#learn how to read the fucking room and read a fucking calendar

[softpastelqueer]

People and referendums currently up for voting right now on November 7, 2023 are state and local elections and have nothing to do with our foreign policies and is 100% domestic policy focused.

If you’re too busy trying to come off faux morally superior to realize that fact, then you’re going to come off as an annoying condescending privileged white person who uses excuses to justify not voting because deep down you know that most of the harmful policies we’re trying to avoid won’t actually hurt you.

[ja3yun]

The Doll House | Lee Heeseung

doll!heeseung x fem!reader

warnings: smut (mdni), pure filth, dom!hee, unprotected sex, cream pie, oral (m&f. rec), clit biting, throat fucking, cock worshipping, doggy, pussy stepping, spanking, squirting, slight degradation and choking, pet names (baby), supernatural elements, religious themes (heaven/hell), anything else lmk!

wc: 16.8k

synopsis: with only 2 weeks left, you have formed a bond with each of the dolls, well, all of them except heeseung. as you snoop around his room to find out more about him, he gives you all the answers you're looking for and opens your eyes to a world you never knew was possible.

jongseong | masterlist | epilogue | alt ending

a/n: hi! it's officially the end of tdh! i need to put a massive thank you out to @haechonly as this entire series would never have been possible without their request! you are a star in my eyes and i can't ever thank you enough for trusting me to write this! i also want to thank everyone who took the time to read each chapter and leave comments or asks, i love you indefinitely <3 i hope the ending leaves you all satisfied and all your questions answered! as always, likes, reblogs, feeback, and everything in between is welcomed :)

Folding the laundry, you glance over at the calendar on the day of your leave circled in red. There are only 2 weeks left until you finish up and you’re more than sad about it. Your heart aches every time you sleep because you know that you’re one day closer to returning to normality when you wake up.

The thought alone is overwhelming - how can you possibly contemplate returning to a life you loathe when you've uncovered a paradise here? In the company of Jaeyun, Sunghoon, and Jongseong, each fulfilling a unique role in your existence, you've found a sense of completeness that you fear will escape you once you leave. 

You're so fond of the dolls that you're willing to overlook the horrifying underworld that lurks in the library's secret room. You’ve learned that if you pay it no mind, it can’t touch you. Jongseong has reassured you time and time again that you need not worry about it, and you trust him, so you faithfully follow his guidance.

Jongseong has hardly explained anything, only that yes it was hell that lives in the flames but it’s more like a telephone than a portal - a cryptic analogy that only serves to fuel your curiosity - but he just keeps repeating himself time and time again: “Talk to Heeseung.”

Which would be fine if the doll ever gave you the time of day. He knows you know about them now so there’s no reason for him not to speak with you, yet he hardly utters a word, not even a simple thank you when you serve him dinner or excuse me when he bumps into you. He’s not avoiding you but ignoring you and for some reason that makes it worse. All you get from Heeseung is knowing stares and a sly smile plastered on his face.

You know he’s dangerous, Jongseong and Sunghoon are good at making you very aware of that, even his aura is enough to know that you shouldn’t mess with him, but their warnings about his inherent danger reverberate in your head, their evident readiness to give you to his care and seek answers calls into question his malevolence.

Jongseong said he doesn’t want to see your face when you find out, making you even more curious and it cannot be curbed until you get answers.

Grabbing the washing basket, you put the neatly folded clothes inside and make your way to drop them off outside each of the respective dolls’ rooms. They are off doing their own thing, even Jaeyun, who is typically tethered to your side, is engrossed in playing football with Jongseong, seemingly oblivious to your brief departure.

There was something Jongseong said to you over the past week that you can’t shake out of your head. He observed how close you and Jaeyun are, and how attached the younger doll has become to you. It’s not so much the observation as much as how he eyes the both of you now; there’s a knowingness in his pupils, like he’s keeping another secret from you, but you can’t figure out what. 

It’s obvious you and Jaeyun get along well, each of you loving to spend time with one another and waste the day away; as long as you’re together, that’s all that matters. You confided in Jongseong, telling him that whatever Jaeyun is feeling, whether happy or sorrowful, you feel it too. It's a connection so profound that only those who have experienced it firsthand can comprehend its depth.

Regret gnaws at you for telling Jongseong, for since then, his scrutiny has only intensified, leaving you to wonder what his meaningful gaze truly means.

You head towards Heeseung's room, initially planning to leave his clothes outside as per the rulebook. However, your rebellious streak, which has persisted almost since you got here, urges you otherwise. The last time you saw Heeseung was in the music room, practising the piano, so he isn’t around, leaving you the perfect opportunity to snoop.

If he isn’t giving you answers, maybe his room will.

Placing the basket on your hip, you open his door tentatively, scared to see what is on the other side. You’ve been in his room before but now that you’re delving into its nooks and crannies, you can’t help but feel some apprehension. This is new territory and with warnings about his character, you know if you’re caught, you are fucked.

His room is dull, his curtains remaining shut despite the summer weather outside. Come to think of it, you haven’t ever seen him sit out the front with the others, only ever being in their presence when he has to be. Sunghoon and Heeseung have a camaraderie, their personalities are woven from the same cloth, so you know they are close in some way. You’ve seen them sharing secrets and memories of their past but it’s always in hushed whispers, not letting anyone in on their fun.

Yet, when it comes to Jongseong, a noticeable distance lingers between them. Though their interactions remain civil, their friendship feels distant. Despite this, Jongseong's occasional defence of Heeseung hints at an underlying care between them, though you can't help but feel that there's more to their dynamic than meets the eye. You have enough mysteries in this house other than feuding brothers, so you’ve not given it much thought.

You set the basket down on the ottoman nestled at the foot of his bed, casting a quick glance around the room to assess your surroundings before delving into your impromptu snoop sesh. 

Your gaze drifts to his dressing table, its surface gathering dust and bereft of any adornments. It's a stark contrast to the other dolls' rooms, each of them cluttered with their interests and personalities. With a curious tilt of your head, you step closer, it's as if Heeseung deliberately keeps his space devoid of any semblance of identity or sentimentality. The only thing adorning the furniture is a scatter of dead flies that you turn your nose up to.

Jongseong had said Heeseung had been here for 8 years, surely that would warrant some decoration; even one book would be enough.

As your exploration continues, you come across a worn and torn box tucked away in the corner of the room. Kneeling down, you run your fingers over it, noticing how it’s the only thing devoid of dust in the room. Curiosity piqued, you carefully lift the lid, revealing a trove of forgotten treasures within.

Among the assortment of photographs, you come across snapshots capturing moments between Soonyeol and Heeseung. There is one photo of Soonyeol and Heeseung which she clearly forced him to be in, her cheek pressed hard against his and a smile on her face. Although it is a picture, you can feel her love for him emanating. 

Setting aside the photograph with care, your attention is drawn to another picture, this time commemorating Soonyeol's birthday. The scene is more recent, with Jaeyun's radiant smile serving as a focal point. His embrace of the birthday girl evokes a pang of envy within you, swiftly tempered by the reminder that he belongs to Soonyeol.

"Hmm, she’s 28," you remark, noting the candles donning the birthday cake in the photograph. You could have sworn she was the same age as you; maybe it’s her skincare cupboard you should be raiding through.

Nestled among the keepsakes is a handwritten note, its edges yellowed with age. As you unfold it, the scrawl of Soonyeol's handwriting greets your eyes. The heartfelt words penned on the paper speak of cherished moments and promises of eternal love for Heeseung, her words of gratitude for saving her.

You can't help but wonder what drove Heeseung to save Soonyeol. If Heeseung is indeed this elusive big bad wolf, it begs the question: why would he ever come to someone's rescue?

"What are you doing?" A low voice reverberates through the cold walls, jolting you from your exploration. Startled, you scramble to restore everything to its place, your heart pounding with fear as you hastily rise to your feet, meeting Heeseung's gaze with wide-eyed apprehension.

Heeseung stands before you, arms crossed and a frown etched across his features. His expression speaks volumes, conveying a mix of irritation and suspicion at your intrusion into his private space. You can't fault him for his reaction; after all, he just caught you looking through his personal belongings that clearly no one but him is meant to see.

Hurriedly, you retreat to the safety of the laundry basket, clutching it as if it were a shield against his disapproval, "Sorry, Heeseung," you stammer, offering a feeble explanation for your presence, "I-I was just putting your laundry away."

Heeseung's gaze remains fixed on you, his expression unreadable as he assesses your explanation. The silence between you stretches taut, punctuated only by the distant hum of the house.

After what feels like an eternity, Heeseung finally speaks, his voice cool and measured, "You know the rules, Y/N, leave it outside," he admonishes, his tone firm.

"Sorry, Heeseung," you murmur, bowing your head as his reprimand sinks in. Your body feels clammy with sweat, a lump forming in your throat, and your heart pounding erratically. It's unnerving to be alone with him for the first time, leaving you feeling timid and inferior in his presence.

Heeseung strides further into the room, his figure imposing as he sets about restoring the box you disrupted, methodically arranging his treasures back into order. As you watch his back, uncertainty gnaws at you, weighing your options for the next move. You're aware that he expects you to leave, and perhaps you should for your own sake. Yet, this unexpected encounter presents an opportunity you've been yearning for - a chance to pose the questions that Jongseong has been evading.

"You're not like the other 3, are you?" you venture timidly, hoping to broach the subject without eliciting a harsh response from him.

Heeseung straightens up, exhaling sharply as he runs a hand through his hair, his eyebrows arching in surprise at your question. "What? Because I haven't fucked you, is that what you mean?" His tone drips with disdain at your observation, his words sharp and cutting.

"No, it's not that," you hurriedly clarify, sensing his hostility, "It's just...your aura, it's different," you explain despite struggling to put your thoughts into words.

Heeseung's expression shifts, a flicker of surprise crossing his features at your unexpected comment. "Different? How so?" he asks, curiosity replacing the initial edge of hostility.

You take a cautious step forward, emboldened by his slightly less defensive demeanour, "It's hard to explain," you admit, searching for the right words to articulate the subtle but distinct quality that sets him apart. "It's like... there's a depth to you, something...darker," you struggle to find the right description, hoping he'll understand that you aren’t trying to call him evil, even if that is what you are eluding to.

Tilting his head, Heeseung starts to smirk, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. He licks the side of his mouth casually before speaking, his tone teasing, "You have no idea who I am, do you?"

You don’t, that’s quite obviously the issue you’re having. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes because fuck whatever would come from that. So instead, you settle for shaking your head, hoping he will elaborate of his own accord.

The curiosity is evident on his face as he steps forward slightly, “You mean to tell me you’ve been here almost 2 months, fucked each of my brothers more times than I can count, and you still don’t know who we are?”

Feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up your cheeks at Heeseung's blunt question, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. It’s not through lack of trying, you have turned over every book, looked on every shelf, and bobby pinned your way into locks, yet you’re still in the dark.

Your silence only seems to fuel Heeseung's wicked merriment, his smirk widening into a sharp grin as he peers straight through you. "I really thought Jongseong would have caved by now. God knows how he really does love to paint himself as still a saint."

Drawing in a deep breath, Heeseung prepares to reveal the truth you've been longing to uncover. Your body stills as you realise this is finally it, everything you’ve been wanting, no, needing to know - he is about to let you in.

"We're from all over heaven and hell," he explains, his voice tinged with amusement that was targeted at your now shocked expression, "angels and demons, Baby, that’s what we are."

As his words sink in, you find yourself ensnared in a whirlwind of confusion and uncertainty. Angels and demons? The implications of such a revelation send a shiver down your spine. 

Of course, they weren't human, you knew that much, but how can they be otherworldly beings straight out of myths, the kind you only hear about in churches and Supernatural episodes? The concept is difficult to fully process, leaving you grappling with a reality that feels more like a dream - or perhaps a nightmare. You would have been much more settled if they were the ghosts of those who lived here previously - this being one of the many guesses you made about their lives.

You've grown to adore the dolls, cherishing their presence above all else. But the newfound knowledge that some of them are demons sends a chill down your spine, casting a shadow of unease over your once-idyllic existence.

Sensing your need for clarity, Heeseung's voice breaks through the tumult of your thoughts. "Who do you want to know about first?" he inquires as his eyebrows raise, "I think it's only right that we start with your little angel, hmmm?"

Jaeyun. 

Nodding, you brace yourself for whatever he is about to say. 

“You’ll be glad to know, your lover boy is an angel,” he starts to explain and you already feel a relief wash over you. If Jaeyun was an evil spirit, that would have destroyed any perception you had of him, leaving you to question the authenticity of the connection you share; the idea that he could have manipulated you would hurt your soul more than you’d like to admit.

You see Heeseung weigh up his next words, “Well…not quite, he should have been but I stopped that from happening,” he confesses, feigning remorse for his doings, “He was actually meant to be a guardian angel. When he died in an accident, his soul was so pure he was handpicked to be someone's personal dove boy.”

“Wait, what do you mean you stopped it?” you ask almost immediately, your curiosity outweighing any other emotion as he speaks.

"He was wandering the veil, the in-between of life and death, waiting to be guided to heaven when I heard him crying out, confused and scared. He died too soon, but that greedy fuck up the stairs clearly couldn’t let him just live out his life the way he wanted to."

There’s anger in his voice as he speaks; it doesn’t take a genius to know he’s talking about God. You’ve always been taught that there is a plan for everyone, that no matter what happens, it’s the right path. Clearly, Heeseung doesn’t share the same outlook.

“So I answered his call and guided him to Soonyeol and the rest of us. Jaeyun only wanted to be loved and cherished his whole life, that was his dream, and I granted it in exchange for his memories,” he sees you poised with another question, but he stops you, raising a hand to silence you, “If you’re going to ask why I did that, it’s because he wouldn’t have coped otherwise, and he would have looked at us in anger rather than love.”

You have so many new questions, but as you go to speak, you can’t. Your mouth is dry, and your throat holds back a sob. You feel awful as you think about Jaeyun being scared after death, calling out for help, and in the end being stripped of his memories. Heeseung is acting as if he did him a favour - and in some way, he has - but he has also torn him away from his path.

As you struggle to find the right words to express your thoughts, Heeseung's gaze softens if only slightly, a flicker of understanding passing between you. "I know it's a lot to take in," he offers gently, his tone devoid of its usual edge, "But trust me when I say that Jaeyun is happier here than he ever was in his old life, and certainly more than he would be as a guardian. Soonyeol needed someone to look after and that’s all he has ever wanted; It’s a win-win.”

“So this was all for Soonyeol? Be honest with me,” you ask, picking up on his last sentence. 

With a definitive nod, Heeseung doesn't deny your observation, "Everything that I have done is for her." 

That piques your interest and the pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place, “Does that mean you did the same with the others? You brought them here for Soonyeol’s benefit?”

He lets out a heavy exhale, his demeanour shifting as he crosses his arms. “You make it sound like I've wronged Jaeyun,” he counters, any trace of understanding vanishing as his cold manner returns to the forefront. 

You didn’t mean for it to sound accusatory, but you can’t help but call a spade a spade. Heaven is deemed difficult to enter - what with all the rules and hail mary’s - so for Jaeyun to be seen as holy enough to become someone’s guardian angel was a privilege he should have been able to experience.

Mirroring his posture, you cross your arms, a silent declaration of your determination. It might be foolish to stand toe to toe with him, considering his power to manipulate Jaeyun's memories and drag him to Earth, but you refuse to show any sign of weakness.

Heeseung grins, genuinely amused by your stance. He's impressed by your resolve, having pegged you for someone who would flee at the mere mention of demons. "You've got some backbone," Heeseung remarks, his grin widening as he observes your defiance, "I like that."

His words catch you off guard, a mixture of surprise and curiosity flickering in your eyes. Despite the gravity of the situation, you can't help but feel a small swell of pride at his unexpected approval.

“So? The others?”

“No, the others actually asked for my help, Sunghoon was practically crying out and begging to be saved from his cell in hell,” Heeseung explains as he reminisces about his first encounter with Sunghoon.

You nod slowly, trying to wrap your head around the revelation, “So he is a demon?” you mumble to yourself, looking down at the ground. Honestly, you should have known, he fucks you like he was part of the incubus club. Yet he is also so tender in his actions, he helps you out and makes sure you’re okay, gives you forehead kisses and aftercare - it doesn’t scream evil.

Clicking his fingers, Heeseung points them at you, a mischievous wink fluttering over to you, “Bingo. Sunghoon used to be a soldier, serving under one of the rulers in hell, Dis. The guy was made from remains of Lucifer, the Devil, whatever you want to call him, and because of that, he thought he was some big shot, ordering his soldiers to do horrific things, things even I wouldn’t do.”

You stand wide-eyed, taking in his words. You can't help but feel sorrow for Sunghoon, knowing how tormented he must have been in the depths of hell. It's an odd realisation to feel pity for a demon who you know must be bad enough to be prevented from entering Heaven.

"He couldn’t bear the torture anymore and he rebelled against Dis. Sunghoon has always despised authority; his only desire is to be in control, making him public enemy number one in the underworld. Ever been to jail in hell?" it's a rhetorical question because of course you haven’t, but you shake your head answering anyway. “Yeah, it’s not pretty. Sunghoon managed to contact me, pleading to do anything to escape. Hence, here he is.”

“What did he have to sacrifice? Or do you only make deals with angels?” you blurt out unintentionally, your distaste for Heeseung's methods bubbling to the surface.

“I’d watch that fucking tongue of yours before I tear it out and feed it to the dogs.”

Heeseung's threat hangs heavy in the air, his words laced with a chilling intensity that raises goosebumps over your body. You swallow hard, the weight of his gaze bearing down on you.

Clearing your throat, you attempt to steer the conversation back on track, knowing there is so much more to uncover, "I’m sorry, Heeseung," you say, your voice steady despite the tremor of uncertainty lingering within you, "I just want to understand.”

Heeseung appears satisfied with your apology, though his next words still carry a warning tone, “I heard a rumour you were a good girl. If you want to keep that reputation, I suggest you zip it.” Your cheeks flushed crimson, memories of your nights with Jongseong flooding your mind. You recalled the countless times he had called you his good girl, his perfect angel.

He continues, delving into the details of his arrangement with Sunghoon. "Sunghoon gave me his powers and his word," he explained, his tone taking on a grave seriousness, "I made it clear to him that he could have paradise with a girl who wanted some direction in her life, but if he ever laid an unwanted finger on her, I would hand his head to Dis myself."

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease at the thought of the intricate power dynamics at play within the household, each member bound by their own set of rules and obligations.

“The only person he has to answer to is Soonyeol, an upgrade from being whipped and battered with iron chains, wouldn’t you say?” Heeseung steps closer, his eyes flashing with a hint of crimson, or maybe it's just your imagination. All this information must be taking its toll on you, the headache forming in your frontal lobe might be tricking your eyes.

Heeseung's piercing gaze bores into yours and you can’t shake the unsettling feeling of being scrutinised, as if he were sizing you up as his next potential victim. Despite the growing discomfort prickling at the back of your mind, you steeled yourself, maintaining a carefully constructed facade of composure to shield against falling for his traps.

“And Jongseong? He’s a demon too?” you inquire quietly.

“Baby, he’s the furthest thing from it. In fact, you must have some powers of your own to get him to fuck you,” Heeseung responds with a scoff, his laughter ringing with a hint of mockery. He shakes his head, a sardonic smirk playing on his lips as he contemplates the notion of you and Jongseong together.

Heeseung's amusement fades into a knowing smile as he watches your face turn to confusion, "Jongseong is no demon, darling. He's a full-fledged guardian angel, just like Jaeyun was supposed to be," he explains, rendering you shocked.

Everything about Jongseong falls into place; how he's been looking after you from the very beginning, with his caring demeanour, always urging you to do what’s best, and his unwavering efforts to provide comfort and ease. It's just who he is.

As you reflect on Jongseong's constant care and support, a sense of gratitude washes over you. Jongseong has remained a steadfast presence, guiding you through the labyrinth of this otherworldly realm; he didn’t have to show you the altar or delve into how they were summoned, but he did to ease your mind, all the while shielding you from its evil secrets. It’s not that he didn’t want to tell you, it’s that he was protecting you from the hell of it all.

But if he is a guardian angel, he is too good to be here with a demon and a lost soul.

“Then why is he here? Shouldn’t he be the guardian of his human or something-” Just as the sentence passes your lips, your mouth falls open, eyes popping out of your head as you answer your own question, “He is Soonyeol’s guardian angel, isn’t he?”

Heeseung smiles proudly and claps his hands once. "You are one smart cookie," he observes, his tone without sarcasm for once. 

“Shouldn’t guardian angels be silent? Like a gut feeling?” 

Heeseung answers you with a casual shrug, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, "Yeah, hence the doll costume. Actually…it's my fault he's stuck like that," he admits, his face scrunched up as he contemplates whether you will find his actions disconcerting or admirable. "Soonyeol wasn't listening to his pleas, she ignored her instinct, so he made himself visible - which by the way is a number one no-no up there,” he points out before continuing, “he wanted to warn her of the consequences of her actions. As a result, he lost his wings, God cut the tie between them and demoted him to a simple heaven walker. It was all quite a scandal.”

You don’t know what to say, how can you say anything when all you want to do is curse out everyone who had a part to play in Soonyeol and Jongseong’s parting?

“Then he tried to see her again, defying God and his stupid ‘disapproving actions have consequences’ bullshit. Jongseong was deemed to be sinful and therefore, poof,” Heeseung explains further, twinkling his fingers as if it were a cloud of smoke, “He was banished to heaven’s wasteland forever.”

Amusement that seems to dance in Heeseung's eyes feels wrong as if there's a sick happiness he derives from Jongseong's misery. You know angels and demons have never seen eye to eye but they are close enough to call one another ‘brother’, surely that has to stand for some sympathy?

Sensing your disapproval, Heeseung wipes the smile from his face, his demeanour turning cold. "Judge me all you want, Baby, but I helped him get her back," he asserts, his voice dripping with venom, "Without me, he wouldn't be near her." There's a bitter edge to his tone, a hint of resentment seeping through his words.

"God wanted Jongseong to never see her again, but I knew that would hurt her," he continues, his eyes flashing with intensity, "A guardian angel and their human have a bond that is stronger than any love you can even imagine, especially when they come into contact. He couldn’t live without her, his desperate longing ached so loud that’s all I could fucking hear for weeks. So I got him out of that heaven hole and brought him closer to her than he ever was."

The raw emotion in Heeseung's words sends a chill down your spine, his bitterness and resentment palpable in the air. You feel for Jongseong, caught in the crossfire of divine politics and human emotions. He only wanted to protect her and he got scolded for it, reprimanded for fulfilling his duty to her, that part is tripping you up the most. Well, that and one other thing.

"This is so confusing," you exclaim, rubbing your temples in frustration. "So it's your fault he's the doll because? Surely the real reason would be whatever he was trying to protect her from, the thing that caused him to show himself."

With a smirk, Heeseung nods, pointing to himself. "Yeah, that was me," he admits unabashedly, "She was summoning me." 

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at Heeseung's admission. "She was summoning you?" you repeat, incredulous.

Heeseung nods, his smirk widening into a joyful grin. "Yep," he confirms, pride creeping into his tone. "She called, and I answered.”

The implications of Heeseung's revelation leave you speechless. Soonyeol's actions inadvertently set off a chain of events that ultimately led to Jongseong's downfall. It's a sobering reminder of the unpredictable nature of their world and the consequences of meddling with forces beyond control.

"Why you?" you finally manage to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung steps forward, closing the distance between you with an unsettling grace. His presence looms over you, casting a shadow of unease, "I suppose I should formally introduce myself," he says, bowing his head with a wicked grin, "I'm Heeseung, formally known as Beelzebub. 

I'm a Prince of Hell."

The world spins groggily around you, your limbs going numb as the weight of his words hangs heavy in the air. You find yourself at a loss, grappling with the realisation that you've been living with none other than the Lord of the Flies himself.

Beelzebub, one of the seven Princes of Hell, holds a position of immense power and authority in the underworld. As the third in command, he wields influence and dominion over legions of demons, surpassing even the mightiest of Archangels in strength and cunning.

Despite your limited knowledge of demonology, you understand enough to know that Beelzebub is not to be trifled with. His name alone strikes fear into the hearts of humans and angels alike, a testament to his formidable reputation and malevolent nature.

As Heeseung's hand brushes against your cheek, a reflexive flinch courses through you. "Don't be scared of me now, Baby," he says, a sly grin playing at the corners of his lips. There's a hint of amusement in his tone as he relishes the unease he elicits from you, "I'm actually enjoying your questions. Go on, hit me with another one." 

He is far too casual about this, then again, he has known of his identity forever so he has no reason to be startled.

You hesitate, unsure of what question to pose next. The revelation of Heeseung's true identity has left your mind reeling, your heart pounding in your chest, and palms sweaty. There’s no doubt he senses how your nerves are rattled, that smug look on his face says it all. 

But you need answers so you compose yourself and pull up your big girl pants.

Gathering your thoughts, you finally muster the courage to speak, swallowing the lump in your throat, “Why did Soonyeol summon you?”

