"I'm in."

[aemondwhoresworld]

SCARS BENEATH THE SURFACE

pairing: mafia!cregan stark x reader ; husband!cregan stark x wife!reader

summary: you’ve always known that his past would be a shadow over your relationship. but when you discover that he’s been hiding something important involving his ex-fiancée, arra, the hurt and betrayal cut deep. a heated argument ensues, where long-buried insecurities and jealousy come to the surface, particularly because arra has been cruel to you in the past—a fact you’ve kept hidden to protect cregan. as harsh words are exchanged, both of you are forced to confront the ghosts of cregan’s past and the lies that threaten to tear you apart. however, by the end, cregan realizes the gravity of his mistake and makes a heartfelt effort to mend the rift between you, proving that his love for you is stronger than any lingering feelings for arra.

word count: 2,6k

warning(s): english is not my first language. angst, including shouting, feelings of betrayal, and discussions of jealousy and insecurity, arra’s past behavior includes emotional. a sequel of “STRANGER TO LOVERS” can be read as a seperate one-shot

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Night in Winterfell today was unusually quiet, the tension in the air palpable as you sat alone in the dimly lit living room. The flickering flames from the fireplace cast shadows on the walls, mirroring the storm brewing in your heart. You had always known Cregan’s world was full of secrets and danger, but tonight, you were forced to confront a truth that made your blood run cold.

You heard the front door open and close, and the sound of Cregan’s footsteps approaching sent a chill down your spine. When he finally stepped into the room, his eyes met yours, and he could immediately sense that something was wrong.

“Hey,” he said cautiously, his deep voice laced with concern. “What’s going on?”

You stood up slowly, your arms wrapped around yourself as if trying to hold everything together. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, but the accusation in it was clear.

Cregan’s brow furrowed, confusion evident on his face. “Tell you what?”

“That you’ve been meeting with Arra,” you said, the name of his ex-fiancée leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. “Behind my back.”

Cregan stiffened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he realized where this was going. “Who told you that?”

“Does it matter?” you shot back, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “The point is, you didn’t tell me. You lied to me, Cregan.”

Cregan let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. “I didn’t lie. I just… I didn’t want to worry you. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” you repeated, your voice rising in disbelief. “You’ve been sneaking around with your ex-fiancée, the same woman who’s made it her mission to make me feel like I’m not good enough for you, and you didn’t think I’d want to know?”

Cregan’s expression hardened, his eyes darkening with a mix of guilt and defensiveness. “It wasn’t like that. I was handling business. Arra still has connections that are valuable to the syndicate.”

“And that’s supposed to make it okay?” you asked, your voice cracking as the pain you’d been holding back surged forward. “Do you know what it’s like to constantly feel like I’m competing with a ghost? To feel like no matter what I do, I’ll never measure up to her in your eyes?”

Cregan’s jaw clenched, his gaze dropping to the floor as if he couldn’t bear to see the tears forming in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

“But you did,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “And the worst part is, she’s been awful to me, Cregan. She’s said things, done things to make me doubt myself, and I’ve kept quiet because I didn’t want to hurt you. But you’re so blinded by whatever lingering feelings you have for her that you can’t even see how much it’s tearing me apart.”

Cregan’s head snapped up, shock and disbelief flashing in his eyes. “What are you talking about? What has she done?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you finally let out the words you’d been holding back for so long. “She told me that I’d never be able to give you what she could, that you’d always come back to her because she knows you better than I ever will. She’s tried to undermine me at every turn, and I’ve been too afraid to tell you because I thought… I thought maybe she was right.”

Cregan stared at you, his expression a mixture of anger and horror as the realization of what you’d been enduring sank in. “She said that to you?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“Yes,” you admitted, your voice breaking as the weight of your insecurities finally came crashing down. “And you’ve been spending time with her, trusting her, while I’ve been here, feeling like a fool.”

Cregan closed the distance between you in an instant, his hands gripping your shoulders as he forced you to look at him. “You are not a fool,” he said firmly, his voice laced with urgency. “And Arra doesn’t mean anything to me. Whatever I had with her ended a long time ago. I’ve never felt for her what I feel for you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, your eyes searching his for answers. “Why did you hide it from me if she means nothing?”

“Because I didn’t want you to feel threatened,” Cregan confessed, his voice filled with regret. “I thought I was protecting you by keeping it from you, but I see now that I only made things worse. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head, the tears finally spilling over as the pain and betrayal you’d been holding in for so long came pouring out. “It’s not just about Arra, Cregan. It’s about trust. How can I trust you if you’re willing to lie to me about something like this?”

Cregan’s grip on your shoulders tightened as he pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours as he spoke with raw emotion. “I swear to you, I will never lie to you again. I made a mistake, a terrible mistake, and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that’s what it takes. You are my wife, the woman I love, and nothing and no one will ever come between us again. Not Arra, not anyone.”

You wanted to believe him, but the pain was still too fresh, the wound too deep. “How can I be sure, Cregan? How can I be sure that you won’t put her or anyone else above me again?”

Cregan’s eyes burned with intensity as he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “Because I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice trembling with sincerity. “You are my everything, and I will do whatever it takes to prove that to you. Please, give me a chance to make this right.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing the desperation, the fear of losing you that mirrored your own. Slowly, you nodded, your voice barely audible as you said, “Okay.”

Relief washed over Cregan’s face as he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you as if he never wanted to let go. “Thank you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I promise you, I’ll never make you feel this way again.”

For a long moment, the two of you stood there, holding each other in the dim light of the living room, the tension slowly dissipating as you both began to heal the wounds caused by secrets and lies. Cregan held you like you were his lifeline, and in that embrace, you found a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, your love was strong enough to overcome even this.

Later that night, Cregan made a point of cutting off all ties with Arra, ensuring that there would be no more secrets between you. He spent the next few weeks going out of his way to show you how much you meant to him, planning romantic gestures, and being more open about his business dealings. But what mattered most was that he made you feel seen and valued, something you realized you had been longing for all along.

One evening, as you sat together on the balcony overlooking the city, Cregan took your hand in his, his eyes filled with love and determination. “I know it will take time for things to fully heal between us,” he said softly, “but I want you to know that I am committed to earning back your trust, every single day.”

You squeezed his hand, a small smile playing on your lips as you looked out at the skyline. “I believe you, Cregan. And I’m willing to move forward, as long as we do it together.”

Cregan leaned in, capturing your lips in a gentle, yet passionate kiss, one that spoke of new beginnings and a love that had weathered the storm. As you melted into the embrace, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you and Cregan would face them side by side, stronger and more united than ever.

The road to healing wasn’t an easy one, but it was one you were both determined to walk together.

In the days and weeks that followed, Cregan kept his promise, making a conscious effort to rebuild the trust that had been damaged. The small gestures mattered—like coming home earlier than usual, spending more time with you and Rickon, and being more transparent about his work. But what truly began to mend your heart was the way he started to talk more openly about his past, including his relationship with Arra.

In the evening, you found yourselves sitting in the kitchen, the warm glow of the pendant lights casting a cozy atmosphere. You were cutting vegetables for dinner, while Cregan leaned against the counter, watching you with a thoughtful expression.

“I never really told you about what happened between me and Arra,” he began quietly, breaking the comfortable silence. “I think it’s time you knew.”

You paused, looking up at him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. “Only if you’re ready,” you said gently, not wanting to push him.

Cregan nodded, taking a deep breath. “Arra and I… we were engaged because of our families. It was arranged, something I didn’t have much of a say in back then like our marriage. I thought I loved her, or at least, I convinced myself that I did because it was expected of me. But as time went on, I realized that what we had wasn’t real love. It was built on duty and expectation, not genuine connection.”

He walked over to you, his hand resting on your shoulder as he continued. “She was always more interested in the power and status that came with being with me than in me as a person. I think that’s why she was so cruel to you. She saw you as a threat because you have what she could never truly have—my heart.”

You put down the knife, turning to face him fully. “But why did you keep seeing her, even after you realized all of this?”

“Because of the business,” Cregan admitted, his voice tinged with regret. “She still had connections that I needed to maintain peace in certain areas. But I see now that it wasn’t worth the cost. I should have cut ties with her the moment I realized what she was doing to you. I was blinded by my sense of duty and the fear of what might happen if I didn’t keep those connections.”

You reached up, gently cupping his cheek. “Cregan, I understand that your world is complicated, but I need to know that I’m more than just a piece in that game. I need to know that you’ll always put our relationship first.”

“You are,” Cregan said fervently, covering your hand with his own. “You are so much more than a piece in any game. You’re my wife, my love, my everything. And I promise you, nothing will ever come between us again—not Arra, not the business, nothing.”

The sincerity in his eyes melted the last of the ice that had formed around your heart. You could see how much he regretted his mistakes, how desperately he wanted to make things right. And in that moment, you decided to let go of the hurt and embrace the love you knew was still strong between you.

“I believe you,” you whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “And I’m willing to move forward.”

Cregan’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he deepened the kiss, pouring all of his love and devotion into it. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the kitchen.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”

“I love you too,” you replied, your heart swelling with the depth of your feelings for him.

As you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in your relationship. The scars from your argument would heal, and in their place would grow a stronger, deeper bond—one that could withstand any storm that came your way.

The next day, Cregan took a significant step in showing you how committed he was to rebuilding your trust. He called a meeting with Arra, and this time, he insisted that you be present. The meeting took place at a neutral location—a sleek, modern restaurant known for its discretion and privacy. You arrived with Cregan, your hand tightly clasped in his as he led you inside.

Arra was already seated at a private table, her perfectly manicured fingers drumming lightly on the tablecloth as she waited. When she saw you enter with Cregan, her eyes narrowed slightly, but she quickly masked her expression with a cool, indifferent smile.

“Cregan,” she greeted him with a nod before her gaze flickered to you. “And you must be—”

“My wife,” Cregan interrupted, his tone firm as he squeezed your hand. “And from now on, all business between us will include her. There will be no more private meetings, no more secrets.”

Arra’s smile faltered for just a moment before she regained her composure. “Of course,” she replied smoothly. “Though I’m surprised you need a chaperone now, Cregan. Surely you don’t think I’d be a threat to your precious marriage?”

Her words were laced with venom, and you could feel the tension radiating from Cregan as he clenched his jaw. But instead of rising to her bait, he simply met her gaze with a steely resolve.

“This isn’t about threats, Arra,” he said evenly. “This is about respect. And if you can’t respect my wife, then there’s no place for you in my business.”

Arra’s eyes flashed with anger, but she quickly masked it with a sweet smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Very well, Cregan. If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I need,” he corrected her. “Now, if there’s nothing else, we should wrap this up. My wife and I have plans.”

Without waiting for her response, Cregan stood up, offering you his hand. You took it, feeling a surge of pride and relief as he led you out of the restaurant, leaving Arra behind without a second glance.

As you walked down the street, hand in hand, you looked up at Cregan, who seemed more at ease than you’d seen him in weeks. “Thank you,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “For standing up for me.”

Cregan stopped, turning to face you as he cupped your face in his hands. “I’ll always stand up for you,” he promised, his voice filled with conviction. “You’re the most important person in my life, and I’ll never let anyone make you feel otherwise again.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest as you leaned into his touch. “I love you, Cregan.”

“And I love you,” he replied, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips.

As you continued walking, you realized that while the scars of your argument would take time to fully heal, they had ultimately brought you closer together. Cregan had proven that he was willing to fight for your relationship, to put you first, and to build a future where you both felt secure and valued.

TAGLIST: @raven-alum ; @aegonswife ; @jellybeanstacey0519 ; @tia29 ; @laurathebabex ; @yariany02 ; @majdoline ; @r-3dlips ; @chaerin1309 ; @kidd3ath

[beiasluv]

ice creams? | cl16 + al12

a/n: Idk this is so random, lmk if you guys found it cute or weird 💀

Being a Monegasque resident had its perks – being the Leclercs’ neighbor also had its perks.

Like getting a bowl of Bouillabaisse when they heard you were sick, getting invited to Charles’s karting race – and he won, or babysitting the little devils. One of them was Charles, a seven-year-old, or what he likes to say that he is ‘thee years older than arth’; and Arthur, the four-year-old.

Okay, maybe that last one wasn’t much of a perk.

—

Fridays called for an extra long time in bed, snuggling into your air-conditioned room and, definitely, without a blasting ringing down your hallway – your cream-colored house phone, hanging by the bronzed framed mirror.

Groaning as you threw the pink duvet off your body, slipping into your slippers – not so sure whether your parents leaving for a business trip was so good after all.

“Hello?” You said, rubbing your eyes clear to make out the dimmed outlines of your hallway. Approaching midnight if your mental clock worked properly.

“Hi, chérie,” came the reply, the caller not sounding not so much better than you. “I’m sorry for calling in so late, is it possible for you to look after the boys–”

“Yes– yes, I’ll be over.” It slipped off your mouth, not sure whether where that urgency came from. Or was it the growing worry for the two little boys.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you, chérie.” She sighed. “Lorenzo got himself in trouble, we’re going to the ER–”

“Maman, don’t worry. I got them,” you cut her off, shaking your head unconsciously. Perhaps biting your smile that how one of them managed to get in trouble again this week.

“Thank you so much, dear.”

Mumbling the last ‘see you’ to the speaker, you hung the handset back to its hook on the wall. Not that it was the end of the world babysitting the younger Leclercs, they were sweethearts – what’s the worst that could happen, right?

—

Everything came in a blur: knocking at their front door, Pascale and Harvé rushing to greet you while whisking Lorenzo out the door, and then seeing Charles and Arthur coloring with their crayons on the carpet in the middle of the living room.

The one that you were so sure was filled with tears a couple of hours ago while ‘whatever happened’ happened.

Now, the three of you found yourselves on the sofa, watching the television, and the boys stuffing their faces with popcorn just to make them a little bit fuller and slower.

Which, you were sure, was not happening any soon. They were restless. A giggling mess, if you will.

“Aren’t you guys a little tired?” You asked, trying to see if they were hinting just a little bit of a yearning for bed, that you were sure to whisk them away if they were. Yawning and rubbing your eyes were not helping.

Arthur got his little legs propped up in a ‘M-shaped’ way, while Charles snuggled next to your arms on the other side. They blinked their brown eyes from stimulating cartoons on the television to your eyes – still big and bright as ever.

"Nooo..." both Charles and Arthur replied almost at the same time, shaking their little heads left to right. The older one said with his mouth full of popcorn and the younger one continued to find his arms in an interesting position.

“Alright…what do you guys wanna do?” You appealed to in defeat, rubbing your eyes.

"Let's play hide and seek!" Arthur yelled, looking at his brother for a support. As if seeing the little gears turning in little Charles’s head, his little eyes litting up in the process.

"Yes! Please? Yn? Please?" Charles replied, leaving the popcorn bucket and candy bag on the table. Jumping up and down while giving you the best puppy eyes.

Sighing, there was no other choice. You either play the game or get dragged into some new invented game – that would definitely took more time to explain than to participate.

“Yes…yes,” your eyes turned upside down at their enthusiasm, wiping the popcorn from Arthur’s mouth corner. Booping Arthur’s nose softly, “You are the seeker.”

“Awe,” the younger one slumped on the couch. Dramatically lifting his arms as high as he could.

“Ha! What about me?” Charles interjected, intertwining between your arms – between you and Arthur.

“Charlie–”

“Start counting Arth!” Charles said with a change of mind as he run away with his little legs from Arthur – you doing the same. With the only goal of finding a good spot, maybe you’ll get a little nap while Arthur tries to navigate the house.

—

Long enough, you finally heard a higher-pitched laughter followed by a slightly lower-pitched groan: letting you know that they got back together. Besides, the stumbling sounds enlightened you that they started looking through the kitchen, they opened the refrigerator, the pantry, the cabinets...

They ran everywhere, yelling and laughing. Sometimes just to hear the other one laughing too.

“Yn!” “Where are you!”

Little hands grabbing all the places they could grab, climbing on top of each other if they wanted – still looking around and getting into weird positions to look under the furniture.

Charles and Arthur started to get a little frustrated at not finding you, and this little bit of stress made them nervous, making all kind of noises.

"Where is she? Where is she?" Charles yelled, looking at his younger brother – his head getting a little redder from looking upside down under the cabinets.

"Maybe she is in the bathroom! Or maybe she ran out of the house?" Arthur replied, in a loud voice, getting into weird positions too.

"Maybe she went to papa’s room!" Charles replied, and both he and his younger brother ran their little ways up the stairs to check the adults' bedroom.

The room stood still as they pushed the door open. There was maman’s perfume on her side table, papa’s reading glasses on the other side, and something on the dresser – too tall for them to see. The two little boys searched every corner, they even checked under the bed, but there was no trace of your jeans hem or khaki sweater.

At that moment, they were starting to get hopeless, and they did what hopeless children do best: sniffling.

Little sniffles turned into hiccups, hiccups turned into cries. Arthur seeing his brother wiping his little eyes dry, he found himself slumping on the floor, mimicking Charles’s teary eyes.

“Oh, no– I’m here– awe, guys–”

Without wasting another minute, the boys ran to hug you – clinging and wiping their faces onto your sweater. You welcomed them with open arms, and little kiss for each one.

“We couldn’t find you!” Charles hiccuped out, faltered-heartily, while Arthur just nodded and mumbled something. Now, they were like a pair of puppies, begging for your attention.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you chuckled at the sight, rubbing and patting their backs.

“No funny!” Arthur hid is face in your chest.

The little boys remained in your arms, hugging tightly, like two pieces of dough. Tears resided into just stains and hiccups returned into sniffles.

“Alright– I’m sorry,” you nodded, making zipping motion while continuing rubbing their arms. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

Just maybe the fact that Charles slowly tear his face away from comfort, showing cheeky smiles…

“Can we have some ice cream?”

“Please? Please?" Arthur replied, with his head still down, hugging her with all his might.

“But you guys already had…” knowing they are a little faltered hearted at the incident – maybe using it to their little advantages. “fine. But no more–”

"Yay!!" they replied in excitement, jumping out of your arms, but keeping you close by. “Thank you Yn!”

Now more hopeful and happy, the little boys ran towards the kitchen without saying another word. They were now a duo in a mission for food, and to cause as much trouble as possible on their route…

I have a mark fic incoming…lmk if you guys are interested??😘😘

interact if y’all liked it, do what ever you want. Imma start writing fics again 💀

today’s a good day to take care of yourself!!

[cherry-titz]

HI GUYS @cherryjuiceblues here ! oof, this took me longer than i anticipated to finish, and for that i am sorry, friends! this is my installment to mine and @1800titz first collab :D if you haven't already read part one, written by titz herself, then you can do so here !!

some warnings before you read! following on from part one, this is dark harry. some very dark themes going on. and once again, as miss titz previously stated, harry is simply a faceclaim here. there is absolutely no intention to associate the real harry with this fictitious one !!

content warnings include: dom/sub themes, exhibitionism, light spanking/impact play, choking, name-calling, degradation, praise, threats of intending to cause harm (hitchhikerry is not a good man at all). generally, he's a bit meaner in this one!

word count is just under 11k (both of us had aimed to write a short and snappy 6-7k each but here we are LMAO) !! ENJOY :D

This bathroom is filthy. The slanted mirror swirls a little, in a thick, hypnotic puddle, as Y/N stares at the smeared reflection before her.

A new low, perhaps—this night, for Y/N (only competing with one other evening that springs to mind). In an unloved bar, in a dingy bathroom, fingers digging into grimy porcelain that no amount of suds from the muddy bar of soap could clean. (And, really—whose idea was it to have bars of soap in a public place?) Clenching digits in an attempt to wake up some from the wave of paranoia that skittered across her skin in the public eye of the bar.

Y/N swears her pupils fluctuate as she grounds herself in them. Recollects herself in this pigsty of an establishment. Forces some of the alcohol to evaporate off of her in waves as she sobers up to the thought of piss-stained tiles and sticky toilet seats.

Y/N doesn’t drink alone.

But she didn’t do hitchhikers either and look where that got her.

In a shithole—that’s where. In a shithole, on her lonesome, on a Monday night of all nights. Argued to be the worst day of the week to wake up, go to school, work—and most relevantly—get drunk. But she’d considered it important to force herself out—to maintain control over her actions whether they be sensible or not. It was rather unimportant to Y/N what day of the week it was. They’d sort of all merged into one since receiving the phone call—every day reduced to the same thoughts tick, tick, ticking inside of her head. Hours spent ping-ponging back and forth over every moment in which her life could have ended inside of that car.

She’d tried since; to phone him back. Each time met with the denying wall of a payphone. Y/N almost grew comforted by that failure—that safety of knowing no one would ever answer—until rationality kicked in and she blocked the number. A small, tiny ounce of power to hold.

