#makes me feel filthy. just reading the thought process makes me feel like i bathed in blood.

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[puredramione]

My 2020 Reading List - Dramione

This year, I’ve read way more dramione than I’ve ever read, and I’ve been reading it for 7 years now. I even read things, tropes, I had never bothered with before. 2020 may not have been a kind year, but in the dramione community it has been a wonderful year of reading for me. Please be aware I may spoil some plot lines to dramione fanfictions you haven’t read yet. I have tried not to as best as I can. But anyway below is 20 fics I’ve read this year that have been there for me when I needed them. No particular order. Just a lot of love for these fics.

Wait and Hope - by @mightbewriting - memory loss is one of my favourite tropes but this story. I have never cried over a couch before. But this story. From the moment she first awakes in St Mungo’s to that beautiful ending, I was hooked. I loved how the story left me with not really a care about whether or not Hermione got her memories back. Those bloody text messages 💔 a journey I’ll never forget.

The Unofficial Diary of an Omega - MrsRen - my first time reading anything omegaverse. It still isn’t my favourite trope. I much prefer Veela for some reason 🤷🏻‍♀️ but overall it was a good story, just not my thing.

Apple Pies and Other Amends by ToEatAPeach - I actually gave up on this story the first time I read it. Unsure as to why because the story as a whole is just amazing. Baking and dramione? Yes please! Also dealing with their psychological trauma after the war? Heck yes! The relationship in this story develops at a lovely pace. There were moments I was on edge, others I was smiling ear to ear whilst reading this. Definitely one of my favourites now.

In Search Of Sunrise - @indreamsink - actually just reread this and I still get that warm feeling in my chest. So turns out my break up hasn’t made me lose the ability to enjoy dramione falling for each other. Anyway, the story was so heartwarming, like if I were to describe it as anything I would describe it as a hug. The best non-date fic there is.

Sex and Occlumency - Graendoll - this was the start of my slippery slope into reading smut stories. Like I had read smut before, obviously but I didn’t pay it much attention, normally just swiped past 😂 but this one was a completely different story.

Manacled - @senlinyu - this is truly the most beautifully haunting story I’ve ever read. I remember when I first started reading it, I thought to myself, how the hell could I ever ship dramione in this world? Then those flashbacks. Fuck those flashback chapters were a punch in the gut. The way everything links and connects. I love it’s realistic ending. I often think of this story in the shower cause I had to force myself to go shower whilst I read this cause I honestly couldn’t put it down. And SPOILER, but I laughed so hard at a certain characters death even though I probably shouldn’t have but she was such a bitch. I get flashbacks myself of this story. I’ll be in the shower and I’ll remember a certain sentence, a certain scene in my head as if I truly walked with Hermione on this heart wrenching journey. But fuck manacled Harry, I hate that boy.

He Becomes by @abromaposts - I needed this story. This was the first thing I read after Manacled. Draco Malfoy looking after rabbits with the sole reason being to get close to Hermione, yes please. Rabbits are my favourite animals. It’s just so much fluff. And after Manacled I was grateful.

The Right Thing To Do - @lovesbitca8 - this was the bookshop, slow burn, fluffiness I needed in the summer. The start of a truly wonderful universe. Idiots in love, I’ve never went through so much second hand embarrassment. Every interaction between Hermione and Lucius was fantastic. Especially the final one! Every character was written to a way that I loved them so much. Plus this story makes you think (like the rest of the series) it doesn’t spoon fed you information.

All The Wrong Things - @lovesbitca8 - I never thought I’d be into first person POV. The last thing I read like that was The Hunger Games back in school, many years ago. But I truly felt as if Draco were telling me the story. I love how it filled in things we never seen in the first story. I love Draco’s characterisation. Unlike TRTTD, this feels more lighthearted. Could just be the horny Draco though and his dramatics?

The Auction - @lovesbitca8 - this story. where do I start? When I started reading this story I was in a completely different life. This story has seen me through a terrible time in my life. Honestly the last few chapters before the final chapter were a blur and I had to go and reread them cause my head was all over the place but the story. This story, on it’s own, I would say is better than any fiction I’ve ever read 🤷🏻‍♀️ it grips you, pulls you in. Every question you ask, you get answered with a ribbon and bow. I cannot express my love, for this story and for the hard work that has went into it. The characters in this world so vastly different yet similar to the ones we already learned to love. I could write a love letter to this story.

Hindsight by @floorcoaster - if you haven’t been following this year long, monthly updated story, then you’ve really missed out. Each chapter is a month of the year. The story starts with Hermione planning to trim down her calendar for the year ahead. Although it’s fiction it gave me a sense of hope for my future. I had started this year on a different note than Hermione, and I’m now ending it on a different note as well. I think this story does a good job of capturing the passage of time and just how quickly things can change. I also really love these adorable idiots in this story.

Bring Him To His Knees by @willhavetheirtrinkets (WIP) - the best co-worker, friends to lovers, fake relationship story I’ve read. No question. I sent @magicaltraveler3 a tearful voice memo after that last chapter that was posted (chapter 20). It isn’t the first time I’ve cried at a fanfic, but it is the first time that I predicted something bad would happen, but I didn’t expect the bad thing to be what it was. I can’t wait to see where this story goes. At this point I have completely forgot about the murder plot. I know it exists, and we’ll get back to the murder but I’d honestly read the characters in this story eating breakfast.

The Flat In Bath by @adaprix (WIP) - this was the first story I got into that ada has wrote. Instantly I was fascinated with the use of “flat” over “apartment”. Being Scottish I knew this was someone British. Anyway, a very interesting story and I can’t wait to see how the rest of it plays out.

Good by @lovesbitca8 - I am dying for the update of this story. As so many are, it is 🔥🔥🔥 all I can say. I can’t wait for the update!

The Erised Effect by @adaprix - When ada first told me she was thinking about writing a story about Pansy and Hermione working in a sex shop together. Telling me about having the idea of them meeting in the pub and how she “needed to get some filthy smut out of your system”. I didn’t think it would be my thing. Boy, did she prove me wrong!

The Cell by WrathOfMacy - I don’t know how I came to read this one. But damn, this was a good one (who am I kidding they’re all good ones). I’m still reading through it though. It’s a warfic in which Dramione end up locked in a cell together. The relationship builds nicely. I cannot wait to read more of it.

The Melody Of Touch by @magicaltraveler3 - I never knew I needed a dramione story like this story. I love that there is so much musical imagery incorporated into it. I haven’t read anything like it before. The story, the smut, the taxi and the freaking art work. It is everything!

Every Day, a Little Death by @lovesbitca8 - I’ll be honest with this one. I read the first chapter and the last chapter 🙈 BUT only cause everyone scared me so much. I plan to revisit. SPOILER. I may not care too much that Hermione cheated. Just me? Like yeah I hate cheating and she shouldn’t have done it, but like she admitted to it, and was very regretful for it. Anyway, the chapters I read were very interesting I look forward to revisiting it sometime.

Away by @indreamsink - written for the romcom fest and I got to say I think this one may be my favourite from the fest. Not only do you get dramione but you get the amazing side pairing of Harry/Pansy, which this year has really became my favourite side pairing. It’s like reading two love stories at once, I was interested in the dramione plot line obviously, but I was equally interested in the hansy/potts&pans plot line.

The Path Unexpected by @magicaltraveler3 - this story is a cute little domestic dramione fanfic. And I lived for it. It shows dramione going through the process of having a child and honestly, they’re so damn cute in this fic. The fanart is next level also!

[insufferablelust]

okay, so... matthews been working on his new script alot and you need attention. so you go into his office in just one of his button ups, instead of him fucking you right away he says you can come sit on his cock. if you are good he will fuck you but if you arent he will keep adding time. you end up sitting on him for an hour. for the last 15 mins he makes you edge yourself. then, he picks you up and bends you over and fucks you. he makes you watch in the mirror that is in front of his desk

Look, Its the queen again! @slutforthegubes is literally one of the only person who keeps me going and keeping me in a creative mindset! so thank you so much bb!! love you!

WARNINGS : Smut obvi, Dom!Mgg x Sub!Reader, Degradation by name calling, Rough sex, Slight exhibitionism, Spitting in mouth stuff :), Slight breeding kink, edging, orgasm denial, over stimulation, aftercare and um just your usual filthy smut from me you know the drill :)

excuse the writting errors! thank you and happy reading. view my other works —> MASTERLIST

It’s been an hour since Matthew decided that he needed to work on his newest script on a Sunday morning, you were half asleep when he pressed lingering kisses on your neck before announcing that he has some script reading to do, which you groaned at but still too drowsy to process anything. Of course, Matthew didn’t want to leave the bed at such an early morning on a Sunday nonetheless but he really needs to get this done.