His facial expression shifts from smug to something softer, a hint of fondness flickering in his eyes as he reminisces about Soonyeol and their relationship. "She called me," he begins, his voice carrying a note of nostalgia, "A young girl who couldn’t find her place in the world. All she wanted was to be lifted from her toxic family and find the serenity she needed."

"And you granted her wish?" you prompt, eager to understand the dynamics of their relationship and the extent of Heeseung's influence over Soonyeol's life.

Heeseung nods, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I did, I gave her all of this," he confirms, his voice tinged with a mixture of pride and affection as he gestures around him, speaking of the house and the dolls which live in it, "I offered her a way out, a chance to escape her past and forge a new destiny. And in return, she granted me her loyalty, devotion, and eventually, her soul."

The discovery of Soonyeol’s past leaves you reeling, your perception of her shifting in an instant. Here you were, thinking she was all-powerful and commanding, when in reality, she was just a scared girl in her twenties. The thought of what she must have endured, what drove her to call upon a demon for help, fills you with a profound sense of empathy and compassion.

If Heeseung granted Soonyeol her deepest desires, if he offered her a way out of her suffering, then what does that say about his own motivations? After all, as a Prince of Hell, he could have chosen to do whatever he pleased. Yet, he chose to stay loyal to Soonyeol.

Then, just like that, it hits you: he must love her in some capacity. It's the only explanation for his unwavering loyalty, for his willingness to sacrifice some of his own freedom for her sake.

You breathe out softly, nodding as you agree with your mind, “You love her, don’t you? That’s why you stick around and give her anything she wants, even if that means letting herself indulge in more than just you.”

He scoffs and laughs loudly, making you jump back slightly, “Y/N, this isn’t a soppy fairytale or one of your romance novels. I’m a Prince of Hell, not Prince Charming. I’m incapable of love,” his face is bright, tittering at even the implication, “I am fond of her though, I will admit. She has a charm about her that intrigues me.”

“Then why do you stay, fondness isn’t enough to stay in this house,” you question, a little more confident now that his protective guard is down. 

He pauses, mulling over your question before responding, “I promised I would give her what she needs, and she needs me,” he explains, his voice taking on a lower, more intimate tone. As he moves closer to you, his signature smirk returns, “And I don’t break my promises, Y/N.”

You tremble a little, the lowering octave in his voice causes your knees to quake and heart to still. As Heeseung's body towers closer, you find yourself captivated by the intensity in his gaze, the allure of his enigmatic persona drawing you in like a moth to a flame. 

His menacing smirk widens as he watches your reaction, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something you can't quite decipher. Just being this close to him is making your body react in a way it shouldn’t, your thighs rubbing together as he looks into your eyes, seeking to find out what’s going on in your brain.

And unfortunately for you, he’s good at picking up your signals.

"What do you need, Y/N? Let me help you," he murmurs, his voice a soothing melody that resonates deep within you. You take a step back, intending to create some distance between you, but your legs betray you, colliding with the edge of the bed and sending you stumbling backwards.

Just as you brace for impact, Heeseung is there, his strong arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. His touch is electrifying, sending a jolt of warmth through your veins as he steadies you effortlessly. "See? You can trust me," he reassures, his voice low and hypnotic as he holds you close.

His words slice through the air like a siren's call, drawing you nearer despite the warning bells in your mind. As Heeseung's eyes lock with yours, vulnerability washes over you, a desire to confide in him, to bare the depths of your desires.

“I know what you want anyway. Your soul has been calling out for it. I can hear you crying out, just like I did the others,” his grip on your waist tightens.

You stay still, pondering his words. How can he hear your soul’s desires when you’ve been grappling and searching to figure out what you want your entire life? You moved to the big city for university because you thought it was a sure cut way to achieve fulfilment, only to find unhappiness. You entered relationships yearning for love, only to hide away from the commitment when it all got too real.

In all your existence, you have never known what you want.

But he does, you can see it in his eyes, “What do I want, Heeseung?” you ask both curiously and longingly, hoping he can shed some light upon you.

“You want this life, with us,” Heeseung says matter of factly, his eyes tracing the contours of your face as the scared expression turns into one of perplexion, “Don’t you see it? How you took Soonyeol’s place so easily, falling into her role like you were born to be ours, like we were made for you.”

His words linger, thick with insinuation. You study his eyes for signs of deception, but all you see is sincerity, a profound conviction that sends shivers down your spine because deep down within you, you know it’s true too.

Ever since you set foot in this house, you've felt it - a subtle shift in the air, a stirring of something dormant within you. In the city, you lived in a tiny flat, unemployed and miserable, your only solace found in the familiar glow of your television screen as you binge-watched your favourite shows for the umpteenth time.

But here, in the mansion, it's different. Cleaning its halls and tending to the dolls and their needs, it's given you a purpose you thought you had lost along the way. Each day brings with it a renewed sense of fulfilment, a feeling of being truly alive in a way you haven't felt in years.

You want this life, you’ve fallen in love with its routine and stability, how each day you wake up and roam the halls, admiring the artwork and serenity in the echoes of your footsteps. The silence of it all makes your heart weep with joy, the boys you have come to cherish - even now, despite knowing about their supernatural entities and the mass power they hold - you love them dearly.

Heeseung, as if reading your mind, smirks and licks his lips, “You feel alive, don’t you?” He knows you do, he can see it in your eyes and the feel of your blood rushing along your veins. Mia was right when she said you were glowing all but two weeks ago. You’re radiant, like you have your own personal sun perched upon your shoulder, giving you an incandescent glow.

You’re finally happy.

“You also want one more thing,” Heeseung’s voice is a mere whisper now, his lips tantalisingly close to yours. Your pupils dilate as you lock eyes with him, his presence drawing you in as if he's reaching into the depths of your soul, rummaging around inside to pull you apart, “You’ve been craving me.”

A visceral energy electrifies every nerve ending in your body as he speaks, the expectation crackling in the air. You're standing on the verge of something exciting and new, and it feels like time has stopped still. The intensity of his stare searing into yours, the heat of his fingers against your back as he dips them up your shirt makes you shakily exhale the breath you were holding.

He rubs his beautiful, sharp nose against yours, closing his eyes as he reads further into your heart, “You feel like you’re missing out on me," he murmurs, his voice dripping with sinister undertones, because he knows he has you exactly where he wants you.

It’s embarrassing but it’s true, even if you don’t wish to admit it to yourself. You don’t want to seem ungrateful to the other three because truly they have given you everything you could ever need; but no amount of fulfilment from them can stop your aching body, wanting nothing more than to have the doll in front of you, the one who is currently holding you so tightly that you should feel trapped, yet you’ve never felt more liberated.

As his arms tighten around you, holding you in a suffocating grip, you find your voice trembling with desire and uncertainty, "You never showed any interest in me. I didn’t think you wanted me." 

A wicked grin twists across Heeseung's lips, his eyes glinting with malice as he leans down to your neck, licking a long stripe up your jugular, savouring your taste on his tongue. He can’t stop the rumble of a chuckle coming from his chest.

“Baby, you just seemed to be having such a good time with my brothers; who was I to deny them your presence?” Heeseung nips are your skin, eliciting a moan from your dry throat. The air around you both is stifling, the atmosphere heavy with want and greed because you both know what is about to happen, even if you want to stop it - which you don’t.

Heeseung’s allure is too powerful for you to deny, it’s easy to see how Soonyeol got sucked in so easily, wanting him in her life and summoning him here forever. His touch though, is another level of intoxication entirely. His large hands roam your body with a possessiveness that sends your mind reeling, drowning in a sea of exhilaration.

As you part your lips to speak, Heeseung watches you with predatory patience, knowing that whatever words escape your mouth, they will only serve to further his agenda. In this moment, you are merely a pawn in his twisted game, powerless to defy the inexorable pull of his dark charisma.

“Jongseong said you don’t like to be last,” you say, discretely questioning his reasoning for not coming into contact with you sooner.

Laughing, Heeseung shakes his head with a sinister delight. His bottom lip grazes up your chin, dragging closer until it hovers mere millimetres from your mouth, “Oh, he couldn’t be more wrong. I wanted you to experience them first and let them have some fun with you,” he presses you harshly against him, letting you feel his thick cock against your heat, causing you to whimper slightly, much to his approval.

He kisses your lips every so lightly, your instincts to chase his mouth with yours only adding to his amusement. You’re such a strong-willed girl, he knows that by how he has observed you and how long you have remained in this house despite the constant terror and unease it has bestowed upon you. So to see you utterly weak like this is fueling his desire like crazy.

You look at him, waiting for him to talk again and say anything that would give you both the green light to divulge your sins.

“I let them have you because if I got to you first,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, and you can feel the smugness radiating from him, "You wouldn’t have even looked their fucking way."

Heat surges through you, an uncomfortable arousal that threatens to overwhelm you as you struggle to contain the torrent of desire within you. It's as if every inch of your skin is on fire, and you long to shed it all off your bones just to cool the burning sensation. The wetness between your legs is undeniable as it practically runs down your thighs.

Your heart pounds in sync with the rhythm of his kisses trailing along your neck and jawline and your hands clench at your sides, tension and lust swirling within you. If this is going to happen, it's going to happen now, forcing you to confront the question that looms over you like a dark cloud,

Are you going to fuck a Prince from Hell?

There are so many wrongs to counteract the rightness of this moment, knowing that this is territory foreign to the others you’ve laid with. They might be celestial beings but Heeseung is a God in his own right and he fucking knows it.

You can feel his amusement radiating off him as he watches you struggle with your inner thoughts, relishing in your torment as you wrestle with the pros and cons of surrendering to him completely. But amidst the chaos of your thoughts, one thing remains clear:

You want him. More than anything, you want to give in to the temptation that beckons you toward him, to lose yourself in the darkness that surrounds him. And as you meet his gaze with unwavering determination, you know that no matter the consequences, you're ready to embrace the inferno that awaits.

“So…can I ruin them for you?”

He looks at you using the triangle method and you almost physically fall to your knees, each time his eyes dart between your mouth and eyes, you feel saliva forming at the corner of your lip, lustfully loving his hooded eyes as he stares down at you. The way he assesses you, with a predatory focus that makes your heart race, leaves you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

But you want to fuck him so bad, you think you might die.

With a skip of your heart, you nod, surrendering to the inevitable. It's all the confirmation Heeseung needs and in an instant, his lips crash down on yours, a collision that would make Asmodeus jealous.

His touch is paradoxical, you can feel the roughness of his grip on your right tit, a stark contrast to the tenderness of his lips, and it only serves to heighten the intensity of the moment. It’s obvious you're not alone in your craving; Heeseung has been consumed by thoughts of you since the first moment he laid eyes on you, a primal urge driving him to mark you as his own.

And as you lose yourself in the heat of the moment, you know that there's no turning back.

"I'm gonna fucking destroy every other man for you," he growls before roughly pushing you onto the bed, the severity of which causes you whiplash. 

In urgency, Heeseung hastily works to remove your bottoms, his hands precise with anticipation, making sure he doesn’t lose another second. The fabric slides off your hips with ease, revealing the glistening wetness between your thighs and the cold air kisses your exposed cunt, making you shiver.

Heeseung's middle finger traces along your folds, collecting some of your slick arousal and spreading it with sinful precision, applying pressure on points you’re sensitive. As he teases you, his voice drips with a mixture of amusement and wicked desire.

"Your cunt is drooling over a demon, are you not embarrassed?" he taunts, his words laced with a dark edge that ignites a fierce blush on your cheeks. What’s worse is that his mockery only serves to stoke the lust within you, your hole clenching involuntarily in response.

Unfortunately for you, he notices, his chuckle knowing. "I do love a girl with no shame," he mumbles, his voice thick as he revels in the sight of your unabashed arousal.

With a predatory glint in his eyes, Heeseung wastes no time diving in, his mouth and tongue delving into your slick folds with a hunger that borders on ravenous. The sensation is overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over you as he explores every inch of your dripping sex with unrestrained fervour.

His movements are uninhibited, his tongue tracing erratic patterns against your sensitive nub as he seeks to consume you entirely. Each wet, sloppy lick and suck sends sparks of ecstasy shooting through your body, building the tension to an almost unbearable peak.

In the throes of pleasure, your instinctive reach to grab Heeseung's hair proves to be your first mistake. Before your fingers can even brush against his roots, he retaliates with a harsh bite on your clit, causing you to recoil with a cry, tears welling in your eyes.

“I didn’t say you could touch me, did I?” he warns, his mouth still wet with your juices as he looks up at you with a mix of dominance and satisfaction.

The memory of your first encounter with Jongseong floods your mind, the way he punished you for your disobedience is still vivid in your memory. It was meant to deter you from acting out, and in his case, it did. But now, with Heeseung, the desire to be reprimanded once again ignites within you, a need that demands satisfaction. 

Jongseong awakened something inside of you, a craving for submission and punishment that you never knew existed. And now, with Heeseung, you yearn to explore it on a new level, one that a sweet angel like Jongseong is too kind to deliver. 

It’s exciting and foolish all at once.

Gently, you run your hands through his hair, feeling the texture of it between your fingers as you grasp at his roots. 

Heeseung's reaction is immediate, his body tensing at your touch even as a low growl rumbles in his chest. But instead of pulling away, he leans into your touch, his tough facade cracking ever so slightly as a faint tremor runs through him. It's a fleeting moment of vulnerability, a crack in the armour he wears so proudly.

For a brief instant, you glimpse the man behind the Prince of Hell, a creature of darkness with desires and needs of his own. You ponder if this is what Soonyeol gives him, if that is why he is so reluctant to enjoy your comforting touch.

But before you can think much more about it, he reacts with swift brutality, sinking his teeth harshly down on your clit once more. The pain is searing, a sharp shock that tears a cry of both pain and pleasure from your lips. It's a punishment, yes, but one that you oh so desperately want.

His teeth sink in with immense force that causes you so much pain you try to escape, kicking your legs to scramble from him. But that only makes things worse as he grips your thighs with might to hold you in place, bruises and indents already forming under his nails. He adds a cruel twist, pulling at your bug sharply, causing your hips to rise instinctively towards his mouth in a futile attempt to ease the agony.

But Heeseung isn't fooled by your subtle movements. He catches on quickly, his grip tightening on your clit before he roughly pushes you down onto the bed, his palm pressing forcefully into your stomach to keep you in place.

"Don't make me rip it off," he growls, his eyes blazing with a volatile mix of anger and lust. It's a warning laced with danger, a reminder of the power he wields over you, “You’re so good for Jongseong, his…what did he call you? his ‘good little girl’, was that it?” he asks you with a condescending tone.

How did he know about that?

Your eyes widen and he idly rubs your pussy painfully slowly, sighing out loud with over-exaggeration, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Heeseung's knowledge of your intimate dynamics with Jongseong sends a shiver down your spine. His fingers, though moving torturously slowly, ignite sensations that both excite and terrify you. 

“What? You thought you could call upon the entirety of Hell and word wouldn’t get back to me?”

That night when Jongseong set your underwear ablaze and used your essence as a way to reach the pits below you. They heard it all; your whimpering and moaning for the angel, how you begged him to fuck you, and how he called you his good girl.

Which means Heeseung heard it all…

Spitting on your pussy, he licks it back up, the white foam sitting on his tongue as he draws it back into his mouth slowly. It’s another way of torturing you, of giving you a piece of him while just as quickly taking it away.

“If you can be a good girl for him, why aren’t you being one for me?” Heeseung's faux pout and slumped shoulders mask the dominance in his tone. With each flick of his finger, he revives the pain back onto your rose, denying you any reprieve.

You whimper with each taunt, wishing he would just go back to sucking your clit, to lick the wounds he created - but this is what you get when you play with fire.

Breathing out slowly, you nod, relenting your notion to be punished…for now.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be good,” you say sorrowfully, thrusting your clit up as you serve yourself to him on a plate.

Heeseung pauses, his expression shifting as he considers your apology. For a moment, it seems as though he might relent, his features softening with the faintest hint of hesitation. But then, with a wicked glint in his eyes, he shakes his head slowly.

"You know," he muses, his voice dripping with amusement, "I've always had a preference for bad girls." You almost moan out loud, the way his voice changed gear from one of anger to one so sultry you can forecast rain for the next two days.

He kisses your clit softly and slowly with his petal-soft lips. The lewd sounds of his mouth combined with your wetness elicit tiny whines from your lips, creating a symphony of want and distress. It's an ennui unlike any other you've ever known, a dizzying combination of pleasure and agony that leaves you wanting more.

Heeseung's lips dip lower, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he explores every inch of your quivering flesh. He revels in the power he holds over you, relishing in the way your body responds to his touch.

"You want more, don’t you?" Heeseung's voice is a low murmur against your skin as he continues his tormenting actions. Each kiss, each caress sends ripples of sensation through you, building the tension to unbearable heights.

Before you can render yourself to say anything, he delves back in, his tongue now swirling in your hole, like he’s digging for treasure. You grasp desperately at the sheets beneath you, your nails digging into the fabric as you surrender yourself to the overwhelming ecstasy of his touch. 

What doesn’t help is when you look down at him and see him smirking up at you, rubbing his nose against your clit. It’s enough to make your eyes roll back and your legs seize up.

“Oh god, Heeseung..." you moan, the words escaping your lips in a breathless whisper as pleasure washes over you in waves.

He draws back, his eyes ablaze with raw desire, "That's right, baby," he growls, his voice dripping with dominance. "I am your God now."

As you close your eyes, you suddenly feel two of his fingers delving into you, the sensation causing your back to arch, thus, pushing your heat further into his face. Everything you are experiencing right now is so overwhelming, there is no let-up and you think this is both the most painful and best you have ever felt.

Heeseung’s concentration is solely on you cumming undone, wanting only to see your face when you are overcome with bliss. He has had to spend 6 weeks or so listening to his brothers talk about how beautiful and ethereal you look as the whites of your eyes take over; now it’s his turn.

Curling his fingers inside you, he beckons your orgasm forward, pushing against the spongy flesh of your walls, his middle digit hitting deliciously against a soft spot while he flicks his tongue over your bud. You wriggle beneath him, soft moans escaping your lips as you feel your tummy coil.

Heeseung's efforts are rewarded as your body responds to his touch, pleasure building to a crescendo until it explodes within you. With a crying scream, you call out his name, your thighs instinctively clamping around his head as you ride the waves of ecstasy crashing over you.

Your body arches, seeking both escape from his relentless touch and yet craving more of the intoxicating sensation he provides. In that moment of release, you are utterly and completely lost to him, surrendering yourself to the overwhelming pleasure he elicits from you.

Out of every orgasm you’ve had, this is the one that has rendered you completely dumb, incapable of doing anything more than panting and twitching.

But Heeseung doesn't grant you a moment to catch your breath. Even as your body shudders with the aftershocks of your climax, he commands you, his voice laced with authority. "Sit up," he orders, his tone brooking no argument as he guides you into a sitting position, his hand gripped tight in your hair as he yanks you forward. The air crackles with anticipation as you have no choice but to comply, “Strip me, baby.”

Without a second thought, you mindlessly rise to your feet, your fingers fumbling eagerly with the hem of Heeseung's loose white t-shirt. In one swift motion, you pull it over his head and toss it aside, your gaze hungrily tracing the contours of his bare chest. You want nothing more than to touch him, to caress his delicate skin with your hands, but you’re scared it’ll temper him into ripping all of this away from you.

Returning to sit on the bed with renewed enthusiasm, you focus your attention on his baggy grey joggers, swiftly untying the strings and pulling them down to reveal his naked form beneath. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of his arousal, his impressive length standing semi-hard before you.

Without hesitation, you reach out and grasp his cock, feeling the heat of his faux skin beneath your fingertips. With a sense of urgency, you press your lips to his flushed tip, desperate to taste him before he can deny you the pleasure.

You lick at his shaft like he’s a frozen popsicle on a swarming hot summer day, your need driving your hurry as you coat him in saliva. The more you lick, the harder he gets and his throat has to hold back groans.

Heeseung's initial instinct is to reprimand you for your boldness, for daring to take control in such a way, but unlike Jongseong, he has little self-control, the pleasure he’s feeling as your mouth envelopes him fully is more than enough cause to let you continue. 

As his mouth relaxes and his eyes screw shut, you take advantage of the opportunity to explore him further, dropping your head to focus on his balls. The sensation is amazing, sending pleasure-filled sparks through his body as he surrenders part of himself to you. 

You’re so drunk on his cock right now that you don’t even care how desperate you look, you just need him in every way possible. If he asked, you would probably fuck him in his demon form;  as long as you could taste him on your tongue, that is all that matters.

Heeseung pushes your head back abruptly, his fingernails digging deep into your scalp, causing a disgruntled whine to fall from your mouth. 

The throbbing between your legs beats loudly in your eardrums as you look up and see his eyes, that same red flickering behind his pupils except this time, they swirl with a deep black cloud. You can tell he’s aching to be released from the confines of the doll suit, to break free and absolutely devour you in his true form. 

You should feel scared, petrified even, yet you only long for him more.

“You’ll never make it to heaven with a tongue like that, Baby.” 

His words, spoken with a hint of warning, only serve to fuel the fire burning within you, "What makes you think I want to go to heaven?" you retort, your voice dripping with desire and defiance.

With a sly smirk, Heeseung leans in closer, sending shivers down your spine, "Maybe you prefer the flames of hell," he murmurs, his tone laced with dark promise, "And I'll be more than happy to escort you there myself."

Heeseung's hand grips your hair with a firmness that borders on possessive. He then thrusts his cock into your mouth with commanding force, the sudden intrusion eliciting a gasp of surprise from you, causing you to choke slightly.

But that doesn’t stop him, instead, he just continues to batter your throat with his length brutally, each punch of his hips only further bruising your oesophagus. Tears well up in your eyes as you struggle to breathe. Yet, why do you love it? The feeling of your world almost going black, the way your body tightens around nothing but the desire to breathe, it’s deadly but you couldn’t be more alive.

Feeling you splurt out tiny breathes around his dick as you gasp for air, Heeseung pulls your head back, letting oxygen breathe back into your lungs.

He takes the moment to admire you; your hair tousled in his hands, your mascara smudging slightly around your eyes, and the spit mixed with some beads of his precum sliding slowly down your chin. You’re angelic, demonic, and everything he could ever want right now.

You’re so horny that not having his cock filling up one of your holes is leaving you whimpering, tears forming in your eyes - not from pain but need. You need to feel him in some way, you are starving for him, and one more second without tasting him might send you into madness.

And Heeseung knows it, he can hear your greatest, deepest desires after all. The thought of you under his spell without him using a single persuasive tactic is euphoric to him. Through the years, Soonyeol has grown accustomed to him, expecting his demanding nature but never truly worshipping him the way he wants; not the way you are right now.

This might only be for tonight but he will try and make it last an eternity.

Huffing out in frustration, you grow tired of waiting for Heeseung to make his move, opting instead to brush your face across his throbbing cock. The sensation of his velvety shaft against your cheeks is phenomenal, the need for contact driving you to this demoralising state. 

Closing your eyes, you relish in the tactile sensation, savouring the moment of intimacy as you slap his cock against your cheek and mouth. The hunger within you demands satisfaction, and you're willing to take whatever scraps of pleasure you can get, even if it's just the simple touch of his arousal against your skin.

“You’re so fucking filthy, baby,” he growls, his eyes blown in ecstasy while he watches you lather yourself with his member, “Are you that much of a cockslut?”

Absentmindedly you nod, owning up to the degrading nickname because, at the end of the day, that is exactly what you are right now; a cockslut, an ever-needing, desperate cockslut for none other than the high-ranking Prince of Hell.

Nudging your nose with his tip, you beg him like a dog to let go of your hair and stuff your mouth full once again. The mewls leaving your mouth flood Heeseung’s ears and he understands that you’re too far gone to form a sentence, so he grants your wish and shoves himself back into you.

His hips buck forward with a fierce urgency that sends your head shaking with each forceful thrust. The intensity of his movements makes your eyes roll back, driving you deeper into a state of arousal as you struggle to keep up with his rhythm.

But with your mouth full, your pussy is feeling dangerously left out, your entire heat seeking some form of release. Without realising it, you start to hump the air, moving your hips as though you were grinding on his cock.

Heeseung's movements falter for a moment as he notices your struggle to find complete pleasure. With a low grow, he halts his thrusts, his gaze intense as he takes in your flushed cheeks and heaving chest.

“Look at you,” he points out, shaking his head in feigned disbelief, watching as your juices leak out your cunt, staining his sheets a darker shade.

Smirking, he places his foot on the edge of the bed, pressing ever so lightly onto your dripping heat. You gasp and pop off his cock, looking down as you see your way to much-needed relief. Heeseung steps on you roughly, offering you a sturdy anchor which you eagerly accept. Despite the pain as the ball of his foot presses against your clit, you push your body against it, relishing in the firmness of his sole against your skin; you’ll take any relief you can get.

Every movement sends a surge of electric pleasure coursing through you, the friction between your bodies. You grind against him with increasing intensity, your hips undulating in perfect rhythm with his foot as you chase after the elusive peak of ecstasy.