And there’s a part of her, still, that doesn’t quite believe it. That surely friendly Harry—adorned in his soft sweatshirt, with his dimpled cheeks and yellow nails—could have only been laughing with his friends, all huddled around his phone that blasted on speaker, at the successful spooking of an unassuming girl. Despite the fact of all the evidence stacking up against him—that she’d heard only his breaths, only his voice, and the undeniable dead of night surrounding him. She needn’t even ponder over the possibility to accept it—lone stranger on the side of the road, in the dead of night, sleeping at a motel, so eager to manhandle and encourage Y/N’s struggle—

The door clatters, and then a body pushes it open, the heavy wood resisting some and disguising Y/N’s flinch at the sudden intrusion. She clears her throat, turning the tap on and pretending to wash her hands as she meets the eyes of a woman in the mirror, a small weak smile upturning Y/N’s lips, before she disappears inside a cubicle.

She’s retraced every single moment of that night. Looking back with shame and humiliation. Because (and it’s pointless to waste even a second on it now but) how silly—how stupid—does someone have to be; how lacking in common sense or respect for one’s self, to pick up a stranger on the side of the road. Harry was right to scold her over the phone, no matter the irony of it all. She might as well have served herself up on a platter for him to take. So easy, he’d said. 

So easy it hadn’t been fun, is all Y/N can assume.

The broken seal of the door reminds her of the outside world, shaking her head—an attempt to rattle her thoughts into submission, to collect herself and focus on the surface level image of her reflection. To remember the facts. That she looks pretty. Pretty and put-together—and ready to drown more of her sorrows in another cocktail mixed with her chosen spirit.

It’s as quiet as it was before Y/N slipped into the bathroom, a handful of lonely men scattered on opposite ends of the bar—the occasional group huddled around a table—or a couple sprawled against a sofa. The wall-mounted television has been switched on, subtitles an obnoxious fluorescent yellow as the news captures the attention of few desolate drinkers. Y/N doesn’t notice the extra body occupying a high-top table nearest to the bar, her back turned towards them, as she makes herself (comfortable would be an exaggeration) settled once again on a rickety, wooden stool.

She doesn’t notice. Not until she orders a Cosmopolitan and twists her clutch onto her lap, opening the zipper’s teeth, fingers pinching the familiar edge of her card just enough for it to peek past the confines, and is hastily denied by the bartender. He shakes his head, hands busy as he mixes her drink, nodding in some direction behind her as he says, “Gentleman over there paid for it.”

And that… that can’t be right. Gentle and man are two respected words in their own right but together? Y/N’s spine straightens and her muscles tighten. There’s no way she could know, but somehow she does—shutting her eyes, expelling a breath in preparation—as she twists around on her stool to see the man who she invited into her sedan all those days ago. There was nothing gentle about that night.

Or so she found out.

And he looks… the same. Of course he does.

Same chocolate-swirled curls brushing against the unperturbed smoothness of his forehead. Same strong line of his nose, same hard clench of his jaw dusted in scruff that she’d let him brush against her face as they’d kissed. Same plush lips that purse around the rim of a tumbler, cheekbones sharp as he tips his head back enough to allow the cool liquid to slick down his throat. Same rough, sinewy fingers—the subdued yellow of his nails (so far along the spectrum from the blinding fluorescence of the television subtitles) now chipped in a way that suggests it’s fashionable as opposed to scruffy.

All the same features and yet Y/N can’t help but picture them in a new, scathing light—those soft tendrils matted with thick, dark blood, splatters dripping down his temple and beading at his chin. Blush-tinted lips curled up in a sinister, satisfied smile—chilling enough to slow the blood in Y/N’s veins—and those hands; his fingers that had previously delivered so much pleasure, wrapping around the handle of a sharpened blade with the intent to inflict more than she could have bargained for—no sunshine yellow in sight. 

And the morbid image is hardly helped by the baggy garments that swallow his limbs, grey sweats and black hoodie selling one of two different visuals. Either that of a cosy boyfriend or a looming presence on a dimly lit street, late at night. Y/N’s brain opts for the latter.

Harry meets Y/N’s gaze with confidence—if he is surprised, or displeased, or worried by her presence then it shows none on his face. She watches the tick of his throat as he swallows the remainder of what looks like whiskey, before carelessly sliding the glass across the table in which he is slouching away from with arrogance, to meet its other empty friend as they clink together. His posture suggests complete ease—the sort of position you would take on a deep-set sofa—an ankle slung across a knee, an elbow propped behind you. Perhaps the type of arrogance only the person who had admitted their desire to murder you could have.

She blinks at him, unable to startle back around in fear. Not in order to preserve any sort of upper hand—but from a complete lack of said immediate panic; that fight or flight response. She blinks as she sees the screen of her phone behind her eyelids; as she sees every unanswered call she dialled to that payphone. The ringing in her ear as she waited, and waited, and waited.

The reminiscence, the amusement in his tone—that switched as though controlled by one—to disappointment and disdain, to deliver a warning with such severity that only left Y/N with more questions. Why wait an entire week to call? Why tell her about his intention? How many times had he killed before? Why didn’t he kill her?

“—Police have found what they believe to be the body of twenty-five-year-old Ruby Wilcox…” Y/N doesn’t know why this specific statement is deemed salient enough to shove it’s way past all the other droning noise and embed itself deep within her head—but it is. As though Ruby Wilcox is her own name, Y/N feels a pit of dread churning around inside of her stomach, twisting and turning in a true derivation of discomfort, as she peers around to acknowledge that she’s heard correctly, skimming the subtitles with grave trepidation. The journalist goes on, “...reported missing six days ago…” but Y/N already feels as though she’s heard the story.

She turns back towards Harry, unsure as to why it feels necessary to do so—the moment their eyes met the first time, she should have bolted. Harry’s already looking at her, as though his eyes have never trailed away, and it’s telling—the quirk of his lips. The way his tongue darts out to wet them and he can’t contain the small bracket that they form into.

His left eye flutters closed in a wink as new droning voices of monotonous news presenters burrow deeper and deeper into Y/N’s skin. The fear is undeniable. It aches deep inside the marrow of her bones; a lingering, languishing throbbing that can only be attributed to embedded dread. But if Y/N can’t deny that she hasn’t run for the hills then she also can’t deny the way the fear dances atop her skin like little bolts of lightning. Displacing the panic with a desperate flush of rage—a desire for violence to be met with violence—in a less than chaste way.

The danger—it… excites her, it challenges her. To know why, and how, to learn the extent of what spared her life. To take more. It feels reckless; almost demanding of death. It feels belittling, and demeaning, and like everything every girl is ever taught not to do. Could Y/N really justify endangering her life for the perversity of something as insignificant as body-slumping sex? Could she ever look herself in the eye again?

…Did it matter?

It doesn’t seem to when Harry suddenly stretches his arms out above his head, cracking the bones from his strenuous period of sitting down, and pushes himself up from the creaking, groaning chair. It seems as though the decision is made for Y/N when she bolts to follow him without a second thought. Or she bolts in her mind—her body delivers a much more convincing performance of nonchalance—seemingly casual as she sifts through her clutch in a faux check of inventory.

And then, when Harry’s broad back faces her for long enough, weaving his way towards the steel door of the back entrance—that’s when Y/N jumps down from her stool, downs the entirety of her drink and relishes in the warmth that blossoms in her chest, and leaves the bar.

The heavy door screams on its hinges, slamming shut with a reverberating bang. Y/N peers left down the alleyway, dim light from a distant streetlamp casting shadows across gravel—

“Sneaky little thing.”

Y/N startles, whipping around to see her stranger (surprised but not understandably by logic) as he mutters, “No self-preservation.” Effortlessly cool, leaning against the exterior of the bar—rough brick undoubtedly frigid and scratchy. His jaw works incessantly, clearly nursing a flavour of gum that he can only just have popped into his mouth—and disgust gurgles in Y/N’s stomach at the sight of his demeanour—unsettling yet titillating, all the same.

“Y’following me?” he pushes forward off of the wall, height suddenly looming as his lip curls into a simper much less pleasant than that of the man she’d met last week. Though it fails to feel threatening, her mouth still runs dry, now faced with the opportunity to say… anything—to ask, demand, accuse to her heart’s content—but she… she can’t, too inundated by the possibilities as her brain splutters and jolts like an empty engine.

When Y/N doesn’t answer, Harry’s mouth crooks up, pulling back to reveal a deceptively pretty smile—before he purses his lips to blow a cool stream of breath directly into Y/N’s face. Her nose crinkles as the conspicuous scent of peppermint forces its way, no doubt into her brain—to associate peppermint with him for the rest of her life—may it be long or considerably shorter after tonight. “Minty fresh,” Harry smiles around a chew, impishly delighted by Y/N’s scowl. “Wha’s the matter? Don’t like peppermint?”

Sure—yes, sure, she likes peppermint but what level of absurdity— A humourless bark of a laugh fizzles between them, Y/N unable and unwilling to ignore the fatuity of the situation. Y/N could say so much, but it seems she chooses, “I prefer bubblegum,” clearing her throat to ignore the waver in her voice.

Harry nods earnestly—as though her taste in confectionery holds the same gravity as that of an embarrassing truth or a confession of crisis—jaw flexing on its hinges, “Mm, makes sense. Little—” his arm reaches out, finger uncurling to brush a knuckle against a loose strand of her hair, “bubblegum princess,” and Y/N wonders if he might be a little insane, body tight as the distance between them lessens. Distance that could only be described as valuable in such a situation, with such a person.

It strikes Y/N now, the difference in his temperament—gone is the charm of a man brimming with polite conversation to show his gratitude towards her—in his place stands the one who spewed filth inside the confines of her sedan. Shameless, smug, awash with a handful of complexes, she’s now sure.

Despite the blast of fresh air and biting peppermint encouraging sobriety, dregs of intoxication still prevalently linger in Y/N’s bloodstream. That boost of liquid courage she needs to say what she does, to be reminded of that vehement anger, and to ignore the pounding of her heart—the way it begs and pleads with her to go back inside—as her foot takes her a step forward. Her voice drops to a whisper as she tilts her head up, now intimately close, “Do you still think my eyes are pretty?”

And Harry laughs—the sound forced from his lungs as he fails to conceal amusement. “Christ, no shame…” he pauses, eyes darting back and forth between Y/N’s falsely confident ones, “‘f course I do, I meant everything I said... Everything.”

It’s those words that drive home the reality of the situation; a clear confession, a clear joy to remember—“I was going to kill you that night. Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down.”

Y/N’s tether to sanity unravels, hanging on by a mere thread as she throws her hands in front of her wildly. “I let you inside my fucking car!” The fury finally weaponised, despite the whiny defiance of her tone, that is only further fuelled by Harry’s wry smile, growing and growing. It sets something alight in Y/N; the defeating realisation of a true psychopath before her. Nothing she could say would allow sympathy to seep into his bones. 

Not that she demanded sympathy. What good would an apology do? An apology for what… scaring her? Disturbing her so deeply to her core that life felt bathed—drowned—in danger? The only real, tangible thing Harry had done to her was have sex with her and that— That was nothing to apologise for, no matter the embarrassment to admit as such.

So why… bother… Why bother to fight when he smells so inviting and the warmth of his body yearns to take the chill off of hers?

Harry dips down—peppermint again, mixed with the same pleasant cologne from the night he tainted her backseats, that had blotted itself in her memory unknowingly—eyes boring into her own. “You did more than that, pet,” an effort to get the words out without scoffing, “You let me fuck you inside your car. Begged me—”

She shoves demurely at his chest, coils of heat tightening at the memory, causing only the slightest of stumbles as Harry grips her hand to his chest and tugs her with him “—pleaded me—for it, in fact.” His breath fans across her face; close enough to still be warm and pebble her cheeks with goosebumps. Her lashes flutter innocuously—the perfect picture of doe-eyed and yet she has no intention behind it.

Y/N’s face is warm with the alcohol coursing underneath her skin and the tingling of Harry’s air dusted across it, that jacket of heat the only thing bracing her against the whipping breeze against her bare legs. Naturally, if it wasn’t for the existence of Harry, Y/N would feel perfectly content right now. Tipsy but not detrimentally so—surfing along the wave of intoxication with only an occasional plunge beneath the bracing waters. She feels good like this, most of the time. She feels confident, and sexy, and free of all of life’s burdens.

But now one of life’s more recent burdens is standing in front of her, simmering smile surely on the verge of snapping. Y/N wonders what she might do in order to make that happen—so be it, if that puts herself at risk. There's no such thing as risk when you’re a drink or two down. The anger feels subdued, the fear feels subdued—something in the back of her mind convincing Y/N of some faux sense of safety—however real or fake it may be.

“Didn’t you?” Harry nudges, sly fingertips catching her off guard as they tap sequentially against the curve of her waist, gently—subtly—manoeuvring Y/N’s body to rest against the harsh stone. She hardly realises she’s moving, too honed in on the whispering taunt of Harry’s voice.

Yes. She did.

But she doesn’t care to focus on that anymore—she doesn’t care to play the regretful part. Y/N has moved onto bigger and better things. She tilts her chin up, defiant in nature, as her tone takes on that of a snarky assertion, “How—how were you g’na do it? Tell me.” 

It doesn’t seem as though Harry needs a reminder; he knows what she’s referring to. He knows and he shows zero interest in humouring it—her perverse request. Tapping fingers trail their way up, up, up until they’re cradling her collarbones, vast palm spread out across her chest. 

He plays gentle, unknowing, as he shushes her, “It doesn’t matter…” he murmurs, hand slipping higher still until his long fingers can curl and wrap around her throat, the first indication of the whiskey having its desired effect clear when his eyelids flutter and syllables threaten to merge.

He doesn’t squeeze and it’s disturbingly unforeseen—the hold in which he keeps her in without pressure. But it’s not enough, and Y/N’s not satisfied with such an answer. No matter the desperation to surge forward and kiss him messily, or the eagerness to find out whether he’ll explore her mouth again or degrade her for his pleasure, Y/N doesn’t budge.

“Tell me,” she insists, voice teetering on the edge of too loud in the soulless alleyway. Her fist comes up in a weak thud against his chest, unable to display any other sort of physicality. “How were you gonna kill me, Harry—?” Her breath catches as he digs his fingers into the side of her throat—finally satisfied to see the edge of that smirk wiped off of his face. Piercing green holds her in place, sneer dominating her vision.

“Shut up—”

“When you were cumming inside me—?” 

“—Shut the fuck up.”

Y/N wheezes when he squeezes even harder, mouth dropping open in a masochistic smile—eyes half-lidded as the blood fights its way to her brain. The warmth of Harry’s palm against the column of her neck presses just as hard, taunting and tormenting her airways—daring her to breathe.

“What—did you—” a second of respite in which he loosens his grip, as Y/N inhales as much as her little lungs can take, “do to that—woman?”

He scoffs at her—almost annoyed that she would care enough to ask—that he even has to waste his energy thinking about it. “I didn’t fuck her if that’s what you’re worried about,” serrated ice in his tone, freezing over when he spits out, “sweetheart.” No attempt at denial, no reassurance of his innocence—just. I didn’t fuck her.

It comes barrelling out; the provocation, “Had to get your fix somewhere else, then,” Y/N accuses, swallowing underneath the weight of his hand. “Didn’t kill me so you had to hurt poor Ruby Wilcox, didn’t you?”

“—Don’t play detective, pet,” he expertly deflects, squeezing harder—disguising any sort of discomfort with the quirk of his lips, “it doesn’t suit you. Much preferred it when you were dumb around my fingers, barking f’me like a good girl. D’you remember that?”

Very well. Too well. Even still after learning the truth, Y/N had remembered it in great detail. “Why didn’t you kill me?” she whispers, numb now to the pads of his digits and the way they demand bruising against the delicate skin of her neck. Pointed indentations to aggravate with her own pressing fingers (assuming she lives long enough for them to form).

“Maybe I just wanted another taste,” Harry admits, eyes clear—surprisingly sincere despite the vulnerability of such a claim. “Maybe I wanted to hear about more of your bad dates—”

“—It wasn’t a date—”

“Maybe…” and Y/N starts to doubt that earnest expression, “maybe I got off on the idea of ruining something—of leaving this kind, sweet, generous girl… with something real to cry about.”

Something real? Something real?

“Why me?” She’s not kidding herself; there’s nothing special or unique that might have altered years and years of Harry’s personal psychology—but maybe, just maybe—Y/N might be given something to help her sleep a little better at night. A reason; valid or not, just something to roll around in the palm of her hands until she could make sense of it.

She’s granted no such thing.

“You stopped the car, Y/N,” he drawls in such a casual tone, sounding the same as the man who had told her his name, debated the importance of the rules of Uno, and breathed a sincere wish that she got home safe. “You let me in. I had nothing to do with it,” Harry promises. But it’s not a friendly promise, nor a reassuring one. It’s an assertion that leaves no room for interpretation, a cold, hard fact that can never be dissected. And unfortunately for Y/N, the fact of the matter remains that this is all her fault.

Cold fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, material scrunching between her digits. Harry tuts, “Hands off,” but Y/N only grips him tighter—knuckles tensing as she urges him closer towards her body by the baggy fabric. (When she’s sober she might berate herself for pushing him the wrong way.)

It’s discernible; Harry’s distaste—eyes sharpening as they slice into her own. He takes matters into his own hands, forcibly removing hers from his front and squeezing the delicate bones of her wrists as he presses them, less than gently, into the harsh bricks.

“Not so obedient today, are we?” Their hips dare to meet, twitches and nudges teasing the inevitable. Y/N can’t disguise the way she bucks a little, thin dress waiting to be bunched and moulded by bigger hands. She knows what he feels like—and it’s impossible not to yearn for it.

Her words are airy—breathless from no exertion—heartbeat drumming in her chest with anticipation. “I assumed you…liked a struggle.”

“I do,” Harry hums, a smile edging back onto his face, as he dips down enough for his breath to kiss her ear, “...but where’s my easy little stray gone?” he pouts, leaning back to tilt his head in a way that suggests simple curiosity. “Girl I met two weeks ago was already open wide f’me by now… Wanna show me your tongue again, pet?”

And it’s juvenile—but Y/N isn’t sober and neither is Harry—when she sticks it out in a way similar to that of a snotty toddler as opposed to the languid reveal she gave him in her car. She pokes it out and scrunches her nose, almost amusing herself in the process. In what is a ridiculous display of immaturity that far from pleases Harry.

He grunts, “Yeah, that’s funny,” patting the side of her face. Hard. Not a slap but something that makes her cheek tingle and her jaw loosen. Even more so when Harry’s fingers squeeze either side and manhandle her face left and right—moving her as he pleases and reveling in the dipping of her eyebrows and the rounding of her eyes. It’s pathetic, really, how quickly she can be reduced to insignificance with just a little pawing.

But he underestimates her ever so slightly. She’s not quite finished it seems, when—through the mush of her mouth—she gurgles, “Are y’gonna kill me this time?”

The amusement that dances so often in Harry’s eyes fizzles out once more. “Shut up, Y/N,” he shoves closer, the blushing tip of his nose daring to brush against her bridge. “Don’t make me say it again.”

She practically preens, rocking up onto the tips of her toes, forcing their chill-bitten skin to brush. “Or what? You’ll make me?” The question floats between them like a perilous snowflake, not for long enough before she jeers, “How you g’na do it? You’ll finally get to watch th—”

Harry’s had enough of her voice, surging forward, desperately capturing the end of Y/N’s exhalation and coalescing it with his own. It’s rough, and it’s dirty—his fingers still controlling every purse of Y/N’s lips—hips finally clashing in a grinding of bones. He lets go of her face, encompassing hands tugging through her hair as he holds the back of her head. The only gesture of comfort he grants her away from the wall; not for long before those same fingers roam and dishevel—nails pinching just on the side of too hard.

Every subconscious twitch of her own fingers has Harry alert—any attempt of Y/N’s made to touch him in exchange meets her swift return of each wrist pinned to either side of her head—knuckles brushing sharp bumps of brick. A small noise seeps out of her mouth and into his own, vibrating against his lips and reducing Harry to a deep, acknowledging sigh.

They’re uncoordinated; desperation dominating precision and finesse. Laboured exhalations blanket their cheeks, noses squished and lips swollen. Harry’s hands float back up to her face, pressing coolly against the sides, spanning the entirety as his thumbs bracket their mouths. He holds her like he wants to consume her—crawl inside her skin, swallow her down—tongue boldly stroking against her own in contrastingly lazy flicks. A dizzying enmeshment of fast and slow, hard and soft.

Y/N’s neck aches from the angle in which she’s forced to meet Harry’s mouth, strong palms nearly pulling her off of her toes as he cups her cheeks with almost too much chivalry, too much romance. It would be all too easy to forget his confession, encompassed in his warmth, his scent—too easy to pretend it didn’t matter.

She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, pulling back as they clamp and opening her eyes just enough to watch the flesh snap back into place. There’s no time to smile with sadistic glee before Y/N’s head is yanked back by the roots of her hair, slender fingers wrapped in tendrils and tugging. Hard. A gasp is ripped from the back of her throat, cold and sharp against her tonsils. And Harry gets to experience the twitch of his lips and the amusement of winning as Y/N’s back bends to accommodate the sudden stretch of her neck. 

