#i loved earning those little graphics

[roughentumble]

fucked up that love live just doesn't exist anymore. like you cant go and play it in offline mode or whatever its just a thing thats gone. landmark in the mobile rhythm game sphere and no subsequent generations will ever be able to play it. a totally ephemeral game. it doesnt exist on a disk anywhere, despite the fact they arguably couldve made it that way. about my favorite rhythm game ive played and what, all gone forever, no more snow halation? no more strawberry trapper?

it just sucks that theyre allowed to destroy something forever. that there isnt a way to save it. no one cares about game preservation.

[ak-vintage]

Work of Art

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Prompt: Marcus Acacius & Nose

Summary: Your pregnancy brings out a vulnerability in Marcus you never would have expected. When he reluctantly shares his insecurities with you, you are more than happy to reaffirm your affection for each and every part of him.  

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Second-person POV, no use of Y/N, established relationship, arranged marriage, POSSIBLE DUBCON (sex in an arranged marriage with a patriarchal power structure), hefty age gap, pregnant reader, inexperienced reader, insecurity, body worship, nose worship, face-sitting, oral (f! receiving), discovering that you’re in love with your spouse, SO MUCH FLUFF, high likelihood of historical inaccuracy (aiming for vibes, not perfection)

Written for @joelmillerisapunk PPCU Body Worship Writing Challenge

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Read on AO3

It is barely sunrise when the messenger arrives at your door.

Coated in a layer of dust from the road, mounted on the back of a well-lathered horse, and bearing the colors of the empire, the young man demands your staff wake you to receive him – that he is under orders to accept no intermediary, that his message is intended for the lady of the house and no one else. The news of his arrival sends ice into your veins the moment you open your eyes; even as the wife of a general, you do not often receive messages from the front lines, and you could not resist fearing the worst. Curls loose and mussed with sleep, tunica tied almost haphazardly in your haste, you rush to the atrium as quickly as propriety will allow and take the messenger’s sealed scroll with trembling hands.

My dearest wife, it reads. The skirmish on the southern border has been quelled for the time being. In recognition of our efforts, and out of respect for our recent union, I have been granted leave to return to Rome for a period of respite. If the sea is calm and the road is easy, you can look to the horizon for my return in one month’s time. Prepare the household for my arrival. Faithfully yours, Marcus Acacius

The relief you feel at those words is so powerful that you sink into the nearest chair, weak-kneed. Thankfully, your staff are more than competent enough to manage offering food, a bath, and a fresh horse to the harried messenger without your guidance, for you have not the capacity to play hostess. It had been your greatest fear, you realize as you sit there reading and re-reading the general’s letter until your eyes begin to burn with fatigue. You had had such little time as husband and wife before Marcus had been shipped out to the border, and you dread nothing more than the prospect of joining the ranks of the widows of Rome before you even have the opportunity to fully know the man you had married. It would have been such a waste, you think, like a flower cut from the vine when it was barely a bud, cursed never to bloom for the rest of time.

The truth is that although yours had been an arranged marriage, one of convenience, you feel (perhaps naively) that it held great promise. The general had never married, choosing to prioritize his military ambitions over his personal life. However, now that he was getting older, he had determined that it would be wise to seek a wife who might give him an heir to the prestigious station he had earned for himself over the years. Your father, a wealthy, prominent senator, had brokered the match, and a mere fortnight after you had been introduced for the first time, you had been wed.

Marcus had proven to be a gentle husband, a great contrast to what you had believed based on the tales of his ferocity in battle. He had spoken kindly to you and listened patiently, giving weight to your words, treating you like a partner right from the start. He had given you free reign over the household and encouraged you to mold his domus and his staff to suit your tastes. You had had very little time in each other’s presence, but he nevertheless struck you as a man of honor, a man of principle. As a woman in your position, there was little else you could ask for in a match, and the thought had comforted you as you stood side-by-side with this near-stranger and signed your marriage contract.

On your wedding night, he had been as tender with you as he could. You had been able to tell that he was holding himself back, restraining himself from taking you as savagely as he might have wished, but for that, you thought him compassionate. Of course, there had been some pain to start; this you had anticipated. However, toward the end of your coupling, as the general had begun to growl muffled curses into the soft skin of your neck and thrust himself so deeply inside you, you swore you could feel his manhood in your belly, you thought perhaps that it might have begun to feel…good?

He had spilled his seed within you shortly thereafter, bringing your union to a sudden and dramatic end and leaving your tentative, blooming pleasure to fizzle and die in your veins.

You glance down at the swell of your belly at the recollection, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. The fruits of your union that night – and the nights that followed for the brief month he had been permitted to remain by your side – had made themselves apparent shortly after his departure. That had been five months ago now, and it had been an incredible relief to know that you had managed to fulfill your duty to the general so quickly. You had fully expected to give birth on your own, to share the joyous news with him via special messenger like so many other soldier’s wives. Now, to know that he is set to return so soon, that relief is compounded. Barring any emergencies on the front, he likely would be home long enough to be present for the birth.

Birthing was a woman’s business, of course. You knew there was little Marcus could truly do to aid you in your labors. But a part of you, perhaps a very foolish, girlish part of you, could not help but feel safer when he was near. You would sleep better at night knowing he was once again within the walls of your domus.

Easing yourself back onto your feet, you get the attention of the nearest member of your staff.

“Once our guest has been seen to, gather the others in the courtyard,” you command. “We have much to prepare. The general is coming home.”

General Marcus Acacius rides into Rome on a sunny afternoon astride a handsome black stallion. Escorted only by a small retinue of guards and vassals, he travels light, with the economy and efficiency of a man who has spent the majority of his adult life in an army camp. The servant boy you have stationed at the city walls every day for the last week eagerly tells you that he looks well, that he has been asked to report first to the emperors’ palace but that he expects to be home by nightfall.

The news of your husband’s imminent arrival has a riot of butterflies rising in your chest, and you feel the child you carry respond almost instantly, fluttering and twitching against the walls of your womb at your excitement. A smile pulls at your lips, and you smooth your palms over the rounded surface of your belly as if to say, “I understand. I feel it, too.”

You send a message to the kitchen staff with orders to ensure that the general’s favorite meal is prepared for this evening, as well as for his preferred wine to be brought up from the cellar. Perhaps it is a bit silly – this is his home even moreso than it is yours – but you have an odd desire to make him feel welcomed. You want him to know that you have given thought to his needs and his preferences, that you have managed and looked after his home with proficiency in his absence, that you have anticipated his return.

You want to make the general happy, you realize with a flush.  Not only for him to be happy, but you wish to be the cause of that happiness. Does that make you proud, you wonder? Or selfish? Perhaps. All you know for certain is that in the brief time spent by his side, all those months ago, you had begun to associate Marcus Acacius with feelings of comfort, of safety, of acceptance. Even perhaps…affection. You like him. Was it so wrong to wish for him to like you, too?

You are in the ostium waiting for him when the general arrives. The sun sets behind him as he approaches on horseback, still in full armor from his travels, and your first thought is that he is even larger than you remember. Blotting out the golden light with the incredible breadth of his shoulders, you think he looks almost otherworldly, like some mythical hero of old returned from a harrowing quest. You can feel your heart speed up behind your ribs, galloping like the hooves of his horse on the cobblestones, and you are thankful no one can hear it but you. You are a woman grown, wedded and bedded and carrying a child, the head of your own household, the wife of a prominent, respected officer of the grand army of Rome. The idea that you should become so flighty, so unmoored at the sight of your own husband is absurd.

When his gaze falls on you, your trembling hands find your stomach, a gesture that has become more and more instinctual as the bump has become more and more visible, and before he can even greet you, his eyes drop to where they rest.

Marcus pulls his horse up short, the soft expression in his dark irises sharpening, intensifying. You watch as his prominent brow draws up, something between shock and awe and hope washing over his face, and then he is swinging his leg up and over his mount, dropping to the ground, closing the distance between you in a handful of long, powerful strides. His eyes do not leave your stomach until he is a mere handful of inches from your body, and you catch sight of his broad, thick-fingered hands clenching at his sides as though resisting the urge to reach out and touch you.

“Dearest wife,” he rasps, his throat dry as he finally, finally flicks his eyes back up to meet yours. “Have you something to tell me?”

You swallow thickly, suddenly overcome with the intensity, the intimacy of his attention. “Welcome home��husband.” Your voice sounds tremulous to your own ears, but you do not allow yourself to dwell on it. Instead, you wrap both of your hands around one of his and bring his dry, scarred knuckles to your lips. Dropping a kiss onto the center ridge, you add, “It is a blessing from the gods to see you well after so many months apart.”

Your name is a sigh on his lips. “It is a blessing to be permitted to return home after so short a time,” he counters. “Now, if my eyes deceive me, I will beg your forgiveness and claim fatigue from the long journey as my excuse. But are you…”

He trails off, as though hesitant to speak the words aloud, and you could swear that someone had reached into your chest and taken hold of your heart for how tight it squeezes at the thread of hope woven into his words. Unable to bear it anymore, you finish his incomplete thought on your own.

“Yes…General Acacius – ”

“Marcus,” he interjects immediately, and you feel yourself flush at the familiarity.

“Marcus,” you echo. “I-I am with child. You are to be a father.”

The breath he releases is long and slow, his dark eyes shining in the setting sun, and if you did not know better, you might think that your revelation had rendered him speechless. However, it takes him only a moment to collect himself, and then he is reaching for your belly with both hands, palms outstretched almost pleadingly. “May I – ?”

You nod readily, feeling a grin split your face, and then his hands are on you, cupping your swelling bump with his sword-calloused touch. His skin catches on the fine material of your tunica, but you are unbothered. He is warm and vital against you, his touch more than welcome after so many months on your own, and as though the precious thing had been waiting for their cue, the child in your womb kicks against their father’s hands.

The general’s brows shoot up at that, his forehead crinkling beneath his dark, gray-streaked curls, and he lets out a rough, strained laugh. “By the gods. It’s true.” Keeping one hand on your bump, he brings the other to the side of your face, wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck, stroking your jaw with his thumb. It’s the most tender, intimate gesture he has ever shown you, and the heat of his palm has your knees weakening beneath you.

“You honor me, amica. Thank you,” he says, husky voice thick with emotion. He presses a brief, dry kiss to your forehead, and you cannot help but wish it had been to your lips instead.

Dinner passes in a blur of sumptuous foods and peppered questions, both from you about his time at the border and from him about how you are settling into your new home, your new role. This is one thing about your relationship that has been easy from the moment you met – it is clear to you that Marcus cares deeply about your perspective on the world. He never rushes you, never cuts in when you are speaking, never attempts to correct you in some demonstration of superiority. It’s a unique experience for you coming from a man, particularly one of his age and rank, and it makes you feel cherished in a way you never would have expected in a marriage like yours. You are under no illusions that yours was a love match, after all, but something about the intent way that Marcus holds your gaze, the way he nods along as you speak, the way he asks such thoughtful questions – it has you all but convinced that he cares for you as you are coming to care for him.

The two of you linger over dinner long past nightfall, but eventually, he stands from his chair at the head of the table, offers his hand to you, and leads you to the privacy of your shared chambers. He beds you that night, as you had expected he would after so long without the touch of a woman, and you go to him willingly. His touch burns with barely-restrained fervor, the expression on his handsome face twisted almost as if in pain, and just as you had on that first night, you feel something building within you as he takes you.

You have no name for it, and yet it feels altering in its magnitude. You feel like lightning, like lava, like some elemental thing ablaze with fire and light, and just when you are certain that the feeling is about to consume you, just as you know in your bones that you cannot take any more or you will surely die –

Marcus spills himself inside you, withdraws, and collapses onto the bed next to you.

The feeling recedes. You catch your breath. Your husband plants a kiss on your hairline, and under his lips, he finds the sweat of your exertion, of your truncated pleasure. He whispers “good night, amica” against your curls, and then he rolls away.

Moments later, soft snores fill the room. The general is fast asleep, but you…

You are going mad.

It is many days later before this madness finally comes to a head.

Every night since his return, Marcus has sought his pleasure in your body. He never forces himself upon you or hurts you in any way; he asks before touching you, always. But as you approach a full week of night after night of thwarted pleasure, you cannot help but begin to find ways to…delay the inevitable question. You have taken to engaging him in conversation as you lay in bed, asking him about the many visitors he has received over the last several days, or about his journey home from the border, or about his favorite horse, Tempestas. He takes this in stride, seemingly happy to indulge you, and the two of you spend long minutes talking softly by candlelight, warm and close under soft, shared sheets.

This night, you decide to ask him about the baby and how he feels knowing that you carry his heir, that his legacy is secured.

You anticipate the smile he gives you, the fond look in his eyes as he reaches out to feel the curve of your belly, as he has done now hundreds of times over the last week. What you do not expect is the earnestness of his words as he tells you, “I have never been a father before. At my age, I did not expect that I would ever have the privilege. Now that you have made it possible, I find that I care much less for legacy or inheritance than I do for…safety. Stability. Peace.”

You soften at that, and on instinct, your hand goes to his hair, brushing his graying curls back from his forehead with gentle, soothing strokes. You have found that this is something he likes, and he leans into your touch like a barn cat in a sunbeam. He seems pensive, and you allow the silence between you to linger while he gathers his thoughts.

“I mourn that this child should have a general for a father,” he admits after a moment. “I will be absent for much of his life. I will disappear for stretches of time that could number in years, and when I return, I will be like a stranger to him. Were it in my control, I would be more present. I wish to know my child. And for him to know me.”

“Him?” you echo, a bit impishly, and Marcus smirks.

“Or her, of course. I cannot claim to know whom you carry in your womb. I shall leave that mystery for the gods.”

You grin back him, enjoying the good humor sparkling in his dark eyes. “I am sure that however much time you are permitted to spend with our child – be it months or weeks or days – it will be enough.”

Lifting himself up on one elbow, the general fixes you with a skeptical frown. “How can you be so certain?” he asks.

“Because it does not take long to see who you are, Marcus,” you reply earnestly. “To see your nobility, your strength, your power. Your kindness. These are all things I learned about you in the mere fortnight before we were wed. Your child shall know these things about you, as well.”  

Tucking your hands beneath your cheek, you stare up at him from your pillow. The warmth of the candlelight casts shadows across his golden skin, highlighting the soft crinkles around his eyes, the bridge of his nose, the plush fullness of his lower lip. “Besides, even when you are away, I shall be around to teach them,” you add with a shrug.

“Amica…” He seems a bit overcome at your sincerity, and his low voice rasps like a sword on a whetstone in the darkness. “You are very generous.”

That riot of butterflies returns to your belly as the intimacy of the moment stretches on. Gods, but he is so beautiful like this. No one has ever looked at you the way he does – not with base lust for your body, not with envy for your wealth, not with dismissal for your sex. Marcus looks at you like something precious, like something to be valued. That look makes you foolish, makes your cheeks hot and your tongue loose.

When you speak again, it is without thought.

“When I think about our child…I hope that they look like you, so that even when we are apart, I might have some comfort in seeing your face every day.”

At that, the general lets out a full-bodied laugh and rolls his eyes. Flipping over onto his back, he shakes his head fondly at you like one might a mischievous child. “Now I know for certain that you are flattering me, wife.”

Your brows nearly reach your hairline as a flush of embarrassment races up the back of your neck, darkening your cheeks in an instant. “Wh – No, sir, I would never!” you insist. “I am being entirely earnest.”

“My face? My face upon an innocent babe?” He says this with a scoffing laugh, sounding amused, but when you catch sight of the tightness in his jaw, the wrinkle between his brows, you think that there might be something…authentic beneath his jesting words. “No, my dear wife. It would be far better if the child were to share your visage. Then they might truly be comely to look upon.”

Is it possible…have you stumbled upon a true insecurity, you wonder? It seems unlikely. This is General Marcus Acacius, commander of the emperors’ armies, a man two decades your senior who fought wars on behalf of Rome before you could even walk on two feet. He exudes power and strength and intelligence, and he carries himself with the kind of confidence and self-assurance that comes along with experience. He is a skilled strategist, an indomitable warrior.

Does he truly not see…

Scooting closer to him on the bed, you allow yourself to cup his bearded jaw, to turn his face toward yours. “There would be no greater gift than a child with your eyes, Marcus,” you say softly. “Or perhaps your smile.”

“But not this nose, surely,” he replies, tapping the end of his prominent, hooked nose with one calloused finger. He shakes his head with a wry smile, as though the idea is too preposterous to consider. “I would not willingly inflict such an eyesore upon a child.”

By the gods. He means it, you realize. He has truly surprised you. To your knowledge, the general is not a vain or self-conscious man. You have never known him to care overmuch about how he looks; it was quite a contrast to the pampered upper-class boys you grew up alongside, something you had found refreshing when you had first met. Had you misunderstood? Misinterpreted his lack of self-regard as a lack of care?

You decide it does not matter. All you know for certain is that your husband appears to be under the impression that his appearance leaves something to be desired, and as his wife, you feel it is your duty to demonstrate to him just how wrong he is.

The thought has your heartrate picking up again.

“Do you know…what I thought,” you begin haltingly, forcing yourself to hold his gaze, “the first day I met you, at my father’s villa?”

His dark brows knit together in a small frown, as though your words have surprised him. “Tell me.”

Swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat, you confess, “I thought you the most striking man I had ever seen.”

“You flatter me, dear heart.” His words are soft, as is his answering smile, but you can hear the platitude in his voice. He does not believe you.

“No, no, it is not flattery.” With some effort, you push yourself up off of the bed, too emphatic to remain lying down for this discussion. You haul your pregnant body up to kneel at his side, tucking your knees into the warmth of his thick waist, and your long hair dangles over his broad chest as you look into his eyes. “I know that…the circumstances of our union were not exactly romantic, and I know that we do not yet know each other well, but I hope you will heed my words when I tell you that…I count myself extremely fortunate to have been married to so handsome a man.” Glancing down at your hands, you fiddle with one of the many thin, gold rings on your fingers in self-consciousness. “My father could have selected anyone he liked. The fact that it is you who shares my bed, you whose child I carry… It is a blessing.”

It is silent between you for a time, your words hanging in the air like a declaration, but then Marcus’s body shifts against you. Curling up to sit at your side, one of his thick, broad hands comes into your line of vision and wraps itself around both of yours, stilling your fidgeting.

You risk a look up, meeting his gaze through the length of your lashes, and you feel your breath leave your body as you take in the softest, warmest, most tender expression you have ever seen on his handsome face.

“It pleases me to hear that you are happy,” he murmurs, running one of his thumbs along the back of your hand. “And that your affection for my look is genuine. It would not do for you to say such things in an attempt to…endear yourself to me. There is no need. I am already quite fond of you.”

You are quick to shake your head. “Not at all! If I have ever given you such an impression, you have my deepest apologies.”

Now that your true feelings for your husband have been revealed, you feel as though you can no longer contain them. Under the affectionate weight of his dark eyes, more comes spilling forth, unbidden. “The truth is that even in the short time that we have known one another, I have spent many hours at my easel attempting to recall your likeness in detail so that I might recreate it. Your nose in particular, I find to be most…attractive.”

Your hand moves of its own accord then, slipping from his grip to float across the narrow space between you as though possessed by some covetous spirit. The very tip of your middle finger lands in the space between his eyebrows, and although you make no conscious decision to do so, you trace down the steep curve of the bridge of his nose with a touch so delicate it might as well have been a breeze.

Your own voice sounds breathless and far away to your ears as you whisper, “You look like a sculpture, Marcus. Like the great marble warriors along the garden path. It makes you look stately and…masculine and…commanding.” Between your thighs, you feel your most intimate muscles clench. You have grown swollen and sensitive there, a feeling you have become increasingly familiar with since your husband’s return home. It’s sweet and delicious and utterly torturous, making you want to squirm in your seat, but you resist.

At least…until Marcus traps your hand in his and brings your wandering fingers to his mouth.

Your eyes snap to his, and you watch as he presses slow, lingering kisses across each of your fingertips. The sensation of his hot, moist breath on your sensitive skin has you trembling, and gods, but his lips are so soft. Turning your palm up to the heavens, the general places a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the tender center of your palm, and you feel yourself swaying toward him as though under a spell.

The plush of his lips dances gently across the thin skin of the inside of your wrist, and your pulse thrums beneath his touch as he growls, “There is perhaps…one advantage of such a face.”

“Tell me.” Your echo of his earlier words comes out like a whine, like you are pleading with him, though what you are pleading for, you cannot say.

Marcus appears to consider your request for a moment, his eyes going sharp and calculating, and then he says, “Perhaps it might be better if I showed you. Do you trust me, dear heart?”

You are quick to nod. “Yes. I trust you.”

Inclining his head at you in acknowledgment, he releases his grip on your hand and pulls away entirely. He lays back on the bed then, scooting down so that his head is flat on the padded surface rather than on his pillow. He adjusts himself a bit, shifting back and forth, but once he is comfortable, he looks back at you and pats his chest with both hands. The sound is muffled by his soft linen sleep tunic but nonetheless audible in the silence of your bedchamber.

“Mount me,” he says without preamble, and you swear you can hear the whirring gears in your brain grind to a halt.

“W-What?”

“I want you to sit astride my face, as you would a horse.” No matter how intensely your face burns at the wicked suggestion, you cannot seem to look away. His deep brown eyes are bottomless in the dark, the depths of them reflecting the candlelight like water at the bottom of a well. You can feel yourself falling into them, can feel something at the very core of you tugging toward him, answering his call. If you were to glance down at the rest of his body, you would see the evidence of the general’s own arousal tenting his tunic, but your gaze is trapped, held fast by the magnetism of him.

“Come, amica,” he says after a moment of your silent, scandalized staring. “You may rest your ass upon my chest, but I would have that sweet cunt on my mouth.”

You swallow audibly, still making no move to obey. Wetness begins to pool between your thighs, slicking your skin and staining the fabric of your sleep clothes, and you lose the battle against your urge to squirm. Your thighs clench together, and you shift upon your calves in search of friction, but you find none. You need his touch…but what he is suggesting is –

“M-Marcus, I couldn’t possibly – I shall smother you, how will you – ”

He cuts off your protests with a growl of your name, and in that moment, you see not your noble husband staring up at you. Instead, you see the Roman General Acacius – sharp jaw clenched, nostrils flared, dark eyes blazing.

“I shall not ask again, wife. No harm will come to you or to me. Now do as you’re told and sit on my face.”

You hesitate for another beat, then two, and then you shuffle forward on wobbly knees to obey. Your husband’s eyes burn a path across your body as you approach him, tracing from your parted, panting lips, to your heaving breasts, to your swollen, pregnant belly. You feel the look like a physical touch, and the sensation has your skin flushing, has sweat breaking out at the small of your back and the nape of your neck. With shaking, uncertain hands, you reach out and brace your palms against the gold-filigreed headboard for stability.

“That’s it, nearly there now,” Marcus sighs as you clumsily, awkwardly swing one of your legs over his body. Your knee lands on the other side of his shoulder, and you feel the heat of his touch on your naked thighs almost immediately. With slow, deliberate motions, he pushes the hem of your sleep tunic up to your hips, revealing your bare ass and cunt to the cool air of the bedroom.

You draw your lower lip between your teeth to stifle a whine, and gooseflesh breaks out across your skin. You’ve started to shake, though whether in fear or arousal, you couldn’t say. Gods, you’re so exposed now. The wetness between your thighs is fully on display, mere inches from your husband’s face. It’s mortifying; if you could melt into the bed and disappear forever, you know you would.

Marcus, however, clearly has no such compunctions. His thick fingers knead the soft, lush flesh of your hips and thighs, using his grip to draw your forward, to draw you down. The groan that oozes from his lips into the hot slip of atmosphere between you sounds exactly like the one he makes when he first slides inside you, and you feel yourself clench involuntarily at the tremor of it now sounding between your legs. He must catch sight of this, your body’s own betrayal happening right under that stately nose that started this whole ordeal, for one moment he appears to be watching you settle in with rapt attention, and the next, he is releasing a dark, sinister chuckle and yanking you closer.

You give a thought for resistance then, consider pulling yourself from his hold, but –

Oh, you can feel his breath on your cunt, can feel your dripping curls shift beneath the current of air as he laughs.  

You shift a bit on your knees, settling so that your weight rests just above each of his shoulders with his hands gripping your hips from behind you. The lower curve of your ass brushes the fine fabric of his tunic, and you are certain that if you could see his face, you would find his chin mere inches from the part of you that pulses and throbs for his attention. As it is, the roundness of your bump nearly eclipses his head, leaving only wisps of the thick, graying curls on the top of his head to peak out around the edges.

“Marcus?” Your voice trembles with nerves around his name, and beneath you, he sighs.

“Well done, amica, you are right where I want you,” he assures you with a groan. You feel the well-trimmed stubble of his silvered beard brush your lower lips; the feeling startles a gasp out of you, and on instinct, one of your hands flies from the headboard to the top of his head. “Mmm, yes, that’s it – sink your fingers into my hair. Hold yourself steady on me.”

You hardly recognize the sound of your own voice as you whimper, “Marcus – Marcus, please.”

“I know what you need.” His touch on your hips is warm, gentle, soothing. “Don’t be afraid. Now rest your weight on me and let me taste you.”

The joints in your limbs feel like water at the general’s words, at the hot wash of his breath across your swollen center. The embarrassment at your precarious position above his face still fizzes in your veins, making you lightheaded, but molten desire has begun to drown it out. Your mind doesn’t fully understand what is about to happen or what he is asking of you, but it seems that on some level, your body does, because it is absolutely thrumming for it.

There is nothing for it anymore. You cannot refuse him. You do not want to refuse him. Whatever he is about to do to you, your body needs it, craves it in the same way it does air or water or food. When you sink your cunt down onto your husband’s waiting mouth, it feels both like a surrender and like a victory.

“Oh – gods, Marcus – ”

Marcus groans deep in his chest the moment you touch his tongue, and then he is bracketing his arms around your thighs and forcibly seating you even more firmly against him. Dragging the slick, pink muscle of his tongue through your folds in one long, languorous stroke, it doesn’t take long before your thighs begin to tremble around his ears. He is focused, meticulous, thorough in his exploration of your most intimate flesh – sucking delicately at your lips, dipping the gentle tip of his tongue into your soft, quivering hole, using the flat of it to dance around that swollen nub at your apex that pulses with the thunderous beat of your heart. The thick arms locked around your thighs angle you this way and that, and through the sound of your own gasps and whines, you can hear the way your wetness drips at his touch.

Every lick, every suck, every swirl of his tongue serves to drive you higher, and you find yourself mindlessly running your hands over your body to ground yourself – stroking your belly, gripping your hips, cupping your breasts. The latter has you accidentally brushing your hardened nipples with your thumbs, and even muted as it is through your tunic, the sensation has you crying out into the dark room.

And that tongue never stops. Marcus is relentless – inexorable and yet unhurried. You can feel all of the tension in your hips and thighs melting away under the heat of his touch, and yet deep within you, something has begun to twist, to pulse, to squeeze. It feels like it does when Marcus beds you – pleasure stirring, burning, building within you as he grows more and more intent, more and more hungry, oh, gods…

It is miraculous. It is unbearable. It is tantamount to torture.

“Marcus,” you gasp helplessly, your fingers knotting in his hair, gripping the headboard. “I – I need – ”

The general pulls away from your cunt with a growl like an animal, and the sound rumbles through your body as he rasps, “That’s it, beautiful girl. Ride my face. Grind those hips into me and ride my face.”

You understand each of his words individually, but they do not coalesce in your mind. How does one “ride” a face? For a moment, you feel self-consciousness and shame begin to creep in at the edges of your thoughts. There are others who would understand the general’s instructions, surely. Others who would know what he wanted and would do it for him in an instant. For the first time, you allow yourself to consider the women that follow the army camps, the women whose services you were certain your husband had partaken of throughout his extensive career. They would know, certainly. Was there truly anything you could offer him that they could not?

Just as you begin to lose that delicious curl of pleasure in your core, as the fog of desire begins to clear from your brain, Marcus flexes those thick, strong arms around your legs and encourages your hips to thrust, dragging your tender flesh across the stubble of his beard, the plush of his lips, the slick of his tongue. That tongue, suddenly firm and pointed, thrusts into your sex, lapping at your wetness, filling the place that clenches for his cock. With the hitch of your hips, that swollen bundle of nerves just at the top glances across the bridge of your husband’s nose.

“Ah! Marcus!”

Beneath your cunt on his face, beneath your hand in his hair, you feel him nod emphatically, and understanding crashes over you like a wave. “Riding” his face. “Mounting” him, like a horse. This is what he wants. He wants you to thrust your hips against his face, as if in the saddle of a warhorse. To rub yourself against his nose and his tongue.

He wants you to find your pleasure with his body.

As though all your joints and muscles had been waiting on this realization, your hips begin to move of their own accord almost immediately, thrusting against that relentless, ever-present tongue, driving it deeper into the hot clutch of your cunt, and fuck…that nose, that big, strong, curved, perfect nose, glancing off of that most sensitive spot with every thrust. Head thrown back, hands on your breasts, fingers twisting and pulling your tender nipples through your tunic, you experiment with different speeds, different pressures, different depths, but if you are honest with yourself, you are so far gone that it has all begun to feel equally intense, equally delicious.

And so you move with abandon – leaning heavily on the headboard for balance, gripping his hair, you grind your swollen, dripping cunt across your husband’s handsome face, fucking his tongue deep into your body, riding the hard curve of his perfect Roman nose. You feel yourself pulse and twitch and tremble with every thrust, feel him lap and slurp and suck at you with new fervor, feel his thick fingers dig into your hips so deeply you know you will bear his bruises in the morning. You had not known pleasure like this existed, had not known it was possible for you to achieve it. You feel drunk with it, the way it seeps into your veins like one too many glasses of wine, and Marcus drinks you down like the finest vintage.

Your clitoris drags across his nose once again, and you cannot smother your moan at the feeling. “Gods, Marcus, your nose – ”

Against your wetness, the general’s face vibrates with something like a chuckle. “I know, dear heart, I know – I told you, this face has one advantage.”

You shake your head fervently, feeling your long curls brush your back as you grind. “It’s perfect. Perfect, Marcus, I – oh, gods, I feel – ”

Another animalistic growl ripples through your husband’s chest, and you feel him nod beneath you. “Jus’ let it happen, amica. Take your pleasure,” he slurs, mouth full of you.

And you do. You take and take and take, clit grinding, hips thrusting, thighs shaking, lungs gasping, and with every pass, that bright, hot, vicious spiral in your abdomen winds tighter, tighter, tighter. Gods, it feels as though it is going to consume you – to swallow you whole and drag you under, to drown you in your own dripping sweetness, your own savage pleasure.

And then it plateaus, the sensations holding, holding, staying at precisely the same level, dangling you over the edge, and in a far away voice, you hear yourself whimper, “Marcus, please!”

Releasing his grip on one of your hips, the man beneath you lands a single, sharp smack to the meat of your ass, and over the edge you fall.

It’s everything you thought it could be – lightning in your veins, lava in your lungs, something primal and elemental and raw that rips through your body like a tidal wave that leaves you hiccuping whines and shaking like a leaf atop the general’s face. You spill your pleasure down his chin, into his mouth, along his jaw. It slips down his neck and dampens the embroidered collar of his tunic, and the way he groans into your twitching cunt, you would think that it had caused him pain. But no – he feels your ecstasy as though it is his own. You have left your body to soar among the clouds, and he joins you, overcome with the particular joy of being responsible for making his wife – the mother of his child – reach such heights.

When you come back to yourself, you are utterly spent – limp and boneless and sweating as though you had just run at top speed from here to the city gates. You start to collapse, and Marcus’s strong hands are there to catch you, to slide you down from his face to his lap. Gathering you into his arms, he brings you back down onto the mattress and tucks you into his side. His broad shoulder cushions your flushed cheek, and his fingers brush your disheveled hair back from your face as you catch your breath. Through bleary eyes, you catch the way his face shines in the candlelight. He’s covered in your slick.

For a few moments, you simply gaze at each other as the silence stretches between you. It is only punctuated by the sound of your labored breaths as each of you settle, but somehow it isn’t awkward, and you find yourself smiling in spite of yourself. He’s so perfect like this, your Marcus. Hair mussed, face pink, everything from his chin to his nose glowing with your pleasure.

There’s a softness around his eyes you’ve never seen before, an earnest warmth that burrows its way into your chest and makes a nest there dangerously close to your heart. It’s an emotion you have a name for, if you are brave enough to say it, and the thought has you gripping tight to his tunic.

You are in awe of him.

You…you love him.

“And what is your verdict, my wife?” he asks after a beat. His voice is a low rumble that travels through his chest and into your body, warming you inside. “Does this Roman nose still please you?”

A tired grin tugs at the corners of your lips, pulling you out of the seriousness of your thoughts, and you nod as enthusiastically as you can manage. “Indeed, I am not certain I have ever been quite so…pleased before, husband.”

“Hmm. Good.” Marcus tucks the arm around your body into your waist, pulling you even deeper into his embrace. “Then perhaps the thing may serve a purpose after all.”

You reach up and cup his cheek in your palm, feeling the stickiness of your spend in his beard on your skin. “The purpose it serves is that it is my husband’s nose, and as such, is a part of the dearest face in the world to me.” His dark eyes soften at that, and he turns to place a warm kiss on the heel of your hand.

“Though…should you find yourself forgetting,” you add with an impish grin, “I would not object to a…repeat demonstration of its value. If it would be of any help to you, of course.”

This startles a laugh from his chest, his dark eyes crinkling with mirth, and you cannot help but join in. Gods, he is gorgeous, you think to yourself as you chuckle together in the dark. Both in his soul and in his body, your husband is gorgeous.

A hand drops to the place where your child rests, safe and protected inside your womb, and you feel a little flutter against your palm.

You decide then that you care not whether your child bears your face or Marcus’s. Either way, they will be beautiful, for how could they not be, when they have come from this?

Latin Translation:

amica - darling, sweetheart

[ktownshizzle]

Wild & Free | Part 1 of 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

Summary: Everybody says they want to marry Min Yoongi. But what if he only wants to say 'yes' to you.

Alternatively: While on the last leg of their PTD tour, Yoongi discovers there was such a thing as drive-thru weddings in Las Vegas - spontaneous, wild, exciting - something his pretty little brain can't seem to process having lived the last decade of his life planned to perfection by his management team, which includes you. When he goes down a rabbit hole of Youtube videos about The Little White Wedding Chapel (Omo! Michael Jordan got married there!), he starts getting all sorts of ideas - all of it starring him and you.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Childhood friends to lovers, Idol!au, Coworkers to lovers (reader is a HYBE employee)

Warnings: Mild angst, cursing lol, mentions of sex, pining and lots of it, reader is insecure, couple of idiots truly, covid didn’t happen, one mention of recreational gambling (we're in Vegas!), canon moments I botched for my own use, ginger Yoongi is a warning in and of itself, angry Yoongi, cliches ‘cos meh, possible inaccuracies about Las Vegas - been there once, but details used in the story are just from research. Also, I get that Las Vegas weddings might seem tacky to some. Coming from a background of traditional, elaborate ceremonies, the characters in this story are genuinely surprised by this simpler approach. After all, a wedding is really just about you and your partner, and that’s the essence we’re exploring here. ♡ If you can get on board with that, then let's head to the Tunnel of Love! Viva Las Vegas! 🙂

Word Count: 7.2k (approx. 30 mins.)

Posting date: August 31, 2024

Dividers: @/saradika-graphics

Part One | Part Two | Masterlist

"Yoongi, marry me!" You shout at the top of your lungs, earning laughs from the people around you. 

On the other side of the room, a couple of other people shout the same catchphrase, including Kim Taehyung, who seems to get the most kick out of it out of all the members.

Coerced to do one of those Tik Tok dance challenges, Min Yoongi stands in front of the room, hides his face behind his hands and you watch in delight as he awkwardly sways his hips side to side. More cheers erupt and two seconds after he decides he was done.

"Hajimaaaa!" Your friend says to no one and everyone, cheeks burning as he stalks back to the chair he was occupying across yours.

You push his beer bottle towards him, "Good job, gramps."

"Fuck off," he says with no real bite, taking a long swig off his drink to cool off his reddened cheeks.

It's great to finally get some down time with the crew. After such a fast-paced, high production tour, everybody needed to blow off some steam. This Korean BBQ restaurant off the Strip was the perfect venue to get the team together for samgyupsal and drinks. The vibes are, as the kids say, immaculate.

You are already sufficiently buzzed so you sit down as Seokjin takes his turn to do the challenge. He really seems to be more into it than the man currently giving you a look.

"I heard you." He narrows his eyes at you almost accusingly.

"What? It's the new viral catchphrase," you shrugged. "Everybody and their grandma is saying it these days."

"Not their grandma."

"You should be flattered."

Stop, you thought he would say. But his response catches you off guard.

"Only ‘cause you said it."

And he has the audacity to lick his bottom lip, a ghost of a smirk forming.

Fuck. Your throat dries up. When did it get so hot here?

“And in case you’re wondering…” he leans forward, a dopey-ass grin now on his face. “The answer is yes.”

Record scratch.

Did he really just-

Thankfully, you recover.

“Stop playing,” you say, trying to sound casual. But your face probably betrays the internal turmoil happening in your brain. You fear the day will come that he will have caught on to the unshakeable something you have been harboring for the better part of the last decade.

See, there’s always been an unspoken tension between you and Yoongi, something neither of you ever addressed or acted upon. Perhaps, in your younger days, there were moments when you felt your friendship was on the verge of becoming something more. But then he debuted as an idol, and things took off, and you were robbed of time. With his group’s growing popularity and you managing his personal career, the possibility of exploring anything beyond friendship and your work rapport became even more distant.

You feel like a bug under a microscope the way he observes you with a lopsided grin and while you try to hold his gaze, this clown interrupts.

"If y'all done eye-fucking each other, some of us are heading back." A drunk Park Jimin says with a mischievous grin, eyes crinkling like crescents. You could almost throw up.

Your eyes shift back to Yoongi and he just blinks in that blank way he does and bends to collect his bag from under his chair, completely ignoring his bandmate.

‘Fuck you,’ you mouth to Jimin hastily. Just enough time before Yoongi emerges with his backpack and your tote, which he already slung on his own shoulder.

You try to take it from him, but he waves you off.

"We're in bus 2," Jimin sings-songs and walks off, looking every bit the trouble-maker.

Thing is, you made the mistake of confiding in Jimin once, last year. You got drunk after getting dumped by some guy you met on Bumble three dates down, though it really was the sting of learning that Yoongi took one of Psy’s backup dancers out for coffee, even if it was just casual, that pushed you off the edge and into a bar in Hannam Intersection. Coincidentally, Jimin was there with that cute idol from Shinee and some other guys, but he joined you when he saw you looking like shit.

After learning about your long-standing crush (thank God you did not drop the L-bomb), Jimin would occasionally tease you, much to your chagrin. He’s careful not to push things too far, but it’s clear he sees himself as a bit of a cupid. You keep telling him that nothing will come of it, but he just won’t let up.