“Keep sucking it or I’ll take it away,” he warns, tapping his cock on your gaped mouth

The chilling warning from Heeseung serves as a reminder of the balance between pleasure and punishment. Taking his cock back into your mouth with newfound vitality, you return to your task with a sense of urgency. The taste of him is intoxicating, fueling your urge to please him and avoid the consequences of disobedience. You do not want him to take anything away from you.

He moves in tandem with your hips, bringing you closer and closer to the edge as you fuck yourself shamelessly on his foot as if you were a wanton whore in heat. Your hands gripping his leg for more leverage, seeking another release as fast as possible.

Humming around his length in a high-pitched cry, you climax violently, your impulse to thrust forward only shoving his cock farther into your throat, stretching it wide in ways you don't believe is humanly possible. 

"Fuck-" Heeseung groans, the sound raw as he releases his thick ropes of cum down your throat, your climax setting off a chain reaction. His mouth hangs wide open as his throbbing shaft finds home in your canal, his eyebrows furrowed together as he loses himself. He can’t help but think what your perfect little pussy feels like as you cum, how it would squeeze him tighter than your throat can.

You are swimming in a pool of pure fire as you lose yourself to the engulfing of pleasure, riding his foot through your climax while swallowing his seed. This is a feeling you will never experience with any other man and you know now what he meant when he said you would never have looked at the others if he had his way with you first.

When both of your minds clear and your lungs are screaming out for oxygen, you pop off his cock, giving it an adoring kiss as a thank you for what has just happened and what it is about to do to you.

Looking down at you, Heeseung marvels at your display of gratitude, wishing every human was as worshipful. 

“I’d love to rip that soul from your body and stuff you in a doll suit so I can fuck you forever.”

His admission catches you both off guard, the silence of the afternoon lying dormant around the room. Did he mean that? Did he want to take your soul and keep you? It’s plausible considering his history but to hear it being said about you makes your blood run cold.

But at this moment, if he asked you to let him in and take you, you might just let him - or maybe it was the emptiness of your cunt that was talking.

“I don’t need to be a doll to fuck until the moon shines and the sunrises,” you whisper, your lust completely taking over your body. The once timid and unsure version of yourself has faded into oblivion, replaced by someone bold, relentless, and consumed by the craving to be stuffed with his cock.

He audibly groans, hearing how keen you are for him to devour you, not even put off by his threatening admission just moments earlier. Rolling his eyes to the back of his head and shaking his thoughts, Heeseung lifts your chin and pulls on your bottom lip, staring at you as he figures out exactly how he wants you. He swipes his tongue along the corner of his mouth, “I’m going to hold you to that, baby. Get on all fours,” he instructs.

Doing as he says, you turn around and drop to your hands and knees, offering yourself up to him as your heart pounds in your chest in exhilaration. You wiggle your ass a bit, hoping he'll take the hint and dive in, fucking you as hard and fast as he so wishes. 

Your ass is so perfect and plump he can’t help but grab at it, using his strong hands to knead your cheeks, pressing and pulling them apart as he takes quick glances at both of your holes. He wishes he had two cocks just to utterly destroy you with, each of your entrances filled with him as he pounds into you. Unfortunately, he only has one right now and he knows it’s your cunt that needs him the most, so he’ll save that idea for another time.

Grasping his cock, he slides it up and down your ass, shallowly tapping it to get him hard again, but with the way you’re already grasping the sheets in anticipation and your cunt is soaked with need, it doesn’t take him long. Heeseung strokes himself a couple of times before resting his tip at your gaping heat, the bell turning rosé as it pushes just slightly into you.

It's agonising, the way he waits there as though he's not equally consumed by the thought of rocking your world. He's deliberately drawing it out, savouring the anticipation, revelling in the sweet sound of your pleas, knowing that your cries for him are his ultimate desire fulfilled.

"Please, Heeseung," you whimper, arching your body towards him, desperate for the connection, but he always stays just out of reach, teasingly withholding what you crave.

You groan in frustration, your need for him becoming almost unbearable. He's in control, and you can't help but revel in the way he toys with you, pushing you to the brink of madness with his tantalising touch.

But there is only so much a girl can take, so with a resolute sparkle in your eyes, you make it clear that you will not be denied any longer. Ignoring his playful taunting, you reach between your bodies and direct his hardness to the entrance of your smooth heat. Swiftly, you impale yourself on him, a moan escaping your lips as you take him deep inside.

Heeseung's eyes widen in surprise, momentarily stunned by your boldness, but it's only for a minute before a wicked grin spreads across his face. You are so much more than he could have ever imagined.

Slapping your ass harshly, he hopes to still you but it only makes you rock onto him faster. You set a punishing pace, riding him with abandon, lost in the ecstasy of finally having him where you want him. 

Again, he crashes his hand painfully against your cheek but you won’t stop, you can’t, his dick is so delicious as it sucks into your cunt. Rapidly, he hits you, one, two, three, four, all in quick strikes and all you can do is clench your pussy around him and moan, picking up your pace.

“I can’t even punish you because you love it,” he notes, leaning back to observe you in awe, loving how your body is starting to flush with sweat as you work overtime to take what you need from him. 

“Fuck I wish you could see how pathetic you look right now.”

Gripping the sheets beneath you, your knuckles turn white as your chest tightens. The angle of his cock is hitting you so deliciously that you can’t even breathe properly or register a word he’s saying. All you heard was ‘pathetic’ and you agree with him because that’s how you’re backing yourself onto his long shaft.

Heeseung watches you in amazement, his own desire growing as he observes your relentless determination. "You love it, don't you?" he remarks, his voice laced with true admiration. He lets you have a few more moments of fun, clasping his hands at the back of his neck and pulling down, watching you with dangerous eyes. With the way your walls are closing in, he knows you’re close. “Tell me you love my cock.”

You nod, burying your face into the sheets as your coil threatens to snap, the harsh rhythm you set for yourself is faltering slightly as you reach your next climax. But when you don’t answer him and stroke his ego, it snaps Heeseung back into his domineering state. 

Roughly bunching up your hair, he pulls your face from the bed and leans into your ear, his chest laid flat against your back, “Fucking answer me when I speak to you. Tell me you fucking love it,” he growls out his demands, ripping some of your hair from their roots.

Your breath catches in your throat as his grip tightens, a mixture of pain and pleasure coursing through you. With a whimper, you finally concede, unable to resist his commanding presence any longer. "I love it," you gasp, your voice strained with need as you surrender to his dominance. "I love your cock so fucking much!"

A satisfied smirk spreads across Heeseung's lips as he releases your hair, his fingers trailing down your spine in a possessive caress, "That's what I thought," he murmurs, his voice sneering before pushing your head into the mattress.

From that moment on, the dynamic shifts entirely. Heeseung takes control with ruthless determination, smothering your face into the softness of the bedsheets. His strength overwhelms you as he holds you firmly in place, your features pressed into the fabric until you know you'll emerge from this session with a pounding headache.

Your muffled protests are lost in the sheets as Heeseung continues to assert his dominance, his grip unyielding. He piledrives into you, his foot now on the edge of the bed to give him more stability. His skin is furiously slapping against yours as he takes you brutally from behind.

"You wanted this, remember? Now, let me show you who's in charge."

Releasing your head, Heeseung grants you a moment to gulp in air, your chest heaving as you crave the sweet relief of oxygen. But his attention swiftly shifts, his hands now gripping your hips with a firmness that promises bruises, yet you welcome it eagerly. With each powerful thrust, he plunges deeper into you, his sizable cock filling you to the brim with each relentless motion.

With hunger burning in his eyes, Heeseung unleashes his pent-up desire upon you, each thrust a savage declaration of his dominance. The weight of his body presses you into the mattress, his strength undeniable as he takes complete control.

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips, leaving faint crescent-shaped marks in their wake, tangible evidence of his possession. Every time he thrusts, he claims you anew, his relentless rhythm driving you to the edge of sanity and pleasure.

The sound of your mingled moans fills the air, a symphony of ecstasy and pain as he pushes you to the brink and pulls you back again. Your senses are overwhelmed by the scent of sweat and sex, the slick friction of your bodies moving together in perfect synchrony. 

You’ve got a pussy that could even make demons pray, Heeseung thinks to himself. He could watch you all day, how your cunt swallows him like its sole purpose was to please his cock. But as much as he likes the shape of your body as he takes you from behind, he longs to see that pretty face of yours when you cum.

Heeseung flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him as he continues to ravish you with unrestrained passion, his hands pressing hard on your waist. Your head spins as the world shifts, your back now pressed firmly against the mattress, every inch of your skin tingling with anticipation.

His eyes fixate on your bouncing tits, a wolfish grin spreading across his lips as he watches them with rapt attention. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, instinct taking over as he becomes entranced by the sight of your pretty mounds. 

"You're so fucking gorgeous,” his voice husky with desire as he reaches out to caress your soft skin, his touch setting your nerves ablaze with longing. He seems so gentle right now, like the demon inside him has subsided. You cherish the tiny glimpses of his vulnerability, knowing they come few and far between.

The tender moment doesn’t last long though as he quickens his pace once more, the bed beneath you squeaking and whimpering along with you. 

Suddenly, his hand finds its way between your legs, his fingers deftly seeking out your clit. A sharp gasp escapes your lips as pleasure shoots through you, but before you can protest, his touch becomes too much, too overwhelming.

"It's too much," you whimper, trying to push his hand away, but he only presses harder, his grip unyielding. "Please, Heeseung, it's too-"

"Shut up," he interrupts, his voice firm and devilish as he continues to play with you, driving you closer to the edge with each relentless stroke. "You love it, and you know it."

And you do, you love it so much more than you can even describe. Your body stiffens as you feel yourself about to experience your nth orgasm. Honestly, you’ve lost track of how many it is now, the whole night blending into one big bout of pleasure.

You arch your back as his bell strokes right along your soft spot, causing a wave of ecstasy to wash over you, your mouth opens as you let out an earth-shattering cry, “Holy fuck, Heeseung!” 

But he shows no signs of slowing down, his movements becoming even more relentless as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. And then, with a primal roar, you feel it - the sudden, intense release as pleasure explodes within you, shooting through your body like a bolt of lightning.

Heeseung thinks, no, he knows this is what heaven looks like, it has to be; the way your body opens up as wide as it can go, laying yourself bare like this while chanting a ritual of profanities. You look like you’re being exorcised and it’s so fucking hot to him.

What he takes a minute to notice though, is how his stomach and arm are being covered in your release, pouring out of you so perfectly as you bathe him in your essence. You’re squirting for him. 

Smirking, he doesn’t let up the flicks to your clit or the pointed thrusts into your pussy, he wants to see how long this can last.

As you thrash beneath him, Heeseung lifts your hips higher with his left arm, driving into you with even greater force, his movements relentless as he seeks to elicit every last drop of pleasure from you. With each thrust, your juices flow even more freely, coating him in a slick sheen of your arousal.

"Holy hell, Baby," he breathes, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches you squirm beneath him. "Look at you baptising me."

He chuckles to himself, the sound a mix of amusement and arousal as he revels in the sensation of being drenched in your ecstasy. If this was the holy water people spoke about, he might just turn up to church every Sunday.

The tears falling from your eyes at the overstimulation tell him it’s time to drive it home, to finally let go and satisfy his own needs once again. Slowly, he shifts his weight, positioning himself for the final act of surrender. With each deliberate movement, he inches closer to the edge, his desire burning fiercely as he prepares to claim what is rightfully his.

Entering you once more, he relishes in the sensation of your heat enveloping him, drawing him deeper into the abyss of pleasure. Each thrust brings him closer to the brink, his senses ablaze, and just like that, he is cumming inside of you, shooting ropes of his white seed deep into your womb.

You open your eyes to catch a glimpse of him, unable to get a good visual last time with his cock stuffed deep into your throat. You expect to see his vulnerability as with climaxes comes a complete lack of control, but you see something far different to your imagination.

His eyes are clouded with red, like he’s rolling his pupils so far back that you’re looking straight into his demon entity, like you can see the Prince of Hell in his true form. In some sick way, you don’t think he has looked more beautiful. He moans loudly but his voice is deeper, more threatening than usual, yet you find yourself reaching for his face, his allure drawing you in further than ever before.

His aura is dark and cloying, yet there's a slight change within him the second your fingertips brush his face. As if your touch can soothe the storm within him, the whirling black and crimson cloud that envelops him appears to diminish. He closes his eyes as he gives in to the calming effect of your touch.

Never before in his life has he met someone who could have such an effect on him. Although he is in control at this very moment, he is well aware that your power could render him defenceless with just a single gesture.

Guiding him, you pull his face down to you as you kiss him softly, breathing your life into him gently which he gladly accepts. As the kiss deepens, he shifts you gently, urging you to rest your head on his pillow, eliciting a soft sigh from you as you comply, sinking into the comfort of the mattress beneath you. He continues to explore your lips with a playful urgency, teasing you as you chase his elusive kisses.

“Heeseung-” you whine out but it barely makes audio waves as the fucking your throat received and the screams that ripped from your chest make it hard to talk.

Bringing his hand up to your throat, he applies gentle pressure, his touch like a soothing balm against the burning sensation. With each stroke of his fingers, the tension in your voice box begins to ease, the discomfort gradually fading away beneath his tender ministrations.

Heeseung meets your gaze with a fond intensity, sliding his cock out slowly as he shifts his body to create a space for you to lay your head on his chest. His arms wrap securely around you and he cradles you close, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat returning. 

"If you want this life," he starts, his stare fixed on you, "Let me give it to you." He promises you the future your spirit so desperately desires with a voice that is both powerful and supple, promising support and unfaltering devotion.

There's a part of you that yearns to leap up and accept, drawn to the allure of the life he promises. Yet, you can hear a distant warning of whispers in the recesses of your mind, reminding you of the consequences of such a choice. You can't ignore the lessons learned from Soonyeol's fate, knowing that trading one form of captivity for another may not be the answer. She is happy right now but for how long could she possibly stay that way?

"Y/N?" Jaeyun's voice breaks through the haze, its urgency slicing through the intimate moment with Heeseung. It reverberates down the halls, each bounce signalling his approach, yet the vastness of the mansion keeps him at a distance, prolonging the inevitable interruption.

You tear yourself away from Heeseung’s grip, sitting up as you dare not to look at him, “I can’t have this life, Heeseung. This belongs to Soonyeol.”

As you move to get up and dress, Heeseung grips your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes bore into yours, studying you with an intensity that leaves your soul feeling exposed, laid bare before him.

"Say the word and she's gone, baby," he murmurs, his voice low and determined. The fondness and devotion he once held for his minder seem to fade into the background as he tries to persuade you to stay.

Your eyes widen in disbelief at his implication; how could he suggest getting rid of Soonyeol so easily, especially someone who gave their soul to him? While he may believe it's what you want to hear, his words only serve to deepen your doubts about his loyalty and commitment. If he can toss her aside, how quickly will it take him to move on from you?

Pulling his hand from your face, you hold it against your chest, “You told me you don’t break your promises, Heeseung,” you gently confront him. Yet, as you look into his eyes, you see sincerity within them, making you question whether he means his words to you.

“Y/N? Where are you?” Jaeyun shouts once again, panic in his vocals.

“Let me give you your desires,” Heeseung’s lips upturn as he watches your brain fight itself between yielding and defying your urges.

“Y/N? Can you answer me?”

“Come on, Y/N, say it. Tell me you want this.”

“Please answer me!”

Your body instinctively leans into Heeseung's touch, drawn in by the intensity of his gaze as he strokes your cheek with a gentle caress. It's as if you're caught in a trance, captivated by the magnetic pull of his presence.

But even as you feel yourself slipping under his spell, the echo of Jaeyun's pleas reverberates in your mind and with a jolt, you force yourself to pull away from the Prince's enchanting hold, breaking free from the spell he's woven around you.

“I don’t want this,” you push Heeseung away, your heart beating quickly as you realise what you have almost done, the distance from his touch giving you a sense of clarity, dispelling the fog of desire that clouded your judgement. “This is Soonyeol’s life, not mine. I won’t trade in one hell for another.”

Heeseung's eyes flash with anger for a fleeting moment, a storm brewing behind his gaze. But just as quickly as it comes, he reigns in his emotions, the tempest within him subsiding as he regains his composure. 

“Fine. Don’t stay. But let me make these two weeks you have left count,” his signature smug expression returns as though you hadn’t seen the soul behind the demon a mere 10 minutes ago.

_____

Packing your bag, a heavy weight settles over you, dragging you down as you come to terms with the reality that this is the end. Two months of fear, lust, adoration, and anxiety swirl together in a tumultuous cocktail of emotions, each one vying for dominance as you prepare to bid farewell to it all.

With each item you place into your bag, it’s as if you’re emptying a foreign version of yourself. You know when you go home you’ll wear these same clothes and brush your hair with the same bristles, but it won’t be you anymore.

Maybe you should have taken Heeseung up on his offer.

Or perhaps this is the start of a new chapter for you. This new identity you feel surging inside your veins might help you navigate the big bad world a little easier. 

Feeling a pair of arms encircle you from behind, you instinctively lean into Jaeyun's embrace, his presence offering a sense of solace amidst the uncertainty. His chin rests on your shoulder, his nose tickling the skin of your neck as he nuzzles closer, seeking comfort in your embrace.

"Please don't go, Y/N. I need you," he whispers, his voice trembling with emotion. The vulnerability in his words pierces through your own turmoil, reminding you of the depth of his feelings and the pain of letting go.

At that moment, as you stand entwined together, you both understand the weight of the connection that binds you. It's more than just the physical intimacy you've shared; it's a bond forged throughout your two months here. Everyone can see it, feel it - the undeniable truth that your relationship transcends mere physical attraction.

But you need to let him go.

"You don't need me, Baby doll," you murmur softly, your voice tinged with resignation. "You've got Soonyeol. She will look after you just like before."

As the words leave your lips, a sorrowful cloud settles over you, the reality of your impending departure sinking in. Despite the pain of leaving Jaeyun behind, you find solace in the knowledge that he won't be alone, that someone will be there to care for him in your absence.

But even as you try to reassure him, a part of you can't shake the feeling of loss that grips your heart. Though Soonyeol may provide comfort and support, you know that your absence will leave a void that can't be easily filled.

Sunghoon hugs you both from the side, his sudden presence a comfort. Even after you discovered that he was a demon, you knew deep down he wasn’t a terrible soul, he was just trapped in bad circumstances, forced to live a life he hated. There is evil within him, that much is true, but he wouldn’t use it haphazardly or indiscriminately.

“I’ll miss you too, baby girl. More than I think I’d like to admit,” he confesses, squeezing you and Jaeyun tight in his arms.

“Y/N, can I speak to you for a moment?” Jongseong’s voice rings loud in your temporary room, causing you and your boys to break apart. Tenderly kissing each of them goodbye, they gracefully exit the room, leaving you alone with Jongseong, granting you both the privacy needed for your conversation.

"What's up? Gonna miss me?" you tease, playfully punching Jongseong's shoulder.

Jongseong chuckles, a hint of sadness in his eyes as he nods. "More than you'll know...but I need to tell you something."

The playful banter fades away, replaced by a solemn atmosphere that settles between you. The air grows heavy with anticipation as you wait for Jongseong to speak, sensing that whatever he has to say is of great importance.

Taking a deep breath, Jongseong meets your gaze with a mix of concern and determination. "Y/N, I need you to do something for me," he begins, his voice steady despite the weight of his request.

"What is it?" you inquire, your curiosity piqued by the seriousness in his tone.

Jongseong hesitates for a moment before speaking, his words measured and deliberate. "I need you to talk to Heeseung," he says, his expression earnest, "Ask him to untether Jaeyun from Soonyeol."

“What? Why?”

“Heeseung told you Jaeyun’s story, right? How he was supposed to be a guardian?” Jongseong's eyebrows raise expectantly, his gaze searching your face for understanding. Slowly, you nod, though confusion clouds your features. Sighing, Jongseong clasps his hands together as he continues, “I think…somehow…he is supposed to be your guide, your guardian angel.”

Jaeyun? Your guardian angel? A mighty laugh leaves your lips as you think he’s pulling some sick joke, but he is not laughing, not even a hint of mischief playing around on his expression. He is deadly serious here.

“Wait…what? But aren’t guardian angels assigned at like, birth or something?” you question, not wrapping your mind around the idea just yet. 

Jongseong nods thoughtfully, his expression grave. "Yes, traditionally, that's how it works," he replies, his tone tinged with uncertainty, "But sometimes, fate has a way of... rearranging things. Guardian angels can also be soulmates in the realm of living.”

You lean back, trying to process this new information. "So, you’re now telling me that Jaeyun is my soulmate? So which is he?"

“Well, when he died it was sudden and tragic, no one saw it coming. It wasn’t planned the way God intended and that day you lost your soulmate. But you were meant to gain your angel that day…until Heeseung pulled him away.”

The weight of Jongseong's words hangs heavily in the air, sinking deep into your consciousness. A sense of disbelief washes over you as you try to comprehend the implications of his revelation. Jaeyun, your soulmate? The idea seems both surreal and profound, challenging everything you thought you knew about love and destiny.

There is no denying the connection you have but it all seems more outlandish than the library having a fire telephone to ring hell up and have a gab.

Jongseong feels your body overcoming with contemplation and questioning his words, so he jumps in. “All the signs are there, Princess. The connection you both have, how you can feel one another's emotions, Jaeyun has even been telling me he feels like there is a string pulling him to you.”

“A string?”

"Mhm, It is what binds a guardian angel to their human, and when you leave, it will shatter, just like your heart, and you will both be in such agony that it will swallow you whole," he says solemnly, his voice tinted with his personal experiences, "Trust me, I know it better than anyone."

Jongseong and Soonyeol…their string must have been broken once he was banished from being her guide. As you look at the sadness etched across his face, you know you never want to experience the pain they both must have felt.

“I don’t want to let him go, but he belongs here with Soonyeol. Heeseung told me how she needed him too,” you whisper, your voice barely above a murmur as you confess your inner anguish.

He feels your pain and inwardly cries for you. Gently, he uses two of his fingers to lift your chin, his eyes boring into yours as he pleads with you. “YOU need him, Sweetheart, just like he needs you. Please, grant me permission to speak to Heeseung on your behalf, I’ll sort something out with him, okay?”

His words resonate deep within you, stirring a sense of hope amidst the despair. Maybe Jongseong could convince Heeseung somehow. Perhaps your time spent with Heeseung over the past two weeks would count for something. After all, there had been moments of connection and understanding between you, moments that hinted at a deeper bond than he would probably like to admit.

But then doubt creeps in. Would Heeseung truly consider your feelings in his decision? Or would he give you the same ultimatum he had given before - stay and he would rid this house and the boys of Soonyeol, without a second thought?

You suppose you have to try, right?

“Talk to him, but only if Jaeyun wants to, this is his decision too.”

_____

As the sound of Soonyeol’s car driving up the gravel path reaches your ears, it feels like her tyres are rolling over your heart. Standing with your bags packed, you glance at the boys, each of them sitting in their dining room seats, ready to take on their doll personas once again. Each of their gazes says something different, but sorrow is evident.

“I’ll miss you guys,” you pout, unable to suppress the sadness that tugs at your heartstrings. Fiddling with the hem of your t-shirt, you try to mask the ache of impending departure with a feeble attempt at a smile. But the weight of the moment looms, casting a shadow over the room as you prepare to say goodbye to the home and the family you've come to cherish.

“We’ll miss you too, baby girl,” Sunghoon smiles softly, his hand reaching out to grasp yours one last time, a silent reassurance amidst the impending farewell.

Jaeyun's expression is heavy with heartache, his eyes pleading with you to stay, but you can't bear to meet his gaze. You know that Jongseong's talk with Heeseung didn't go as hoped, and the disappointment hangs thick in the air, making your departure that much more difficult.

Suddenly, Jaeyun stands up, his movements swift as he storms over to you. Without a word, he pulls you into a passionate kiss, his hands cradling your cheeks as he pours all his love and longing into the embrace. In that fleeting moment, time seems to stand still, the world falling away as you lose yourself in the warmth of his touch, savouring the taste of his lips against yours.

You hug him tightly, forcing the lump in your throat to retreat back to your stomach, cherishing this last moment.

“Jaeyun, get back in your seat, Soonyeol will be here any minute,” Heeseung warns, his voice pulling you both from your moment. 

As Jaeyun's lips leave yours, the air between you crackles with unspoken emotions. His stare is intense, searching yours for any way he can stay with you. But you can only offer him a small, sad smile, knowing that your time together is slipping away with each passing second.

The thing that hurts the most is that Jaeyun has no clue that he is your soulmate or was supposed to be your guardian angel, he just thinks he’s losing your love when in fact, he’s losing part of his soul that you’ll take with you.

“I gave you my number, yeah? Give me a call anytime you can,” you mutter into his lips, finally stepping back to let him go back to the life he knows.