He peers down at her parted lips, the slight tension in her brows from the strain, and her heavy arms that slowly droop down against the wall. Small clouds of mist pass between them—the cold air kissing their recycled breaths—soaking in the chill the longer they stay outdoors. The stray street light bounces off of one side of Harry's back, casting a glowing outline around his body as he blocks Y/N in against the wall. The irony of such an image. She shuffles her feet atop the gravel, aching from lack of movement—twitching when a thick thigh nudges its way between her own—soft sweatpants stroking her naked skin.

“Bite me again, sweetheart…” Harry taunts, voice scarily steady, “see what happens.”

A choked laugh escapes from Y/N’s chest, forced through her open mouth. A delightful invitation. She pushes as far up on her toes as she can manage, pulling against the force of Harry’s hand—reaching as far as his chin before she eases the tension. He smirks down at her, wandering fingers teasing the hem of her dress as his thigh warms between hers.

“Pity I don’t get to rip another pair of little tights,” he tuts, trailing a digit up the inside of her knee. “Trying to make the old men happy tonight, were we?” tugging at the material, tight against the tops of her thighs. “Hoping one of them might take you to the bathroom and let you call him Daddy.” He tuts again, “How sad.”

“Would you have?” she pouts, eyes bright with mirth. “Let me call you Daddy?”

“Would I have let you? Would I have given you permission? I don’t think so, pet.” He squishes her cheeks together again—demeaning, degrading—leaning back down to ghost his mouth across her puckered lips. “I don’t think you deserve to call me anything at all.”

Her lungs are tight; desperate for more than just a shallow inhale through her nose, borrowed from another. He’d slowly, ever so slowly, meshed their mouths together once more—stopping her from replying with anything other than a scalding kiss, tongues overlapping in an erotic embrace.

But Y/N finds herself impatient—and Y/N falls short in the realm of manners, greedy hands sneaking down when she gets the chance—palming at the thick outline through Harry’s sweatpants.

“Ah—ah, hands off,” he echoes, fingers tugging at her scalp again, forcibly expelling the breath from her lungs. “Ask nicely. I know you know better than that.”

“I do,” she pants, lips tingling with the imprint of Harry’s own. “I don’t think psychos…deserve nicely.” A dangerous blow. One he doesn’t take lightly—one that makes Y/N think she’s hit a nerve when he grits out his next command, jaw tight and eyes stormy.

“Turn around. You’re pissing me off,” not granting her the option to do so herself before his spanning hands are forcing her waist in a squirming prod until her front meets the wall. She wants to push back but Harry is consuming all the space behind her, chest expanding against her shoulder blades. The heat against her ass is dizzying, tunnelling all of her thoughts to places dissolute.

Harry spits his next words, anger palpable, “Fuckin’ brat,” pulling her against his crotch by the small of her waist. Y/N gasps, ears momentarily filled with nothing but white noise. “I let you go and the universe brought us back together, isn’t that something?” A pause; clearly waiting for her snarky response but he gets nothing. She’s too overtaken by the buzzing between her thighs. “I thought so,” he sighs, “but you’re being such a little bitch tonight.”

A pathetic whine crawls its way out of her downturned lips, wisping between them like a sad trail of smoke. Her head feels thick, like she wants to let it fall back and rest upon Harry’s shoulder. What was she annoyed about again? It feels futile. 

The harsh emphasis of ‘bitch’ echoes in her ears about five beats after he’s gritted it out. And it burns deep within her abdomen, a searing coalescence of shame and arousal. “...Not a bitch,” she mumbles, eyes fluttering closed as her hands brace against the wall—willing herself to stay upright; to focus on anything but the heavy bump against her backside. But it is futile, because the insult doesn’t land the way it’s supposed to—it doesn’t upset or offend—and that’s when it becomes clear to Harry that the wall is crumbling. That his charm remains absolute.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, voice lathering her skin like thick globules of honey, “still so easy,” lips kissing the shell of her ear as his breath seeps into her hair, coating and warming. “My little bitch, how about that? Do you like the sound of that?”

She wants to shake her head but it’s too heavy, clogged with the fog of Harry’s voice—every nerve tingling as he glides his palms over her hips and down… across her pelvis and curling around the edge of her dress, teasing it, bunching it up just enough to dance his digits over her mound. Y/N’s hips twitch in anticipation, giving away what her words don’t say.

“Y’want my fingers…” an electrifying brush over her clothed clit, “here?” She exhales a shaky breath, trying to push back into him—it’s the only thing she can do, with her fingernails threatening to dig into stone and her forehead sure to come away with its imprint. Her heartbeat throbs between her thighs and a swallowed whimper seeps out of her mouth. “Got to hear you say it, pet. Say you want me to play with your hot, little cunt.”

“Mhm,” is all Y/N can manage, hoping—praying—that for once it might be good enough.

It’s not.

“Mhm,” Harry echoes, the pressure on her clit disappearing and the bulge nudging against her ass harder. Y/N pushes back—Harry pushes forward. A cant of his hips and a teasing reveal of more and more of her skin, the skirt of her dress manipulated high enough to brush across the small of her back and reveal the breadth of her underwear; less salacious than the purple thong Harry had admired previously. A soft white cotton and frilly pink decorating the hem.

“These are sweet, pet,” he mumbles. But it doesn’t fill her chest with warmth; it fills her with trepidation—waiting for the other shoe to drop—for Harry to tear them or rip them, defile them or taint them. But he never does. He doesn’t do anything aside from stroke his thumb across the hem of her panties, up and along the seam. Y/N exhales, trying to sway her hips in order to sway him but it seems he needs no persuasion.

“I’m waiting,” he scorns—much to Y/N’s distaste. Because waiting is not a luxury that either of them can afford right now. Time… Privacy… Two valuable assets that are not provided by the dimly lit alleyways between dingy bars and the rest of the population. The steel door barely a metre beside Y/N could swing open at any point—revealing a disgruntled worker tired after a long shift—or an impatient pedestrian could decide to try their luck exploring a shortcut and happen upon their preoccupied bodies. And surely there must be a view from a window somewhere, anywhere.

So Y/N says what she knows he wants to hear. “Please,” a whisper—unpossessing of the desperation Harry often desires. But she’s not finished. “Please. Please play with my— my…” his fingers drag down across the gusset, prodding at her fluttering hole through the thin material that’s far from dry. A motivating caress that wobbles Y/N’s voice, “—M-my hot, little cunt.”

Shame bathes in her skin, cheeks blooming with an imprudent heat. But Harry laughs at her compliance, no matter how pathetic or meek. He thuds the width of his fingers over her clit suddenly, Y/N’s knees buckling with the unforeseen impact but Harry grips onto her waist, holding her against the warm wall of his body as his fingers push at her underwear. 

The wetness is embarrassing, thick and glossy through the cotton. Harry seems to take pride in it, spending too long nudging his fingers over the slick at her hole instead of focusing where they both know Y/N wants. And then a slip to the side, fingertips prodding at the flimsy hem—manoeuvring it over and out of the way, just enough for the shame to coat his skin.

They’re cold against the radiating heat from between her thighs, pulsing and rolling in waves throughout her insides. A jolt; a twitch, the width of Harry’s chest against her back.

“Hold them—fuck, you’re sopping—hold them f’me,” he instructs, Y/N’s shaking fingers obliging before they even know what for, slinking down the front of her body and shucking the gusset of her panties aside enough for Harry’s liking, “Y’always get this wet or is it just f’me?”

And Harry must know the answer—well acquainted with her pussy once before—asking the questions he knows will satisfy him most. “Jus’ you.” A pathetic admission—even more so when Y/N realises it’s not even a lie.

She’s never been more sure of something. Not by her own hand, not by another cock; never has she been so ruined. “No wonder everyone you fuck bores you.” 

Yeah… she had insinuated that—she’d yearned for it to hurt, for it to be interesting—inadvertently matching Harry’s sick sense of pleasure. Because here she was, wetting his fingers—the same fingers he’d taken so much away with—and yet they felt so good.

“You need a bit of danger, baby?” Harry cups over her tightly. “Yeah?”

“—Mhm—”

He smiles, leaning forward into the back of her hair. “Need to pick strange men off of the side of the road? Need to fuck them in alleyways?” His palm grinds along her clit in slow, torturous circles, the tips of his fingers daring to dip inside of her but never breaching. “You gonna let me fuck you, pet? Gonna squeeze that cunt over me again like a good—” he retracts slightly, heavy hand slapping over her pussy and rendering Y/N immobilised, “—fucking—girl?” Each smack jolts her body, knees buckling, crumpled mouth whimpering.

“Ye-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please,” her tone borders on watery, thick with overwhelming urgency—coaxing him to warm his fingers inside of her—pleading with her grabbing hand as it reaches behind her and palms at the front of his sweats. And he’s told her no once… twice before already… so it’s only fair that he slaps down on her again. Harder. Louder. The sound of Y/N’s cry echoing out, just teetering over the edge of too pitchy. He doesn’t bother to smother it.

He’s terse, words forced through the gaps of his teeth as he grits, “Stop fucking touching me. Just…” he sighs, warm breath tickling the shell of her ear, “Jus’ be a… good… little hole, yeah?”

Yeah. Yeah. She can do that, she can— “Okay,” the breath trails out of her lips, wispy and frail, body tightening up when she feels… feels his middle finger circling the outside of her cunt—silently pleading for his touch—“O-okay,” she mewls again, dumbstruck as he pushes in—up to the first knuckle, and then the second, and the third.

“There you go,” it’s gentle, almost nurturing; far too soft for the stolen secrecy of an alleyway. Y/N keens, knuckles tightening around the gusset she’s still holding onto for dear life—empty hand flying down to cover Harry’s own. Delicacy coalescing with rigidity. She begs for his finger to sink deeper, to curl and to soothe—to be cajoled by another—to carve its path inside of her.

Harry wiggles it tauntingly, chest puffing out with a frustrated exhalation. “Give me your hand—come on—” he’s rough as he twists it behind her back, away from his skin and exposed to the cold air, “keep it there, stop—bothering me.” She’s not even rewarded with his bruising grasp around her wrist, just the aching chore of correcting each slip down her back as her arm tires.

His ring finger squeezes beside his middle, tip teasing Y/N’s achy hole, soft pads pressing into the spongy front of her walls. He scissors his fingers inside of her slowly, rubbing with virility as the backs of his index and pinky slap into the plush flesh either side of her wet cunt. And then he gets faster, grunting senselessly through every twitch and clench of her pussy. He finds that spot—and then he abuses it—Y/N unable to support her own weight when her knees start buckling and her tired bicep suffers behind her back.

“Can’t handle it, pet?” the cadence of his tone matches each punch of his fingers inside of her—the pit in Y/N’s stomach edged and taunted with every curl against her gummy walls. “S’it too good? Got you shaking all over th’place with just m’fingers.”

She thinks she garbles something unintelligent but it’s impossible to be sure when all the blood is rushing between her legs.

Harry murmurs, lips catching the shell of her ear, “I think you’re a little slut, baby,” biting down on her lobe with contrasting care. “Letting me ruin you in a dirty alleyway… Outside where anyone could see you—see your drippy pussy soaking m’hand.”

“Yes,” a sigh slips—agreeing to nothing in particular—an expression of pleasure, a plea for more.

A dark laugh stretches taut between them, powerful as his fingers speed up, palm slapping against her clit with each thrust. It vibrates and buzzes, twitches and pulsates. “You’re g’na cum for me, pet. Right now.”

It’s a simple demand. One that manhandles Y/N to the very edge—it dangles her over as the drop below taunts her. It beckons her like a siren call. Harry nudges her spot again, and again, and again—coaxing it, consoling it. Every curl of his fingers, every thud of his palm. It fills her up, breath catching, head falling back on her neck. And then she falls, plummets, cascades down—jaw dropped in a silent cry as her cunt convulses seismically around Harry’s fingers—clamping near violently. He rubs her through it, stroking her walls in heavy thrusts as he slows and forces her to feel it all.

“There you go, good girl. Filthy girl.” His hand glistens with her slick, pulling strings away with it. Y/N mourns his fingers, his warmth when he pulls away. Her hole flutters and her body suddenly feels cold—isolated and alone.

He exhales, “Fuck—put your hands on the wall, bend over a bit—that’s it,” crouching down, perverse in the way he inspects the glistening between her thighs. At least, that’s what Y/N assumes he’s doing as he nestles in closer to her cunt, close enough for his breaths to wash over her shaking form. 

One heavy forearm pins the skirt of her dress over the rounds of her arse, his free hand coming up to spread her open with the precision of a man who has much more time than either of them currently do. Y/N doesn’t see the way her slick creates ribbons between his fingers after he nudges at her opening and pulls away to scrutinise them. She doesn’t see the way his throat bobs as he tucks his digits past his blushing lips and laves his tongue around them salaciously. She only hears the muffled hum, and the harsh breath leave his nose as the man beneath her drools around himself.

“Sweet little thing,” he pants, voice gruff—gravelly—when he finally brings his fingers back to her centre. He pets at her, thudding the thick of them against her quivering cunt unnecessarily; from a want to render her even less stable on her aching legs. “Absolutely drenched f’me, aren’t you. Does that scare you, sweetheart?”

A whimper climbs out from Y/N’s throat, delayed in her response. Answering of the wrong question—the one she would lie about if she were sober. She needs more—she needs something more… something all-consuming. 

“Fuck—fuck me—now,” she pleads, hips pushing back as her neck cranes to catch a glimpse of the man below her.

He rises to his full height. “That’s not how you ask.”

“Please. Or I’ll… I’ll—”

“You’ll what, pet?”

“—I’ll tell everyone…” she whines, trailing off when her words reach no conclusion.

“Yeah? You’ll tell everyone. You’ll go to the police?” She’s nodding mindlessly, head weighing her down. “And what will you say?” tone turning petulant and shrieky, “‘I let him defile me, officer. I let him stretch me out on his big cock, officer. I let him do whatever he wanted, officer—’”

“Please,” her voice is thick, full with a sob—and a wave of panic washes over her at the possibility of not having him at all. 

“Don’t know if you deserve it now,” drumming his fingers across the small of her back. “Threatening me, huh? Silly girl.”

No reasoning comes to mind—nothing smart or clever to wield as a rebuttal. Just a slew of pathetic sounds; only possibly attractive to someone yearning for power—someone like Harry. Her body answers for her, still desperately twitching and searching for his own and being rewarded with nothing. He stays stoic, mild palm smoothing along the expanses of her chill-bitten backside.

“Tell you what…” he starts, a sly smile morphing the sound of his voice. “You be quiet f’me, yeah? You be quiet and I’ll give you what you want. Don’t w’na hear a single fucking thing else from this bratty, little mouth, you understand?”

A trick—an attempt for her to slip up before they’ve even begun. She nods frantically, teeth clamped together, lips equally as shut. She’s ready to offer more than is wise, for him to fuck her—ready to give herself up completely just so he’ll quell that ache. The nerves of their exposition are really starting to buzz along the surface of her skin.

“There you go, not so hard, is it?” She shakes her head no, enthralled by the soft sound of skin rubbing against thick cotton, fingers slipping underneath elasticated waistbands. “Good,” Harry murmurs, so quiet that Y/N wouldn’t have heard it if it weren’t for her heightened senses. And then again, even softer, swallowed around a gruff exhale that she can only assume is in response to curling his fingers around himself. “Good girl.”

She feels him tug at the gusset of her panties—haphazardly skewed across her centre, unable to conform without the curl of Y/N’s prying joints keeping them astray. Harry stretches the stitches easily, forcing the fabric to adhere to his perversion, as his thumb strokes the skin adjacent to where she would really feel it.

The corner of a condom wrapper flutters to the floor out of Y/N’s periphery, landing by her achy feet, as the image of Harry tearing it with his teeth flashes behind her eyelids. He rolls it on silently—and for a moment she wishes she could see—picture the length, the girth that had scripted her deepest desires so dominantly.

He smooths his hand up, underneath her dress, shuffling in closer behind her as he nudges the head of his cock against her slick cunt. Y/N’s jaw drops open in a silent whimper—catching the noise, suffocating it in her throat before it ripples out around them. Sweat gathers in the palms of her hands, irritated against the rough brick wall when they’d much rather be buried in his hair. Her forehead dips down, willing Harry to do something… anything.

He strokes up and down her clit, smiling at every overstimulated twitch, dipping down to smear arousal. He teases her, letting the thick of his tip stretch her entrance before he pulls back. Once, twice, three times… And then he sinks in, fingertips creating divots in her hips, holding harder with each inch that he carves out inside of her. When his pelvis cushions against her ass, he sighs—a long exhale of breath��followed by a rumbling from within his chest, “Perfect little pussy.”

Y/N can’t help the little whimper that falls from her lips, brows scrunched, dipping towards the centre of her face. Either Harry has a change of heart or he doesn’t hear her—too enraptured in the feeling of every vein and ridge perfectly filling the space surrounding him; as though created just for him, his cock.

He doesn’t move, perfectly still—embedded deep inside of her convulsing pussy—feeling her out. Mentally (though physically too). Waiting and waiting, regarding her presence with a slight jerk of his hips that already press demandingly into her backside. Waiting for those words to fall off of the tip of her tongue, with a protesting or begging cadence, and redirect his little game. A game Harry doesn’t even know the rules to—the only importance serving in his right to manhandle Y/N every which way; however he may please. A single plea, or a frustrated curse… that’s all he needs.

But she holds on. She stays silent and her hands stay slipping down the bricks. Enough so to have the opposite effect; to rile Harry up, to have his digits curl tighter into her skin and pull out all the way—feel her clench around him in an effort to keep him inside—and then rock back into her. Harder. The thud of their flesh meeting rippling out around them. 

Y/N doesn’t think that’s very fair; physically forcing the sounds from her larynx—punching the air from her lungs in such a way that makes it impossible for her silence to remain. She cries out, quiet enough to suggest a desire for modesty but loud enough for Harry’s lips to curl up nefariously.

“What did I say?” His hand clamps around her mouth, fingers brushing her eyelashes if he stretches them out far enough. The grip forces Y/N’s neck to stretch, trembling body elongating as Harry straightens her out and melds her into the wall. Her forearms squish into her biceps and her chest flattens indelicately. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was trying to cast her into the bricks, grout and all.

His hips snap back into her.

“Fuck,” Harry moans wantonly—exaggerated as he amuses himself with the pleasure of her newfound silence—“that’s sexy,” teeth grazing her ear. “So much hotter with your mouth shut, you know that?” She opens it just to spite him, tongue laving over his palm. His hips slap harder against her in return, eager to manoeuvre and curl his digits along the flesh of her tongue—eliciting a harsh gag from her unprepared throat. 

It perturbs him none when she presses her teeth into his skin, clamping gently at first but losing the capacity to be anything when Harry slinks his other hand around her neck. The blood fights for its strength, struggling and forcing its way through to her brain as the periphery of Y/N’s vision darkens. There’s nothing scary about it—and if they weren’t outside she might feel a semblance of peace.

“You prefer it like this, don’t you?” Harry gruffs against the side of her face, lashes threatening to kiss over her temple. “Jus’ w’na be treated like a silly—little—slut.” His thrusts punctuate each word, short cries forcing their way between his fingers. Drool gathers in the well of his palm, shameful rivulets smearing against Y/N’s chin.

“Don’t you?”

“Mhm—Mhmn—” she garbles something thick, tongue heavy in her mouth—battling against the extra weight of Harry’s intrusive digits. She swallows around them. 

He’s everywhere—soft clothes baggy on him and swamping her frame as he swallows her up—sure that if someone were to simply glance down their alleyway she would not be seen. Heat plagues her, rolling out of her pores in thick, murky waves—the kind of heat she suddenly fears she will always be cold without. The presence against her back, the stoicity of his figure. 

Her noises topple out.

Sad, desperate, pathetic little whines—snappy with the way Harry pummels into her. No one would have to ponder for long to dissect the cause of such sounds. Flesh smacking, fabric chafing, laboured breathing.

“Yeah. Yeah. I know,” fingers tighten around her throat. “Shrieky thing, you are. Can’t stay quiet to save your life.”

The insinuation is not lost on her, no matter the delirium that she’s submerged under. And Harry relishes in it; of course he does.

He slurs, “Would you die happy? Right now? Right now, baby?”

And Y/N knows she’s deeply flawed when his words scratch a spot. When she doesn’t recoil in disgust, attempt to pull away and run—but instead melts even further into his grasp. Nodding in jerky nudges of her head. She’s not giving him permission to stop the beating of her heart but she supposes it doesn’t matter either way. 

Harry rips his hand from her mouth, trailing saliva down the front of her dress, squeezing his thick forearm between her abdomen and the wall as he searches cruelly to overstimulate her. She’s been so easy thus far, soft and pliable no matter Harry’s propensity for writhing. But when he skims over her clit, that…—that’s when she starts to struggle. To will her body away from the torturous pads of his fingers.