You are scared for things to change between you and Yoongi, not when everything is just how it’s supposed to be. 

Not when you believe in your heart that if anything would have happened, it already should have.

And you would snuff the last embers of the torch that you keep holding out for him if only you knew how.

"Drive-thru weddings?" Yoongi enunciates in English, with the slightest lisp that you have always found so endearing. As your tour bus passes by chapel after wedding chapel, he continues to wonder out loud. "People get married there?"

Namjoon turns his head to look at Yoongi from his seat in front. "Yeah, hyung. They don't even need to get out of their car. It's just like a McDonald's. But they get a marriage license instead of a burger."

“Really? And people do this? Like, randomly?”

“Yeah, some celebrities decided to do it that way, but I assume many people do, too. I mean, look how many we’ve passed already.” Namjoon says with a tiny grin, cheek dimpling.

"Mm." Yoongi hums and you're curious about that faraway look on his face as he stares outside.

“Are you interested?” You joke lamely, instantly regretting opening your mouth. Why do you keep propositioning him? You blame that ‘one for the road’ shot of soju you downed on the way out of the restaurant.

He studies your face, before he replies lowly, so only you can hear, “Are you asking?”

Fuck, he’s bold. He’s also a bit drunk, but everyone knows he can drink anyone under the table. You know this is not the first time he got weirdly flirty with you after one too many drinks, so you take it in stride.

“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” Hoseok's voice booms from the back and with a chorus of laughs ringing inside the vehicle, you take that as a sign that this is definitely just the effect of being in Sin City.

A few beats after and you steal a glance at Yoongi, finding his gaze transfixed at a sign that read: "The Little White Wedding Chapel".

Last day of the Las Vegas tour and while you are glad it is almost done, your heart aches as you remember that this is also your last one, ever. Your 60-day notice is already running, having tendered your resignation a month after LA wrapped up.

As great of a job as it is, your heart seems to always be at odds because of the lingering feelings you have for Yoongi. Everyday, you find yourself trapped in the limbo of unspoken feelings and missed chances. The endless “what ifs” weigh you down, and you can’t summon the courage to confront them. It’s not anyone’s fault but your own, and you hoped that stepping away from this life might jumpstart your next chapter, as BTS is also about to embark on theirs. 

With the group taking a break for solo projects and gearing up for their military service, it seemed like the perfect moment for you to explore something different, too. Maybe finally open that cafe you’ve always wanted. Maybe you can also meet somebody, especially since your eomma has been on your back even more lately about giving her a grandchild.

You weren't planning to sever ties with Yoongi entirely, or at all. There’s too much history between you two to just walk away from the friendship. But you were desperate to let go of the emotional baggage.

The thing is, you have not told anyone. Not even Yoongi. Especially not Yoongi. It is highly likely that he will try to stop you and press for reasons, and you can't tell him that you’re in love with him, can you? Just… no. What a fuckin’ cliche.

You don’t know when you will be ready to tell him the truth, but it needs to be soon.

You find him on the side of the stage, eyes locked in on his phone that he held with one hand and you already can tell he is watching a documentary with the way his face is screwed up in concentration. His ‘watching a cat video’ face was infinitely more smiley, that's for sure.

He lifts his sleepy eyes up as you approach, handing you a latte that he apparently picked up for you from that place across the street, because the coffee from the catering ‘tastes like shit.’

Before you can say thanks, Yoongi exclaims, “Omo! Michael Jordan got married there?” 

Your confusion must be written all over your face, because he quickly explains, “You know in one of those drive-thru wedding chapels we saw the other night. Wow. I can't believe Jordan did that.” 

He pauses the video and turns the screen toward you, revealing a white building decked out with all sorts of decorations reminiscent of Valentine's day. The way he looks at you, expectantly, makes you feel like you should share his excitement, but you're a bit stumped. “Yoongi-ah, why are you watching this?”

He fidgets with a sheepish grin. “Well, I’ve never seen anything like this before. Korean weddings can be so complicated, you know? Hyung was really frustrated with all the traditions at his wedding.” He shrugs, still looking a bit embarrassed but trying to stay casual. “Here, it seems like you just need the right person. And maybe some courage. Okay, a lot of courage. I just— I don’t know, I find it fascinating.”

He nods to himself, gnawing on his bottom lip.

Totally endeared, you hop to sit beside him on the stage, bump your shoulder with his, and say, “Go on, press play.” 

The tiniest of frowns that has settled between his brows smoothes out and he angles the screen more towards you before resuming the video.

Turns out it really is fascinating (Omo! Joe Jonas also got married there! But wait, isn't he divorced now?), so you watch a few more clips, before soundcheck starts.

You’ve always known Yoongi to have massive hyperfixations. In fact, you’re not at all surprised when that night during the concert, he even cheekily says to the crowd during his ment, “Welcome to Las Vegas, with the drive-thru wedding.” And of course, the audience eats it up, those wearing Shooky headbands, veils or holding “Yoongi, marry me” signs end up being the loudest.

But while you’ve supported all his previous mini-obsessions (League of Legends, Dalgona coffee, woodworking) until he over-indulged to the point of almost flushing it out of his system, you are not quite sure how else to help him with this one.

Unless of course, you… hah, you wish.

The tour wraps up successfully. The boys have different group and individual schedules before they return to Seoul. For Yoongi, a shoot for his photofolio, and some b-roll content for his upcoming documentary was on deck for him, you, and his crew. 

The drive up to the desert was pretty uneventful as mostly everyone was asleep. You arrive sometime in the afternoon and immediately get to work in order to catch the golden hour. Yoongi has disappeared into the makeup trailer and you busy yourself with checking the preps.

The theme was glamping. Though Yoongi would never admit that that was the concept he approved. He would most likely say something more deep and poetic, that the setting is a poignant portrayal of his growth as a person and a metaphorical exploration of his artistry… Or something like that.

Things were running a little later than you like, which always happens when you are doing shoots overseas, so you volunteer to help with the set design. Placing some of the props near the camper van, you take a second to decide whether to use the metal cup or the ceramic mug, when a sleepy voice interrupts your thoughts.

"Set looks great. Good job."

You turn your head to look at Yoongi and wow his hair is orange.

The color of his favorite citrus and of course he looks sexy as fuck. He smells phenomenal, too–like mandarins with a hint of spice. You are in so much trouble. Seems your mouth is filled with cotton the way you are unable to make a sound.

“Yah! I spent hours on this new hair, you're not going to say anything?” he whines with a small pout.

You snicker at his cute expression, reaching out to touch the ends of his hair very lightly else the glam team unnies might scold you. “You look like a cat.”

“Ugh,” he groans, walking away with what you now realize is a stick of marshmallows in his right hand.

“No, Yoongi, it's cute,” You follow him as he stops in front of the bonfire, roasting the marshmallows over it briefly before taking a bite, still not placated by your words.

You decide to put him out of his misery. “You look good. Like really good. ARMY would probably even say sexy.” You inwardly cringe at the last bit–using ARMY to voice out your inner thirst, really?

Nonetheless, Yoongi's reaction is priceless. His lips stretch into a thin line, chin dimpling as he pretends to not enjoy the compliment that he very well fished for. 

“Ok quit acting like an emoji and let me take your photos for IG.” You take your phone out and snap a few pics of him posing with the marshmallow, some without it. A couple of him grinning, gummy smiles on display, and you know you need to keep some of these for yourself when the inevitable comes and you won't see his face everyday. 

“C’mere,” he pulls you to his side, arm going around your shoulder. A whiff of his musk has you swooning which you hope he does not notice.

Your phone is taken. He snaps a few selfies of you both and tsks when he sees your lock screen. 

“Tablo-hyung, still? You know he's literally married and has a kid, right?”

You make a face and snatch your phone from his grasp. “Yah! As if you're not an idol and your face is not the wallpaper of thousands of people.”

“I think you mean millions.”

“Ass.” You try to shove him, but his hand closes in on your phone again. 

Swipes and taps later, he seems satisfied and your phone is handed back to you, before he walks off without so much as a goodbye.

What did he do?

Wait.

Tablo is gone. 

And the tableau in his place is one of the photos you just took with him. Eyes twinkling, smiles identical. The picture of a seemingly perfect couple.

Oh, damn. You really are a goner.

You send the pic to Jimin a little later. His response was unwelcome.

Jimin: You two have literal heart eyes for each other. So cute.

You: Not helping.

Jimin: Just tell him how you feel.

You: Again, not helping.

Jimin: What's your plan?

You: Do you really wanna know?

You ring him. Might as well tell somebody.

In between layouts, Yoongi films interviews for some magazines. You have complete faith in him and his media relations skills at this point. Smart, thought-provoking Yoongi can wow any interviewer, sometimes to the point where numbers have been slipped inside his coat pocket. Thank God this one is on Zoom, ‘cause you can’t deal with something like that happening right now.

You caught wind of something that he said during the interview and you made a mental note to ask him about it later.

“Sometimes, it feels like my life is just a sequence of obligations and schedules,” he tells the online reporter. “I can’t even remember the last time I made plans for myself. Being here in Las Vegas is refreshing. It’s like everyone is just living by their own rules. I don’t think I’m like that at all.”

"Do you want to be like that?" The reporter asks.

"Maybe..." he shrugs, sinking a bit lower on the chair he was on.

It was late and the crew was just winding down before packing up the set.

“How was your day?” he asks you with a soft smile. You can see the tiredness in his eyes.

“Not bad,” you say, taking a spot beside him on the picnic blanket that was still on set. He seems pensive.

“Did you ever think we would get this far?” he asks. “Couple of Daegu kids, now running around in America.”

“Who would've thought…” you say, observing him. His eyes were stoic, but you know he's got something else on his mind, something bothering him.

“You said something in your interview earlier.”

“Nothing bad, I hope?”

“Not bad per se, I just never heard you say it in an interview before. About not feeling like you can make your own plans. Like life has become a series of schedules.”

He hums and takes a sip of something from the mug he is holding. Your nose tells you it is definitely not hot cocoa.

“I’ve come to terms with it for the most part, you know,” he sighs looking out into the vastness. “But plans are good. Makes me feel like there is a point to all this.”

You follow his line of vision and sigh. You knew he was feeling a lot of stress lately. His life was not easy. You hate that you have to pile on top of it.

“We need to start planning D-day soon. It's going to be so busy with the album and the tour and all the content we have to make. Oh God, we might have to do fan calls, but I'm so embarrassed when I do it.”

You mimic his hum, getting disoriented with his use of ‘we’. He still doesn't know that word would be null and void soon.

“By the way, we gotta come up with a different name for the Youtube show. I can't pronounce it. Sich? Sush? Shit-”

“Suchwita,” you say, guilt settling in your tummy.

“...and we have that collab with Halsey for what’s that game again? Doom? No, Diablo! We used to play that before, remember? I think we might be doing a music video for that one.”

Just tell him. This would be the best time.

“Look, Yoongi I-”

“Thank you,” he suddenly says, in a tone so soft, and the way he punctuates it with your name makes your heart soar.

Your eyes snap to him, the slight pinks dusting his cheeks make him look like the teenage boy you met in music school.

“I’m not good at this - fuck, this is so awkward - umm but I've really been meaning to tell you that I appreciate you.” He continues, “You're really important to me.”

You try to fight back a smile at how elated you are, but can’t. And maybe he needs to see how happy this is making you. How happy he is making you.

In the years that you've known him there were two distinct moments that made you believe that just as you have been in love with him, maybe he was in love with you, too. And as you watch him rub his crinkled nose, trying to act chill but can't, you somehow convince your fickle heart that this might be the third.

“I’ve been thinking a lot, with all this talk about our ‘chapter 2’...”

“Yeah?”

“I know things are going to change, but I’m glad you’re still here. I honestly don't know what I'm doing half the time, but you, you give me direction,” he smiles, a hand scratching the back of his neck.

“Are you seriously thanking me for my constant nagging?” 

“No,” he chuckles to himself. “I’m thanking you for being my friend.”

Oh. Ouch.

His lips keep moving and moving, and he is saying things with a fond smile, but your ears can’t register a single word. Except that single word: friend. Because, that’s all he sees you as, and that’s all you’ll ever be, and lest you need a reminder, that’s why you did what you did.

Disappointment cracks through your core and your lungs are suddenly devoid of air and you feel the urgent need to step away.

“Sorry Yoongi, I- I have to go.”

“Huh?” The light in his face fades, replaced by a frown and confused eyes that are watching your every move.

“Wait, did I say something? Tell me what's wrong.”

Don’t cry. Shit. Don’t cry. 

“I've nothing to tell you.”

You grimace at how stiff you sounded but before you can rectify anything, your feet take you to the nearest trailer. You close the door and drop to your knees as uncontrollable sobs rack your body.

You rein yourself in after a few minutes, wiping your tears on the back of your sleeve. You fish your phone out from your pocket, the photo on your lock screen twisting the knife lodged in your heart. 

You ring the first person on your recent contacts.

“I can’t do it, Jiminah.”

“What happened? Talk to me.”

You tell him how you were just talking and it was getting deep then he got sentimental and said thank you…

“For being his friend.”

A beat, then Jimin finally speaks. “He is such an idiot.”

“I can’t do this,” you say, with finality. “I’m going to finish this tour, but I’m really leaving. I can’t be around Yoongi anymore.”

You finally get a couple of days off and decide to dodge Yoongi after coming back from the desert. It’s oddly easy—he’s not seeking you out like he usually does. You left him hanging the last time you talked, and now you’re stumped about how to fix things. You and Yoongi never really fight, at least not seriously. You handle work stuff through Kakao, like sending over today’s recording schedule for the award show. He left you on read.

Jimin immediately calls out for you as you step inside the set. It was just one of the penthouse suites in the hotel you were staying in. You feel awkward as some eyes shift over to you as you barely had time to fix yourself, you just aren't in the mood.

“Hi,” you respond simply. “How's everything?”

Jimin glances over his shoulder, and you follow his gaze to find Yoongi staring blankly at the coffee table, a face of thunder.

“He knows. He heard you on the phone with me.”

Your heart immediately drops to your ass. “Shit.”

Jimin shrugs, a mixture of sympathy and amusement on his face. “Yeah, he’s pretty confused… and a little pissed.”

“Did you–”

“I would never,” Jimin interrupts quickly, holding up his hands. “It’s not my story to tell.” He pats your shoulder reassuringly. “Just talk to him. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You’re not sure if Jimin’s optimism is comforting or just making you more anxious. You’ve spent years imagining every possible outcome, every scenario where he finds out you felt something deeper. And most of those scenarios end in heartbreak.

Either way, you know you’ve got to face the storm brewing in Yoongi’s eyes.

The shoot goes on without a hitch. You and Yoongi avoid each other like the plague, so much so that one of the makeup unnies takes notice. You downplay it, not wanting to be the subject of workplace gossip.

The schedule wraps up and as you get ready to leave, there is a light tap on your shoulder.

“Hey noona,” Jake says, looking a bit nervous but flashing a tentative smile. “Umm, a bunch of us are heading out tonight. If you don’t have plans, you should join us.”

Jake’s one of the newer camera guys, and while he’s been nice—always greeting you and opening doors—he’s barely scratched the surface of what could be considered a friend. He’s not just polite; he’s actually pretty cute. You’ve never really hung out with him before, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to say no. It was one of the last nights you have in Las Vegas, and maybe, you should live a little.

“Ok. What time are we leaving?”

“Can we meet at the lobby by 10?”

Just as you’re about to respond, there’s a loud crash from the other side of the room. You catch a glimpse of Yoongi and Jin amidst a flurry of crew members rushing over. Whatever happened, it looks like it’s already being dealt with.

“10?” you repeat, still distracted by the commotion.

He nods.

“Got it,” you reply, trying to shake off your unease. 

Jake adjusts his backpack and gives you another nod, his smile still lingering as he heads out. “Cool. See you tonight.”

“Ok…” you nod, a little dazed as you watch Jake fistbump one of the producers on the way out.

“Hot date?” Jimin appears out of nowhere, casually sipping his Americano. His grin is a little too knowing—clearly, he was eavesdropping.

“Not really. He just mentioned that a few people were planning to go clubbing and asked if I wanted to join.”

Jimin’s eyes light up. “So, he wouldn’t mind if we tagged along, right?”

“Who’s ‘we’?” 

Yoongi lifts his wine glass at you, smiling and unbothered.

Is this him extending an olive branch?

“Hey, Danbi, Eunchae…” he says, his gaze drifting past you to the two girls from Design. They look momentarily stunned, then offer hesitant waves, clearly not accustomed to this rare gesture from the usually wordless Yoongi.

Seriously?

This asshole.

A knot of frustration tightens in your stomach. Not only is he acting like nothing happened, but he’s also playing it cool, like he’s completely unaware of how much this is getting under your skin.

You’re sad, but now you’re kinda pissed, too. And the worst part of it all, he knows he looks fine.

Ginger hair slicked back to reveal the fresh undercut, He’s wearing some black shirt and black pants, with Jordans you would guess, and you know if it was any other man wearing that, he would have been stopped at the door. 

You shift the strap of your dress slightly, conscious under his taunting eyes. The little number was something hot you recently picked up, the kind that might end up on somebody's floor.

“Are you going over to them,” Jake asks casually, leaning closer to your ear.

“No,” you say, breaking eye contact with Yoongi and moving to the next table where the others were, with Jake following closely behind.

A chorus of hellos started as you reached the table. There were a couple of girls from Hair and Makeup and some of the videographers, too. As if on cue, a tray of colorful shots are suddenly placed on the center console. The night is about to begin.

Jake has been incredibly attentive so far, but the truth is, it’s someone else’s attention that you want. You are hyper aware of Yoongi’s presence and it’s like having an itch you couldn’t scratch.

You spot Yoongi by the bar, alone and absorbed in his own world. As usual, he's oblivious to the pair of women casting lingering glances in his direction. 

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and make your way towards him. You notice his shoulders tense and stiffen as you approach, a clear sign of his unease, which almost made you want to retreat. But you know you can't go on another day of this unresolved tension with him.

“Yoongi, can we talk?”

He looks up, smirking as he swirls his drink. “Nah.”

Alright. You were not expecting that. 

“Look, I just wanna explain–”

“It’s cool. You don’t have to,” he cuts you off, his voice casual but his eyes fixed stubbornly on the lowball glass he’s holding.

“But I–”

“You don't wanna be around me anymore, simple. Dunno why you're here.”

“Wait, Yoongi, you don't understand.”

“Don't understand? You never told me shit.” You notice how his fists are clenched, knuckles turning white. “I would have apologized if I did something wrong. Thought you knew that. Thought we were friends.”

It’s that word again. You chuckle bitterly. “Friends, I know. You keep saying that.”

At this he looks up at you, brows furrowed, but it was your turn to avert your gaze. 

“‘Kay. You're leaving anyway, right? You can start now.”

“Fine.”

“Bye.”

You take a few steps, but something tugs at you, pulling you back. You glance over your shoulder, hoping to catch him watching you leave, wishing he’d somehow intervene, stop you from walking away.

But he isn’t there. His chair is already empty, the space where he sat now as vacant as if he’d never been there at all.

No one knows you better than Yoongi, and apparently no one else can hurt you quite like him, too.

The night is young. The club is electric. It is the hottest spot in town and you are hell-bent to experience it to the max.

Spirits and sugary shots tempered the hurt that settled in your gut after your encounter with Yoongi, now replaced with an urge to forget, to almost rebel.

The dance floor becomes your sanctuary. Shots of sweet, potent liquor flow, loosening you up and syncing your movements with the music. The crowd sways around you, a sea of bodies, but Jake remains a constant anchor. 

His hands rest confidently on your stomach, your back pressed against his chest as you grind slowly against him. With one arm raised, you hook your hand around his neck, letting your bodies move in perfect rhythm. It's been a while since you let yourself go like this, but it's Vegas, after all.

You can feel the warmth of his breath as he leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “You’re so sexy, noona.”

“Wanna get out of here?” The words leave your mouth before your brain can stop you.

Jake's eyes widen slightly, but he nods, quite enthusiastically actually, and you think: fuck it, he's cute and you are leaving the company anyway. 

Disappointingly, the heat between you and Jake cools with every passing second as you make your way back to the hotel. Yet, you cling to the idea of seeing it through, driven by the need to prove a point: that a) your life doesn't revolve around Min Yoongi; and b) you are attractive and can pull anyone, even if Min Yoongi does not want you.

In another world, this would be a whirlwind of clothes flying off, bodies pressed against walls, hands exploring with urgency. But instead, you both enter the hotel room in silence, the air heavy with a tension that contrasts sharply with the passionate encounter you’d hoped for. The quietness between you feels like a stark reminder of how far you are from the fantasy you envisioned. 

Jake notices the maze of thoughts you were lost in.

“Noona,” he says, placing his jacket over the arm of the couch. “Are you sure you want this?”

Want. It was hard to stitch words as a response to that. Not when your heart has only wanted one person for years.

To be fair you do want Jake in your bed tonight. Objectively, he is super attractive - his soft, wavy hair, those wide, doe eyes, and a jawline that could cut glass.

No time to waste. You turn to him, slowly unzipping your dress and letting it slip to the floor. “Does this answer your question?”

“Yes, yes, it does,” he walks in long strides over to you, yanking up his shirt in one fell swoop, revealing his toned stomach.

His hands cup your face and soon you feel his lips against your… neck? Ok, you can get into this. It’s not like you hate it. 

He spends a few moments kissing you there. You close your eyes, willing your brain to shut off and just be in the moment.

“Can I touch you here?” One of his hands ghosts the side of your rib, inching towards the underside of your breast.

But before you can answer, loud knocks pound at your door.

“What the hell?” You hastily pull up your dress, zipping it up quickly. The furious raps continue and you can hear a voice behind it.

Jake follows you as you head to the door, picking up his tee from the floor and pulling it over his torso.

Bothered at the urgent banging, you don’t think to view the peep hole as you swing the door open, revealing 

“Yoongi?” you squeak.

“Get out.” Eyes bloodshot, he strides past you and goes for Jake, who quickly tries to side-step him, moving a few steps back to create distance between them.

“Yoongi-ssi?” Jake's eyes, wide as saucers, go to his elder then to you, before a realization dawns on him. “They said you weren't– Fuck, I swear I really thought–.”

"Get. Out." His voice is cold, laced with a fury you’ve never heard from him before. He grabs Jake by the arm, practically shoving him toward the door.

Jake casts a pitiful glance back, mumbling, "Sorry, noona," even though he’s done nothing wrong. But you don’t see it. Your hands are covering your face, trying to shield yourself from the shock and shame crashing over you as the scene unfolds.

“Fuck off, kid.”

And then the door slams shut.

Yoongi paces the room like a caged animal, his hand raking through his sweaty hair in frustration. His breathing is heavy, almost ragged, as if he’s on the verge of losing control.

You finally find your voice. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You can't just barge in my room like that!”

“I just did,” he fires back. “Why are you with him?”

“It's none of your business. But since you really wanna know. I was about ready to fuck him.”

He clenches his jaw, his voice strained. “Did he touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck!” 

His hand shakes as he drags it through his hair again, his frustration barely contained. “Did you want him to?”

You can't understand why he’s asking these questions, why he’s reacting like this.

“Yoongi,” you exhale heavily, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. “Why are you here?”

Yoongi’s POV

Min Yoongi likes being in Las Vegas. The city buzzes with an electric energy, a stark contrast to his own chill demeanor. It’s a place where neon lights flash all night, and the unpredictable atmosphere makes him feel like a fish out of water—a thrilling kind of discomfort. He doesn't get why a city so loud and chaotic captivates him, but it does.

He was never one for outlandish, over-the-top spectacles, but the Cirque du Soleil show he watched with you and Hobi the other night instantly became one of his favorites.

He never liked recreational gambling, but the way you lit up with joy and hugged him tight after winning just 20 bucks at a random slot machine—it’s now one of his most cherished memories.

He never fared well in big, buffet restaurants, but if it means hearing you shout “Yoongi, carry meeee” (so stupid) as you beg him for a piggy back ride after downing five heaping plates, then maybe he can start looking up some buffets back home, too.

Las Vegas is free. Las Vegas is wild. Min Yoongi is not. 

At least, not until that night when he tore past wild and plunged into nothing short of primal.

Straight out of a segment from The Animal Planet, he was a tiger, lounging contentedly with his pack. You were his queen, his chosen mate—though you don’t know it yet. But when a looming threat emerges, the alpha in him awakens, tapping into ancient survival instincts to protect what’s his.

First, he observed the threat.

Some guy from production. Jake. He’s HYBE's new ace videographer from Australia. Isn’t he younger than her?

Oh shit, this was the dude Yoongi actually handpicked to be the director of photography for his documentary. He might have to rethink this, depending on how things play out.

Fucker has his hand on your back and you shift subtly so his hand falls away. This is good, you don’t seem to be too into his advances, Yoongi tells himself, relaxing slightly on his chair.

Second, he assessed the situation.

Unfortunately for him, the situation escalated quickly.

Never in his life has he ever wanted to gouge his eyes out so badly. If he could actually shove his fingers in his eye sockets and scoop his eyeballs from his skull he would have done it right then. Yet somehow he couldn't look away. There was a sick, sadistic pleasure in watching you lose yourself on the dance floor. Like a voyeur, he stared, mouth slightly parted, breathless as your body grinds in time with the bass. He didn’t want to acknowledge the other man in the picture, the one that wasn’t him.

“You’re drooling, hyung,” Jungkook teases, and Jimin erupts in a fit of giggles, almost falling out of the bar stool.

Yoongi wants to deny it. But between the ache in his heart and the boner in his pants, he did not have it in him to lie. “Pass me a napkin, dipshit.”

Third, he sensed danger.

Unfortunately again, he had to use the toilet at some point. And as he returns to his spot on the balcony, he panics.

“Where the fuck is she?”

Jimin looked at him, warily. “They left.”

No, he thought. No, no, no they’re not leaving this club. They are not leaving his sight.

Fourth, he took decisive action.

A rush of adrenaline coursed through his body spurring him to run out the door, his phone on his ear as he tries to reach his driver.

“Hyung, stop.” Jimin runs to keep up with him. “Where are you going?”

“You know where.”

“Why?”

His head is pounding. He cannot think straight. And Jimin asking so many questions is so fucking annoying.

“You know why.”

Jimin sighs exasperatedly. “Why didn’t you idiots just talk about this like normal people?”

He doesn’t answer his friend, but he knows Jimin will be coming with him, whether he likes it or not. Because Jimin, nosy as he may be, is also one of the last real ones in his life.

Fifth, he confronts the threat head-on.

Which has brought him here, in your room, acting like the unhinged motherfucker he never aspired to be.

Your stern voice shakes him from his thoughts. “If you’re just going to stand there, just get outta here, Yoongi.”

“No.”

“No?” you let out a huff, a bitter sound cutting him. “You got some fuckin’ nerve. You ask me all sorts of questions, but you can't answer mine, huh?”

He has never seen this look in your eyes, and he starts to regret the hasty decision to come to your room. 

Now, he was confronted with the first and very real possibility of you walking out of his life.

“Again, why are you here?” you ask, your voice a notch softer than it should be. It’s clear you’re exhausted, your tear-filled eyes an indication, wanting nothing more than for everything to make sense.

He cautiously pads towards you and gently reaches out for your hand. To his relief, you let him take it and he envelops it in both of his.

He takes one good look at you, committing your face to memory, because in his mind, this could be the point where your friendship ends.

He takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes for a moment, before a confession finally spills from his lips. “Because I can't lose you.”

You blink and a lone tear spills free.

“I heard you on the phone with Jimin and what you said broke me. I keep thinking what I did wrong, but I can't figure it out. Then I saw you with that guy and I lost my shit. You know I'm terrible at expressing myself, but I need you, ok? More than I can say. Don't go. I can’t let you go.” He tugs you gently towards him, encasing you in his arms.

It didn’t take long for you to return the hug, pressing your cheek against his chest, and he is certain you can finally hear his heart that beats only for you. How he wishes he can summon the courage to say so. But the moment feels so delicate and he wants to tread lightly. 

“Yoongi…” you sigh out his name and his heart races at how tenderly you seem to have surrendered to him. 

“I’m so sorry that I was such a dick to you. Didn’t mean to ice you out. Honestly, that’s the last thing I ever wanted.”

“What is it that you want, then?”

“This.” He tightened his arms a tad against your frame to make a point, before pulling his head back, just enough to be able to see your eyes when he says, “You.”

Your breath hitches and he is unable to read the expression in your face. Was it just shock? Was it dismay? A slight panic bubbles in his throat. Did he misread the signs? Did he just blow it? But you felt so pliant under his touch, you still do. So he had to ask, even if your response might just end him.

“Y-you don’t want this?”

“No, I do, I do,” you say, almost too quickly, nibbling on your bottom lip afterwards. His thumb goes to caress your cheek, and you lean slightly into his touch.

‘Fuckin’ do something,’ his brain screams at him, the way it has for years now. 

So many words are still unspoken between you two, but as he looks at the affection and the want in your eyes, he decides–fuck it, you can talk later.

"I really want to kiss you right now," he finally admits, his voice low but steady. "Is that okay?"

You nod, but hesitate. "I’m just—” you place a hand on his shoulder, as if to anchor yourself on him. “I’m afraid that if I start, I won’t be able to stop.”

He lets out a breath, a smile playing on his lips as he sees yours curve into a shy grin.

“That’s exactly what I want,” he murmurs as he closes the gap, his lips almost grazing yours.

“I don’t want to just be your friend anymore, Yoongi.” Your nose nudges his, inviting him to make the next move.

“You were never just a friend,” he whispers against the corner of your mouth.

“And after this,” you say, moving your hands to the back of his neck, “I might want you all to myself.”

His lips brush against yours, featherlight. It’s barely a kiss, just a fleeting touch, but it leaves you both craving more.

“Baby,” he breathes, “I’m already yours.”

A/N: What do we think??? Feedback is appreciated! Do we hear wedding bells, or nah? See you in Part Two! 🙂

Tag: @tea4sykes @mggv97 @jajabro @yooglefics @codeinebelle @tinytan-gerine @comingupwithacoolnameishard @dontcribuyabag @mizz-kraziii @angelfuzzy2 @marnz1990 @speedyhandsbonkpalace @amarawayne @coffeedepressionsoup @little-cherry01 @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @lolpanda94 @parapiop7 @wobblewobble822 @dazzlingjade @storyofafangirl @yoongrace @mzbtsreads

Thank you so much for reading, you beautiful human! xo

[minkdelovely]

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter one

“don’t call me by my name.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: descriptions of reader’s demon form, Alastor uses the chain and withholding your breakfast as punishment, Alastor takes pleasure in your fear, power dynamics, reader worries over being punished, lecherous demons in an alley, non-consensual grab and lick of the face, graphic violence, murder, blood, teeth as a weapon, slow burn eventual: smut

word count: 2.5k

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“Why didn’t you bring me a boy to play with?” Niffty pouted, her little foot stomping the carpet. 

She hadn’t been pleased when Alastor broke the news that he had acquired a new maid to help her out around the hotel, and glared at you past his legs. He laughed, seeming to enjoy her tantrum. You still weren’t sure how to feel about this Demon who had taken over your contract. While he had been pleasant enough at the Emporium after Rosie signed you over, he hadn’t spoken a word to you while leading you through the streets of Hell to bring you here. 

“I’m afraid you’ve answered your own question, Niffty dear. Had I brought you a toy, I’m not so sure you’d sustain your productivity. Which is precisely why I brought help.” He turned to look back at you for the first time then, your chest tightening from the eye contact. Alastor maintained contact as he continued, “Sylvie will maintain my quarters for now so as not to take away from your duties, but once the hotel gets busier I expect you to play nice and share. Besides, she’ll need training before we just let her loose around the hotel! We have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

He smirked at you and broke his gaze, pivoting to make his way up the stairs. Before the others could get a chance to come talk to you, an invisible tug was at your neck and you hurried to catch up with Alastor.

“I’ll show Sylvie to her room so she can settle in,” Alastor said loud enough for everyone, still facing forward as he continued up the staircase.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

That had been a week ago.

Everyone else had been fairly welcoming, Charlie being the kindest. She and her girlfriend Vaggie had made the most effort getting to know you, which made sense being they were in charge of the hotel. Though he wasn’t rude, Husker only spoke to you in short quips. You tried not to dwell on the pity in his eyes any time you crossed by the bar in the lobby.

Angel Dust had been nice too, the few times you had managed to see him and always at the bar, joking amicably that you could almost pass as twins despite quite obvious differences. He was a decent amount taller and slimmer than you for starters. Hell seemed to have turned him into a spider of sorts, and if you had to take a guess, you had spawned here as some kind of milky-colored reptile. No scales, but there was a faint pearlescent pattern of something close to that covering your neck, back, and extremities. 

It was still jarring to see your reflection in the mirror. There were parts you still recognized, though even those features had felt Hell’s touch. To your relief, your face still looked more or less the same. Nearly Human passing, until your newly-added nictitating membrane blinked right-to-left. Though your red pupils and pink sclera were also a dead giveaway (haha, get it?). Something you weren’t sure you’d ever adjust to, but hey, you earned it right?

You had just finished getting into the black collared dress Alastor demanded you wore for work when a dark shadow pooled under your feet. Complete darkness and seconds later, you were standing in the parlor of Alastor’s suite. 

“[Y/N],” Alastor’s low, static voice lingered on it, red eyes boring into you. Something he had gleaned very quickly in the week was how unsettled you got when he used your real name, and enjoyed the opportunities to use it. “I find tardiness to be an irksome trait. Do not make it a habit. Am I understood?”

You fought a grimace, loathing his condescension. The Radio Demon’s smile threatened to tear as he watched you struggle to maintain composure. You hadn’t succeeded completely, but you were making some progress.

“Well?” he goaded.

“Yes, sir,” you managed to say evenly, hands fidgeting behind your back.

You knew better now than to play into his tricks. He was trying to get you to react, a sport he took great pleasure in succeeding at. So when he wasn’t ordering you around, he was complaining about the look on your face. Sullen, petulant, ghastly, he had used all kinds of names. And when you had gotten cheeky with him about it on your second day after hours of scrubbing the area rug in his room that he had dirtied on purpose…

The slight ache in the back of your neck served as a reminder of that. Sadistically, the chain was the only true cold you’ve felt since spawning in Hell and it seemed to burn more than acid rain. It wasn’t hard to remember the weight of it, the sweaty feeling of it on your skin. Alastor had enjoyed it all immensely. 

Denying him his fun in pissing you off probably wasn’t good in the long term, but you had to toe the line in order to find the limit. You wanted to learn as much as you could about the creature who owned you. Eternity was never-ending, but learning how to cope was all you could try to do. Being moved to this hotel had turned out to be a true blessing all things considered, so if navigating Alastor’s moods and demands was the price, you would have to pay it.

“Good!” The expression on Alastor’s face quickly relaxed into a more pleasant one. “Now hurry up and run into town to fetch my dry cleaning, and bring me something from that new butcher shop. I’ll leave it to you to decide, I so love surprises! Skipping breakfast will serve as your warning for being tardy. See you in an hour, dear.”

With that, he disappeared before you in a quick melt of shadow.

He was so. Fucking. Annoying. But you wouldn’t risk throwing a tantrum. For all you knew, he was still somewhere in the room, and honestly, you didn’t have time to waste. The walk from here to Cannibal Town was about twenty minutes and Alastor had summoned you before you had been able to put on your shoes, a five-minute setback at least. He had also made no mention of how you were expected to pay for any of this… 

Time to perform a fucking miracle, you thought to yourself, and made your way for the door.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor watched as you took a deep breath and smoothed your pale pink hair before leaving his room. The small click of the door locking echoed in the silence. He re-materialized near the large window that faced the city, grinning when he finally saw you walking off the premises at a hurried pace. You were so close to coming loose, so close to breaking that unbecoming pout. How he loathed it. He would rid you of the self-pity you wallowed in, even if it drove you to madness. A chuckle escaped him at the thought.

When you spoke back to him last week it had been such a thrill. Alastor closed his eyes, reliving the memory. He had allowed himself a moment to enjoy your insolence before inverting it to fear. Now that was a face he could get used to. The cold sweat on your skin, your red-pink eyes wide with shock. The sound of your hands and knees hitting the floor was music to his ears! Though he would never forget the gasp that caught in your throat from the shock.

He didn’t even need to raise his voice when he told you never to speak to him that way again, a direction you had perhaps taken too much to heart. Then again, you didn’t come across as a fighter. No, you were much too apathetic for that, at least for now.

And you had smelled so lovely in your fear. The usual floral sweetness of your scent had turned warm and nutty. For a moment he was certain he had picked up a hint of bitterness before you had mouthed off, but it disappeared so quickly once you were frightened that he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that he wanted to smell it again.

With some luck, that would be quite soon; a little over an hour now if all goes according to plan. The Radio Demon had never expected you to return within the given timeframe.

Setting you up to fail wasn’t fair, but it was certainly fun.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Donner’s Butchery had been absolutely packed, but you managed to purchase the last available pound of liver. Their selection had been so low that you were more concerned with walking out of there without anything at all. Whether or not Alastor would enjoy it was a matter reserved for your return, though you hoped he would since you had to open a tab to get it. 

Thankfully, the dry cleaning had been settled upfront so you were actually starting to feel a little optimistic about making it back in time. In fact, you were now determined to be back in time out of spite. Imagining the veiled irritation on Alastor’s face when you arrived within the hour kept you distracted from the hunger pain in your stomach, and your pace subconsciously picked up. The high was short-lived though once your mind wandered to what other tasks Alastor would surely have lined up once you handed him his clothes and liver.

And what if he hated liver? You were in such a hurry that you didn’t even know what kind it was if he asked about it, which he probably would if only to watch you squirm trying to answer. The hotel wasn’t too far off now and you stepped into an alley to search the bag for a receipt, hoping that the butcher had been thorough enough to write it down. You found the receipt taped to the butcher paper, the words DEER LIVER scribbled with thick, black marker. 

“Thank god,” you sighed quietly, relieved to have peace of mind and placed it back in the bag. You were just about to step back onto the sidewalk when you heard laughter behind you.

“God ain’t here, sweetheart. Haven’t you noticed?”

You turned to see two demons, already standing much closer to you than you’d like. In your desperation to check the bag, you hadn’t heard them approaching. Something that should have embarrassed you, given the sour smell wafting off their clothes, but there wasn’t time for that. You took a quick glance at the clocktower.

Five minutes.

Of course it was… Even if you ran, you’d probably only get to the gate at best and knowing Alastor, that wouldn’t count.

“You got somewhere to be? Hand over the bag and maybe we’ll let you go,” the taller one continued, his plump sidekick snickering, both moving to cage you in.