Within a second of Jaeyun taking his place, Soonyeol comes through the door, a gleeful smile plastered on her face as he looks straight at her dolls. It’s evident that she’s missed them but then again, who wouldn’t? You know as soon as you leave here you’re going to have a hole in your heart, pieces of it left with each one of them - even Heeseung.

Turning, she looks at you sceptically, noting the off atmosphere in the room but you don’t allow her a second to ponder it, interjecting as she goes to speak. “So, Soonyeol, how was your trip?”

“Oh, it was excellent! Just a few bits and bobs to tidy up.” She avoids divulging your curiosity. It’s clear her business was either extremely mundane to the point that there was nothing to tell you about, or that she is still harbouring a secret from you. To be honest, you think you’re done snooping and uncovering secrets for the rest of your life.

Ignorance might just be bliss.

She rummages her tote bag in search of a brown envelope, which she gladly hands you, “Here is everything, I counted it 5 times so it should be right,” you marvel at the wad of cash in your hand. Never in your life have you seen this much money in one go, it’s truly amazing. “How were my boys? I hope they didn’t cause too much trouble.”

“Like they were never here,” you lie, smiling softly which eases Soonyeol’s mind.

“Thank you so much, Y/N. I can tell you’ve done a wonderful job here, I can’t thank you enough!” she beams as she looks longingly into Heeseung’s eyes. There is a spark of adoration between them that makes you smile, although you do want to warn her that he would have literally killed her if you asked him to.

Again, ignorance is bliss.

Gathering your belongings, you give the dolls one last look over, feeling a pang of sadness at the thought of leaving them behind. With a heavy sigh, you turn to Soonyeol, offering her a small, grateful smile.

"It was a pleasure, Soonyeol. Thank you for trusting me enough to look after them and this house," you say, your voice overcome with sincerity.

Soonyeol returns your smile, her expression warm and genuine. "If I ever need anyone again, you will be first on my call list," she replies, her words carrying a sense of appreciation for your dedication.

You bid farewell to the house and the memories it holds as you trudge through the long hallways. You can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the experiences you've shared and the bonds you've formed. You’ll miss them all so dearly that it hurts you to even turn your back on them, but you know it’s for the best.

Carting your suitcase along the gravel, you catch sight of your car sitting patiently, a thin layer of dust coating its surface from the weeks it's spent waiting for your return. You had given up on cleaning it a while ago, unable to bear the reminders that your departure was imminent.

With a heavy heart, you click the boot open and shove your suitcase inside, the action punctuated by the force with which you slam it shut. Each motion is filled with a mix of sadness and frustration, emotions that have been simmering beneath the surface.

“Y/N, wait!” The familiar voice cuts through the air, causing your heart to skip a beat. Turning around, you're met with a sight that fills you with both hope and trepidation. 

Your heart quickens in your chest as you spot Jaeyun darting towards you, his face a blend of determination and urgency. Without hesitation, he closes the distance between you in a few rapid strides, his fingers reaching out to ensnare yours.

In an instant, he envelops you in his embrace, his lips descending upon yours in a sudden, fervent kiss. Time appears to halt as the world fades into the background, leaving only the two of you entwined in a whirlwind of emotion.

The kiss is a whirlwind of emotion, a testament to the depth of your connection, leaving you both breathless and exhilarated.

As you pull away, a sense of urgency floods through you, prompting you to glance back at the house with a surge of panic. "Jaeyun, go back inside. Soonyeol-"

But before you can finish, Jaeyun interrupts with a bright smile, his arms still wrapped around you protectively, "I'm coming with you," he declares, punctuating his words with a gentle kiss on your nose.

Your eyes widen in disbelief, confusion swirling in your mind, "But I thought Heeseung said no?" you ask, searching Jaeyun's face for reassurance.

Jaeyun nods, holding you tight to him, “He said he was just waiting for Soonyeol, to ask if she would let me go and she said yes, can you believe it?” 

No. No, you really can’t.

Then again, you know from your time with Heeseung and the box of cherished memories between him and Soonyeol that he really does do everything for her. If she wanted to keep Jaeyun then Heeseung would never dream of cutting the tie between the younger and his minder. 

A wave of relief washes over you, mingled with a sense of wonder at the unexpected turn of events. In that moment, you realise that your happy ending isn't just a distant dream - it's within reach, waiting for you to seize it. 

Glancing back at the house, you spot the others standing at the door, their figures framed by the warm glow of the sun. Soonyeol stands among them, her expression a mix of fondness and understanding, a knowing grin playing at the corners of her lips as she waves you off. She doesn’t look upset at the boys for blowing the secret but rather happy that one of them found serenity with someone the way she has with this house, with the dolls.

Quite honestly, you thought she would have blown a gasket but she isn’t the evil overlord you pictured her to be, even after Heeseung’s story of how she just wanted away from her toxic family you thought she must be hiding something to go to such lengths; perhaps hurt them or worse. But she really is just a girl, looking to live a peaceful life with a family she chooses, not one picked for her by God.

It all makes sense, calling upon Heeseung, because she lost her faith in the divine. Even heaven banished Jongseong for being dedicated to his job which tore them apart, she just did what she had to do.

A pang of sadness washes over you as you realise you're leaving behind the friends who have become like family to you. Each of them holds a piece of your heart, and the thought of saying goodbye, tugs at your emotions.

But as you turn to face Jaeyun, his hand clasped firmly in yours and that puppy-like smile plastered on his face, a sense of peace settles over you. With him by your side, you know you'll be okay. 

Besides, who says you can’t pop back for a visit?

taglist: @nshmrarki @kgneptun @addictedtohobi @parksunghoonsgf @chaewonshoney @chiiiiiiiiis @lilyuwon @rayofsunshineeee @moon7jay @erehkinnie30 @brownsugarbaybee @minniejenseo @woninluv @jaysluvs @fakeuwus @capri-cuntz @ash024 @who-tf-soddhi @bambangan @vousty @heeseungspookie @alvojake @yorukoshii @haechonly @riftanswhore @emi-en @branchrkive @featjunranghae @thejjrl @nyxtwixx @sunghoonnsupremacy @nctislifue @itsnikitty @enhypenlovre

[theragethatisdesire]

aot men as dads - headcanon!! some 18+!!

includes: eren, jean, reiner, & levi

i'm still working on some full-fledged one-shots and parts of my series', but i'm nannying for the summer and have BABY FEVER. please enjoy my little headcanons of my fav aot men as dads <3

DISCLAIMER: some of this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

Eren

ok but eren is such a cringe dad lol

buys himself all of the #1 Dad! merch. he’s got mugs, tshirts, hats, all of it, and all of it went on his credit card.

10000% a girl dad. loves all the little dresses and bows; he puts your daughter’s hair in its first bun, nearly tears up when she points at his matching hairstyle and babbles “like da-da!”

you have to parent eren as much as the children. when you turn the corner into the living room where he’s supposed to be having “quiet time” with your toddler only to find that they’re buried in a pillow fort and eren’s signed his own name in crayon on the wall next to your daughter’s scribblings. “babe, we can just repaint it! she’s being creative.”

loves when you’re pregnant. after your first, eren keeps a calendar on the wall marking off the days until it’s safe for him to fuck you again, fuck a baby right back into you. already has a breeding kink before your first. develops a lactation kink after.

TERRIFIED (and i mean terrified) of hurting your little angel. has absolutely zero concept of “cry it out”; if he hears his baby crying, he’s sprinting into the next room, kissing a nonexistent boo-boo.

refuses to admit it but he has no backbone when it comes to your daughter wanting literally anything. she wants it, she gets it.

favorite thing in the world is matching outfits. favorite. “babe, where’s her green hoodie? i’m wearing mine today for the park!” “of course it matters, we have to match! on that note, where’s yours?”

lets your daughter use his hair to learn how to braid. usually has a few pink hair ties or glittery clips sticking out of it when you come home from a mom’s night out.

really big on your baby getting to see the world. drags you on vacation to any place he can think of, even as you try to explain to him that she can’t form any long term memories yet. “but baby, she’ll have pictures. how many kids in her class can bring a picture of them at the eiffel tower to their first show-and-tell?”

accidentally ruins santa and the tooth fairy for your daughter. cries harder than she does over it.

aggressively vets babysitters. ends up settling for a nursing student in the labor & delivery school who’s the oldest of seven children and probably more knowledgeable about child development than both of you combined, but he’s still suspicious.

wants to watch while you push, watch his baby come into the world. you’ve never seen a sweeter sight than eren in his scrubs, crying while holding your baby girl.

Jean

most people picture eren as being the roughhousing dad, but it’s jean, and i will die on this hill.

freaks out every time he drops your first boy while throwing him around like a ragdoll, but he’ll never stop because “listen!! he’s laughing!”. when it comes to the rest of them, he’s experienced enough now to tell the difference between a real booboo and an imagined one, and he simply brushes their little pants off caringly before shouting “now you tackle me!”

jean’s got no gender preference for your first, or the rest of your little brood for that matter. he raises them exactly the same, regardless: tough.

it takes him awhile to get used to the concept of babies’ minds. you’ve walked in on him having full-blown arguments with your shrieking toddlers several times. “what’s not making sense? if you let your goldfish ‘swim’ in the toilet, it dies, simple as that.”

plays “bad cop” for you because you’re terrible at it, but he’s always having to turn around and snicker into his elbow in the middle of scolding because your babies get the same little throbbing forehead vein as you when they’re mad

wants a big family, and gets it. you practically have to drag him to get his balls snipped after your fourth, him reminding you that “it’s reversible!” the entire way there.

the newborn phase is his favorite. he’s rarely home for any longer than ten minutes without scooping your most recent addition into his arms, squishing their little cheeks and marveling at their gurgling noises.

the kids never give him anxiety, but when you’re pregnant??? jean’s a wreck.

“do your feet still hurt, love?” “what do you mean you have indigestion? that could be the baby coming!” “of course we can’t have sex, what if we poke its little head?”

definitely the dad that’s got a delivery bag and a backup bag and an emergency third backup of the backup bag in his car at all times. the first week of your third trimester, he starts watching you suspiciously for any signs of labor, even though this is your fourth together. you think you’ve got it down by now, you tell him, but he won’t listen.

always gets the kids to work together on little surprises for you. every mother’s day they wake you up with breakfast, every valentines day your dining room table is covered in handmade cards, every birthday your kitchen is coated in flour from jean and four little ones attempting to bake

SO HARD to drag him out for a date night. he wants to bring them everywhere: the fancy restaurant, the couples' get away trip

jean's that dad standing in the bar, watching the game, beer in hand, with an occupied baby carrier strapped to his chest

wants to watch during delivery, but he passed out the first go-round, so now he’s content standing up by your head, trying not to turn white as you squeeze his hand hard enough to break.

talks you into just one more on your fourth’s second birthday. “they’re all so big now. don’t you miss it, babe? my baby in your belly? c’mon…” turns out he reversed that vasectomy without telling you

Reiner

another girl dad. hardcore girl dad.

buys his little princess all number of dresses and barbies, is confused when she’s more interested in the baseballs her classmates have.

accidentally raises the most tomboyish, toughest little girl. still babies her, and she hates it.

cries more than you do on your first date night out when you leave her with your mom. forgets to order his entree at the restaurant because he’s watching the baby monitor app on his phone.

definitely the best at splitting baby duties with you. reiner’s up before you most nights when she wakes, grabbing a bottle and cooing at her lovingly even as she screams. you always try to stay awake to watch him on the baby monitor, though, heart melting as his massive arms rock the tiny bundle back to sleep.

all the neighborhood kids love him because of his size. at every cookout, reiner can’t help on the grill because he’s buried in the grass in a little army of toddlers, led by your daughter, shrieking with joy.

always taking pictures. literally always. unflattering ones when you fall asleep breastfeeding, candids at the zoo, eighteen identical pictures of the lock of hair from her first haircut clogging up his camera roll.

can’t be the bad cop. literally ever. he just can’t say no to his little princess, can’t break her precious little heart by telling her that throwing her food onto the floor is bad.

takes your daughter to mommy & me classes with him

DILF DILF DILF. all the moms in the classes swoon over him and gossip about him when he’s not there; much to your annoyance, reiner never notices, insisting that they’re his “mommy friends”.

always sporting a little bit of glitter on his face or a sticker on his back from your daughter

coming from a fatherless background, reiner nearly kills himself trying to be a constant presence in your daughter’s life (you have to remind him that he has to rest too)

never misses an open house night at school, even if it nearly gets him fired. coaches all of her sports teams. literally almost cries when she makes her first soccer goal. actually does cry when she tells you the boy sitting beside her in class called her his girlfriend. full-blown breakdown on her first day of school, so bad he has to stay home from work.

the absolute BEST through your pregnancy and delivery. always cooking your craving of the week, constant foot and back rubs, stays up all night with you for the three days before the birth when you’re just too swollen and miserable to sleep.

holds your hand through the entire delivery, gets in the doctors’ way when they’re performing checkups because “i’m her father, i need to know what’s going on”

Levi

levi never pictured himself as having children, but when your little surprise arrives, blinking up at levi with his own grey, owlish eyes, levi can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

very easily irritated with anyone asking questions about your home life.

when his coworkers ask for your newborn’s name, levi simply says “child.” are you two trying again? “why the fuck do you need to know?”

super overprotective. your baby waves at someone in the supermarket, and levi’s leaning down to explain (in words your eight-month-old can’t yet understand) stranger danger.

totally one of those parents that goes half-crazy trying to get their child into the top-notch, snobby preschool in town.

“we’re not wasting his intelligence on the public school”

levi grew up with basically nothing, so he goes all out buying the best baby products on the market. $2,500 strollers, researching “best baby toys for development”, the whole nine yards.

100% spends months trying to get your child to make a game out of picking up his own toys after playtime, but it never works.

has a meal plan for your child to “optimize nutrition” that you have to sneak around to give your baby little chocolates and junk snacks.

“why are there pringles in his playtime bag? they have no nutritional value.”

vets anyone that comes around your child, even other children. “no more playtime with that evan kid. he’s always got a cold or something.”

he’s always been a light sleeper, but once you have your child, levi snores beside them watching kids’ cartoons on the tv like you’ve never seen him, even drooling as his head lolls, arm tucked tight around your little one.

learned everything he could about labor and delivery beforehand

you almost killed him in the delivery room as he explained each medical detail of your labor symptoms to “reassure” you. he finally got the hint when you threatened to decapitate him.

he thinks it’s shameful, but watching you be a mother turns. him. on. 

wants to take you right there when he catches you breastfeeding, watches you read a bedtime story, spin your child around laughing. you’re just so naturally good at it and it makes him love you all the more, all that love going straight between his legs.

[wh0re43van]

Frogger Pt 2 (Peter Maximoff X Reader)

Summary: You return to peters house to finish what you started, but he’s way ahead of you.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Very smutty, Masturbation, sub!peter (no mommy kink tho bc Idr fuck with that), edging, whiny Peter, pantie stealing

A/n: I can’t get this divider to work right and I’ve also just realized that Frogger came out on Atari in ‘83 not ‘73,,, so just ignore that huge plot hole pls 🙏🏻 Speaking of which, I’d like to take this moment to say: Frogger? I hardly know her!

Okay thats it. Thank you for reading!!

Pt 1

After picking my little brother up from school, I pull into our driveway.

“Alright come on, Finn. you’re gonna learn how to heat up a TV dinner today,” I say as I open the passenger door for my brother, ushering him quickly towards our front door.

“Why?” he asks, confused as we enter our home.

“Cause I got shit to do. You’ve got five minutes to ask questions then I’m leaving,” I say as I walk into the bathroom right next to our kitchen to check my reflection. “So, you better start now,” I say as I reapply my lipstick.

“What? Does mom know?” he asks, sounding horrified.

“No and she won’t find out because I’ll be home before she gets back from her Tupperware party and you aren’t gonna say anything,” I say as I shake my finger in his face.

“Y/n, I’m only eight. What if someone breaks in?” he squeaks as he follows my quick steps to the freezer. I open the door, pulling out a random frozen meal.

“Then hide,” I say flatly, knowing that our neighborhood is safe. He looks at me, still horrified.

“Ugh,” I groan before grabbing a pen and writing the Maximoff phone number on our calendar that’s hanging on the fridge. “I’m going to Peters. This is their phone number. Call and ask for me if anything happens. I should be back in an hour or two,” I say before grabbing my keys off the counter and walking to the door.  “Lock the doors, don’t answer for anyone unless it’s me, mom, or dad and stay inside the house,” I say as I unlatch the wooden door.

“Wait! You didn’t tell me about the dinner!” he stops me in my tracks.

“You can read right?” I ask, he nods his head. “Directions are on the box,” I lock the door behind me as I all but run towards my vehicle.

As I take the short drive to Peters house, my heart races in anticipation. I hate to admit it, but I managed to get just as worked up as he did- if not, more. My Fleetwood Mac cassette plays loudly in my stereo, but all I can hear is the whimpers that escaped Peter’s mouth earlier. He looked so fucking pathetic writhing underneath me, mewling through shaky breaths; It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. The image of peter standing half naked, desperate, and confused with his pants so tight around his erection that his button could pop off at any moment makes more core ache. I pull up to the Maximoff house, parking halfway on the curb, but I’m in too much of a hurry to fix it. I sprint up to the door, taking a deep breath to compose myself before knocking. Ms. Maximoff soon opens the door.

“Y/n, back so soon?”  she grins, allowing me to enter.

“Yes ma'am, I have something that I need to finish,” I smile innocently. She nods.

“Peter should be downstairs, I haven’t seen him since you left,” she walks back to the kitchen, leaving me to make my way to Peter’s room. I quietly walk down the stairs, stepping onto the shag carpet. I freeze in my tracks, my breath hitching in my throat and my heart skipping a beat at the sight in front of me.

Peter sitting upright on his couch, completely naked, his head thrown back, resting on the back of the sofa as his hand pumps his rock hard dick. His eyes are squeezed shut as his mouth hangs agape, releasing the hottest whimpers I’ve ever heard. His cheeks and lips are flushed as his nose scrunches in pleasure… then I hear it.

“Fuck, y/n” he mewls, so quiet I could barely hear it, but the sound of him muttering my name as he strokes himself rings through my ears like a trumpet, making my knees weak.

‘Oh, this gonna be wicked!’ I smirk to myself.

“Yes?” I bite my lip, approaching the disheveled boy. Peter’s so stunned that he just jumps up. He doesn’t zoom away. He just stands there with the most horrified expression I’ve ever seen.

“I-I-I didn’t- I wasn’t- y/n,” he sputters, I walk up to him, gently pushing him back down to the couch.

“You weren’t what?” I sit next to him, placing a hand on his chest; He’s hot to the touch. “Rubbing one out while thinking about me?” I ask lowly.

“I well, y-y-you just left me,” he says, staring at me with wide eyes, his dick still standing at attention. “I tried not to, it just wouldn’t go away,” he explains as he pushes his sweaty hair out of his face.

“Hmm,” I tap a finger to my lips in mock consideration. “I think I know how to help you,” I say with a shrug. Peter smiles at me, settling into the couch, closing his eyes, waiting for me to touch him. I get down on my knees in between his legs. “But I need you to show me what you were doing first,” I look up at him, laying my head on his bare thigh. He looks down at me, confused.

“Y-you want me to…” he motions towards his erection.

“Mhm,” I hum, looking at him through my lashes. His cheeks burn bright red, but he slowly moves his hand to his length. I watch intently as he begins to stroke himself. His hand runs over his red, swollen tip and he lets out a quiet whimper. “I wanna hear you, Peter,” I hum.

Even though he’s embarrassed, I can tell that he’s enjoying this. His breath quickens and his dick twitches in his hand as I speak. He picks up speed, obeying my command, letting out a pathetic little moan, as he stares down at me. “I think I know what you’re doing wrong,” the sultry tone drips from my tongue as I sit up on my knees.

“What?” he asks, his voice small as he watches my every move. I take his length into my own hand, dipping my head down, gathering spit in my mouth that I allow to drip from my lips onto his swollen tip. His brown eyes, wide as saucers, watches the saliva trickles onto him.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers as I use my fingers to spread the lubrication around. I hear his breath hitch, then I pull my hand away.

“Now try it,” I smile. I can tell he’s getting sexually frustrated.

“Really?” He whines. “But I want-“ he whines some more before I stop him.

“Do it, Peter,” I say sternly. He gulps, returning his hand to his now slick cock. He moans, throwing his head back.

“Doesn’t that feel better, baby?” I coo. He looks down at me, nodding his head. I slowly shift from my knees to sit on my ass, keeping his desperate eyes locked into mine. I spread my legs, revealing my soaked white panties underneath my skirt. Peter whimpers loudly at the sight, thrusting his hips into his hand.

“C-come on y/n, what are you tryin’ to do to me?” He groans, breathlessly.

“I’m helping you, quickie,” I giggle lightly before I run my hand over my clothed core. Peter shifts on the couch, sitting up to get a better view. His hand picks up speed around his length. I hum at the contact on my core, laying my head back, allowing my hair to fall from my shoulders down my back. I tilt my head to the side, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth when I catch Peters gaze locked onto my dripping panties, not even blinking as he pumps his cock mercilessly. The muscles in his arm tense and his dick twitches, precum oozes out.

“Fuck I think I’m gonna-“ he whimpers breathlessly.

“Stop,” I demand. “Remove your hand, Peter,” I direct him as I continue rubbing circles on my clit through the thin cotton. With a reluctant whimper, he pulls away.

“Mmm,” I slide my panties slowly down my legs, he watches with intensity. I’ve never seen him focus on anything this long before. “Good boy,” I praise, tossing the panties beside him on the couch. He looks at them, then back at me. I giggle, pulling my sweater and my tank top over my head, leaving me in just my bra and skirt. When I return my gaze to the couch, Peters eyes are still locked on me like before, but my panties are gone.

‘That pathetic little perverted kleptomaniac,’ I smile to myself. I don’t mention it-allowing him to keep the drenched panties as a prize for listening so well. Instead, I just bring my fingers down to my now exposed core. His eyes follow my hand like a cat’s follow a laser pointer. I use a finger to dip into my soaking entrance, dragging my slick up to my clit before I begin to rub circles on the sensitive skin.

“Mmm, fuck, Peter,” I relish the pleasure that I bring myself. He let’s out a string of mewls as he thrusts up into the air, desperate for some sort of friction.

“Are- Are you tryin’ to kill me?” He whispers, bringing his gaze from my slick folds up to my eyes. I can’t help but laugh at the desperate state of the poor boy.

“What do you mean?” I play Innocent as I move my fingers back to my entrance.

“I-“ He starts but he’s immediately distracted when I slip my finger inside myself, letting out a pornographic moan.

“Go on Peter,” I smirk. “I’m listening,” I bat my lashes.

“You’re just so-“ he speaks as if his mouth has gone dry.

“Fuck,” I let out another moan, purposely cutting him off again as I slip another finger inside myself and begin to curl up into that special spot.

“Please,” he whimpers, his voice cracks, his legs are shaking, his silver hair is stuck to his face with sweat and his dick is so hard that the tip has taken on a purple hue. Finally, I broke him. “Please, please, please, y/n please I’ll do anything,” he whines, pleading for mercy.

I smile, hoping up then turning around, slowly sliding my skirt down, bending over as I push the thin fabric to my feet.

“Please,” he whimpers again. I turn back around, smiling at the poor boy. “I’m not sure I’m enjoying this as much as you are,” he mewls as I straddle his waist. He winces when his erection slaps against my stomach.

“Oh, don’t lie to me Peter,” I whisper in his ear. I bring my fingers that I was using on myself up to his mouth, he happily opens, sucking them clean as he stares up at me with his big puppy eyes.

Jesus Christ I moan internally.

“You’re doing so good for me,” I bring my face right in front of his, grabbing either side of his cheeks with the same hand. “Don’t act up now,” I say sternly. He responds with an audible gulp. “Tell me Peter. Tell me how much you’re enjoying our time together right now,” I whisper as I ghost the fingers of my free hand over his needy cock. He twitches in my hand.

“I-you-“ he gulps again. His wide eyes looking directly into mine. “Y/n, this is hotter than any porno I’ve ever seen,” he admits whole heartedly, through muffled words as my hand squeezes his cheeks together a bit, earning a genuine laugh out of me.

“Well luckily for you,” I grab his length firmly, beginning to pump him slowly. “You won’t have to rent those stupid films anymore, not with me around,” I smirk before I bring him into a kiss, wrapping one hand in the back of his head. To my surprise, he kisses back intensely. His hands shoot up, grabbing both sides of my face to pull my head closer to his. He kisses me with strong desire.

“You don’t know what you’re doin’ to me,” he groans into the kiss. I lift my hips up, not breaking the passionate kiss, using my hand to line him up with my dripping entrance.

“Of course, I do, Peter,” I whisper before setting down on his desperate cock, taking him all the way into me in one swift motion. He lets out a loud whimper- almost a shriek. “Shhh” I giggle against his lips, stifling my own moan.

“I’m sorry,” he whines. He peers into my eyes with his chest heaving, sweat covering every inch of his toned body while his shaky hands hold their death grip on my hips. I place my hands behind me onto his thighs so I can slowly slide myself up down on his length.