But now here you were, all alone sprawled out on your shared bed, with no warmth from your boyfriend to engulf you. An annoyed huffed left your lips as you clutched onto his pillow, trying to inhale as much as his scent as possible, you want to drown and bathe in his scent, you want him— no you need him. It’s safe to say that you were desperately needy for him.

This doesn’t happen too often, but it does happen sometimes, more times than others now that you finally have the time to really enjoy each other. Sometimes you get like this, so turned on that you became a mindless little brat, and the only thing that can soothe your neediness is none other than Matthew. You just want him to pound into you like tomorrow doesn’t exists, maybe choke on you a little, and hearing his condescending tone as he spank you for being bad, god you need it and you need it bad this morning.

The heat inside your belly swell up at the scent of him, causing you to hump a little against the silky sheets, the fact that you’re naked and covered with his marks on you from last night’s activities only fueled up the building intensity within your core. You wanted to be good for Matthew, desperately after all, he doesn’t have that many rules for you, just the essentials like “Don’t ever cum without my permission, nobody and that includes you shall touch what’s mine unless its under my permission, and obey everything i said unless you safe word.” But you’re so needy, you’re willing to humiliate yourself by letting your cunt graze against the silk and moaned— technically you didn’t break any rules.

Soon enough, your need for him only became stronger and humping the sheets felt so dull compared to the pleasure you know he can give you, you just need him to be inside you that’s all. Letting out a frustrated sigh, you get up, quickly putting on one of Matthew’s button up that was tossed to the side and head downstairs looking all cute, and... messy— your hair is a cute mess, your nipples hard against the shirt, your eyes looked hazy, your lips red and bitten raw, the marks on your neck to your collarbones as well as the ones on your ass were exposed, and the dripping wet core between your legs. God, you looked like a fuckable goddess.

When you knock on his office door your feet jump giddily, knowing how this will go down, surely he can’t resist you looking this good and marked just for him... Oh if only you knew how patient Matthew is at keeping you on the edge.

—————

“Come in”

His voice sent her straight to heaven, she thought as she leaned against the door for a second before taking a deep breath and then open his office door, revealing a very very focused yet intimidating looking Matthew. His lips tucked away between his upper teeth, his veiny fingers holding the script as his glasses covered eyes taking through each words, plus his mismatched socks, blue and green this time. You kept wondering, How can one look so cute yet hot at the same time.

You closed the door before padded down on the carpeted floor, to where he’s sitting. “Hi, Matthew!” Your chirped, tone way too high, that has him immediately looking up from his script. See, You and Matthew knew each other so well, that even by how you act and speak can show what mood you’re in, and when he looked at you wearing his large button up, clearly no bra or panties, messy hair, and high pitched voice, he knows exactly what you’re up to, and oh no, Y/N has chosen a very very bad day to be naughty.

“Princess, come here.” He pat his lap, signaling for you to sit which you happily do right away, but when you tried to straddle him, both of his hand gripped your waist tightly so you stilled on your feet, looking at him with confusion “What’s wrong?”

The way he smiled sent goosebumps all the way to your core, as you gulped loudly. “I told you to sit on my lap, not to straddle my thigh. You don’t think you can fool me do you baby? I know how desperate little thing like you wouldn’t be able to resist grinding your needy cunt against me. It’s pathetic really.” Your eyes met his, but whilst his eyes shown unmerciful, your eyes begged for mercy. A perfect balance.

You really should’ve learned that there’s no way you could escape something that’s so clear already, yet you still run your mouth, “I wasn’t going to! i thought—“ you stopped abruptly when he suddenly pushed two of his lean fingers into your mouth as a way to shut you up. Y/N gagged a little, eyes watering before lowering them in submission, her mouth follows the gesture— suckling on his fingers eagerly.

“Oh would you look at that? the needy baby knows her place after all.” He scoffed, his other hand released your hips then pulled his fingers out of your mouth, bringing the wet fingers down past her (his) button up, Y/N gasped quickly at the way it trails up from her slit to the tip of her clit in a very agonizingly slow pace.

“Well somebody’s wet, isn’t she? been having fun without my permission, pretty girl?” He cooed, tilting his head with his eyebrows raised, and his lips curled into a tight smile. He’s mad, he’s burning mad.

“No! no, sir! i never touched what’s yours.” You defended yourself, trying so hard to not let your knees buckled at the sensation of his fingers slowly torturing your pussy with feathery touches and flicks around your clit.

“Shut up.” He ordered, “you know.. you weren’t as quiet as you thought baby, ‘s a shame really, you should’ve known how loud and greedy you are.”

“But i wasn—“ He dangerously cut you off, with one hand gripping the base of your throat and the other pushing two fingers up your pussy, pumping them slowly.

“Be quiet, petal.” He demanded, his fingers going faster and faster as he curled them upwards to thrust on your spongy walls making you tremble against him and involuntary tightening your walls around his fingers. “Gonna cum, princess?” you cried out a loud ‘yes please!’ at his coos— you were so close that your eyes fluttered shut, you breathing hitched when his hand around your throat tightened and he pulled out his fingers with a condescending laugh.

“Not so fast, love.” He pressed a soft kiss on your cheek, the contrast evident from how you were gasping heavily, “Now, I still have few more scripts to go through, since you’re here already why don’t you be a doll and sit on my cock, but you can’t cum, you can’t make a sound, and you can’t move. If you move even an inch, best believe there’ll be consequences” He explained slowly, suggesting how mushy your brain is right now, overwhelmed by the intense pleasure, but you knew that he demanded.

You obediently nod, receiving a small ‘good girl, i love you, baby’ from him that made your tummy warm, it was a reminder that no matter how rough and far he took it, this is all for your pleasure and his. Y/N smiled shakily whispering i love you, as she pulled his cock out, lining it up with her slit before she sink down on his length slowly, causing the both of them to moan out loud.

“That’s it, such a perfect whore for me. Sit still now baby, i have some work to do.” The way he snapped out of his demeanor to his dominant one really had you shaking, plus the way his cock filling your pussy— it honestly felt too much, too good, and warm. You just want to cum, this is going to be so hard, you thought as you try to sit still, leaned your head back against his shoulder and closed your eyes.

———

The first 10 minutes was a torture, Matthew is well endowed— not too big that it hurts, but perfect enough that you can feel the burn from his length stretching you out, he’s long enough that when he thrust up, the head of his cock hits the perfect spot inside you. So accommodating his size wasn’t easy, you practically squirming in his lap that has him slapping your thigh more than 10 times, with a harsh “Quiet.”

Then 30 minutes had passed, you were comfortable enough that you shakily asked him some questions about his scripts as he read them, but even then you still receive a total of 5 slap to your thighs for practically grinding on his cock— well who could blame her? she’s filled to the brim of him.

When they reached 45 minutes, Y/N watched as Matthew finished reading the last of his script— she can practically feel herself start to throb around him, itching to jump up and down his cock like a bunny. So she looked up at him through her lashes, batting them innocently, “Sir.. can i.. can we.. please? you’re done right?” You purred nervously as he put his files back onto the drawer. This is it, you thought.

“No, i’m not done. I’m going to get a call in a minute, and i want you to stay here and quiet like an obedient little slut i know you can be.” Okay.. that wont be too hard, usually his calls only last 10 minutes and you’re content. But as you were about to answer, your jaw fell open as quick as your luck have.

“And i want you to rub that pretty clit, edge yourself for me, every time you’re close i want you to slap it gently 3 times before going back at it, no stopping. If i hear a squeak or i see you stop or move on my cock, i won’t let you cum tonight. Understand?” He demanded right next to hear ear, voice all raspy and deep sending chills right up her spine.

She doesn’t have any choice but to say “yes, sir.” Knowing full well that if this wasn’t something that she wanted she could stop it, but she wanted this, and deep down she knows how much Matthew love seeing her all squirmy and needy mess for him.

So he pressed a kiss to the side of your head before picking up the call from his manager. His hand tapped your tummy twice, signaling for you to start. Slowly, you bring your hand down your clit, feeling the wetness from where your cunt connected with his cock, gasping quietly as you rub the wetness on your clit. If you thought that before was a torture, then this is death. You can’t even control the way you shake as you keep on rubbing your clit like he asked, meanwhile he’s talking about an upcoming project.

You panted heavily as you slapped your cunt 3 times when you felt how close you were, your face was a mess, tears streaming down your cheeks and you’re practically squeezing around Matthew’s cock earning a grunt from him, and a warning pinch on your thigh.