God damn it… You were so close. So fucking close. Not only that, but were you were hungry and exhausted. All you had done this week was try your best to manage Alastor’s impossible expectations for what? An easier eternity? The creeps standing near you were right, God wasn’t here. This is Hell. Suffering eternal. 

The sanctuary you thought you’d found at the hotel was anything but. Its promise of redemption was the dangling carrot, always just out of reach. A sick joke, just like everything else here. Not that you had ever planned to be redeemed, you knew why you were here, but living in the hotel had lulled you into a false sense of security. Hell wasn’t clean and filled with mild-mannered sinners.

“Look at that, she’s fucking crying!” the plump demon laughed, bringing you back to the moment. “You’ve always liked ‘em scared, Donny.”

The tall one, apparently called Donny, shot his arm out to block you from leaving, a lecherous grin spreading across his face. “Is he right, baby? You scared?”

You could feel your heart in your throat. Scared? You were pissed. And when Donny grabbed your face and boldly licked a tear off your cheek, you snapped.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The Radio Demon had been hard at work tuning Vaggie out for the last few minutes. He was aimlessly wandering the lobby when she cornered him, seeming to have finally found her opportunity to interrogate him over acquiring your soul. It would have been easy enough to tell the disgraced Angel that it was the least he could do considering the help Rosie had provided them, but upsetting Vaggie was simply too much fun.

She was droning on about how she and Charlie would be taking over the onboarding of any more new employees when Alastor felt a chain rattle, ear flicking in response. Some fool was messing with his property. He reached out mentally to follow the chain and soon caught the scent of almond. He grimaced. Of course it was yours.

“As much as I cherish our conversations, I’ll need to cut this short Vaggie. I’m afraid duty calls,” Alastor said smugly, grinning at the rage on her face from being so casually brushed off before slipping into shadow.

When Alastor materialized in an alley he was met with piercing screams, and it took him a moment to register what he was seeing. You were on the ground straddling the waist of some poor soul, your face covered in blood as you tore out your victim’s neck with your teeth. The creature in question no longer seemed to have much left of the lower half of his face, the remnants of it no doubt lying somewhere in the gore. His death rattle was nothing more than a gurgle and spurt of blood, but it seemed you were too lost in your rampage to notice he was now motionless beneath you.

Alastor didn’t bother with the pudgy creature that had no doubt been your victim’s friend. Well, perhaps not a very good friend, seeing as the coward ran away once he regained his footing. Besides, it wouldn’t be difficult to track the cretin down if Alastor changed his mind about it later.

For now, his focus was on you and what a glorious sight it was. He wished for a moment that your dress had been a different color, just to see how much blood and scraps of flesh had soaked into it. Judging from the mess on your face, it had to be quite a lot.

The sounds coming from you were savage, nearly carnal, and you were relentless in your attack despite the damage already done. When would you stop, he wondered. When there was nothing but bone? The aspect thrilled him to the core and he sniffed deeply, taking in the scent of blood and almond. There it was — that delicious, bitter, nutty warmth. He had been right. Letting out a satisfied, pleasured sigh, he waited patiently for you to finish. After a minute or so you succeeded in decapitating the fool, and Alastor made his approach as you struggled to catch your breath. 

Gingerly tapping you once with his foot, you startled with a growl and snapped your teeth. Alastor let out a low chuckle, taking in the wild look of your face, eyes glowing pink.

“I believe he’s had enough for now, dear. You made good work of him, I’m quite impressed,” he said, giving you a proud smile. “Now let’s get you home before you cause a scene.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

[spitdrunken]

i am absolutely insane about your headcanons with the vee's, my mind is so full now... this is exactly what i was hoping to find when searching through the hazbin x reader tag after watching the episodes 👁️🙏🏻 please i'm so!! the being a writer for the vee's imagine is such a good idea, val and his.. comment especially got to me..

also, for your consideration:

Val — or all of the Vee's, really —, but, in the beginning, he's really not convinced about the quality of your dialogues, despite all the lines he's read (or, well, has had Vox read to him), so naturally you have to read your previous stories out loud to him, cheeks flushing and squirming when it gets to particularly graphic scenes and his gaze on you is so very heavy, smoke caressing your jaw while you stumble over your words.. It's worse if you've written about them and a character who resembles you, and Val's smile widens when you skip from story to story, mentioning the character — definitely not you — sucking Vox off, bending over willingly for Val and begging for Velvette to touch her, or even take all three of them at once, greedy...

Also the. love potions Velvette makes have me feeling things.. Her or Vox but they might end up putting a drop or four into your glass — purely accidentally, of course! —, and...

this is terrible.. my mind is too full now... i might have to post writing for hazbin now and it is your fault alone.. (affectionate; truly, I've enjoyed your thoughts so very much!! thank you for sharing!)

I'm glad you enjoyed it so much :D!! I had an absolute blast writing it myself, and I've been thinking about it lots!! Your ask made it even Worse (/pos) and I simply had to write more!! Please please please let me know if you write something for Hazbin, I can tell from your ask already that it'll be wonderful! And if you ever wanna chat about these guys, feel free to message me again, haha.

Notes: power imbalance, sexual harassment, heavily dubious/noncon due to love potion usage.

The fact Vox even bothers at all to take the time to sit Valentino down and read to him is already a show of your quality— He really wouldn’t go through wrangling him like that for just anyone, especially not with Val getting a bit pissy when being reminded your works were being compared to his. He needs to be told that, obviously, Val, some mere written words are never going to compare, especially not in earnings, to his creations. This placates Valentino. But all Vox gets for his efforts are a lazy flick of one of Valentino’s four wrists, his eyes not even looking at him. “Look, I still think it fucking sucks. But if you wanna hire them so badly, whatever. I’ve got better shit to do than listen to daddy’s horny story-time.” Suffice it to say, he becomes a lot more… Amiable (poor you) once you’re actually working there, and he has a face to attach to the stories. He can tell upon first glance that you’re one of those pathetic little hermits, too scared to leave your own shitty apartment, barely scraping by— He’s recruited plenty of those types as whores, after all. So easily pushed around that it shouldn’t give him nearly as much satisfaction as it does.

When Valentino practically demands you join him in his room and read your previous work to him, you sputter out protests, heart skipping a beat. Every employee in the company has something bad to say about this man, and so he’s about the last person you want to be caught alone in a room with. Especially not his bedroom.

“Ah, sir, I’m not really sure—“ But he’s already wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his side as he drags you through the halls. The first thing that strikes you is how different the texture of coat is than you were expecting. It doesn’t even feel like anything at all. “Oh, sweetheart, call me Valentino. No need to be so unfamiliar with each other.” He practically purrs, a single finger tracing up the contours of your chest. “I feel like we’re going to get quite familiar.” If all the alarms weren’t ringing in your head before, they most definitely are now. But there’s nothing you can do. His grip on you is tight and, underneath his red coat, you can feel the hard metal of a pistol pressing against you.

He takes you to his room, walls covered with posters featuring himself, and you hardly have the time to look around before he sits you down on one of his red couches, still caught underneath one of his arms. It’s hard to think, much less speak, as Valentino starts to prod you to pull out your phone and start reading. “No need to be shy. You’re such an artista, aren’t you? Don’t keep me waiting.” It’s easy, at first. When the scene hasn’t grown explicit yet, and you can pretend you’re only reading the text out loud to yourself like you always do, making sure the sentences sound right. But Valentino makes it hard for you to distract yourself entirely. He rubs circles on the skin of your thigh, and the smoke from his pipe has long since been the only thing you can smell. The red smoke makes your head a little hazier, tongue a little looser— Though that all just might be because you’re not getting enough oxygen. Your every muscle is tense and, you think, this is what being a prey animal must feel like. The first time you stutter out the word ‘cock’, Valentino barks out a laugh, loud and sudden, entirely contrasting with the sultry demeanour he’s been putting on the whole time. You jump, gaze flickering from the screen to his face, before continuing. It gets worse when you realise exactly what story you’re reading out loud to him, one of the ones you’d never even posted anywhere, so utterly self-indulgent and poorly thought out that you regret it with every ounce of your being. (Unbeknownst to you, Vox has already read every draft you’ve ever typed up, but that’s neither here nor there.)

“Sorry, can I maybe, um, read a different one?” You practically squeak out. “I realised I have some better drafts, and…” “No,” Valentino shuts you down, tone temporarily harsh. “Don’t get too fucking cocky now, you’re already taking up enough time as it is. Shit’s about to get interesting, finally.” He’s saying all of this as if he wasn’t the one to drag you there in the first place.

So you trudge onward, reading as fast as you possible can, just trying to tough it out. As you read about a scared, unaccomplished demonic main character catching the eye of a trio of some of the most famous demons in town—through entirely unrealistic circumstances—you can see his grin grow wider from the corner of your eye. His nails dig into the flesh of your thigh, the smoke surrounding your face turning to caress your cheeks.

“So, let me gets this straight… You wrote about a trio of powerful demons with matching names, taking turns fucking an absolute nobody silly. One of them’s a pimp, the other a fashion designer, and the other a business man.” Valentino doesn’t give you the chance to respond. “Greedy little slut. You even chose this one specifically to read out to me, huh? Seems I got you all wrong,” he hisses out. “This must be a dream come true for you, isn’t it?”

Let’s just say that you got enough ‘material’ to write another four or so stories, just from that line alone.

----- A drop of love potion, and models always behave the absolute best, or so Velvette thinks! (As long as you don’t put in too much. It’s very hard to take good pictures when the girls keep trying to kiss you.) No bitching, no whining, only an easy to pose, cute demon to work with. And if she dresses you up in clothes that reveal more than they obscure, purely for her own enjoyment and usage, who’s going to blame her?

Certainly not you. You won’t remember a single damn thing. Not even the parts where you babble on about how pretty and gorgeous and cool she is, and how you’ve admired her for so long— All things she’s heard a million times before. Normally, she wouldn’t care less about it, but such words coming from someone with only a drop of her potion in her system means they’re all the absolute truth. She thinks it’s almost cute when it’s coming from you, really. ------------ Vox, on the other hand, would be more likely to use his hypnosis on you than a love potion. Just to have a few minutes in the middle of a meeting where you’re practically putty in his hands, all of your usual anxiety and shame having slid right off of your shoulders. He doesn’t feel any guilt about it whatsoever. Having read all of your works, he finds it safe to say that this is the exact kind of scenario you would enjoy…

And even if you didn’t, he still would. He gets a bit of a thrill out of the loopy, relaxed smile on your face as you nuzzles your cheeks against his arm, professing all of the thoughts you had about him before working at VoxTech, and the ones you still have today. It’s during one of these exact moments, that he’d likely find out that Valentino had fucked you already, something he hadn’t found necessary to mention. They’ll have a bit of a discussion about that later!

[written-in-flowers]

Her Lover: Demon!Hongjoong x Fem!Reader

Pairing: incubi!hongjoong x fem!reader | side pairing: demonline x fem!reader

Genre: smut, fluff, major angst MINORS DNI

Word Count: 11k

Summary: Often called "The Beauty" of his brothers, Hongjoong's "hollow day" turns even worse with a visit from his vicious mother and an appearance from his absentee father. The only cure: you.

Tags: polyamorous relationship (m/m/m/f), depression, violence, ritual sacrifices, graphic depictions of death, mentions of mental illness, medication, mentions of bad childhood, mentions of abuse, mentions of emotional neglect, parents being shitty overall, orgies, incest, alcohol usage, outdoor sex, sex in the woods, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, rough sex, very little foreplay, exhibitionism, face fucking, rough oral sex, sloppy oral sex, cum swallowing, light spanking, dom/sub dynamic, choking.

Pretty Lady Masterlist

Previously on Pretty Lady

Next >

***

He loved watching you sleep. He knew how creepy that sounded, but he enjoyed it. You looked the most peaceful when you slept. Wrapped in a cocoon of suede and linen, there was no smug smirk or furrowed brow on your face. In dreams, you escape all the confusion of this new world and sink into the familiar again. Laying beside you, he wondered what you dreamt about. You’d once had a nightmare about your mother, but as far as he knew, that didn’t happen anymore. Hongjoong hardly remembered his dreams. When he did, he saw blurry, brief images that left him empty inside. 

The first time Hongjoong saw his mother, he was six-years-old and living with a witch in Korea. He recalled playing outside in the small courtyard in front of their hanok when a woman appeared at the gate. The witch, an old hag named Aro, looked stunned and fearful at the sight of her. Hongjoong recalled her stuttering and bowing to the strange woman. She had flowing black hair with smooth yellow-brown skin and thin dark eyes. He remembered her hardly giving notice to Aro, but instead focusing on him. Back then, Hongjoong didn’t know many demons. Aro told him he must keep his true identity a secret if he wished to stay amongst the living. She’d stared at him with brown eyes circled by a thin crimson line and he knew. Most mothers might smile at their child, especially one they barely saw. Not her. 

‘Hello, Hongjoong. Do you remember me?’

‘No.’

How could he when the last time she'd seen him, she'd popped him out of her? Back then, he’d hoped she'd come to take him to France to live with Seonghwa, his elder brother. Perhaps take him to Hell, where he can see his father, Asmodeus, who’d seen him far more often than her. But, no. Mistress Youngmi came for something else. 

‘I have need of him tonight. Bring him to the old meeting place at dusk.’

‘Yes, Mistress.’

Hongjoong didn’t know what she’d planned at the time, but he’d soon find out. His mother gathered her coven of followers, witches whom she’d recruited, to perform ritual. They needed the blood of a demon, the blood of a cambion, and the blood of a human to enhance their powers. He recalled his fear as he pushed stray hairs from your face. Witches, gruesome and snarling, terrified him as his mother dragged him to a cauldron at the cliff's edge. He thought she planned on killing him. He believed this mostly because he’d just seen her slice open the human’s and cambion’s throats. Hongjoong fought and struggled against her tight grip. His sharp claws detracted and he swiped at her sleeve fiercely. This only earned him a harsh smack to the face. Obviously, his mother did not kill him. She’d simply cut open his finger and let a few drops fall into the dark red potion. Humans and even cambions in those days meant nothing to demons. Their blood can be spilt by the gallon. His blood, Aro told him, was special. 

He’d seen how your mother interacted with you. She’d embraced, kissed and comforted you. Witches weren’t known for their kindness. Aro begrudgingly cared for him, he knew. If she wished to have high favor with his mother, she’d care for her son. Yes, she fed, clothed and housed him, but nothing more. This left Hongjoong to his own devices most of the time. He then started hanging around the wrong kind of crowd: the street urchins who got by stealing and committing petty crimes. By the time he was fifteen, young Hongjoong had been behind bars eight times for mostly arson, theft, vandalism, and assault. Reform schools did nothing to “cure” him. The officers there, mean and wicked as they were, could not understand how the little boy with the dark red hair didn’t feel pain. In fact, whenever one of them hit him, they’re the ones who felt it. 

That’s when Hongjoong learned his special ability: Transference. When he returned home from a stint in prison, he told Aro this. Hongjoong still remembered the terror on her face when she saw him put a kitchen knife to his wrist. 

That’s when Seonghwa, sixteen and dressed in the finery of a French nobleman, came to collect him. 

Your faint yawn pulled him from his memories. He laid there and watched you gradually shift from your dreams into reality. Hongjoong never felt or understood love before. Until Seonghwa, he didn’t know what that meant or felt like. He’d known nothing but cold, harsh anger and disdain. Only with Seonghwa, and eventually San, did he understand love and loving in return. He never imagined feeling that with anyone else. Yet, when he saw you, naked and trembling at his soft touch, he felt it blossom in his chest. Nobody other than his brothers made him feel whole. He didn’t understand it at the time; he still doesn’t, but he doesn’t question it anymore. The empty space in his heart belongs to you now. 

“Morning,” you said, voice hoarse from sleep. 

“Morning,” he replied, kissing your cheek. 

“Sleep well?”

“Yeah. I just didn’t feel like getting up yet.” 

He wanted to look at you a little longer. Even in the dimness of his bedroom, he still made out your face. “Don’t you work today?” you asked him. 

“Always.”

The mere thought of the lower dungeons sent a shiver through him. He hated the cold down there. The tunnels only remained warm because of the volcanic vents underneath the stone floors, a luxury given to the jailors and not the prisoners. He much rather preferred the warmth of your body than the chill of his dungeon. But, he knew he couldn’t shirk his responsibilities, Seonghwa had taught him that. 

“Stay,” you whispered, kissing him softly. “Stay with me today.”

“I would if I could, Pet.”

Even without your collar, he still called you ‘Pet’. He couldn’t see himself calling you anything other than affectionate pet names. You’d become too precious. Sometimes, he wondered how things might have been if he’d known you before. Would he have gone down that destructive path if he had your warm touch to soothe him? Would he have suffered lonely nights if he held you in his arms? He didn’t know. He didn’t like entertaining the ‘what ifs’. 

“Not even for a little bit?” you asked, taking his hand to put on your chest. “You didn’t touch me last night.”

He hadn’t for a while. Not because you didn’t arouse him anymore. In fact, you are one of the few things that did. 

“Is something wrong?”

Hongjoong stared at his hand on your breast. Normally, he’d be fondling and kissing you deeply, not caring about the consequences. But, today he couldn’t find it in him. Today was a ‘hollow day’. He rolled onto his back, staring up into the dark canopy of his bed. The wooden posters of his bed, molded snakes coiling around them, connected into a point at the top. His eyes followed them over and over. 

“Hongjoong?”

“I’m fine,” he said, though it did not sound convincing. 

“No, you’re not. Is it me?”

“Never.”

“Then what is it?”

‘I was thinking about my terrible childhood and how you’re one of the few people who matter to me.’ It sounded stupid when he thought about it. “Just tired, that’s all,” he said, stretching and yawning. “I really don’t want to go down there. It’s cold.” 

He rolled out of bed before you pressed him further. Hongjoong did not want to talk about his mother or the letter she’d sent yesterday. He would’ve torn it apart if Seonghwa hadn’t opened it first. 

“Then stay,” you said, your hand sliding up under the back of his shirt. Not a sexual touch, but a comforting one. Fingernails traced the small part of his back in idle circles, keeping him grounded beside you. “You’re a freaking duke, Hongjoong. What are they going to do? Fire you?”

He snorted a laugh. In truth, the dungeon masters cannot do much to him in particular. The higher a demon is in society, the less consequences they face. He couldn’t get away with murder, but he could get away with missing a day of work. But, Hongjoong couldn’t stay home today. If he’s in the lower dungeons, then he won’t be home when she arrives. If he isn’t home, she won’t stick around. 

‘Mother is coming to visit. She says she needs you for something. I don’t know, it doesn’t say.’

“It’s my responsibility,” he said over his shoulder. “I have to go.” 

“Well, can I come with you then?” 

He turned to look at you, “What?”

“Yeah,” you scooted closer to his side of the bed. “I’d like to go with you.”

This didn’t sound like you. When he mentioned you coming to the dungeons with him, you’d look disgusted. Yet, now you’re in his bed asking to join him. Hongjoong turned to look at you, seeing the softness in your eyes. You know he’s hollow. He doesn’t know how you do, but you do. Maybe you don’t know either. Seonghwa told him certain people have connections they can’t explain. That might be what you two have. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. “It’s not a fancy place.”

“I don’t mind.”

He laughed, “You?” He laid across you, trapping you underneath him and said, “The one who gets all squeamish when she sees blood?”

“I don’t get ‘squeamish’ at blood,” you defended. “Women see blood way more than men do. It’s all the gore and torture and stuff that’s gross.”

“And there’s plenty and more of that where I work.”

“I know, but,” you gazed over his face for a moment, much like how Seonghwa does, “I haven’t seen you much lately. You’re always working.”

He felt guilty about that. His brothers made time for you: coming to see you at lunch, taking you out on dates at night or spending time in your room or the greenhouse. Hongjoong tried doing the same, but sometimes he didn’t have it in him. His hollow days became more frequent when he didn’t have the thin, minty elixir that balanced him out. Yunho told him the apothecary ran out of mint leaves, and wouldn’t have them for another week. This coupled with a visit from his mother had Hongjoong swallowed up by his sadness. 

“I want to be with you as much as I want to be with San or Seonghwa,” you told him, not shuffling when he moved up your body. “I want to take care of you too.”

That sentence usually sparked a fire inside his loins, but not today. Hollow days never involved sex. “I know, pet,” he said, kissing your lips. Nothing tasted or smelled as sweet as you. He hoped his mother never saw you. He refused to let her ruin anything he loved. “Sure,” he finally said, “You can tag along this one time.” 

He gave you one final kiss before the door opened. “Good morning, sir,” Yunho said, walking by the bed to open the curtains. Bright sunlight shone into the room, burning his eyes as they adjusted to the light. “I suggest you get dressed quickly.”

“Why’s that?” he asked, blinking his eyes and rubbing them. 

“Your mother is here.”

Every muscle in his body turned stiff. “What? Already?”

“Yes,” the butler nodded, facing him. “She arrived a few minutes ago. Your brothers have been told, and Master Seonghwa is meeting with her now.”

“Your mom’s here?” he heard you ask. 

He lifted himself from his position over you and sat on the edge again. She never came this early. Mistress Youngmi didn’t like rising early. She also rarely visited Hell anymore. She said she detested the stench of the city or the uncouth demons that lived there. Youngmi always considered herself above everyone else. 

“Yeah,” he finally said. “She wrote and said she’d be stopping by.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” you sat up in bed, “I can meet her too.”

“I don’t want you to meet her,” he replied. 

“Why? You know my mom. Why can’t I know yours?”

“Because she's a vicious bitch,” he snapped, irritation settling into his chest. “She’s a parasite that infects and sucks the life out of everything around her. Even Lilith doesn’t like her.” He looked over at you, “My mother is a narcissist who sees her children as nuisances. She only comes around when she wants something from one of us.”

When she wants something from him specifically. Much like you, things hadn’t ended happily the last time he’d seen her. 

‘My sisters need your life’s blood in order to keep serving myself and your father.’ 

She loved those grotesque witches more than her own offspring. “I don’t…I don’t want her infecting you too.”

To be honest, once his mother learned who your grandmother was, she’d proceed with more caution. Even if she did think highly of herself, even the dumbest demon knew not to mess with Lilith. 

“If she’s not happy, nobody can be happy.” 

“I’m pretty sure she knows about me anyway,” you told him, rubbing his back. “There’s no point in trying to keep me a secret. I’ll go with you.” 

“If you insist…”

Hongjoong went to his bathroom, forcing himself to clean up even if the hollowness weighed him down. You came in after, shedding your clothes and stepping into a prepared bath, he didn’t notice much. He knew you sensed his sadness, and didn’t know how to cure it. He wished he knew himself. Hongjoong tried giving a reassuring forehead kiss, but you still didn’t believe his muttered ‘I’m fine’.

“How are we today, sir?” Yunho asked, placing a tea tray on a table. 

“Could be better,” he said, walking into his closet to pick out a shirt. She’ll expect him to wear proper clothes like his brothers. He picked up his torn, altered Sex Pistols t-shirt from the rack. “Has Andris called?”

“I’m sorry, he hasn’t. I’ve sent one of the footmen to his shop to get an update. As per usual, I added a bit of whiskey to the coffee. I know it is not a proper replacement-”

“-Better to be numb than hollow, Yunho.” 

He pulled the white sleeveless shirt over his torso, and picked distressed black denims to go with it. If Youngmi considered him a child, then he’d act and dress the part for her. He took a sip of the coffee, tasting the whiskey in the richness, and felt it warm his body. Jumping into the tight jeans, he’d been sliding a studded belt through the loops when San appeared in the doorway. 

“Where’s YN?” he asked. 

“In her dressing room,” he answered. “She says you’re taking her to the dungeons today.”

“She asked,” he shrugged. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Not really, but she insisted and I want to spend more time with her.”

“Is it really quality time if she’s sitting in a corner while you torture people?” 

“Like I said, she asked.” 

San remained silent. He noticed his tailored three-piece suit, and thought of how suffocated he’d feel in that. Hongjoong wondered how awkward it must be to walk into the stone, ancient arena’s common area in a 1950’s suit. Then again, time periods blended together in Hell. Hongjoong ruffled up his hair, letting it hang in front of his face before he picked up an eyeliner pencil. 

“Yunho says the apothecary doesn’t have your mint in stock,” he said, walking around the dressing room aimlessly. 

“He said he might have it next week.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t have to lie to me.” 

“I’m not.” He took another sip of his spiked coffee with hopes of feeling numb, “I’m fine.” 

“I don’t think you should take YN with you today. Just take a day off and stay here,” San suggested. “There’s nothing wrong with a mental health day.” 

“I said I’m fine. It’s no big deal.” 

“So, you’re not dreading going to work because of all the movement and crap you have to do there?” he asked, eyeing Hongjoong’s shirt collection. “You’re up to socializing today? Having to use up the last bit of battery in you to make it through the day?”

“Yup.” He held down his lower lid and applied the eyeliner. 

“And this coffee is regular coffee, right?” San opened the carafe Yunho left behind and sniffed it. “And not spiked with whiskey at all?” 

“It was his idea. Not mine.” 

San came to his side, putting a hand on his shoulder, “You know we’re here for you.”

“I know.”

“She’ll only be here for five minutes tops,” he said. “Just give her what she wants, then go do something with YN. Maybe take her into the city on a breakfast date or to the movies or something. Do something with her that isn’t breaking a person to pieces.”

“I have to work.”

“No, you don’t. You want to go to escape the hollowness. Torturing other people to relieve your own sadness doesn’t do anything but make it worse. You know that. Stay home today.”

San didn’t get it. Digging his knives into prisoners, listening to their tortured screams, distracted him. When he's working, he doesn't have to think about all the pain inside him. He'd be too busy for the hollowness to drown him. Hongjoong felt agitated about work, but knew that staying home made it worse. 

“Come on,” San said when Hongjoong did not answer him. “Don’t take her there. You know she only asked because she can tell there’s something up with you. You don’t want her to see how you get when you’re in the heat of it. It’ll scare her. Shit, it scares me.”

Hongjoong rubbed his face, an irritated groan covered by his palms. He knew San was right. Even if you put up a tough front, the dungeons would sicken and frighten you. The only one allowed to be traumatized in the keep is him. 

“She’s not going to let me stay,” he said, running his hands through his hair. 

“Mom?”

“She’ll want me to go with her. She tells me the blood needs to be given, not taken.”

“Is it really ‘giving’ if you’re forced to go?”

“I guess?” 

A rocky cliff at the edge of an old forest became the meeting place for his mother’s followers. Hongjoong thought of the open waves crashing into the jagged rocks below, and the sea air blowing through the tall trees. The cauldron often stood on a stone platform right where the moonlight shone. She never told him what the ritual did or what the potion was for. He only found out when Seonghwa told him. 

In order for witches to maintain their immortality and immunity, they needed the blood of three beings: a human to keep their youth, a demon with the power of transference to keep them immortal, and a cambion to bind both together. She typically lured or paid demons handsomely for the ritual. 

“Why can’t she just have another kid?” he groaned, his body heavy and fatigued. He had no desire to go anywhere or do anything. “It’s not like she’d have to care for it.”

“She says having kids gets in the way of her life,” he rolled his eyes. “Cunt.” 

Hongjoong snorted, making himself finish the other eye. “Finish up here,” San said, patting his back, “And come downstairs. She’ll get more annoyed the longer you keep her waiting.”

And when Youngmi gets annoyed, it becomes everyone else’s problem. Hongjoong pulled on necklaces, bracelets and rings before deciding he looked suitable enough. He took a final gulp of his coffee, letting the whiskey settle into his stomach before nibbling on a biscuit. When he reentered his bedroom, you walked in at the same time. A tight black sweater and the blue high waisted skirt shaped out your gorgeous curves, and you’d worn minimal makeup and the long snake earrings he’d bought you. He gave a weak smile, kissing your cheek before bringing you into his arms. 

“I decided not to go to work today,” he told you, burying his face in your hair. “I’ll probably end up going somewhere with my mom, so work’s out of the question.”

“That’s fine,” you said in his shoulder. “Do you want me to bring Linette to your room and you can have some fun with us?”

“Tempting, but no.”

“Maybe you can play your guitar and I can sing for you? You like doing that, don’t you?”

“Not in the mood. I…” he held you a bit tighter, inhaling your scent. “Let’s stay in bed together today. I can have Yunho bring the TV here and we can hang out.”

You pulled away from him, looking into his face. “We can do whatever you want to do,” you said. “I’ll tell Jongho to get us some snacks, and we’ll be a couple of couch potatoes together.”

“After my mom.”

“After your mom.”

He looked forward to it already. Taking your hand, he led you out of his room and down the stairs. He found his brothers in the sitting room where servants laid out a small cheese and meat spread with spirits. Hongjoong had no appetite for the food. The woman sitting on his couch ruined any possibility of breakfast. Youngmi, wearing a long black and red dress, sat on his couch with a glass of wine in her hand. She’d draped black strings of onyxes around her large horns, the strings connected by a large gem. He wondered who paid for that. When she looked over at him, her expression delighted him. 

“Hongjoong, must you insist upon dressing like a child all the time?” she said with distaste. “Look at your brothers: well-dressed gentlemen. I can’t imagine what people must think when they see a Duke walking around like he rolled out of bed and threw on the first thing he saw.”

“Don’t, Mother. You know what too much thinking does to your head,” he replied. “What do you want?”

She didn’t answer right away. Youngmi’s eyes landed on you beside him. “Ah, so this is the one that’s been living here,” she said, unimpressed. “I would take her with us, but I already have a cambion lined up for the ritual.”

“You wouldn’t want this one, Mother,” he said, already feeling the animosity between them. 

“Why is that? Because she’s your little plaything?”

“Because Princess Lilith will be absolutely wroth with anger,” said Seonghwa, cross-legged and munching on a cracker. “She wouldn’t like the idea of a no-name demon mistress utilizing one of her granddaughters in a blood ritual.” 

“She’s one of Lilith’s?” Youngmi asked in surprise. “Impossible!”

“It’s very possible,” he replied. “Plus, our beloved doesn’t particularly like doing things people tell her to do, so I wouldn’t risk it.” 

“What’s your name, girl-”

“-My lady-” Hongjoong corrected her. “I think you’re forgetting your place, Youngmi.”

She glared at him, “What’s your name?”

“I’m YN,” you replied disdainfully. 

“YN, a name as pretty as you,” she simpered. “Your father is going to love her.”

“As if he’d ever see her.”

“He’ll have to when he shows up.”

“Dad’s coming here?” Hongjoong turned to Seonghwa, who grimaced. 

“I just got the letter,” he said, nodding to a paper on the coffee table. “He said he’s coming for a special ‘visit’.”

“Great,” he gave a mirthless laugh, “First her, and now Dad.” 

He sat on San’s couch, head in his hands. “I don’t see why you are so distressed, Hongjoong,” his mother said. “The Eternal ritual is done every ten years. You must’ve known this was coming.” 

“A strangely short timespan for witches to recharge their powers, isn’t it?” he asked, leaning back on the couch. “Don’t you have another demon for this sort of thing?”

“I normally do,” she said, “But my usual volunteer got himself banned from the living world so now I need you.”

He grabbed a tea cup and one of the cheese knives. All he did was think of her, and with a single slice of his index finger, his mother hissed. 

“Ugh, you little bastard,” she glared, holding her bleeding finger. 

“Sorry,” he said innocently, “I can’t control it sometimes.” He squeezed a few droplets into the cup, then passed it to her. “There’s your blood,” he said, wrapping his finger in a napkin. The gash along his finger didn’t hurt, but it certainly bled. “Have a nice time. See you in another fifteen years.”

“You know that’s not how that works,” she scolded. 

“Find a way to make it work,” he retorted, staunching the blood from the wound. 

“The demon has to give it willingly.”

“You know, San posed a pretty good question to me earlier: is it really ‘willingly’ if you’re forcing me to go up there?” 

“It’s good enough,” she said. “It’s not like it’ll take long. Besides, when we’re done, you can have your pick of the ladies there. They’re all eager to see you again, especially after this year’s mass.”

“Your witches are cute when they’re in human form,” he remarked. “I closed my eyes with most of them even then. Besides,” he grinned at you, “I have something much better now.”

“Enough of this nonsense,” Youngmi said irritably. “The longer I spend here arguing with you, the more moonlight I’m losing up there.”

“Money.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Pay me and I’ll go.”

“You’re already wealthy, Hongjoong-”

“-Don’t care. Money and I get to bring YN with me. I think I’d enjoy pounding her underneath a blood moon,” he winked at you, “It’d be special for sure.” 

“Fine,” she snapped, “Fifteen-hundred gold and you can bring the girl.” 

“Sixteen. I like even numbers.” 

“So be it,” she grunted, slamming down her wine cup. “Why couldn’t I be like the other mistresses and have sons who don’t give me headaches?” she ranted as she stood, walking out of the room. “Patricia’s boys never give her so much grief.”

“That’s because she sees them once every two hundred years,” Hongjoong called after her, “Maybe she likes even numbers too.” Once she’d left, Hongjoong checked on his finger. The skin nearly knitted back together, he grabbed a new napkin and stood up. “Looks like pancakes are going to have to wait, pet. We have a ritual to attend.”

“A ritual?”

“I’ll see you two later,” he said to his brothers. 

“Don’t make a scene, Hongjoong,” warned Seonghwa. “Just give her the blood, and come back home. It’s not worth making a fuss.”

“And then put up with Dad all night.”

“Dad’s not all bad,” said Seonghwa. “Alright, he’s just as absent in our lives as her, but at least he’s fun.”

“He also brings gifts when he comes,” said San. 

“Yeah, to make up for not being around.”

“Still,” he shrugged, “Better than pure disdain. You’re also getting sixteen hundred out of it, so it’s not all that bad.”

“You’ll have me with you,” you told him, coming to his side. You examined his finger. You winced at the split skin, “Gosh, doesn’t that hurt?”

“Nope,” he shook his head. “I might not be able to dig into people’s minds or lift them over my head, but I can make them bleed without touching them. That's why she wants me to go so badly.” He then kissed your lips, and said, “You being there will make it so much better.”

Your smile filled his hollowness for a few seconds. “I still want those pancakes when we come back,” you said with a small pout. 

“You’ll get them,” he promised, “And a bit more if we’re up for it.”

“Hongjoong!” his mother screeched from the entry hall.

“Come on,” he slid his good hand into yours, “Before she comes back in here shrieking.” 

The both of you walked outside where he saw Jongho waiting by the door. “Mistress,” he said, “Your mother just sent a messenger. She wants to know when you’re coming to Eden. You have lessons with your Aunt Gaia.” 

“Tomorrow,” you answered as you passed him. “Tell her I had something unexpected come up.”

“Yes, Mistress. I assume I tell Cook to hold off on the breakfast?”

“That too,” you said over your shoulder. 

“As you wish.” 

Walking down the steps into the sunlight, he chuckled. “Aren’t you becoming a real Mistress…”

“I’m only being myself,” you shrugged. “I don’t mind doing stuff on my own, but I won’t complain if someone offers to do it for me.” 

You took to your status easily. He imagined the life you lived above resembled the one down here, minus the CEO position and office jobs. Hongjoong couldn’t imagine working a normal desk job. It sounded dull. He saw the corporate slaves in the official buildings, typing at computers and answering phone calls. Like Mingi said multiple times: demons might scorn humans, but they certainly mimicked them well. They’d adapted a monarchy and class system; they’d rebuilt the barren wasteland of Hell into the flourishing city of Inferno; rather than live in caves or dens, they’d constructed houses and buildings. The volcanic rivers and lakes became utilized for a heat system underneath the city streets. Hongjoong saw it as they stepped into a car and began riding away. Demons of all generations and classes picked up culture and fashion from various periods, causing a period clash that molded together perfectly.

“I remember the first time I came to Hell,” he said out loud, gazing out the window. “I was seventeen and fresh from the living world. My dad threw this huge party for me in his mansion. I’d never been around so many demons before; I thought I’d never fit in with them. Everyone acted so sophisticated and refined, while I was a scruffy street urchin in fancy clothes.”

“Were you scared?”

He thought about it for a moment, “Kind of? I didn’t know anyone besides Seonghwa, and San hadn’t turned seventeen yet so he wasn’t there. I hardly knew my dad and my mom even less.”

“You see him more than her?”

“Yeah. I mean, we’re not close but he invites us to holiday gatherings and we see him during black masses. I’d rather take his company over hers any time.”

“Is that why you’ve been so moody this morning?” you asked him.

“Maybe.”

You wouldn’t get it; not many people did. He thought about the elixir again and wondered how long it takes to get some stupid leaves? He considered asking you to plant some, but the idea left him feeling sick. He didn’t like talking about it. If he talked about it, that meant his problem was real and not in his imagination. He only started taking the stuff when Seonghwa insisted. Even though he enjoyed rebelling against his brother from time to time, he knew Seonghwa meant well.

“You know you can tell me, right?” you said, breaking into his thoughts again.

“I know.”

“Then why don’t you?”

You’re likely not used to seeing him this way. He’s always been the fun, rebellious, handsome brother who fucks you until you’re a incoherent mess. Today, he’d rather be wrapped in blankets and staring into the void.

“Because I’m fine.”

“Hongjoong…”

“I said I’m fine, alright?” he snapped, a tightness forming in his chest. “Why does everyone keep asking me that? I’m good, okay?”

“I’m only worried about you,” you stuck yourself into your side of the backseat, not touching him anymore. “But, whatever.”

He’d hurt you, and he hated himself for it. Hongjoong thought to reach out to you, but he stopped himself. Out of his pocket, he withdrew a flask. In a single swig, the smooth brandy went down his throat sharply. He knew you’d seen him. Mingi, the driver today, saw him in the rearview mirror. Why did people have to stare so much? Why can’t they leave him alone?

“We’re here, sir,,” Mingi’s deep voice broke the silence.

He moved to get out, but Hongjoong opened his own door. He hadn’t intended to slam it. When he looked up, he saw they’d parked in front of the transport station. While trains ran throughout the city, taking people from point A to point B, a special section remained reserved for trips into the living world. He spotted his mother standing near the gates, and he tucked his flask into his back pocket. You walked past him, hardly giving him a glance and likely regretting coming along, and he wanted to take your hand. He wanted to apologize.

“She hates me,” he told Mingi, who came up beside him.

“Hate is a strong word, sir,” he replied, watching you walk towards Youngmi. “She’s just ticked off, that’s all. She really cares about you, Master. We all do.”

Deep down, he knew that.

“Quit dawdling,” his mother called as he approached, “We don’t have all day.”

He considered taking even longer just to annoy her. The blood moon only lasts so long. His eyes met yours, and you looked away from him.

‘Please, don’t look away. I need you. I need you so badly,’ he thought.

“Hongjoong-” his mother started.

“-I fucking heard you,” he remarked at her, pushing past one of her Imps towards the transport gates, “Let’s get this over with.”