“It’s okay Peter, but you gotta keep it down a bit. Can you do that for me, baby?” I coo. He nods his head as he watches in awe as I fuck myself on him, unable to look away. He fills me up perfectly, his desperate cock sliding in out of my velvet walls earns a few low moans out of me. ”You’re so big, Peter,” I compliment, he smiles at me flashing his dimples. With a surge of confidence, he brings his fingers to his mouth, wetting them before bringing them to my clit, tracing figure eights, watching my face for approval. “Mmm, that feels good, baby. Good job,” I praise him. He moves his fingers faster, and faster, and faster to the point that his hand is just a blur. ”Fuck!” I accidentally shout from the vibrations coursing through my body.

“Shhh,” he smirks. “You gotta keep it down, remember?” he mocks me. I can’t help but laugh, his sudden confidence is a bigger turn on than I thought it would be. He moves his hand from my core- much to my disappointment- before he grabs my hips again.

“May I?” he asks politely, his voice small again as he thrusts into me, wanting to take a bit of control. I lean forward, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Mhm,” I grant him permission. “Only since you’ve listened so well,” I smirk. As soon as I give him the okay, he’s pounding into me mercilessly.

“Peter!” I shout in surprise and pleasure as he thrusts into me at inhuman rates. The speedster doesn’t seem to hear me as he throws his head back in pleasure.

“Thank you,” he whimpers. “You feel so fucking good, oh my god,” he whines, still somehow sounding submissive even when I’ve given him control. I quickly feel my release nearing as I grip onto his shoulders to keep him from bucking me off. I’ve never been so worked up in my life, my body feels like it’s on fire as I watch the handsome boys hips blur underneath me.

“Peter, I’m close,” I moan, my words come out punctuated as if I’m in a vehicle that’s driving 100mph down a pothole filled gravel road. His head shoots up at my words.

“Please y/n,” he whimpers as I bring my lips to his. “Please I wanna feel you cum while I’m inside you, please,” he whines and begs like a starving puppy, sending me over the edge. Pleasure shoots from my vibrating core throughout my whole body as a string of moans and curses fall from my lips. “Thank you,” I hear him mewl as I chase the euphoria I’m feeling.

‘Did he just thank me, for cumming on him?’ I think to myself. This man knows exactly how to get me worked up, and I don’t even think he realizes it. Suddenly, with a fwp I’ve lost all contact with him as I’m sat beside him on the couch. His eyes hungrily explore my body while he continues to pump himself as whimpers and groans fall from his lips, his dick is visibly twitching.

‘oh’ my confusion subsides once I realized he was about to cum himself. I regain my position on my knees between his legs, watching his face as I take him into my mouth. I consider ruining his orgasm again, but before I can make up my mind, his eyes are scrunched shut and his nose is wrinkled in pleasure as the hottest, most pathetic whimper I’ve ever heard fall from his swollen lips like music to my ears.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he groans as he empties his seed onto my tongue. I swallow the huge load, kitten licking his slit and hollowing out my cheeks a few more times for good measure. He falls onto the couch, lifeless. His chest heaving, the muscles in his legs twitching and his eyes rolled back in his head.

“Peter?” I ask, slightly concerned. “Peter?” I ask again a but louder, slapping his leg as I stand from the ground, sitting next to him.

“I…” he slowly turns his head next to me. I can almost see his heart beating out of his chest. “I think you just changed me as a man,” he pants. I laugh at his revelation, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Well I’m honored to be the one to do it,” I smile. He slowly sits up, holding his head as if he’s dizzy.

“I’m fucking starving,” he sighs. I stand up, starting to get dressed.

“Well, clean up real quick and we can go get some food after I check on my brother,” I smile. His eyes light up at the mention of food. He stands, taking a step then stopping, looking at me confused. He takes another step, stopping.

“You broke me, I can’t even zoom across the room,” he looks mortified. I giggle putting my hand on his shoulder.

“It will come back soon, give your body time to catch up,” I slip my skirt on, without my panties. “At least I know your weakness now,” I giggle.

“A dominant woman?” he smiles as he slips on his shirt.

“My used panties,” I smirk, motioning to the white fabric sticking out of his bedside drawer. His eyes go wide.

“I’m sorry you can ha-“ I cut him off.

“Keep ‘em. I think you earned it,” I wink. He looks away with blushed cheeks before dressing his bottom half.

[missgryffin]

Accidental Magic 🪄

A @jilymicrofics using all of the May word prompts. Also, a special shout-out and thank you to @redrobyn285 for sending me the prompt "accidental magic 🪄" which turned out to be a perfect title for this fic 😘 2.3k words. Rated T for language. Read below & on AO3.

A soft knock on the door to the prefects’ lounge echoes around the empty room. 

“Yeah,” she grits, wand in her teeth as she pins the next month’s patrol calendar to the notice board.

Focused as she is on her task, she doesn’t even register the footsteps behind her until a hand appears from somewhere over her shoulder to hold the pesky falling corner of the parchment in place. Her skin bristles, throat closing with nerves. She’d recognize that hand—that wrist, that fucking rolled sleeve—anywhere.

Sucking in a deep breath through her nose, Lily focuses her attention on swiftly pinning the other corners of the calendar so she can take her wand back out of her mouth and say, “What are you doing here?” 

(It is, after all, no longer Friday night but early Saturday morning, and the prefects’ lounge isn’t anywhere near Gryffindor Tower, where she’d last known him to be helping his mates set up for a common room party with a few crates of alcohol they’d mysteriously procured.)

She has no other choice but to turn around and face him, so she does—and finds her nose mere inches from his chest. 

James quietly clears his throat and takes a small step back, hands stuffing into his pockets. “I, uh…wanted to talk to you.” 

Foreboding rises in her chest, and before she can get out a smart-arse remark about him stalking her with that damned map he and his friends made, he adds with a little smirk, “About Charms.”

Uncomfortable heat pricks at her neck—he knows—but she feigns calm aloofness as she asks, “How’s Cressida?”

He shrugs—“Fine”—and Lily makes to skirt around him, but his hand darts from his pocket to close lightly around her wrist. 

“Lily, c’mon.” 

She meets his eyes, bronze in the blazing light of the hearth. After building a sort of quasi-friendship with him in sixth and now working with him as head students in seventh, she’s learned how to read James Potter. His expressions, his humor, his moods. And though she thinks he’s a little annoyed with her just then, he also seems mostly…amused?

“What?” She nods toward the grandfather clock nestled atop the room’s random wardrobe, painfully aware of how he’s still holding onto her. “It’s dawn in a few hours. Don’t you have a date you need to be rested for?”

Fleeting surprise—parted lips, raised brows—settles into a dimpling smirk. “Actually, no,” he quips, finally dropping her hand to cross his arms over his chest. “Seeing as my date’s being kept in the hospital wing this weekend, that’s been, ah, cancelled.” 

Her mouth opens, closes, before saying lamely, “Oh.” After a beat of silence, she remembers her manners. “That’s…unfortunate.” 

He pulls his lips under with a little hum. 

She doesn’t particularly want to ask—she’d really rather leave this conversation and forget it ever happened—but she’s so uneasy that she can’t bear not knowing. 

“If, um…if she’s fine, then…why is Pomfrey keeping her?”

James fixes her with a direct sort of look and then says, with the hint of a chuckle, “Because you inflated her to the size of Hagrid.”

Her stomach drops, nerves twisting uneasily through her body. 

“You might’ve set a record,” he goes on, as casual as if he’s recounting the day’s homework as he settles on the edge of the arm of a nearby sofa. “’S far as I know, no one’s ever been ballooned that bad in class—” 

“I didn’t—”

James ignores her, shrugging as he continues nonchalantly, “Her earwax is messed up, or something—didn’t deflate properly, I dunno, Pomfrey wants to watch her—”

Guilt roils her insides. The image of elegant, graceful Cressida Clearwater, a Ravenclaw in their year, inflating like a balloon with an inhuman shriek had haunted her since it happened earlier that afternoon. And what made it all the worse was the knowledge that, the moment before Cressida started to inflate, Lily had felt her inner turmoil boil over into a spurt of unintended magic. 

“No one suspects, by the way. Even Amelia’s convinced she accidentally cast the Inflating Charm by mistake.” His brow wrinkles in thought. “Not sure how she thinks she did that, mind, the wand movement of a Bubble-head Charm’s totally different...” 

Her jaw clenches, nails digging into her palms, as her mind races and wars over how to respond to all this.

“Anyway.” James’s voice softens as he says, “You know, you went so pale, I was actually more concerned about you dropping in a dead faint than I was about Cress floating toward the ceiling.”

An entirely uncouth snort bursts out of her nose, and she hastily slaps a hand over her mouth, stifling the inappropriate giggles threatening to bubble up. 

James chuckles lightly with her before adding, “And then when you didn’t look like you were going to faint anymore, you...looked like you were trying not to cry.” 

She doesn’t know what it is. The openness on his face, like he’s more curious than judgmental. The way he’s read her, seen her, so thoroughly. The fact that it’s nearly three o’clock in the morning. The shame that’s been eating at her since class, all the worse for how she’s spent the past week mourning the possibility of a relationship she’d only recently started to hope for. The bizarrely rebellious urge, after holding her feelings in for so long, to just lay them all bare. 

For whatever reason, the truth spills out: “I didn’t mean to.”

His face betrays his surprise. 

Unable to look at him, she watches her wringing hands as she explains, “I didn’t…actually cast anything. I just—Mary and I were next to her and Amelia, and I could hear their conversation, and I was so…”  Jealous. Heartbroken. Angry. She shakes her head, refocusing herself. “I just...lost control, I guess. And the next thing I know, she was…” Her words trail off with a little wave, but he knows what happened next. 

A slight furrow creases his brow. “You were so what?” 

She blinks. “What?”

“You said, I was so, but then you didn’t say what you were.” 

Why does he have to be so fucking detail oriented? 

“Well, I—I lost control.” 

He only arches a disbelieving brow and presses, “For no reason?” 

Lily rolls her eyes, trying to maintain a cool facade despite being uncomfortably hot under the pin of his gaze, and asks, exasperated, “What does it matter? It was an accident.”

For the first time in this whole exchange, James looks genuinely irritated as he gazes distantly into the fire across the room, jaw tensing—and it twists her insides even more. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, words stumbling over themselves. “I mean it, James. Obviously you were looking forward to tomorrow, and you have every right to be angry—” 

“I’m not—” His jaw flexes with frustration, and he gives a little shake of his head. “I’m not angry that the date’s off.” 

She frowns, not following. “Then—”

He pinches the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses, eyes closing with an exasperated sigh as he mutters, “I’m angry at myself.”

Lily waits, expecting him to elaborate, and when he doesn’t—when he just watches her with that melancholy bronze stare—she prompts, “I—I don’t—”

But James only slumps forward, elbows resting on his knees as his hands rake through his hair.

“James—”

“I wanted it to mean something.” 

The words are spoken so quietly she barely hears them, yet they root her where she stands. 

He’s staring at his folded hands, resolutely not looking up in her direction, and his voice sounds like it’s on the edge of cracking as he continues, “I thought...I could tell it was you, and I didn’t know if it was a dare, or a prank, or what, but I thought—I wanted—it to mean you…” 

Her heart slams against her ribcage; every part of her body tenses, waiting. 

He shakes his head, exhales, “Never mind,” as he pushes to his feet, and then strides past her. 

She grabs his wrist with a reflexiveness that surprises herself, stalling him at her side. His skin there is smooth, warm, and the contact scatters butterflies up and down her limbs. She doesn’t even intend on telling him, doesn’t think through whether she should; her sole thought in that moment is simply, don’t leave, and the byproduct of that is her mouth spills, “Your date.” 

His stillness tells her he’s listening. 

“Cressida and Amelia, they were talking about…” She swallows, tongue thick now that she’s fully aware of what she’s confessing. “About your date. How excited she was that you said yes. Where she thought you’d go. How she planned on letting you…” She gulps again. “Erm…snog her. If you tried.” 

It had been the straw that had, quite literally, broken something in her. After months of building a rapport with him that felt like it had been skewing more flirty than friendly; after weeks spent accepting the swirl of lust and attraction that the mere sight of him stirs in her body; after the initial blow of him accepting a date with someone else (news that caused her, humiliatingly, to knock over her mug and slosh coffee all over her lap at breakfast), and then the inescapable ache that followed as the publicity of that date grained traction…

Well. Hearing Cressida subtly brag about the, ahem, action she expected to follow her date with James—after days of the hope Lily had been tending getting pummeled to mush—had snapped the last thread of self-control Lily had. 

She peeks up at him; he’s already gazing down at her, a thoughtful expression painting his face.

“And that…” he starts, eyes searching hers. “You said you were so…” 

Tears well out of nowhere, just enough to sting. She blinks rapidly, looking anywhere but his face. Really, the irony of falling for him once he didn’t have feelings for her anymore is punishment enough—he wants her to admit to them, too? For what, pride? Ego? So he can report back to Cressida when he visits her in the hospital wing later? 

His hand slides into hers. “Please,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I need to hear you say it.”

Her chest burns, heart jumping amidst the choking haze of all the shame, guilt, hurt, and confusion swirling there—and it makes her sound defensive, foolish, as she snaps thickly, “What, that I was jealous?” 

It doesn’t make an ounce of sense, but everything in his face softens just then, and that sexy little half-smile she’s come to adore is now aimed at her. 

“Yeah,” he answers, and she hears the hint of that signature James Potter smugness back in his voice; it makes the knife that he lodged in her heart when he said yes to Cressida twist for what feels like the thousandth time. 

“Why?” Her words taste bitter. “What difference does it make?” 

“Wh—” He scoffs, disbelieving, and she yanks her hand out of his. “Lily—”

“It’s hard enough,” she chokes out, the sight of him blurring through her welling tears, “to watch you go out with her and pretend like it doesn’t bother me, we really don’t need to talk about it—” 

James cuts her off—“No, we do”—and recaptures her hand, this time threading their fingers together. She looks at them, entwined like they belong to fit this way, and isn’t sure she’s ever felt her skin ache for someone like this. 

“I thought,” he says gently, “that you just wanted to…y’know. Be friends. I mean, I wondered, if you fancied me back, but…” 

Lily’s heart flips at that phrase—fancied me back—and she stares, hanging on his every word with bated breath.

A blush dusts his cheeks as he gives a little shake of his head. “It just seemed like you…only wanted to be friends, so…” 

She swallows hard. “I...thought you only wanted to be friends.” 

He peers down at her, gaze soft. “No,” he whispers, eyes lowering meaningfully to her mouth. 

Her head swirls, dizzy, giddy, from the turn this moment’s taken. She drifts closer, then tucks her wand into the back pocket of her jeans so she can slide her free hand up his chest, deliciously solid under the soft flannel he’s wearing over a thin Montrose Magpies t-shirt. His forefinger hooks gently under her chin, tilting her face toward his. This close, she can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. Wordlessly, she curls her fingers into a fist of fabric at his chest to anchor herself, and then she pushes up onto her tiptoes and brushes her lips over his. 

In her weeks of coming to terms with having feelings for him, Lily had daydreamed aplenty about kissing James: what it would be like, the different scenarios in which it could happen. The real thing is unlike every expectation.

He’s not showy, not putting on a grand gesture, not leading with the commanding authority she’s grown used to seeing him wield on the Quidditch pitch and in the corridors. Instead, he’s tender. Almost…shy. He holds her face with the delicacy of handling rare porcelain, and the press of his lips back against hers is so soft that the faint scratch of his evening shadow tickles instead of burns. She smiles against his mouth, and James rests his forehead on hers, hands letting go from where they hold onto her only to wrap her in a hug around her waist. 

Her heart swells. 

“Do you feel this?” he asks, breathless. 

She knows instantly what he means: there’s a charge between them, something fluttering hotly under her skin, like a current that swept them up the moment they waded just close enough. If she had her wand in her hand just then, she wouldn’t be surprised to find it glowing.

“Yeah,” she whispers back, arms looping tightly around his neck. “I feel it, too.”

[werezmastarbucks]

kevin khatchadourian x female reader timeline of relationship pt 2

first part

warnings: mutual abuse, mentions of school shooting, folie a deux, mentions of stalking, mentions of suicidal thoughts, self-harm, living with trauma, otherwise it's fun! also, Kevin gets way more jail time while I'm captaining this ship

• Kevin got a reduced sentence, because at the time of the shooting he was just three days shy of sixteen

• that shows that he was calculating from the beginning to the end. Moreover, he calculated exactly how much time it would take him to fuck you, and he managed to do it even with some spare time left

• the headlines screamed of despair. You heard that Kevin had killed his father and his little sister - that angelic, innocent, happy girl, before going to school

• there were many times when you asked yourself why he spared you

• but there were now other things to think about. Like, how you were supposed to go on living now. Your own little grudge about that night at the party dissipated and became a minor failure even before the calendar year was out.

• you heard his mum sold the house and moved away on the outskirts of the city. She didn't leave the town though, because at first, Kevin was held at the local facility for minors.

• even you got your share of hatred, to say nothing about his mother.

• the police investigated you mildly, because you were the only survivor in the massacre. They quickly understood you hadn't conspired with Kevin. But people didn't care.

• very soon, you moved away and left the town, and school, behind you.

• five years of therapy, contemplation, heartache, spent with total lack of comprehension of what had transpired. Weeks turned into months as you went into a frenzy, sitting in your room, staring at the walls, trying to find your place in this story.

• you were recalling all of the moments you spent with him, one by one, trying to find the second he snapped. You remembered how you marveled at the beautiful stack of arrows on his wall. Just like Robin Hood's.

• five years of therapy, and self-reflexion. And then, when you were twenty years old, you decided to google his name for the first time in all that time.

• "I don't know why I did it: Kevin Khatchadourian, school shooter with a bow, has been transferred to the adult prison". An article from three years ago. There was a lot of news about him, a lot of pictures of Kevin. Him in his orange costume, hair cut short, and he looked like a disgraced puppy, lost. He was almost nothing without his magical poetic hair.

• one of the videos from court displayed him crying, hiding his face in his hands. You knew these tears were nothing but an act; just a thing everybody expected, or maybe, he wanted to try, and see if the reaction would be to his benefit.

• "The Robin Hood school shooter feels remorse, apologizes to families"

• there were even articles about you, though, in fewer numbers. Still, some theories that you helped Kevin to lock the hall; or that you were his sex toy that he had mercy on. As you went deeper on the internet, there were even accusations of satanism and demonology.

• through the news articles you watched Kevin grow. He turned seventeen, eighteen, then, his hair grew a little. Today, he was being fried in the adult prison. Very soon, there was another school shooting in the same state, so everybody forgot about Kevin Khatchadourian. Plus, he killed so few people; just seven. Weak. Reading this number, every time all these five years, you were taken aback. The whole ordeal felt like it lasted at least an hour. You were seeing everything in slow motion

• the truth was, every time you closed your eyes, for the longest time after, you started seeing Kevin's distorted face. As he grinned with hatred while he was killing your classmates. Little tiger cubs make that face when they learn to roar.

• the latest pictures of him were from the last year; he was a young man of twenty now. His black slick hair brushed back, bruises on his cheekbones. He was a broken man, the light dull in his eyes. Only in the corners of his mouth, there was the old Kevin. The Kevin who laughed at dumb people.

• sooner or later it was inevitable that you started asking yourself questions you couldn't answer. Could I have prevented it? To what degree has he been using me? Why did he spare me? Not like he cared about me? In his eyes, as he looked at me in the yard, there was nothing but resentment.

• you went to see him in prison, thinking about how you looked to someone who hadn't seen you in years. Thinking about your classmates who didn't get to be twenty, nineteen, throwing hats in the air, buying cars, traveling the world.

• all your unrequitted loving, and the dark undulgence, the sense of being the chosen one aside, you thought of those teenagers they used to be and stayed forever, and you wished to be in their place. Because then, you wouldn't have to see Kevin again.

• he looked worn out, but wild in a way, the same pitch-black hair, the same empty stare. Only, it became completely hollow now. His eyes only lit up for a secons when he saw you entering the room.

• you trembled with the realization that this person on front of you, behind the glass, killed seven people you knew, and was now smiling to you. A grown-up cougar. Unaffected, bored, like your coming was a matter-of-fact occurrence.

• his first question was what took you so long. He thought you'd run with lectures and commeuppances ages ago.

• his face sported a split eyebrow, there was a bruise on his forehead. His cheekbone was cut, it seemed, some time ago already, and a pink scar made his perfect fucking face asymmetrical.

• "Did you get beaten up?" you asked. He replied that he had got into a fight. His knuckles were torn to shreds almost, it was unpleasant to look at them; his skin was pale, pulled over his skull. Black circles around the eyes told you he didn't sleep well. He looked ever more like a vampire. The unpleasant kind, not like from the Vampire Diaries.

• he tried to ask you again, why you didn't visit him earlier. His mum was the only one, he said, who ever came, besides the lawyers and the journalists. You scoffed at it and left it without the answer. His eyes were palpating you, examining. His mouth slightly agape. He hasn't seen a woman, you thought, except his mother, for a very long time.

• "I came to ask you one question", you said, and Kevin made the face of annoyance. You went on anyway. "Why did you kill my friends?" He mocked you. Why did he do it. If only you knew how many people came here and sat in your place, and asked the same stupid question. Have you people no imagination nor consciousness to bore him with that? Like he knew. "Because I could", he spat out, "because I wanted to, and I had the means. Because I was annoyed with those people, and they made me irritated. What reasons do you want? I have no idea why I fucking did it; to piss you off? To make you spend five fucking selfish years thinking about why I fucking did it".

• you were not impressed. You didn't expect a fifteen year old narcissist to comprehend his own actions completely.

• "Why did you spare me then?" He shrugged.

• "Because you were nice to me".

• "I punched you in the face".

• he shrugged again like it didn't matter. But it did matter to him back then.

• you're like a robot, you said, you're not supposed to feel anything for a girl who you fucked and threw out like a sock with dry cum. You're a machine and you shouldn't feel anything. It irritated Kevin, this comparison with an inanimate object. Truth was, you were trying to get to his core, to hurt him as bad as you could, to see if he's still alive at all.

• "What's your point?" why didn't you kill me with the rest of them?

• he clutched the phone and rolled his eyes like you were asking the stupidest possible questions. His eyes then drifted down to your chest, where, propped against the glass, was your arm with an old, long scar from the razor.

• "Why, you have a death wish now?" he whispered. A familiar lustful smile was curling his lips. You noticed another scar on his lip, from someone's fist. It must be tough for the pretty boy here at prison. You wondered if the inmates were afraid of him.

• "I could organise it, you know". You realized he almost never, if ever, called you by your name. At all, as if it didn't exist. You wondered if he even knew your name at all.

• "You can't, you're in prison. You're a rat behind the glass. Do you understand, Kevin, that some of the parents of my dead friends, killed themselves years later?"

• he swayed his head with a question, like, what's he have to do with this information?

• "And", you panted now, "all because of one angry boy, and you're... it's the lack of grey matter in your brain poless, Kevin. You're a psychopath. And it's not good, do you understand, you're less than others. You're a little bit less of a human than the rest of us".

• finally, you saw the look of indignation on him. It was rage and disgust, but so quiet that his face just elongated, like a cat's. He was silent, burying you with his stare.

• "We all need one thing, Kevin. All of us. But you can't have it. It is inaccessible to you. That's why you did it".

• Kevin's nostrils were flaring. You put down the phone and stood up to leave. You could hear him scream through the glass. You caught him right by the balls. He was so smart, so, so intelligent unlike all these dumb people. But he couldn't guess what you meant. All these years he'd been searching for the answer, and it was just out of his reach.

• "What? What is it? What is it? What is it, Y/N?"

• he got fifteen years, actually. So, he was out when he was thirty. Still very young, all life to live. He pretended a lot in prison to get the appeal, but he was never granted it. Still, just fifteen years, and then he was out.

• you haven't seen him for ten years.

• the 8th of April was shifting further and further from you. Watching all the school shooting happening in the country was strange. Like almost each of them seemed a next chapter to you, like you were supposed to puzzle them all in, into one coherent picture. You changed jobs, you got in and out of relationships, none of which stuck. You didn't talk with your best friend from school, you drifted apart. You moved out and lived alone, acquiring lonely hobbies and observing people.

• the short visit to prison to see Kevin left a bleak impression of frustration. The memory of losing your virginity to him seemed like a minor failure still. You remembered that night very vividly, and now all of the time you were spending with him, was very clear to you.

• looking back, you saw the manipulation and hot and cold approach he practiced on you. You were something of a practice dummy for him. You could travel back in time and stand there next to yourself on the porch of someone's house and watch yourself kiss him for the first time. You could see him now, from a great angle, how he trapped you in his cobweb. How his eyes were never warm or loving, or even interested, but always calculating, measuring. He always looked at you, you realized, as if he was trying to guess your height for a coffin.

• you've never thought of the life 'after'. In your mind, the fifteen years of prison were eternal. You thought it was the period of time during which you would kill yourself

• you tried to learn everything about ASPD as if it could help you in anyway to deal with what had happened.