“N-no i’m alright, yeah i stubbed my toe.” He glared at you as your eyes begged him, you were seconds away from coming all over his cock when he finally— finally ended his call.

Matthew didn’t waste any time, he gripped your wrist and slapped it away from your cunt, using his own fingers to rub your clit fast as you clench all over his cock. “You’re so cute, but i’m afraid i’ll have to ruin you, baby.” He whispered as if you haven’t been acting like a desperate whore for him this whole time. “Just for you! just you fuck, Sir may i cum?” You mewled loudly, Matthew held you close against him, nibbling on your ear before whispering a low, “Cum, now.” and so you did. Hard. Warm, everything is blazing as you squirm and convulse safely tucked away inside his arms.

“Good girl Y/N, shh that’s it. So cute when you cry like that.” He cooed as you came down from your high, only to feel him buck his hips up and slammed his cock deeper into you,

“Think i’m done baby? no no no. Not fair right? i’ve worked so hard, yet you’re the only one who came.” His voice sending alerts to your system as you buzz and whimpered out, “No.. not fair sir, please let me help.” You’re so tuckered out but in your delicate submissive state, his pleasure is what matters to you.

Matthew pulled his cock out of you, causing you to whine not used to the feeling of emptiness, which he chuckled and muttered “Patience, my good little slut always wait.” You nodded eagerly, just wanting to please him.

He gripped your hair in hand, tightly pulling it back a little, leaving your mouth hang open— Then unexpectedly, his gaze is on your half lidded eyes as he spit down your throat. The gesture made you widen your eyes in shock but swallowing it still which made him grin.

“Ah, of course you would like that.”

“Sir.. can you do it again please?” You definitely shocked yourself and him, his eyes widen for a second before quickly clearing his throat and spit down your throat, which you moaned lewdly and closing your eyes, whispering “Thank you sir” that earned you a slap on the ass and him bending you over the opposite end of the desk where you can see your reflection through the mirror in front of you.

“Gonna give you what you’ve been wanting now, baby.” He whispered, his gripped on your hair is tight as he aligned himself with your wet entrance, your chin pressed against the desk with him leaning down and whispered “You’re gonna take it, and watch.”

————

Matthew slip his cock into you inch by inch, letting out grunts and moans as he felt your tight warm hole engulfed his cock once more. Your eyes kept on looking to the mirror as you begin to whine, he’s filling you so good— its even deeper with this position.

He stared at your eyes at the reflection before he smiles dangerously and begin to thrust in and out of you, in a fast pace, with one hand on your hips and one hand on your hair, spontaneously gripping them. You let out little moans and squeaks as you feel yourself getting close quickly, body buzzing with oversensitivity. “Sir i- oh!—“

“Cum as many times as you want, fuck— baby go on, you deserve it.” So you came again, he can feel your walls became impossibly tight making him throw his head back and his thrusts becomes sloppier yet brutal.

“You’re perfect Y/N, such a goddess— fuck i love you.” He keeps on grunting your name as he fucks you on his desk, you both lock eyes in the mirror one last time before he came inside you, spilling every bit of him inside with strings of curses and i love you’s.

———————

“I love you.. Matthew..” Y/N croaked out, as Matthew pulled out slowly, then grabbed a cloth to wipes both of you and settling you down on his lap sideways as he cradled you. “I love you too, future Mrs. Gubler”

“We should really considering condoms.” You laughed as you hid your face on your fiancé’s neck

“Aren’t you on birth control?” He curiously asked, playing with your hair soothingly as you purred, “Yeah but.. we have sex 24/7, its possible that you know” You blushed as he chuckled then whispered on your ear,

“I wouldn’t mind anyways.”

“Matthew Gray Gubler!”

—————

Hope you enjoyed! as always, blurb reqs are open just send in ideas or feedbacks or constructive criticisms if you have any! i’m working my way down the requests so be patient. Thank you! i love you!

[caxsthetic]

DISOBEY

↪Miya Atsumu smut drabble

↪cw; fem!dom, mean!dom, degradation, humping, foot job, rimming, choking, edging

"You are so filthy, 'Tsumu." You chuckled darkly, sending a shiver to run down his spine. "Humping on the sheet while I am gone? You think you are so cute, aren't you? Think I would fuck that slutty asshole with that stunt you pull just now?" He nodded, he was sure that you would give him—

"Think again."

When you came back from a business trip, this was not the sight that you thought you would see. The second you walked to your shared apartment, this — happened.

The door to the bedroom was ajar, and the way your boyfriend's moan rang through the entire unit made you click your tongue. You were tired, you wanted to just rest and cuddle with him, maybe taking a shower or bathing together and ordering takeout afterwards.

But no, your slutty boyfriend just decided to be a whore at this moment. Moaning and whimpering out your name, knowing for sure that you would come back today.

This was a gift. To him, acting like this, all desperate for you was something that you wanted, something that you always love to see. Proofed by how you would end up deep inside him every time you caught him jerking off at the thought of you.

Though today was different.

You were not in the mood, not even in the slightest. If it was another circumstances you would strip yourself and jumped on him. And he would take you, completely at your mercy as he whimpers out your name.

It seems like he couldn't read your face, he couldn't see how you were enrage with him. He only have one brain cell, that was you knew for sure. And he currently used it all for lust. Hardened cock humping desperately on the plush pillow. Your pillow.

"What are you doing?" Your voice was stern, and how you delivered the question made him flinch. But he didn't stop though as he just focused on rutting himself on the white fabric, whole body shuddering as you walked closer towards him, sitting at the edge of the bed with both arms folded in front of your chest. "Atsumu."

He cum.

He did not just—

Your eyebrows twitched as some of his semen splurt on your clothes. Coating the expensive dress with his dirty cum. That's it. That was enough.

"'M sor—"

"Are you?" Your voice loomed even though you just sat there, legs crossed. Somehow reminding him that you were in control, and at the same time, giving him a warning that you didn't like what he did just now. "Are you that desperate, huh? Couldn't fucking wait for me?"

He gasped as you surged forward, didn't give him a chance to defend himself, wrapping your hand around his neck before pushing his whole body to the mattress. You squeezed him. Hard. And you didn't care if he needed some air. He was the one who asked for punishment,

And you were there to deliver.

"You are so filthy, 'Tsumu." You chuckled darkly, sending a shiver to run down his spine. "Humping on the sheet while I am gone? You think you are so cute, aren't you? Think I would fuck that slutty asshole with that stunt you pull just now?" He nodded, he was sure that you would give in. After all, he was your favourite, your boy—

"Think again."

He coughed when you suddenly released the grip on his neck, minds clouded as he tried to breathe in as much oxygen as he could. Preparing himself incase you were going to restrain the air once again. Now he was afraid, hands clutching the wrinkled sheet as he processed your words.

"Y-You wouldn't?" His voice was so timid, so desperate. "But I have been a good boy, I promise I have been a good boy!" Whine, whine, whine. "I didn't even touch myself, I waited for you!"

Your eyes twitched, half of it because of how annoyed his whining was, but half of it because of how he made you soft. The sentimental feelings crept into your heart, making yourself too close from giving in what he wanted.

But no, he was the one who asked for it. He knew you, he knew so well how to rile you up. Atsumu could push all of your buttons at once, and you were sure that he wanted this. He wanted to see that side of you that you never showed to anyone else, not even your former lovers.

"Alright." Your voice was low, not high and rough like before. "Sit down properly and lean to the headboard."

He scrambled, didn't waste any other second to pass and did exactly what you told him to. His cock was still twitching even though he already cum a few minutes prior. This made you roll your eyes, you wouldn't be surprised if he begs you to fuck him 'till morning.

"What should I do n-next?" He stuttered, how cute.

"Hm?" Slowly, in a torturing pace, you took off each layer of your clothes — one by one.

It would be a lie if you said you didn't like the attention. How he could be so enchanted by you, eyes glimmered with amazement as he saw you undressed for him. God yes, he was lucky to have you indeed. "Be patients, baby. Just stay still, okay?"

He nodded, and the second you threw away your lingerie from your body, you immediately plopped yourself in front of him. Facing his oh-so-beautiful body while you slowly spread your legs to the side, acting so generous as you gave him some visual.

"Did you say something?"

"Thank you, mam."

"That's better."

You loved it, the power that you had over the powerful setter of Black Jackals. Many women dream to be under him, many people wanted to be fucked by him. They were all could dream as much as they wanted. But at the end of the day,

You knew that Miya Atsumu belonged to you.

And you were the one who had him under your control.