He reached the portal gate before the rest of them. At a kiosk, he punched in his name and chose the destination. A white ticket shot out of the slot, and he nearly tore it apart removing it. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be in his bed, holding you and wishing he never had to wake up again. Yet, here he was, scanning his ticket on the gate to let himself through. He felt several people behind him, their presence irking him the longer he noticed them. Naturally, his mother walked ahead of him to the black and green vortex inside a stone archway.

“I’m doing your stupid ritual and then leaving,” he told her one final time. “You have your little minions wire me my money after.”

“You better watch your tone, boy,” she retorted, “Or I’ll-”

“-What? Ignore me for another ten years? I wish you would.”

“You’re just like your father, you know that?”

“Better than being like you.”

He walked through the portal before her, enjoying the weightlessness in the dark void. It nearly suffocated him before the scent of pine wood and crisp winter air reached him. When he came out the other side, Hongjoong took in deep gulps of air. All around him, he saw a dark, sparse forest of thin trees and leafy grounds. Time in the living world and demon world flipped each other: Hell’s day time was a human’s night time. Seonghwa would have some scientific explanation for it that he’d tune out when it got too complicated.

“The breeze is so wonderful,” Youngmi inhaled deeply. “Hell never has any seasons.”

“It’s Hell. It’s supposed to be hot.”

Youngmi rolled her eyes, “Follow me.”

Hongjoong looked over his shoulder to you next to Mingi, taking deep breaths. He should’ve been the one explaining and preparing you. He felt like a total dick now.

“Hongjoong!”

If she called his name one more time, he’d find the sharpest stick he could and stab himself with it. Then, he could watch her bleed for once. Hongjoong moved along with her Imps, the small child-like demons who live to serve. He never particularly liked them. Their uncanny appearance to children freaked him out, but not as much as the witches up ahead. In the darkness of the forest, he saw a bright orange and yellow glowing between them. He could hear mad cackling, cheering and saw shadows dance around the large fire.

“The Grand High Witch approaches!” one of the Imps said in his gravelly voice, calling the witches’ attention. “All hail the Grand High Witch!”

“Hail the Grand High Witch!”

Oh, she loved this. Hongjoong did not need to see her face as she strutted up to the clearing with her head up high. He wished he could smell the ocean, but the smoke and fire overpowered it. When he pushed past the clearing, he hoped none of them noticed him. However, they did.

“Master!” one witch hissed, bowing awkwardly to him. It was awkward for her because her hunched back made it difficult. Her pale skin was marked by black holes, and her black lips were cracked and hung open. “Master, you came! You came!”

“We’re delighted to see you, Master,” another said. When he looked, he saw whom he called ‘The Twins’. Two women stuck together by the waist, their long mottled claws reached out to him with their black eyes full of lust and longing. “Yes,” said the one on the left, “So delighted.”

“Um, yes, evening ladies.”

They simpered at his awkward greeting. A witch with an elongated face and a long crooked nose grinned at him with rotten teeth, while another stood at hip height reaching out for him. His stomach churned seeing them. He wished they’d use their human forms.

“Who is she?!” a very tall witch, bony and stooped, pointed at you. “We already have a cambion!”

“She’s with me,” Hongjoong grunted at her, moving over to take your hand. He saw the shock in your eyes at the sight of the dozens of witches in front of you. "Stick close to me,” he assured you, knowing your fear outweighed your resentment towards him. Your fingers sliding between his kept him from drifting. “It won’t take long. I promise.”

The crowd of witches parted as he guided you in front of him. They hissed and snarled at you. One snapped her large jaws, laughing when you flinched.

“She looks tasty…” a witch with spikes coming from her head came to your side. It wasn’t her who spoke, it was the face in her throat. “Scrumptious.”

“I can smell your fear, little girl,” said another, her head similar to a skeleton head with skin, “You’ll make a fine feast.”

“Back off,” Hongjoong growled, baring his canine teeth and flaring the crimson in his eyes. He didn’t bring out his true form very often, but he would for you. “Before I shove you all in the fire!”

As he guided you by the waist, Hongjoong noticed your soft skin gradually turned hard. When he put his full hand on it, he felt the roughness of tree bark. It started at your waist and went up your sides. Armor? He knew you’d started taking lessons with Rhea, who taught you combat and defense skills. He didn’t think you’d gotten that far already.

“We’ll only take a bite!”

A witch with horns all around her head moved forward before a silver blade reached her throat. Mingi, stone-faced and cold, held his blade to her neck.

“Take a bite and I take your life,” he said, deep black eyes glaring at her as his skin slowly turned a light red. “Understand, witch?”

“Ye-yes, Master.”

Finally reaching the front of the crowd, Hongjoong saw a large black cauldron on top of a stone platform. The first time he’d seen it, he recalled the putrid scent coming up from the boiling pot. He remembered the heat against his skin, the steam burning him as she hung his hand over the potion. Hongjoong gripped your waist without meaning to, knowing he’d have to do that again. Looking into the sky, he saw a full moon hanging in the pitch blackness. Soon, an eclipse will occur that will turn the moon from its bright white to deep red. In the rays of its light, the ritual will be performed.

“Daughters!” his mother raised her hands for silence, “Tonight, we gather underneath our sacred moon to fortify and strengthen your powers! With the blood of humans, you maintain your youth. With the blood of a half-breed, you maintain your physical form! And with the blood of a demon of transference,” she glanced over at him, “You maintain your immortality.”

The witches around him hissed, clicking and growling their approval. “Saia, Beatrice!” his mother called to a witch nearby, “Bring out the human first!”

“Oh my god…” he heard you breathe.

“Please! Please, let me go! Please!”

She must’ve been nineteen or twenty-years-old, he deduced. Long blond hair that shone in the firelight, her porcelain skin and slim body made her a perfect candidate. Two witches dragged her over to the cauldron, the woman kicking and screaming between them. Hongjoong watched them force her up onto a step while his mother withdrew a long, curved knife. She began speaking in Latin, a language Hongjoong never bothered to learn, but context told him everything.

“They’re not…” you whispered to him, “They’re not going to-to kill her?”

“That’s exactly what they’re going to do.”

“Stop! Please! Someone help me!” the woman shrieked, tears streaming down her cheeks as the witches held her over the cauldron.

The steam and smell made her turn her head, but one of them forced her to face forward. Her terror did not last long. In the last few words, Youngmi put the blade across the girl’s long neck. You turned away right as blood shot out of the wound and into the cauldron. He held you close, your scent overpowering the stench around him.

“Now,” his mother said, “The cambion!”

“Let me go, you bitches!”

A man this time. No doubt they lured him with their disguised beauty. Like with the woman, they held him over the cauldron as his mother said the second verse. A bit stronger, he managed to break free of their hold, but only for a moment. Slamming his head onto the cauldron’s rim, Youngmi took the chance to slit his throat as well. The potion glowed a deep scarlet color, which will only get darker with his blood added.

“You stay here,” he told you gently.

“No, Hongjoong,” you pleaded, “Don’t go.”

“I’ll be fine,” he assured you, kissing your forehead.

“And finally, my daughters, the blood of a demon!”

One witch tried grabbing him, but he shrugged her off. Hongjoong really wanted to know how a demon gets banned from the living world, and why she didn’t find another. Climbing the steps, he took his mother’s knife and stood next to the cauldron. Six-year-old Hongjoong screamed, cried and begged his mother not to do it. He’d never felt such terror before. But, two-hundred-and-sixty-nine year old Hongjoong knew better now. While his mother and her followers chanted the last stanza of the incantation, he quickly slid the blade along his injured finger to reopen it. The witch across him hissed as her own finger split open. When the first few drops fell into the potion, the smoke billowed thick with the scent of blood. He coughed as it entered his lungs and plugged up his nose. He squeezed his blood into it, then stepped back from the cauldron.

His mother waved her hands around the pot, finishing off the spell while he came back to you. Mingi offered him a handkerchief for his finger, but he only had eyes for you. He saw the terror in your eyes, though you did your best not to show it. You kept yourself from staring at any witch for too long; he saw you already figuring out an escape route as he saw your midsection and shoulders thicken. Daughters of Eden didn’t particularly need metal armor, even if the guards wore it.

“Hey,” he cupped your cheek with his clean hand, “Don’t be scared.”

"Are you serious right now?”

“Okay, yeah I know, but we’re going home,” he assured you. “They won’t hurt you with me around.”

“Drink, my daughters! Come and drink! Receive your blessings!”

Witches flocked to the platform, taking out cups from their cloaks. Hongjoong held you to his chest, about to turn you around to go home when another voice rang out.

“Ladies! How lovely to see you all here!”

A man in a long coat with a vest and ruffled shirt came out of the shadows. Black curls hung around his face and over his red eyes. People told him that his brothers all looked like Asmodeus in one way or another. Seonghwa had his long curls; San had his golden brown skin, and Hongjoong had his narrow nose. The witches all turned at his voice, delighted by the sight of their master, and bowed to him at once. It was only Youngmi who glared at him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, ladling potion into a witch’s cup.

“I was told you’d kidnapped my son,” Asmodeus said, walking further into the clearing. He stared around the semi-circle overlooking the cliffs. “This is a great meeting place,” he whistled his approval. “I think we’ll have our next black mass in these woods. They’re remote, old, and there’s plenty of camping space around here.”

“Get out,” Youngmi hissed.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” his father groaned. “I didn’t come here for any of you, even though…” he walked over to the twins, touching each of their long chins as they sighed dreamily, “I wouldn’t mind partaking while I’m here. How’re my favorite twins doing?”

“Do you have to ruin everything, Asmodeus?” she snapped.

“Hey, you’re the one that took my boy for this strange ritual of yours,” he quipped. He turned from the twins to see Hongjoong nearby. “There you are, Joongie!” he walked over to him, and they clasped hands before hugging. “There’s my handsome boy,” he patted Hongjoong’s back, smiling warmly. He spotted Hongjoong’s bleeding finger, “It doesn’t hurt, right?”

“It hurt someone, just not me,” he replied, which amused his father.

“Good boy, good boy.” His eyes landed on you, and the flirtation turned on again. “Hello there,” he said, drawing closer to you, “Aren’t you a lovely one? Are you new? I don’t see any rot in you at all.” He caressed your cheek, but you moved away. This only made the demon prince chuckle, “Don’t be shy, sweetheart. I don’t bite…unless you ask me to.”

“She’s with me, Dad,” Hongjoong got in between you both, “And she’s your great niece.”

Clarity came to him right away, “She’s Andromeda’s girl? Well, how nice to finally meet you. Your grandmother didn’t shut up about you when I visited yesterday. You really are a beauty,” he moved around Hongjoong towards you. “You should come visit my mansion sometime. I can show you a few tricks of my own.”

“What’s up, Dad?” he stood in front of you again. He knew with enough eye-contact and persuasion, you’d become putty in his father’s hands. “I thought you’d be at the keep.”

“I was, and your brothers told me you’d be here. Listen, son,” he fixed his coat as he said, “I’m having a gathering at my place this weekend.”

“For what?”

He glimpsed over at you as he said, “The Passionate Heart Ball.” He walked around Hongjoong again to you, “It’s an important celebration to us demons of lust, you see. It happens at the first full moon of spring. It’s when our powers are the strongest,” he played with the end of a stray hair, “Where our seed is most potent and we become…truly primal. You could ask your mates all about it: there’s lots of wine, food and fucking going on there.”

“That sounds…interesting, I guess.”

“You’re in Hell, darling. There’s no way you’ve never had a cock before,” he said, voice low with lust. “Not if you’ve been hanging around my boys. Oh…” he exhaled deeply, “I bet your orgasms sound sweet. I’d love to hear them myself-”

“-Seriously, Dad?” Hongjoong interrupted. “We’ll go to the damn ball. You know where to send the details.”

“Don’t be greedy, boy,” he said over his shoulder. “You get to fuck this one whenever you like. Isn’t that right, angel?”

“That’s right.” 

Hongjoong froze. Your voice, breathy and low, told him everything he needed to know.

“How about we ditch this place and go somewhere more private, hm?” his father’s hands traced your shoulder up to your collar, “Where I can see just how beautiful girls from Eden are.”

“I don’t think you want to do that, Uncle,” you said, your own voice flirty and sultry. “I’ve been told my kisses alone can be pretty dangerous.”

“Is that right?” he leaned in closer.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Your sons can go for hours with a kiss or two from me.”

“Ha, I don’t need a kiss to do that,” he said. “I’m lust personified, honey. I can fuck pretty things like you for days.”

“Days? That’s excessive, no?”

“Excess is what I love. Just like how much I love gorgeous women with gorgeous tits.”

“Dad!” Hongjoong felt anger flare in his chest, and he pulled you away from him. “Come on, seriously? My mate?”

“Mate?”

“No harm in a little romp,” his father reasoned, hands in the air. “She must be special if even my Hongjoong doesn’t want to share her with me. How many of these did we take together during mass? Ten? Eleven?”

“I lost count after six, if I’m honest.”

His father laughed, distracted by the joke. He rung an arm around Hongjoong’s shoulders, “Bring her to the ball.”

“She’s not a lust demon.”

“I don’t care. Your other siblings will be bringing their pleasure slaves and mates. She can be your plus-one.” He looked back over at you, “Wear something easy to take off. You won’t be clothed very long.”

You smiled shyly, turning away at his forwardness. Hongjoong scowled at his father, who gave you a wink. “See you at the ball, son.”

He gave another hug before walking over to a group of witches. Hongjoong scoffed his disgust, moving towards you. “Let’s get out of here before he starts a full blown orgy,” Hongjoong said, but then he saw your expression. Intrigue filled your pretty eyes, scanning over his father’s athletic, slim body. “Really, babe? My dad? Your great uncle?”

“What?” you groaned, “He’s hot. Sorry I’m not made of stone. You don’t mind the incest when it’s us and your brothers.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“We actually love you, whereas my dad will pound into you for a few hours and then forget your name.”

“If you love me,” you put the handkerchief to his bleeding hand, “Why won’t you tell me what’s really bugging you?”

“It’s…complicated.”

“Then help me understand,” you said.

He saw witches who’d drunk their potion moving over to his father. The man truly slept with anyone or anything. It disgusted him, and he liked most things. Hongjoong didn’t speak as he took you away from the frivolity into the forest. Out of their notice, he guided you to a spot where the moonlight still shone on you. If anything made him feel better, it’d be a few minutes alone with you. 

“Aren’t we going back to that portal thing?” you asked him, worry in your voice.

“Not right now,” he said.

“Where’s Mingi?”

“Probably still in the clearing. If he’s lucky, one of them turned into a hot girl for him to plug up for a while.”

“Do you always have to be so obscene?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

Through a thicket of trees, Hongjoong brought you out of range of the clearing. He leaned against one of the trees, withdrawing his flask to take another swig. The cool breeze went across his hot cheeks to fill his lungs with fresh air. You stood beside him, where you took his flask and drank some yourself.

“There’s days…” he explained, “There’s days where I get this hollow feeling.”

“Hollow?”

“Empty. I can’t enjoy or experience anything because this emptiness sits inside me and takes up space,” he said. “I feel weighed down. I feel useless and unhappy. I start remembering things, and it only makes it worse,” he took the flask back from you and gulped some down. He let you have the last bit of it as he said, “I force myself to do things because I have to, but all I really want to do is stay in bed and let it swallow me whole.”

“I wouldn’t really know anything about that,” you told him, finishing the flask. “It sounds shitty.”

“It is. I normally take this elixir Yunho makes,” he said, “But he hasn’t had the ingredients for it so I’ve sort of been managing without it.”

“And self-medicating,” you added.

“That too.”

“Then coming here must’ve really been rough for you. Your mother is a real piece of work.”

“You don’t even know half of it.”

“You know you have me,” you told him, taking his injured hand. His finger healed up well, so the only thing you did was wipe off the caked blood. “I might not be able to make potions or anything like that to help, but I’m here if you need someone to stay in bed with you.”

“It’s what I wanted to do,” he said, “But then this happened. Now, my dad is here too? I wish I had more whiskey.”

“Your dad doesn’t seem as bad. He’s definitely better than mine.”

“He’s the lesser of two evils for sure.”

“He can’t be all that bad. My dad never invited me to orgies before.” 

The both of you shared a glance in the dark, the red moon giving just enough light to see your face. He could hear the orgy beginning right on the other side of the bushes. Your beauty astounded him every time. If anything distracted him from his hollowness, it’d be you and your smile.

“A lot of people have shitty parents,” you said, hands sliding onto his chest. “My dad was a mean sonofabitch who liked hitting women and drinking. My mom tells me it’s because of the war-”

“-Your dad was a veteran?-”

“-Yeah, WW2,” you nodded. “He didn’t talk about it, but when I think about him now, I sort of see it. There'd been times that he seemed  there but not there? He sat there physically, but mentally he went somewhere else. My mom told me he became this empty shell when he returned home,” you said. “Is that kind of the same for you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “When I was a kid, I didn’t have Seonghwa’s aristocratic upbringing. I lived in a village with an old witch who’d rather eat me than hug me, and I was left alone a lot.” He let his thumb trace over the necklace you wore today. An opal inlaid with stones, it stood out against your sweater. “I committed crimes. I drank a lot. I went to prison a few times, and that wasn’t exactly a holiday in the Bahamas.” 

“You went to prison? How old were you?”

“Eight. Things have drastically changed since then, obviously,” he said. “They didn’t have juvenile prisons back then. You either went to big boy jail or a reform school; both are equally horrible. The only good thing I got out of it was I sort of honed my skills there? I learned I had transference, so whenever an overseer or officer beat me, it hurt them more. They couldn’t explain it. I think it sort of scared them?” Hongjoong didn’t like thinking about the cruel guards and their unusual punishments. “Things only changed when Seonghwa came. I’d killed the witch I lived with and he came to get me. There I had to be a proper gentleman. I had to go to boring lessons where they taught me how to read and write; they dressed me in fancy clothing with too many layers and taught me how to dance and table etiquette. I hated it. It wasn’t me. When I finally came down here, it was a whole new thing. I could be me and nobody could say anything. I didn’t think my hollowness would find me down here, but it did. It did…”

“Which sounds awful,” you said, kissing his lips. The faint sounds of moaning and groaning caught both of you, and you glanced through the bushes. “I can imagine having a dad like that didn’t make things easy.”

“He’s meant to be a demon who can read people’s emotions, but he seemed to never read mine,” he sighed, seeing his dad kissing the siamese twins. “He might not be Dad of the Year, but he still showed more interest in me than he did my brothers.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m the ‘Handsome One’.”

You laughed, “Really?”

He pinched your arm lightly, “What do you mean ‘really’?”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” you assured him. “All three of you are handsome. Why does he have a favorite?”

“I’m the most like him, Seonghwa told me once. San is more into athletics and fighting. Seonghwa likes his books, poetry and philosophy. I was the one who liked having weekend orgies, flirting with anything that looked good, and indulged in his interests,” he shrugged. “To him, I’m the attractive brother. At the mass, I was the one he kept inviting to his tent for his private parties. I don’t know if you noticed, but rather than wait for me to come home, he came here.”

“And yet, he can’t tell that something is bothering his favorite son?”

“Nope.”

He turned to see his father tilting his head back as the twins worked him. Witches all around him paired up to engage in their own desires. He noticed his mother mysteriously disappeared. “He’s usually too busy with his own things to notice anything outside of himself.”

“I notice,” you said, and he heard the drop in your voice. “There really isn’t anything I can do to make you feel better?”

He inhaled deep when your hand slid down to his belt buckle. His hands went up your sides where he felt your supple flesh once more. You brought him in for a kiss, and Hongjoong didn’t protest when your tongue tenderly passed his lips. That heady endorphin your kiss brought hit him almost immediately. He pulled your sweater out from under your skirt, and slipped his hands underneath. Your fingers delicately danced over his torso, sliding over the flatness to his chest. Hongjoong gasped softly when your thumbs brushed his nipples. He unclipped your bra, which took your passion up a notch. Leaning against the thick tree trunk, he lifted one leg to his waist to pull your sex to his own.

“No panties,” he groaned between kisses, “Again, pet?”

“I stopped seeing the point,” you giggled, pecking his lips. “You know I love being fucked just as much as you love fucking me.”

He lifted the back of your skirt to grope the soft cheeks that filled his hands. Not a stitch of clothing kept Hongjoong from spreading and squeezing them. He lost himself in you. Your body pressed to his brought on a new feeling that overpowered the hollowness. It took up space in him that made him forget everything that happened. All he wanted was you. The clinking of his belt buckle alone accelerated his arousal, causing him to push you into his bulge more. He could have you just like this, right there in the light of a blood moon. There, he'd have his own special ritual. 

His lips broke from yours to groan when you reached into his jeans. Your hand, cold from the climate, shocked his hot muscle. The coolness against the heat had him moving into your hand for more. You glided your hand as he continued kissing down your neck and grabbing your ass. Every sensation he hoped to grab reached him the longer you stroked him. Once he grew hard enough, you pulled him from his boxers to keep rubbing him. This let him lift your shirt and bra over your breasts so he could suck the hard nipples underneath. One hand massaging them, the other reached between your thighs to your slick sex. Your wet clitoris jutted from your folds as if asking to be touched by him; your folds already puffy and wet on his fingers, he had no trouble sliding to your entrance. 

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered in a kiss, “Please.”

“As long as you don’t.”

Spinning you around, Hongjoong nearly slammed you into the tree as he kept one leg at his hip. Your eyes closed with one swift push into your heat; the penetration bringing relief to both of you. His hands under your thighs, your arms went around his neck to help keep yourself stable in his grasp. Once inside you, Hongjoong didn’t stop. Lips attached to yours again, he kept a steady stride in each thrust. Even with the burning in his arms and legs, Hongjoong chased after the desperation for release. Putting a hand to your throat, he gently squeezed as he pinned you to the tree and picked up the pace. His balls slapped against your soft ass cheeks; his cock pushed deep through your bumpy walls, their taut squeezes driving him insane. 

“Fuck, that feels so good,” you said through gritted teeth, strained by his hand on your neck. “Fuck me, Master. Please, fuck me. Use my pussy to cum.”

“I plan to,” he grunted, tucking your skirt into the waistband for glimpses of your full sex. “Just a pretty hole for me to use whenever I want,” he said, watching himself slide in and out of you. “Are these mine?” he asked in a groan, pumping you faster. “Are your holes mine?”

“Yes,” you whined, “Yes, Master. They’re yours.”

You cried when he withdrew, panting as he turned you to face the tree. He forced you into an arch, then shoved himself back into your heat. The smacking of his lower stomach to your ass joined the lewd sounds it created. He watched your fingers dig into the thick tree bark, smiling as you moaned up into the heavens for him. Keeping one hand on your shoulder, he pinned you to the tree as he slapped your ass cheeks. The harsh smacks must be heard even through the bundle of trees and bushes between you two and the clearing. He loved the way you yelped if he smacked particularly hard or in the right place; how your ass bounced as your need for release grew. Hongjoong made deep thrusts that he swore reached right into your stomach and arranged your insides. 

“Doesn’t she look beautiful?”

Hongjoong might’ve jumped at his father’s appearance had he not been overcome with your drug. Asmodeus stood a few feet away with the humpback and the horned witch naked and rubbing up and down his body. Hongjoong leaned forward and grabbed your breasts, still pushing and pounding you hard. He heard his father’s low groans, suspecting one witch started filling her mouth with him. Hongjoong turned you sideways, lifted your other leg up and gave him a view of your cunt wrapped around his wet cock. 

“Oooh, that’s a nice one,” his father groaned, eyeing where you both met. 

“So nice,” he huffed, “And it’s all mine.”

“Yes, it is,” you giggled, hand around the nape of his neck as you stayed completely still. He felt your nails dig into his flesh, the slight pain pushing him further. “All yours.”

Hongjoong pulled out a moment, tapping and sliding himself on your clit. “I can never get enough of this,” he said, loving the sloppy sounds the touch made. “I end up fucking her until I’m empty.”

“As you should with a beauty like that.”

Pushing back in, he lifted your sweater over your breasts more to see them bounce as he fucked you. “And I love emptying you,” you breathed, moving from your position to squat down on the floor, “Especially if you do it in my mouth.”

Hand in your hair, Hongjoong forced himself into your open mouth. You held onto the trunk while he started pushing to your face. He loved your mouth as much as the other holes. Your mouth sucking his tip and shaft the right amount of firmness had Hongjoong trembling in place in minutes. Blinding passion shut his eyes the moment his body stiffened in his clothes. Every suck suddenly became sensitive as he started squirting into your mouth. You elevated it by sliding him to the back of your throat to let him shoot further down. In the faint light, he saw his cum dripping from the sides of your mouth to your chin. When he pulled out, still hard and pulsing, he saw the few strings keeping you connected. 

“I’m not empty,” he said, slapping his leaking head on your tongue. “I think you need to fix that or otherwise my dad will think you’re not serving me well. You don’t want the Prince of Lust thinking you’re not making his son happy, right?”

“Of course not,” you replied, stroking him slowly as you licked down to his balls. “I’d hate to leave a bad impression, Master.”

“Ass in the air,” he said, grinding his balls to your mouth for gentle sucks from your lips. 

You assumed the position in the dirt, ass up towards him to give him complete control of you. Hands hooked to your skirt’s waistband, he forced you down onto his still hard cock, and used it to guide you along his length. 

“Fuck me,” he ordered, smacking your ass. “I’m the master. I’m not doing the work. Fuck me, slut.”

While his father began fingering the horned witch as the other pushed her sex to his crotch, Hongjoong and you fucked on the ground. His father had no idea the effect your saliva had on people. Perhaps even he would regret inviting you once he’s had a taste of you. You kept the same speed until you began shaking and throbbing on him. Hongjoong knelt there and watched you completely spiral in front of him. He didn’t care if his father saw it. Your pussy creaming and coating his dick caused the muscle to vibrate inside you, as he’d done that first night with you. A gift he inherited from his father. This heightened your orgasm, and you became needier. 

“Keep going,” you whined, your climax subsiding. “Please, Master. Please?”

“I suppose I can.”

And there you continued. The hollowness disappeared the more times he came inside or on you. Clothes and bodies soon smeared with dirt and leaves, muscles tense and shaking each time, Hongjoong let himself be taken over by you. By the time the drug wore off, you both laid on the ground in a messy heap. He left soft kisses on your jawline and neck, his entire body like a puddle of jello. While you drifted to sleep on the floor, he stayed there and looked at you as the sun rose up. 

“She is quite something,” his father said. Both witches laid their heads on his bare thighs, nude and sweaty from pleasuring their master. He leaned against the tree, pushing hair from his face. “I’d hoped to have my turn, but I suppose she’s all spent now.”

“You’ll have her one day, I have no doubt, Dad,” he replied, not looking at him. He smiled softly when you sniffled in your sleep. 

“It’s nice to see you have a girl that makes you smile.” When Hongjoong looked up at him, he said, “I was an angel once, son. I can sense the good and the evil in people. That means I can see their happiness as well as their sadness. I don’t know anything about all this new mental health stuff, but…I know, Hongjoong. I know.” 

From his pant’s pocket on the floor, he withdrew a small pouch and tossed it to him. Hongjoong opened it to see a bundle of mint leaves inside. 

“Give that to your butler,” he said, starting to shut his eyes. “You are not the only one who feels hollow.” 

Neither of them spoke, but Hongjoong nodded his appreciation. He rested beside you, arms around your waist and face close to yours. 

Yes, he certainly preferred his father over his mother. 

***

A/N: aww, the "handsome one" really has some parental issues. I hope you guys really liked this one, I have San's coming soon after <3

[taintedcigs]

𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐃彡

rockstar!steddie x reader

summary: dating two rockstars is fun, except when you get caught breaking their rules, and your punishment ends up in the form of some festive fun — tied up with christmas lights.

warnings: smut smut smut, minors DNI, p in v, creampie, unprotected (wrap it up irl im so serious), spanking, punishment?, daddy kink (but its so very light do not look at me im so seriously embarrassed), oral (m receiving, good old bj), kinda rough, dom/sub dynamics, mean!dom!eddie, mean!dom!steve no use of ‘y/n’, degrading, praises, nicknames!

authors note: the banner thingy of this is making me laugh i tried ok. graphic design is my PASSION.

Taming brats. 

That was something Eddie was really fucking good at. 

Expert even, especially after he started dating you. And once Steve was thrown into the mix, you were unstoppable.

Acting out more than usual, being a teasing little slut.

It all happened with a drunken night out after their show, three-way kissing, and hours of making each other cum led to one realization; the three of you worked perfectly, and you and your boyfriend were more than okay to open up the relationship to Steve. 

To Steve it was all so exciting, this new dynamic, the fun stuff the three of you tried, the punishments, the edging, the overstimulation, all the new kinks, intrigued him to no end. Yet, Steve still had one problem; he wasn’t that good at being a dominant. 

Whether it was him apologizing to you and not being able to fully punish you, him letting you be bratty, or him letting some of your actions go unpunished just because you looked at him all prettily. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like being a dominant, he did, he really fucking did. So much so that he was doing everything he could to not fuck it up and make you and Eddie proud.  

It was that he was just very new to this, while Eddie had his fair share of kinky sex stories, and so did you, all Steve had were some hookups here and there, the groupies he had weren’t that interesting; the wildest thing he ever did was some dirty talk, and maybe getting his dick sucked at a public bathroom. This was a brand new territory he was trying to get adjusted to. 

The two of you were more than okay with helping him adjust to it all. Eddie loved teaching Steve about you and your body, what you enjoyed, what made you squirm, what made you instantly cum and of course; how exactly to punish you the right way. It all sounded perfect as an idea, but Steve could never execute it well. 

Whether it was because of those puppy eyes you did, or the whines that he drew from your mouth anytime he tried to put you in your place, or the begging and the sweet-talking, Steve didn’t have it in his heart to go all the way, which earned him the ‘soft daddy’ tittle you giggly called him all the time. 

So, Eddie wanted to teach him how to do it properly, in a way that was enjoyable and comfortable for all three of you, clearly, he knew you better than Steve did, and he knew his sort of punishments were always something you took pleasure out of, so he wanted to show Steve that, make him realize how good it made you feel, and how the dynamic truly worked. 

And this was the perfect time to show him, especially when you broke one of the most important rules. 

Steve sat on the edge of the bed with his arms crossed against his chest, disappointed, angrier than you ever saw him, you with your head drooped low and your hands behind your back, and Eddie with that goddamned smirk on his lips leaning against the wall, tilting your chin upwards with a tut. 

You were naked, fingers still coated with your juices, a slight guilt flashing across your eyes​​—but not really. Because you wanted to be caught, you wanted this punishment. Wanted the attention. 

Especially when both of them were so busy with work since New Year’s was coming up. They were either at gigs or at the studio, not even letting you come with them because you were ‘too distracting’.  

So, once again when they left for the studio, you had an idea. An idea that would surely bring out a mean punishment, yet the best pleasure. 

The second you heard the door getting unlocked, you were naked, laying on the bed, turning on your vibrator, knowing that once you let out a few slight gasps, the two of them would end up in the room, and all of their attention would be on you. 

“Eds, I swear I—I didn’t even cum!” You muttered with a whine. 

Eddie barked out a chuckle, mocking you. “That doesn’t mean shit, baby, rules are rules.”

“Steve!” You whined all brattily, turning to him with a pout, expecting to earn some sympathy from him, because you always did. Yet, there was something different this time, a darkness his gaze didn’t possess until now, you’d be lying if it didn’t make you rub your thighs together in excitement. 

“Don’t think you can try to get out of this one by sweet-talking me doll, not gonna work,” Steve mumbled, the nickname rolling off his tongue with all the pent-up anger. 

“Now we have to punish you.” He narrowed his gaze, making you swallow. Shit, he’d have to cave eventually, right? Because this was Steve. 

“And I’m sure, that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Our attention?” You don’t answer, knowing that anything coming from your mouth could get you more into trouble, and Eddie scoffed at the state of you, that devilish grin playing on his lips. 

“Steve, honey, can you get those Christmas lights?” He asked sweetly, a smile flashed his way, and nothing but a scowl flashed yours. 

“L—lights?” You asked with a pout. Fuck, lights meant trouble, because you hated how tight they were, and you hated not being able to touch them. 

“Yeah, have to bring out the big guns, you’ve been so bratty lately. Such a shame too, because you were doing so good honey, when was the last time you were all tied up?” He quizzed mockingly, face inches away from yours. 

“I don’t remember.” You mumbled.

“Aha, that’s why we need it back, and so that I can teach Steve how to tie our little slut up, isn’t that right?” As if on cue, Steve came back with a grin, the long string of Christmas lights in his embrace. 

“Thank you, baby,” Eddie hummed excitedly, pressing a harsh kiss on Steve’s lips, flushing his cheeks a salmon pink, before he made a show of the strings of light, wrapping it around his hand, and grinning while he made his way over to you. 

Steve sat on the edge of the bed again, and Eddie motioned toward you. “Lie down on Steve’s lap, face down.” With a quick huff, you obeyed, crawling over his lap, making a show of it as you wiggled your ass in the air, enjoying the low hisses from both men. 

“Arms behind your back, slut,” He hisses, and you’re quick to obey, crossing your arms over your back, watching as he plugs the lights into the outlet, a grin overtaking his face as they light up. 

He stretches them forward before he begins tying you up, twisting them around your arms, making sure your wrists are steadily restrained, before he loops them around your hips and your legs, making sure it has a tight hold on you. 

“Look how pretty you look like this.” He grins, watching the way the Christmas lights illuminate your skin as he lands a harsh smack on your bare flesh, and you yelp dramatically over it, skin burning with the impact. You try your best not to giggle, not to make him know that you’re enjoying this, because you want the punishment to be over as soon as possible. 

You need to cum. And you know Eddie can, and will edge you till’ however long he wants, so as much fun as it is to be a brat, you need to behave, for these next ten minutes, or try to seduce Steve in some way, you knew he tried to be tough, but you always managed to break him. 

Eddie kneels next to you, while Steve squeezes your ass, his cock stirring more and more you whimper for him. “Steve’s gonna spank you five times,” Eddie taunts with a grin, and you nod, trying to ignore the flutters in your stomach the more you feel Steve’s grabby hands. 

“That is unless you want some more?” Eddie challenges with a raise of his brow.

“N—no!” 

“Good girl,” he praises, and fuck, does that make your stomach instantly tumble. 

“Make it rough, Steve, she enjoys that shit,” he spits, fingers teasingly dancing around your shoulder. 

“She sees you as her soft daddy, she thinks you can’t really punish her, you gotta show her that you own her, too,” Eddie mocks with a slight grin, enjoying the way Steve’s gaze is overblown with lust now. 

“Is that right, honey?” Steve hisses, all mean and biting. Something you haven’t seen to this length, something that was making you so intrigued that you could barely speak. 

“Nuh-uh,” you hummed, head dipped into the couch, before Steve had a harsh grip on your chin, making you face him. Chocolate gaze growing darker, and pupils blown wide. 

“Need you to count for me, honey, can you do that?” You nodded, quick and obedient, and Steve was starting to understand how good it felt, to have you surrender to him, his cock stirring at your doe-eyes. 

His hand raises in the air, the smack of it much softer than Eddie’s, but still rough enough that you feel the sting, a warm feeling overtaking your flesh, causing you to yelp at the unexpected intrusion. 

“You can be rougher, baby,” Eddie encourages, enjoying that pure hunger in Steve’s amber hues, and he’s quick to nod. 

“I thought you said you could count, slut. Is that pretty little head of yours so full with the thought of our cocks that you forgot to count all of a sudden, doll?” The nicknames roll off his lips like a warning, tone so coarse that you immediately tense up, apologetic gaze meeting his dark ones.

“S—sorry, Stevie,” you muttered, his sudden dominance making your body tremble, and your cheeks flush with heat. “O—one.” 

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He coos, hand smoothing over your reddened skin, reveling the way you shudder under his touch. 

He spanks you again, and another yelp falls out of your lips, this time much harder than before, you can fully feel the pain, and Eddie watches the two of you in awe.

“Two.” 

His hand gropes your ass again, massaging over your heated skin, and once again, harsh smack lands on your marked-up flesh, much rougher, but easing the second he carefully traces over it. 

“T—three,” you mutter, moaning into the pillows your head was smushed in. 

You feel another hand join Steve’s, but your attempts to look up at Eddie are turned down when he tuts, “Focus on your punishment.” 

His fingers are teasing as they make their way up to your trembling thighs, drawing whiney breaths from you. He uses his index fingers to spread you apart, both him and Steve groaning at the sight of your puffy clit. 

His fingers find their way inside of you, earning shaky moans while you try to push yourself back onto him, to have more, to feel that fullness, and all Steve does is chuckle at you, at how pathetic you want them both, rutting against Eddie’s fingers while you moan. 

And just as you’re about to beg for more, beg to have both of their cocks, two harsh slaps land on your ass, one on both cheeks, the two boys grinning devilishly as they watch the way their handprints mark your ass. 

“Four,” you mumble, words scrambled together when all you want is more from them, the mocking making you wetter and wetter. Especially when Steve is being all mean for the first time.

“You didn’t think it’d be that easy, sweetheart, did you?” Steve mocks with a pout, and you moan into the pillow again. 

Steve kneads your sensitive skin, while Eddie’s fingers are still inside of you, your ass is burning, but it feels so good that you can’t help the whines that leave your mouth. 

“Such a fuckin’ slut for us, aren’t ya? Soaking my fingers just for being spanked, told you she likes it rough, Stevie.” Eddie pushes his fingers fully inside of your walls, thumb toying with your clit, so agonizingly slow that you bite down on the pillow, incoherent babbles leaving your lips. 

You need this punishment to be over so that you can have both of them, it’s so pathetically overwhelming and teasing that you don’t even realize what you’re begging for, just when you’re about to push back on his fingers again, the roughest slap comes, and you cry out at the impact. 

You’re sure your ass is practically burning now, but it feels so good that you’ve basically already melted into the sheets, body feeling frail with how turned on you really are. And, thankfully this was the last.

“Five!” You wail out with excitement filling your tummy, Eddie’s fingers slip outside of you with that, you’re too fucked out to register any of it, the pain subsiding and fast to turn into pleasure when Steve is kneading your firey flesh, it has you feeling so painfully empty that you’re looking at Steve with pouty lips and a desperate gaze. 

“Good girl,” Steve praises, pressing a sloppy kiss on your bruised skin, and you whimper at the cold feeling, cheeks fluttering at the much needed praise. 

“N—need more, please,” you mutter, it’s a long shot, and by the way they’ve both been so mean, you knew neither their teasing nor the punishment was going to end soon. But, fuck, were you desperate. 

Steve barks out a laugh, it’s evil, and just as mocking as you’d expect, but not from Steve. Eddie looks almost as surprised, but so very proud, because both of you want this dynamic to work, and for Steve to be in this as much as the two of you are, and it looks like it’s finally working. 

“So fuckin’ mouthy today, aren’t ya?” He coaxed, picking you up to roll you over to the bed, hands grabby before he turned to Eddie. 