This only encourages her tormentor, deft digits pulling up the hood, allowing no room to hide as he applies direct pressure and tightens the barrier of his arm as her body spasms out of control. A sob rips from Y/N’s chest, loud enough to be deemed inappropriate—and no matter how much pleasure he might find in those sounds, she’s teetering on the brink of becoming dangerous. The grasp around her neck loosens, fingers slipping up to push past her lips again; the only effective method of muffling her at all. 

Y/N keens with the weight in her mouth, relishes in the way her lips have to wrap around his big, masculine fingers. “Fucking tight, pet,” Harry grunts, ministrations messy and uncoordinated as he rubs over her clit, bumping into his shaft with every thrust. And she is—clamping down so hard her muscles yearn to loosen. They yearn to melt into a softness, into a safety, into a slumber. But her brain is running away, and Harry’s not slowing down, the tip of his cock abusing the spot he already petted at so perfectly with his fingers. 

And he knows she’s nearly there, smiles into the crook of her neck and lets his teeth bite into her flesh for just a second.

But just as her orgasm starts to topple over the edge, he stops. He leans back, pulling her hips so her bum juts out and her back arches again.

“Come on, I’m tired, baby,” he teases, a slither of playfulness lost to the tightness in his voice, hips dragging to a still. “Long day of slaughtering.” Y/N is too far gone to find the joke inappropriate. To even register anymore that this whole affair is inappropriate. “Work for it a little,” Harry leans back, eyeing up the place in which they meet, shining in the glow of the streetlight. She’s still for too long, trying to process where his movements have gone—confused pants turning the ends of Harry’s lips.

“S’feel good?” Hands aid hips slightly—just enough to gain momentum, as Y/N fails to question why she’s suddenly the one fucking him—only chasing the return of the blissful prodding of her insides. Harry’s eyes are glued to her pussy, stretched deliciously around the thick of his cock, dragging back and forth with each nudge of her over him. The soft of her ass meets his pelvis and he delivers a squeeze in return, fingers destined to leave their presence known as he manhandles the flesh. Pulling and indenting, the other hand hanging heavily by his side as his gaze trails over Y/N’s bending body.

He deigns to let the saliva in his mouth pool in the hollow of his tongue, lips pursing as a line of drool drips down onto her puckered hole—the sudden sensation making Y/N convulse around him—twitch and gasp, stutter her hips and still for a moment. Harry thumbs over her carelessly, moving his thumb down to the stretch of her cunt around his prick; an unnecessary wetness. Somewhat possessed by the image below him, removed of all purpose except this one.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

Y/N shakes her head, a squeak ripped from her throat when Harry’s palm comes down on her ass, the sound reverberating through the silence of the alleyway. “N-no,” she cries. No, he didn’t. He never told her to stop.

“So keep fucking moving, sweetheart.” She nods mindlessly, head shaking up and down as her hips pick back up—thighs burning quicker with the exertion of it all. Her forehead scrapes against the wall, eyes squeezing shut with concentration as she focuses on the in and out, back and forth—every stretch against her walls dizzying—every nudge inside of her rendering more and more of her body to jelly.

She wants that feeling back; the one where she’s constantly on the verge of cumming. But there’s too much to focus on—her hands digging into the bricks, her thighs shaking, her clit untouched and overstimulated at the same time.

“I don’t have all fucking day—” Y/N would scoff if she could but the frustration spikes, “—come on. Fuck’s sake—”

Harry loses his patience, pulling out completely in a jarring sequence of motion, leaving Y/N panting—struggling to stay afloat if she were treading water. He physically turns her around and hoists her up as though she is made of nothing—slinging her thighs around the bumps of his hips.

And this is the first time she’s seen his face in… a while. The first time since he’d started dismantling her with his fingers, his cock. Y/N’s heart jumps, the stoicity in which he displays; unsettling and erotic simultaneously. She lifts her heavy hands, moving with the weight of a thousand tonnes, but Harry is quick to catch them. He yanks them overhead, grazing the stone, incarcerated within the circumference of his hand.

It hurts. The wall scratches up the delicate skin of her back, through the flimsy material of her dress. It hurts but it’s grounding—Y/N only thinks about the way her flesh will serve as a reminder of Harry, of this bar, and of this alleyway.

“Gonna make me do everything myself, hm?” gripping around his shaft, painting it across her slit with a harshness that makes Y/N shudder. He’s disrespectful, sliding in indelicately, rough palm yanking down the front of her chest to smooth over her neglected tits, squeezing and moulding between his fingers.

Y/N’s already there, she’s sure. The pit at the bottom of her stomach tightening, her eyes clenching shut, head falling back unceremoniously despite the view she has below her. Harry’s grunting, low, gravelly sounds that enmesh with her own whimpery exhalations.

“Fucking look at me—look at me,” pinching digits squish her cheeks together. A smirk tugs at the corners of Harry’s mouth, tongue darting out to wet his lips when Y/N stares at them. “Let me see that pretty, slutty face.” Her brows quirk when he rocks in particularly deep, eyes flitting around—unsure of what to look at first. Harry’s own face is flushed; perhaps the only indicator he can even feel her at all. That and the size of his pupils—the shortness of his breaths as they wash across her face.

She holds his gaze, mouth ajar with soundless cries.

“You’ll always be my filthy—plaything,” pressing in so close their noses touch. “Even after I’m… long gone—and… you’ve got some other man’s cock inside you,” his breathing shallows, “you’ll always have been mine.” Y/N doesn’t doubt him, she doesn’t even try. Not when he punctuates every word with a thrust so deep it lingers and blossoms inside of her, spreading through each limb and tingling in her fingertips.

Harry’s hand manhandles her face from side to side, grip immovable.

“When you go running back to—Cody… and he can’t fuck you properly… and all you’ll wish for is me—but you’ll hate yourself for it, won’t you, pet?” He pouts, eyes rounding out in a faux sense of sympathy. “For wanting a cold-blooded killer to make you feel good.” 

He hammers the final nail into the coffin, lips brushing her own in a sadistic contradiction, voice only a whisper when he says, “You’ll never feel this good again.” 

Y/N sobs audibly this time, cunt clenching from his words alone. She thinks he could talk her over the finish line entirely. The promise is dreadful, and it weighs heavy despite how perfectly it nuzzles against her sweet spot. But then he drops her cheeks and snakes those same fingers down, circling easily over her swollen clit. She convulses, weak wrists tugging against the constraints of his hand.

Harry’s close, desperate now to reach his peak. He sinks his teeth into her bottom lip. “Go on. Cum. Cum on your stranger’s cock.”

It’s a wonder Y/N doesn’t crumple to the floor as she cums—but somehow her thighs stay gripped around Harry’s hips. If anything they tighten, squeezing up to his waist, yearning to crush him between her as he pushes her over the edge again and joins her himself as he releases rope after rope into the condom, hips rocking all the way through. He’s moaning a slew of real pretty noises, and Y/N can’t help but pulse at every single one—orgasm begging to last forever—forcing her eyes open no matter the struggle, so that she can really see what he looks like.

It’s devastating—when he smiles. Pleasure written all over his face as his thrusts slow down, cock still dragging through her but no longer with a purpose. And Y/N finds it disorienting; the happiness in which she could be convinced he is feeling. As if it were all a joke—some twisted roleplay—that they were simply playing a fun, little sex game, of all things.

He pats her hip when he slides out, too gentle for Y/N’s post-orgasmic haze. She’s tired now. Too tired to be out at a bar, alone. 

Harry encourages her legs from around his waist. “That’s it, down you get, good girl.” Her legs wobble as her feet meet the ground, the centre of her thighs vibrating and pulsating. She only somewhat sees him tying the condom and tucking it back into the wrapper.

“Do you need some help getting home?” Y/N feels like crying. Of course she does. But not from him, never from him—that would be even sillier than letting him fuck her. And then fuck her again.

“N-no,” her voice dry and scratchy.

He’s not convinced but he doesn’t ask again. He simply crouches down and searches for the hem of her underwear under her dress. Y/N thinks he might fix the gusset back over the mess of her pussy but he doesn’t. No, he wiggles them down her thighs and lifts up each shaky leg to retrieve the fabric and twirl it around a slender finger.

“Let me have these, yeah, pet? A little trophy, hm?” Something screams from within Y/N to be scared. But she’s tired now. “It’s only fair… don’t y’think?—if I can’t have what I truly want.” She wishes to wonder why he can’t, but the thought doesn’t form fully. Perhaps he’ll kill her now, after all. She’s fulfilled her brief, performed her duties.

But he’s already taking a few steps back; a distance that feels gargantuan in her current state. She blinks, and then blinks again, mindless fingers fixing clothes and brushing hair from her face. The cold suddenly hits her like a freight train, bare legs littered in goosebumps.

Harry sighs, like he’s considering something in his head before shucking his hoodie from his body and letting it hang between them. An offer. “Keep it warm f’me,” he murmurs, eyes insistent. She takes it with a shaky hand, and hurries to drown herself in his second-hand heat. 

He’s already beginning to walk away by the time her head emerges from the fabric, eyes flitting in a panic as they focus back on his shrinking frame. Y/N is offered one final glimpse when he angles his head back to see her, a small smile upturning his mouth. His words fill no hole, quell no worries, heal no wounds. They add insult to injury, smirk morphing his tone.

“Why don’t you… go back inside, yeah? Have another drink for me.”

Y/N’s feet feel stuck—glued to the gravel, too scared to take her eyes off of him for even a moment. But he nods his head towards the door, silently repeating his assertion. “Go on.”

Slowly, she heads back into the bar, the heavy door squealing on its rusty hinges. She sits back down on her previously claimed stool.

She waits. 

The stranger never follows her inside. Y/N never notes his silhouette in her peripherals on the other end of the bar, yellow-polished fingertips stroking over a rocks glass as the two pretend not to know one another.

He never comes in and… maybe it’s for the better. 

Y/N never sees him again.

[coryosbaby]

—ᴇʟᴇᴠᴀᴛᴏʀ.

Dark! Mike Shmidt x fem! family friend! Reader

♡ Content warning . mentions of a custody battle, enemies to lovers with no real explanation, stuck in an elevator trope — hard dom! Mike, oral (m recieving), pnv, doggy, , degradation, rough hate sex, creampie, breeding

“…And that is why, Mr… Shmidt. That is why, as of right now, we are placing Abby in this young lady’s care.”

Mike’s jaw clenches as he watches his own personal hell unfold before him. He watches you sign the custody form for Abby, watches the pink fur hat on top of your head and your dumb revealing sweater and your short skirt and wonders why in the hell the court would ever choose a slut like you over him to care for a child. You have a good job and experience in childcare, sure, but Mike knows you. You don’t know your right from your left (literally). What makes anyone think that you can take care of his little sister?

He clenches his fists at his sides. You have a smug look on your face, as if you’ve won the Cold War. You have a tendency to challenge Mike, but he never thought you’d take it this far. Keeping family out of your quarrels was always an unspoken agreement. Mike clears his throat, shoving down the anger blooming in his chest.

“Understood.” He mutters. “I’ll bring some of her stuff over as soon as possible.”

Smiling, you get up from your seat (one you had asked for after the first one was too hard, or some dumb shit).

“Great! I’m glad we have the matter settled.” And then, with an amused, despicable glint in your eye, “No hard feelings, Mikey.”

Mikey. A name he hasn’t heard from your lips in such a long, long time. He’s so close to doing the same thing that he did to that guy in the fountain to you. Never in his life has he ever been so provoked to hit someone. But he holds back, let’s out a breath of air, and says nothing. The lawyers around the both of you pack up, sensing the tension but not wanting to deal with it. You gather up your purse and pull out a tube of lipstick, reapplying it onto your lips through a compact mirror. Shutting it, you see that Mike is the only one in the room.

“Walk with me?” You ask, and Mike’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“What?”

“This whole building is filled with only men,” you infer, frowning. “I don’t like it. You’re the only one I trust.”

His eyes, enraged, look at you as he clenches his jaw.

“I wouldn’t.”

Rolling your eyes, you begin to walk out of the room. Mike trails behind you, ignoring the swaying of your curves as you open the glass door. He catches up to you in an instant, as you head for the elevator.

“This is low, you know. Even for you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. This isn’t about me and you, Mike. It’s about Abby.”

He scoffs, as you both approach the big metal elevator at the end of the hallway. “Yeah, right. Because you’ve always had such a desire to be a mother.”

Turning to him as you press the down button in front of the elevator, your gaze is harsh.

“You don’t know me, Mike.”

Mike smiles, not a hint of amusement on his face.

“I know enough.”

And turning towards the elevator, he steps in. You follow him afterwards, rolling your eyes as the door slides shut.

After a few seconds, however, a groaning sound escapes from the confines of the small box. Eyebrows furrowing, your heart beginning to pound, you watch with horror as the emergency light flashes on the elevator wall. The contraption stops completely, and now you’ve come to terms with your worst nightmare.

Your stuck in this fucking elevator.

And as if God is punishing you, he also decides to stick you in this enclosed space with Mike fucking Schmidt.

You want to die.

Anxiety begins to plague you; not necessarily from being alone with Mike. More so of being stuck in a small room such as this. The claustrophobia is really not helping you right now.

“What the fuck?” Mike curses loudly. “Why the hell isn’t it working?”

“How the fuck should I know?” You snap, putting your head in your hands. You lean back against the nearest wall and slide down against it. Your bottom lip wobbles, your foot tapping anxiously, but you refuse to cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

Mike looks closely at you, his mouth forming into a frown.

“Are you crying?”

You quickly shake your head, embarrassment dripping off of you in waves as you conceal yourself. After a moment, you can hear the sound of Mike pulling out his cell phone. He researches the name of the building and types in their number.

“Hey,” he says to the person on the other line. “Yeah, we’re trapped in one of your elevators, man. It just stopped. I don’t know—“

He pauses, listening to the other person reply.

“Oh. Is there anyway that you can get it fixed… quicker? … of course, of course. I understand. Thank you.”

Hanging up the call, he groans, and slides down to the floor across from you.

“They said it’s done this before and it’ll be an hour before they can get it up and running again.”

A few stray tears fall from your face, and you sniffle. “Okay.”

Mike sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“Stop.” He mutters. “Stop crying. It’s pathetic.”

Your face crinkles up in anger and you wipe your eyes with your hands.

“Fuck you.”

Mike scoffs, turning his head to the side with a smirk on his face.

“Again?”

You growl, angrily typing on your phone on twitter as a way to ignore him.

Mike watches you with contempt. His eyes trail over your legs, thick thighs wrapped up in fishnet stockings. You’ve changed your hair color since you last saw him.

“Your hair looks nice,” he states, and you’re confused as to why he’s being nice for a moment. Until his mouth is dripping with malice and he says, “Abby likes that color.”

You scoff, flicking your acrylics as you attempt to wipe off the mascara that had run down your face.

“Whatever.” You say snarkily, and Mike’s head snaps towards you, his jaw clenching once again.

“Why are you such a bitch?” He seethes, as if he hasn’t been a complete dickhead for the past ten minutes. You shrug, slipping your coat off your shoulders. It’s become unbearably hot in here.

“Why are you so stupid?” You reply, then smirk. “Your iq must be as low as your height.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Mike growls, throwing his phone down next to him. “You’re so petty. You insult people like a child.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so full of it I wouldn’t have to.”

Mike’s fists clench at his sides, but he says nothing. But of course, you can’t keep your mouth shut.

“How have you been sleeping, by the way? Are you still…” You motion your hands as if you’re popping a pill into your mouth.

Mike’s jaw clenches tightly as he glares at you.

“That’s none of your business.”

“It kind of is, actually,” you press. “A pillhead taking care of a child is definitely a scandal.”

He doesn’t say anything. His fingers tap against the metal floor of the elevator.

“Don’t worry, though.” Smiling, you tilt your head. “Even if you hate me, Abby is going to be so much happier with me then she is with you.”

And with a head that whips around faster than lightening, Mike snaps.

He pushes himself up to his feet and gets down on his knees in front of you to grab your throat with his strong hand. Shaking you, gripping the sides of your neck like he intends to kill, he sneers.

“Say one more thing about it, you fucking slut. I dare you.”

You should be scared. But you’ve always loved a challenge, and right now seems to be a big one. You just smirk at him and peer through hooded lashes.

“Or what?” You mumble out. It’s hard to talk, or even breathe, but it doesn’t matter. Because as fucked up as it is, this is lowkey turning you on— but you aren’t going to admit that.

Leaning in closer to you so he can pierce through your eyes with his burning gaze, Mike chuckles dryly. A dangerous glint flashes through his eyes.

“Or I’ll fucking kill you.”

Something clenches in your stomach, and you can’t tell if it’s fear or arousal. Your vision is starting to blur, and with teary eyes you shake your head against his grip. He looks down to your chest before finally releasing you of his grasp. Your doe eyes look up at him with something Mike can’t quite place as you gasp for air and your nimble fingers begin to massage your throat.

And something switches in him, as he looks down at you. Watching you sit on the floor with your skirt riding up, your makeup all messy and smeared, your tits hanging out. He wants to make you hurt.

“Get on your knees.”

It’s less of a suggestion and more of a demand, and you’re taken aback.

“What?” You say, exasperated.

“Did I fucking stutter?” He reaches down, hands wrapping around your hair as he yanks you towards his handsome face. “Get. On. Your. Knees.”

Gulping, you look at the now prominent tent in his jeans, and back up to him. You move up onto your knees, just like he asked. He begins unbuckling his belt. Soon he slides it out of the belt loops and wraps it around your throat. You squeak when he ties the leather around your neck, and Mike gives it a tug as a way to check the sustainability. It doesn’t budge.

“Just like you need,” he grunts, letting go of the leather and beginning to unbutton his fly. “A leash. Some fucking discipline, for once.”

Watching with your mouth agape, Mike unzips his fly and reveals his underwear.

“Mike—“ you start, but he shuts you up when he hooks his thumbs around the waist of his briefs.

“Shut up.” He snaps. He pulls the fabric down, his thick cock slapping against his lower stomach. Everything is happening so quickly and it has your head spinning. He grabs the leather around your neck and tugs, practically shoving your face against his cock. His precum smears on your cheek and your pussy clenches.

“Suck it.” He says harshly. Your mouth, still open in an O, catches on Mike’s aching tip and he lets out a low hiss. He harshly presses his cockhead deeper into your mouth, grinding his hips as a way to push himself further into you. “I said suck it, bitch.”

You cry against him, but all the while your wetness is beginning to seep down your thighs. Your tongue lolls out against your own will, tasting a sliver of the cock you used to know so well.

“Fuck,” Mike grunts. His tip hits the back of your throat and you gag loudly. “Missed this slut mouth…”

His fingers wrap around the belt again, and he pulls forward. Your throat is already starting to feel sore from his harsh fucking. Your hands land on his thick hairy thighs, gripping the skin as you try your best to take him.

Even when you hate him, you can’t help but do your best to please.

“Always running that fuckin’ mouth,” Mike rants. “Always needing something to shut it the fuck up.”

You mewl around his cock, working your lips up and down against his awaiting thrusts. Tears fall freely down your cheeks, your neck and face incredibly hot. His heavy sack slaps against your chin with each hit. When you make a small, pained sound around him, the pressure on your throat causing a lot of pain, Mike just chuckles.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?”

Your head is fuzzy, your mind already fucked out. And like god answers your prayers, Mike finally, finally pulls you off of his length. You fall to the floor with a heaving cough as you try to gain oxygen back to your lungs. He grabs your limp body and flips you onto your stomach, his large hands taking hold of your thighs and pulling you up so your ass is in the air. He flips your skirt up, exposing you to the small space of the elevator and snapping the waistband of your panties against your skin.

“Such a little cocktease,” mike rants, his thumb rubbing over one of your asscheeks. “Always tryna’ rile me up. Aching for my attention.”

You whimper when he pulls down your lace underwear in one go, not even bothering to fully take it off and instead keeping it wrapped around your knees. He spreads your asscheeks in his hands, watching your asshole clench and your pussy drip with need.

“Been real quiet since I fucked your throat,” he continues, and you hear rusting behind you. “Guess I finally figured out a way to shut you up.”

And when his pants are down to his thighs and his bare cock presses against your entrance, you drool onto the dirty floor below you. Mike’s cock stretches your tight walls ruthlessly, and he doesn’t hesitate to push fast into you so he can fuck you sooner. His big hand splays across the back of your head and pushes you down onto the floor tiles, your cheek cold from the material touching your skin. His grip is mean, cold, and he begins to pound you with no remorse, no mercy, no sympathy. You cry as his hips slap against your backside, mutters of “Mikey, please, Mikey,” spilling from your cockdrunk lips. His hands wrap around his belt, the one around your neck, and he pulls it taut against your throat. You choke, gasping for breath, and your vision blurs. His breath is hot against your ear as he utters out another set of words.

“Such a good little fuckhole…I missed it, shit.”