He eyed your every move, from how you spread your legs for him, how your fingers caressed your inner thighs — he was sure that you would give him a show. Maybe you would ask him to jerk himself off at the thought of you, and imagining that already made all blood flowed to his cock.

But he didn't expect your feet (that was still clad with black lace stocking), to palm his erection.

"(Y/n)—" You glared. "M-mam?" He swallowed a huge lump as your toe went up and down to stimulate him, eyes never leave his glossy brown orbs. So vulnerable under your care.

With how he looked right now, you couldn't help but to lick your lips, moving your toe down near his puckered hole before pressing it there, earning a loud yelp from him. "I haven't lube it!"

He shouted. Your pretty boy just shouted at you.

This was the third mistake that he made today. First, him humping the pillow as a 'gift', second one was how he cum without your permission — and now this.

If he already scared before with how you acted, he didn't like the change of atmosphere that he felt right now in one bit.

You stopped whatever you were doing before, retracting your feet away from him, of course before pressing it deeper just to hurt him a little. He gasped as you did so, and he was ready to utter another apology.

That was the only thing he could do, huh? Apologize.

In a swift move, you pulled him by the leg forcefully. The back of his head knocked at the headboard as you did so, making him whine in pain before he laid down on his back. At this moment though, you didn't care that he was hurt—

"You dared shouted at me, slut?" Your words weighed with menace, making him flinch as your hand wrapped around his cock. And without giving him a chance to answer, you pumped the sleek erection with all your might.

"M-Mam, too much! I-I am gonna cum—"

You didn't stop. Your hands kept stimulating his erection that was twitching uncontrollably, ready to let everything out, ready to coat your hands with his thick cum.

Crawling closer to his face, you continued your ministration while squeezing his cock simultaneously. Tears were cascading down his cheek, lips bled from how much he bites it down before. He looked so beautiful like this, orbs never left your face as you gave him everything that he wanted.

"This is what you want, baby?" You cooed, earning a nod from him. "Bet you want to cum? Wanna cum all over my hand, sweetie?" He mewled from the nickname, nodding harder as his cock already leaked with so much precum.

He was trembling all over, one hand shyly crept to your arm, trying to hold on as much as he could. But with how fast your movement was, with how you squeeze his balls here and there, he couldn't hold it anymore.

"I am cum—"

And then you slowed down,

He arched his back as he could feel how his orgasm started to slip away from him. His cock twitching from frustration, ugly sobs rolled down his tongue as he bucked his hips, in hope that maybe he could reach it once again.

Right now, he didn't know it was a blessing or a curse that he was completely under your control.

"Aww, does my pwetty baby want to cum before?" You retracted your hand, spitting on your palm before wrapping it once again on his cock. "Let me hear you, baby. Or are you too fucked out by just one edging? You didn't even cum yet, at least, not the second one."

"I-I need it." He whimpered out, his grip on your arm tightened. "Mam, please, please I will going to be a good boy for you. I'll do anything for you. Please let me cum... Please... Make me cum with your hand..."

He was so cute when he pleaded like this, and to know that he wanted you to help him cum? He wanted you to be the reason he shoot his load out? That stroke your ego even higher than before.

But one plea wouldn't let him get away from the punishment that you have set for him.

"Oh, well..." You trailed off, kissing his cheek softly before whispering on his ear. "Too bad you wouldn't get any from me tonight."

[noctuaas]

AS YOU WISH; t. kuroo

synopsis; in this tale of romance, revenge, and treason, you, a beautiful commoner, are set to become the princess of aobajousai. will your one true love be able to save you in time?

pairing; kuroo tetsurou x reader

content; princess bride au (heavily based on both the movie and novel), medieval au, torture, mild violence, drama, fantasy/adventure, murder, fem!reader

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01 ; THE BRIDE

TO BE THE MOST beautiful girl in the world was a concept far past your concern. Those around you certainly saw the potential, but at 16 years old, you simply could not care less to capitalize on your natural beauty. (Beauty routines were exhausting in your eyes. You only washed your face so as not to feel filthy, taking a razor to your leg hair was far more trouble than it seemed worth, and you were quite sick of brushing your hair, so you did so as little as possible.) All you really wanted to do was ride your horse and pester the farm boy that worked for your parents.

Prince, as you had taken to calling the horse when he was just a yearling, was a loyal companion. Other girls your age grew attached to one of their herding dogs’ pups, or the kitten of a barn cat, but you had Prince. He always came when you called, steered where you told him even on a loose rein, nuzzled your face on bad days. 

For all the time you spent taunting and bossing the farm boy around—“Farm Boy, fetch me this,” and “Farm Boy, take care of that,”—he always had one thing in common with the horse: he always did as he was told.

(Perhaps you knew that he was really a young man now—he was a year or two older than you—but he had been just an orphaned boy when he first came to work for your father, so that was what you referred to him as: Farm Boy.)

“As you wish,” he always replied, without fail.

Your father was fond of the farm boy, often remarking how he should leave him an acre of land in his will for all his hard work. These conversations never lasted long though, not before your parents would turn to you and chide you for needing to go bathe again and clean yourself up after spending the day in the barn.

Despite your disdain for taking care of yourself like a “proper lady,” as your mother liked to say, your natural beauty was still enough to cause the village boys to flock to you. Those dimwits always liked to badger you with stupid questions whenever you rode into town, offering silly favors and making awkward small talk, much to dismay of the rest of the girls in the village. The boys were always so annoying, and you often noted how much more tolerable Farm Boy was as you dismissed their advances. Eventually they took to making fun of you, laughing over snide remarks about you because they must have been embarrassed about being shot down. Sometimes the insults were too much to ignore, and when that was the case, Farm Boy took matters into his own hands. You always thanked him after he sent a village boy home bloodied and crying, and he always answered, “As you wish.”

You came to realize that Farm Boy was the only boy your age whose presence you seemed to enjoy. One night, you lied awake with the dim light from a full moon crawling through your window, thinking about how he was always kind and respectful to you, how he protected you and your honor, how he seemed to smile at you differently than he ever smiled at the other girls in town. (You also let yourself admit that he was quite handsome, with his amber eyes and ebony hair that was always in a perfect bedhead state, which was something you had never bothered caring about before.)

After that, your time was no longer divided between riding your horse and pestering the farm boy; now, ‘pestering’ was to be replaced with ‘falling for’. You let him join you on rides through the woods on Prince; you began doing your morning reading in the barn to keep him company while he fed the animals; you took it upon yourself to take out any extra supper your mother cooked to him. You even decided to stop calling him ‘Farm Boy’.

“What’s your actual name, Farm Boy?” you asked out of the blue.

“Why do you ask?” he had replied, and you snorted in mild amusement.

“Well, after having known you all these years, it must be quite rude of me to still call you ‘Farm Boy’.”

He paused and grinned that endearing grin of his, “Just call me Kuroo, then.”

Everything was so blissful for the year following. You loved Kuroo, and he loved you. Even on the day the royal Count and Countess of Aobajousai had strangely paid your family a visit, you both were sure of this; because while the Countess took Kuroo’s arm gently for him to show her the dairy cows and the Count watched you intently as you followed the small procession on your horse, you and Kuroo both stared at each other.

At the end of one year though, Kuroo unexpectedly showed up at your window in the middle of the night.

“I’ve come to say goodbye.”

You shot up straight in your bed, cocking your head incredulously, “What do you mean, ‘goodbye’?”

“I mean I’m leaving.”

“Leaving? Have I done—”

“I’m taking to the sea to seek my fortune,” he cut you off. “There’s a ship that sails out of Karasuno, to the new country of Inarizaki. There’s great opportunity there, so I’m going.”

You were shell-shocked for a moment. Leaving? Sailing to Inarizaki? Where was this all coming from?

“But why? What about the farm? What about us?” You finally said. Your voice was already beginning to quiver pathetically as tears brimmed in your eyes.

“I’ve been training at night, so I hardly need sleep or food, and I’ll get two 10-hour-a-day jobs. I’m gonna save every penny, and in just a couple years I’ll have enough to buy a big farm and build a brand new house just for the two of us.”

“For the two of us?” Your brows furrowed and your voice was meek.

“Yes, (y/n). I love you. All these years I’ve stayed here because of you. I’ve taught myself foreign languages, made my body strong, everything, for you. I’ve been head over heels for you since I was a kid. Do you understand what I’m saying, or should I keep going?”

(By now, Kuroo had squeezed his broad frame through your window, somehow landing gracefully on the floor and sliding next to you on your bed so he could wipe away your tears with his thumb. It was a good thing he was athletic enough to do so quietly, because if your parents caught him in your room, all hell might break loose.)

“Never stop,” you mumbled dreamily.