“I think we should put those pretty lips to use, baby, what do y’think?” Steve quipped, gazing at Eddie with the need for approval, and Eddie’s cock stirred at the both of you. 

Steve submitting to him, still taking a bit of control to dominate you. Fuck, this was exactly what he wanted. 

“Get on all fours for your daddies, pretty girl,” Steve hummed, leaving a playful smack on your already marked-up ass while you yelped, pussy clenching around on nothing. 

“Do you know how fucking hot you are when you order her around like this?” Eddie groaned, his hand gathering curls at the nape of his neck, gripping it tightly to pull him in for a kiss, all teeth, and no mercy. Greedily sucking at each other’s tongues, ignoring all of your squirming. 

You’re so unbelievably wet and you need something, anything. Seeing the two boys kiss is not doing you any good, so you just mewl with such desperation that both of them break apart from the kiss with a dark gaze. 

“I said all fours,” Steve hisses, but you pout, struggling to stand while your hands are tied behind your back, and your body is wrapped around the lights, making your skin glow in the best way possible. 

“Aww, can’t do it on your own, sweetheart?” Eddie taunts with a pout, and you’re quick to nod. 

“You need our help, baby?”

“P—please,” you muttered, almost embarrassed.

“You want your daddies to fill all your holes is that it, slut?” You nodded vigorously. 

“Don’t be a fuckin’ brat, speak up,” Steve chimed in. 

“Y—yes, please, please I need both of you, need both of you to fuck me, please—” your rambling was cut off by Eddie’s dark chuckle. 

“God, so fuckin’ desperate, should we give her what she wants, Stevie?” He nodded off toward Steve, a mocking pout on his lips. 

“I do want to punish her more… but I also need that pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock, she’s been too mouthy lately, don’t ya think, Munson?” Steve groaned loudly at the thought. 

“Mhmm, and I should fuck her pathetic little pussy, show her who really owns her, yea?” Eddie grinned toward you. 

“You definitely should, does she think she can make herself cum better than we do?” Steve asked tauntingly. 

“N—no I don’t! P—please need both of you s’bad, ‘m sorry, I won’t touch myself again, daddies, I promise,” you cried out, desperate, enough to have both of their cocks ache with the need to fuck you. 

“You’ll be sorry, sweetheart, we’ll make sure of it.” Both of them were quick to get rid of their clothes, joining you on the bed, Eddie holding you by your hips, and Steve steadying you by your shoulders, both sets of angry red tips facing your holes. Eagerness ignites a fire in your entire body. 

“God, I was going to stretch you out a little bit, but look at you sweetheart, practically gushin’ for me and we barely did anything.” Eddie grins, fingers toying with your soaked clit, and you whimper loudly, looking up at Steve with hooded eyes, excitedly waiting to get what you were promised for, your entire body feels like it’s on fire, everywhere they touch burns, and you want nothing more than to have them fuck you, anywhere and everywhere. 

Steve barely jerked his erected cock before he dragged it over your lips, smearing his beaded pre-cum all over, mixing with your gloss. Starving, you were quick to lick it all away, that salty taste coated your tongue and you hummed. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He almost lost it there and then.

“God, she’s soakin’ my fingers, Stevie.” Eddie moaned, relishing in the squelching sounds your pussy made the more his fingers entered inside of you.

“Please,” you whispered, desperately pushing back on his fingers, trying to get more. 

You turned your head as best as you could. “Please, daddy. Fuck me.” Your tone was sultry, making Eddie groan. 

“And, please, fuck my mouth daddy, I deserve it,” you muttered, this time faux innocent gaze at Steve’s, his mouth hanging open, eyes lulling as he looked down on you. 

With a slight groan, “Open up,” he ordered, and you opened your mouth eagerly, while he dragged his aching cock inside, watching the way you quickly wrapped your lips around his length, sucking on it greedily.

“Her mouth is heavenly, Munson, you need to fuck her while I’m fuckin’ her mouth,” Steve groaned loudly when you bobbed up and down. 

“Open her up, Eddie, really fuck her, use her like the little slut she is.” That was all the encouragement Eddie needed, his fingers left your hole with a slick sound, emptiness making you whine around Steve’s cock. 

You didn’t have much time, or even the space to complain with Steve’s cock hammered into your mouth. You couldn’t see Eddie but you could feel him shift behind you, his hot tip teasing against your entrance, pre-cum smearing all over your clit, making you whimper crazily around Steve’s cock, driving him further into a pleasure he didn’t know existed.

You were at your fucking limit. Only when the head of his cock teased against your slit that you let out a sigh of relief. He pushed his cock inside, the hold he had on your waist was bruisingly rough. 

He pushed and pushed his way inside, cock slipping easily through your soaked folds. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

It always amazed you how fucking big and thick he was, stretching you out in every way possible. 

His groans were guttural, and so were Steve’s, especially when his hands wrapped around your hair halting his cock into your mouth, realizing you were too fucked out to do it properly. 

“So sloppy when you get your holes filled,” Steve tutted, “fucking love it when you go all dumb on our cocks like this, such a perfect little cock sleeve for us, aren’t you? Just waiting to be used by your daddies, hmm?” He hummed, eyes stuck on you when he yanked you by your hair again, pumping his cock further into your mouth. 

You whimpered in an attempt to nod, crying out once Eddie pushed in deeper inside of you, cunt clamping around him and so very willing. Your pussy was his. 

And you felt full, so fucking full.

“Shit, shit, fuck! She’s so fuckin’ warm and tight, Steve.” Eddie grunted, voice ragged, his weight on top of you, as he poised all the way inside of you, and you tried your best to adjust to his cock. But, fuck, did he always stretch you out, make you feel all of him. 

“Jesus, baby, look how perfectly your holes are taking our cocks, it’s like you were made for us, huh?” Steve almost growled, fucking your mouth with ease while he enjoyed the way you gagged around his cock, tear-streaked cheeks, and looking up at him with those alluring eyes. 

All three of you were about to fucking lose it. It was all too much, all so fucking good, making your body feel like jelly while they manhandled you in the best way possible. 

He slammed into you rougher, not stopping until he was sure you were full of him, same with Steve, filling you all the way in. You felt achy in the best way possible, and their grunts sounded lewd and angelic at the same time. 

He pulled out and slammed back in. Just as brutal but his hips picked up speed, the more he fucked into you, the more you took Steve into your mouth. Creating the perfect harmony between the three of you. 

You felt like you were going to explode, mind going hazy with everything. And of fucking course Eddie could tell, with the way you were squirming, thighs shuddering, and your tender pussy gripping his dick nicely. 

Your mewls and whines were muffled by Steve’s cock slammed down your throat. “Shit, honey, are you gonna cum already?” Eddie asked with a low groan. 

You nodded, as best as you could with Steve’s hold, eyes pleading, begging, so fucking desperate that neither of them wanted to hold you off. 

Besides, your punishment wasn’t edging tonight. 

“Pretty girl, cum for us, baby, soak Eddie’s dick,” Steve grunted, teeth grinding together, just barely holding all of it. It was making him feral watching the way Eddie’s thick cock plunged into you, while you took his cock into your mouth, like the good fucking girl you were. 

He almost looked at Eddie for approval, and he nodded quickly. “Cum for us, sweetheart.” His words were all the encouragement you needed. Muffled noises tumbled from your mouth as Eddie’s cock hit spots you didn’t even know existed and brought you over the edge. Your orgasm ripped through you, pussy shuddering around Eddie’s cock.  

“Our perfect girl, cumming just from us using your holes, shit,” Steve cursed, desperate to give you all of his load, make sure you never spilled a fucking drop of it.  

“God, she’s so fuckin’ tight when she cums, Steve, don’t think I’m gonna last,” Eddie growled, his thrusts dramatic, enough to have the bed creaking with a squeaky noise.

“Come with me, baby, let’s fill her up at the same time, hmm?” Steve grunted.

“Yeah, you’d like that, baby? You’d want your daddies to fill all your holes?” He taunted with your chin in his hands, Eddie’s rough hold on you was making it harder to focus, you just came but you simultaneously needed more. They were so fucking addicting. 

“Shit, you’re so fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart, I’m gonna fuckin—” Eddie rambled, so deep inside of you that you whimpered around Steve’s cock, making him grunt like a madman. 

“Me too, Munson, shit!”

“Gonna give you so much of my cum you’ll never get it out of you, princess, fuck!” It was a promise, his thrusts were brutal, bruising, and fucking divine. 

“S—shit baby, I’m—fuck! I wanna see you swallow all of my load, not one fuckin’ drop—oh fuck!” Steve added.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Both of them yelled in almost perfect sync. Thick cum filled inside of your walls and shot down your throat, it looked like Steve was too fucked out to tell you to swallow, and you beat him to it, sucking him dry with an exaggerated humming sound. 

Eddie was still unloading inside of you, seed spilled so deeply that it made you feel so warm, making his eyes roll to the back of his head. Both of their cocks and cum filling your holes, darkened gazes staring down at you, and it felt fucking amazing. 

You loved the little praises, the ‘good girl’ and ‘perfect girl’ they uttered before they placed thousands of kisses over your skin. Yet, you were nowhere near done, no, this was just a little taste. And you were hungry. 

“A—are you going to untie me now?” You asked, unwillingly, bringing that desire spark back into both of their gaze in an instant.

“Oh, sweetheart, you thought we were done?” That mocking voice was back like it never left, and you couldn’t help the way excitement pooled your tummy again. Shit, they were fucking good. 

“You wanted to cum, didn’t you? We’ll make sure you’ll cum, over and over, creaming our cock till you physically fucking can’t anymore.” Steve added, both of them grinning like a Cheshire cat, knowing there was so much more to your punishment. 

[miuszn]

i’m actually so obsessed with your bouncer!ellie.. we need a fic immediately 🤭 -🪐

taste of lust

SETTING : modern au

WC : 5011

WARNINGS : sexual harassment ( nothing graphic ) ( but reader is sort of implied to have trauma related to it , nothing stated explicitly tho ) , bouncer!ellie x bottlegirl!reader , idk shit about clubs so like some stuff might be insanely inaccurate but i did my best to research ( sorry in advance ) , dash of dealer!ellie bc who doesn’t love her , dom!ellie , sub!reader , teasing , overstimulation if u squint , ellie calls u pretty girl & princess , readers first time with a strap , ellie refers to her strap as her cock , i’m not fluent in english yet so there might be mistakes , not beta read

A / N : hello everyoneeee !!! i know this took FOREVER to finish and i’m so sorry about that .. i’ve been super super busy and this fic was so long omg T_T there was a point i started over completely bc i didn’t like the direction it was heading to .. this fanfic shit gets serious truly . in case u missed the warning there is sexual harassment in this fic and reader is implied to have trauma related to it . putting this here again to make sure u guys see it . anyway , i took so long to post this and so much stuff happened !! but alas , it is here , the bottlegirl!reader and bouncer!ellie fic !! this is my fav fic of mine so far so i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i liked writing it <3 ( and yes there will be a part two !! )

— 𓆩♥︎𓆪 —

being a bottle girl wasn’t exactly the job of your dreams. having to deal with creepy rich men every friday and saturday night was definitely not something you enjoyed doing, but that was what paid the bills and allowed you to live a rather comfy lifestyle for a college student. the bad part no one tells you about going to a top college on a full-ride scholarship is that a lot of the students are rich kids who most definitely cheated their way through high school, who live in nice apartments paid for by their mommy and daddy, who use birkins and other designer brand bags as their school bags, who would never be caught dead eating at the cafeteria. of course, you felt out of place. you weren’t exactly poor, but your family definitely could never afford that kind of lifestyle.

you’re pretty. extremely pretty. and you knew you could use that to your advantage. so when you saw a new club in the city that was looking for bottle girls you immediately knew you had to apply. sure, you had to deal with a couple creepy customers every night and sometimes even had to remind them they’re not allowed to touch you, which was annoying. you also hated being seen as an object, and you knew that’s exactly how these men saw you, and what was even worse was those very unsettling “you remind me of my daughter” comments from older men since you were so young. but the money was the main thing you needed, and you were able to put up with all this because of the pay. although the salary itself is just enough to survive, most of your earnings were in tips, and you made good tips. with a little bit of flirting and pretending you were really into customers, you scored lots of tips in the hundreds and sometimes even thousands. that wasn’t really enough for you to be able to afford luxury items whenever you wanted, but you were able to treat yourself every once in a while and that was enough for you.

you and your coworker ellie are the only college students that worked at that club. she wasn’t a bottle girl, however, she was a bouncer. during busy nights the bouncers typically took turns being at the door, and the rest would be inside the club making sure everything was fine. she didn’t mind being inside, it meant she could steal glances at you. truth was, she was into you, and it was obvious. but you took it as her just wanting to get a reaction out of you. that’s what it seemed like. but you can’t lie, whenever she wasn’t looking, you’d stare back as discreetly as you could.

she was a little possessive over you, which you weren’t really aware of. whenever she saw you flirting with customers, she couldn’t deny she felt a little jealous. she of course knew you were just trying to get more tips. regardless, she still couldn’t stand seeing the way you twirled your hair, spoke in that sweet and flirty tone, and even sometimes gave them compliments, and the fact it wasn’t towards her. she wanted it to be her, and her only. she wanted you to be hers. but she never did anything aside from flirt with you a little every once in a while, because she was scared she’d make you uncomfortable.

ellie. where does one even begin to describe her? her strong arms, her short auburn hair she styled as a mullet or put in a half bun when she felt a little lazier, her mesmerizing green eyes. from the moment you laid eyes on her you found her extremely attractive, but you were too shy and didn’t know how to approach her. what’s funny is this is the total opposite of the character you put up for your customers, an extroverted, flirty girl. the thing with you is, you can flirt with people, but only when you’re not attracted to them. when you are, such as in cases like these, the main thing you do is avoid avoid avoid. you rarely had the opportunity to interact with each other, but when you did, you always felt she was trying to subtly flirt with you. it was the kind of flirting where it was hard to tell wether she was flirting with you or just being nice, so you simply took it as being nice because you didn’t think there was any possibility she could be into you. she was just out of your league. even if it was flirting, you didn’t know if she had any other intentions. so you decided to play it safe.

that night was different from the others. your boss informed you that there’d be a bachelor party tonight and surprise surprise, you’d be serving them. the thing about bachelor parties is they’re very demanding and their tips can vary a lot. and demanding in your vocabulary is basically a synonym for entitled. they’ll insist you sit down, have a drink with them, maybe even try to grope you or something. you were not happy about having to deal with them tonight, but your boss told you they were short-staffed tonight, so you’d simply have to suck it up.

the moment the group of about 15 men came in, ellie sensed something was wrong. she rejected about half of them at the entrance before being informed by her supervisor that it was a bachelor party. she didn’t really care. she knew they were up to no good.

“i really don’t think we should let ‘em in.” she crossed her arms.

“any good reason?” he asked, annoyed.

“something just feels.. off,” she whispered, “i dunno. feel like they’re up to no good.”

“i don’t pay you to do ‘vibe checks’ on people.”

“i still don’t think we should let ‘em in. feels like they have bad intentions. have you seen how they’ve been eyeing the rest of the female staff?”

“big deal, this is a night club,” he brushed her off. “that’s how men look at women in nightclubs, williams. suck it up.”

“that still doesn’t-“

“do you want to keep your job or not?” he snapped.

she sighed and rolled her eyes, defeated, and hesitantly let the group in. her eyes were glued on them until they sat down at a table, the feeling in her stomach worsening when she realized you’d be dealing with them. it was one thing for any of the other girls to have to deal with them, but for some reason, she found herself way more worried about you. you were newer to the job and a little younger than the other girls. she couldn’t bear the thought of someone possibly harming you, or taking advantage of you, or anything like that. she felt this strange desire to protect you, something she hadn’t really felt towards anyone before. she felt this way toward you, yet she barely knew anything about you.

— 𓆩♥︎𓆪 —

tonight was going to be a long night. the moment those men sat down, you could immediately tell. you could tell by their piercing gazes, which you swore you could physically feel even though you weren’t looking at them, that you’d have to remind them several times they can look but not touch. you heard them whispering stuff to each other while looking at you and then laughing and hitting each other as if they were a group of teenagers. you took a deep breath, put on a smile, and finally went over to their table.

“hey boys,” you greeted with a flirty tone, “anything i can get you guys today?”

“yeah, a piece of that ass.” one of them said, while the rest laughed.

you faked a giggle, trying to do your best to handle this professionally, as you would with all the other annoying customers.

“anyway,” you continued, “do you guys have anything in mind? if not, you can take a look at the stuff we have over there at the bar.” you said, while pointing at the bar.

“we’ll need a moment, babygirl.” one of them replied, holding out his credit card.

you nodded, took the card, and quickly walked away. you absolutely hated that nickname. before you took this job, you didn’t really mind it. but when you started getting called it by basically every single customer you eventually grew to hate it. if you hadn’t been working, you at the very least would’ve given them a death stare or contemplated telling them off (even though you knew you’d never have the balls to do anything of the sort.)

after a couple of minutes, one of them whistled at you to get your attention. strike two. another thing you very much hated. now you were even being treated like an animal. who the hell do they think they are?

you walked over to them and plastered a fake smile on your face and asked if they were ready.

“we just wanted to know what you recommend. i’m sure you drink lots since, you know, you work here.”

some of them chuckled, and you didn’t really get what was funny. but you decided to not start anything and just answered the question.

“well, we have lots of options,” you responded, “we have many of the classics you can find anywhere else, and we also have some that are less common. we just got the louis xiii cognac which is very hard to find, so i’d recommend that one.”

“yeah? are you just saying that ‘cause it’s the most expensive?”

“if you want less pricey options, we have those too.” you replied, avoiding the question. of course you were suggesting it because it was the most expensive. that’s kinda your job. you’re supposed to make money.

“we can afford it.” one of them said.

“yeah, bring us that one.” another chimed in.

you smiled and nodded, walking away. gosh, you felt them draining any energy you had every second you spent near them. you carefully took the bottle and put it on your tray, and grabbed a few glasses and put them with the bottle. you made your way over to their table, placing their glasses in front of them one by one, and although you weren’t looking at any of them, you knew they all had their eyes glued on you. you tried your hardest to pour their drinks quickly enough so you could just get out of there, but not too quickly that they’ll notice. unfortunately for you, they caught onto what you were doing.

“why’re you pouring so fast, babygirl? you in a hurry?”

tonight was going to be a long night.

— 𓆩♥︎𓆪 —

ellie couldn’t wait for her turn at the door to be over. she made sure to peek inside every chance she had, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t eyeing you. she couldn’t help it. she couldn’t stop looking at how the black shorts and black baby tee you wore hugged your body and showed off your figure, and she had never been more grateful for the existence of the uniform. but above looking at you because of how attractive you were, she wanted to make sure you were safe. she had dealt with lots of men like them before, and she wouldn’t hesitate to kick them out if things escalated even the slightest bit.

after a while, her supervisor dismissed her and told her to stay inside to make sure nobody was causing any trouble. of course, she went over to the area you were, since there was no one watching over that area and because you were there.

“why’re you pouring so fast, babygirl? you in a rush?” she overheard one of the men speaking to you, with a sort of entitled tone. if she hadn’t been paying attention before, she definitely was now. with the way they were acting, it seemed like they didn’t notice she was there. you were clearly uncomfortable, but tried to play it off, you didn’t want to cause trouble or provoke them. she watched closely as they kept offering you to sit down and drink with them, not listening to you no matter how many times you politely told them you’re not allowed. telling you to “just have one drink, it’s fine” and “no one will know” and they “won't tell your boss.” but your boss was not the only concern. the concern was you. you didn’t know these men, you didn’t know what they could do.

but suddenly, one of the guys sitting on the edge of the seat pulled you in by the hip and forcibly sat you down. in that moment, ellie immediately went over to the table and knew she had to step in.

“sir, you’re not allowed to put your hands on the employees. i’m gonna have to ask you and the rest of your party to step outside.” she said in a stern tone.

“she willingly sat down with us,” one of them lied, “she just wanted to have a drink. nothin’ wrong with tha-“

“i saw what happened. no point in lying. now please step outside before i have you forcibly removed from the premises.”

“yeah?” he stood up to face her. “you’re just a woman. what’re you gonna do? you can’t get all of us out of here.”

“sir, back down.” she warned.

“or what?”

she didn’t respond. instead, she punched him in the face, breaking his nose. a few of his friends stood up, but before they could do anything, some of the security had already gone over to the scene and stopped them, escorting them out as ellie went with you to the break room.

“you alright?” she asked, seeing how shaken up you were.

“i’m, uh, i’m fine. don’t worry.” you responded, sitting down on the couch, still uneasy from the experience. you hated people touching you without your consent, even something that was sort of minor like this. you were already uncomfortable, and this just made it even worse. you didn’t notice ellie had sat down next to you until she wrapped her arm around you and you melted in her embrace. you felt a little embarrassed at how comfortable you felt with a girl you’ve only had small talk with prior, but you were able to push that feeling away because in that moment, you didn’t care. the fact she hadn’t judged you and said “it’s part of the job” or something along those lines, let alone saying you were overreacting was enough to tell you that you could trust her.

“do you, uh, want me to drive you home?” she broke the silence.

“i can’t. i have to finish this shift.” you mumbled. “plus, my roommate has someone over tonight. i can’t go home right now.”

“then, if you want, we can go to my place,” she suggested, quickly adding on “but just so you don’t have to stay in this environment, i’m not trying to be creepy i promise,” because the last thing she wanted was for you to take it the wrong way and be uncomfortable.

“thanks, but, i still have to go back out there and finish my shift.”

she was a little sad. if it was up to her, she’d make you quit and happily support you. she made a lot of money for a college student, between working as a bouncer and dealing weed on the side. she had more than enough to support the both of you, but she’d never talk about anything of the sort out loud.

“i can speak to management for you,” she said, “i’m sure they’ll understand.”

you accepted hesitantly, the voice in the back of your mind telling you you’d just end up fired. but that didn’t matter to you in the moment. you had to get out of there. you couldn’t stand it anymore.

ellie guided you through the back door, making sure you wouldn’t have to face those men again, holding you by the wrist with just enough strength to make sure she wouldn’t let you go easily but not too hard so she wouldn’t make you uncomfortable. she opened her car door for you, waiting a couple seconds for you to get settled in in case you needed her help for whatever reason.

the car ride was short and silent. it wasn’t the awkward kind of silence, more so the kind of silence when there’s nothing to say. it was a comforting silence, a drastic contrast from the loud music in the club that had been blasting in your ears for the past 2 or so hours. you were looking out the window, watching the city lights and buildings as you passed them. ellie would be lying if she said she didn’t steal a few glances at you when you were looking away. she couldn’t help it, you were just so mesmerizingly beautiful she couldn’t help but look at you any chance she could.

when you finally arrived at her place, you were surprised to see she had a house and not an apartment. it wasn’t a big house, but it seemed like it could house about 3 people. you were about to ask about her roommates, but almost as if she read your mind, she said;

“sorry about the mess, i uh, i live alone, so. don’t usually have people over either.”

“it’s fine,” you shook your head, “i’m just grateful you let me come here.”

she noticed you sounded like you were in a better mood. “you feeling a little better now?”

you nodded. “yeah. i guess i just needed to get out of there.” you bit your lip in worry. “but now i don’t know what to do. i’m pretty sure i’ll end up getting fired after leaving like that.”

“after what happened to you? nah. it’s understandable,”

“are you sure? i-i mean, am i not supposed to let them know beforehand-“

“you’ll be fine, don’t worry.” she reassured you. “you’re sort of new, aren’t you?”

“not really. i’ve been working there for a couple months.”

“so you’re new. got it.”

you playfully rolled your eyes. “sure, let’s say that.”

she smiled. “anyway, you wanna do anything? or do you just wanna rest?”

“i guess we could watch a movie or something,” you suggested, “if you want, of course.” you were surprised at how bold you were. it wasn’t anything too bold, sure, but that’s only true for everyone else. for you, something like that, which others might think is minor, is sort of a big deal. not only were you at this girl’s house, but suggesting to watch a movie as well. you were a bit scared that might’ve been too much.

“yeah, sure,” she replied, “you into horror?”

“uhh.. not really..” you admitted.

“it’s fine, we can just watch something else.”

“no, no, it’s fine!” you insisted. it was, in fact, not fine. especially at this time, horror was not your thing. it wasn’t a huge fear of yours or anything, but you were a little embarrassed of the fact you still got scared while watching them, sometimes even got nightmares. but no way you’d admit that to her right there. you felt you were already being too much of a burden on her, so you’d just suck it up to not bother her any further.

a few moments later, you were both on her couch watching some random horror movie she had picked out. you didn’t even know what was going on in the plot, you were way too scared. you’d argue this was one of the scariest movies, scratch that, media in general you’ve ever seen. where did she even find this sort of stuff? ellie was full of surprises indeed.

you didn’t notice you had snuggled up to her, your head laying on her chest, from the fear. once you realized, your face turned red as you pulled away in embarrassment and mumbled some apologies as you moved away. to your surprise, she lightly tightened her grip of her arm she had wrapped around you (which you only now noticed as well), telling you with no need for words that it was fine, and you could stay that way. you didn’t really know how to react to that, but you stayed. something about her was so comforting. you barely knew her, yet you trusted her as if you’d known her all your life. it was a strange feeling. you’d been on multiple dates with the same person many times before yet you still felt more of a connection with your coworker who you had only spoken to a handful of times beforehand. you weren’t even paying attention to the movie anymore. your mind was too busy paying attention to the thoughts racing in your head to process what was going on in the screen about a meter in front of you. you had lots of questions, and the more that popped up in your head, the more your heartbeat sped up.

ellie could feel something was wrong. she lightly lifted up your chin to make you face her, locking eyes with you. she asked if it was because of what happened earlier. you felt like you should look away, but you couldn’t. something about her was just so mesmerizing. you lightly nodded, not wanting to admit all the thoughts in your mind at that moment. you looked into each other's eyes for a couple seconds, before she planted a soft kiss on your lips. it was the type of kiss that happened almost as a reflex, the type that you have almost no control over. you could feel her try to pull away after realizing what she did, but before she fully pulled away you pressed your lips against hers, pulling her in this time in a deeper kiss.

before you knew it, you were straddling her lap as she placed kisses on your neck, occasionally sucking on it softly and leaving light purple marks on your skin. you hadn’t realized how much it was turning you on until you started lightly rocking your hips back and forth, desperate to get any sort of friction. ellie realized what you were doing, and placed her hands on your waist, almost guiding your movement, causing you to let out a few soft moans and whimpers.

“ellie..” you whined.

“i know, baby, i know.”

she carefully lifted you off her lap and laid you down on the couch, hovering over you. she tugged on the hem of your shorts.

“let’s get these off.” she said, as she undid the button and slipped them off you with ease, revealing your soaked cotton panties. “cute,” she thought to herself.

“i’ve barely touched you n’ you’re already so wet,” she teased, rubbing your clit through the thin cloth causing you to moan softly.

after a moment, you started to whine, tired of her teasing.

“desperate, huh?”

you broke eye contact as you looked away in embarrassment. in the back of your mind, you couldn’t believe everything that was going on. you found it a little embarassing, hooking up with a coworker you had barely spoken to prior. but as you had been doing the whole night, you tried to push those thoughts to the back of your mind and focus on the moment.

“don’t feel ashamed, pretty girl.” she said, noticing you felt a little off. something about her caring but almost demanding tone was turning you on even more.

she carefully pulled your panties to the side, sliding two fingers in, thrusting them at a slower but steady pace. this was better, but it still wasn’t enough. you bucked your hips ever so slightly, to tell her you wanted more.

“you’re gonna have to try a little harder than that, baby,” she said. she knew exactly what you meant, but she wanted to hear you say it. you whined in complaint, hoping she wouldn’t make you say it out loud.

“use your words, princess,” she smirked while locking eyes with you.

“please, ellie..” you begged.

“please what?”

“please, more..”

“good girl,” she said under her breath, speeding up her pace and thrusting her fingers inside you twice as fast as she was before, causing you to moan and whimper louder. soon you started feeling a knot forming in your stomach, making you attempt to grip the couch.

“ellie.. fuck..” you moaned.

“i know, pretty. but you don’t get to cum yet.” she smirked, suddenly pulling her fingers out.

you whined at her words and the sudden emptiness inside you, as ellie softly chuckled at your reaction. she found it so cute. she found pretty much everything about you to be cute.

she stood up, and went to grab something from her closet. it was a bright purple strap, and it was quite big. you weren’t sure it would even fit inside you. you watched as she effortlessly took off her pants and put the harness on, walking back to the couch and positioning herself, the tip right in front of your entrance.

“i want you to cum from my cock.”

she started sliding it along your slit, coating it in your slick, causing you to whine a little, before positioning it once again in front of your entrance and slowly sliding the tip inside you easily.

you were still a little scared since you had never done anything like this before. you’ve gotten fingered before, sure, but this was the first time someone used a strap on you. especially one this big.

“ellie..”

“hm?”

“i’ve never, uh,” you stuttered, “done something like this.”

“never gotten fucked with a strap before, huh?” she said, “i could tell. you seem kinda nervous. but relax, princess, i’ll take care of you.”

the nickname only turned you on more. you didn’t get why you loved it so much. it had never crossed your mind, yet you were now sure it was your favorite pet name ever.

with that, she started slowly sliding it in, looking at your facial expressions to make sure she wasn’t hurting you. surprisingly, you were able to take it all. she started thrusting it at a slow pace, gradually speeding up, but not quite fast yet. she definitely wanted to fuck you way harder and faster, but she wanted you to get used to the feeling first.

after a few thrusts you started to get used to the feeling, and it was amazing. she sped up her pace a little more, gripping your thighs, and this time she was able to locate your sweet spot, and boy was she about to abuse it. she hit it with every thrust, making you twitch and moan at every wave of pleasure.

“good fuckin’ girl,” she praised, “already taking my cock so well.”

“ellie.. please..” you begged, between moans, “faster..”

“yeah? you sure you can handle it, tough girl?”

you nodded, and she immediately sped up. she fucked you a little faster than you expected, and it was a little too much, but the overwhelming pleasure was, at the same time, addicting. the sounds of your moans and whimpers, her groans, and your wet cunt filled the room. soon, that familiar knot in your stomach started forming again, except this time it was much more intense, causing you to try and grip the couch once again. she realized what was going on, and started using her thumb to rub circles on your clit. you started tearing up from the overstimulation which was the littlest bit painful but also overwhelmingly pleasurable.

“i wanna hear you say my name, baby,” she demanded, “i know you’re close.”

and almost on cue, you came all over her cock as you moaned her name, just as she demanded, as she fucked you through your orgasm and finally pulling out with a slight pop.

— 𓆩♥︎𓆪 —

it had been about an hour since you finished your.. activity. she insisted on getting a bath started for you, and now there you were on her bed, in one of her t-shirts that was a little big on you, freshly out of the bath. you texted your roommate before getting in the bath to tell her you wouldn’t be coming home tonight, and of course, she didn’t mind that at all.

not only were you on ellie’s bed, but you were cuddling her, trying to sleep. she told you you didn’t have to, and that she just enjoys sleeping with body warmth, but you knew better. maybe it was true, but it sure as hell was not the only reason. but you didn’t mind. you acted stupid and like you bought her story, because truth is, you really wanted to cuddle with her, and you were even thinking of similar excuses if she hadn’t brought it up first.

“you awake?” ellie whispered.

“mhm, sort of.” you replied, in a sleepy voice.

“i just, uh,” she paused for a moment, “i just wanted to know. when will i see you again?”

“on our next shift together.” you joked.

“no, dummy, i mean like this.”

you thought about it for a moment.

“i guess we’ll see,” you responded softly, “i’m pretty sleepy. i think we should talk about this later.”

she seemed satisfied with your response, but she still had the fear you were only saying that to be polite, and you didn’t want anything more or didn’t want this to repeat. of course, she’d respect you if that was the case, although she’d be a little disappointed. but she felt there was something more there, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. you weren’t like any of the other girls she’s hooked up with before. she wasn’t exactly sure what set you apart from them, but she knew there had to be something.

maybe it was just feelings.

but even if it didn’t seem like that was the case because of your shy personality, you wanted something more. just like her.

[dancingtotuyo]

Part II

High Infidelity | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: The weight of your husband being in jail starts to take its toll.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: prison, visitation, family stress, lots of tears

Notes: Shout out to @janaispunk and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for beta reading this and helping out with the details! Also shoutout to @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

Words: 3310

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

You inhale deeply as you sit at the metal picnic table. Nathaniel bounces contently on your lap, taking in his surroundings. Families gather at each table, a low rumble filling the room. You glance down at your watch. The inmates are due any second, and Joel is supposed to be here too. Your eyes dart around the room at the families in the same boat as you. They all look a little different, consisting of different family components, but the same thing brought you all here. 

Joel rushes in, the summer heat and job site filth evident on his skin and clothes. You wave him over to your corner table, feeling more relaxed to have him here. You’ve been able to talk to Tommy for an hour every week, but this is the first time you’ve gotten to see him since his sentencing.

“Hey,” Joel says, breathless as he slides in next to you. Nathaniel lets out an exuberant greeting, hands banging against the table. Joel chuckles. “Hello to you too, bud.” 

“I thought you might not make it.”

“Cement guys were late.” Joel sighs, trying to brush the dirt from his shirt.

“Typical.” You mummer, earning a small chuckle from Joel. 

“You good?” Joel places a hand on your shoulder. 

“Yeah, I’m excited to see him.” You smile, kissing Nathaniel’s head. 

A couple guards file in to stand watch. Then, a loud buzzing rings, and the other door opens. It feels cliche, like one of those law procedural shows on TV. The room goes silent as men in orange jumpsuits file in, hands cuffed in front of them. Their eyes scan the crowd for their loved ones. Slowly, the volume rises as families reunite. Tommy is one of the last ones through the door, but the moment your eyes land on him, you feel tension ease from your body. 

You stand, waving to him. His eyes finally land on you, lifting with a happiness you haven’t seen in a while. He has a cut over his eyebrow. It looks a couple days old by now, a faint bruise still visible around it. 

You’re allowed a brief hug. Nothing long enough to transfer forbidden items is the idea, not that you could’ve gotten anything in here with the security patting you down how they did. 

He melts into your soft touch just a little like he did when he’d come back from his second tour. “Hey, Baby.” He smiles into your cheek, his lips skim your cheek as you pull away to avoid being yelled out. 

Joel hugs him next with a big pat on the back. You can hardly keep your eyes off him, your hand drifting absentmindedly to Nathaniel’s shoulders. Your two-year-old stares at his father with a sense of familiarity. He looks up at you and then back to Tommy. “Daddy!”

Tommy’s head snaps over, smile instantly falling from his face. “What’s he doing here?”

“Tommy…”

“I told you not to bring him.” He snaps.

“He’s your son.”

“This ain’t no place for a child!” Tommy says. “You don’t see Joel bringing Sarah for a visit, now do you?”

“Sarah,” you say, pulling at all your self-restraint. “Had soccer camp today but she said to tell you hi. She was sad she couldn’t come.”

“I want you to get him out of here. Now.” Tommy insists, not backing down. 

“Tommy-“ Joel tries to quell his brother’s rising temper.

“Is this really how you want to spend visitation? Fussing at me for bringing our son to see his father?”

“Get. Him. Out!” Tommy says, smoke blowing from his ears. One of the prison guards starts toward your group. 

Tommy holds up his cuffed hands in silent surrender. The guard backs up with a warning glare. 

“I don’t want him here,” Tommy says. “I made that clear.”

Confusion skirts your brow. Your Tommy, the one you know and love seems to be at war with the person he’s become during his short time behind bars. 

“I’ll take him out,” Joel says, reaching out for Nathaniel. He accepts, sitting comfortably on his uncle’s hip. Joel pauses, giving Tommy a chance to change his mind, but he looks away. 

You bite your lip. Joel sighs. “I parked next to you.”

You nod as he walks out with your son. Tommy sits down at the table. You sit across from him, mouth drawn in a tight line. 

“What the fuck is going on with you?”

“He shouldn’t see me like this. You shouldn’t see me like this.”

“You fucked up, Tommy, but we’re still here. You really want to go two years without seeing your kid?”

“It’s not like he’ll remember,” Tommy says. You sigh in exasperation. A faint smile finds its way onto his lips. “It’s almost like old times. You upset with me.”

You choke out a humorless laugh. “This is nothing like old times.”

“No… I guess it’s not.” He sobers up. 

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Do you really not want him to come see you?”

Tommy nods, stuck in his resolve. “Don’t really want you here either.” A sly smile crosses Tommy’s face as he runs a finger over your knuckle without being caught. “Don’t like these other guys checking out my woman.”

You roll your eyes, helplessly falling for his flirting. “How progressive of you.”

You step into the Texas sun twenty minutes later, slipping your sunglasses over your eyes. You walk across the parking lot, following Nathaniel’s empty chatter to Joel’s pickup. Nathaniel busies himself in the back while Joel rests his forearms on the edge. You come up beside him, copying his stance. Nathaniel doesn’t notice you, too engrossed by the plethora of less-than-safe tools and scraps in the back of Uncle Joel’s truck. Your elbow touches Joel’s, the metal hot under your arms.

“Thanks for taking him.”

Joel nods. “Tommy really doesn’t want him to visit?”

“Nope.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“He’s your brother.”

“You married him.” 

You let out a little huff of laughter, a half smile gracing your face, spreading to Joel’s. His deep laughter fills your body. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Any regrets?” Joel kids, turning his head to you. 

You laugh. “Never. I don’t live with regrets, Miller.” You nudge him with your shoulder, tapping the side of the truck. “Nate, it’s time to go. We have Sarah’s exhibition game.”

Your toddler turns around, hammer clutched in his hands. “Play!”

“Come on, kiddo. You can play with my tools another day. I got a whole garage full of ‘em,” Joel chuckles.  

Nathaniel seems to contemplate the words for a minute before letting the hammer clatter to the bed of the truck. You cringe at the sound before your son reaches for you. Joel chuckles, making sure his items are secure as you pull Nathaniel into your arms. 

“You don’t have to go, you know. Today has been a lot.”

“Of course, I’m gonna go, Joel. It’s Sarah.”

He smiles, knowing your role in her life goes above and beyond the duties of an aunt, but not knowing how to communicate his gratitude for it. “Save me a spot? I have to run back by the job site. I should make it for the second half.” 

You can see him cringe as he says the words. You know he feels guilty about it. Sarah’s been talking about this since the start of soccer camp. “Of course.”

Sarah clocks Joel the moment he walks into the building, her attention is no longer on the coach who’s giving a mid-game pep talk, but on her father across the field. Joel shoots her two thumbs up and a massive grin before directing her attention back to her coach. 

Joel slides onto the cool metal bleacher beside you, letting out a sigh of relief. “Thank god this thing is indoors this year.”

You nod remembering the blaring sun and burning metal bleachers from last year’s camp exhibition game. Your eyes narrow over Joel’s appearance. He seems even dirtier than he did an hour ago. “You take a dirt bath at the job site or something?” You reach over, patting some of the dirt from his shoulder. 