Your hand wraps around the belt to loosen his hold. He lets up, but his thrusts do not. Your knees ache and will probably bruise later, but’s it’s worth it. You can feel he’s close by the way he keeps slurring his filthy words, the way his thrusts begin to stutter. Your eyes widen as his cum shoots deep into your womb, filling you up and spilling over the rim of your pussy. He collapses against you, and you yourself have already collapsed against the floor with your body arching at an almost impossible angle. Mike slips out of you, watching the way his cum drips down your thighs, and lets out a chuckle.

“Guess you’ll have another kid to take care of now.”

notes: this is absolutely terrible, take it as u will

[evanpeterspeter]

My Dearest

wc: 1k

Tw: mentions serial killers, blood, violence, and so on.

An: sorry its so short, life has been a little stinky recently. Hope you enjoy

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'Twas a dreary day, usually you would sit back in a silk robe, a glass of the finest red wine and a good book. You weren't yet dead, James had other plans to kill you, but not now. He wants to preserve you till the moment was right. The day was dreadful, not just from the elements of the outside world, but today was the start of your period. You've always encountered the worst symptoms a woman could ever experience. I guess one could say that you had woken up on the wrong side of the expensive silk sheeted bed.

James was off, brutally torturing another being, as you had to drag your heels out of bed. During your routine nothing seemed to have been going your way. Your hair was frizzy after putting them in tight rollers, had an achy pesky pimple on your forehead, you stubbed your toe and being so bloated, and your fitted tailored dresses made you look like you were expecting a being. Though you were rather flustered, you decided to take a breath and get yourself together. Tonight was going to be a substantial dinner with the known killers. You prettied yourself up and prepared yourself for unpleasant guests.

~

Here you are, sitting at a long dinner table, with smug behaved men, menacingly looking your way. Who knew what they were thinking. The thoughts made you feel some sort of distress, either it was fear or anger, but you couldn't tell. Sitting across the table sat Ted Bundy, and his ugly ass semi unibrow. He gave a disturbing smirk towards you, it sent chills down your spine and the little hairs on the back of your neck. You stiffened up and immediately looked at James as he was still giving his toast. I look back in front of me to see the despicable man yanking his flaccid turkey dick under the varnished and stained table. You stood up and slammed your hands against the table, causing all the silverware and glasses to rumble and fall. "YOU PIG!" You shouted as you grabbed your fancy, well maintained and very sharpened, silver knife on the hard wood table You sped off around the table, whipped his chair away from the table and jabbed the knife into his right eye, twisting it. Following it up by plucking the whole knife from his sloping socket and then spearing it to the wall, with the remaining eye still penetrated through the blade. You coldly looked at him as he screamed and covered his now empty socket. James was absolutely star struck by the action that you had just done. You followed it with a smug expression and spat on him as you stormed off to the powder room nearby. James cleared his throat and placed his glass on the table. "Gentlemen.. I'll be back promptly." He excused himself and went after you.

You were still full of anger and the adrenaline running through your veins. Facing the mirror you were fixing your bright red, satin lipstick. There was a slight knock, followed by an opening of the door. "My darling.. Are you alright?" He gently shut the door behind himself and walking up to you. You continued to fix the slight lining of your lipstick. "I've never seen anything like that come out of you..my little sprite is a firefly." He said in such a velvety tone as he grabbed you by your waist, gently turning you to face him. He gave a smitten smile looking up at your eyes and looking at your lips. He rubbed the bottom corner of your lip, to swipe away the slight off course of your lipstick on your soft dainty skin. "Now killing guests are not recommended my dearest." You huffed and slapped him across his face. The slap had so much momentum that you knocked him off his feet, to the floor he hit. "You listen here! No man or pig with look at me in such a way or talk to me like I'm a little girl!" James held his cheek but had a big grin plastered across his face. "Why of course my darling." He stood on one knee, propping his other leg up with his foot, reaching out for your hand. You gave him your well pedicured hand, placing it gently in front of him. He placed a gentle kiss on the top of your hand and looked up at you. "My beloved, you set my world on fire. I'll do anything for you.. in fact..." He stood up and offered his arm for you to grab. You took his invitation and followed him out the powder room, into the dining room you headed. "GENTLEMEN!" James had shouted to the crowd of killers. "Dinner is canceled, shall you all leave the vicinity promptly. Thank you." He faced you as you blushed feeling slightly embarrassed but comforted that he understood how you felt. "Now, my Paramour. Let's head to our suite."

~

He opened the door for you, letting enter first. He shut the door gently and picked you up bridal style, to place you on the curved, dark velvet green, couch. He got onto his knees and gently unbuckled the strap on your golden heels. As he slid them off he kissed the top of your foot. "You are just so divine my darling." He said in such a masculine tone. He removed the other heel and stood up, placing a gentle kiss on the nose. "You, my delicate little rose, need some pampering. I shall run you a bath, with petals and bubbles, the finest wine we have and put on your favorite record." He said while walking you in a ballroom fashion to the bathroom. There you stood as the pale man himself undressed your soft and curvy body. "I didn't realize I had such a goddess like you at my grasp, maybe such a poor man like me can get a taste of your lust." You turned a bright shade of scarlet and swallowed the lump in your throat. "James.. I'm menstruating right now-..." "I don't care.." he interrupted. "I love the taste of you. It would be such an honor if I could please you.." you giggled and shook your head. "Okay..if you say so."

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@evansonlylove @xrag-dollx @warrenlipkaswife @jazz-berry @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re  @fear-is-truth

[apomaro-mellow]

Two in the Bush / Read on AO3

steddie, harringrove, omegaverse; Steve has finally achieved his dream of getting pregnant! The only problem? He doesn't quite know who the father is.

The pregnancy test was sitting on the bathroom counter, staring him in the face. He took a deep breath. And then another. And then another. His hands went to the counter and he stared at his face in the mirror. He could hear the door opening downstairs and heard Robin already talking like she was in the middle of a conversation. 

“And I just know that Keith’s gonna try and make it MY problem even though it’s got nothing to do with me. God, why did I have to start being good at my job, now he like, expects me to DO stuff and, wait, where are you?”, she called out after having walked into his bedroom.

“Bathroom”, he choked out, then cleared his throat. “I’m in the bathroom.”

“What, are you sick agai-holy shit”, Robin started to come in but then flew out against the wall when she saw what was on the sink. “Is that-did you do it? I thought you were gonna wait until I got home?”

Steve shook his head. “I couldn’t wait. Robs…I’m gonna be a mom.”

There was a brief pause before they were jumping and screaming for joy, holding each other tight.

“This calls for a celebrrrration!”, Robin exclaimed, rolling the r. She dragged Steve out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, then popped a bottle of sparkling cider. Just the thing for this occasion.

Steve clinked his glass with hers, beaming.

“So”, she started after taking a sip. “How are you gonna tell the daddy?”

“The who?”

“The sire of your pup must be alerted, your highness”, Robin snorted.

“....Shit.”

“Ahh, slutty Steve strikes again.”

Steve leaned against the fridge, glass in hand. “Don’t judge me. I’m supposed to be enjoying my after glow.” Steve had been trying to get pregnant without really trying. He just simply slept around with no birth control. Which led him to a bit of a dilemma.

“You can’t just not tell the guy. Even if he’s a bum, he should have the choice of knowing”, Robin said.

“Yeah that’s not really the issue”, Steve downed his cider and sighed. “I don’t…know who the father is….exactlyyyyyyyy.”

Robin swished her mouthful of sparkling juice around before swallowing. “What the fuck do you mean you don’t know? Are you really sleeping around that much that you have no idea who it is??”

“I have some idea!”, Steve said defensively, arms crossing. 

“You can’t even narrow it down to five, can you?”

“You’re just jealous I’m getting laid”, Steve said, setting his glass down and grabbing a notepad and pen from a kitchen drawer.

Robin’s eyes got wide when she saw the list he was starting. She groaned. “Please tell me it’s not Tommy’s.”

Steve tapped the pen against his lips. “No”, he crossed out Tommy’s name. “That was too long ago to be him.” Then he crossed out another name.

“Aaww, I liked Anthony”, Robin pouted.

“Yeah but he never came inside me so, that’s a no.”

“I can’t believe you actually have five people lined up for this.”

Steve smiled, feeling proud of himself. “Alright. That just leaves these three.”

“Wait”, Robin leaned over the counter to grab the notepad. “You never slept with Brad.”

Steve’s brow furrowed as he tried to remember. “It was last month, he was here and-”

“I remember I came in and you were fucking on the couch.”

“Yeah”, Steve said, his expression both confused and judgemental like Robin was spouting nonsense.

“Steve…you beautiful dunce…he was using a strap.”

…..”Ohhh. Are you su-”

“Yes.”

“But he-”

“Yes.”

Steve whistled while crossing out Brad’s name. “I almost wish he was still in the running.”

“And that just leaves…Eddie and Billy?” 

“Why did you say their names like curses?”, Steve asked.

“They are like, the worst kind of alphas.”

“They’re not the worst”, Steve said.

“Okay, live in your little world of denial”, Robin said, pouring herself another glass and then going to the living room to lounge on the couch. “One where that little nugget in your belly isn’t gonna be the spawn of a gym-rat bartender or the nerdiest man alive.”

“Billy doesn’t just go to the gym. And Eddie has non-nerdy interests.” And they were the most recent guys he slept with.

The problem now was figuring out just which one was actually the baby daddy. Steve didn’t think either of them were father figures. Neither Billy nor Eddie seemed particularly interested in child rearing. And that suited Steve just fine. He had been prepared for most of his life. Prepared to be a single mother to whatever pup he was blessed with.

And Robin was his ride or die, ready to be a doting aunt. But because of her closeness, he knew she was right. The father deserved to be told. He came over and sat down right on Robin’s legs, causing her to squawk and kick at him until her feet were fully free. He patted his stomach.

“Guess it’s time for this bean to meet daddy.” He picked up the phone from the coffee table and began to dial while Robin kicked it out of his hand. “Hey!”

“In person you goon!”

“Don’t call me a goon.”

“Okay, in person you duplicitous bitch”, Robin kicked him again.

“Hey! Precious cargo!”, he gestured to his torso. “Can I at least call them to arrange a meet up?”

“You’re really gonna have two alphas in a room and tell them that one of them pupped you up?”

“If I’m lucky, I can get them to pay for my dinner”, Steve said, picking the phone up again.

Part 2 coming soon

[bean-bean2000]

The Maid Part 2

Pairing: Loki x reader (on going series)

Warnings: Angst, abuse, mental health (depression, mentions of suicidal thoughts). Eventual loki x reader pairing. Reader is a maid.

Please read at your own risk. Your own media consumption is not my responsibility. Please read and review the warnings before proceeding.

Thank you and enjoy!

Part 1 Series masterlist Main Masterlist

🧹🧹🧹

You wake up to the Snake throwing you out of your cot.

"Witch! You dare to sleep in? Get up and start working NOW!" he yells at you.

You groan in pain as you try getting up and starting the day. The medicine Banner gave you is working wonders; you feel none of the pain and your wrist has significantly healed overnight.

You make your way to the kings wing when the Snake corners you against a wall.

"The king has asked me to send you another personal message." he sneers. Your eyes widen in fear when he suddenly slaps you across the face. You feel the wound in your lip split open again, the now familiar metallic taste filling your mouth. He grabs your cheeks with one hand and squeezes painfully.

"Watch your back, witch. I'm watching your every step." he threatens.

He throws you to the floor and walks away, as you gather your items and continue to the kings quarters, refusing to let him see you in pain.

Silent tears are brimming your eyes. You blink them away and take a shaky breath.

I don't know how much longer I can take this.

You manage to complete your tasks within the allotted time given you to by King Loki. You leave his wing with a long sigh of relief, praying that you never have to see him again.

A few weeks go by as you manage to do your work properly and on time to avoid the king. However, the guard Snake, seems intent on making you fail, on breaking you into submission. Without reprieve, he has consistently targeted you every night, to limit your capabilities. Your response and demeanour remains the same: silent and emotionless. As a result, the pain compounded, the prevention of your body to receive time to heal made you weaker. Last night was the worst, as you were too weak and in pain to fight back. You return to Banner, who provides you with more medication but insists that something must be done to stop them from this continuous abuse. You say nothing as you stare back at him, knowing there is nothing either of you can do. You've been sold to the crown to pay for your parent's debt and there was no way out.

The next day, you wake up in unbearable pain. You look in the mirror and curse at yourself. You eye is a deep purple, yellow and green on the outskirts where your nose and eyebrow is. You had fogotten to apply the balm last night, as you had slipped into unconsciousness after the traumatic events of the night.

You decide to wear a shawl over your head and to keep your eyes to the ground while you walk around the castle to the King's wing. You manage to get through most of the work without seeing anyone. When you get to the king's chambers, you close the door behind you and tighten the shawl around.

You start your work, slowly moving around. You still have a limp from the pain in your ankle after the guards had stomped on it the other night.

You work your way around his chambers, focused on cleaning the large windows. You're slowly stepping up on the tall stool with one foot and hanging the other in the air to avoid putting pressure on it. You slowly lift your arms but hiss in pain from the stretch of your bruised ribs. You're shaking with every movement as you clean. You're so focused on ignoring the pain and cleaning that the sudden sound of a throat clearing behind you makes you jump in fear. You yelp as you try to steady yourself but put too much pressure on your ankle and begin falling to the floor when you're suddenly wrapped in strong arms and behind helped back up onto your feet.

You see a flash of green as you're being pulled up and immediate know who it is. You look down at your shoes.

"Sorry darling, I didn't mean to scare you." Loki says with amusement.

You stay quiet as you stare at the floor. You feel his stare boring into you.

"Not much of a talker I see... very well, continue on with your work. I've been pleased so far, so please continue." He says as he steps to the side to let you get back to the windows.

From the corner of your eye, you see him grab the book from his night stand and sit on his bed.

He notices your hesitancy "Don't mind me, I will simply be reading. He turns his head down to the book.

You swallow thickly, anxiety seeping into your bones. All of the rumours you've heard of his cruelty creep into your mind and you start to shake. You force yourself to calm down and return to your work.

Keeping your down as you do not want him to see your bruises on your face, they're especially brutal this time. You turn to the stool and begin stepping up on it. Leaning on the wall, you put one leg up and look behind you quickly to make sure the king doesn't see you as you grip the wall and jump up a level of the stool on one foot. You keep the second foot flat on the stool, but put no pressure on it, to avoid suspicion and keep the pain at bay. You grab the cloth in your hand and stretch yourself slowly to reach the top of the glass and move your arm slowly side to side. You stretch too far and groaning loudly in pain as you retract and pause to take a deep breath. You don't dare look behind you. You know he heard you but you refuse to acknowledge it.

You try again and start cleaning the windows, moving your arm side to side and manage to finish without hissing out loud in pain. You're biting the inside of your cheek as you start lowering yourself from the stool. You pause to grip the wall again and hop down the first step, you miss it and instinctively put your pained ankle down to prevent from falling. As soon as your foot steps on the stool, you yelp in pain and jump off the stool, gripping the wall to steady yourself. Your head is down, you're breathing rapidly, knuckles turning white as you try to regulate your breathing.

You're so focused on waiting for the pain to go away that you don't hear Loki get up and walk up behind you until you feel his hand on your elbow.

You stiffen at the touch.

"Turn around." he orders you.

You feel tears forming in your eyes. This is it. He's going to send me to the dungeons and have me killed or tortured, or worse. You swallow hard and slowly turn around on one foot while staring at the floor.

"Look at me." he orders you again.

You slowly lift your head up and look at him. You see his eyes widen slightly and his jaw tick.

"What happened?" he commands.

His eyes are a deep green, you can see the emotion behind them.

What do I say? I can't tell him what's happening... he will never believe me. I'm a simple maid. Who am I to snitch or accuse a royal guard?

"I slipped and fell." you reply queitly.

A lie. He can taste it. He looks at you and slits his eyes as he ponders your answer.

"You mean to tell me, you slipped and fell in such a way that split your lip, gave you a black eye and seriously sprained your ankle almost the brink of it being broken?" he asks you incredulously.

"It was a very bad fall your highness." you say queitly.

He chuckles at your answer "You know I am the God of Lies and Mischief, and yet you still choose to lie to me. I do not take you for a fool. You speak eloquently, you seem somewhat educated and intelligent. Yet, you still lie to me."

You swallow thickly and sway slightly out of anxiety.

"Apologies your highness. It was not meant in ill-will."

He sighs deeply "I can smell Dr. Banner's healing balm on your skin. He created it for me, to numb the pain while I am at war. Why would a 'simple maid' such as yourself need the balm?....I will ask you one last time, what happened?"

You're shaking, his eyes look you up and down with concern.

You remain quiet. Too fearful to lie or say the truth.

He sighs deeply "You refuse to answer my question again? You understand the consequences of such disrespectful actions towards a royal. Why?" he questions.

You shift again "I can't lie if i remain quiet, your highness."

He stops and stares at you. He is shocked by your answer. His eyes shimmer and lips curly slightly into a smirk; he's impressed.

"Very well... You may leave now."

He watches you limp to the closet, put the supplies away and lower the shawl over your face again.

You bid him farewell and take your leave.

When you leave his chambers he can't help but wonder about you.

She lied. I know she did. Who does she fear so intently that she is willing to lie to her king for? Something isn't right here. Her eyes... they looked empty....

He paces his room and stares out his window, coming up with a plan to figure out what is happening within his kingdom's walls.

🧹🧹🧹

Part 3

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Feedback is always welcome. Feel free to send me suggestions for scenes/drabbles that I could add into the stroy :)

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list!

@gruftiela

@elegantcheesecakecrown

[hbyrde36]

Caught in the Undertow

Chapter Five

WC: 4574 | R: Explicit | TW: Suicidal ideation/depression | Ch 5/10 | AO3

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 <-

~Eddie~

There may actually be something to this whole talking about it thing, Eddie thought as he leaned against the wood siding of Steve’s house, pulling smoke into his lungs from the first cigarette he’d had in days as he gazed out over the covered pool and at the trees beyond.

He felt… lighter somehow. 

Not like all the bad stuff inside him was gone exactly, but more like he wasn’t carrying it alone anymore. 

He’d played with fire earlier though, coming out to Steve like that. A bit of self destructive tendencies come back to rear their ugly head for a moment, he supposed. Or maybe, once you’ve opened yourself up to someone, told them you think about dying on a semi-regular basis, telling them you like to suck cock wasn’t that big a deal.

And Steve had been… kind, accepting.

Perfect. 

Eddie flicked a bit of ash off the end of his cigarette as the glass door to his left slid open, and Steve stepped out onto the patio. He joined Eddie wordlessly, taking up a post right next to him, propped up against the house, close enough to bump their shoulders together. 

Eddie’s stomach did a little flip at the touch, the skin under his sleeve growing hot.

The thing about finally snapping out of it, about feeling better, was that now he could feel everything again. Those flutters he’d had all through that week in March whenever Steve’s eyes met his, or his hands reached out to offer a reassuring touch. Whenever Eddie swayed into his space and Steve didn’t move away.  

Yeah.

Those butterflies had reawakened the moment Steve burst into his room all pent up and pissed off this morning, and taken flight with a vengeance when Steve had let him take care of him, let Eddie cradle him in his lap while he worked through the worst of his migraine.

Ah well. 

It wouldn't be his first crush on an unattainable straight guy, and it probably wouldn’t be his last. He’d get over it. He wouldn’t subject anyone to a… relationship with someone like him anyway, least of all Steve. 

Eddie slipped the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, half-heartedly holding it out to the other boy in offering, surprised when Steve dipped his head in thanks and took it.

“Didn’t know you smoked,” Eddie said, the white smoke coming off the end of his own still burning cigarette curling around them as it bobbed between his lips.

Steve shrugged, tapping one out of the pack with a practiced hand. “I don’t much anymore.”

Passing over his lighter, Eddie raised a questioning brow.

“Robin hates it, but I still sneak one every once in a while when she’s not around.” Steve flicked the little wheel half a dozen times but the lighter refused to catch.

Eddie patted his jacket pockets, sure that he had another stashed somewhere, but froze as Steve leaned in close.

“Do you mind if I…?” Steve said softly around the unlit cigarette still hanging from his mouth, reaching out to steady himself with a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. 

Eddie stopped breathing. 

They stared into each other’s eyes, faces only inches apart as Steve touched the tip of his own smoke to the still burning cherry on the end of Eddie’s. The flare of light when Steve inhaled to make it catch illuminated his face like candlelight, making his captivating hazel eyes even prettier somehow. 

It was Eddie who moved back first. Who broke the stare and the moment, his heart thumping so loudly against the walls of his chest that if he didn’t Steve might hear, and know it was beating for him. 

He leaned back against the side of the house and resumed staring out into the darkening sky as dusk turned to night, and tried to regain his composure. 

Steve cleared his throat, mirroring Eddie’s position in turn, his attention back on their shared view. 

“Must be nice out here in the summer. I bet the gremlins bug you to use the pool all the time,” Eddie said after a while. 

“They’ve asked, but, uh...” Steve reached up to rub at the back of his neck. “I haven’t opened it since ‘83.”