“There hasn’t been a day—”

“You better not be teasing me, Kuroo, or I’ll have your hide,” you broke in this time. Kuroo loved to tease you, and it was normally all in good fun, but if that was the case now, then he was taking it way too far.

“I’d never joke about loving you,” he replied. “Remember all those years when you would tell me, ‘Farm Boy, do this, Farm Boy, do that’? What did I always say?”

“‘As you wish’.”

“Well, that’s just what you thought I was saying. I was actually saying ‘I love you’,” Kuroo smiled gently and ran his fingers through your hair.

All that time? You couldn’t even recall the first time Kuroo started saying ‘As you wish’ to all your commands, but apparently he had been in love with you. Before you had ever even noticed him, he was devoted to you. It sounded like a fairy tale.

“I love you too, Kuroo. I’ll never stop loving you, I swear,” you finally said.

“I’ll hold you to it, princess. I have to go now if I want to make it to Karasuno in time, but I’ll send for you soon. Promise.”

You nodded in understanding, but you couldn’t let him leave without one last kiss.

There had been five great kisses since the beginning of time. Though the precise rating of kisses is a bit convoluted and controversial (everyone knows that the formula for a great kiss is comprised of timing, affection, intensity, and duration, but there has never been a universal agreement on each element’s weight), there was no doubt that this kiss left every other in the dust.

The following morning, all you wanted to do was lay around and mope. It was perfectly justifiable, considering the love of your life had just left the country, and you wouldn’t see him for God knows how long. You wallowed in self pity for about an hour before realizing that Kuroo was out in the great big world now, and with as handsome as he was, he would surely have women throwing themselves at him.

What if all this moping destroys my beauty, and when he sends for me, I’ll arrive in Inarizaki, and he’ll take one look at me and send me back?

“Mother,” you ran downstairs, interrupting whatever petty argument your parents were having. “I need your advice. How can I better take care of my appearance?”

“You’ve never cared about your appearance, honey. Why are you asking this all of a sudden?”

“Well, I’m nearly 18 now. I figure it’s about time I start behaving a little more like a lady,” you lied. It was enough to appease your mother, and she grabbed your arm and began dragging you to the washroom in delight.

You quickly learned that taking such care of yourself was hard work; the saying, ‘beauty is pain,’ made an awful lot of sense now. But for Kuroo, nothing was too much. Every morning, you awoke at dawn to start the farm chores. You had to pick up all the slack left by Kuroo, so there wasn’t really any time for self-improvement until the afternoon, but once you started, you took it very seriously. Daily baths, simple exercises, and all the time it took to brush your hair out perfectly before bed.

If the whole town thought you were beautiful before, now they all knew you must be a contender for the most beautiful girl in the world. You, however, still had no care for how beautiful the rest of the world found you; as long as Kuroo found you beautiful. (In the coming years, you would learn that you were beautiful no matter what, and simplify your beauty routine to what you liked. As long as you felt clean and tidy, that was sufficient.)

Kuroo wrote you letters every few months, and you kept every one of them. Sometimes people would ask you how he was doing, which was a mistake unless they had a lot of spare time, because you could talk about him for hours. It was obvious that you were completely and utterly in love, and so the village boys eventually stopped trying, and the village girls warmed back up to you.

It made sense the way Kuroo’s death hit you the way it did.

The news reached your parents first. The Count (a new fellow named Iwaizumi, appointed by Prince Oikawa shortly after the last one’s death) was sent to your farm to deliver the news since it was Kuroo’s last known place of residence. You were returning from town on your horse when Count Iwaizumi was leaving your property.

“Miss,” he nodded politely as you crossed paths. You rode on in confusion, and the new Count watched you intently, much like the last one.

When you made it into the house, both your parents hushed up and looked at you with pity.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s The Crow’s Wing, darling. It was attacked,” your mother told you.

Kuroo’s ship was attacked? You furrowed your brows, “What?”

“Pirates. In the night,” your father explained.

You knew the trip across the sea would be dangerous, but you never thought it would happen to him. Sliding into a chair, you decided it might be best to sit down.

The room was quiet until you managed to squeak out, “So Kuroo’s been taken prisoner, then?”

A long sigh from your parents, and then, a, “No.”

“It was the Dread Pirate Nekomata.”

You blinked, willing back tears. The Dread Pirate Nekomata was the most famous pirate in all the world, and he never took prisoners. In all these years in his reign of terror, no one survived an attack from the Dread Pirate Nekomata.

You went to your room, and this time around, you allowed yourself to mope. For six days, you sulked, and cried, and mourned. Not once did you come out of your room, so your parents took to leaving food outside your door, which you only ever picked at meekly. During those six days in your room, you decided you would never love again.

[feliix]

His ✦ JHS (18+)

✦  Pairing: Werewolf!Hoseok x Reader ✦ Word count: 2k ✦  Rating: M  

✦  Genre: smut, fluff, established relationship!au, werewolf!au,

✦  Summary: After Hoseok’s first heat you are left sore and worn out, now its the morning after and he makes it his duty to ease the pain and make it up to you

✦  Warnings: explicit smut, fingering, aftercare – but make it smutty, mentions of marking, mentions of rough/heat sex, soft sex, praise

✦ Requested by the loml @hobiance​ ‘hoseok + cocktail + hot chocolate pls ma'am’

✦  A/N: this follows the same universe as Mine, but can also be read as a standalone

✦ Written for the BHQ Drinks and Drabbles game hosted by @bangtan-dreamland​ 

Last night was a long and exhausting one, Hobi didn’t get home until late last night from his pack run, but you still waited up for him anyway. It always felt better falling asleep when there was another warm body next to you – specifically his. 

Sleeping was not something that you got much of last night, though. He got home late but you stayed up later. Things got hot and heavy quicker than you had expected them to, and one round wasn’t cutting it either.

Needless to say, you woke up a little bit sore and out of sorts this morning, so your morning shower was definitely something you were looking forward to calm your muscles.

Stripping off your clothes, you take a look in the full-length mirror placed on the bathroom door. Much to your surprise your neck and chest were littered with hickeys. You hadn’t remembered getting marked like this last night. As your eyes travel down your body you notice more and more spots; red and purple plots of skin kissing the insides of your thighs, neck, and lower abdomen. You’d have to dress a bit more modestly for the next few days, which wasn’t that big of a deal.

Before you could even step into the shower to turn the hot water on you hear the doorknob of the bathroom beginning to turn. There was no place and no time to hide now.

As Hoseok steps through the doorway, you meet his nude figure. Of course, he didn’t bother to put any clothes on after last night, it felt much better to sleep naked after the rough and playful sex you had anyway.

His hands meet his eyes as he rubs the sleep out of them vigorously, yawning in the process. Slowly, his eyes open to see you standing in front of him, a questioning look on your face on why he was disturbing your morning routine.

“Good morning,” he says as his arms outstretch out above him, his face still looking exhausted from his deep slumber. As his eyes meet yours they widen in shock, catching a quick glimpse of the dark marks on your body and doing a double-take. “Oh my god, Y/n!”

“What?” You respond nonchalantly, not wanting to make a big deal about the spots covering your figure.

“I did this?” He says, dragging his feet as he paces over to you. His hand grabs yours, lifting your arm up to try and get a better look at your body, “Y/N I’m so sorry.”

His voice is full of worry and concern, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. Going through his first heat was a lot on him, and the first day was nothing compared to the next. As hard as it was to control for a fully mature wolf, it was 10 times harder for a new one. It was rough, yes, but you’d expected that. No, you weren’t upset with him, you actually found the spots covering your body quite beautiful.

He swallows thickly as he chokes back his apprehension, trying his best not to get emotional seeing you like this. “Hobi it’s okay,” you reassure him, wrapping your arms around his waist and looking him dead in the eyes, “I’m okay.”

“It looks awful,” he says, his eyes wandering to the mark placed just above your collarbone, “does it hurt?”

“Not…badly,” you reply honestly. There was no use lying to him at this point, you were bonded and if you were lying he would know. Yea you were a little bit sore, but it wasn’t anything a hot shower couldn’t fix.

“Baby I’m so sorry,” he says as he buries his head in your shoulder. You almost feel guilty about how awful he feels about this. There wasn’t much you could say to make him feel better, but reassuring him was the most you could do.

“Hobi I don’t care, its really okay,” you console him, cupping your hands over his cheeks to get him to look at you. Tears are pricking the corners of his guilt-ridden eyes as his lip catches between his teeth. Now that his heat has passed his emotions are running higher than before. Examining everything he did while his senses were heightened is a lot to take in for the first time.