• the year when he got released, you only learned about it from the news.

• "Kevin Khatchadourian, the Robin Hood shooter, to be released this May". The article reminisced of the tragedy, and speculated on whether fifteen years have shaken Kevin enough for him to become a good boy. Kevin, it said, had gotten a pretty good rehabilitation back in the minor facility, and very rarely was in trouble at prison. He was an excellent inmate, obedient, friendly and very active at the workshops. He worked at the hospital wing and cared for other inmates. You wondered how many people he made die slowly and painfully, getting high on the power he had over them.

• not immediately did it shake you to reality: Kevin was now about to be free in two months. You tried not to stress about it too much. He didn't give a shit about you. Not then, not now. The therapy groups organized specifically for his victims and the families gathered that spring more often than usual. You weren't accepted there, weren't welcome. They couldn't forgive you for surviving.

• a week after his release you noticed Kevin on the other side of the street as you left for work in the morning. You didn't much care and ignored him. But the sight of him was something to think about. His hair was now long, almost to his shoulders. He was broad-shouldered, tall, and even from across the street you could see his warning eyes.

• you were careful not to get any pets or close friends. It wasn't a problem before, and it wasn't now.

• you cut yourself sometimes, and now started to do it more often - every time you caught yourself thinking, finally he's out.

• you've never gone to a proper doctor, only had therapy for five years, which you quit after visiting him in prison. It was all useless, you thought, because I still want him, and even more now. Everything that's happened to you shaped you into this creature of guilt and need.

• but also rage.

• he once held you by the throat and aimed an arrow at you, and since then, you barely felt fear, like someoned switched it off.

• Kevin came to your place. You tried to shut the door into his face, but he caught it. Close up, you could see his face, thin and pale with the lack of sun.

• he wanted to talk to you. Like adults.

• he said that no, you were never that special, but you actively chose him, again and again, and he was interested to find why. When it appeared so easy to make you have sex with him, he lost interest, but then, at the night of the massacre, for some reason, he just didn't feel like killing you

• you were nobody, to each other, he hasn't even thought about you the first five years, before you came to visit.

• then the thought of you became somewhat of obsession

• he probably idealized you

• you asked where he lived now, and he said that his mum bought a flat in the city and had a room for him. You called him pathetic. At first, he didn't react; he looked broken.

• but there was still the same sense of grandeur in him; you, a feeble creature, thought you could outpower him with only your fury and jealousy, indignation at what he'd done

• but, as Kevin once told you, the world was so unfair to little, pretty girls like you

• he threw you on the floor of your kitchen

• you laughed with relief, saying, "Finally! I thought just fifteen years of prison broke you like a dry twig".

• the look of recognition sparked in his eyes; he kneeled over you as if to say something, and you got his nose with your fist

• one would say it was a happy (in the most infernal way) reunion

• you fought, and laughed, and kicked each other, and kissed with the blood dripping heavily in between your mouths. Only there, in the isolated square of your apartment, you could finally confess to yourself that you didn't give a shit about anything; you haven't for some time.

• the blood was smeared on the floor, on the table, on the cupboards of the kitchen from how much you fought and punched each other

• he left you half dead, and redeemed, it felt

• he said that he'd return soon, and he expected you to be there waiting for him. He didn't want you to go to work or see anybody.

• you laughed at this suggestion and got up to tell him something to his face.

• he was in the bathroom, washing his face. The blood was dripping from his nose onto his t-shirt; he looked like a painting

• and paintings are objects you could own.

• you said "Make me"

• and his smile was almost happy; Kevin could only master so much, that it looked like a deranged grin. The time he spent on the bottom of helplessnes in prison, with nothing but his own self, changed the way he smiled. There was nothing behind his eyes when he smiled now.

• he promised he would go out and fuck whoever he wanted, and then return to you, smelling like other women, and there was nothing you could do about it

• you clenched your fists, but you were now so weak you could barely stand. Your whole body ached.

• he helped you shower and washed your hair, tugging on it, giving you instructions, like an idiot, expecting that he had the same control over you

• after work, you go straight home, you don't text with your parents, don't see your friends, every time you leave your house, you tell him where

• you laughed like crazy at these words.

• Kevin, Kevin. His name was like melody. The pain in your body, bruises, were the first thing you felt in a long time, and, coincidentally, they were connected with the feeling of elation you had now, that his hands were on your neck and your shoulders.

• you could fuck whoever you wanted, Kevin, but it would only happen one time, because if you do, I'll cut your balls off

• and to make him sure that you weren't bluffing, you tried to stab him with manicure scissors from the bathroom mirror.

• his reactions were fast, and he caught your hand inches from his face.

• as he looked down at you, sitting in your bathroom in the pool of pink blood, blood on your forehead, your eyes rolling, he thought about the time he finally started paying attention at school. The girl who loved frogs so much she couldn't look at dead ones. Weak-gutted.

• he now almost admired how deranged you have become. At the moment of epiphany he realized he was the one who made you like this. He was so, so happy. Or what he thought was happiness.

• you pulled on his collar, biting your lip, and put his face very close to yours

• "Don't fuck with me". He saw all the fun coming and he didn't have any desire to disobey.

• Look, what was that damn thing you were talking about when you visited?

• you watched his sculpted face and his sharp bones, the tilt of the head and the vampiric malevolence in his eyes. What was love anymore? Would it have made any difference, morally, if you two had met in normal circumstances, and, more importantly, if he was normal? Would you even have fallen for him if he was a good boy?

• this life was a vortex that became tighter and tighter every year. Next to your memories of school, was this confined bathroom, like you existed on all of the planes at the same time. You laughed at your own naive young self that was looking for excuses for Kevin. uwu, his mum didn't want him. He's too pretty to be that bad. He didn't need excuses, he was always the villain. The good people are never that striking, that vivid and suffocating.

• nevermind, Kevin, it doesn't matter. I didn't know what the fuck I was talking about.

[starspann]

wouldn’t it be nice (pt. 2) | 18+

joe cooper x reader

fem!reader, she/her pronouns are used

★☆✵☆★

warnings: cursing, smut

coop ruins everything

★☆✵☆★

weirdly enough, the blonde had been keeping calendar.

exactly 4 months and 8 days.

that’s how long cooper had been battling the urge to confess his feelings to remer’s girlfriend.

to be even more precise, he’s been wanting to for as long as the lovely couple had been together.

sometimes he’d practice his confession in the shower. while lazily shampooing his hair, he’d talk to the tiled wall, and somehow still manage to become embarrassed. he’d muster up a few broken phrases before falling silent.

“what a fucking wimp.” he told himself. he couldn’t even tell her in an imaginary scenario, how could he grow the balls to tell it to her face?

he’d shake his head, disappointed in himself.

then the soapy suds from his hair would fall and slide into his eye, he’d scream and almost slip on the slick bathtub floor.

not only did he lack the courage, but she’s dating sir fucking swish. doug remer, joe coopers best friend since they were little kids. they did everything together. used to read comic books together, ride bikes together… now, they drink together. a lot.

coop and remer found themselves seated at what could only be described as a seedy bar, like so many other nights they had spent together. and just like every other night, remer felt compelled to talk about y/n.

“hey man, we should get out of here soon. y'know, since y/n's coming over tonight." he opened his wallet to reveal a condom.

cooper let out an internal groan, feeling both embarrassed and annoyed at the same time.

"yeah, yeah i’ll follow you," he sighed exasperatedly as remer pushed off the stool and slowly made his way towards the door of the bar.

as cooper stood there, watching remer walk away, a flash of light on the dirty bar floor caught his eye.

it appeared to be a small, square-shaped, laminated paper laying next to his feet.

figuring it slipped from remer’s wallet when he opened it, he Immediately stooped down and swept it up, ready to call out for his friend, but before he could even get one word out, cooper turned the piece of paper around with curiosity.

his heart beat quickened and his cock twitched at the image.

a hazy, half-assed taken polaroid photo of y/n, stripped bare and invitingly curled up on remers bed.

though it was a little blurry, he could still admire all the details. her fists gripping onto remer’s baby blue sheets that he always refused to change, her eyes gently shut, her mouth hanging slightly open, and worst of all, remers hand placed on her thigh, his hips snapping into hers.

the picture was obviously taken mid-fuck.

cooper face flushed hot. it was like an instant dream come true; he had admired her from afar for so long yet never had the courage to act upon it. now here she was, willingly on display right before his eyes.

instead of doing the right thing, and being a respectable human being; he stuffed the photo in his back pocket, following remer to the old car.

coop’s dick strained against his jeans the entire car ride.

back at the house, y/n cursed at her curly haired boyfriend for losing such a thing.

“jesus fucking christ, doug! one thing i ask you to do, one thing!” she smacked him on the arm, furious with his careless actions.

“i told you not to put it in a place that you’d forget about!” her arms were crossed as she angrily paced around his unkempt room.

“hey, okay, first of all, i didn’t forget where i put it, it must’ve slipped out is all!” he threw his hands up in defense as if being accused of a crime.

“holy shit.” her breath was no longer steady, in fact, it sounded like she was on the brink of tears.

any girl would be if they had just learned their boyfriend lost a naked picture of them, most likely in a public space.

“y/n, baby, relax! it’s somewhere, okay? i’ll find it.” he held his pinkie up, awaiting y/n to hook hers with his, “just trust me?”

a promise, again. exactly like how he promised her he wouldn’t lose the photo in the first place.

“..okay.” y/n gave in, lifting her hand towards his and pinkie swearing to another false vow.

remer smiled at her with a toothy grin.

“see? that’s more like it.” he stood up from the bed and patted her on the back, “i’ll find it. swear.”

in the room next to theirs, coop was slumped, perched on his bed with his head in his hands. he was staring down at the tattered polaroid grasped tightly in his palms, considering what he should do with it. he could chuck it away, but what would be the point of disposing a perfectly good photo? a sexy one of his crush at that?

he quickly placed it on the side table next to him. avoiding its gaze, he shook his head, disgusted with his own actions.

without a doubt it was wrong. so fucking wrong.

he knew it, too.

despite his unease at the moment, that did not stop his hand from reaching for the lewd polaroid and feverishly pulling down his pants.

he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt as he considered how wrong it seemed for him to give in to such temptation, but yet here he was, desperately trying to satisfy his untameable urges.

he collapsed back onto his bed, the springs inside the mattress making an irritating squeak as he threw his boxers off, kicking them to the side.

he was already pretty hard, the view of polaroid only causing his cock to throb even more.

he laid his head against a pillow and began to work on himself, nothing but y/n on his mind.

he pictured her on his bed, her legs spread for him, her body inviting him to join her.

the movement of his hand sped up.

he’d make her feel so, so good. god, if he only had the chance, he’d spend hours between her legs. till her eyes rolled back. till she forgot remer’s name. eat her out like she was his last meal and he was a terribly starved inmate on death row.

he thought about what she might say,

“fuck me, coop. need you so bad. need your cock inside me.”

“you’re tongue feels fucking great right there, keep going.”

“sh-shit coop—“

he pictured her stuttering through her moans, unable to contain the pleasure he would give her.

his finger glided over his tip, playing with the pre-cum forming at his slit.

he looked at the picture once more, hand shaking and unable to keep steady as the other one stroked himself.

his hips bucked into his fist, pulling a noisy whine from his throat.

he was practically mesmerized by the image.

he really couldn’t help it. her name just rolled off his lips so easily,

“shit, y/n.” he groaned.

loudly.

it really wasn’t his fault. he had no idea that remer and y/n were still in the house at the time. in his mind, he thought they went out. he was far too busy imagining hot, wild sex with her to hear them arguing next door.

he moaned her name over and over again.

that’s when y/n opened his door.

of course, coop had forgotten to lock it.

why wouldn’t he?

[howl-fantasies]

Hey! It’s me again, after a while; I was wondering )if your requests were open) if I could request a oneshot about (Gotham) Edward Nygma alongside any other Gotham charecter, who have a very pristine and classy significant other who they work alongside, and one day said S/O is sat in their apartment (or place of residence) with their hair in rollers, with a face mask on, eating some sort of fast food watching, some reality TV show like ‘Say yes to the dress’ and is acting very different to their usual somewhat glamorous self.

I thought of this a while ago as I have recently been able to relax as my uni work load has been put on hold for the summer holidays! Woo Hoo! Anyway, I appreciate your work and Ishiguro do not wish to complete this request that is absolutely fine.

- Elsie x

Hello there dearie!

Oh my lord, I absolutely love the concept! Gotham's men NEED to learn nobody never wake up with a full makeup on and don't turn on themselves like the Sims when they jump out of bed to look perfect. I had so much fun imagining our guys having a mental breakdown seeing their S/O "off" mode.

So, here it is :

GOTHAM VILLAIN WALKING ON THEIR S/O WHEN THEY ARE ON THEIR "OFF" MODE

EDWARD NYGMA / THE RIDDLER

Edward was having a "meh" day. One of those during which nothing seems to surprise / interest him. It happens, you know, him being a genius and all, he sometimes finds himself being bored. But you, his stunning, witty, classy partner would know how to make his day better, he knows it.

Unsuspecting, he used the spare key you gave him a month ago and walked inside of your apartment, ready to see his day brightened by the simple view of your impeccable self. How lucky of a man he was.

"Dear?" He would call when you weren't here to greet him like you usually did. He sent you a text before coming, he was certain.

He heard the noise of your TV, pretty loud, so it was why you didn't answer. Was it also why you didn't read his text? Strange, he pictured you more like the kind of person to be lost in a book or something. But that was ok, he also had his times when he needed to put the thing on, to hear the news about him, for instance. Though, the high pitched female voices started to make him doubt you were watching Gotham News.

Nevermind, he followed the voices to your living room and brutally stopped when he saw the back of your head. What was the bright pink fluffy thing in your hair?! He had to open his mouth when he hear you. "Are you kidding me, look at you Meredith?! You look like a freaking pièce montée with that!" Did you hurt your mouth or something, you sounded like something was stuck inside of it (not something under 18 here, everybody keep calm please!)

"My love?" He asked.

"Oh fuckity Shitty Fuck!" You screamed, making one hell of a jump. Now on your feet, you were facing him, absolutely horrified.

You decided you needed to let your "on" mode cool down a bit today and since no robbery nor abduction were on your calendar, you wanted a little "off" time mode only for you.

Off time, meaning here: putting a bluish moisturising mask on your face, putting your favorite pink rabbit ears headband, your fluffy pajamas and slippers. You ordered a pizza earlier with soda and finally decided to watch your favorite trashy tv show. And here you were. Gawking like an idiot in front of your boyfriend, who looked like he was considering calling a priest to exorcise you or something.

"Ok, Ed. Please don't panic." You said, making an appeasing gesture with your hands.

"Don't panic?! Don't p-... Dear, what happened?! Did you encountered Jerome and he forced you in a weird disguise? Or am I hallucinating?!" He squeaked suddenly reaching for his wrist to check his own pulse.

Ok, he was totally panicking... "Ed..." You called again with a sigh, feeling your hand brush against your dry mask on your forehead. "Dear, it's not an attack or a prank or anything. I'm just taking a little time for myself, like... pampering, see what i'm talking about?."

Hearing your resigned voice and the little bit of annoyance in it, he stopped his frantic health check. Ok Eddie, time to think like a grown man.

Please make some space for Mister Riddler in his inner mental theater. Y/N is a human being, pretty much like him. A beautiful human being with a sumptuous as-... *Sorry Ed had to mentally punch him to keep him on track.* Ahem, like he was thinking before being brutally interrupted, Y/N is a human. Like him they have morning hair, don't always wear makeup nor impeccable clothes, and they must have to work hard to keep their skin so smooth and beautiful and...

"Ed?!" Now you are the one looking for his pulse. When you caught his gaze, you find this little light, you know, the one meaning someone FINALLY had put two and two together DUH.

"Y/N, I got it." He said, putting his hands on your shoulders and taking a long inspiration. "Of course i did. I'm a genius. Pampering, taking a self-care day, feel comfy and all..." But he suddenly turned you around to face the TV, "I got everything, except this! I mean, what the hell is this?!" He had to point the tv with his index for good measure.

He never watched "say yes to the dress." Of course he hasn't. Poor dude was too busy cracking puzzles and riddles. He's pretty confused here. You will have to explain how in hell this trashy thing is helping you feel relaxed.

Or don't, after all, it could be a pretty good opportunity to explain your lover you both have your hobbies and have to respect it ;).

Would totally be ok with you taking care of his skin and his nails. And the man would be super proud of it let me tell you. If someone messed with his fresh manucure, he would immediately turn to you / call you and apologize. "I'm afraid, we'll have to plan another self-care session my dear. Sooner than expected". (Relationship goal here!)

--

OSWALD COBBLEPOT / THE PENGUIN

Oswald being Oswald, he would HAVE to walk on you on one of his worst days.

His mood was terrible and he seriously was in need of a good hug, a good vent and probably his mother “special bad days” tea. 

Since you moved in with him a few weeks ago, his first words to poor Olga when he went through the main doors were “WHERE IS Y/N?!” of course he had to yell even if the woman was not even a meter from him, taking his coat, hat and umbrella with a calm we all have to acknowledge. The maid will simply point in direction of the living room, keeping her smirk well hidden. Poor boy is up for a good and well deserved shock in here. 

Oswald would limp in a rush to you, grumbling like an old man all along, and couldn’t wait to have you listen about his terrible day and the bunch of idiots he had to deal with. 

“What the hell happened?!” He heard you scream in outrage when he was a few steps away from your position. He felt a smile growing on his face. Of course you would be concerned about his distress, you were like this with him, a worrywart, but his worrywart and he was the same with you. 

“Thank you! Someone at least is able to read the mood in a room”, he had to say, glaring at Olga who, again, shrugged and get away to dust the stairs. She wasn’t going to miss the show. No way. 

“No seriously, what happened to you poor thing, what did they do to you?”, Y/N cooed from the couch. 

Finally, Cobblepot emerged from the hallway, his mouth ready to answer them when all the air he took to do so was sucked out of him. “M-My dear?” He called. 

Y/N tensed on the sofa. Oh dear hell. Oh no. 

No excuse was good enough to explain your current state: slumped on the couch, a tiger face mask, bright yellow and blue unicorns air clips and the worse? Fluffy pajamas with a penguin and a polar bear walking hand in hand on the snow, with the sentence “Take it slow in the snow” sewn under them. No. Nope. Nu-uh. You were doomed. 

 Y/N smiled awkwardly and made a stupid little wave with their hand. “Oswald...Dear...Well...Hello?” 

His deafening silence was maybe worse than his higher screeches. When he finally opened his mouth, they were covered by the sound of the tv. “Oh my god, yes! Yes it’s the one!” 

His eyes followed the female voice and took a long look at the screen. “Is it “say yes to the dress?” He suddenly asked. 

You were dumbfounded a second, frowning your brows but finally answered a low “yes?” 

He would stay silent and resume his walking until letting himself fall ungracefully next to you and start to watch. 

“Oswald? Are you ok?” 

He nodded once, his eyes still on the screen. “Mother used to watch it with me and we would talk about my day.” 

Oh. Oh! Ok, Y/N can definitely make it their ritual. “Want to do it dear? I have another face mask and was about to ask Olga for another tea. How does it sound? 

Sounds perfect. Cobblepot will 100% adopt this ritual and talk about his terrible day while you apply some cucumber on his tired eyes. He knows how to do perfect manucure (mommy boy, remember?) and would help his S/O with their nails, hair, skin... everything. 

Their self care is as important as taking Gotham’s throne. Anybody interrupting them would be dead. And “Say yes to the dress” will stay, giving the two the perfect opportunity to bond even more about fashion. Oswald is also a very talented tailor after all, so he knows what he’s talking about. Enjoy!  

-- 

VICTOR ZSASZ

Since when didn’t he stalk you? A day or two? He was letting his guard down. What if you suddenly decided to run away, change city, were shot by a lunatic... and here it goes, his brain started to panic. He was pretty busy lately, thanks to Jim, Harvey, and every idiotic cop in the city suddenly realizing their job was in fact to arrest criminals, not taking their money and looking the other way. Aah...Good old days...

Anyway, nothing now was about to stop him to go to his S/O. Even if you gave him a key, (please don’t) he would prefer to pick the locks of your door, you know...for the thrill and everything. And, I mean, I you’re lucky enough to have survived Zsasz, it probably means you have some strong sense of self preservation and weren’t foolish enough to give the sadist your keys. 

When your door finally opened, he went inside of your flat like a shadow, grinning like a madman about the idea of giving you the scare of your dear life. God knows he loved to make you jump and see the rush of adrenaline in your body. 

Your TV was on, he could tell, the sound of a few people resonating inside of your flat like they were with you in your living room. 

Another sound made him stop for a second: someone drinking the end of a soda or a milkshake. Super loud at that. Who would have known the perfect little Y/N, always sipping their beverage like a posh aristocrat was enjoying a cheap one like any commoner on earth. How funny. 

You wouldn’t even realize he was next to the couch. Not until you heard him giggle stupidly making you scream bloody murder and throwing your now empty milkshake at his head. 

Being the troll he is, Victor would dodge it without even giving you a glance and lazily point at the screen saying something stupid like: “the previous one looked better uh?” 

Don’t strangle him on spot. Or do it, not sure here what he may enjoy the most... 

When your heart would finally stops its marathon, you would be able to take a better look at the picture: him, standing next to the couch arm, his left forearm on the top of the furniture, his right hand on his hip and his legs crossed, taking a good look at you, his S/O.

Currently rolled like a burrito in a fluffy purple plaid with only your head, hands and socks visibles. Are these little pizzas on your socks and headband by the way? And are you really wearing a panda face mask? 

You were ready to punch these questions back deep inside of his throat as soon as he will ask them and make him gulp his stupid smirk. Though, you weren’t ready for his gaze to shift from your eyes and face to your table and the “is it pepperoni?” He stupidly asked, pointing at the pizza your were eating earlier like an hungry wolf. You hoped he didn't see it...

Breathe, in and out. It’s the key.

"You really are full of surprises, love." He teased, too happy to see your obvious discomfort.

Option A) giving him the middle finger. Proceed with caution though, he's really good at shooting fingers.

Option B) Scream ugly profanities at his dumb face. Good to vent, but he wouldn't give a f. Just enjoy it more and more.

Option C) slouch back on the couch and throw him the pizza's menu. "you pay for the next and the milkshakes." And wait for his lazy ass to seat next to you, because he will. Oh. And if you feel confident enough, don't hesitate to slap a ridiculous face mask on his already ridiculous face. Yes he doesn't give a shit about looking like an idiot but you wouldn't be the only idiot in the room anymore. 👍

--

A/N - I hope you liked it, have a beautiful day dearie 🥰💐

[papasbaseball]

His Office of Propriety (Papa Emeritus IV x Reader)

+18 CONTENT NOT FOR MINORS. MINORS KEEP SCROLLING

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: All the warnings. Dubcon bordering on Noncon, Knives, Blood, Mention of Torture, Violence, Clothes Cutting, Rough Sex, No Aftercare, Office Sex and Boss/Employee dynamic.

Summary: Furious from a meeting where he is cut off financially by the clergy, Papa Emeritus IV takes his frustrations out on his assistant. He doesn’t know yet that his loyal assistant had more reasons to be loyal than just a paycheck. Too bad loyalty does not soothe anger and a wounded ego. She will have to learn from her mistakes the hard way.

Word Count: 3,470

Notes: READ THE WARNINGS. Translations are at the end.

AO3 Link

"Maledetta puttana del cazzo!" The door slams so hard you thought the bricks around it would come crumbling down. His brow hoods his mismatched eyes as Italian venom continues to pour from his lips. Barreling towards you, he looks like a bull that had been speared by a matador, his jacket as red as the fatal cape.

"Pap-"

"You think you can run your fucking mouth, hm?" Unable to look at him, your pen shakes as you try to go back to underlining an important number—it had to be important, must be important—for his upcoming quarterly meeting with the clergy. He snatches the pen and tosses it across the room. "Run your mouth now. What did you tell Sister Imperator?"

"I didn't-"

"But you did. Do you want to know how I know?"

Your whole body is shaking. Rage tries to escape the heavy paint on his face, reddening a patch of skin on his neck where the paint had rubbed off. His eyes are wild, lit red in the shimmering fire of that jacket. He snatches you by the back of your shirt out of your chair, the stitches on your chiffon blouse ripping barely audible above his ragged breathing. “No, Papa! No!”

“Only you knew! Now I am leashed!” The soft cotton of his glove wraps around your throat and he slams you so fast to the wall that one of his framed accolades falls, glass shattering with a pop. “I trusted you and you violated my trust, dolce.”

The pet name makes you whimper. It’s new and so perfectly wrong with how mad he is. You had fantasized about him calling you all kinds of pet names, but never like this. He would be on the phone, thinking you were too busy logging receipts and making appointments. You would watch his brow knit together as someone told him about plans for the new tour and you'd think of you and him curled up in his bed on a Sunday morning - nowhere to go, nothing to do- just the two of you. You imagined how he’d play with your hair and call you every beautiful diminutive under the sun, kissing and touching and fucking. You'd dream until he hung up the phone.