“Something like that.” Joel chuckles. 

Your thumb swipes away a smudge along his jaw. His jaw twitches under your touch. He playfully swats away your hand, capturing it with his own. “That tickles.”

“You’re filthy.” 

“I didn’t really have time to shower on my way here.” He bumps against you lightly. 

“Hence the dirt bath?” You grin, returning the bump, but this time your shoulder and thighs remain pressed against the other’s. His hand falls to your bare knee, hanging off of it. As the second half starts, Nathaniel climbs into your lap, eyes fluttering toward sleep.

For all the cheering you can’t do, Joel makes up for it, spending much of the game on his feet. It might only be an exhibition game and there might not be an official score, but it’s glaringly obvious that Sarah’s team is dominating with Sarah scoring two goals of her own. Joel is beaming. 

“She looks amazing out there.” He says.

“She really does.”

“And she’s having a blast. Look at that smile.” Joel’s smile is just as big as his daughter’s, big enough to push away your own struggles of the day. 

Sarah makes a break for the three of you as soon as she's dismissed. She drips with sweat, but her smile never fades as she goes on about every thought that went through her mind throughout the game and Joel hangs on every word. 

Once Nathaniel rouses from his sleepy daze, he ropes Sarah into kicking the soccer ball around. Joel joins them on the field while you watch, your body coming down from the emotions of the day. 

“Mrs. Miller?”

Your head snaps around. A woman about your age dressed in athletic wear smiles at you. You’re pretty sure she was one of the coaches. 

“Yes?”

“Hi, I’m Coach Miranda. I lead Sarah’s unit this week.” She stretches out her hand. 

You shake it, supplying your first name in return. “Nice to meet you. I know Sarah had a blast this week.” 

“I enjoyed having her,” Coach Miranda says. “She’s a talented soccer player.”

You smile, pride swelling in your chest. She’s not your kid, but that parental feeling toward her is very much there. “She learned so much. Her dad and I were talking during the game about how much she’s improved this week.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” The coach rocks on her feet, briefly considering her words. “Look, I coach one of the travel teams in the area.” She hands you a brochure. “I know she’s still a couple years away from being old enough, but we put on a few camps and clinics throughout the year for kids her age.”

You flip through the brochure of information. “These look very… fancy.”

“We offer scholarships if money is your worry.”

“No- I mean, it’s pricey but… She’s six.” You finally manage something coherent. “She just turned six. It seems early to start anything this serious.”

“Your daughter is very talented, Mrs. Miller.”

“Oh- I-” You stumble over your words.

“Is everything okay?” Joel asks, joining you with Nathaniel on his hip.

“I was just telling your wife how talented Sarah is.”

“We’re not married.” You blurt out unceremoniously, face feeling flush. There were smoother ways to navigate this and you are missing each one. 

The coach’s face flashes with confusion and embarrassment. “Oh- I’m sorry. I just assumed when I said Mrs. Miller…”

“I am,” You feel more flustered than is needed. Nathaniel reaches for you and you take him from Joel. “I’m not his Mrs. Miller. I mean-”

“She’s my sister-in-law.” Joel finishes for you and you sigh in relief. “Helps me out a lot.”

Coach Miranda nods, a slight red tinge to her cheeks from the embarrassment. “Got it,” she says, holding awkwardness in her frame.

“It’s okay,” you assure her. “I’ll let him know.” 

She nods, excusing herself quickly. 

“That was odd,” Joel says.

“Being mistaken for your wife? Or her behavior?”

“Her. The wife thing I understand.” Joel shrugs. “Guess she was embarrassed.”

 “The wife thing you understand, huh?” You cross your arms, smiling pushing on your lips. “I’m sure your brother would love to hear that.”

Joel shakes his head. “Don’t think he’s interested in anything I have to say after today.”

You roll your eyes, not wanting to relive the day's earlier events. “Here.” You hand him the brochure. “Apparently the coach thinks Sarah should sign up for more camps.”

“These are pricey for a six-year-old.”

“That’s what I said. She just kept saying how good Sarah is.”

“Course she did. She was the best one out there.” Joel smiles proudly. He tucks the brochure into his back pocket without another thought. “The princess wants pizza tonight. Your little troublemaker agreed.”

“Wow, you gonna start blaming everything on my kid now, Miller?” You laugh.

“If the shoes fits.”

“Ironic considering you called Sarah the princess.” 

Joel rolls his eyes, waving the kids over. “I’ll pick it up on our way home. Your place or mine?”

“Yours works. I’m sure Sarah needs a shower.” 

“Works for me,” Joel grins. 

Nathaniel jumps into your arms. Joel takes your purse and Sarah’s duffle and the four of you walk out hand in hand, looking very much like the family Sarah’s coach assumed you were. 

Two Years Later

You’re two years into it, obeying the strict dress code, getting pat down by security guards, and brief touches and chaste kisses with your husband. You typically go alone, leaving Nathaniel with Joel or a sitter. Joel comes sometimes. Usually, he visits Tommy on his own time. 

The visits have gotten shorter, more curt. Tommy has been more irritable. You chalk it up to being stuck in prison, but this most recent visit leaves your emotions fried. Tommy barely looked at you, hardly strung together more than a sentence or single-word response. He didn’t flirt with you, his signature grin nowhere to be seen.

You press your back to the back door as it shuts behind you. Squeezing your eyes tight, you do your best to will away the tears you shed on the drive home. 

“That you, Darlin?” Joel calls, rattling around in your kitchen. “I was just about to put the steaks on the grill.” 

You hear Nathaniel playing in the living room. You catch a sliver of Sarah’s ponytail, back hunched over the table presumably doing homework. You take a steadying breath, but your diaphragm shakes. 

When you don’t respond, Joel peaks around the corner. His brow furrows as he takes in your defeated frame. 

“Sarah,” he calls out. Your eyes open at his strong voice, locking eyes with him. “Keep an eye on Nathaniel for me. I need to go out to the garage for a couple minutes.”

“Okay.” She says, none the wiser to your appearance.

Joel takes your hand, tugging you forward just enough to get the door open before he propels you back into the garage. Your body feels like a limp noodle, helpless to do anything but let him lead you. 

The door clicks shut. He cups your cheeks. His soft brown eyes laced with concern meet yours. 

Your body eases into him, desperate and touch starved as you grab ahold of his soft shirt. Shaking your head, your whole body begins to tremble. Tears fall down your cheeks. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” It’s a stupid thing to say and he knows it. 

“No it’s not!” You shout. “My life’s a mess! It’s all a mess.” You devolve into a puddle of indistinguishable words and sounds. 

Joel pulls you into his chest, supporting your weight as your knees threaten to crumble beneath you. “Shhh, I’ve got you.”

If he’s being honest, Joel isn’t surprised by the breakdown. He constantly watches as you try to hold it all together. He’s visited Tommy too. He’s seen the impact of prison and self-loathing on his younger brother. 

His hand slides behind your neck, cool against your overheating flesh. His fingers play at the nape of your neck, soothing you as you soak his shirt. It’s an event the two of you have become overly familiar with. Joel’s arms represent stability in your unstable world.

Slowly, the tears dry and your chest stops shaking. Joel presses a long, firm kiss on your forehead. With one final deep breath, your heart rate returns to normal and you’re able to slowly pull yourself away from your brother-in-law. 

He gives you a smile, brushing away your tears. Wiping your nose on the back of your sleeve, you manage a weak laugh. “I’ve been kind of a mess lately.”

“You?” Joel quirks a smile. “I haven’t noticed.”

A laugh clears your throat. “Thank you for everything.”

Joel shrugs. “It’s what you do for family, and ours is going through a lot right now.”

You nod, smiling through bloodshot eyes. “I really do appreciate you, Joel. I don’t think I could do this without you.”

Joel reaches out, fixing the sleeve on your shoulder. His fingers drift over your soft collar bone not enough for you to notice, but long enough for him to memorize the feel of it. 

“Don’t think I could either, Darlin.” Joel forces a smile, masking his true feelings. 

He doesn’t say how mad it makes him that Tommy has put you through this, or that you deserve better, or even hint that he would support you leaving his little brother even though he knows Tommy would be heartbroken. He can’t say any of it because if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. Joel isn’t sure what those feelings are yet, but he knows it’s so much more than one should feel for their sister-in-law. 

“That’s not true.” You shake your head. “You did this long before I came along.”

“Maybe, but I think we make a pretty good team.” His chest tightens. That word doesn’t seem to encapsulate what you are to him. The words that do are inappropriate to use. You’re just two people brought together by their love of another person. Joel has repeated that sentence to himself more times than he cares to admit. 

“Yeah. I suppose we do.” A smile finds its way to your face and you clear the last tears from your face. “How do I look?”

“Like you’ve been crying for an hour.” Joel chuckles, letting his finger run the length of your jaw. He’s pushing a line. He knows, but he can’t help it. These stolen moments are all he gets. “But amazing as always.”

“I swear you and your brother couldn’t tell a woman she looked bad if there was a gun to your head.”

Joel shrugs, putting his hands in his pocket to avoid doing something he may regret. “We were raised right.”

“Mhmm, that’s why my husband is in jail right now.”

Later that evening, you’re cleaning up from dinner, a drink within reach when Joel speaks up. “I think we should go on vacation.”

“We?”

“The four of us.”

You turn the idea around in your head. It would be nice. You can’t remember the last time you had a real vacation, probably before Nathaniel was born. “What were you thinking?”

Joel shrugs. “Just the beach. There’s this place we used to go when we were kids. I’ve been wanting to take Sarah.”

“You sure you’d want us to tag along?”

“Did we not just talk about this?” He steals a dish from your hand, placing it in the dishwasher. “We’re a team, and we could all use the break.” 

“Yeah, It’s been a year… or two.”

“Try five.” Joel offers a weak smile. You return it. “I’ll call tomorrow. See what’s available.” 

“Thank you.”

taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love @justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal @mellymbee @sarahhxx03 @lizzie-cakes @sixhours @duckybird101 @anoverwhelmingdin @nervoushottee

[runningfrom2am]

requiem // part five

summary: according to coriolanus snow, his best friend had the most beautiful voice in all of panem. she had been training her whole life constantly to get where she was; being up for a residency at the most elite opera house in all of panem. singing was her passion. her true love; and when that got stripped from her in a second, his world became a whole lot quieter. he loathed every minute of it.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.1k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: opera singer!mentor!reader (blink and you'll miss it), she's kind of a prodigy!! p cool imo, mute!reader, bestfriend!coryo, friends to lovers trope ooo, mentions of graphic violence early on (particularly the prologue) but after that it's pretty safe, depictions of ptsd/trauma, mental illness and minor suicidal ideation but at least she's not entirely alone, descriptions of minor medical treatments and use of medication.

a/n: fighting for my LIFE trying to sort out my student loans rn. also i'm sick. butttt i did just finally get my hands on hogwarts legacy so that's eating up all my time. anyway that's a small update on my life.

also, reminder to follow @runningfrom2am-library and turn on my notifications there to join my taglist for this series!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

Walking into the citadel and down some spiral stairs towards Dr. Gaul's infamous lab, you already have your notepad in hand prepared with the proposal you have made for her.

She likes those, right? Coryo wrote her several for the games and she put them to use. This should be no different.

You have a pencil clutched in one hand unless she has questions, which you are sure she will.

Your shoes click down the large hall as you make your way to the reception desk on the left side, manned by security rather than actual receptionists. Dr. Gaul was not your average doctor, after all.

You stop in front of the counter and slide a piece of paper across it to the man sitting there, a determined but kind expression on your face.

He doesn't even look up.

You let out a quiet sigh, rolling your eyes before knocking on the counter and waving a hand at him.

He looks up then, studying you for a moment with eyes lingering on the scar across your throat before recognition flashes in his eyes. "Can we help you with something?" He asks anyway, as if he was expecting an answer even though you both knew you wouldn't be able to give him a verbal one.

You tap the paper you placed on the counter, sliding it forward more toward him and he picks it up.

'I would like to see Dr. Gaul. I have a written proposal for her.'

He reads it, nodding a little to himself before looking up at you again. "She should have a few minutes, she has a meeting at 2, though." He says, and you nod to him in a silent thank you as he buzzes the doors open for you to enter.

Stepping into the lab that hosted incredibly high ceilings, tanks lining the shelves and walls as well as a pit in the floor straight ahead, you swallow as you look around. You had never been in here before, and you weren't sure if you were more creeped out or more in awe of the whole thing.

"If it isn't my favourite songbird." You look up when you hear the familiar voice of the doctor, resisting to roll your eyes at the nickname, despite her claiming that you had been her favourite of the two of you who had earned the name. These days, it never fails to form a pit in your stomach.

You give her a smile and a polite nod as she walks toward you from between some of the tanks, dusting off her red gloves on the somehow pristine white of her lab coat.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, chickadee?"

In response, you hold out the carefully prepared file folder to her, including your proposal and copies of your own medical records from the operations performed after your attack.

She raises her eyebrows in intrigue as she plucks it eagerly from your hands, opening it up.

Dr. Gaul's eyes widen slightly in surprise as she looks over the "title page" of your neatly formatted proposal, looking up at you again.

"Experiment in Language Efficiency on the Human Body: A Proposal." She reads, letting out a slight laugh.

You watch her nervously, hands clutched around your notebook against your chest. You nod in confirmation, wanting her to know you are entirely serious.

She quickly flips through the pages and your medical records, occasionally glancing up at you.

"Well, this seems to be a compelling proposal." She comments, closing the folder. "But no. I will not be turning you into any kind of experiment."

Your brow furrows in slight disappointment, and you flip open your notebook to quickly write something down for her.

'I volunteer.'

She reads the sheet as you turn it around and she shakes her head, a small smile forming on her lips. "I figured as much, but still, it is too dangerous. I do not experiment on humans. Especially Capitol citizens, and especially those as well-loved as you."

The irony of that is palpable, and your jaw tightens as you scribble your thoughts down on the next page. You thought she had done something to Clemensia, but you did not wish to fuel the rumour mill, so you kept that quiet.

'I believe that if anyone is capable it is you, Dr. Gaul.'

"I'm flattered, and I do not doubt that." She chuckles, holding the folder out to you again. "But that does not make it possible, I am afraid."

In response you just point over to the bird cages against the left wall, tilting your head at her.

Jabberjays: Birds of her own creation designed to mimic the human voice.

"You've done your research." Dr. Gaul comments, clearly impressed and pleased that you would bring them up. "You make a valid point, my jabberjays, they... They were certainly a successful experiment of mine. Undeniably relevant to your cause."

She gazes over at the caged birds thoughtfully. "But look at them now. As you point at them." She nods toward them before looking back at you again. "They were only free for so long before they ended up caged again. Useful, for a while, during the war, but their time of pertinence has passed. You know how that feels, don't you?"

The question was cruel, as she was known to be, but that knowledge didn't make it hurt any less. You take a deep breath in and out through your nose, feeling frustrated and defeated all at once as you turn to walk away.

"Ah, wait a moment, chickadee. I'm not finished." She calls after you, voice echoing in the large lab. You pause, turning around to face her again.

"I am having all my precious jabberjays rounded up from the districts and shipped back to me because, despite their redundancy, I am yet to give up on them. I wish to somehow give them a second purpose, maybe make some tweaks to their genetics." She explains, but you are still mostly uninterested and busy drowning in your disappointment. "What I mean, is that I will consider your proposal, depending on how that goes with them in the coming weeks."

Your heart stops and flutters for a moment at the exciting news. You can't help the hopeful smile that grows on your face as you nod eagerly at her.

'Thank you.'

You write quickly before showing her the sheet, pressing your hand to your chest to signal further your gratefulness.

"That is not a yes, mind you. It is very risky, but I will take it into account. I'll do some tests on defective birds and see if there is a way I can help." She warns you, tucking the folder under your arm. "Now, I have a meeting, if you wouldn't mind. I will be in touch with you, little bird."

You nod again, giving her a small wave before turning and walking back the way you came with a giddy smile on your face.

Walking into the now familiar lab, Coriolanus is slightly nervous. As he always is, in the presence of Dr. Gaul. The coldness of the room in both temperature and design makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up, but he's used to the chill he gets when he walks in.

Especially now that he didn't know what she had summoned him for.

His worries are quickly dashed and then tripled walking down the spiral staircase, stopping in his step when he sees you coming up.

"What are you doing here?"

Your best friend's voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you look up, having just finished tucking your notebook into your bag. You had little to no interest in pulling it out again, hoping that your long-lasting friendship would allow you to instead just communicate telepathically and spare you the effort.

You just stare at him, just as surprised to see him, opening your mouth like you're going to say something and you try but you still can't. Shocking.

Instead of coming up with any meaningful response, you do the best you can do, pointing at him and then turning up your palm as if to ask him the same thing.

"Me? Dr. Gaul called for me." Coryo answers, thankfully understanding your wordless question. He was better at that than most. "You too?"

You're about to shake your head and try to explain why you were here, but then you think better of it.

He hates her. Hates her experiments, despite what he did to help her with the games. He'd probably flip if he knew the truth.

You nod instead, glancing back down the stairs.

Coryo sighs a breath of relief. At least he wasn't the only one. At least you might be able to give him some peace of mind. "Is it bad? Is it about the mentorship program? Is it-"

You hold a hand up to stop him from his mini spiral, lifting one finger.

'One question at a time.'

Right.

He had the sound of mind to only ask yes or no questions to get to the bottom of what he wanted to know, but he didn't quite get as far as realizing that all of them at once may not be helpful.

"Sorry, is it bad?" He asks again, and normally he would laugh, but he was too anxious to even see the comedy in it like the two of you normally would.

Unsure what else to do, you shake your head and shrug vaguely. As an extra measure, you hold up your hand and twist your palm.

'So so.' The gesture is meant to signal, considering it was a safe enough answer. Nothing Dr. Gaul could have called him here for could be all good news, after all. You don't think, anyway.

"Okay, okay..." Coryo breaths out, nodding to himself.

Feeling a little guilty you step up to the step he's on, gently patting his shoulder and giving him a small smile.

'You'll be fine.'

He seems to interpret this correctly, giving you a small smile in return and gently resting his hand over your smaller one on his shoulder.

You were meant to be reassuring him, but his touch works miracles to comfort you when you weren't even sure you needed it all that much.

These days though, you would cling to any sense of it you could get. Even the tiniest bits. Sometimes, for a flicker of a second, you didn't feel so alone. Coryo could still hear you.

"Thanks. I'll see you soon? Can I come by later?" He asks and you nod in confirmation, giving his shoulder another gentle squeeze as you take another step up so you're about at eye level with him, leaning back to kiss the side of his head in a small bit of encouragement before waving him on.

Coryo can't help the flush that forms on his cheeks as he nods at you, hesitating for a moment before continuing down the steps and you continue back up.

"Oh, Dr. Gaul?" Coryo says, catching himself before he leaves, and she looks up again from her corner desk stacked with papers, your deep red folder sitting right on top.

She looks up, anticipating his question.

"Did you offer an apprenticeship to Y/N as well? I saw her leaving on my way down." He asks, assuming that she must have extended it to you as well. That was why you were here, right? Both called for the same thing? Though, he didn't understand how that could have been a bad thing as you indicated it kind of was when he stopped you on the stairs.

But he knows you well. Having to settle for an internship under Dr. Gaul was far from what you wanted in life, so he can easily see how you could have seen it that way.

"No." Dr. Gaul answers after a moment, head tilted at him. "She just had a question for me."

Well, so much for your honesty.

You never lied to him. At least, Coryo didn't think you did, but here he was, being confronted with the fact that you had. It doesn't settle well.

He can't resist asking. "What about?"

"That is between the songbird and I, I'm afraid." Dr. Gaul responds with a shrug and a sly, knowing smile- taunting him for something she knew about you that he did not. "If she wished for you to know, she would tell you." She pauses, a feigned guilty smile forming on her red-painted lips at the irony of her words. "Well, you know what I mean."

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Love Amidst The Blue Part 1: Discovering the Siren✨

Series Masterlist

A/N: Welcome to my little mermaid au world featuring sailor! Joel 💙 I hope you enjoy this story I put together, and please tell me what you think! Comments and reblogs always appreciated and thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for reading over this and giving me suggestions! 🥰

Summary: Joel sets out on the Tyrrhenian Sea with his crew in search for hidden treasure. What he doesn’t know is that he’ll meet a beautiful mermaid that will turn his world upside down. Will he win her over or will he introduce a long ago foe to the mermaids of the hidden underwater city of Capri?

Pairing: sailor! Joel x mermaid fem! reader

Word Count: 9.1k

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)

Tags: Longing, feelings, eventual smut, Joel discovers a mermaid, mermaids try to drown Joel, slight angst

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika-graphics

The crystal blue water of the Tyrrhenian Sea is calm, the wind gently blowing the sails of the Deep Blue Oasis as it rocks back and forth slowly. That was the name of Joel’s boat, one of his most prized possessions. A gateway to the unknown where he could clear his mind and get lost on the aqua ocean tides that have called to him for as long as he could remember.

A call to the side of him that loves history , ancient things, and to the treasure hunter in himself. He spent countless days out on the tides of the sea, always looking for hidden treasures that may be hiding under the deep blue water. His scattered map was marked with red inked circles and x’s of areas where there was said to be lost treasures down below. He swore to his father he’d find them one day and make him proud.

Joel’s father was a wealthy businessman, always focused on the clients in Italy and making a fortune of his own. Joel didn’t want to follow in his footsteps. He wanted to be out on the sea, out where the ocean breeze could ruffle through his curly locks and carry him into the unknown. He always loved the water and the salty sea air, always wanted to become a sailor to travel the world. His father never approved of it, though. He said it was a waste of time and money, until that dark day that he passed away. His last dying breath was him telling Joel to buy a big boat and sail. Make me proud, son. Follow your dream. Those words still haunt him to this day, the few words he begged his father to say his entire life. So on his thirtieth birthday, that’s exactly what he did.

Five years later Joel had his own boat, his own crew, his own freedom to do as he pleased. His crew wasn’t the most trustful men, but they earned his trust little by little. He befriended some filthy pirates on one of his sea explorations a couple of years ago. At first they threatened him, but he was smart and talked them out of stealing from him and taking over his boat. He offered them so much money that they couldn’t refuse. They agreed to work for him and show him parts of the sea that he’d never been to. Sure, they had their flaws and their bad habits, but he couldn’t do this without them. So he decided to give them a chance.

Joel unfolds his large map of the area and lays it out flat on the side of the railings, studying the area like he knows exactly where he’s headed to. He rolls up his white cotton sleeves and traces lines of the faded map, mapping out this specific area with the tip of his finger.

“Captain Miller, the boys think it’s in this area,” Jasper voices over the blowing breeze, making Joel stop to look up from his marked map.

“What is?” he asks with a raised brow.

“The hidden underwater city of Capri,” Jasper says with excitement in his flushed swampy eyes. His linens are tattered, his blonde hair outgrown and unkempt, his crooked smile waning up at Joel as mischief plays in his scattered mind.

“I thought that was just a folktale? The underwater city. People have searched for years and found nothing. What makes you so sure this place is here?” Joel asks with narrowed dark eyes, waiting for an honest answer from his so-called pirate friend.

“Mermaids, cap’n. They’re here in this area,” Jasper says with the gleam of his eye, sure of himself as much as he’s sure of how to sail this boat.

“Mermaids…” Joel questions, flicking his eyes out to the blue tides as the water gently laps at the large rocks in the water. “I’ve never seen a mermaid, Jas. Only seen them in some old books in my study. As far as I’m concerned, they aren’t here.”

Joel starts to turn around, but Jasper catches his arm. “I swear on my life, mate. They're as real as you and me. Seen one with my own eyes. Not long ago either. Beautiful creatures they are, their siren songs able to hypnotize anyone who dares to look them in the eyes. Saw one drown one of my men before. Grabbed him by the arm and pulled him under with her song. He was never seen again,” he says with sad eyes, looking out into the bright horizon as seagulls and pelicans flock the sunny sky.

Joel ticks his jaw and looks out amongst the miles and miles of open ocean, only seeing the lapping waves as they hit the bottom of the boat. “Jasper, I’m gonna have to see one with my own eyes to believe it. Maybe it was sun poison that made you see things.”

“It wasn’t sun poison, Joel! If you won’t believe me, then I pray one day you do see one. Am I one to lie?” he asks with a heated stare and a hand on his grimy hip.

Joel knits his brows together and stares for a minute at the pirate that swears on his life he’s seen a mermaid. While Jasper doesn’t usually lie to Joel, he’s still a pirate. Still willing to lie and cheat his way around the system. But he’s also the most trustful of his crew, so he’s torn. Maybe it wasn’t a mermaid he saw, but maybe another sea creature. Yes. That’s what it must’ve been. Something else.

Joel puts a hand on Jasper’s shoulder and nods his head. “Sure, Jas. But let’s keep our eyes out for this.” Joel puts his index finger on the red x that’s marked right around the sea cave that sits a few hundred feet from the boat. Supposedly there was a ship wreck that happened years ago, and men have tried and failed to discover what great treasures were lost to the sea that day. Those who go in, never come out. Joel would find out, though. One way or another he’d discover the secret of what happened so many years ago.

“Go on and have the men anchor the boat. Wanna stay here overnight and see if we can find anything.”

Jasper nods his head and huffs out a breath. “Yes, cap’n. Right away.” He turns and yells at the men to hoist the anchor and get ready to search the area.

Joel folds the map back up and places it in the pocket of his tan trousers. He sighs and looks out at the massive sea cave, watching the waves churn calmly against the rough rocks.

Mermaids. There couldn’t be any. He would’ve seen one before, would’ve remembered if he did. He lets his thoughts go back to the task at hand and clears his mind. No time to think of maybe’s and false folklore. It was time to find some treasure.

The water is crystal clear today, sunlight beaming through the long seaweed that sits tangled in the ocean. You swim your way past a pod of dolphins, waving hello to the newborn calves as they whistle out their greetings. You dive down hundreds of feet and hum your favorite lullaby. The one your mom used to sing you every night before you fell asleep in the comfy bed of a massive clam shell.

A school of colorful fish swim past you, and you smile up at them as you propel yourself faster to get to your favorite discrete area of the bay. You call it the moonlight sea cave because at night you can see the moon shine all the way through the entire cave system, even under the water. It’s beautiful, a place where you can go to think and relax.

You always have to sneak off to this area. Your sisters would never approve, and you shudder thinking how your father would react. How many times has he told you to never go up to the surface again? How many times had your sisters dragged you back home over the years? You couldn’t keep track, didn’t want to think about it.

After that awful day that happened so many years ago, you weren’t supposed to want to go back up to the surface. You weren’t supposed to look for treasure that humans always dropped off their boats, but you still did. And you definitely weren’t supposed to be this close to shore, but you were still quite a ways out. Your father would kill you if he found you swimming around these parts, but you chose to ignore his wishes like you always did.

You swim up to the surface and lift your face into the sunlight, breathing the fresh salty air as you inhale the warm breeze. You push your long hair over your shoulder and take a few strides through the water, floating in the waves as the salt water dries on your shoulders.

When you look up, you freeze as your blood runs cold. A boat, there’s a boat. It’s big, towering over the water as a crew of men work on casting nets and walk along the deck. You duck down in fear and hide behind a rock, hoping that they haven't seen you. You slowly peek your head around the corner and stop in your tracks when you see him. The most beautiful man you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

He’s tall, broad shouldered, and has the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen. His hair is dark, tousled curls blowing in the wind as a few strands fall near his eyes. Brown, warm flecks coat his eyes. Eyes you could get lost in, eyes that you’d now dream about for days on end. And his arms. They’re strong, built, powerhouses that could take down a large man. The top buttons on his white cotton shirt are open, exposing tanned skin that must bathe in the sunlight on a regular basis.

You’re supposed to hate humans. You don’t trust them, you don’t think you could ever trust them again. But him… he looks like a walking dreamboat, a sailor you’d like to get to know. He doesn’t look like all the other ones, no. He looks kind, caring, maybe even dare you say trusting. But he’s a human, and you’re a mermaid. This can’t happen, this can’t ever happen.

Scar bumps your hip with his large fin as he makes a circle around you, warning you that you could be seen. “It’s okay, Scar. They can’t see me, I don’t think. It’s alright.”

He bumps you again with his snout and looks at you with his big black eyes, his dorsal fin coming just above the surface. He tells you to be careful, tells you he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. You only smile and brush your hand against his sandpaper like skin.

“I’m alright. Promise. Go on, I’ll be fine. Just gonna stay here for a few minutes,” you confirm. He huffs out a sigh and dives back down into the deep depths of the water, but he stays close. He always stays close. Who knew that a great white shark would be one of your best friends in the sea? They usually don’t want anything to do with mermaids, but you saved him that awful day that was full of bloodshed and death. And ever since then he never left your side. You were grateful for him. He was the best protector you ever had.

You stay there against the rock and lean your elbows up on it, continuing to watch the handsome man look over what looks like an old map of some sort. You lap your tail up and down in the water and lean your cheek against the rock, daydreaming of meeting the man with dark eyes.

He was going to get you in trouble, but you didn’t care. You’d risk your life just to get a chance to stare into the maps of his golden brown eyes.

Joel clings to the side of the boat as he digs his nails into the warm, polished wood. He turns his head to watch his crew stay busy on the deck as they bustle around and drag their worn out shoes against the floorboards. He sighs and takes another look at his intricate map, tracing his finger over every crevice of the parchment until he gets frustrated and throws his head up to look out on the bright horizon.

As soon as he looks up, he stops cold as he spots the gleam of a sparkling tail in the near distance. It’s not just a tail, there’s a girl leaning up against a rock that’s staring right back at him. He rubs his eyes to make sure it’s not the sun playing tricks on his mind, but she still appears there in the same spot just staring blankly at him. He sees a young woman who’s beautiful, dreamlike, something he only thought was a fantasy. He sees you, a mermaid…

Mermaids aren’t real, mermaids can’t be real. But how does he explain what he clearly sees now? You are very much real.

His ears ring with white noise, the sounds of his crew scrubbing along the deck nearly nonexistent now. It’s just you and him, staring at each other as if you’re the only two people out on the calm waters. It’s just the gentle breeze kissing his tanned skin and the distant noise of waves lapping against the rock that you so subtly lean against, eyes locking with each other as if the world crashes on its side to bring the two of you together.

He grabs his golden telescope, looking through the lense as you come into view just inches from his vision. The sight of you nearly knocks the breath out of him, his eyes widen as he takes in the beauty that sits before him. He thinks you’re the most beautiful creature he’s ever laid eyes on, thinks you’re absolutely divine, a treasure that should be well cared for.

His eyes trail down your lush curves, taking in the dusty coral colored seashells that cover your breasts, scanning every inch of your shimmering tail that’s soft pink as it flicks back and forth against the water. It’s almost sparkling like diamonds, maybe even soft to the touch. He wonders what you feel like, what you sound like. He bets your voice is like an angel’s, captivating and melodic like nothing he’s ever heard on earth. He wonders what your hands feel like, how they’d feel entwined in his own.

You should swim away, dive back underneath the blue water, but you can’t move. You can’t look away from the handsome stranger. You want to know his name, want to ask him all about what land life is like, want to know if his voice is as soft as his tousled curls look, want to see him again and again…

“Cap’n, whatcha lookin’ at?” Jasper asks as he comes up to Joel and nearly sends him over the edge of the boat. Joel drops the telescope from his unsteady hand, and it lands in a heap on the wooden deck. He scrambles to pick it up, and when he stands up and looks back out at the rock he sees that you’re gone.

He huffs out a sigh and shakes his head slowly. “It was nothing, Jas. Just thought I saw something. Was only a dolphin, nothing else,” he says with a hint of sadness on his tongue, wishing you were still on the rock so he could look into your entrancing eyes.

“Too bad it wasn’t a mermaid. Could’ve made you a true believer,” Jasper laughs as he hits Joel on the back of the shoulder with more force than he meant to.

“Yeah, too bad…” Joel says quietly as he stares at the vacant rock, doing nothing for his peace of mind as he wishes you were still there.

When he turns away from the rock, he sets his eyes back on the folded out map and grabs it up, heading toward the rest of his crew as they send down row boats to go inspect the area.

Joel makes a promise to himself then. Tonight he’ll go out late at night and look for you, hoping you’ll hear his thoughts that he wants to see you again. He will see you again. That’s a promise he will surely keep.

Later that night, Joel tosses and turns in his cabin quarters underneath the boat. He can’t sleep, can’t think as he tosses and turns back and forth in his bed. He thinks of you, the way your tail shimmered in the glow of the sun, how your eyes called to him from the deck of the boat. He needs to see you again. He needs to talk to you.

He crawls out of the bed and throws on his leather boots, lacing them up as he climbs up the stairs and enters into the glow of the full moon as the stars sparkle in the sky. He tiptoes around drunken pirates that are passed out cold on the deck, snoring and limbs scattered about as he passes them carefully to not wake them.

He paces the upper deck, sliding his hands along the edge, searching and searching for any sign of moment in the water. He only sees the faint laps of water against the boat, sees nothing out of the ordinary. He starts to doubt himself, maybe he saw nothing. Maybe it really was the sun playing tricks on his brain. It wouldn’t be the first time.

He sighs and starts to turn around, until he hears a soft melody carrying through the water. He turns around sharply and latches onto the wooden edge of the boat, eyes searching as he hears the sing-song voice start to come closer. It’s angelic, harmonious, nothing that he’d ever heard before. It sends him into a trance-like state, needing to find the owner of the beautiful song.

You wade through the water, flipping your tail as you hide behind the large rocks, singing the song of your people as you let your voice blow through the breeze, hoping he can hear you, hoping he’ll come.

Please, come. Come out to the sea, let me see your beautiful face.

You let your voice carry over the water, humming out melodic notes as you flip through the water. He has to come. He has to hear your voice, has to listen to you call him with your siren song. Come on, handsome sailor. Come find me.

You peek your head out from behind the rock and see him standing there on the deck, staring at you as his eyes go wide. You smile triumphantly as you duck back under the water, tempting him to come chase you.

Come get me, come get me. Find me under the water.

Joel wastes no time and lowers a wooden row boat to the water, climbing down a ladder as he jumps carefully onto the small boat as it rocks underneath his weight. He rows it out slowly to the middle of the water, searching his eyes every which way to find you.

“Where are you? Come out,” he whispers into the crisp night air.

He hears a splash to the left of him and throws his head in that direction. He sees small bubbles that form over the water, but there’s no sign of you. He sighs and pulls his eyes toward the rock and then he sees you.

He audibly gasps as you splash your tail and hide back behind the shelter of the big foundation in the water, nerves pulling in you as you’re so close to the human. The human with dark eyes and beautiful face. A human you want to meet.

He crawls to the edge of the little boat and places his hands on the edge, calling out to you in a deep voice that sends goosebumps down your arms. “Hey, come out. It’s alright, I won’t hurt you. Please, don’t hide,” he says, calmly holding out an arm as if he wants you to take it.

You peek your head out from behind the rock carefully and see him leaning against the boat, a little too close to the water. He doesn’t know what dangers lurk beneath him, what things would reach out and drag him under the water.

You shouldn’t go, shouldn’t talk to a human. Humans are bad, humans are cold, cruel, vial. They killed so many of your kind, tortured your friends of the sea. But him… Well, he looks kind. He looks… safe. Safe? Could humans be safe? No. Could they…

This was stupid and reckless. You start to turn back into the shadows until he calls out to you again. “Wait, please. Don’t go. Stay,” he pleads, his eyes searching yours with some kind of intensity and longing that you’ve never seen before. It frightens you more than the horrors humans have caused in your life.

Stay. The word wracks your brain over and over as it pulls at your insides.

Stay. He asked you to stay. You decide then that that’s exactly what you’ll do. You’ll stay. You’ll stay for him. You might regret it later, but for now this is what you wanted. What you needed to do.

You start to swim slowly over to him, diving under the water and breaching just inches from his wooden boat. You come up for air, realizing just how close you are to his face now. He’s so beautiful, the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your life.

His skin is tan, the sun bronzing him as he seems to spend days on end on the water. His shoulders are broad, so strong as your eyes trail down his thick arms, ropes of taut veins spread wide over his lower arms. His hands look strong, big, calloused from working on a boat. You bet they feel nice, would like to feel them pressed up against your face or maybe have them entwined with your fingers.

His dark, tousled curls kiss his forehead as stray curls fall over his skin. You have to stop yourself from reaching out your hand to push them back into place. You think it must feel so soft, so smooth…

And his eyes. God, his eyes. They’re deep brown, flecks of golden warmth sprawled across the crevices of his irises. They’re beautiful, deep, intricate as they study you carefully.

He digs his hands into the side of the boat and leans so far forward you’re afraid it may tip over. You make sure that it doesn’t because these waters are dangerous to humans, dangerous to men such as himself.

He looks at you with wide eyes, his lips parting as he takes in your features. He’s so close that he can make out details he couldn’t see up on the boat through the telescope. Like your eyes. He’d never seen such beautiful eyes such as yours. They glisten like the stars, almost as deep as the ocean itself, captivating and breathtaking.

He takes in your long hair that sits over your shoulders as you nervously run your hands through the damp strands. And then there’s your tail. That glittering, magnificent tail that almost looks too intricate to be real. He focuses on each shiny scale, watching the way the colors go from a deep pink to a lighter flamingo shade of coral. He wants so badly to reach his hand out to touch it, see how it feels underneath the weight of his calloused fingers.

Just one touch, that’s all he needs. One touch to make this dream a harsh reality as a mermaid sits right in front of him, right in his grasp.

You see the way he stares all transfixed and in a trancelike spell. You might be insane, but the first words fall from your lips without a hint of hesitation there. “Do you want to touch it?” you ask shyly, pulling back a lock of hair behind your ear as you position your tail so it’s sitting out of the water, just inches from his waiting hand.

“What?” he asks surprised, eyes wider than the full moon in the clear night sky.

“My tail. Do you want to touch it?” you ask again with more courage this time, flicking your tail above the water as you entice him to go on.

“Oh-uh… yes,” he whispers out as he slowly but steadily reaches his arm out, ever so carefully extending his fingers as they brush over the side of your tail.

He gasps as his fingers come in contact with the shiny scales, like the breath has been knocked clear out of him. It’s nothing like he imagined it’d be. It’s softer than he thought possible, smooth as he glides his fingers underneath the cold water.

You almost stop breathing as you feel his fingers explore the magnificent scales on your long tail, almost sigh at the contact of his skin. No one had ever touched you quite like this, even if it was just the brush of fingertips. It feels… good. And you want more, need more.

He pulls his hand back out of the water, and you almost whine as you lose the contact of his fingers. You’d let him touch you again, let him marvel your tail all night if he wanted to. It was silly really, how attracted you were to him when you only just met him. He was just that beautiful, that mesmerizing. And for a moment you think he is the siren, not you.