“Are you sore? Let me run you a bath. I’ll get you some ice too, just give me one minute and I’ll-”

You stop his words with a chaste kiss, shutting him up nicely as your lips attach to his. He instantly relaxes once he feels your lips on his, his breath calming down while his shoulders lose their tension. As you pull away you meet him with a smile on your face. It was really okay, he didn’t need to be this worked up.

“I think a bath with you sounds great.”

A sigh of relief leaves his mouth as his eyes soften. There was no need to be worried, he could feel your sincerity now. A gentle kiss is placed on your forehead before he moves over to the tub, running the water and checking the temperature with the back of his hand, pulling the stop up once it’s warm enough.

Your heart swells as you watch him in his simple yet loving gesture. Now that you were marked you could sense more of his emotions than ever before. You can feel his every sorrow, every light of happiness that brightens him up, each bit of love he had for you was embedded into you now. His intentions were pure, he wanted nothing more than to show you how much he adores you.

Soon enough the water is drawn, vanilla-scented bubbles rest over the water and fill the room with its cozy scent. He knew it was your favorite, and going the extra mile to add that in just made it all the better.

“Ready?” He asks arm outreached to you to guide you into the tub. You take his arm graciously and you dip your foot into the warm water. The temperature was perfect, maybe a little too hot for a wolf, but perfect for you.

He joins you in the tub as soon as you sit down, placing his chest against your back as you sit between his legs. All the pent up stress is rid from your body as the warm water consumes you. His large hands stroking your body helps you relax into his, relishing in the feeling of his body pressed up against yours as you soak.

His gentle touches have a lasting effect on you. Something that is supposed to be sweet turns dirty in your mind, and although you are so sore you can’t help but feel turned on as his naked body wraps around your frame. Your breath soon becomes labored, trying your best to diminish your filthy thoughts and just focus on relaxing.

For a minute you forget that he’s a wolf and can smell your arousal before it even arises. Nonetheless, you’re connected now, he can feel the desire radiating off of you from a mile away, even though he’s sitting just behind you.

“Y/n?”

“Yes?”

“Do you want me to touch you?”

Your muscles tense at his words, your walls instinctively clenching as you think about his fingers inside of you.

“Please,” you say softly, shifting downwards slightly to make yourself more comfortable.

Gentle hands graze up the length of your thigh and to your core. Slowly, his fingertips begin circling your entrance, warming you up before he thinks about slipping them inside. You’re still sensitive from last night, he knows that he needs to take him time and be careful with you.

As arousal drenches his fingertips butterflies erupt in your tummy. You instantly relax back into him, your head falling forward to watch the movements of his hand.

His fingers trace the extent of your slit back until they meet your clit. Swiftly, he rolls the swollen bud between his fingertips, sparks igniting in your veins at the sensation. You could never get enough of him like this – even if you were tuckered out.

“Feels so good,” you moan, sensitive to his touch it was becoming difficult to control your body. A high pitched squeal leaves your throat as he begins rolling your clit between his fingers, pinching it lightly, making you keen over in pleasure.

Soon his fingers are moving back downwards, beginning to dip into the arousal pooling out of your core. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, eyes screwed shut as you focused on the pleasure overtaking you. One finger is thrust slowly into your core swallow it deliciously, as you adjust to the new familiar sensation.

The slow movement of just one finger plunging into your depths takes your breath away in an instant. Your velvety walls pulse around his digit as you watch his finger thrust in and out of you at a snail-like speed. He’s careful enough to take things slow, letting you warm up before adding another digit to accompany the first.

Once he notices how comfortable you are, he adds in a second finger. You tense up at the added pressure, taking a moment to let your walls adjust to the new thickness. It was still nothing compared to his cock, but the ridges from his knuckles left behind a pleasurable sensation that you couldn't get enough of.

The mild discomfort quickly disappears as his lips press soft kisses to the side of your neck, trailing down to your mark. His tongue grazes over your new scar, your heart beating faster in your chest once you feel him touch it. You can feel his intentions through it, his devotion and his desire shining bright as your souls connect.

“I love you,” he whispers in between the kisses he places to your mark. Your eyes can’t help but begin to water, so overwhelmed with admiration for him that it’s becoming difficult to control your emotions.

You’re so caught up in the moment – caught up in him. The pace of Hobi’s fingers remains slow as he caresses your velvety walls. They thank him with each thrust of his fingers, clenching gently each time he reaches deep in your core.

As his fingers begin to separate your hips jut forward. He stretches your walls as his digits move in scissor-like motions, relieving the ache you carried from last night. It was like resetting your body after a long work out, reaping the benefits of a nice stretch to thank your muscles. He was amending things back to your desired state, taking away the pain and replenishing it with pleasure in the process.

You were hanging on each of his movements, your orgasm building at a steady pace with each plunge of his fingers. It’s not until his thumb brushes against your clit until you begin to let go.

“So beautiful baby, doing so well,” he praises as your walls begin to spasm, releasing on his fingers with a guttural moan. Your vision goes blank, head rolling back onto his shoulder as you sink into his body. It’s like your weightless, floating through the air while your body tingles with euphoria. Hobi’s there to ground you, rubbing soft circles just under your navel to coax you through your high while his other hand remains steady in your core.

A mixture of emotions floods through you as you come back from your high, your body exhausted yet tranquil while your mind is wide awake. You’re left speechless, but that’s okay – he knows how you feel.

His love consumes you as you lay there in the tub, bathwater beginning to turn cold but the heat radiating off his body keeps you warm. The ache of your muscles has begun to fade, whether it was because you were too caught up in the bliss of the moment or the bath had helped. Either way, you were thankful that you were here and that it was him you were here with. You were glad that he was yours, and your were his.

‘His’ is copyright 2020 @parksfilter​, all rights reserved. Please do not repost on any platform or translate without permission.

[thetorturerwrites]

Eos

Summary: Unblinking, unfocused, you stared at the metronome, losing track of what you were supposed to do. She liked the metronome, Dr. Howard, because it kept her patients calm when reliving their trauma. At least that’s what she told you.

It was your name that drew you back. Not your actual name — the one he’d given you. Your legal name. The one in all the papers.

A/N: This is not for the faint of heart. And do not come for me over this. Non-con/dub-con is a valid fantasy.

That being said, this should be considered a prequel to Get It Right and is for @findyourdarkness​, who wanted more.

C/N:  DEAD DOVE; graphic depictions of violence; Non-con/dub-con; Torture; Stockholm Syndrome; Kidnapping; References to Emesis/Vom; References to forced addiction; Blood and bits; Med/surg; LOOK YOU KNOW WHO I AM OK

All the way behind the cut....

Tick tock tick Tick tock tick

Unblinking, unfocused, you stared at the metronome, losing track of what you were supposed to do. She liked the metronome, Dr. Howard, because it kept her patients calm when reliving their trauma. At least that’s what she told you.

It was your name that drew you back. Not your actual name — the one he’d given you. Your legal name. The one in all the papers.

“He held you captive for three years,” she said, as though you didn’t know, down to the hour, how long he had you. “Are you ready to talk about what he did to you?”

The detective said they needed to know so they could make an accurate accounting in the file.

But how could you answer?

“The... the first year…”

... was all pain.

You didn’t come to his life willingly; he stole you from a happy home and a family that loved you. In the dead of night, he crept into your house, punched you so hard he fractured your jaw and broke your nose, and carried your limp body out with no one the wiser for it.

Your jaw was wired shut for weeks, which lent itself well to his design. The first few days, you shouted yourself dizzy, but all that came out was a muffled wheeze; and when you cried too hard, you choked on your own spit. The blockage at your broken nose kept you from breathing normally.  Inside a week, you learned to not scream lest you asphyxiate from the effort.

Everything made you wretch — the smell of him, the smell of yourself, the water, the air, the plump head of his cock as it rubbed against your puffy, useless mouth.

Thinking you’d suicide your way out of this hell and deny him his newfound plaything, you plastered yourself to the corner of the dismal room, refusing food and water. Undeterred, he shoved an NG tube into your battered nose to scratch along the back of your throat. Force feeding you was something he thoroughly enjoyed, as was the waterboarding that inevitably followed to ensure hydration made it down your gullet.

That was the first time he fucked you.  Drenched and bent over the very table he drowned you on, he wracked open your body and growled possessively at your pitiable screams. Your muted sobs only made him pound at you, claw at you, that much harder. On autopilot, your body made space for him, clenched tight around each violent shove of his dick, and fell headlong into something you tried to tell yourself was just a physical response.

Mangled as your face was, bruised and locked up tight, you could do nothing but swallow the bile, the half processed liquid diet, the snotty water your body tried to expel as you jerked and quaked through the unwelcome orgasm.