His lips twitch into a smile that would make Satan himself shiver. “Did you do it to make me mad, dolce?” He drags out the e in a gravelly tone. He slides his hand up to where your jaw meets your neck, pinning you to the wall like one of his accolades.

“P-Please,” you choked under the grip of his glove, “I would never try to make you mad. I'm sorry.” Tears stung your eyes as he pressed harder.

He throws you to the ground, the carpet stinging your palms and knees. Your back arches as you try again to stop thinking about him fucking you, here on all fours, in the middle of his office of propriety. The glass from the frame crunches as he steps around you to search for something in his desk. “Let me tell you about my day, dolce. Maybe it will jog your memory, hm?” You stay silent. “I finished my meeting with Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil at 4 o'clock - you know this, ma certo, you put it in my calendar.” His voice is calmer now, more measured. It's enough to make your bones grow cold. “She called this meeting for a very important reason, dolce. Do you know why?”

You shook your head, not wanting to anger him further with your words. Looking up, you see that he is holding up a pocket knife that he found in the drawer.

He sucked his teeth. “You are a very bad assistant, sending me into traps like this.” He holds the knife up to the sunlight streaming through the windows, watching as the glint glides back and forth. Your stomach churns and your legs beg you to run. Moving only millimeters at a time, you crawl towards the door. “I will tell you,” he says, continuing to search his drawer, knick-knacks knocking about, “Sister says to me ‘Copia, I’m cutting you off.’ This is news, yes? I ask her why. She says, ‘The clergy did not approve your new vestments.’”

Shit. It is starting to come together now. It was a passing conversation you had in the hall with Imperator the day the new vestments came in. You had told her just how regal he looked in them, leaving out how your heart raced when your fingers glided down the silky brocade that felt so good over his solid chest. You had dreamt of him fucking you that night, the fine fabric bunching over the small of your back, him so desperate to finally have his assistant that he couldn't even bother to take the damned thing off. You move more quickly toward the door.

"You see, dolce, that is when I knew. Only you had seen them. Only you had access to my receipts. They were supposed to be a surprise."

The door is within reach when the sole of his boot connects with your back and presses until you crack. Your elbows buckle and the floor comes up to knock the wind from you. He kicks you in the ribs to face up, but it’s the knife that has you scrambling backward, the carpet biting into your rug-burned palms once again. You try to ignore the heat in your core marbling with the fear in your stomach.

“Please, Papa!” “They cut me off. You need to be taught a lesson.”

“No, please Papa. I’m sorry, I’m stupid!" It's coming up and you can't stop it "I kept thinking about how good you looked in them and I was daydreaming.” The tears are pouring down your face. Was he going to cut your tongue out? Was he going to kill you? The room spun and you wanted nothing more than to pass out. Let this nightmare end and go back to the sweet dreams of him and you in that bed on a Sunday morning. “I shouldn’t have opened my mouth,” you sob, “but Sathanas has cursed me to think of you every night and my mind is not sane.”

You see the glint of one of his canines and he laughs.

“The little lamb has developed a crush on her shepherd, has she?” His knee had pushed up your skirt and you realize just how firmly it was pressed against your aching cunt. A nudge is all it takes for you to rock your hips against it like the pathetic infatuated creature you are, cooing in misery. You want to die, but you need him to keep going, and all you can do is whimper.

He presses the blade against your throat. “Use your words, dolce: Do you think of me when you touch yourself?” Sick satisfaction highlights those painted lips. You know the answer, you just can’t say it. The blade presses harder and the pain gushes them forward.

“Yes, Papa! Only you. Every night.” He hums seemingly with pride.

“Good girl. And how do you touch yourself?” The blade prompts you again with a bite.

“Ah! With my hands, Papa. I imagine they’re yours. I think about how good your cock would feel when I fuck myself with my fingers.”

“The assistant dreams of her Papa’s cock, is that right?” His knee grinds into your pussy and you have hope for a brief moment, hope that he wants this too and that he wants to see you writhe in ecstasy. It’s not in his bed, tangled in his arms and the sheets, but he might let you cum if you’re good.

“I can’t stop thinking about it.”

The knife pulls off your throat and you cry as he stands up, your dark desire craving the pressure of his leg. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair and points the knife to your cheek. "Beg."

"What?"

"Beg for my cock. Beg for me to use your worthless pussy."

"Papa-" The knife nicks the apple of your cheek and you yelp.

"Do it."

You swallow hard on your tears. The words that he wants to hear are turning your cheeks redder than the blood blooming forth from the knife. "Please let me have your cock, Papa."

“Do you think you deserve it? Do you think you have earned it when you can’t even keep your mouth shut?” He cracks you hard across the face with his palm, the gloves muting the slap.

Turning your head back to look into his eyes breaks you. You can see the faint glimmer of pain for the first time, how you’ve truly hurt and disappointed him behind all that rage. What good were you, the person he was supposed to be able to trust with his secrets, if you told them to anyone? The disappointment chokes your voice. “Please. Let me earn it. Let me earn you.”

He unlaces his pants, never breaking eye contact, and frees himself from their ripped confines. The knife ghosts down your cheek until it tips your chin up to look up at him. Any warmth in those mismatched eyes is now gone, replaced with sadistic want. “Worship me, troia senza valore.”

His cock is already half hard and looks too big to fit in your mouth. You place a hand on his leg to steady yourself, but he quickly swats it off. “Did I say you could touch me?”

“No, P-”

“Suck.” The knife guides you to the thick head, your lips trembling. You can’t help but to open your mouth as the bead of precum touches your lips, eager for the salt of him. His hand is in your hair quicker than you can realize and Copia is guiding you down the length of him. Your jaw aches as it struggles to wrap around his girth. You give up and relax the muscles, letting yourself drool like a mindless animal. He hisses out a stream of Italian you’d never heard before. In your pitiful heart, you hope that he is praising your mouth. You hope that he is telling you how hot and tight it is, how it's the best mouth he's ever had. Daring a glance up, you see that he isn’t even looking at you.

Steadying your hands behind your back, you take the initiative and hollow your cheeks while looking up at him in defiance. He looks down on you, smug as ever.

“Is my office slut finally ready to behave and cooperate? It is clear that I need to retrain you.” He guides your head faster and harder, occasionally touching the back of your throat. “Would you like that?” You don’t dare nod and break his rhythm, only batting your eyes up at him in agreement.

He pushes further and further until you are gagging on him. "Ah ah. Look at me. You will take it all, capisci?"

Digging your nails into your palm, you push yourself onto him again, trying to angle your head so you wouldn't choke again. That's enough. It will be enough. When you go to pull off he holds you head down on him. You choke and sputter, desperate for air as the pressure in your head pushes you closer and closer to passing out.

“That is a good girl. This is a very important lesson, no? Holding your breath, so you don’t spill my secrets again.”

You’re sure you’re on the precipice of unconsciousness when he finally pulls out. The deep gasps send sharp pangs to your lungs. Each breath hurts so bad, but the high they give you, oh the high. Your thighs tremble to hold yourself up. Something in your arms is begging for you to grab on and cling to his legs. Don't. The smack from earlier still stings under your skin. This is his office. His rules. You’re finally able to look up at him through your watery mascara stained eyes.

His thumb comes down to wipe away a mascara tear track. "So pretty. You are the prettiest when you follow my rules. Obedience looks good on you, dolce."

You lean into his sweet hand. The affection, even after choking you with his cock, is enough to make you cry tears of joy.

"Mi dispiace, Papa. Thank you for the lesson."

"I did not say we were finished." His fingers twist your hair, dragging you up to your feet and over to the red velvet divan. As he guides you to lay down on it, the fabric brushes and cradles your skin with the plush luxury. “A lesson must be permanent.” The knife is at the ready again and you can see the edge stained red with your blood.

The wind is crushed out of you once more in a horrible sob. “Please Papa. I’ve learned my lesson. Please.”

He is quick, slicing through the chiffon and pearl buttons with his knife. It is another cut in the series of slashes he has already made to your ego. You think about how you saved for so long to buy that blouse on your monthly ministry outing and how you’d picked it out just for him. There isn’t even enough time to process the loss before he has cut the straps and the front of your bra open, spilling your breasts out for him. “Ecco. This is much better, no?” You try to cover up, but he nicks a cut into your arm in response. “You will not cover up what is mine. If I wanted you to cover up, I would have told you.”

He slashes through your skirt but leaves your pantyhose untouched. The chill of the office air already has you shivering and your nipples puckering into hardened buds. “This is your new dress code, pet. Since I will be wearing less clothing because of you, so will you. As above, so below.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Why did you do it?”

You hadn’t seen that question coming. Five little words and you can’t look at him. You can feel your slick leaking out to soak the inner thighs of your pantyhose. He tilts your face back to face him with the knife and you can see his cock is leaking precum again. “I did it because I was too busy thinking about wanting to fuck you,” you mumble.

“Maybe I should fuck you with my knife if you want me that bad.” The knife pierces the soft skin of your cheek.

The blood drains from your face and your body screams again to run for the door. If you did that he would shove the blade right through your pantyhose, mangling the soft wet flesh. The thought made your skin crawl and tears burst from your eyes.

“Please, Papa, anything but that. Please don’t hurt me.”

“I must hurt you in some way, pet. It is the only way you’ll learn. Daydreaming has become a bad habit for you.” His face and tone are sympathetic but his words are pure cruelty.

You sob even harder knowing that he can do whatever he wants to you, there is no escaping this room without the consequences.

“You must be a brave pet for your, Papa, d’accordo? I will let you choose where I hurt you if I am satisfied with how you please me.”

You want to please him. If you obey, maybe he will rethink his punishment. “Can I have the knife please?”

You’re so weak he doesn’t think twice. He places the blade in your hand curiously.

“I can be brave.” You slide the knife down the front seam of the hosiery, watching as the threads spring back with eagerness, exposing your soaked panties for him. It is a little more difficult, but you wiggle the blade from hip seam to hip seam across the front of the white soaked cotton. “For you, Papa. I can’t leave now.”

His lips are on yours, as he presses you further into the sofa. It’s real and your heart is beating overtime as he slips his tongue greedily into your mouth. His. His. His. He is claiming you as his. You moan and rock your hips up against him, desperate to feel him take you fully.

He takes his cock and teases it up and down your slit. Once. Twice.

“Papa, please.”

“How long have you wanted this, pet?”

“Since the fir- aah!” He’s sinking so quickly inside you that you can’t help but to clench around him. His eyes burrow into you, speaking to the undeniable fact that you are so thoroughly his and he knows it. He watches you intently, pushing and pushing until he bottoms out.

“Use your words, dolce.” He steadily pulls out again.

“Since the first day, Papa. Since I started working in your office.” He thrusts into you again and you cry in delight as he stretches you fully. It’s better than the daydreams. Little details you hadn’t even thought of like his warm breath against your collarbone, the way the sequins of his jacket lightly scratch their markings into the valley of your breasts, all become the focus of your attention as he fucks you for his pleasure.

“But you never did anything?”

“You’re Papa. I am just a sister of sin.”

“I am Papa.” He wraps his hand around your throat once more. “You are below me and you belong to me.”

The pressure builds in your head again and you drop the knife, the metal clattering on the floor. Your hands break your own rules as they claw at the soft leather of his sleeves. You’re not certain if it’s to pry him off or beg for more. His hips are now snapping into you at such a rapid pace, and occasionally they’ll catch in the right way, bruising your needy clit. The whimpering from you is uncontrollable.

It’s sooner than you want as he spills into you. All it would take is a few more thrusts for you to reach your own high, but he slips out of you and you can feel his unholy seed leaking from the gaping mess that he’s made you. Tears bud in your eyes, but it’s futile to ask.

He picks up the knife from the floor. “You learn quickly and I am satisfied. I will let you choose.”

“I want to make you happy, Papa. I have already upset you.” In truth you wanted it somewhere where it wouldn't hurt so much, like an arm, but you’re aching cunt wanted him to finish what he had started, and that meant making him happy.

His lips quirk up into a smirk. “You want your Papa to choose? Even after all of my punishment?”

You bite your lip, fighting the fear creeping in.

He takes the knife and guides it to the muscle of your thigh, pushing back the ripped edge of your pantyhose. You do your best to fight the pain, but still cry like a wounded animal as it slices through the skin. It’s like a paper cut on steroids, but it is over just as soon as it started. Five lines. The Roman numeral IV.

“You owe me, so now I own you.” He offers no remedy for the bleeding, simply getting up to put his knife away at his desk once more. Cleaning the blade, he collapses it and shuts the wooden drawer. “I expect you to be in the office 30 minutes early every day and you will stay 30 minutes late for the purposes of servicing me.” He tucks himself back into his pants, lacing them up like none of this had ever happened. “Since I now own you, I do not want you touching what is mine. Playing with yourself and fantasizing about me is what got you into this mess. You are only allowed to touch yourself when I tell you to, capisci?”

Your cunt drips at the thought of it belonging to him, contracting around the memory of the stretch of him. “Yes, Papa.”

“I will call for clothes so you can leave the office, but until then, get back to work. I have to make other plans for the tour.” He draws out the chair and is immediately punching buttons on the phone.

You get up in your cut pantyhose and underwear, walking back to your desk, mindful of the broken glass. The cold office air licks against your still hot skin and you almost slip your hands between your legs before you catch yourself. The pout creeps onto your face, but you look over to him, a ghost of how you used to daydream. He did say I would have to stay 30 minutes after. Maybe he’ll let me cum then… if I’m good.

TRANSLATIONS: "Maledetta puttana del cazzo!" - Damn fucking whore! dolce. - Sweet ma certo - But of course troia senza valore - worthless whore capisci? - Do you understand? Mi dispiace - I am sorry Ecco - There. d’accordo - Okay

[reigningmax]

Max/Daniel fic recs (1/?)

Here are some amazing fics I’ve read and loved over the past few months. Thank you always to the fic writers, they are the backbones of society (fandom).

* Favorites, ** Smut, // ABO

***bees and butterflies by @toastandvegemite Daniel asks Max if he’d like to top. Max says no. It turns into a whole thing.

*i need a map of your head (translated into english) by toastandvegemite  Sometimes it feels like Daniel and Max are speaking different languages.

***let me know if I'm reading this right by toastandvegemite Sometimes it feels like Daniel and Max are speaking different languages.

[Honestly, Danni’s fics can take up 80% of my recs. Go read every single fic she’s written, but especially Maxiel. No one does them the way she does]

//*so happy i was invited by blinkiesays "I just wanna drive a fucking race car," Daniel says, after he's let the moment go too long to keep the joke up in the air. "That's all I want to do, is drive a fucking race car." The smile drops off Michael's face. "Yeah, I get it," he says, not getting it at all.

**steal the air out of my lungs (make me feel it) by nacho3  “Hey,” Daniel says, sauntering into a work room balancing a green smoothie and two large coffees from the caf. He puts one in front of Max. “You ready to save lives, Maxy?”

***make a wish that weighs a ton by rickybobby What they had was akin to a circumstantial partnership. There were few people in the world that could understand the things Daniel worried about on a daily basis, even less so the people who were willing to stick around to hear it. Through nothing other than convenience and circumstance, Max fulfilled the basic requirements of Daniel’s social needs, along with the perks: available, attractive, attentive.

***careful fear and dead devotion by hardlythewiser (sequinedfairy)  Daniel's already having a rough year; then Max dumps him.

**like ribbons by heroics  Here they are now, over halfway through the season, and at least one of them’s gotten off after almost every race.

**throw the keys back to me by thermocline But Daniel gets texts from Max more and more often. Links to TikToks. Selfies from the paddock. Snapchat memories of Daniel under the rumpled blankets of Max’s hotel bed in Melbourne, hickies blooming over his chest, at which point Daniel thinks: maybe it’s time for them to try again.

***house fires by tobabylon @geluksalig  Max gets a new performance coach. His name is Daniel.

***my kind’s your kind (series) by hardlythewiser (sequinedfairy) It’s the fourth time: Daniel shouldn’t pretend that he doesn’t know exactly how many times it’s been, that these nights in Monaco haven’t become the way he tracks time, replacing his ten years of living by the F1 calendar. There’s days when he doesn’t know what race is next, but he always knows exactly how many weeks it’s been since he’s done this. The chair is closer to the bed now. Daniel had made Max move it, asked him how he expected to learn anything if he was all the way over there, did he even want to learn.

***all over you (and me) by TheNorthRemembers Or: Max starts lactating and dealing with it turns out to be both more and less fun than thought.

***comeon, star boy by @yekoc Daniel’s just slinging his bag over his shoulder to head out to the parking lot when there’s a noise behind him, the hollow metallic echo of a locker door slamming. Turning, he sees that kid. Max. The running back who always fumbles.

***chemical highs and clear blue skies by yekoc “Did he offer you enough,” Daniel says. Max looks over at him, sharp and surprised. “For whatever it is you need,” Daniel says. “Your car payment this month. First and last, for rent.” He thinks about the kid’s odd accent, the slight awkwardness to his words. “A plane ticket home.” Max shrugs. He kicks at the white t-shirt that’s on the ground near his foot.

***heaviness when I move (everything belongs to you) by Aurelia (Lily_rizzy) Or: Max has many feelings about Daniel with babies and about him and Daniel having a baby.

***second soul by @screwstyles The morning of the last day of the season, Max asks his assistant to book him a one-way ticket to Bali.

***with the sun in our eyes (series) by screwstyles A fake dating AU set in 2025: It’s bad enough that Max is outed by an ex in the middle of racing season, and then his team suggests he pretend to date Daniel to soften the blow. It’s as bad an idea as it sounds.

***//Hart to breathe inside my ocean by screwstyles Realistically, Daniel knows he’s aging, and he’s not in denial about that, but processing three separate incidents in the space of four weeks where his age has come up has made him think about it more than usual.

[Honestly, everything by screwstyles is golden]

***anything to get to the rush by kingsguarding  Every year, the World Champion gets to choose another driver to … celebrate with. It’s an old tradition, apparently. As old as the sport itself. Part of the prize of winning, part of your reward.

***figure me sweetly by @love-leah Daniel had just been thinking he’d tell Max "good season," "next year I’ll be the one fucking beating you, mate." Maybe, "but seriously, I’m proud of you," if Max's vibe was really desperate. Instead, he ended up standing out in the open, in front of the Haas garage and probably Mick’s poor fucking virgin eyes, tilting the champagne bottle up for Max, and watching the muscles of his throat as he swallowed a long, clean pour of it.

***//hold it to the sun by love-leah When they get home, Max strips his shirt off right away, the fabric of it harsh against his nipples. Daniel drops their bags inside the door and looks at him, hungry and exhausted, and says, “I don’t want to think about racing ever again,” and Max’s whole body feels cold and sore, like after a crash, even while Daniel’s hands press into his waist and he leans in to kiss Max’s chest.

*Cupid by eefiplier Max and Daniel making loooove

**lions in the wild by anaesthetist  He drops his face into Max’s hair, nosing at it, inhaling the putrid-sweet smell of Red Bull, champagne, and dry sweat. He didn’t shower before he came, tired and sticky with Martin in tow, turning up at Daniel’s hotel room with nothing more than an insolent you promised.

***kissed her, now you’re seeing double by @ricstappen​ It’s Max and Dan. Dan and Max. But very occasionally, it’s Max and Dan and Carlos.

**MV33 by Whippasnappa Daniel finds out Max is on Grindr. He's curious. He's just going to download the app, just to see. Just to look at Max's profile. He's curious how Max picks up men, curious if Max puts his real face out there. He's definitely not going to message Max. He's definitely not going to do that. He messages Max.

***all your days by @goldenhourhimbo​​ They’re in love. That’s it, that’s the plot.

***for you, my sacrifice is too by highyellowleaves @blamemma  One of those private booths at Cirque Le Soir. That’s where the boys wanted to go. Was booked ages ago. Daniel rolls his eyes. It’s one of the last places he wants to go. Influencers in heels pretending their interested in who he is and what he does. Prying eyes everywhere, paparazzi at the front door. McLaren’s afterparty options aren’t much better. They’re all heading to Tape, where a commercial DJ will be playing some dodgy remixes, and he’ll have similar problems as Max. It’s not how he wants to celebrate. But he knows he has to show face. To thank the engineers and the strategists and the media team for all they’ve done so far. He’ll show face. I’m heading to Tape. Keep in touch tho? We can head somewhere else. It’s normal for him and Max to find each other. They’ve stumbled into this pattern of locating one another, finding excuses to leave their other friends, enjoying each other’s company, being responsible for one another, ending up in the same hotel, same room, same bed.

[12timetraveler]

Something In the Orange

Chapter 9

Summary:

A peaceful weekend with Hosea takes an unexpected turn.

Notes:

Another chapter where nothing really important happens. Just lost of cuddles and a steamy ending. We do learn a few things about our silver fox, though.

This chapter does contain period sex, so if that makes you uncomfortable you may want to stop reading when they take a bath.

As always below is a little sneak peak. Read the whole thing on AO3.