“You’re a… you’re a…” he stutters, voice hoarse as he continues to stare at you with a starstruck gaze. He’d never seen a mermaid before, that much is certain.

“A mermaid?” you finish for him, almost giggling at his gaping stare.

“Yes,” he says in disbelief, nodding his head up and down. “I didn’t know you, mermaids existed,” he says with a look that says everything you need to know. He’s harmless, not here to hurt you.

“Well, we’re very much real. We’re just discrete, careful. We don’t really come up to the surface, not anymore,” you say quietly, shaking away the memories of distant screams and bloodshed that once was long ago. The memories are too painful to relive, so you lock them out of your mind and try to forget every day that you exist in a world that did that to your kind.

He doesn’t ask about the distant sadness in your eyes, you just smile and clear your eyes as you continue to gaze up at him curiously.

“What’s your name?” he asks slowly, eyes never leaving yours as you let your name slip past your tongue. You drop it carefully, giving him information that seems too personal, but you’re in too deep now. You want to know about him, and he clearly wants to know about you. So you’ll let him in, even if that’s a bad idea. A very bad idea.

He repeats your name slowly, going over every syllable so carefully as it rolls off his lips effortlessly. It sounds beautiful the way he says it. You could lean against the edge of the boat and lay your head against your arm as you look up and hear him repeat your name over and over again. Almost like a lullaby as it could put you to sleep with how deep and mesmerizing his smooth voice sounds.

“My name’s Joel. Joel Miller,” he says with deep brown eyes looking down into yours.

You repeat the name over and over in your mind. Joel, Joel, Joel. It pulls at you, calls you as you hook your fingers around the edge of the small boat and feel his hand brush up against yours. You gasp and pull your hand back, feeling an electrical shock run through your entire arm at the connection of skin on skin with him. You’d never felt that before, that kind of connection with anyone. This was new, this was scary, this was dangerous.

He notices the panic in your eyes and puts his hands up calmly. “Hey, hey. It’s okay, darlin’. I’m not gonna hurt you. See?” he asks as he surrenders his hands, letting you know he means no harm.

Darlin’. The name sends warmth through your stomach as you mull over his words. I’m not gonna hurt you. You let those words be a promise as you cautiously put your hands back on the edge of the boat. He brings his hands back down, just enough where if you shift your fingers they’d brush up against his. But for now you stay like this, just enough to still feel that electricity deep in your body.

“Darling, what’s that?” you ask with a raised brow, not having heard the word before.

“You’ve never heard the word darlin’ before?” he asks as he knits his thick brows together, pulling at the seams of your heart.

You shake your head no as droplets of water trickle down your back. “No, guess I haven’t,” you say with an even breath.

“It’s just a term of endearment where I’m from. A nickname, you can say,” he answers, his hand moving just enough for him to brush the outer edge of your pinky finger. You suck in a breath and try not to get too flustered at the action.

“Oh, I see,” you say quietly. “Darlin’, I like that…”

You ponder over the name and ask something else in return. “Do you have any other nicknames you use?” you ask, biting your lip at the question as you wait patiently.

He twitches his jaw and looks you over carefully before he responds. “I mean, there’s a lot I could use, I suppose. Darlin’ just comes naturally to me, but you…” His soft brown eyes flick over yours slowly before he speaks again. “Sirena, yeah. I like that,” he smiles to himself as your lips curl up slowly.

“Sirena, hmmmm,” you hum to yourself. “I like that, but what does it mean?”

“It comes from a Greek word. It means siren or enchantress, which you are. You are quite enchanting,” he says with a gleam in his eyes, his words in a trancelike state as he stares into your eyes.

You gulp at the meaning, eyes fixed on his intently. He called you enchanting, he thinks you’re enchanting. It shouldn’t make you feel so much closer to him, it’s only a nickname, a silly name. But it does. It does.

When you don’t speak, he asks another question. “What’s it like out there? Under the water? To be able to breathe and see things I couldn’t quite imagine myself?” His brown eyes sink into yours, shifting his weight slightly as the wooden boat creaks underneath him.

“It’s the most amazing thing you could imagine,” you say enchanted, your tail grazing above the water as you spin up a small current underneath you. “Unearthly, exquisite. There’s truly nothing like being able to connect with nature, to be able to see the wonders of fathoms below that no human has seen before. It’s freeing, beautiful, amazing, but…”

Your voice cuts off at the last part, thinking about all the things you wish you knew about the real world outside the waters of your home. Something you always wanted to know ever since you could remember. A taste for knowledge of the outside world, the human world.

“But what?” he asks quietly, almost putting his hand on top of yours before you shy away and move your fingers out of his reach.

“I just… I just wonder what the human world is like sometimes. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But I just have that deep fascination with things I don’t quite understand. I crave to know the history of the land, want to know what it’s like to touch actual sand out of the water. Want to know how a…. oh, what’s the word?” you wrack your brain for what seems like minutes until you think of the word you once saw on a picture in a book. “How a fire burns,” you say proudly after remembering the strange words.

“Maybe I can teach you a thing or two about the human world. If you teach me about the underwater world.”

You mull over the words, think of what you could be risking. You could expose too much, you could open up a can of worms that you couldn’t close. You could risk everything. But for him maybe it was worth the risk. You could trust him, right?

As if he can read your mind, he places a hand gently on top of yours and you gasp at the contact. His touch is so careful, so soft atop yours. You think you like it, a lot. “You can trust me, darlin’. I swear on my life, I won’t hurt you. Do you trust me?”

Do you trust me? The words ring through your head as you question the words yourself. Trust was a big deal, trust meant you were putting your own life on the line. But as you look into his soft brown eyes and see the genuine smile curled on his plush lips, you can’t help but lose yourself as you automatically nod and respond, “I trust you.”

His face is so close to yours, so close that if he leaned down just a little he could brush his lips against yours. It’s as if he can hear the wild beating of your heart as it beats like a pod of dolphins traveling as fast as lightning through the water. Your eyes gaze into his, begging him to sink his lips down to yours.

He reaches his hand out and traces the edge of your jawline slowly, intimately. You gasp at the feel of him, as his calloused fingers trail gently over your skin. It feels warm, safe, so very right like his hand was made to touch you, to know you. He sees you. He sees you.

Just when he’s about to lean down and give you what you desire, the boat suddenly flips over and Joel goes crashing into the water.

“Joel!” you scream as you dive down to retrieve him, but he’s not there where he should be. Where is he? You call his name again, search below the dark depths below, twist your way through the seaweed and look frantically around until you see what exactly happened.

Your eyes go wide, a scream escaping your mouth as you find two of your sisters holding him down below the water trying to drown him. He fights their grip, trying to hold his breath as he looks terrified of what’s happening. Your sisters just smile vindictively to each other as their aquamarine and deep purple tails flick against the water and draw their sharp nails into his arms.

“Stop!” you beg as you swim desperately up to them and try to grab his arms out of their reach. They back up just enough so you can’t quite grab him.

Cleo stands her grown and flashes her white incisors your way as her blue tail fans out behind her. “He’s a human! A man, for crying out loud! All men should die for what they did to us,” she spits out, a snarl deep on her flawless face as your other sister Marissa agrees with her.

“He’s different. Joel is different!” you plead, reaching your hand out again.

“Joel. You know him by name? Can you believe that, Cleo? He has a name. How thoughtful of our sister to learn such information of this beast,” she laughs sadistically as she yanks him under again.

You watch his eyes start to close, watch his breath gasp for air as he slowly fades from the light. You grow desperate, hasty as you swim with all your might to grab his arms out of your sisters’ grip.

“Please, he’s kind! Don’t do this. Don’t take this one!” you beg as tears start to pour from your eyes, landing against your cheeks as they float off into the unsteady waters.

Your sisters drop their hands, eyes wide at how desperate you’re acting over a human. But he’s not just a human, he’s different. This one is different.

They both watch you take his body against yours as you wrap your arms behind the backs of his arms and start to hoist him to the surface. They stop you before you breach atop the water, grabbing your slippery fin as they stop you from swimming any further.

“You better be careful, sister. You don’t know what danger you’re putting us in. Interacting with a man? You’re foolish, selfish. How do you think father will handle this?” Cleo asks with narrowed eyes that could kill a man with how sharp she’s staring.

“Don’t you dare tell him, Cleo. Just… let me go. Please,” you beg as you try to squirm out of her hold. “He’s going to die if you don’t!” you scream, eyes wide as his head slumps against your shoulder weightless, almost like he’s already dead. Panic consumes you at the mere thought of it.

“Go on, then,” she says with a snarky look. “I won’t tell him… yet. But be warned. If he does anything to sway my judgement and I mean anything, I’ll have no choice but to tell him,” she warns as Marissa spits in your direction.

Cleo finally releases your fin as you swim frantically up, up, up until you break the seal and breathe fresh air again. Joel doesn’t stir, doesn’t even seem to be breathing as his head still rests lazily against the crook of your neck.

You look around desperately for anything you can lay him on, needing to stir him awake somehow. You need to get him someplace dry.

“Joel, just hold on. You’ll be alright. Please, just hang on,” you cry out as you circle around frantically looking for anything you can use.

That’s when you see it, a large flat rock that lays above the water in the middle of the sea cave you always find yourself in. You push yourself forward in the water, making sure to keep his head above the stirring waves. You turn on your back and hold his body above yours as you propel your strong tail in the water, trying with all your might to get there faster.

He’s going to die and it’s all your fault. Why were you being so reckless? The words taunt your mind like your sisters’ glaring warnings. You can’t think about them now, the only thing you care about is getting Joel to wake up. He needs to breathe, he needs to wake up.

You drag his body up on the smooth rock and lay him flat on his back. He has no sign of breathing anywhere, his chest is still as dawn like the sun slowly rising in the horizon.

You try to shake his shoulders, try to rub at his sternum forcefully as if that’ll wake him up. Nothing happens. You try again, calling his name and shaking him, screaming for him to wake up. But again there’s no movement, no breath coming from his mouth.

You crash down on top of him and wrap your arms around his neck, letting a tear drop from your melancholy eyes as it falls against his still chest. You whimper out a pathetic sound that sounds like you’re choking on your own words. “Come back to me, Joel. Come back,” you plead, face still pressed against his hollow chest as you let another tear fall in his presence.

You feel cold, hard pressed, wounded as if someone just took a sharp stake to your chest. You shouldn’t feel like this, shouldn’t let yourself feel so much for a human who you barely know. But he was going to show you his world, was going to teach you everything you wanted to know, and you were going to show him your world. But that’s no more. He’s gone. He’s gone.

You let the falling tears dry up on his cotton white shirt where the buttons lay half opened to expose tanned skin, can feel just how broad and strong he is underneath your weight. And you wish he’d wake up, wish he’d open his soft brown eyes so you could sink into them, sing him a melody while he grazed his fingers gently against your face. You want it so bad, want him so bad. But it could never be now. Not anymore.

You let your hand fall to his chest and wrap your fingers around his damp white shirt. You start to hum out your favorite lullaby, a way to soothe you over against the hurt you feel in your chest now as it aches and twists like a knife in your gut. Singing has always been a way to make you feel braver, a way to drown out the sorrows of dark days. Your mother always said you had the most beautiful voice she’d ever heard, but she was also gone now. Gone on that awful, dark day where blood filled the waters of your home. Gone.

You push the thoughts away, continue singing your song as if this will make the situation better. You close your eyes and drown out the lapping waves with your voice, making sure it echoes off every corner in the open cave.

Just as you’re about to push yourself off him, you feel movement underneath you. Just a faint lurch beneath you until he’s turning on his side and coughing up water out of his lungs rapidly, spilling it all over the glossy rock as he tries to catch his breath from all the choking and coughing his body expels.

“Joel?!” you ask alarmed, your hand shooting up to his face as you caress the soft, patchy scruff against his jawline carefully.

He lays on his back again and slowly opens his eyes, placing his hand over yours as he calls your name softly, his words still laced with salt water that still burns the back of his throat, but he answers anyway. And your name out of his mouth sounds like the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard.

“You’re alive?” you ask quietly, eyes wide as you stare down at him with your mouth parted open slightly.

“Thanks to you, I am,” he says with a nod up at you, his hand still lingering on top of yours as his calloused fingers send sparks down your arm. It’s electric, shocking as it blinds you with need.

You gulp but don’t say anything else, too afraid to ruin the moment. “Your voice,” he says nodding to you again, “I’ve never heard a voice quite as beautiful as yours. I thought I was in heaven for a second there, thought you were an angel.”

Beautiful? An angel? Oh.

“An angel? Not quite,” you giggle, dropping your hand from his face to rest on his broad chest.

He lifts his arm up slowly and hooks a piece of damp hair behind your ear, trailing his calloused fingers along your cheek as he stares at you with wide brown eyes. Eyes that make your insides turn to putty.

“You are an angel,” he nods, his lips curling up into a soft smile that could knock you back into the water.

He thinks you’re an angel…

“Oh,” is all you can say.

He looks at you like no one else has, looks at you like you’re the only girl in the world. He sees you for what you are, a siren, and yet he doesn’t run. He doesn’t run. He stays.

His lips look so soft, so plush that you think you’d like to feel them pressed up against yours. His eyes flick back and forth between your wanting eyes and your parted mouth, and you think he wants the same thing.

You start to drift toward him, closer and closer until you’re almost there, almost touching his lips. He reaches to cup the back of your head, steering you down, down until you’re barely a breath away from him.

Suddenly there’s a large splash in the water, and you jump apart from him as he sits up on his elbows and gazes out into the dark blue rippling water. He sees a large fin and goes ghost white as he takes in the long body of the great white shark that lurks around the area. His eyes go wide as he sinks against the cave wall behind him as if to hide from the creature of the deep.

“It’s alright,” you say calmly as you reach your arm under the shadow of the water and call the shark over to you. Joel’s chest rises and falls unsteadily as his eyes remain locked on the terrifying features of Scar.

“Your hand, get your hand out of the water,” Joel urges as he tries to pull you back, but you wave him off.

“Joel, it’s alright. He’s my friend.”

Scar circles back around and brushes his body up against your hand as you pet his back and let him disappear back under the water.

“You’re friends with a shark?” he asks surprised, eyes still peeled on the shadow that looms around the area.

“Mhm. I saved his life many years ago, and he’s never left my side since then. Kinda ironic how people misinterpret them. Sharks may look scary to the human eye, but they’re really peaceful creatures. If you just took a few minutes to really see them, you’d see they’re just trying to live peacefully in their home. They just want to survive like any of us do.”

Joel looks at you as if really hearing you for the first time. The way you talk about the ocean, about the creatures of the deep makes him feel things he’s never even thought of before. He thinks you’re beautiful, breathtaking, and so kind. So very kind…

“You’re really something out of a fairytale, aren’t you?” he asks with wonder in his voice, his brown eyes sinking into yours as he focuses on the warm smile you give him as you blush crimson.

“I guess you could say that, sailor?” you giggle out. “That’s what you are, right?”

“Yes,” he nods as he looks over at his boat that sits idle over the calm tides.

“Is that your boat?” you ask as your eyes wander over to the large vessel that sits in the water under sparkling stars. You flick your eyes over the sides, noticing the large blue flags that fly gently in the cool breeze and notice the words Deep Blue Oasis written in cursive letters that hang down the side.

“Yep, that’s my beauty. Been sailin’ on her for a few years now. Probably one of my favorite things ever. To be able to sail across the waters and explore areas I’ve never been to before. It’s all very… exciting.”

You watch the way his eyes light up the way he talks about the sea, watch the way his smile curls over his lips as he talks about his love for sailing. You think it’s hypnotizing, beautiful. You think he is beautiful.

“What are you doing around this part? Looking for something?” you ask as your eyebrows rise up, intrigued why he was staying around these parts.

“There was a ship that went down many years ago here. There’s all sorts of tales and rumors that some great treasure was lost here with the ship. And I want to find it,” he states excitedly.

A shipwreck many years ago? You think you know which one he’s talking about, like maybe it was that same night that all the bloodshed went down. The night you lost your mother to those bloodsucking humans…

He notices your eyes shift from lit up to cold irises, feels the dread that seems to take over your body for the moment. But then he’s cupping your chin and lifting your eyes up to his warm brown eyes, and you feel like you’ve made it safely back home.

“You alright, darlin’? You went away for a minute there,” he asks as his concerned eyes gaze into yours. You nod your head and let him continue to keep his hand on your skin. You’ll let him keep it there for as long as he wants.

You smile up at him and nod in response. “I’m okay, was just thinking about something,” you say with a daze to your tone, somber eyes coming back down to earth.

“Was there something specific you were looking for?” you ask as his fingers continue to trace down your skin. It feels like complete magic that holds you under a spell.

“Not really. You see, I kinda have a fascination with history. You should see my study. I have hundreds of books and ancient artifacts that I’ve found in the sea. You’d love it,” he says with a crooked smile splayed against his face. It makes a dimple form deep in his cheek, and it nearly takes your breath away.

His study sounds a lot like the secret cave you have deep underwater that’s full of human treasures that you’d collected over the years from lost ships and things thrown overboard from wasteful humans. It’s a little sanctuary for you, a place you can go to clear your mind and wonder just what it’d be like to walk on land. What it’d be like to have your own pair of legs. But you love the sea so much, you don’t think you’d ever want to leave. But for him, you might just follow him anywhere.

You sigh as you lean into his touch, wishing you could see just what he’s talking about. “I wish I could see it,” you say quietly, eyes trailing back to his doe eyes as he speaks again.

“Maybe someday you will.” And it sounds like a promise, like he will show you one day. But how? You have a tail, you can’t walk. Your home is in the ocean, not on land. But if you could find a way to do both then you would. There had to be a way.

“Maybe,” you say dreamlike as you dream of warm sand on your feet, walking hand in hand with him on the beach. A distant wish you so wanted to be true. But it wasn’t, and you had to deal with that.

You stay there another moment letting his calloused fingers run along your jawline as you watch his eyes settle in on your face. Before you get lost for too long, you pull out of his reach and sink back into the cool water.

“I guess I should get you back to your boat,” you say sadly, eyes averting from his as to not dwell on the beautiful flecks of mixed browns that you want to get lost in again and again until you can’t see anything but them anymore.

“Yeah, guess so,” he says quietly, a voice that screams for you to stay, but you can’t. He doesn’t belong here.

“Wait here,” you say before you take off to retrieve his small wooden boat that’ll take him safely back to dry ground.

As you wade through the water you get a sick sense that this can only end badly, but it was too late. You were already in too deep, and you already wanted to see him again. This was bad, so bad.

You turn over the toppled boat and throw the rows back inside, pulling it along as you drag it back to him safely. You place it against the rock he sits on and watch him climb in, situating himself as he takes the rows in his hands. Before he heads back to his large boat, he stops and stares at you.

“Can I see you again?” he asks quietly as the cool breeze blows a tousled curl against his forehead. Without thinking you reach up and push it back into place, feeling just how soft his hair really feels. He lets you, and it feels as soft as velvety moss.

You drop your hand back down and before you can, he grabs your wrist and stares deeply into your eyes, eliciting a gasp out of your mouth as his fingers dig into your soft flesh. You let him keep you there until you give him a clear answer.

You think of your options, think of what you might be risking if you see him again. Would your sisters try to drown him again, would he try to steal you away from the sea, would your father find out that you were meddling in human affairs? All of the questions were valid and unknown, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. You wanted to see him again, needed to.

“Yes. Tomorrow night,” you say without any hesitation.

He nods his head and smiles down at you as he gently lets his fingers fall from your skin as your hand splashes back down underneath the water.

“Tomorrow it is then. See you later, Sirena.” The nickname falls off his tongue like a sweet melody that fills your ears. Sirena, enchantress, siren.

You watch him row back to his boat, watching the way his biceps bulge every time he pulls back on the rows. He looks a little like your own Prince Charming. A sailor that had captured your heart, and you weren’t willing to take it back. It was his now, as long as he wanted it.

He looks back at you before climbing up the steep ladder. He smiles gently your way and nods before turning back to the ladder and climbing up, disappearing from your view as he makes his way below the deck.

You sigh and rest your elbow against the glossy rock he was just sitting on minutes ago, daydreaming about those dreamy brown eyes and his smile that knocks the breath out of your chest.

Scar circles back around and comes up beside you, nudging you with his large snout as you gently pet the top of his head. “I know, Scar. I know. I’m in so much trouble.”

You sink back underneath the water and follow him back home, back to the kingdom of Capri where you belong. But you keep your mind locked on those sweet, syrupy eyes that you so desperately want to see again.

Joel was going to be your undoing.

Tags: (Let me know if you don’t want to be tagged) @janaispunk @amyispxnk @princesatracionera @vividispunk @keylimebeag @pedroswife69 @littlevenicebitch69 @poeticbarnes @tuquoquebrute @awkwardprovocateur @ayamenimthiriel @everythingiwanttoread @burntheedges @hc-geralt-23 @joelmillersblog @joelalorian @vivian-pascal @untamedheart81 @laurrrra @dugiioh @blueseastorm @pedrostories @morallyinept @vvitchesh3x @frannyzooey

[millie-multifics]

Proverbial Dark Clouds • Part 3

Major John Egan x Reader

A woman finally snuck her way into the heart of eligible bachelor Major John Egan, he is all too soon reminded of why he fended off love for so long.

Warnings: Angst. Themes of war, death and violence. Heart break. Spoilers to episodes 1-4. A little bit of steam but nothing graphic.

Word Count: ~2.7k

Final part of Proverbial Dark Clouds. Thank you so much for reading!

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2

x x x

Every moment they were stuck in the Algerian sand, Bucky kept his eyes on the sky, hoping that maybe a straggling plane would come along. The sun and sand were hot, most of the men had stripped to their underclothes hoping for some relief, many thinking about their lost comrades and the prospect of an ice-cold beer.

The only thing on Bucky’s mind was you. He could picture you sitting along with the boys in the sand, hounding them about sunburns and heat sickness but you would be as undressed as your modesty would allow with sweat dripping down your brow- so in love with the fact that you both had made it through alive.

It had all been a blur, the past two weeks or so for John. Being a leader amongst his men meant he couldn’t allow himself to be effected by the disappearance of you and his friends, he couldn’t lay his pain on the shoulders of his men. It had become a morning routine to visit the infirmary. The visits had started as a daily occurrence until Buck had caught on to his pre-breakfast disappearances, but he still stopped by when he could sneak away from Gale’s watchful eye. He’d stand near the doorway, expecting you to walk by, beautiful as ever even with blood spattered on your uniform. You never did.

You quickly learned that the base was always abuzz before and following a mission. While the pilots rested as much as their minds would let them the night before, all the other personnel were preparing to bring the men home as successful and safe as possible. For you it meant one more checkup for any soldiers who were cleared to leave the infirmary, preparing a general medical kit for each plane and hundreds of smaller medical kits for each soldier, a precaution should they need to bail out of the plane.

“Is there a man you fancy on this mission?” Doctor Williams asked, earning a confused frown as you shook your head. “If you keep pacing you will wear a hole in the middle of my floor.”

To put it lightly, you were bored. All of the patients had been tended to, every other task that the doctor had requested you complete was finished and you were full of trapped energy as your body overcompensated for your lack of sleep.

“They should be arriving anytime now, put on a jumpsuit and meet them in the field.” The doctor suggested, glancing up from his paperwork as you continued to pace.

“Am I permitted to do that?”

The man shrugged, just as tired as you. “Well, I’m permitting it. It would be more of a hassle to replace this floor if you wear a divet in it.”

You watched as the planes landed one by one. Most of the men had small treatable wounds until one particular plane caught your eye. The crew worked together to lower a bloodied man from inside, the rest of the medical team quickly rushed toward them with a stretcher. You followed, working to roll up the sleeves on your jumpsuit, ready to get your hands bloodied if need be.

“What’s his name?” You asked, your feet following along with the stretcher as you moved the injured soldiers jacket away from his wound.

“Duval.”

The familiar voice had you glancing over your shoulder as the men loaded the stretcher into the truck. Those gray eyes had been ingrained in your thoughts for the past week. Recognition dawned on his features, and what you could only decipher to be distaste flashed across his face. You had been someone he was not expecting to see again, after all, England had an array of American bases and neither of you had specified your destination during your previous encounter.

“Alright Duval, let’s get you fixed up.”

After helping Doctor Williams assess and treat Duval, you had been placed in charge of treating the men with smaller, more superficial wounds. Since most of the men had smaller wounds requiring only proper cleaning, bandaging and maybe a few stitches the lineup at your station was quite lengthy. Needless to say, your lack of sleep had you on edge and when the final man sat in the chair across from you, you couldn’t help but sigh.

“Don’t sound so sad to see me, sweetheart.”

“I heard you’re the one who treated Duval on the plane?” Your fingers gently gripped his chin to turn his head to the perfect angle for proper light.

“Impressed?”

“Confused.” You dipped the clean cloth into the bowl of water, “You could treat a wound like that but not take a shower to wash this blood off your face?”

“And miss my chance to be patched up by you?” He teased, but you could see it in his eyes, the nervousness he tried to hide. With your time in the medical field you had learned to read people through their eyes and body language, an important part of your job was to detect when people were in discomfort or pain.

“Earlier, you looked at me like I was a ghost or something.”

“I was just surprised is all.” He winced from the sting as you dabbed the dried blood from his hairline, “You this heavy-handed with every soldier?”

You scoffed, “The man before you did not flinch when I put 6 stitches in his brow.”

“Are you calling me weak?” John playfully leaned away from your touch “Maybe I am weak, weak in the knees for you.”

“Do these lines usually work for you?” Your fingers paused their work, your eyes jumping from inspecting his wound to the mischievous glint in his gray eyes.

“That depends. Will you agree to have a drink with me?”

“You are infuriatingly charming, Major.”

“Please, call me John.”

He had been tense lately, slipping closer and closer to the edge. It had become clear to Buck at Dye’s 25th Mission celebration that his friend was in dire need of a break. He sent John to London for the weekend, hoping that it would ease some of the tension in his shoulders and cast away the dark cloud that hung over his head. John felt the hotel was too quiet, escaping to a local pub for some noise and a beer and when a beautiful woman had approached him to share a drink he had tried to entertain her, maybe that would help him forget about you, but when she had gone to powder her nose he had slipped out undetected.

Sometimes John had trouble sleeping before missions, he would still be tossing and turning when a runner was sent to wake them up for their briefing. Now, he had trouble sleeping every night. Nearly two months had passed since you had disappeared, still nobody had any answers of what exactly had happened, either you had died a gruesome death or become a prisoner of war. The dark truth was John wasn’t sure which one he would prefer, resting at peace like the angel you were or trapped, possibly facing cruel acts of violence every day.

When exhaustion took over and sleep was impossible to avoid, he dreamt of you. Always so beautiful, always so you- those nights caused a deep ache to spread through his chest. He almost felt silly for the whole thing, you two had not been together long but he had been so captivated by your whole being. For so long he had sworn off love, not because he did not want it, but because he was certain that he would never experience it.

You smoothed down the soft skirt of your dress, no longer accustomed to wearing such a luxury item. The dress had been gifted to you by another nurse upon hearing through the grapevine that you had a date with the handsome Major. Unbeknownst to you, that Major was the “grapevine”.

A fast moving jeep suddenly stopped in front of your billet, the sound of it skidding along the gravel road pulled your attention away from the small crease along the dresses hem. The handsome Major stepped out of the jeep, his smile grew as he took in your form. There was a glint in his eye as he approached, gently brining your the back of your hand to his lips to lay a gentle greeting kiss.

“Your carriage awaits.”

You inspected the jeep and the patiently waiting solider in the drivers seat. “Have you ordered that man to chauffeur us around this evening? Or is he doing this with his own free will?”

“Half and half,” John shrugged, leading you toward the vehicle, “But that is because I have a plan.”

“A plan?”

The Major hummed as he opened the passenger door of the Jeep, “Do you happen to know how to ride a bicycle?”

Your chauffeur dropped you off at your destination and quickly drove off into the sunset, presumably back to Thorpe Abbott before anyone realized he was gone. John led you into a quaint pub, his familiarity with the other patrons and bartender told you that he had visited it often since arriving in England. He led you to a table in the corner, leaving you by yourself momentarily while he went to get drinks.

“It feels like you are sitting a whole world away,” He gripped the edge of your chair, pulling it closer to the corner of the square table, “Much better.”

“So, what are the components of this master plan?”

“My crew is set to arrive tomorrow, if all is according to plan. Bicycles are hard to come by at Thorpe Abbott right now and I sure as hell could use one, trying to get one for a friend of mine too.” His breath brushed your face as he leaned closer, keen on hiding the next phase of his plan from any nosy patrons. “He always said that drinking leads to gambling, and where would a better place be than here?”

You gasped, feigning shock. “Major, I hope you are not planning to swindle some poor locals for their bicycles?”

“If all goes according to plan.” His charming smile returned, “But of course that is simply only a singular component of my plan, enjoying a beer and the company of a compelling lady are my highlights.”

You spent your evening tucked away in the corner, John coaxing stories from you about your past, eager to learn more about you. You were both so enthralled that neither of you had noticed your bodies slowly gravitating closer as the night went on. You were sitting on the same side of the table now, shoulder to shoulder, feet tangled together and hands lingering merely an inch apart on the table top.

“It’s getting late.” John glanced at his watch, turning his wrist to show you the face of the timepiece.

You sighed, not wanting the evening to end. “Time flies when you are having fun.”

“That it does.” He finally stopped playing coy, boldly taking your soft hand into his rough one. You felt a chill run through you as his thumb swiped over the back of your hand. “I should put in a little work on acquiring those bicycles, then get you back to base.”

You waited patiently, unsure of what his gambling entailed. What you had not expected was for John to bet another man could hit a bullseye, the target though being an apple resting on top of Johns very own head.

“John, as a medical professional I must advise you against this.” You spoke over the rowdy patrons in the pub “There has to be another way for you to acquire a bicycle, you’ll lose an eye.”

“No I won’t, I trust Tommy.” He assured, the additional beer and adrenaline now running through his blood stream providing him with extra confidence. “Now he wins this, I get both those bikes.”

“Yeah, you’re on yank.”

“And I get a kiss.” John sent you a wink as he stepped in front of the dart board. “Alright, Tommy, not my eyes. Not my eyes, Tommy. All right?”

He placed the apple on top of his head and covered his eyes with his hand, letting a big breath out. “Alright Tommy, whenever you’re ready.”

You held your breath, pulling at the skin on your fingers to keep yourself from covering your eyes as well. The possible outcomes filtered through your mind, puncture wound of the face or hand, loss of an eye; both would not have great outcomes for any pilot. You had to close your eyes as Tommy took aim.

Gasps echoed through the pub as the dart pierced skin, luckily for sake of most peoples it was the skin of the apple.

“Tommy!”

John brushed past you to hug Tommy for their victory, before circling back to pull your body into his arms. You were too shocked with the contact to return it before he retreated for one more celebrity cheer with the other patrons who had witnessed the unbelievable sight.

You gripped your dress in your hand while trying to maintain grip on the bicycles handlebar, not wanting your dress to get caught in the wheel. Only a minute after you had departed the pub, the clouds opened up and the down pour started. You had laughed in disbelief at first, just your luck to be caught in the rain on a night like this.

“Nothing but blue skies do I see,

Not in England though,

Got shitty weather and blue skies, smiling at me.”

John sung at the top of his lungs as he weaved along the road in front of you, making the most of the poor weather with his clever lyrics and self-identified singing ability.

The bikes were abandoned in the rain on the walkway to your small cabin. Against all the rules, you had invited the Major to step inside to escape the rain to say goodnight. He stood in the threshold, his confident demeanor dwindling as a near awkwardness hung by the threshold.

You were grateful that the other ladies in your cabin had been granted weekend passes, you couldn’t imagine this moment if you had five other women watching this moment like it was the next best movie.

“I enjoyed tonight.” You found a shirt abandoned on your bunk, using it to quickly dry the water droplets running down your scalp. “Despite you nearly blinding yourself for a bet.”

“Actually, I do recall the bet including a kiss.”

His words hung in the space between you. You dropped the shirt onto your bunk as he took slow steps forward, almost unsure if you were open to fulfilling the wager.

“You’re right, I think it did.” The words sounded like a whisper coming from your lips, nearly being drowned out by the sound of the heavy rain beating against the tin roof above your heads. You slowly stepped forward, closing the space between your bodies until your finger tips brushed.

“This alright, sweetheart?” His warm breath fanned your face as he asked. Your nod causing your nose to briefly rub along his before your lips connected in a slow kiss. Your hands found his hips as his snaked around to the back of your head, slowly increasing the pressure of the kiss as your body relaxed against his. The kiss had unleashed an array of feelings that continued to smolder throughout the night.

His short trip to London had done nothing to help ease the spreading darkness of his mind- 30 bombers lost.

The headline in the newspaper and his phone call to Thorpe Abbott was all he needed to solidify the fantasy he had of what he must do moving forward in this war. The only way he would make it through without losing the rest of his sanity was to find you, and now Gale with the other missing men.

The heart breaking truth was you had never made it out of your reverie, the last words gracing your thoughts was your Majors sweet whisper.

“My pleasure, sweetheart.”

x x x

@canyousmelltheflowers @mads-weasley @groovin2beats @major-john-bucky-egan @finelinetimothee @surazim @orphancains @danny-boy27 @eugenedream

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 7: Have a Cow

From: You Catch More Bees With Honey Series

Pairing: Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader

Summary: You and Bucky are finding your stride until a surprise shows up on the porch

Word count: 2,750

Content/warnings: Light mob themes, farming, kissing, lap sitting, fluffy fluff

Author’s Note: It’s been a minute! Hopefully this kickstarts me to get a couple more chapters out soon. Please enjoy, be sure to drop any feedback, I love hearing from you!!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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You sighed as you walked into one of your barns tucked toward the back of the property, recently transformed into what looked almost looked like a city loft apartment to accommodate for Bucky’s workers on the farm. You were carrying produce crates and one of Bucky’s henchmen, Peter, came to take them from your hands.

Ever since Bucky’s construction crew has been working in the mines, most of the food that you would normally be selling at the farmer’s market has been going to them. That makes it easy for you, though. A few of them have even been around the fields helping out to pick it themselves, too, giving you a little more time to sort through documents, contracts, and future plans, without having to stay up late like your normally would to fit in all the work.

All the men had been a great help, and exceptionally respectful, which surprised you. Sure, you expected them to be formal and well-behaved, but their actions seemed almost rehearsed, like they had been told exactly what to do. Peter, probably the one kid who you had taken a liking to, was the only one who would really hold conversations with you, though. You assumed part of it was due to his status in Bucky’s organization. He was young, but extremely smart, earning him a spot of minor authority. Although every time he opened his mouth, you were never quite sure what would come out. It could either be something honest and profound, or a weird nervous babble. Sweet kid, though, so no harm done. He was like the best parts of Jake and Curtis at that age.

As you handed the crate over, you looked around at the high ceilings, now lined with bulb lights and the cool tones that decorated the previously wood-heavy space. “I’ve always wanted a barndiminium, just never had an excuse to make it.”

Peter added your box to the stack in what appeared to be a makeshift kitchenette. No way they had time to hook up appliances and water lines already, right? “I know our men seem pretty gruff, but if there’s one thing they like, it’s comfort and luxury where they lay their heads.”

You laughed and nodded your head. Just like their boss, although he didn’t seem to complain as much anymore, laying on sheets that were probably about as old as him.

Peter continued shifting crates around, unloading certain items likely for whatever meal they had planned next once the next round of workers got off their shift. “And of course, boss wouldn’t want anything less than the best when it comes to you. Says this’ll increase the property value. And it’s all yours to enjoy as you please when we’re gone.”

Ah, there it was. The kinda thing Bucky wouldn’t say to your face, but Peter’s lips let slip like it was nothing. Like it was obvious. You tried to change the subject, unsure if you could confront those types of feelings to Peter when you hadn’t even built up the courage to discuss them with Bucky yet. You knew Bucky cared about quality, and had a little understanding of the extent he was willing to go for you. But you didn’t even want to think about a time when Bucky could be gone.

“Don’t you need permits for this stuff?”

He winked. “I won’t tell if you won’t. Plus, I’m sure the higher ups worked their smooth talking magic and their connections. They’re amazing with things like that.”

You hummed in agreement. You had seen and heard first-hand how effortlessly Bucky could have something done for him. The world was at his fingertips. Surely that rule stood true for most people around him.

“Don’t I know, Peter. But I’m sure you’ve got your own charms. Some of your own connections that Buck doesn’t.”

He gave you a sheepish smile and shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess, sort of. But I’m not sure how much they’d really put me in charge of that stuff. Sometimes I just freeze up when I have to tell them things instead of them telling me what to do…I just get so flustered around Mr. Barnes.”

You nodded and put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, I’d say they trust you a lot for you to be in control of as much as you are right now. They definitely see through your nervousness. You’re doing a great job and I really appreciate you discretion and assistance around here.”

He gave you a soft smile. “Oh..wow, thanks.”

You nodded and turned on the newly laid floor, ready to head back to the house to continue your paperwork.

The mid-morning sun was at your back as you made your way inside towards the office. You were almost never inside at this time of day, so it was a wonderful pocket of time to be productive. You were greeted by Bucky sitting in your chair, shuffling though papers while he was on a phone call. He drew his gaze from the fan of parchment in front of him, smiling when he saw your face.

“Yeah, just keep an eye on her and increase security all around. Overlap shifts and monitor cameras 24/7. Thanks, Steve. Bye.”

You smiled as Bucky set the phone down. You had never heard him thank anyone before. As you took another step closer, though, you saw which papers he was looking through. Your own smile fell to see the contract from Cole for the hundredth time. Why was Bucky able to be so happy when this attempt at a forceful ‘offer’ was in front of him?

“C’mere, Honey.” Bucky gestured for you to come sit with him on your chair, but instead, you opted to take a seat opposite him, in front of your desk. There was work to be done and you couldn’t let yourself get distracted, even if he seemed oddly at ease.

You watched as his previously carefree gaze scrunched in on itself, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and lips in a slight pout. As you plopped down in the old cushion, you crossed your arms and legs.

“Bucket, I’m doing this for the good of both of us. Talk business with me first, then we can discuss…accessory ventures.”

You nodded in gesture to the papers, hoping he’d explain why this all needed to be looked over again. Was it not enough that it was constantly running through your mind? You had the power to just say ‘no,’ as long as Cole didn’t keep pushing or have anything over your head, but things were never that easy, so what was really going on?

“Honey, come on. We’ve got a little time to be close. This way we don’t have to flip papers back and forth to read them.” His voice had softened from his phone call, nearly reaching a whine.

“James…” oh, you weren’t messing around. You were taking this seriously. “I can read upside down. It’s fine. Just talk me through what’s going through your head.”

He sighed and his chin met his chest in defeat. “Ever since Curtis messaged me that Cole tried to get into the bar and Lloyd had been with him, I just want to be extra cautious, which is why I’m going through these. Again. I’ve already sent them to my lawyer in the city, so he’ll confirm for me.”