It took Eddie a second to remember why that year held such significance. When he did he still couldn’t fathom the connection between Steve’s pool and Will’s disappearance into the Upside Down, but surely it wasn’t good. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to like,” Eddie waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the pool, waffling as he pinched the last little stub of his cigarette between his fingers to snuff it out. “I didn’t know.”

“No, man. It’s—it’s okay. I hadn’t thought about it, but there's probably so much you don’t know still.”

“Only the basics. There wasn’t time for Dustin to really fill me in before, and it’s not like I’ve given him much of a chance since.”

Steve hummed in acknowledgment, but was quiet for long enough that Eddie wasn’t sure if he was done talking for the night, or if Steve was simply working up to it. Either way he wouldn’t push, letting a companionable silence settle between them.

“Barb Holland.”

The two words rang out like a bell in the quiet air, deep and affecting. Steve paused to take a long drag from his cigarette, blowing out a thick plume of smoke with his head tossed back.  “She was Nancy’s best friend. They were here one night, after Will… I think a day or two after he went missing? I was—” He squatted down to crush his own cigarette out on the concrete, rubbing at his face as he straightened back up. “God I was so far up my own ass, I don't even know. And of course I was more worried about hooking up with Nancy than what might be out here stalking that poor girl. Demogorgon got her. I didn’t find out till later, but she was pulled through a gate in the pool, and killed on the other side.”

“Shit, Steve.”

Steve gave a little shrug as if to say, it is what it is. “I failed her and Nancy that day, and I've been… trying to make up for it ever since.”

“You were just a kid. You couldn’t have known what was coming for her.”

“I guess not, but that doesn’t make me feel any less haunted by it.”

Eddie shivered, the short hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He felt the same way about Chrissy, sure that it would be much worse if he’d had to go back and live in the same trailer where she died.

“Why did you stay here?”

“I could have left after graduation. Not for college, I never even sent in my application, but my dad took early retirement, and my parents moved to their summer home full time. They wanted me to go with them, but—” 

Steve bowed his head, shaking it. “Everyone was convinced it was over. El closed this gate at the lab, and they got whatever was infecting Will out of him, but I—I couldn’t shake the feeling that it might come back, and I’d be miles away and Dustin would for sure get right in the middle of it and get himself hurt or worse.”

“And you were right.”

“Unfortunately,” Steve breathed.

Eddie ached for him all over again, for the weight of the world he seemed determined to carry.

“I hate this house,” Steve went on. “This whole town really. I’d leave it in a heartbeat if I could.”

“Well it really is over this time, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it finally is.” 

-

The bike beneath Eddie creaked as he pedaled, going as fast as he could, his thighs and calves screaming that they weren’t made for this, but he had to get the bats away.

Every time he looked back the advancing flock were closer and closer. He was so tired, and absolutely fucking terrified, but none of that mattered now. 

He had to keep everyone else safe.

The trailer was lost from sight when the bats finally caught up, knocking him from the bike, and making him eat shit. He could only hope he’d lured them far enough. 

Eddie picked himself up, feeling a bit like he was in a horror movie as he turned slowly, wielding his spear and shield to face the hoard, but the sight that greeted him was far worse than any number of flying monsters.

Because it was Dustin, doing his best to run with a pronounced limp. 

It didn’t make any sense. How did he even make it out here so fast? Little shit was going to get himself killed.

“What are you doing, Henderson?!” Eddie hissed, swinging his shield to knock away one of the demobats as it tried to dive bomb them.

“Never split the party!” Dustin shouted, positioning himself behind Eddie so they were back to back, slowly rotating with the swirling cloud of beasts that flew around them. 

Eddie didn’t point out the obvious—that they already had split the party, several times in fact, before this moment and Dustin hadn’t had a problem with that.

And now he was gonna…

Eddie swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. It was hopeless, but he’d do whatever he could to keep that from happening.  

They fought tooth and nail, watching each other's backs as they speared, kicked, punched, and dodged, but there were simply too many of the vicious creatures. 

Then Dustin’s spear broke.

Eddie spun suddenly, curling his body around the younger boy’s, holding his shield up behind Dustin to try and cover him completely. He held strong through the force of the impacts as one-by-one bats slammed into his back… until one of their tails wrapped itself around Eddie’s neck from behind, ripping him away, and dragging him to the ground where a number of its brethren descended on him at once.

Through the searing pain of being eaten alive, Eddie still fought, still tried to shake the creatures off and get to Dustin, but his arms were pinned to his sides. 

Over the cacophony of screeches and squawks Eddie heard Dustin scream—wordless, high pitched, blood curdling, before something hit the ground hard with a heavy thump at his side.

And the screaming stopped.

Eddie shouted Dustin’s name over and over, but heard nothing in return. He turned to look as soon as he could, finally able to as the bat that had been feeding on his cheek moved away to search out the meatier flesh of his chest, and wished he hadn’t.

The boy’s face was a bloody mask, his unblinking eyes—wide and lifeless. His mouth didn’t move, could not move any longer, but still a voice began calling Eddie’s name. It didn’t sound like Dustin either, it sounded like…

“Eddie? Eddie? Can you hear me?” 

Steve.

Eddie woke with a gasp to someone gently shaking him as they hovered. To Steve looking down at him, his mouth pinched with worry.

One of Steve’s hands left Eddie’s shoulder to cup his cheek. “It was just a nightmare. You’re okay, I’ve got you. Dustin is fine, everyone is fine.” He spoke so softly, as though he were addressing a frightened wild animal, which in fairness wasn’t too far off. 

Eddie could do nothing but stare at first, still dazed and a little breathless from the absolute nightmare his dream had been, and maybe a little more so for the way Steve was touching him, warm and gentle, but eventually he managed to nod.

Steve gave him a small, sad smile and started to pull away. And before he could stop it, before he could consider what a terrible idea it was, Eddie reached out, gripping tightly onto the hem of Steve’s t-shirt. 

“Stay?” Eddie choked out. He felt like a pathetic baby even asking, but the image of Dustin laying bloody and broken was too fresh, and though it had only been a dream, the very real tears he’d cried in his sleep were still drying on his face, his fresh scars throbbing with the renewed memory of so many tails and teeth. “Just for a little while… please?” 

Steve bit his lip, something unreadable flickering across his face for a second, or maybe it was a trick of the shadows, as he whispered, “scoot over.” 

Forcing himself to let go, Eddie shuffled backwards on his side, raising the covers while Steve slid under, facing him. 

Eddie itched to bury himself in Steve's neck, his chest—to be wrapped up in the safety of his arms, but he was acutely aware of the fact that he'd come out to Steve only a handful of hours ago. So he kept a polite distance, still grateful for the simple comfort of not being alone.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Steve asked, snuggling down into the spare pillow.

“Not really. It was—” Eddie exhaled deeply. Awful? Terrible? Horrifying? None of the words that came to mind were enough. 

Somehow Steve's hand found his under the covers, resting between their bodies, their fingers lacing together automatically. 

“I know.”

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on the feel of Steve’s hand in his instead of the pain of what he’d seen. “How do you deal with it?” 

“I wish I had better advice to offer but I don't think there's much you can do but just get through it.”

“Lovely.” Eddie grumbled, but knew he was lucky the nightmares hadn’t found him till now. He’d barely been sleeping as it was, and when he did he was usually in a blackout, before he came to Steve’s at least. Now he couldn't help wondering if he was in for the same thing he’d heard Steve go through night after night.  

Steve let out a breathy laugh, rubbing his thumb along the back of Eddie’s hand. “Sorry. You just gotta try and go back to sleep when you can, and on the nights when you can’t, find ways to distract yourself.”

Eddie could think of some things he’d like to do to distract himself right now. A few sure fire ways to shut his brain off, and all of it far more pleasurable than laying here and trying to go fall asleep again, but that was too dangerous a line of thought to follow.

It wasn’t long before Steve’s eyes fell shut, his body relaxing, and his breath evening out. Surprisingly, Eddie found himself following close behind, his own eyelids growing heavy as he watched the wrinkles in Steve’s forehead smooth out, their hands still clasped firmly together when he finally drifted off.

-

Over the next week, he and Steve developed a loose routine of sorts. 

They made breakfast together in the mornings, which really only consisted of Eddie making toast, with butter this time—elevated cuisine—and Steve brewing a pot of coffee on his overly complicated machine that Eddie refused to even touch, before separating for the day. 

As he continued to work on reclaiming himself, Eddie still spent a lot of time hiding away in his borrowed room with his book and his music, and a notepad Steve dug up for him from the bottom of a kitchen drawer. 

He started writing again. 

Struck with inspiration for a new campaign he began taking copious notes, smiling at the idea that he might actually be able to run a game again one day soon. Something that would go a long way towards making up for lost time with so many of the friends he’d been neglecting lately.

When bits of lyric popped into his head he wrote those down too, humming simple tunes he hoped he’d remember later when he actually had a guitar handy to strum them on, his fingers itching to play for the first time since the Upside Down. And tried very hard not to think about the fact that they all sounded a little more like love songs than anything he typically played with the boys in Corroded Coffin. 

Eddie didn’t really know what Steve did with his days, besides talking to Robin on the phone, occasionally checking on him, and cleaning compulsively from the sounds of it, as though someone might show up at any time and expect a spotless house. 

Sometimes he got in his head about it, wondering if Steve was annoyed at being stuck here babysitting. If he was bored. If he’d get tired of waiting for Eddie to be normal and resent him for holding him back. But when Eddie came downstairs each day around five or six to call his uncle, Steve lit up, looking so genuinely happy to see him that Eddie was forced to remember and believe that Steve wanted him here, wanted to help him heal and find some kind of peace. 

By some miracle, it even seemed to be working.

While Steve put their dinner together Eddie would sit on the kitchen floor, curling the cord around his finger as he spoke to Wayne on the phone, the two of them catching up before the older man went to work for the night. There were other phones in the house he could have used, even ones that offered a comfy seat and more privacy, but none that had as nice a view of Steve’s luscious backside.

Honestly it was one of Eddie’s favorite parts of the day.

After dinner though, that was when they actually spent time together, and Eddie discovered what a dork Steve truly was, and how much he liked being around him.

They’d sit and talk while watching movies mostly, or on one memorable night a baseball game, of all things, an activity Eddie never thought he could find enjoyment in, and if Wayne ever found out he’d done so voluntarily, he’d never live it down. While Eddie still didn’t exactly see the appeal of sports in general, he could appreciate the fit of their uniforms, and seeing Steve smile so much and slap his thigh whenever something good happened wasn’t half bad either. No matter what they were doing Steve's presence never failed to leave him feeling warm, like sitting in the sun, and it was impossible not to bask in it a little.

All in all, It was easy enough for Eddie to be normal about his unfortunate crush during the day, but—

Okay, maybe he wasn’t being super normal about it, but he was at least managing to hide the worst of it from Steve, he was pretty sure anyway, but at night things were… a little more difficult. 

Night after night like clockwork Eddie woke in near hysterics.

Sometimes it was him and Chrissy standing in the trailer, where he’d try in vain to wake her, and have no choice but to stand by and witness her body breaking to pieces right in front of him all over again. 

Or it was Steve, getting strangled to death by demobats after being pulled into the depths of Lover’s Lake. He, Robin, and Nancy following behind far too late to save him. 

But more often than not it was his own gruesome near death experience he was made to relive, alone or with Dustin dying by his side. Those were always the worst. 

And every night, without fail, Steve was there when Eddie lurched awake, crying and gasping. There to soothe away the pain and heartache, touching Eddie’s face and hair with gentle hands, uttering soft sweet words, and each time, like the first time, Eddie asked him to stay, and Steve would simply say, “scoot over.”

The nightmares never came back once Steve was with him.

And in the morning, no matter how tangled together they were when they woke, they separated without a word and went about their days as normal. 

And it was fine. 

It wasn’t complete fucking torture or anything. 

-

It continued to be fine until one morning Steve came downstairs in jeans—obscenely tight jeans, not that Eddie noticed—and a polo shirt. The first time either of them had put real clothes on since the ill-fated party. 

Maybe he was expecting someone?

Eddie wasn’t sure how Steve had managed to keep the kids and everyone else away for this long, but he was grateful for the time to get his shit together within their private little bubble while it lasted. “Who’re you all dressed up for?” He asked.

Steve held up a grocery list scrawled on a notepad in answer, smaller than the one stashed under the bed in Eddie’s room—

Not his room, though, he had to remind himself. Steve's guest room. He had to stop thinking of it as though this living arrangement were a permanent one. Had to remember the reason he was here in the first place—because Steve and Wayne were afraid he might hurt himself. He wasn’t bitter about that fact anymore, really he wasn’t, but he was feeling pretty good now, and maybe it was time to start acting like it. 

Eddie hadn't forgotten Hopper’s warning to avoid public places, but the grocery store in the middle of the day on a random Tuesday hardly seemed like a risk.

“Can I come?” He asked.

-

Eddie pushed the cart, following behind Steve like a lost puppy, providing minimal commentary while he shopped. It was nice, in a way, to be out and about, but he also felt a little jittery about being so exposed, and was grateful for something to do with his hands. 

It was impossible not to notice the lingering stares and whispers being thrown in his direction from the other customers, as few and far between as they were, but he was determined not to let it bother him.

Steve had seen it too, making sure to never get too far ahead, and more than once Eddie saw him staring daggers back at some old lady until she was forced to look away with a huff. 

Just as Eddie was starting to relax, knowing they were in the home stretch and might actually get out of the store without incident, they rounded a corner and came across a boy wearing a familiar green and white letterman jacket.

It was Andy, because of course it was, and he wasted no time getting right in Eddie’s face, spitting with each hate filled word he spewed. “Who let you out of the house, Munson? You should be locked up, I don’t care what the police said. You’re a fucking murderer.”

Before Eddie could even react Steve was there shoving Andy away from him. The other boy stumbled back into a chip display, sending a dozen or more bags falling to the ground, a few crunching underneath him as he regained his footing. 

“Back off man, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Steve snarled.

Andy recovered quickly and pushed into Steve’s space next, puffing up, and trying without success to loom over him. “Harrington, I knew you’d changed, but you’re hanging out with freaks like him now?”

A sound not unlike a growl came crawling out of Steve’s throat, making Andy take a step back. It looked involuntary, and Eddie wondered if he even realized he’d done it. He was tempted to let the scene play out, but, as hot as it would be to see Steve beat the ever loving shit out of someone like Andy—someone who’d hurt a little girl while following the orders of his deranged leader—Eddie knew he had to stop this before someone called Hopper. He wasn’t really in the mood for a lecture today. 

Eddie reached out, wrapping a hand around Steve’s bicep, gently holding him back. “Forget him, Steve. He’s not worth it. Let’s just go, okay?”

For a split second Steve tensed at the touch, then leaned into it, shaking himself. “Yeah, okay.”

Thankfully Andy seemed to understand that he’d gotten lucky, not so brave when his opponent was the same size as him, and let them pass with nothing further than a few more dirty looks.

Steve stuck close to Eddie’s side, guiding them right to the checkout though Eddie was sure there were a few more things on his list, but he certainly wasn’t going to argue. He was ready to get out of there, and go back into hiding for the day. 

They drove back to the house in an awkward silence that continued on even as they pulled into the driveway and carried all the bags into the kitchen, neither of them quite knowing what to say. Eddie knew better than to think Steve was mad at him, and maybe going along had been a bad idea but it could have been worse. He was actually feeling remarkably calm about the whole thing now that it was over, except for the fact that Steve kept sneaking these long glances at him whenever he thought he wasn’t looking.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Eddie mumbled as he started to unpack the groceries, unable to ignore it any longer. 

Steve’s cheeks went pink. “Sorry,” he breathed, shaking his head at himself as he reached for one of the bags, taking out the milk and butter, and putting them away in the fridge.

“Hey,” Eddie said softly, ducking his head to catch Steve’s eye as he turned back around. “I'm okay, I promise. I'm not gonna go off the deep end or whatever you're worried about, ok? Screw that asshole and everyone who agrees with him. We know the truth, and that’s all that matters.” 

He wasn’t sure he wholeheartedly believed that yet, but he was trying.

“Sorry. You’re right,” Steve sighed. “You did great. I'm the one who lost it. I just—I hate that anyone thinks that way about you.” He dragged his feet as he crossed back to the counter, rifling through another of the bags. 

“Steve–” Eddie bit his lip, something like panic swelling in his chest even as his stomach did somersaults over Steve’s words. “Why… and I swear I'm not being a dick this time, but—why are you doing all this for me?”

Maybe Steve really was just that good of a friend, that caring of a person. Eddie could believe that—did believe that, by this point. But, no one had ever looked at him the way Steve looked at him, and all of it was becoming too much to ignore. Too many late night rescues and soft voices in the dark. Too many mornings of waking up on the same pillow, arms and legs wound so tightly together, as though their separate bodies were trying to become one while they slept. 

And now, ready to fight some dickhead in the middle of Kroger in broad daylight to defend his honor.

Eddie was scared to death of the answer to his question but he had to know, even if the answer might have the power to destroy him, no matter what it was.

“Eddie…” Steve’s face crumpled, like it broke his heart that Eddie had even asked the question. But there was something else too, something peeking out from behind his eyes, that thing Eddie couldn’t bring himself to admit was real, that he hoped wasn’t real because, that would be a very different kind of torture. Cruel and unusual punishment from the universe.

“I care because it’s you. Because you’re one of us. Because you’re my friend. Because…” Steve took two steps forward, standing so close that the toes of their sneakers were touching as he gently took the can of Spaghettios out of Eddie’s hand, and put it back down on the counter.

Eddie couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move—wouldn’t have wanted to if he could, but also he did kind of want to run from the room screaming. Kind of wanted to take the question back and resume pretending. Put his head firmly back in the sand.

“Because…” Steve’s eyes flicked down to Eddie’s mouth, completely unaware of the war raging in his head, before stepping impossibly closer, bringing their bodies flush as he pressed Eddie back into the countertop, and slotted their lips together.

Chapter 6 (Coming as soon as I finish up my Steddie big bang!)

Thanks and love to @penny00dreadful and @pearynice for all your help and encouragement with this.

Permanent taglist(open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog 

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[hybeboyenthusisast]

☆ twenty-two ☆

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wc: 1k

You were nervous; who wouldn't be? Moving from friendship to something more was always a gamble, always with certain things at stake if things went poorly. But for you and Kai? You would still have Bahiyyih, you would still have Yeonjun. You felt certain that if this date, or any subsequent dates, went poorly, you and Kai would simply go back to being friends. But you were still nervous, and you were still sitting in the back of the company van drumming your fingers against your thigh, playing worst-case scenarios in your head.

You were so stuck in your head that you didn't even realize when the van came to a stop behind the arcade, your security team already in position to guard you from any paparazzi that could have followed the van. Your driver cleared his throat, looking at you in the rearview mirror. "Y/N?"

You locked eyes with him, smiling sheepishly. "Thank you. I'll call you when I'm ready to be picked up."

The driver nodded, smiling fondly as you waved to him as you exited the van. Your security was instantly moving with you, their bodies positioned to shield yours as their eyes scanned the surroundings. The walk from the van to the back door of the arcade was no more than 3 feet, but you already knew from past experiences that trying to argue with your security team was pointless. Even if there was even an inch of space, they were there, covering it and protecting you. It could be very annoying at times, such as this one, but it was less painful than the reprimanding from your manager every time you snuck out of the dorm without any security. You were grateful, of course, as the reality of crazy people and paparazzi was quite terrifying, but you still missed being able to walk 4 feet without being crowded around like an endangered animal.

One of your guards opened the door, walking ahead of you and assessing for any danger in the arcade. Another guard handed you a pair of sunglasses and a hat to wear, but you simply rolled your eyes and pushed them back into his hands. "There's literally nobody here, I don't need to hide."

"How rude, calling me nobody," Kai scoffed playfully, leaning against one of the arcade machines. His security team was lined up against one wall, arms crossed and expressions stoic. You smiled to yourself as you remembered the time the two of you snuck out to go to that strawberry bakery, no security in sight. You stuck your tongue out at Kai, moving into his open arms and snuggling into his embrace. It still shocked you how tall he had gotten, but it was also very hot.

Your security team joined Kai's against the wall, leaving you to enjoy the rented-out arcade. It really was just you and Kai there, aside from two staff members you saw cleaning a machine with bored expressions.

Kai's arms around your waist squeezed you gently, pulling away so he could see your face. "You're so pretty," he whispered, booping your nose and cracking a grin.

His words made you blush, which in turn made him laugh. He looked so at ease, throwing his head back and laughing wholeheartedly. He was in blue ripped jeans and a white hoodie, with chunky sneakers to match. You weren't dressed much different, in a grey hooded top, blue jeans, and white sneakers. Nothing too fancy, but something you looked good in. "Come on, I'm ready to dominate you," you grabbed his hand and pulled him along towards the center of the arcade, where the arcade coin exchange was.