You told yourself it meant nothing.

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!?”

You screamed when he caught you trying to escape, having scraped your fingers bloody, trying to gouge the lock from the door. He dragged you down into the bowels of his house, throwing you into a pitch black cellar. He forced pins beneath your nails so you couldn’t use your fingers and set them with super glue.

“To keep you from pulling them loose,” he chided.

It was a gruesome manicure, and it set your teeth to grinding. Your fingers throbbed, and you could feel each individual pin. It drove you mad until you finally did rip one set of pins free, along with the entire nail. Your echoing screams only drove you further into a rage; and soon, there were no more pins. No more glue. No more nails.

Exhausted, you collapsed into a dirty heap in the corner.

Under his feet, beneath his very floor, you continually wailed and pleaded, shouted and begged, but he ignored you. For days, possibly weeks. He only came to see you nourished, which no longer included the NG tube, but instead a handful of supplements he forced you to swallow, washed down by a gallon of water and his sticky seed.

You were too filthy to be fucked, he told you.

Angered by his judgment, you spat at him.  You rallied and railed that you were filthy because of him. He kept you in that hole with only a goddamn bucket and a worn mattress on the floor like a fucking animal.

Your outburst cost you the bucket and gained you a regular rotation of ORS, accompanied by his thick fingers buried in your cunt and his weighty palm pressing on your abdomen until you could no longer control your bladder. You wept each time he coaxed the golden liquid from you and fumed when he told you how much better he liked you when you behaved.

That became the first rule.

You asked his permission to urinate.

When you disobeyed and relieved yourself without asking, he shoved you face first into your own waste and belted you bloody. When you followed the rule, when you waited for him to arrive and told him of your need, you often got his fingers in your pussy, pumping and curling, sending you into a subdued, subtle orgasm until you pissed in his hand.

The alleviation of your discomfort was always so palpable.  Punctuated with breathy, grateful moans, it stole your dignity. You hated that he wanted this ritual, but you hated more than you came to crave it. Each time, he pressed his lips to your temple and bore your sagging weight. He clucked and crooned that you could be such a good girl if you wanted.

He only had to slap you once before you licked his dirtied hand clean.

Complying with his demand earned you food, water you didn’t have to fear, and a clean mattress, but your basement cell was still frigid, and your bare legs and feet still froze. It was only when his harsh treatment and inhospitable accommodations made you ill that he relented. He carried you and your pneumonia up into the house proper and helped you through the first bath you could remember in what felt like months.

Too feverish to enjoy it properly, you cried into his shoulder, clinging to him as he washed your back. And though you knew it was madness, knew it was the sickness, you murmured thanks and fell asleep against his broad chest.

Tock tick tock Tock tick tock

Dr. Howard stared at you, mouth agape, for an uncomfortably long time. Unable to remain stoic, her face telegraphed every thought. She was horrified, plainly terrified, and, at the same time, amazed that you sat here in her office, telling her such awful things as though you made pleasant conversation.

“Do you, ah…” Her brow furrowed, and she fidgeted. “Do you need to take a break? Get a snack? Use the…”

You chewed the inside of your lip subtly as her thought trailed off. Use the facilities, your mind furnished. She couldn’t bring herself to ask you if you needed to pee, given what she’d learned. You debated telling her you couldn’t force yourself, no matter how hard you tried. Instead, you had to wait until need won out over volition.

“No, thank you.” You brushed an imaginary fuzzball off of your skirt hem and looked away, a flush creeping into your cheeks at the memory of his fingers inside you. “I’d rather do this all today, if possible.”

“Ah.” She nodded and scribbled something down. “Please, go on.”

Your gaze crawled over the books lining the wall behind her desk, reminding you of his library and the mountain of books he made you read to him. Your shoulders rose and fell on a sigh, the intake of breath no longer steadying as it had been then. It was simply function now.

“The second year was transformation. That’s what he called it.”

Satisfied that he broke you of any desire to flee, he started with your teeth. Uncommon, you made it to adulthood with all of your wisdom teeth, which he had removed to make more room in your mouth for his cock, to ensure they wouldn’t scrape at him when he forced himself into your throat, which he did every morning.

No longer banished to the basement, you slept tied to the foot of his bed. First, it was with heavy, scratchy coconut rope, and your mornings started with a roughshod swallow when he awoke. You knew better than to outright fight him, but you still leaned away, still shook your head no, and he punished you for it with a face fucking so brutal your lips split.

When you accepted his cock with no derision, no argument, you earned medication, a sedative for your night terrors or a pain pill for your discomfort. When you sucked his dick of your own will, without him holding you in place and rutting into your mouth like a savage, you earned a less coarse rope and a pillow upon which to sleep.

That became the second rule.

Knelt at the side of his bed, you worshiped his cock every morning, gulping down whatever he saw fit to give you that day, be it his cum, his piss, or a blend of both.

Next, it was your eyes. Nearsighted on the left and farsighted on the right, your prescription was so strong, he had been a blurry demon for a year without your glasses. And now that he no longer had to beat you senseless every day, that would not do.

“The devil is in the details,” he said, wanting you to remember every moment in vivid color.

You cried when you saw him clearly for the first time. Great, untamable sobs erupted from your chest because you didn’t understand how someone so beautiful could be so inhumane. Even without perfect vision, you knew he was tall, wide, and muscular. You knew his hair was dark and wavy. But you didn’t know the line of his nose was so poetic. Nor did you know that his lips quivered as he pondered.

It was only when you saw the details, just as he wanted, that you realized you knew him. You’d seen him. You remembered smiling at him in the shop every day. Putting together the puzzle, you realized he planned for this, for you.

Halfway through the year, when you were compliant, quiet, and addicted to the steady stream of pharmaceuticals he plied you with, there came a tracker in your throat and laryngeal chondroplasty to make the pitch of your voice more pleasing. You had a pretty voice, he told you, but your screams weren’t high enough. Your whimpers didn’t have that special something.

He tested it by withholding the medication he’d allowed you to become dependent upon. You scratched at the walls, shuddering and whining. You jerked against the iron collar keeping you within a foot of his bed. You pleaded with him for just one pill, just one of anything to make you feel better. You bartered with nothing and promised to do anything if he would chase away these tremors, these shakes and hallucinations.

Only when he wanted, no sooner, did he give you what you sought. Two little pills were all it took for you to brace yourself on hands and knees and whore yourself for him. That night, he fucked you hoarse.  On the floor like a beast, he slapped and choked you while shoving his massive length all the way into your guts and prodding you to say what he wanted again and again and again.

And you did.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

That became the third rule.

You thanked him every time he fucked you, more so if he allowed you to orgasm.

You couldn’t remember when your breasts changed. You’d simply awoken one morning from a medicated fog to burning chest muscles and tits that sat higher, perkier than before. He liked to palm them as he made plans, to pluck and tug and roll the nipples until your ragged breathing lured him away from his blueprints.

He never allowed you any clothing, even when he set you to working in his home. He wanted to feel your hips, to dip his fingers into your sex when he caught you bent over to clean, to fuck you whenever the fancy struck him. He often kept you in his lap, either curled into his chest upon it or bent over it and strapped to his chair.

Finally, you underwent tubal ligation. He debated the pros and cons — though not actually with you — of it versus an outright hysterectomy for weeks.  He didn’t trust the vasectomy he had and wanted to be sure.  Children, he reminded you, were not part of his plan; and thus, they were no longer a possibility for your future.

After the last surgery, he put you through a detox program. Less harsh than the abrupt first round, he combated your withdrawals and illness by wringing a long string of orgasms from your overheated body. You slept through half of it; and when you weren't sleeping, he sent you into orbit with his lips, his fingers, his cock.

From then forward, he allowed you human food, even teaching you how to cook his favorite dishes, but he controlled your portions, your supplements, your hydration.  And your exercise to stave off atrophy.

At the close of the year, after the false color had grown out and your long hair hung its natural hue, he told you that your transformation was complete. Your body was stronger, having run the gauntlet in his name, and you were healthier than you’d ever been.

Pressing your lips into a firm line, you looked away from Dr. Howard, diving into the memory as though it would warm you.

His fourth rule was that you ride his dick every night, slowly, languidly. He didn’t always cum when you did it, a fact that somehow sorely disappointed you, but he wanted to watch you stretch and writhe. He wanted to run his hands over the body he molded, to appreciate the effects of your metamorphosis.

At midnight of the third year, he gave you a new name.

You cried when he said it, when he repeated it again and again. Head tipped back, his hands everywhere, filled to the brim with his thick cock, fat tears spilled from the corners of your eyes because he said it with such tenderness, such possessiveness you felt branded by it.