You nodded and stood up, finally walking over to him. “So is this what you’re really worried about? What’s not in the contracts, but real-life threats?”

You walked around your desk, hips swerving to miss the corners as you finally stood in front of Bucky. He swiveled the chair so you stood between his legs and threw his forehead against your stomach. You held him close and stroked his hair before he moved to look up at you, resting his chin on your sternum and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Yeah. I’m worried about you. And what’ll come when I have to leave. And just how involved Lloyd may be. I know I already told you about him, but I don’t think words can describe how much he truly doesn’t subscribe to caring for the well-being of others when they stand in his way. I know this is all that Cole has sent so far, but if Lloyd has anything to say about it, this won’t be the last push, but it’ll certainly be the nicest.”

You nodded down to him before gesturing for him to sit up so you could straddle his lap in the oversized leather chair. You held the sides of his face before leaning your forehead against his. You did your best to speak in a firm, yet placating tone.

“Jamie. I promise, I’m going to be fine. I was fine before you and I can take care of myself when you’re gone.”

He closed his eyes and sighed again. “I know, I know. But I just made the command to keep Peter here with you. He’s an extra precaution. You’ll barely notice him, and I’m sure having the help will be nice.”

You pulled away to smile and roll your eyes. “Bucky, he’s a kid. What’s he gonna do that I can’t? Plus, you know I like him. The last thing I would want is him putting himself in harm’s way for my sake.”

Bucky shook his head. “No, you know how capable he is. If I can see it, I know you sensed it from a mile away. He stays at least until it all blows over. Everyone is willing to do what is necessary to protect you. It’s what they signed on for.”

You knew that Bucky wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so instead, you simply kissed his temple and wrapped your arms around him, nestling against his neck. “Okay, fine. But he’s gonna become the buffest farmer you’ve ever seen when he comes back to you. I’m burning all his little suits. You’ll only ever see him in strictly flannel.”

Bucky let out a light chuckle as he rubbed your back, sitting in the chair and enjoying the moment with you before you mumbled against his neck in question.

“So you wanna tell me what Jake was really doing here? And what you did to make him into the same guy he used to be?”

Bucky hummed in thought at your question. He wasn’t quite sure if honesty was the best way to go here. Sure, you knew that everyone who knew about the mines had to come into town, but why have Jake help? And why didn’t Bucky hate him as much as you’d anticipated?

Bucky clicked his tongue before deciding on the diplomatic answer. “I just reminded him of his place and how valuable you are. Not much more than that. He’s smart if you direct the way he needs to think. I mean, he’s half the reason you’re in this mess, but he could help us get out if we do it right.”

“Yeah, okay Mr. Politician. Whatever you say. Just make sure you restock my duct tape. I’ve been running low lately and I’m not sure how that happened.” Bucky froze as you laughed at the reaction. Dang, he should’ve told the truth. You wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t already know, you were just giving him the opportunity to let you in. Noted.

The rest of the week on the farm was fairly easy as you and Bucky worked in tandem, sporadically getting updates on the mine reinforcements and spells of assistance from his men.

But otherwise, you got along well. Bucky was truly learning the farm chores and operations, catching on quicker than you had anticipated. He only ran the tractor into one ditch and his boots hadn’t gotten stuck in mud at all. Now you were helping, or at least trying to help, him reach mastery in what you thought he would’ve caught onto easily: barking orders.

The two of you were out in the pasture, as you finally taught him how to use your sheep and cattle dogs. Sure, they were practically self-sufficient, but sneaky little things sometimes with their own agendas. Bucky, in an attempt to boast about all the independent work he had done the previous week, revealed himself for the actual issues he had experienced with them, obviously not unbeknownst to you.

After a long day of running around and nearly a week since hearing anything from Cole, you and Bucky were spent, walking back up to your house to have a nice night in, just sitting on the porch and enjoying the peace. As you got closer, though, you could hardly make out a small brown blob waiting there next to one of the posts. Was it a package? You hadn’t ordered any new equipment lately….and then it moved.

You threw an arm out in front of Bucky, both of you stopping stark in your tracks.

“Wait. Hold on. You see that?”

Bucky grabbed your arm close to his chest when you stopped, leaning over it and squinting until it became clear. What was that doing on your porch?

The two of you cautiously kept walking towards it, finally deciphering what you were looking at: a brown, fluffy, baby… highland cow?

You could hear it moo more and more the closer you got, eventually seeing it tied to one of the porch posts with a rope and a ribbon around its neck: both Turner’s blue.

You walked up to the calf cautiously, holding out a hand and cooing at it to ease its evidently nervous state.

“Shhh, shhhh, hey there little thing. What are you doing up here?” Sure, you owned a plethora of livestock, but none of these. This was, for lack of a better term, a house cow. Something Decks had begged you to get for years, but you never had the need or the time for.

You pet the tuft of hair on top of its head as you squatted down, grabbing the piece of card stock attached to the ribbon before looking up over your shoulder at Bucky. You could already see the anger rising in his eyes and seeping through the rest of his demeanor, fists clenched and body rigid as he nodded for you to read.

“Peach, take a taste of what success could be. Here, have a cow. -Cole. P.S. all in good faith”

Oh, Bucky was gonna have a cow, alright. You rolled your eyes at another ridiculous note. This was very evidently not a dairy cow from his stock, so you weren’t sure why Cole was trying to pull one over on you by claiming it was. And he didn’t even leave it with any feed or water for who knows how long it had been there up until this point. The main question was: why didn’t Bucky’s men intercept? You guessed they were probably under specific instructions not to, as to keep a low profile.

When you looked back up at him, Bucky was already on the phone. Even before you had gotten to the porch, he had sent a message to Peter to check the cams and make sure no one had lingered on the property after the delivery. This new development instantly put him on high alert.

He held the phone to his ear now, though, as it rang only twice before you heard someone on the other side pick up. “Hey Barber, I know you’re busy with that other stuff I sent you, but what do you know about corporate gifting policies?”

Meanwhile, you had untied the poor baby from the post and scooped it up, carrying it inside and to the kitchen while Bucky slumped into the couch. You gave the calf—at least it was a girl capable of producing milk and not a boy-which you definitely would’ve roasted Cole for—some water before taking her over to the couch and setting her down next to Bucky. You ran your knuckles against his temple in a soothing stroke before petting through his hair and giving him a kiss on his hairline. When you pulled away, thumb moving to stroke his cheek, you mouthed ‘it’ll be okay,’ only seeing his jaw unclench slightly at the reassurance. You moved to sit on the couch on the other side of the calf and criss-crossed your legs, petting her and listening to Bucky’s lawyer walking him through corporate gifting laws, now on speaker.

Next >

Bonus A/N: highland cows are so cute. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been sent a video of one getting a little spa day🥰

Series Taglist: @scuzmunkie @openup-yourmind @vicmc624 @hawkeyes-queen @blackhawkfanatic @morgthemagpie @buckybarnessimpp @calwitch

[brnesblogposts]

let me.

GIF by bigsleeps

pairing: matty healy x reader

warnings: blood? reader cuts themself but it’s not graphic. hurt/comfort and domestic matty

a/n i haven’t proofread this yet so any errors i will fix soon :)

————————————————————-

Soft tunes were reverberating around the kitchen as you danced around grabbing all the ingredients you needed for dinner. You didn’t cook often, mainly because you’re not very good at it but you wanted to surprise Matty today. He was at the studio with George working on fine tuning some songs so you took it upon yourself to have something nice waiting for him when he got home, he’d been working so hard lately. It’s the least you could do.

‘Sweet’ by Cigarettes After Sex was coming through the speaker as you started on the vegetables, a simple stir fry was what you were going for because it was easy and quick. Starting on some red pepper you got to slicing while simultaneously moving to the beat of the music, at some point you must of got distracted because suddenly the pain set in and you looked down to see blood running down your wrist from your finger.

Rushing over to the tap you ran your hand under cold water until you figured out you’d sliced your pointer finger pretty good, you wrapped a tea towel around it as you searched the cupboard for a plaster, in the midst of your panic you didn’t notice him come in and about had a heart attack when he spoke,

“Darling, i’m back”

You did a 180 to face him and that’s when his eyes dipped down to the towel on your hand. “What happened?” he rushed over and took your hand in his while looking at you with concern.

“Oh, i just cut myself a little while cooking” You smiled at him until shock and a smirk took over his features, “You’re cooking?! Is the King coming round for dinner or..” At that you whacked him with your good hand and stated matter of factly, “can’t a girlfriend cook a meal for her boyfriend?” and he retorted back with, “Sure, but baby last time you cooked we ended up having to order in.. I thought we agreed we’d leave the cooking to the expert chef Healy”

At this point you’d forgotten about the towel on your wrist until Matty whispered an “Oh, shit” under his breath and pulled you over to the sink and took the towel off. He put the tap on leading your hand towards it “Stay here for a second, don’t bleed out on the kitchen floor please.” With that he wondered over to the cupboard and pulled out a box of plasters, “Paw patrol..?” and with that you embarrassingly replied “it’s all tesco had alright.” He smiled and laughed to himself before coming over to you and turning the tap off and drying off your hand.

“Alright stay still I need to perform a procedure, it won’t hurt I promise” if looks could kill, he’d be a dead man. He took the plaster; wrapping it around the wound, the concentration on his face adorable as his tongue poked out. “You’re my hero.” you dramatically announced as he kissed where the plaster was and stood up straight to face you again. “You were such a brave girl, do you want a lollipop?” That comment earned him another whack and you started walking back towards the chopping board before a hand on your arm stopped you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He inquired as if it wasn’t obvious, “now that palaver is over and a brave soldier patched me up i’m going to get back to dinner” but he wasn’t having it.

“No you are not. You must rest after obtaining a gnarly gash. Leave the cooking to me, my love.” If he wasn’t so damn cute you’d probably whack him again but his little speech made you giggle and you gave in, “You just don’t want me cutting myself again, i’ll stick to making you pot noodles and pasta don’t worry”

At that he smiled victoriously, “I would much rather have those than a meal where you acquire several plasters” With that he pressed a kiss to your forehead and told you to go relax while he got to work.

So you sat on the sofa hearing the sounds of Matty hard at work in the kitchen and the sound of his voice as he sang along to the music, about 20 minutes later he came out of the kitchen and told you to close your eyes, which you did.

When he told you to open them you were met with candles on the coffee table and two plates dished up on trays in front of you.

“Matty”

“I know, i’m the best boyfriend to ever exist and you love me more than anything” He held his hand up to his heart and sighed, “I was actually gonna say you’ve lit my good candles i was saving for a special occasion but alright Prince charming” you rolled your eyes but continued “Thank you though, baby”

You both sat down and ate in silence, just enjoying each others company and once you were both done you asked how it went in the studio, “Really good yeah, George just wanted my approval on some edits he’d made to the backing track, he knows well enough by now i’m a bit of a control freak” With that you put your hand on his cheek, “I know, may I remind you i’m dating you”

“Aren’t I lucky”

———————————

reblogs appreciated :)

[yandereunsolved]

Clip A Hummingbird's Wings - ,, yandere James's s/o tries to escape

cw(s): yandere themes, semi-graphic gore, suggestive themes

☾ He hadn't killed you yet, but he will. You two had such a good thing going. He stalked you through the hotel and fell madly in love with you. You stayed unaware and gave him perfect views into your body and soul. You just had to go and do this. You just had to go and try to escape. Now he's dragging your body into a torture chamber and strapping you onto a metal table.

☾ He is still madly in love with you. He's getting drunk off of those terrified faces you're making and how your features contort into unending petrification. He may even be a little excited that such a delicate bird like you tried to fly from their cage. It gives him a chance to try some more of his extreme methods to make you submissive to his words and will. 

☾ You won't be in peace for many weeks to come. The times you are visited by James are filled with 'reprogramming' as he has coined it. This is a mix of torture and praise. He keeps you on high alert constantly. You don't know whether he is going to choose to take you on the table once again or ruthlessly dig his favorite knives into your skin, so you know how he felt when you tried to leave him.

☾ Naturally, he first broke your legs. It is for the 'reprogramming'. You need to be dependent on him. You need to be nothing without him. Don't worry. He won't allow them to heal incorrectly. He won't allow them to heal at all. He threatens you with cutting them off and then killing you. It would be so romantic. You wouldn't be able to act like the Countess. You'd have to depend on him to carry you everywhere. ♡

☾ He starves you of food and his attention. He makes you eat from his hands. He makes you eat from the utensil he is holding. Oh no, sweetheart. You have not earned the right to eat at the table with him again. You will be eating on the metal table. Perhaps if he is feeling generous he will unstrap you and allow you to sit up. If you spit at him or refuse, you'll only make it infinity worse for yourself. No more food for you. The Countess is now delivering your food. As much as she detests James, she hates it more that he's found someone he truly loves. So she manages to be even worse than he is.

☾ He breaks your mind by allowing the addiction demon to be your constant companion. He soaks in your tortured screams as his hand fiddles with his belt. As much as he'd love to indulge in his carnal needs... he'd rather just use the lovely companion he has in the torture chamber. It'll give you a reprieve from the demon. He gets to hear you beg for him and his body. It's like falling in love with you all over again.

☾ He injects you with many different drugs. He paints you with many scars from his most beloved tools. It felt like years before your pain finally ceased. In reality, it could have been just days. James came in to the torture chamber and whispered 'I love you, darling' into your ear. He cut your neck wide open so you would have a matching neck wound. As the life leaves your eyes he presses kisses all over your face. He gropes your body and moans. 'We will be forever together. There is no escape now.'

☾ You awake in his bed with a new pair of sleepware on. You look so pretty and cute. You touch your neck and the slit is there. James can't get enough of it. You tried to escape and now he has you forever.

☾ James taxedermied your dead body. He thinks it's the greatest thing he could do for you. He keeps it next to the 10 Commandment jars. Your body even gets its own glass case. No disgusting chute for you. His love deserves so much more.

☾ He doesn't allow you out of his sight. If you stray too far from his side he summons the addiction demon to terrorize you until you come back. He makes sure that you are so utterly pathetic and lost without his constant attention and care.

☾ He's still very paranoid that you will find someway to escape. He makes sure every guest that enters the hotel doesn't have any affinity for the dark arts. He makes sure no holy people come in either. The last thing he needs is your soul being saved. He needs you here for all eternity with him. If you try and beg for help with other guests he only drags you back. He pulls you into his embrace and gently tsks you. He treats you almost like a bratty, disobedient child. He secretly loves when you're bratty. He loves an excuse to punish you.

☾ You are under his control at all times. Yet, you also have such a control on him. The mere absence of your presence causes him to go on a murderous frenzy. In the lack of your absence he seeks out the Countess for some hate-filled companionship. He has canceled his monthly dinners with the Countess. Something new arises. A sort of punishment from your previous escape that has now made James addicted. You are all in the dining room but the Countess has to watch as he toys with you, makes out with you, plays with the pretty little throat slit he gave you. He doesn't allow her to say anything to you. He just makes her watch. He makes her watch so that he is able to get revenge. As I said, this was originally about 'reprogramming you'... now it is just a greater payback, and an erotic payback at that.

☾ You are able to use that small amount of control over him to get anything you'd like. Your freedom? No. Space or privacy? No. The greatest luxuries and lavish goods one could wish for? Yes. Behave and he'll offer the world to your hands. You may even be able to talk with a guest or two— if he's allowed to stay by your side in his invisible ghost mode— and he gets to brutally slaughter them after.

☾ It'll take over a year for you to gain any semblance of his trust back. After that, you have a better chance of exploiting him and possibly escaping through exorcism or attachment to someone's presence. You will get more freedoms and responsibilities within the hotel. Does that mean he's gonna leave you alone? Not even a little. He may just leave for a few minutes to commit another massacre of guests.

☾ You may have lost your chance to ever escape at after 2026. The hotel is now a historical landmark. They will never tear it down. The place is ever so popular. People go just for the possibility of getting murdered. And oh? James is even more possessive of you as the hotel gains popularity. These swine have come to see his beautiful god(dess)!? They have come just to see if they are able to help you escape? 'Darling, you cannot leave anywhere without me. It's not safe. They want to take you from me. I will not allow it! There will be no arguments on this subject matter! Understood?'

☾ He does not allow any of the other ghosts around you. You are completely isolated except for him. If one or two of them try to pity you they are tortured and scared out of spending time with you.

☾ He contemplates binding your souls together. It's a risky ritual. It would require a talented witch or warlock. It is the process in which you and your soul mate conjoin your souls through time and space. Through every reincarnation you both will find each other. Even if you do not remember you will be tied together. It is a manipulation of fate considering you already had a soul bound to you. James was infuriated when he found that out. He is more likely to do it even more now. He can't have your soul escape, and you find whoever it is that your soul is bound to. You belong to him! Him only!

☾ He treats everyday with you like it is your last. He constantly showers you in praise and love. He allows makes you watch his killings. He is just so utterly obsessed with your presence. He makes it so you would never want to leave. Right? Darling? Dearest? Love of my life? God(dess) of everything in my life?

☾ If somehow all of this didn't manage to move your heart and you still wanted to escape, he would be devastated. He would resort to begging on his hands and knees and sobbing. It would be quite out of character for him. Can't you just see that's what you do to him?

☾ He will do anything and everything. He will make you his forever. He will go through with the soul binding ritual. He will kiss away all of your attempts at anger. He will soothe your need to lash out. He will practically be floating in the heavens. You are his, forever. You are his even after death. In the next lifetime he will have you. He will have you in the lifetime after that as well. It makes his dead body flush. His desire for you just continuously grows even though he has you for all life and eternity.

☾ You'll never truly escape his presence. You'll never truly leave this hotel. Even if it crumbles and the world caves in— he'll pass on with your lips locked together, his hand in yours.

[frostironfudge]

Redemption

Summary: Max Burnett taught you everything and so did Nick Fowler. Now, they don't appreciate being double crossed. So naturally you have to pay up to earn forgiveness. Will you earn redemption?

Paring: Max Burnett x F!Reader x Nick Fowler, F!Reader x Special Guest.

Word Count: 4.0k || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, you are responsible for the media you consume. smut, shameless smut, darkish content, a spoiler for sharper and 355, p in v, edgeing, multiple orgasms, oral m recieving, dom/sub, hard doms, degradation, punishments, spanking, choking, fingering, clit play, nipple play, swearing, possessive behaviour, use of drugs for kidnapping, Max and Nick are well hard doms, even though max might have a bit of a switch vibe, knife play, cuffs, aftercare, hickeys, nicknames meanings will be mentioned on first use of the nickname, praise kink, mild dub-con vibes, if i missed anything let me know

A.N.: i didn't know i could write this much filth also these two together menaces, but i love them.

Main Masterlist // AO3

Keep your breathing even. 

Let them think you’re knocked out cold still. 

Don’t flinch at the pinch in your arm. 

Stay alert. 

Footsteps, retreating, one person. Medium build. 

Chair scarpes, neglected and worn wood.

Beeping, microwave. 

Scents, cheese melting.

Don’t move a muscle. Don’t give away your hunger. Don’t think about it.

Rustling, foil unwrapping.

Clinking, cutlery on a plate.

Footsteps, moving closer, one person. Medium to heavy build. Two total. 

Hands on yours, the rope being cut. Soft breath. 

The rope remains tethered.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.” The male calls out, the cutlery clinks against the plate again.

The earlier footsteps come closer again. 

Max. You recognise the voice a moment too late. 

Why would he? No.

“You knew all about it.” Nick keeps his voice even. You hear Max chuckle and hum.

Nick’s palm cups your cheek. Max tuts disapprovingly. The warmth from Nick’s touch recedes. 

An unspoken conversation occurs and Nick stands back.

“Agent Fowler, don’t they teach you not to touch what belongs to someone else?” The plate is set down, Max grabs your hair, “Wake up, little tesoro (treasure).” He tears the blindfold off and you blink. You’re pulled off the bed, on your knees.

Shitty hotel room. Curtains drawn. Another room outside this bedroom. 

You look up at Max.

“I’m very cross with you.” He states, “Double crossing me?”

“Max it isn’t–,”

“Fucking liar!” He grabs your jaw harshly, “Don’t give me those damn doe eyes I taught you to use.”

“Max.” Nick warns, you hear the click of a gun. You don’t look at him. He wasn’t supposed to find you. 

You had made sure to cover the tracks. Lead Nick down a cold trail ending somewhere on the west coast.

“Agent.” Max says with equal mocking. Staring at you. His blue eyes blaze with anger. 

You try to speak but he tightens his grip, all that moves past your lips is a squeak.

“You can’t be this upset being fucked over, what did you consider her your protege?” Nick takes a step to the foot of the bed. Gun still pointed at Max.

“Aren’t you?” Max finally looks at the CIA Agent.

Nick clenches his jaw, eyes falling to you. You take a peek at him from the corner of your eyes. Slate blue-grey eyes regard you with disappointment. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Nick shrugs.

Max laughs, hollow. The way he did when he told you about Madeline. You hated the sound of his hollowed out self.

“Oh please, you trained her yourself. To come after me. She’s as much as your little subordinate as she is my little protege.” Max looks back at you, tilting your head back, he leans in, remnants of his aftershave flood your senses, “Aren’t you?” 

He makes you nod your head, your lips unable to move.

“Max, let her go.” Nick warns.

“You know Nick. I don’t want to, and she’s going to help me teach you a little lesson.” Max beams brightly. Your stomach twists.

“Ask your superior to hand over his gun. You know the same way you asked him to fuck you in his office.” Max lets go of your jaw.

You remain silent, Max tightens his grip on your hair, you whimper.

“Max.” Nick warns, your eyes meet his, you blink back the tears.

“Ni-Nick,” You plead.

“You know I can’t.” Nick states, you shift, kneeling on the rough carpet hurting your bare legs. 

“Nick please, please. Just listen to him. I gave you everything you’d need. Please. I won’t let him hurt you. Nick please.”

“So pretty when she begs isn’t she?” Max wipes the tear from your cheek, “But you know all about that, tell me Fowler, fucking her part of the teaching act? Or did you actually feel for the little base level bright eyed agent?” 

Nick’s eyes widen in the slightest. 

“Oh please, you think I don’t keep an eye on broken little things I take in? Or keep an eye on fuckers that have their eyes on me?” Max chuckles, “Now hand over the gun or it won’t do either of us good seeing her in pain.” 

“You wouldn’t.” Nick calls his bluff.

“I wouldn’t? Did the little baby lie about the time I left her out in the cold? Did she not tell you how harsh I can be to her? The way I can be both her punishment and salvation.” Max raises a brow, he makes you arch your back, lips brushing against yours as he bends close enough, “You only sang my praises? Good girl.” he whispers against your lips.

Then turns your head to look at Nick, he bites the inside of his cheek at the display.

“Are you jealous?” Max sneers, free hand trailing from your neck to your collar bones and then sternum. Nick’s eyes follow the movement, “Hmm, he is, well, well, well.” 

“Nick, the gun. Hand it over.” Your voice is even this time. The agent’s nostrils flair.

Nick aims the gun to Max’s leg. Max holds a small gun to your head. Nick’s stance waivers, he gazes at you. Your eyes are on him. 

Nick exhales, irritated, he turns the gun, holding it out for Max to take. The conman undoes your binds. 

“Go on little tesoro, take the gun of the nice agent.” He coaxes. The heavy metal comes into your hands. You swallow, “Point it at him.”

Nick raises his hands as you point the gun at him all while you knee. Max pats your head, kneeling his palms slide over your outstretched hands, he gingerly plucks the gun from your hand. Kissing your cheek.

His actions and his words have your mind reeling. 

Was this a con you were pulling on Nick? 

Was Nick working with Max to get you behind bars?

“Now go get the other little toys he’s carrying.” Max instructs, standing and pointing the gun at Nick. 

You move to stand, Max tuts again. “Crawl.”

“You’re fucking sick, you son of a bitch,” Nick growls.

“Oh please, I’m letting you enjoy the show.” Max shakes his head, tendrils of his hair brush his cheekbones.

Your skin heats, cheeks aflame. You crawl to Nick, kneeling at his feet. He watches you with an apologetic expression. He reaches out to touch your cheek. Your eyes close at the contact.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you Nicky?” Max mocks. Nick glares at him. 

“Pupils dilated and well those pants I hope are doing you justice unless that is another gun. Look at that little tesoro, he’s turned on by you like this, he’s turned on by seeing me order you around.”

“Get the guns.” Max reminds you, making you look back at him. Then up at Nick. 

“You know where they are, don't you prinţesă (princess)?” Nick speaks softly, you nod. 

Your hands reach for his left ankle, the smaller holster sits there, you turn to Max. 

“Crawl.”

“Max, please.” You plead, he had to be fucking with you. He couldn’t be this cruel. 

Max narrows his eyes, then rolls them, “Check him for other ammunition then you can stand, little tesoro.” 

You knew from experience where Nick hid weapons on himself. He had a gun tucked into the back. Your hands tremble in the slightest, as you move behind him. Underneath the navy suit jacket tucked is the gun with the silencer. 

You take it away, Nick keeps his gaze steady on Max. 

“Why are you demeaning her?” He questions.

“Playing good cop? Okay I’ll bite.” Max gestures for you to stand. You grab both the guns and walk over to him. 

“You see Nicky,” Max’s smug smile only adds to Nicky’s ire over the nickname, “I’ve been fucked over by a redhead before, I’m sure you know what that feels like so when,” the tip of his gun touches your temple then your cheek, he tucks it under your chin, “This sweet little prize waltzed into my life you could colour me surprised.” 

“She’s fucked you over.” Nick states. 

“She fucked you over too.” Max adds. 

The two stare at you, you look at the wall ahead. 

“So what should we do with you?” The cold metal taps your jaw. You look at Max. 

“Get on the bed prinţesă.” Nick orders, you look towards him. He’s leaning against the wall, hands tucked into his pockets. 

“Go on, listen to Nicky.” Max prompts stepping away from you. He smiles at you, there isn’t an aota of anger in his demeanour anymore. 

“Max.. what is going on?” He doesn’t answer; you turn to the other man, “Nick?”

“Get on the bed, don’t make Max angrier, I don’t think you would prefer me to be angrier either.” 

You get on the bed, both of them on opposite ends of the room. Watching you, their blue and grey predatory gazes drinking you in, you pull down the hem of the dress on your thighs. 

“Nick, Max…” You want to ask, all of your facial reading abilities give you nothing from their masks. 

Nick saunters over, a relaxed smile on his face. He hands Max the two pairs of cuffs. The bed dips under his weight. Your hands spread out each cuffed to one end. 

Your breathing hitches when Max’s palm is wrapped around your throat. He smirks, giving your neck a squeeze. 

Your thighs clench, your body betraying you. 

Nick chuckles, “Always so responsive isn’t she?” He muses. Max nods pulling away from you. 

The two of them observe you from the foot of the bed. Asking questions is not productive. You know they know about the double cross you pulled on either side. 

Your I-will-disappear bag and passport aren’t here, which means you never got away quick enough. From either of them. 

“It’s clicking into place.” Max grins at you, “Always so very smart. Always such a good girl, little tesoro. Till you weren’t.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. 

“Well, you’ve learned a lot from the both of us. You tried to keep us both happy and fucked the both of us over. You know you have to be punished, prinţesă.” Nick licks his bottom lip. 

“I wasn’t going to betray—,” 

“Oh you weren’t?” Max exaggerates his words. 

Nick pulls out your bag from under the bed, you stare at it, “Little liar aren’t you?” 

“I wasn’t! I promise.” You plead, pulling against the restraints. 

“You want to make it upto us?” Max questions, tilting his head to gauge your response, searching for even a flicker of insubordination. 

You nod, “Please.” 

Max looks towards Nick. The latter hums audibly, contemplating but the gleam in his eyes has you know he already decided. 

Max hands him the small blade. Nick climbs in next to you. The flat edge of the knife trails over your right leg, when Nick reaches your thigh he taps the blade twice. 

Your legs part for him, the blade catches on the hem of your dress. He begins to tear it apart. Leaving you exposed to them. The dress hangs off of your shoulders. 

“I think we need to see a little more skin don’t we Max?” Nick asks rhetorically, your breath hitches as he traces the tip over the swell of your breast, the straps cut through. 

You bite your lip, Nick presses a soft kiss to your sternum. 

“Be good.” He warns, your bra falls in tatters around you. 

Max joins in on the bed, fingers brushing along your inner thighs, then higher he hums appreciatively as the wetness seeps onto his fingers.

“My, my, little tesoro. You really want to be a good little slut for us.” The panties are shifted to the side, his fingers brush over your folds, you whimper. Max keeps his teasing movements going, watching the way you keep coating his fingers. 

Nick cuts through the fabric, leaving you fully at their mercy. 

Nick reaches forward his thumb and index finger twisting your nipple. Max begins to circle his thumb around your clit. You bite your lip not to make a sound. 

A sharp sting on your cunt has you cry out. 

“You do not hold back those sounds.” Nick reprimands and Max’s palm stings against your pussy. You clench around nothing as you moan. Twisting against the cuffs. 

“You want our forgiveness?” Max taunts, his palm leaving redness in its wake as he spanks over your inner thighs. Nick strokes your cheek, softness in contrast with Max’s harsh spanks. 

“Please.” You plead, Nick shakes his head. 

You’re turned over, hands crossed and laying on your stomach. Max breathes deeply, the fabric of your dress cut further and taken off. 

You feel Nick grab your hips lifting them higher, your shoulders strain as the pull of the cuffs has you arch to find comfort. 

Max sits next to you, making you look at him. He smiles, your lips part to apologise but you cry out as Nick’s palm comes into contact with your ass. 

“Trusted you prinţesă.” He hisses, massaging the flesh, then alternating his harsh spanks you twist and wiggle to no respite. Tears brim over. Max’s index finger wipes over them and then the other side with the back of his fingers. He provides you with no other gentleness. Instead watching Nick continue. 

How long had it been you don’t understand or perceive. Spanking alternated between the two of them. After their set of ten they’d tease your folds, cooing at the needy way your pussy would want their fingers to fill you up. And they did, long thick digits stuffing you. Getting soaked by your arousal. Thumbs tapping your clit, at the edge of bliss and then nothing. 

Nick switches with Max again, he offers his soaked fingers to you, your tear stained cheeks pull no leniency this time. Your lips part to clean his fingers. 

Not a word of praise. 

You’ve been good, you apologised. 

Yet nothing. 

Just pain. 

It stopped feeling good too. 

“I’m sorry!” You cry out at the next spank. Sniffling you bury your head. 

Body fell flat against the bed, your arms stretched to their maximum to opposing ends. You feel the sting of both their palms spanking you at the same time. 

You sob, crying out broken sorries. 

The cuffs are undone and you’re turned around again, Max unzips his jeans, his cock hard and waiting. He pulls you down along the bed. The sheets add to the burn on your ass. You grip them. 

Max rubs his cock over your folds, “You thought you could lie to us?” 

“I’m sorry.” You hiccup and then moan as he slams into you. Filling you up so good the burning ache numbing with each thrust. Pleasure overtakes your body. 

“Little tesoro, I’m so fucking mad. I trusted you so much.” Max grunts, “Fucking pussy’s so fucking,” he groans, your leg wrapped around his waist, “Addictive. Going to make you our little cumslut.” 

You clench around his cock. His thrusts are hard and fast, “Look at Nick.” Max grunts out, “Fucking vice like grip.” 

You look up, Nick watches you, his hand leisurely moving over his cock. You lick your lips. He smirks. 

“You want a taste, prinţesă?” 

“Oh she does, fucking velvet walls can’t get enough.” Max pulls out, you mewl at the loss. 

Nick stands, cock bobbing against your cheek as they have you lay across the bed so your head hands off of the edge. 

Both of them thrust into you, your mouth and pussy fill at the same time, eyes rolling back as they thrust in sync. Nick tweaks your nipples and you moan around him. Large hands on your breasts, cupping and squeezing. 

“Fuck—I missed this lying mouth.” He groans, he places a hand on your throat feeling himself thrust deep. “You’re going to make such a pretty cumslut, prinţesă.” 

Max grabs your hip, fingers on your clit circling adding to the unravelling pleasure that begins to take over after all the edging. 

Pleasure courses through your veins, you arch up, the sheet fisted both of them moan your name. 

Max fucks you through your orgasm, your mouth slack even as Nick pulls out. Hoarse moans of Max’s name leave your lips. 

“Going to fill you up.” Max’s hips stutter, he groans spilling into you. His palm grabbing your jaw, your knees pressed to your chest as he kisses you. It’s sloppy, needy, all consuming. Biting down on your lip as he pulls out of you and pulls his lips away. 

Your chest heaves, Max sits back against the bed and Nick grabs your legs, you’re pulled to the edge and flipped over. He grabs you by your neck, pulling you up.

Your back against his chest, your hands grab at his, his cock spears you, you cry out his name. Nick’s thicker girth makes you feel fuller, his head brushing against the spot that has your legs trembling. 

He knew you wouldn’t last, he was counting on it, “such a pretty cunt. All ours to use isn’t it?” He squeezes your throat, his fingers rub harshly on your clit. You nod, “Please, please, please—,” a strangled plea leaves your lips as you cum yet again, slumming against Nick as he ruts into you. 

Your spasming walls don’t allow him to last long, “Your mouth is fucking wonderful but this? Divine. You aren’t getting away from us.” He promises, your lips meet his as he cums inside you as well. His kiss is equally claimant, his dominance harsher. His stubble burns against your skin.

As if the two of them want to share you but want the other to know who actually owns you. 

Aftershocks thrum through your body. Nick pulls out, you feel the mess coat your thighs. Max kneels on the bed, holding you up as Nick leaves. He wipes your tears, cupping your face. 

Water runs and the door shuts, a warm cloth is moved upon your body, you hiss as it brushes over your sensitive flesh. Nick turns your head to the mirror on the opposite wall your body is littered with hickeys and marks of them. 

“There isn’t going to be a punishment next time if you pull this stunt, prinţesă.” Nick warns.  

You blink, they meet your gaze in the reflection. 

“Exactly little tesoro. You did well for us. Maybe there is redemption for you after all to be our good girl.” Max kisses your cheek. 

“Do you understand?” They ask, you nod. 

“I do.” 

“Whose are you?” Max raises a brow. 

“Both of yours.” Your answer pleases them. 

“Will you ever run away?” Nick narrows his eyes. 

“Not unless you both are where I have to run toward.” 

You’re kissed again, one by one. 

Rewarded by tongues and wandering hands. 

Laying between the two their fingers inside you, making you cum apart between them. Over and over. Late into the night or early into the day they allow you rest. 

You pull away from bed carefully, the two of them in the seating area talking softly, you search for clothes but you only find Max’s hoodie and Nick’s briefs. Your bag had the other essentials but not any clothes. They would sedate you to move you again. You try to not let the thought curdle in your chest. Wearing the clothes, you head into the kitchen.

Bags from a local burger joint are on the small table. You stand at the doorway, fiddling with the sleeves. 

“Ah there she is, my little thief.” Nick chuckles, “Come on we have your favourite curly fries.” 

“And strawberry milkshake mixed with half of vanilla.” Max holds up the cup. 

You stare at the food and drink. 

“Oh you don’t trust us?” Max shakes his head amused, “Told you.” He says to Nick. He reaches for the fries and eats a random one, making a show out of chewing it. Holding his arms wide as if to show no damage to himself.

Nick does similarly with the milkshake, taking a sip and making a face at the combination but again nothing happens to him, “We’re good to you. We’re safe. Unlike the place you planned on running toward.” 

You giggle at their antics. Padding over to them and taking the spot between them. You eat the food, and drink your milkshake, being their good girl. They smile, no anger or disappointment in their eyes. 

“So will the two of you ever be inside me together?” You ask randomly, popping a fry in your mouth the two of them begin coughing not expecting that question. You laugh padding over to the counter that harbours the water bottles, unscrewing them you quickly hand them their bottles and take your own. 

“Sorry, I thought…” You look away shyly.

“Maybe we do your fantasies after we’re done with your punishments.” Nick suggests, rubbing his chest.

You look from him to Max, he takes another sip of water, “Little tesoro, we aren’t done punishing you yet.”

“I understand. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking clearly.” You agree with them. They nod.

Max reaches for a french fry and slumps forward. Your eyes widen, “Max!”

Nick’s eyes turn from the slumped over conman to you, you stare at him accusingly, he stands, you watch him reach for the gun on the side table but he falls forward as well, “Nick!” 

Their eyes are open, you wipe the panic from your face, rolling your eyes. 

“Oh don’t worry, soon it will be a nice little sleepy time.” You promise, eating another fry and dusting your hands off, “Well these past hours have been very entertaining but I have some very important business to attend.” You stand, moving over Nick’s body towards Max. Their eyes have the anger yet again.

“Oh it’s just a little drug. The way you drugged me.” You smile at Max, taking a deep breath before dragging him along the carpet to the bedroom. You cuff him to the bed frame. Leaving him watching you from the ground you head back to drag Nick back inside.

“Max and Nick, the two of you were right, strength training has its perks.” You grin, cuffing Nick works the same way. You sift through their bags for clothes opting for Max’s since they wouldn’t have any stitched in trackers. You’d ditch them anyways. 

They helplessly watch you strip down, and put on clothes. You open your seized bag, the hidden pocket still has the keycard you need. You smile at them.

“Well boys,” you saunter over to them, then spot your shoes, wearing them you make your way back. You place a kiss against Max’s soft cheek then Nick’s stubbled one, “Thank you for the fuck, I don’t appreciate the spanking.” You wink, “Maybe we can continue this another time.”

You close the door gently, you’re just outside of New York you crack your stiff neck. Reaching for the burner tucked into the sole of your shoe you dial the number. 

“Hansen and Barnes’ or Barnes and Hansen’s Services.” The cheery voice greets you.

“Llyod.” You greet walking down the steps towards the road. Hailing down a cab.

“Ah, sweetheart, grumpy here was angrier than ever.” Lloyd informs, you shake your head at his nonsense.

“Well he can meet me at his favourite place. Oh and I have Fowler and Burnett tied up.” You inform, he whistles, impressed by your antics. 

“Get there, I’m sure he’s excited to meet his Doll.” Lloyd teases, “I’ll tell him. Text me where they should be.”

You hear a muffled sound then punches and groans, you use the time to text Lloyd. You get down from the taxi at the first subway station’s steps. 

“Doll.” Bucky greets over the call, making you smile.

“Hi, Bucky. I missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. I hear you’ve earned redemption?” He enquires.

“I have.” 

“Good girl. Knew you would make me proud. I’ll meet you at our favourite place in an hour.” He promises.

“An hour Mr. Barnes.” You affirm, he chuckles.

“I’ll see you, Doll.” Bucky promises before the line goes dead. 

You break the flipphone, dropping it on the platform, kicking it onto the tracks and then leaving the station with the hood up.

-x-x-x-x-