"You're ready to what?" Kai barked out a laugh, walking behind you and slyly checking out your ass. It wasn't the first time he had done so, but it was the first time he wouldn't have cared if you caught him. You grew up well, and he would have to be blind not to notice. He honestly hadn't even considered dating you or ever having feelings for you- not until you asked him on a date and his heart leapt in his chest. He had crushes before, never in love, but he knew what it felt like to want to be with someone. Somehow, though, he hadn't noticed that he wanted that with you. Perhaps it was because he brushed off the butterflies he felt as nervousness over getting to know you again. Or perhaps it was because he kept reminding himself that he had to focus on his career, even if he was technically allowed to date.

Now, though, watching as you swiftly gathered up your arcade tokens and shoved them all into his hand to carry for you - which he did not mind in the slightest-, he was beyond ready to step further from friendship into something more.

"Kai, earth to Kai," you poked his cheek, shaking him from his thoughts. "Thought I lost you there."

Usually first kisses happen at the end of a date, but as you stood in front of him, hand cupping his cheek, he couldn't help himself. Your eyes widened in realization as he drew close to you, his lips brushing against yours. He was hesitant, testing the waters to see if you were alright with this.

Hell yeah, you were. You pressed into him, lips capturing his in a sweet kiss. It was nothing like romance stories describe; no fireworks or anything magical. It was, however, the feeling of returning home after a long day. You melted into his embrace as his lips moved against yours, slowly. His arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you into him, your chest pressing into his. You stayed like that, lips chasing after each other, for only a few moments before pulling away.

A shy smile graced both of your lips, the both of you blushing. "I'm gonna win you a plushie," Kai announced, tugging on your hand and puling you towards one of the many crane machines. He was tugging on your heart, too. You weren't thinking of any worst-case scenarios anymore. No, you were just thinking how much you wanted to kiss him again.

a/n: i wrote this about 2 weeks before publishing and as i am finalizing all the details to publish it, im reading again and oh my god im kicking my feet and squealing!!!

Reconnect taglist (open): @windex-princess-ami @missychief1404 @n1k1mura @hanniemylovelyquokka @prettyxxxplease

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[acourtofinkandpapyrus]

Confessions (Eris X Reader) *

Warnings: Angst, and my first fic with smut. So yeah, a little plot but mostly SMUT. Oral, female receiving, actual sex, and maybe a sweet talking kink.

Eris and the emissary both have hidden feelings, but Eris has never been good at expressing emotions, especially jealousy...

I walk down the hall, trying not to listen to the intensely infuriating male tailing me, bragging loudly about how back in the throne room how he had managed to convince his father to join forces with the Summer Court.  My court.

“I’m just saying-”  He drawled, staring at me as he kept pace with my increasingly fast footsteps.  “Wasn’t it supposed to be your job to convince them?  Maybe if I sucked up to Tarquin as much as you do, I could be emissary too-”

I turned towards him, diplomacy be damned- and pinned him against the wall, letting him see the raging power in my eyes.  “I don’t know what your problem is today lordling, but I will not tolerate your ridicule.”

He grinned, fire swirling in his eyes as he looked at my arms, caging him against the wall.  “How bold of you emissary, and here I thought you were here to please me.”

I snarled, dropping my arms and storming off.

Not looking back to see if he followed me, I went into my room, slamming the door behind me.

I hissed as I ran my hands through my ornately styled hair, ruining hours of hard work.

For the most part, I had grown to like the male.  There was more to him than people thought.  I had seen with my own eyes that when he had an option between good and bad, he chose to do good.

Sometimes we would flirt a bit too, but never had he spoken to me like that.  Not like the way he did with everyone else.

I stormed over to my bed, grabbing one of the fluffy pillows and shoving it to my face, screaming into it.

I hated it.  I hated this.  Because for the last week, I had been working up the courage to tell him…

Fuck, I still couldn’t even imagine saying it to him, especially right now.

You know how the worst thing they could say is no?  Well, Eris is a walking demonstration that isn’t the case.

I had seen him completely destroy people if he found them, or what they did distasteful.

Maybe I thought he was a good male, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be cruel if the mood struck him.

I looked in the long mirror that towered over me.  I looked like an absolute mess.

I tore out the circlet I was wearing, along with all the other pretty jewels.

Staring into the mirror, I stared into my own eyes, speaking softly to myself.

“I love you.  That’s all you have to say.  Three stupid little words.”

Leaning my head against the mirror, I felt pathetic.

I was way too sober for this.

A few drinks later in the privacy of my room, not only was I still not ready, I felt even more pathetic.

Being a little tipsy, I decided to take a walk, hoping to calm my nerves and clear my head.

It wasn’t long before I was walking through the hallways, barely cleaned up enough to be presentable, but no one was out at this hour anyway.

I saw the hall that led to the library, and I paused.

The smell of books and the stories they held always cheered me up.  I was sure a good book and a comfy chair could help my hurting heart.

I entered the library only to see the red headed male that smelled of cider, crisp autumn air, and fire that consumed my nights and days.

He looked up, noticing me right as I was turning to leave.

“Y/N, please…”

I paused, my breath caught in my throat as I waited for him to continue.

“I’m sorry.”  His voice cracked as he spoke, and I turned around to see his red hair hanging in his eyes as he looked up at me, lips slightly parted and his eyes wide with a mixture of guilt and loneliness.

“Why did you even say all of that in the first place?”  I asked, letting the door close as I walked further in, standing next to him.

He looked up at me and swallowed thickly.  “I was jealous.”

My breath caught as I stared into the depths of his beautiful red eyes.  “Of who?  Tarquin?”

His hands fisted and he looked away.  “Of Tarquin, of all the males who look at you, of all the males you flirt with.  I’m jealous of all of it.”

He laughed, the sound devoid of joy.  “I’m pathetic, aren’t I?  Not only do I not tell you how I feel, but I make you suffer for it.”

I don’t even think he realizes what he's confessing.

Moving so I was right in front of him, I took his face in my hands, forcing him to look me in the eyes.  “You are not pathetic, you are not bad,”  I pushed some of the hair out from in front of his eyes, “You have had a hard life, a life where your family taught you to be cruel.  I see the scars you hide that your father inflicts.  I know that inside you have the potential to be great.”

His eyes are tearing up, looking up at me as if I was some sort of deity, blessing him.

“I know this, because I love you Eris.  I’ve loved you for so very long, and I know that you have a good heart.”

It takes him a moment to realize what I had said, the meaning.

Before he can respond, I lower my lips to his, kissing him softly before pulling back.

He blinked, his whole demeanor changing in milliseconds as he shot up, his hands interlacing in my hair as he pressed his lips to mine, his tongue exploring as I let out a slight whimper.

Drawing back, his breath came out in pants, and I could tell he was barely holding himself back.

Lust clouded my mind, and I barely heard what he said.  “What?”  I murmured, wishing his lips were back on mine again.

“Did you mean it?  Do you love me?”  He asks, and I’m suddenly stone cold sober at the vulnerability in his eyes.

I once again bring my hands up to cup his face, stroking his jawline gently.  “I’ve loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you.  I was just so sure you’d see my flaws and turn me away.  I was a coward.”  I say the last part, looking away so I don’t have to see the look on his face as he realizes what a huge mistake he’s made.

He gently guides my face so I’m once again looking him in the eyes, and he looks down at me with such love and wonder that I almost crumple right then and there.

“I would never turn away from you my darling.  Never you.”  He leaned down, placing his mouth on my neck, speaking in between kisses, “You are an angel.”  I struggled not to let out a moan as the scent of his arousal hit me, his hands massaging my hips gently.  “Ever since I first saw you, that first snarky remark, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

He drew back, looking down at me lovingly.  “You are too good for me, but now that I know that you like me back, I will fight like hell to make sure I can keep seeing that sassy little smirk you love to send my way.”

“I love you.”  I said, throwing my arms around his shoulders.  “And I never want to be apart from you again.”

He growled, and I squeezed my thighs together, trying to keep my wits about me as I started to drown in this male.

Hoisting me up, he turned us, placing me on the large comfy chair he had just been lounging in.

“Do you want this?”  He asked, his thumbs gently grazing my hardened nipples as his voice dropped an octave, staring at my already abused lips.

I nodded, and he stopped breathing for a moment, pinching one of my nipples while whispering into my ear,  “Use your words.”

“Please Eris-”  I begged, whimpering as I tried to pull him closer.

He grinned, his eyes predatory as he dropped to his knees.  “Don’t worry angel, I’m going to take good care of you.”

Slowly, he felt every inch of my thighs, going to reach for my panties and hissing when he found me already bare.

“Oh naughty girl.  Were you hoping this would happen?”  He asked, chuckling as he pushed my dress up, placing my legs over his shoulders.

I opened my mouth to respond, but I only moaned as he dove in, his tongue flicking my clit and licking alternately.

I lost all sense of time as I was oh so slowly brought closer to the edge, that coil in my stomach tightening as I realized I wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer.

“Eris, I’m so close-” I said through whimpers, moaning as he once again flicked my clit.

I could feel him grin into my most private parts as he pushed two fingers into my slickness, curling his fingers and making my hips buck involuntarily.  “Eris, please!” I whined, rolling my hips in an attempt get him to start moving again, and he laughed darkly.

“I’ve been waiting to taste you forever angel.  When you come on my tongue, I want to be the only thing you’re thinking about.”  He said, his voice so seductive I almost came right there.

“You’re the only thing on my mind all the time,”  I said, letting out little noises of pleasure as he pumped his fingers, once, twice.

He grinned.  “That’s my girl.”

He dove back in, tongue and fingers working in tandem, pushing me over the edge of bliss, calling out his name as my body shook from the pleasure he drew from me.

He kept going, drawing out my pleasure as long as possible.

I was a puddle as he drew his fingers out, sucking my juices off of them before leaning down to kiss me again.

I could feel his hardness pressing through his pants, and I pushed into it with the palm of my hand, eliciting a hiss from him.

“My naughty angel.  Do you want my dick inside you?”  He asked breathlessly, nuzzling my neck before dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin, and he groaned in time with my moan.

“I need you Eris.  I need you in me now.”  I pleaded, working at the buttons of his pants.

He pressed a kiss to my forehead, suddenly gentle.  “Let me.”

Undoing the rest of the buttons, his member sprung free and my mouth watered from how big he was.

He picked me up, spinning us around so he was sitting and I was held aloft above him.

I waited for him to push in, but as I looked at his face, I realized he was giving me complete control.

Smiling softly, I lowered myself slowly, both of us moaning as I made it all the way down.

He helped me move up and down slowly as he spoke.  “I’ve never felt like this for someone before.  You scare the hell out of me because I’m falling, and I knew that if you told me you felt the same way, you would completely own me.”

I gasped as he started to rub my clit, unable to form words eloquently, I said, my voice guttural, “You’re mine.”

Our pace sped up and he growled, playing with my clit more roughly as his other hand went to my breast, massaging it as he took the nipple of my other breast into his mouth, making me moan in an obscene way.

He let go with his mouth, my brain frying as I once again reached the edge of bliss.

“And you’re mine.” he growled, thrusting hard and hitting that spot, and I let out a scream of ecstasy as he reached it with me, and he pushed his lips to mine, silencing me as we rode out the rest of our orgasms.

When we were done, he gently pulled me off, and I moaned.

“I love you, Angel.”  He said, nuzzling my neck and pulling me into a hug.

I sighed in joy, my heart fluttering out of my chest.  “And I love you Lordling.”

[writingwhatiwanttoread]

Help! I've Landed in a Fanfiction

Pairing: fem!OC x Justice League

Genre: OC insert, Soulmate AU, Isekai, Reverse Harem

Characters: OC, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Hal Jordan, Diana Prince, Barry Allen, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon, John Constantine, and other DC characters as the story progresses

Warnings: all warnings not tagged, suicidal ideation, domestic violence, general violence and dark, 18+ themes, read at your own risk

Summary: Katie Smith wakes up in a new world, one out of comic books and ridiculously cheesy tropes. All she wants to do is find her way back home, but no one is helping her. Worst of all, they claim to be her soulmates. Surely it's all dream. How can she make herself wake up?

Chapter 1 (This One)

Chapter 2

Chapter One: This Bald Guy is Seriously Creepy

Katie woke up sore and freezing. The soreness was nothing new, of course, but instead of her weighted blanket and soft mattress, the floor under her was hard and chilly. Goosebumps trailed up and down her arms. Groaning, she sat up, keeping her eyes closed to stave off the headache that was forming at her temple. God, I feel so hungover. Given that Katie hadn't touched alcohol since college, however, she shook that thought from her head.

Opening her eyes, she found herself in a small, empty room. There was a large mirror in front of her, spanning the length of the wall. The other three walls were made of cinder block, and she didn't see a door. It looked like a bastardized version of a police holding cell (she had bailed Matt out enough to know that space intimately), but there was no furniture. Shakily getting to her feet, she examined herself in the mirror.

Her hair was messy, and her pajama shorts did nothing to hide the cellulite on her thighs or the outline of her stomach. She cringed as she noticed her plain gray shirt riding up. She pulled it down and stepped closer to the mirror. Her black eye was fading (small mercies) but the wrinkles around her eyes didn't do anything to make her feel better about herself. Matthew would've commented on her ability to make herself look unattractive even in her sleep, and she felt a strong wave of shame come over her. She was about to turn away from the strange mirror when a shock of color visible on her shoulder stopped her. She pulled down her collar to investigate.

A large circle of dark green vines looked to be tattooed on her left shoulder, trailing from her collar bone to above her heart. In the middle were five smaller intersecting circles, golden yellow and almost sparkling. There was a small outline of a dove in the middle, in the same color green as the vines. She was mesmerized. It almost seemed to throb with her heartbeat. She was about to touch it when she shook herself out of her trance. Where was she?

An intercom buzzed overhead. Katie looked up but didn't see a speaker anywhere. She tried not to flinch. A deep, rich voice filled the space.

"I've been waiting all day for you to wake up, my dear. Unfortunately, I can't be there right now to give you a proper welcome."

Katie counted to ten in her head. She heard somewhere that you could get out of dreams that way and was anxious to try it. The voice sounded friendly, but in a dangerous way. She was well-acquainted with that tone and wondered why her brain would dredge it up here, especially since this week Matthew would be gone on a work trip and she was relatively safe. When nothing happened, Katie cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Um. I. I am confused?" She said timidly, lilting her voice into a question at the end.

"Of course, my rules are simple." The voice ignored Katie. She wondered it it was a recording. "Follow my directions and get privileges. Disobey and you will be more uncomfortable than you find yourself now."

"Where am I?"

The lights plunged into darkness and a screen was projected onto the mirror. A tall man in a bespoke suit appeared on the screen. He was sitting behind a desk, holding a scotch in one hand and tapping his other hand on his desktop as if he were already bored with the conversation. He was bald, but looked to be around Katie's age, if not a little older.

"There you are. I imagine you are confused but I don't have the time to explain everything. Rest assured, you will want to listen to me and listen closely. You are under my jurisdiction right now. You will do nothing without my permission. You will eat when I say, sleep when I say, and shit when I say."

"This has got to be a dream." Katie said absently, touching the mirror, wondering at her own imagination. It was the most vivid thing she had ever experienced.

"Are you listening to me?" The man cleared his throat, annoyed.

"Who are you?" Katie tilted her head.

He rolled his eyes. "You can call me Sir."

Katie snorted.

"You find that funny?"

"I mean, that's such a cheesy line. You realize that right?" Katie was still walking around the small cell, trying to find the door with her fingers.

"Look at me." Katie did flinch here, and cursed her dream-self for having the same reaction to a stern dream-voice as she did to a stern-real-world voice.

"I do not have time for this. All you need to know is I brought you here and I can keep you here."

"Mkay. You might want to chill on the villain talk. You sound like a movie character. I'm not calling you Sir, by the way." That's the thing about dreams, Katie thought. Bravery was a lot easier when everything was fake.

"I'll give you time to rethink that then." With that the video popped off and the room was filled with darkness. Katie couldn't see her hand in front of her face, and after bumping into the wall, she decided to sit down. She squeezed her eyes tightly and tried to transport herself to a dream-cabin or dream-beach. Surely she could imagine Hawaii. Instead of feeling the warm sand between her toes, however, all she felt was cold. It was like the room dipped even lower in temperature. She shivered and huddled in a corner. The darkness was oppressive--the silence was too. Her stomach grumbled, and she held it, eventually curling into a ball. She couldn't gauge the time but it felt like hours. She fell into a restless sleep, her last thought wondering if sleeping in a dream was going to send her into an Inception like trance. She laughed to herself, and hoped when she woke up she could forget everything and take a warm bath.

----

Katie woke up, a little warmer, still hungry, and unfortunately not back in her bedroom. She was no longer in the weird cell, but instead tied to a chair. Her gray shirt had been removed, leaving her in her bra and pajama shorts. Her wrists ached with the bindings and her glasses were slipping down her nose. She tried to push them up with her shoulder but couldn't move much.

She was in a large office. There was a window that spanned the floor to the ceiling and she could tell that she was high up, as the only thing visible was clouds and the tops of buildings.

A clearing of a throat let her know she wasn't alone. Katie groaned.

"You again?" The bald man looked affronted.

She felt at her bindings, again surprised that everything was so vivid. It really hurt and she had never thought being asleep could feel so real. She was rethinking her initial hypothesis. Hadn't recovered coma patients talked about feeling sensations in their unconsciousness?

"I realize I was remiss in not introducing myself the other day. So let's start over. Your name is?"

Katie looked incredulously at the man. "Katherine." She spit out.

"Katherine." He sneered. "I am Lex Luthor," he said self-importantly.

Ok then, back to her original hypothesis. Definitely a dream. Katie barked out a laugh.

"Yeah, right. And I'm Batman." She growled mockingly. "Honestly."

The man stepped closer. It's not like Katie was unaware of the comic books and movies, but she had never had time to really dive in. She was too busy managing Matt's schedule and making sure everything was perfect at home. The last time Katie picked up one of his collectibles to dust, she found herself with a lot more than a black eye. It wasn't really something she was interested in anymore. But she knew of Lex Luthor. He kind of looked like she would have imagined him looking, which made sense she guessed, if her brain was making it all up.

He trailed his fingers on her shoulder, tracing the weird design on her chest from her collarbone to just above her bra. She shivered in revulsion but the way she was tied to the chair didn't allow her much movement.

"Interesting." He hummed. "Have you heard of me?"

She looked him in the eyes and then looked away quickly as he smirked at her. "I mean, yeah? Comic book character, Lex Luthor. Superman's nemesis, right? I mean, I've never really read them or anything, but I saw Smallville once."

He was staring at her like a bug under a microscope. "Mm. What else do you know about me?"

Katie quirked an eyebrow. "I am confused."

"I expected that. You don't seem like a particularly bright woman. Definitely plain looking, overweight, extremely unremarkable. It's fascinating, isn't it?"

It's not like any of that was something Katie didn't think about herself daily, but she still felt a bit betrayed by her brain.

"What is?" She bit out.

"That you were chosen out of all the people in your world. That you were the one the whole universe decided upon. It's a shame. I'm sure there were so many more worthy than you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know me as a character, darling? Tell me. How many people lived in your world?"

"My world? What are you talking about?"

"The global population. Try to keep up."

Katie was confused at what that could mean or why he was asking. She decided to play along since last time ended with her in a cold cell for hours.

"I don't know. Over 7 billion."

"Over 7 billion." He purred, practically petting the weird tattoo on her chest. "How does it feel to know that 7 billion people were sacrificed for the unimpressive specimen you are?"

Katie scrunched her nose. The man cosplaying as Lex Luthor in her mind laughed. "Do you know what this is?" He tapped the tattoo. She stayed silent.

"No. You wouldn't, would you? You don't know much. A world where the greatest minds are comic book characters. Where soul marks don't exist." Soul marks?, Katie mouthed to herself. "I almost feel sorry for you, honey. But at the end of the day, it doesn't really matter, does it? You're here for one reason and one reason only."

He ran his fingers through her messy hair. An alarm sounded in the distance.

"Let the games begin."

[elcpsstuff]

The Summer I Remembered You (C.F) (Part 17)

you broke me more than anyone else could, because you were my friend first.

—

A/N: Hey guys!<3 Hope you all are well and i’m sorry I haven’t been uploading as much. School has started.. Anyways please enjoy I don’t want to write bc I want this series to keep going on 😭

Synopsis: Teenagers doing a bunch of dumb things, and Conrad having horrible timing ;)

—

“You can’t wear that.”

I groan and throw the piece of clothing at Frankies head. “Then what am I supposed to wear? It’s not like i’m impressing anybody.”

“mhm, right.” Frankie starts to go through my clothing racks and then pulls out a baby blue crop top, “this, with white jean shorts.”

“Fine.”

There were a couple moments of silence before Frankie clears her throat, “So, you and Conrad did well today.”

“No thanks to your fake injury.”

She scoffs, “I was very much injured!”

“You told me weeks ago it was perfectly fine, your knee.” I motion to it and she covers her knee when she realizes it looks perfectly fine too. I tilt my head waiting for a response.