You must be logged in to an AO3 account to read my works.

~~~~~~~~

You nearly set your stuff down in the guest room on instinct, before you realized you didn't need to. In fact it would be less convenient to put your stuff in that room when you'd likely be sleeping in Hosea's bed. So you followed him to his room.

As soon as you set your bag down, Hosea's arms slipped around you, pulling you back against him. You melted into his embrace as he trailed kisses down the side of your face and neck, lavishing you in soft affections that made you feel like you were floating.

“How's your headache?” He murmured lightly.

“Persistent,” you sighed.

“Do you want to lie down? Take a nap?”

“I think I'll be okay,” you hummed. “Though I'm happy to lay down,” you giggled suggestively, turning your head so you could see some of his face. “Plus, maybe those endorphins would help.”

“If you'd like,” his voice was a whisper against your skin as he continued to shower you in kisses. “I don't want to pester you. Especially if you're not feeling well.”

“I would like,” you turned in his grip to face him. “I'd very much like.” You cupped his face in your hands and pulled him down for a kiss. “Just let me use the bathroom first. It was a long trip.”

“Of course, love,” he chuckled, releasing you.

Grabbing your toiletry bag, you stepped into the en suite bathroom, taking a moment to wash your face and freshen up a bit, applying a little perfume on your skin before sitting down to do your business. As you finished and went to stand up, you paused, noticing the dreaded red spot in your panties.

Why the fuck were you bleeding? You weren't due to start until the middle of next week. Angrily you opened the calendar on your phone where you kept track. You were right, you were nearly a week early. But the symptoms were unmistakable. The cramping and the headache. It all made sense now.

“Oh God damnit,” you huffed, louder than you meant to.

A moment later there was a knock on the door. “Everything alright in there?” Hosea's voice was as cheerful as ever, but you didn't miss the hint of concern as well.

“Yeah. I just... Yeah,” you sighed. “I'll be out in a second.”

[y0itsbri]

hi hi hello! i'm still here and still queer! happy pride!

i've been tagged by a whole lot of you (makes my heart feel so so warm and happy thank you 🥺 been busy w work and health and the usual stuff but i miss y'all 🥺) ✨✨✨ @mishervellous @ian-galagher @celestialmickey @heymrspatel @xninetiestrendx @creepkinginc @vintagelacerosette @howlinchickhowl @whatwouldmickeydo @metalheadmickey @gallawitchxx @milkovetti @lee-ow ✨✨✨

okay we're gonna speedrun it all!

tag game tuesday (a couple versions ago)

name: bri

age: *checks calendar* uhhhhh twenties

pronouns: they/she/he

when is your birthday? august baby!

where do you call home? a tiny lil room on the third floor

do you have any pets? cat and hermit crab

current favorite musical artist: djo & greta van fleet

what do you do for work? fold clothes and hang clothes and organize clothes and price clothes and.....

if you could have lunch with anyone, dead or alive, who would it be? fuck it, harry styles

what are you wearing right now? an oversized lavender tshirt that says 'radiant energy' and has a bunch of angel numbers

you’re going back to school, what’s your major? ART

last fanfic or book you read: stranger things fics!

and finally, share a happy memory with me: creating the sexy villains playlist a couple years ago 💋 (hi @messedwithmandy @grumpymickmilk)

tag game tuesday (again!)

sun sign: leo!

what day of the week were you born? Friday's child is loving and giving <3

first app you open in the morning: notes or discord

last song you listened to: gimme! gimme! gimme! - leo (a metal cover of abba's version)

what type of phone do you have? iphone 7. i'm pretty sure this thing is like nokia level indestructible

something you’d like to learn how to do: shoot a gun sdhflkdsfh

art gallery or history museum? art gallery! let's get weirdddd

your least favorite chore: dishes r the devil and i've got an appointment with the devil a few times a week>:(

do you believe in fate? all signs point to yes

if offered immortality, would you take it? absoLUTELY (wdym? reading twilight during my formative years hasn't impacted me at allllll...)

how are you feeling right now? my feet hurt 😔

finally, tell me something you’re looking forward to: seeing my girlfriend again!!!!! been wayyy too long <//3

aaaaand it's JOY LIST week!

ice cream, specifically of the mint chocolate chip and root beer float varieties

animal crossing!!!!!!!!!! y'all i'm a fuckin gamerrrrrr

twitch streamers

my loved ones

getting new merchandise in at work

good banter with coworkers

80s slasher summer vibes

sprite

instruments that FUCK

pride

big shirt no pants

bob's burgers

rain

LESBIAN VERSION OF THE ULTIMATUM (reality tv show)

shopping hauls

the moon

PICREWS

1, 2, 3, 4

i'm tagging anyone and everyone! i care about you all so much! 🌈

[linewire]

🏎️💨 THE FORMULA 1 TAG GAME! 🏎️💨:

thank you for tagging me @wisteria-wisteria <3 (holding your hand in the liminal space that is the asian timezone on tumblr)

1. Who or what got you into F1?

This fic by greenstuff on ao3. Such a good fic, so good that it made me look into F1 more so I could understand it better. Then I watched the first season of DTS and got WAY too attached to Max because I love a villain. After I started reading Lestappen fics, I knew I was in this thing for the long haul.

2. Who was the very first F1 driver you supported? Do you support them now? Have your opinions on them differed or stayed the same since then?

I was a Red Bull girlie from the start because of that fic, and I guess I was a Danny fan for a couple minutes before Max appeared on screen.

Still a Red Bull girlie but not so much a Daniel fan anymore.

3. Who’s your current favourite F1 driver?

Max and Charles. Max slightly more but not by much. Hoping, praying, manifesting an actual championship battle between them, like idc who wins, I just need to see them fighting like they're always meant to.

Truly do not hate any other driver, just mostly indifferent to a lot of them.

4. Is there a driver pairing or pairings you support? What made you attracted to that pairing in the first place?

Lestappen is my ride or die. For all the typical reasons. *Insert that Mr Knightley quote about how if I loved them less, I might be able to talk about them more.*

5. Do your parents, siblings or relatives have a favourite team and/or favourite driver(s)?

My dad's a Schumacher girl, like as in he only watched F1 for him then stopped when he left. I sorta got him back into it because I started talking to him about my interest. My mom and my step dad are Mercedes/Hamilton fans, though I think she only likes him because he also has a bulldog.

6. Do you have any favourite races? Are there any that stand out to you the most?

Monaco 23 was the first race I watched live so that holds a special place in my heart. Singapore 23 and Mexico 23 also stand out to me because those are the ones I watched live with my friends uwu.

7. Do you have a favourite circuit? Can be from the past or from the current calendar.

Honestly, kinda basic but I do like Monaco even though its place on the calendar is kinda contentious. Purely for aesthetics, not necessarily for the race quality. Hopefully Charles can win it before it gets taken off the calendar (though idk if that's gonna happen).

Still trying to learn what my actual fav is for quality of races, though. All the classic non street circuits are good for that I guess.

8. Have you ever been to an F1 race in real life? Feel free to tell us your experience going to one if you like.

I live in a country where the nearest track is a whole plane flight away so no. I don't even know if I'd like to go because the footage I've seen from races looks kinda underwhelming LMAO. Though I wouldn't say no if someone invited me. Especially if it's to Monaco or Zandvoort.

This completely doesn't count but the old place where my step dad worked was one of McLaren's sponsors back in the day and got tickets to Sepang. I just thought it was a cool story.

9. Have you ever met an F1 driver in real life?

No and thank god. I couldn't bare to look Max Verstappen or Charles Leclerc in the eye after writing them fucking nasty for all of you. I think I'd pass out if I was in the same room as Max though, like my body would just shut down.

10. Do you have a favourite F1 car? If so, what is it?

He <3

I also like the old Marlboro liveries and I think tobacco companies should be allowed to sponsor teams just so we can get cunty liveries. Like can you imagine a Red Bull Marlboro Blue sponsorship?

11. Do you have a favourite one win wonder?

Oscar? Does winning a sprint count?

12. Do you have any favourite quotes from the F1 world? This can either be inspirational or hilarious.

Max has some great one liners, like "Maybe God is with Hamilton but he is not god," and that thing about sucking on an egg (king of duality <3). I also really like the quote of Charles talking about how his grandmother would sew little crosses on his race suits.

Tagging anyone that wants to participate but specifically @carronyaflowers @itshoneywhatever and @amarynas

[otherpeoplesheartachept-2]

Day 8: Lyrics

It's Simon and Baz's last winter break before they graduate, and subsequently never see each other again. They should be glad to be rid of each other, right? But then why are they clinging to what little time they have left? Why is it so hard to say how you really feel? 

(or, a fic inspired by the song Head Over Heals)

Length: 2532

Warnings: none

Read on AO3 or below the cut

SIMON

“Looks like it might rain,” I say, leaning my forearms on the porch railing. The night sky is filled with cold gray clouds—the moon barely visible.

Baz makes a non-committal sound and takes another drag from his cigarette.

I don’t know why I followed him out here. It’s dark and cold and I’m breathing in second-hand smoke. I should have stayed inside with Shep and Penny. I should have left the party as soon as I saw Baz.

I never learned how to leave Basilton Pitch alone, though. The only thing worse than being around Baz is not being around him.

And a small, very stupid, part of me is convinced Baz invited me out here. I was laughing at a joke Shepard made, Baz was leaning against the living room wall, acting cool and better than everyone else at this crowded party. I looked up, across the people playing beer pong, and we locked eyes. He looked bored. I probably looked buzzed. Then Baz tipped his head towards the hallway and slipped away, through the house and out the sliding glass door.

He was probably just flicking some of his obnoxiously pretty hair out of his face, not gesturing for me to follow him out back. But I did. And now I’m out here, bothering him during winter break when we’re supposed to be enjoying the time we have away from each other and the tiny dorm room we share.

Freshman year Penny said I followed Baz around like a lost puppy. I argued with her about that at the time, but I’m starting to see her point.

I feel stupid, stood out here with nothing to say. No reason to be near Baz. I don’t know why he hasn’t told me to fuck off yet.  

“Did you see the sunset last night? It was gorgeous,” I try talking to him again.

Baz finally turns to look at me. The wood railing he leans against presses into his hip. Gray eyes peer down his long, crooked nose at me. I turn my neck to look up at him from my hunched over position.

If this is what gets his attention, I’ll keep talking. “It was mostly orange but like the underside of some of the clouds in the west, wer-were this crazy-pretty purple.”

Baz doesn’t say anything, so I keep going—I put my half empty cider can on the porch railing, and reach into my back pocket for my phone, ready to show him the grainy pictures I took of the sky yesterday. I move closer to him; one of my hands brushes his cool fingers griping the wood railing.

He flicks the ash of his fag and then pushes my hand away from him with a small sneer.

Anger bubbles up in me. He’s always doing shit like that: keeping me at a distance with a calculated system of touches. We only make contact when he’s pushing me away. It’s infuriating. It makes me want to shove my hands onto him, to bury myself in his chest and tear him apart, so he can’t get rid of me.

“Did you want me alone to talk about the weather?” Baz asks annoyed, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” I huff. I don’t mention I think he wanted me out here. He’d think I’ve gone mad. (Maybe I have).

Baz scoffs.

“So uh, how’s break been for you? Are you looking forward to finally being rid of me?” I ask, with a teasing smile. It’s easy to fall back on our familiar scripts of insults and fighting.

“I am counting down the days, Snow, had an advent calendar customized for the occasion,” he says grinning. He takes another drag, then hesitates before continuing, “I’ll admit, I am a little nervous about finishing this school year.”

“Well if the great Basilton Pitch is worried about his marks then the rest of us are well and truly fucked,” I joke.

He doesn’t smile, or even roll his eyes at me. Baz just looks at the ground.

“It’s not grades. It’s-I’m not sure what I want to do with myself after school. I don’t know if child education is even right for me anymore.” He slumps a little—his lips forming into a small frown.

Okay Baz must be a little drunk. There’s no way he’d be talking to me about his anxieties if he were sober.

I want to reassure him. I hate to admit it, but he’s brilliant—and charming when he wants to be—I’m sure he could be successful in any field he wanted.

“Do you not like it? Or are you worried you’ll be rubbish? Because I’ve seen you a few times with your siblings, you’ll be fantastic as a teacher.”

Baz’s cheeks flush just slightly, and for a moment a small smile crosses his face, but he quickly schools his features into the allure, uncaring mask I’m so familiar with. There are cracks in it this time though. It’s subtle: his cheeks are still red, and the corners of his mouth are ever so slightly pulled up. I doubt he even realizes this, but nothing about Baz escapes my attention.

My chest warms with the knowledge that I made him smile. Or no—it’s probably just the few ciders I drank. Yeah, that is what’s making me all warm and fuzzy inside.

“You don’t know anything, Snow,” he mumbles, before taking another drag. His eyes are glued to the wood we’re standing on. “My father’s always on me about not working hard enough for this, he thinks I’m wasting money. He wanted me to be a lawyer, or a doctor.”

“That’s bullshit,” I exclaim. Baz works harder at his education than anyone I know, besides Penelope.

“It’s just how he is,” Baz says like he’s trying not to care.

“It’s bullshit,” I say again, trying to get through to him. “Does he not know how dedicated you are? Does he not know you’re at the top of all your classes?” I ask, angry at the idea that anyone would try to discredit the passion and work Baz puts into his schooling.

“Enough, enough,” Baz waves me off. He tucks a stray lock of black hair behind his ear, his gray eyes shifting to the left. My eyes follow the movement of his long fingers. He looks at me again, long eyelashes fluttering. His mouth still smiling so small it’d be hard for anyone else to pick up on. And-

Oh. Oh fuck.

BAZ

Inviting Snow out here was a terrible idea. His plain blue eyes shine in the faint moonlight, and he’s pointing that blazing sunshine smile of his at me. I can’t handle being this close to Simon Snow; it’s like standing in the middle of a burning forest. I was set on fire the moment we met.

I used to hate him. Those first few months my crush on Simon was insufferable, and I was terrified of my presumably straight roommate finding out I was gay. It frustrated me endlessly, so I took it out on him. I didn’t realize what I felt for him had turned into love until I’d established myself as the villain in Snow’s life. And then it was too late for me to do anything but watch myself burn.

And now he’s talking to me like he cares about what I have to say. And I’m (idiotically) opening up to him, which for some unfathomable reason he’s being nice about. It’s the most we’ve said to each other without getting antagonistic. It’s doing wonderful (cruel, painful) things to my heart. I can’t help but think about his future, and mine, and the imaginary one in my head that we spend together.

I should leave—go back inside, or take the tube home, but I’m weak. And Snow’s standing so close to me I can almost feel the heat radiating off of him.

We go back to uni for our last semester together in a few days, and then whatever I have with Snow will be over, permanently. I’ve always known he wouldn’t be in my life forever, but lately I’ve really been living in the past, trying to pretend this (as if there is a this. As if I’ll ever be anything to Simon Snow) will last longer. I’ll drag tonight out as long as I can.

“What are your grand plans after graduation?” I ask, desperate to keep him here with me. I puff out smoke from my cigarette. Snow puffs out a warm breath into the cool night air.

He looks like his brain’s overheating.

SIMON

I’m in love with him.

I drop my head into my empty palm. Everything hits me so fast I feel dizzy with it. I’m in love with Basilton Pitch. Holy shit. Of course I don’t realize until I’m already head over heels and truly fucked. My heart’s racing so fast I think it’s going to burst out of my chest. I can’t breathe.

Fuck, okay, I need to calm down. It’s not that big of a deal, yeah?

I try to focus on what Baz asked me. He says something about graduation, and plans after.

“I-” my brain is scrambling to come up with words that make sense “-I don’t know. I went into mathematics because I like it, but I’ve no clue what jobs I could even get with my degree.” I shrug. The academic advisor’s been on me about figuring out my future, but I’m not good at thinking about that shite. It’s too overwhelming, so I just don’t think.

Baz stares at me in disbelief. “How do you not know your career options?”

I shrug. “It’s scary,” I admit to him. “I never thought I’d make it to uni. In the care home I never thought I’d graduate secondary school.”

I try not to say things like that to people. They either look at me with pity or try to be encouraging by saying I would have found a way to finish school even as an orphan. I hate both reactions.

Baz doesn’t do either, he just nods.

This is okay, I can handle this. I can fancy Baz for a few months and then graduate and move on like it’s nothing. Easy-peasy.

I’m staring at his lips. I can’t stop staring.

They look so soft, and kissable. I want to know if his mouth is as cold as his hands always are.

Baz raises an eyebrow at me.

I flick my eyes up to his. He’s giving me that look—the one that usually means he wants to throttle me for being a prat. It sends an electric thrill down my spine and settles in my core.

“Sorry I sh-” I feel my face burning up “-I shouldn’t have said that, about secondary school.”

I force my gaze away from Baz’s mesmerizing face.

“What do you want to do? With your life, without thinking about education or money or other bullshit,” Baz asks.

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “I don’t think about it.”

He looks puzzled. I expect a jab at my intelligence, but it never comes.

“I think blacksmiths are cool, but like, is that even a career anymore?”

Baz lets out a loud laugh.

“Shut up,” I groan. For one fleeting moment I thought we could be pleasant towards each other.

“Sorry, sorry,” Baz composes himself. “I think that’s hot-cool. It’s cool.”

I can’t help the giant smile that takes over my face.

“Hot?”

“Shut up,” Baz rolls his eyes.

“I’m just surprised, you’ve never told me how sexy you find me before.”

“Oh god,” he groans. I laugh at his pained expression. “Please make it stop,” he dramatically begs.

“It’s okay, we all know I could never measure up to the standards of the great Basilton Grimm-Pitch.”

BAZ

I should go along with Simon’s self-deprecating joke, but I can’t let him go on thinking he isn’t the most attractive man in existence, and the ticking time bomb on our relationship has me feeling desperate.

“You want to know something embarrassing?”  I ask.

He nods.

“I was so mean to you when we first met because I had a raging crush on you and was too closeted to admit it.”

Simon’s eyes widen. I can see the cogs turning in his brain. He doesn’t say anything for a while, just looks like he’s choosing his next works carefully. Something I can’t imagine Snow has ever done before. It worries me. Maybe I’ve truly fucked things up this time.

“You know what else is embarrassing?” he asks. “I just realized tonight that I’ve had a crush on you since freshman year.”

“That’s not funny.” God, this was a terrible idea.

“It wasn’t a joke,” Simon says seriously.

But it must be, there’s no way I have a chance with Simon Snow.

I want to leave, but my eyes catch the can Simon left on the railing. Its logo is a four-leaf clover. I’ve never believed in good luck charms, but maybe tonight the universe will be on my side.

SIMON

I look into Baz’s eyes. His gaze flicks down to my lips. I take a step towards him. Baz drops his fag and snuffs it out while keeping his eyes on me.

This close I can feel his breath on my face. It smells like stale nicotine but I don’t care.

I pull him down to me by the back of the neck, and attack him. I don’t hesitate—I can’t—I’ll burst out of my skin if I don’t kiss him right now. Baz melts into the kiss.

Baz kisses me back just as passionately. Like he’s a drowning man and I’m his only source of air. It makes my knees weak.

I tangle a hand into his long dark hair. It’s so smooth. Exactly how I imagined. Baz moans when I tug.

One of his hands cups my jaw, the other moves towards my arse, pulling my closer.

I press him against the wood railing, and then I keep pressing. My hands are reaching for every little bit of Baz I can touch. I can’t get close enough. I need to be closer, I need to meld us together into one. I need to make up for all the time we wasted fighting with each other. Maybe then Baz would know how much I love him. He’d understand what he means to me.

He rubs a thumb across my cheek, then pushes me away, for air.

I pout; I still haven’t gotten my fill of Basilton Pitch.

“Simon,” he breathes.

“Baz,” I say, kissing his bottom lip, it’s swollen from all the kissing. The thought makes my insides fuzzy. I move down to kiss his chin.

“Simon,” Baz says again.

“Baz,” I hum, my lips just under his ear.

He starts to shiver at the sensation, but stops himself.

“Simon,” he says seriously.

I pull away to look at him. “What?”

“Please…”

“What?”

“Tomorrow, when you’re sober-” he swallows. My eyes follow the bob of his Adam’s apple. “-don’t break my heart.”

“Never. Never Baz.” And I let myself hope he won’t break mine either.

[silvershewolf247]

Try Again

After Andy passed out, Chucky re-secured his arm and finished up Mixter’s instructions for taking care of his stitches. He debated with himself about putting the gag back in, but chose against it, deciding he wanted to see Andy’s continued response to the good news, unfiltered. Chucky made himself comfortable in his armchair and started reading one of his magazines. It wasn't long before Andy was waking up again. Chucky hadn’t given him much, didn’t want Andy developing a tolerance. If he was anything like Nica, they’d need to use it again. Chucky smiled at the thought of Andy waking up in a panic like Nica had, desperately trying to put together the lost time and what Chucky had done with him. 

This wasn’t the first time Chucky had seen Andy waking up during this… well… Chucky considered it a bit of a well needed time out. And every time it was the same, Andy would wake up visibly confused, take in his surroundings, and seem to settle on where and when he was. Then he'd fall into the same pained resignation that Chucky had grown bored of. But now it was different. Andy woke up, he looked around the room confused, then he settled, then came the fun part. Andy groaned, and he realized he could hear himself, he realized he didn’t have a gag in, then he remembered why. 

“Morning sleepyhead,” Chucky said. Andy’s eyes found him. He was trying to keep himself calm, but Chucky could see the fast, heavy breathing in his chest. It’s the little things that made Chucky smile. Andy meanwhile had a look that made it clear he wanted to smack that smile off his face. 

“Why’d you keep the gag out?” Andy asked, forcing his tone to be level. Chucky took a deep breath. Andy could play pretend all he wanted, Chucky would drag him back into reality kicking and screaming. 

“Well you got yourself all worked up. I thought maybe you wanted to talk about it,” Chucky said, only looking at Andy over the magazine. 

“Do you honestly think possessing me is going to work for you this time? You tried it twice and failed twice,” Andy said. 

“You try, you fail, you try, you fail, but the only true failure is when you stop trying,” Chucky said, turning the page. Andy looked at him skeptical and confused, Chucky lowered his magazine.

“Tiffany told me that; she has one of those motivational quote calendars,” Chucky explained, before returning to his magazine. 

“Well if we’re quoting shit, you ever hear about the definition of insanity?” Andy said, 

“Andy, you and I have been well past insane for a while now,” Chucky said, smiling. He was amused that Andy seemed to think he could talk his way out of this.

“You’d be stuck with me, you hate my guts, do you really want that?” Andy said. Chucky put down the magazine and gave Andy his full attention.

“Andy, I don’t hate you," he said. He got up and walked over to Andy. 

"I like you," he continued leaning closer to Andy.

"I like fucking with you, I like hurting you, I like hearing you scream, I like knowing how much I fucked up your life, I like knowing how much I’ve gotten into your head, I like knowing that I’m the only constant in your horrible life, and I like scaring you," Chucky said, smiling when he noticed Andy was digging his nails into his palm. 

"You aren’t my mortal enemy, or the big hero meant to stop me, despite how you make believe. You’re my toy, one of my favorites, you’re broken and worn down, but I keep you around, maybe it’s sentimentality, maybe it’s because there’s still fun to be had. But it’s my decision, and I’m choosing to keep you around,” Chucky said. 

Andy listened to his whole spiel, not looking him in the eye. Over the three and half years they had lived together, Chucky learned to read Andy. And that was a telltale sign that what Chucky said had hit him somewhere. He was quiet for a moment, Chucky waited in the silence. 

“I guess that is the only way you could keep someone around isn’t it,” Andy said. Chucky was taken aback. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Chucky said. He put his hand on Andy's arm, right over one of the fresher cuts.

“Pretty simple to understand, but I guess you are pretty fucking dense,” Andy said, Chucky dug his thumb into Andy's cut. Andy winced in pain and gritted his teeth, swallowing a scream, but he was smiling. 

“You make fun of me for only having you as a constant in my life, but all the constants in your life are your victims,” Andy said. 

“That’s not true,” Chucky said, it was blunt, but Andy could hear some desperation. 

“Really, let’s go through the list of the people in your life,” Andy said, Chucky let him go on, knowing if he stopped him, he’d be conceding he was scared of what Andy was saying.

“There’s your wife, you’ve murdered her… two times?” Andy asked. 

“Three,” Chucky said. 

“No wonder she called the police on you,” Andy said. Chucky tensed, still sensitive on that topic. 

“There’s your ever shifting list of kids and teens you harass and stalk,” Andy said. 

“Every man needs his hobbies,” Chucky said, smiling and shrugging.

“But they were never enough for you, were they. If they had been, you'd never have ended up here. You wanted more than just those ‘hobbies’” Andy said. 

“You wanted the same picket fence life you saw Daniel Pierce had, but you knew you could never make relationships as strong as his, so you killed him and you tried to steal his life,” Andy continued. 

“Pathetic really, I might not have much fulfillment in my life, but at least I accept who I am,” Andy said, he was chuckling. Chucky clenched his fist, digging his fingers into Andy's wound. Andy let out a pained scream, before gritting his teeth. 

“You never let go of that," Andy said through the pain, Chucky stopped. 

"Sarah didn’t want you, so you killed her. Barbara and Nica didn’t want or need you as a father, so you killed Barbara and possessed Nica because you needed to keep one of your pseudo kids around,” Andy continued, smiling at Chucky’s growing rage. 

“She’s more a part of your life than your actual kids… They don’t even know you exist, do they?” Andy finished, Chucky grabbed a knife off his side table and put it to Andy’s throat. Andy didn’t flinch. 

“Do it, you pathetic, fucking coward,” Andy said. Chucky held the knife at his throat. They stayed still in silence for a moment. Before Chucky broke it by laughing.

“You almost got me there Barclay,” Chucky said, still laughing. 

“I don’t know what you’re trying for Andy, but you’re not getting it,” Chucky said, putting the knife away. They both heard a door creaking open and heels clicking on the creaky floorboards. They both looked over to see Dr. Mixter walking in. 

“Hello Charlie,” she said, walking over to Andy and Chucky.

"Hey Doc., Good to see ya," Chucky said, waving her over. She grabbed Andy’s leg, looking it over, clinical and detached. Andy groaned in pain when she grabbed him and glared at her. He had met her before, but he’d never been able to say anything to her. Now that he could, he didn’t know what to say. 

“The stitches look good, we should be able to take them out in two weeks,” she said, Chucky smiled at Andy, who had gone pale. 

“Hear that buddy, two weeks. Then we get to have some real fun,” Chucky said.    

[void-inked-pen]

Very, very disappointed in hearing about Colin Stein and what he’s been defending(I can’t even say it, it’s so disgusting). How do you cope with it broken pedestals?

SUBJECTS BELOW DISCUSS SOME SERIOUS ISSUES RELATED TO TC*ST, NSFW CONTENT INVOLVING MINORS, AND MENTIONS OF MANIPULATION! PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!

I wasnt going to really say anything publicly but... I've known for a while he was more... lenient in regards to tc*st and nsfw around minors.

a while back, I participated in his first project for the fandom. The first rottmnt calendar. me and a friend of mine joined a server he had created for the project, and though both of us weren't super active in it, we both experienced the suspicious behavior within. he had an nsfw channel and a handful of the people who participated were tc*sters (I only knew this because when my friend was uncomfortable with a convo, i went to check these peoples accounts I noticed i had blocked them already for that reason so it was not a good sign.)

when people expressed our concerns about having an nsfw channel with minors present, Colin brushed it off and ignored our concerns. unfortunately for us, the calendar project was already done at that point and being sold so we just decided to leave quietly instead of deal with it.

This is not the first time I've experienced something like this in this fandom. A different artist, who will not be named, did a lot to both me and two different friends of mine that were in essence, an attempt at manipulation.

I don't have a lot of first-hand experience with this, and it is not my place to express what my friends went through because it's their story to tell, but in short, they were trying to get us into tc*st. They even went to a separate incognito chat room to talk to other tc*st artists about doing so.

luckily for me, I have a very strong personality. I openly talked about how I didn't like tc*st and changed the subject often enough away from the topic on more fun things unrelated to shipping and was... pretty much blocked by them after a few days.

But because I'm very close friends with both these artists, they couldn't really avoid me. It wasn't until both those friends came to me in concern over anonymous posts that I learned what was actually happening.

They have been on the receiving end of call out posts since then but idk what they're called anymore. Just because they did a fucked up thing to me and my friends doesn't mean they deserve to be harassed. You never really know what's going on with other fans on the internet and this is a pretty tight knit community.

it sucks when great artists and creators in the fandom are found out to be doing stuff that is not okay like this. Colin didn't do much, but he did defend some very gross behavior and included and nsfw chat around minors that could easily access that content. while that artist just did a lot of questionable stuff in the background that really hurt me and people I'm close to.

I'm using this opportunity to talk about what can go wrong in a fandom space and warn new fans what they should watch out for. I'm sorry you all had to experience a disappointment like this and hope it doesn't ruin your love for the show in any way.

Thank you, Pen