She huffs, “Okay, okay! Maybe I wanted you and Conrad to make up but Taylor had the same idea in mind with Jeremiah!”

“You two are a lot more alike then you dare to admit, you know” I don’t even have to look at her to know she’s fuming. Comparing her to Taylor Jewel is the worst thing you can do.

“Don’t even.”

I sit down at my desk and begin straightening my hair, while looking through the mirror to see Frankie laying on the bed. “Hey, you know Belly and Jeremiah hooked up?”

In a second she’s sitting up with her mouth hung open, “Like sex?”

“No!” I feel like throwing up through my eyes because that would just be weird. “It’s Jeremiah and Belly, they wouldn’t just have unhinged sex like that.”

“But you and Conrad can?”

“Fuck off!” I say through gritted teeth but she’s just laughing which only makes me laugh. “They hooked up a couple days ago. I just didn’t know Belly liked him like that.”

“Shouldn’t that be good? Conrad’s all yours now.”

I roll my eyes in response, “I’m over Conrad. I told him today it’s done.”

Now, she’s off the bed and sitting on the ground beside my chair, “How many times have I heard you say that?”

I pull my straightener out the wall and toss it in the corner, “I know, but i’m serious. Apparently Susannah begged him to ask me to the deb ball because I don’t have a date.”

“And did he ask you?”

“He claims he was going to.” I almost gag at my words because the whole interaction from earlier today still plays in my mind. “But that was after he told me to get over my petty feelings for him.”

“That dickhead. I shouldn’t have let him sub in.”

I shrug, finishing applying my last bit of blush. “I’m completely over him. So it doesn’t matter anymore.” I hear Frankie chuckle beneath her breath and I throw my blush on the table, turning to face her. “What is so funny? Why don’t you believe me?”

“Because it’s Conrad, yn. Your seriously telling me if Belly and Conrad hooked up right now you wouldn’t be pissed off?”

“No. I wouldn’t care.”

“mhm, let’s go.” Frankie pats me on the back before making her way to the door.

—

Nicole’s boat, was huge. That’s a fucking understatement.

We were meeting Belly and Taylor at the boat but we were the last ones there. “Damn.”

“That’s.. wow?” Frankie says through a laugh and I nudge her shoulder. Nicole yells at us to come on the boat so we make our way over, slowly.

Belly and Taylor were sitting by Dara and Gigi talking and I saw the vodka bottles and smirked. I shoved Nicole’s shoulder a little bit, “Brought the drinks, huh?”

“You know me well.” Nicole then directs her attention to Frankie, “You must be—”

“Frankie.” She cuts her off. There was a sharp tone in her voice which only meant one thing, she was being protective. That’s also something Frankie and Taylor both do.

“Ah, well nice to meet you.” She signals us to sit down and I make way my over to Belly and Taylor. Frankie sits next to me and eventually Nicole comes and joins us.

The bottles were being passed around and the only person who didn’t take anything was Belly, and I figured Cam must’ve been rubbing off on her. “So Belly, none for you?”

She snorts, “No way your promoting this, mom would kill you.” In turn, I knew she was right but Laurel wasn’t here? What’s the problem in a little fun?

“Yeah yeah whatever.” I ruffle her hair a little bit and she quickly smacks me away, “yn! stop that!”

It felt good to joke with her like this. This summer has been the weirdest by far, even with my relationship with Belly. We haven’t addressed Conrad, but it’s there, lingering in the air.

“So, who’s up for a little truth or dare?” Gigi says through a classic Gigi smirk.

—

“No way in hell!” Belly screams out.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t done it, Belly! It was really nice actually.” Taylor is currently telling how she’s.. you know with a stuffed animal. I obviously didn’t put my finger down, it’s disgusting.

“Alright! Put it a finger down If you’ve had sex.” Gigi, Dara, and Nicole all put fingers down. I can feel belly looking at me but of course I’m not gonna put a finger down. She may know about my little situation with Conrad but that doesn’t mean Nicole has to.

Gigi looks at me and Belly before clearing her throat, “So, your telling me neither of you have hooked up with the Fisher brothers, like ever?”

Belly’s face goes red and I know we can finally switch gears on the situation. I sigh, “Not me, but I don’t know about little Belly over here—”

“Oh my gosh yes yes! Never have I ever made out with Jeremiah fisher!” I could tell Taylor was dying to get those words out, and Belly squeezes her eyes shut before putting down a finger.

“What?! When?” Nicole gushes over the situation and she’s probably just happy it wasn’t Conrad. I laugh at the thought.

“Sorry, Gigi..” Belly awkwardly pushes the words out of her throat before looking back over at Gigi, who is red as a tomato.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Gigi answers but I know she’s dying on the inside. “What about you yn? You sure no fisher brothers?”

I swallow the guilt down my throat as memories of Conrad swirl my mind. If I could, in this moment I would yank them out my head and into the ocean.

I love you, please

I want it to be you, Conrad.

It’s fine, we’re fine.

“Yn?” I’m brought back to reality with Frankie flashing her hand in my face. I move back a little and a small chuckle leaves my lips. “Sorry, I spaced. But uh- no, I haven’t.”

Belly laughs a little before mumbling under her breath, “Yeah right.”

Instead of doing what I wanted to, which was grabbing her and telling her everything. I would say, I’ve loved Conrad for as long as you have, maybe even longer. It was out of love, not what you think. It’s not your right to judge. I love him.

Instead, I ignore Belly and look ahead of me, not daring to respond.

I think Nicole picks up on the situation because the next thing she said totally switches them mood: “Never have I ever been skinny dipping, in hoppers cove?”

Taylor shrieks, “Is that a dare?”

“Fuck it.” Frankie adds on.

So here we are, minutes later naked in the water. In hoppers cove. The water felt cold against my skin but it was relaxing. I hated the idea of this at first but Taylor and Frankie seemed to be getting along so it was fine. Like Conrad says, we were fine.

“This is fucking crazy.” I yell out in the calm of the night. Frankie splashes my face and I splash her right back. 

“Hey wait, who are you taking to the deb ball?” Taylor and Belly soon began quiet and watched my every move. Nicole said she’d be right back because she got a text message from Conrad. Damn Frankie for asking this.

“uhm.. I really don’t know yet.”

“It’s like, tomorrow.” Taylor blurts out.

“I still don’t have a date either.” Belly confesses and Taylor’s eyes widen, “You still haven’t asked Jeremy?!”

“It’s not that I don’t want to.. it’s just, I don’t know where we stand. We got in a disagreement after the Volleyball tournament and—”

I didn’t need to hear the rest. I knew it was about Conrad. Susannah always said Jeremiah was the “golden retriever” but when he got angry, he got angry. Jeremiah was the best at holding grudges but one thing he would never do is be second to someone in a relationship. Especially not to Conrad.

“Oh my God, those fucking idiots!” Frankie motions to the light flashing and I see a car pulling out: Nicole’s car. What the fuck?

“I knew they were bitches!” Taylor exclaims.

Wow, Frankie and Taylor are really similar, I didn’t realize it till now.

Taylor and Frankie begin to swim over to the dock and me and Belly just stare at each other, not knowing what the hells going on.

“uh, yn.. come over here.” Taylor’s voice trails off as she says it and I immediately swallow whatever guilt I know i’ll have to deal with. Me and Belly swim to the dock and sit up right in the water.

“They took everything!” Belly yells.

“Except our phones, and yours yn.” Frankie begins, “which has a very incriminating text from Conrad.”

Oh fuck.

I don’t look at Belly because if I do my mind will start to swirl. With guilt. With every fucking emotion.

“Mhm. It states, ‘I do want you. You know I do.’” Taylor says it with an edge on her voice but deep down I know she wants this, for Belly. She’s always liked Jeremiah better.

I grab the phone from Taylor’s hand and see that the text is very real. Very much there. I groan at the thought because I knew I would have to explain everything to Belly, everything that’s happened. She deserves that.

“Okay, right now we need to focus on how we’re getting home.” I breathe the words out and everyone nods their head.

“Well, what do we do? We can’t just walk home naked!” Taylor says.

“Um, well, there is that?” Belly points to something which grabs all of our attention, and then a groan.

“Fuck me.” Frankie says.

—

Conrad POV:

Right now, all I wanted to do was go home.

Steven convinced me to go to this party, even though Shayla was going. Jere ended up coming though so I’ve been at the stairs occasionally grabbing a drink.

I see Jeremiah look at me and then walk up the stairs to sit next to me. I pat the seat next to me jokingly.

“Hey man.” I say.

“What’s up?” Jeremiah leans against the railing and lets out a big breathe before speaking, “why yn?”

I scoff, “I’m sorry?”

Jeremiah shakes his head, “Don’t do that. Act like you don’t know what i’m talking about, because you do.” I knew what he was talking about, I really did. I just didn’t wanna face that reality. For so many years it was just me and yn, on a little island, until it broke apart and we spread other places.

“Jeremiah—”

“No.”

“What the fuck do you want me to do? Apologize?”

Jeremiah slammed his hand against the railing, “Yes, Conrad! Please do apologize for fucking yn. She’s not just some random girl you met, not like Nicole. She’s yn, our family friend. We’re you just that desperate for a fuck?—”

I felt the blood raise to my head. But I couldn’t move. I knew it in my bones, yn was different. She wasn’t just some girl, some hookup. She was my best friend, and my lover too.

Jeremiah had no right to basically accuse me of taking advantage of her, when that’s so clearly not what happened. He had a lot of crazy opinions lately.

“Shut the fuck up Jere, you have no idea.”

“Right,” He says through a twisted laugh, “So your telling me what? You have feelings for her? Don’t be an idiot, all these years you’ve strung her along, might as well throw Belly in their too. You’ve had yn at your feet for years man. But she wasn’t just yours, she was all of ours.”

I gulped, swallowing the guilt I was feeling. My mom always told me I was protective over yn in different way than I knew. I claimed it was because she was my best friend, but she always said one day I would realize the truth. I just never meant for Jere to feel this way.

“I’m sorry—”

“You’re sorry for what? Fucking her? Taking her virginity all for another one night stand? It’s pathetic.”

What the hell was his problem?

Jeremiah’s phone rings and as he goes to get up, I follow his actions and grab his shoulder. He turns to me, hesitantly.

“I love her, Jere.”

He shrugs my shoulder away before walking down the stairs, but I saw a small frown come over his face. I knew he knew it too.

“Conrad.” A voice takes me out of my sadness and Nicole is standing in front of me, not to happy either. Before I can answer i’m being dragged by the arm out the door. We stop in front of Nicole’s car.

“Nicole, what’s—”

“Save it. I was at Hoppers Cove and I saw your text to yn. That you want her? What the fuck have I been missing?”

My Adams apple bobs up and down in my neck before I can muster a response, and the only thing I can think is i’m such a fucking idiot.

“Nicole i’m sorry, okay? I can explain.”

“Don’t. This whole summer I’ve been trying to figure it out, but, it’s all about yn isn’t it? Every single thing.”

“Yeah.” Is the only thing that comes out of my mouth and the shock on her face isn’t too surprising but the next thing was. A hard smack comes to my face and I groan in agony.

“Fuck you, Conrad.”

“Nicole that’s not how I meant it—”

“No, you know what? You didn’t hurt me, you wasted my time. A lot of people wanna be with me Conrad, and I might take them up on that offer.”

“That’s great..” I cringe at my words but I really don’t know what I’m supposed to say.

She shakes her head and opens the door to her car, reaching in. When she comes out, she tosses a bag at my chest.

“Your girlfriend and her friends might need this.”

When Nicole walks away I process what’s right in front of me. The girls clothes. In a bag. What the fuck?

“Conrad!” I turn around to se Jeremiah running up to me.

“Jere—”

“We have a problem.”

—

A/N: eeeee! Dramaaaa! he finally said it guys. 😭🫶🏻 lemme know what you guys think sorry for taking so long!

tag list: @kkrenae @callsignwidow @drikawinchester @johannelis2302nely @allnrsnz @galaxy13sworld @paytonloiselle @i-think-you-are-gr8 @imaspecialpersonwhoneedshelp @awatt31 @user0440822 @jackierose902109 @chocolatefartstrawberry @whoisjellyellie

[muddy-water-1997]

𝖠𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖡𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗍𝗌

𝖳𝖶: 𝗅𝗂𝗅 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗐𝗄𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅… 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖡𝖴𝖳 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝖻𝗁. 𝖤𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾.

Chapter 11 - The Aftermath

Blinding lights shot through the hotel room window, piercing the early morning haze. As you lay there, cocooned in the soft, luxurious duvet, the events of last night played vividly in your mind. The warm embrace of Chris and Binnie still lingered on your skin, their presence a comforting memory that made your heart flutter.

The duvet's high thread count caresses your skin, making you feel like a fairy tale princess wrapped in elegance and warmth. The room was filled with a serene stillness, the world outside waking slowly with the gentle chirping of birds. It was a welcome melody, a peaceful prelude to the day ahead.

But the tranquillity was abruptly shattered as the alarm on your phone blared, cutting through the calm like a jarring reminder of reality. With a sigh, you reached out to silence it, savouring the last few moments of warmth and memory before the day demanded your attention.

You found yourself reaching for your iPad to check the day's schedule. A TV appearance this morning, a photoshoot this afternoon—it would be a long one. As you scrolled through the appointments, a sudden realisation hit you like a ton of bricks: you would have to face the group of boys again today.

"Oh god…" you muttered to yourself, panic rising. Had they all talked about it? And Seungmin!? How could you forget about him? The memories of last night were hazy and fragmented. Did you drink that much? Surely not. Yet, the sinking feeling in your stomach suggested otherwise.

Panic gripped you tighter. Last night had been a whirlwind, but now it seemed like the most unprofessional thing you'd ever done in your career. The thought of facing them today was unbearable. There was no way you'd keep your job after this.

"Shit," you whispered, dread pooling in your gut. The iPad screen blurred as you tried to focus, wondering how you'd navigate through the day—or if you'd even have a job to navigate at all. A welcome knock came to the door.

“Ms. Y/N, breakfast is set out in the next-door suite.” Billie’s voice said, reassuring you that at least your staff had been retained for the morning. You managed a quick “Thank you” before reluctantly pulling yourself out of bed.

Standing in front of the mirror, you braced yourself for the worst. To your surprise, the marks on your body weren’t as awful as you had feared. With a sense of cautious relief, you stepped into the shower, letting the warm water cascade over you, washing away the remnants of last night. The steam filled the bathroom, creating a cocoon of calm as you tried to collect your thoughts and prepare for the day ahead.

The hot water helped to clear your mind, each droplet a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves. As you lathered shampoo into your hair, you replayed the events of last night, trying to piece together the fragments. The laughter, drinks, and warmth of Chris and Binnie's embrace mixed with the dread of facing the consequences today.

You finished your shower, and the clarity of the morning routine provided a small comfort. Wrapping yourself in a plush towel, you felt more like yourself, ready to tackle whatever awaited you. As you dressed, the familiar sounds of the bustling hotel seeped through the walls, grounding you in the present.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you took a deep breath, ready to face the day, whatever it might bring.

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

Gently knocking on the suite door, you pushed it open, hoping and praying it was empty so you could eat your breakfast in peace. Unfortunately, you were greeted by eight pairs of eyes, all turning to you as you entered. Your heart raced, and it was hard to gauge their emotions—though that might have been your anxiety clouding your perception.

“Good morning,” you said, striving to sound level-headed. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Really? You mentally kicked yourself. Small talk about the weather? Real discreet. Seungmin, Chris, and Binnie exchanged tiny, smug smiles barely contained on their lips.

“Good morning!” Felix's cheerful voice broke the unspoken tension. “Come get some breakfast.”

You nodded, scanning the room for a spare seat. Naturally, the only available one was between Chris and Binnie. Fuck.

With a deep breath, you walked over and settled into the seat, feeling the heat of their presence on either side of you. The aroma of fresh coffee and warm pastries filled the air, starkly contrasting the cold dread knotting in your stomach. Chris leaned in slightly, his voice teasingly low, “Sleep well?”

Binnie chuckled softly, adding, “Yeah, you seemed pretty comfortable last night.”

Your cheeks burned as you forced a smile, focusing on the food before you. “Thanks for breakfast,” you mumbled, hoping to steer the conversation away from last night’s events.

Sensing your discomfort, Felix launched a story about his latest cooking adventure, giving you a momentary reprieve. You appreciated the distraction, even as the weight of Chris and Binnie's gazes lingered.

As you picked at your croissant, you couldn’t help but wonder how you would survive the rest of the day. The tightrope walk of maintaining professionalism while dealing with the aftermath of last night was going to be a daunting challenge.

After the very uncomfortable breakfast, you realised with some relief that you were not about to lose your job. The energy towards you wasn’t as hostile as you had feared. Everyone had been sharing stories about their antics at the club last night around the breakfast table, and you quietly excused yourself to prepare for the upcoming schedules.

Grabbing Billie and William on your way back to your room, you all sat down and went through the day's events. This morning's TV appearance was in order; the presenter would ask questions that needed looking over and clearance. The photoshoot this afternoon was pretty much put together, but there was an issue with Felix and Hyunjin’s stylist that would require your attention later that morning while the boys were in the studio.

“Your stylist will be here any moment,” Billie said, checking her watch.

“Again?” you protested. “I’m not even going to be on TV!” you groaned.

“It’s an instruction from the boys' manager. Nothing we can do,” she shrugged back at you.

You sighed, slumping back into your chair. The memory of last night's embarrassment was still fresh, and the last thing you wanted was to sit through hair and makeup for a camera you wouldn't even be facing. However, protocol was protocol, and you had to comply.

As you waited for the stylist, you couldn't help but reflect on the breakfast conversation. Despite the initial awkwardness, it had been a relief to hear everyone laughing and joking about the previous night's escapades. They were willing to let bygones be bygones; maybe you could, too.

The knock on the door jolted you back to reality. The stylist breezed in, a whirlwind of energy and tools. “Good morning! Let’s get you ready for the day!” she chirped.

You forced a smile, settling into the chair. “Good morning,” you replied. You mentally ran through the schedule again as she worked, focusing on each task. The TV appearance questions, the photoshoot logistics, and the stylist issue with Felix and Hyunjin would be a busy day, but you felt a renewed sense of determination. You could handle this. You had to.

As the stylist finished up, you glanced at your reflection. Professional, polished, and ready to face whatever the day would throw at you. With a final nod to yourself, you thanked the stylist and headed out, Billie and William in tow.

“Third car down.” Billie pointed to your vehicle, where Theo was waiting outside, acknowledging your arrival with a nod. “You’re traveling with management; we’ll meet you at the studio. I’ve organized for a desk to be available on your arrival so you can go over the afternoon appearances in peace.”

You felt gratitude toward Billie for understanding your need for some alone time. You gave her an appreciative smile before clamouring into the car to greet the management team.

Settling into the backseat, you exchanged brief greetings with the management team, who were already immersed in their preparations for the day. The car hummed with quiet efficiency as it pulled away from the hotel, the cityscape blurring past the windows.

As the car navigated the bustling streets, you allowed yourself to breathe and collect your thoughts. The morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on the leather seats. The murmured conversations of the management team served as calming background noise, letting you focus on the tasks ahead.

You opened your iPad and reviewed the questions for the TV appearance, ensuring everything was in order. Each question was a potential landmine, and you wanted to be prepared. As you scrolled through the list, you made mental notes on key points to highlight and possible answers to tricky queries.

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

“Over here!” The press had gathered outside the studio, their cameras flashing and voices calling for attention. You were suddenly thankful for the makeup artist’s work this morning; the polished look gave you an extra layer of confidence.

Theo acted as your shield, expertly guiding you through the throng of reporters and fans. The group of boys ahead of you had created a temporary barrier, and you weaved in behind them, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible. Chris glanced over his shoulder, his eyes filled with concern, acutely aware that this was probably your first time facing a crowd this intense. You gave him a reassuring nod, signalling that you were okay, even though the blinding flashes made it hard to see.

Within minutes, you found yourself inside the studio building, the noise and chaos of the crowd left behind. Chris was the first to rush over to you, with Changbin following closely after.

“Are you okay?” they asked in unison, their voices laced with worry. They hadn’t anticipated the gathering crowd to be so overwhelming.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you assured them, though your heart was still racing from the unexpected frenzy outside. “Thank you for checking.”

Seungmin and IN had taken their concerns to management, their voices carrying over as they scolded them for not having better crowd control measures. The studio staff looked apologetic, scrambling to address the oversight.

Chris placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We didn’t think it would be this bad. I’m sorry.” His touch set your body alight again, and you had to ground yourself quickly.

“It’s okay,” you replied, offering a small smile. “Just part of the job, right?”

Changbin nodded, his expression softening. “Still, we should’ve been better prepared. Next time, we’ll make sure it’s handled.”

NEXT CHAPTER

𝖶𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾? 𝖳𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾! 𝖬𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝖻𝗈𝗑 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌! 

𝖶𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗃𝗈𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍? 𝖣𝗋𝗈𝗉 𝗆𝖾 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝗋 𝖣𝖬!