He wasn’t wrong. You were a wholly different person — whether or not you wanted it.

“What was it? The new name?”

She asked on bated breath. She even leaned forward in her chair, engrossed as though your life, your ordeal, was a suspenseful movie or salacious novel. The look you gave her was charged with ire, a clap back on your features that needed no words.

Realizing she’d been caught, Dr. Howard slipped back into clinical professionalism and rifled through the file on her lap. She made a few notes, which you believed were little more than doodles and simply a way to regain some ground she’d lost.

“When did you learn he was hurting people?”

“June of the 3rd year.”

She looked at you incredulously, taking off her glasses to huff slightly. “He’d killed 6 people by then. What were you doing?”

“Training.”

Your education into his extra-curricular activities began the day he called your new name, and you looked up automatically. It took time. You rarely realized he was even speaking to you until he threw a book at your head or kicked the chair out from beneath you. To punctuate the conditioning, he buried his face between your thighs at least twice a day, but he wouldn’t let you cum until you repeated it to his satisfaction.

“My name is… my name is… my name is…”

Much the way sheltered children are bought private educations, he arranged for you to have tutors in subjects he deemed fit.  You studied anatomy, infrastructure, and chemistry. You learned to speak Italian, Dutch, Farsi, and a handful of other languages. Some more than others, but all to the point you could get by. He demanded you slog through massive texts on physiology, engineering, even rudimentary architecture.

For a month, he hired a dominatrix to teach you about knots, rope, and bondage. You tied yourself to chairs and columns, learned how to wiggle out of what most people thought were secure bindings, and made quick-and-dirty cuffs and gags from a single length of clothesline rope. Every lesson ended with you in a hogtie and him balls deep inside you some way or another.

Masseurs came to teach you about pressure points and fascia. Nurses gave you lessons on starting an IV, administering fluids, and creating an arterial tap. You learned jiu jitsu and how best to break bones, how to perform a choke hold properly, and the quickest way to subdue someone twice your size.

He hosted dinner parties at which his guests, doctors and lawyers, discussed Mozart, politics, and hypothetical ways to disarticulate a human body, to eliminate evidence of a crime, to elude the supposed authorities just by being patient. Don’t make rash decisions, they said. Stay calm; don’t deviate from your plan.

“Why did you not try to escape?” One red brow piqued over Dr. Howard’s eye, and she continued. “It is arguable that you were well qualified to fight your way to freedom. Why didn’t you?”

You looked towards the window. This was the thing she wanted to know more than anything. Yes, she wanted the gory details of his crimes for the records, and she wanted to know how you made it through all that time alive. But she really wanted to know why you weren’t chained to a radiator, emaciated, or addicted to heroin. The way she expected. She especially wanted to know why you didn’t run.

“If I had a suitable answer for that, I doubt I’d be here, Dr. Howard.”

Two and a half years into your captivity, his ownership was complete. You not only obeyed without hesitation; you often anticipated his demands, and you routinely left his home for errands without the compulsion to flee. Now when he beat you, it was because he wanted to see you suffer rather than needing to re-educate or punish you. When he took away your food or your bed, it was to sate his sadism. Instead of waterboarding you in the basement like a hostage, he plunged your face into ice-cold bath water while he fucked you from behind in ornate hotel rooms around the world.

It wasn’t that you were too afraid to escape. He eviscerated everything that made you you. To where you knew you’d never fit into the life, the family, you had before. It was this revelation, this acceptance that planted the seed that would become his trust.

He believed you would never leave. To say you didn’t believe the same would be a lie.

His seventh victim instituted your fifth rule.

Your information, your input, was accurate; or you paid the consequence.

He nearly lost her because the information you gave him on the tunnel system was outdated. The city filled in some tunnels with concrete to keep the streets above from collapsing, but that information hadn’t made it onto the schematics you found online. You didn’t know he needed the information to kidnap someone, but that was the night you learned it was him leaving women stitched up and bloody in abandoned churches.

The only kindness he showed you was that he did not carve at your sides the way he did with them. But he used the same coarse black thread. He sliced off chunks of your skin and rubbed the same jagged salt into your wounds. And he sewed your flesh to itself to pay back the trouble you’d caused.

All before he dragged you to the edge of his bench, yanked your head back to hang over it, and forced his cock directly into your throat. He gripped your neck as he watched himself slide in and out; and right before he climaxed, he tore at the dreadful stitches with his bare hands so he could cut off your screams with the throb of his dick and gag you on his cum.

After that, your research was tireless, your intel unshakable.

“Did you ever help him kidnap or hurt someone?”

You met her assessing stare, certain that the true reason you were here was because the law, the victim families, needed someone to blame.  Everyone knew it was him, but some rookie hotshot was too excited to get his load off, and the guy they came to arrest ended up in the morgue. You were the only link to him, the only potential prosecutable person. Despite the fact you were, in the most basic sense of the word, a victim, too.

“I gave him the information he asked me for.” You nodded, giving her this admission because it was true. What you told him directly led to the suffering of others. “But I did not take part in any of his crimes beyond that.”

She must have believed you because the interview wrapped up within 30 minutes of that confession. It isn’t uncommon, she told you, for victims to develop Stockholm Syndrome, but your case was particularly severe, and the bond was particularly strong because of it. She would give her report to the detectives, and she scheduled you for another appointment in a few days.

“It will take a lot of work, but you can come back from this.”

Feigning a brief smile, you left, threw the appointment card into the street, and ducked into the nearest taxi. This life, this ‘real’ life, felt foreign, muddled. The car felt too small; the hotel felt too empty. Everything you knew from the last three years was ripped violently from you, and the rest of the world expected that you would pick right up where you left off and carry on.

Inside your room, you dropped your things to the floor. The key clattered, and your bag tipped over haphazardly. Trivial things. Without turning on the light, you dramatically tore off your clothes and, blessedly free from all of that fucking fabric, pondered all the things you didn’t tell Dr. Howard.

You didn’t tell her you hadn’t seen your family since they had found you, or that you didn’t want to.  You didn’t tell her you couldn’t stand to wear clothes when you were in whatever semblance of home you had. He kept you naked for so long, always ready for him, that it felt sacrilegious to hide behind them.

Passing by the full-length mirror, you gazed at your reflection, tracing your outline in the glass.  When she asked why you refused a rape kit, you hadn’t shared how he’d cemented his ownership of you with tattoos, the kind nobody else knew about.  Tattoos he could see in the dark.  Absently, you ran your fingers along the UV ink marking your sternum, admiring the soft glow it lent you. His molded clay. His masterpiece.

You barely heard it, your name whispered. 

It was so soft; you didn’t think it was real. Sobs jumped up into your throat, and you covered your mouth to keep them quiet. You pressed your forehead against the mirror, trying desperately to keep your mourning on the inside of your skin.

Again it came, louder, surer.

Your tears, your breath, your heart stopped.  You whipped your head around to look over one shoulder to the black mass occupying the darkest corner of the pre-fab room. The little desk light switched on, casting that corner, and its person, into a soft glow.

You flew to him, leaping over the bed and shoving the ottoman out of the way. You vibrated, barely managing to not throw yourself into his arms. You only touched him when he allowed it, but the effort to obey in this moment was colossal and brutal.

“You…” Your voice wavered. You lifted bewildered eyes to his, pushing your hands into your hair to keep from reaching for him. “You’re here.”

“On your knees, pet.” The barest hint of a smile tugged the corner of his mouth up.

It was all the permission you needed. You hit the floor with a thud and pressed your face between his thick thighs. You ran your hands up his sides and fought the urge to tear his clothes to pieces. You slid loose the expensive belt with its silver buckle and tugged pants and underwear out of the way. Your heart rate kicked up higher and higher. Your mouth watered.

When his growing girth sprang free, you kissed the little dip where it met his body, nuzzling your mouth and cheeks there elatedly. Frantic for the velvet feel of his skin, you enveloped his dick with your mouth on a soft whimper. You mouthed and licked and nipped until he was fully erect, straining red and purple.

His ragged breathing drew your focus, searing this minute, and the way he looked, into your mind forever. Flushed, dotted with beads of sweat, lips parted and panting, he was everything you dreamed about these desolate weeks and more. Beyond that, he missed you. You saw it in his face.

Wasting no time, you curled your tongue around the head of his dick and slid onto it, humming at the weight on your tongue. Slicking up his length, you vaulted into a quick pace, bobbing up and down hurriedly. You needed to taste him, to feel the twitch right before he poured into your mouth. His soft groan at your tight, insistent lips had your eyes upon him, which earned you another heavenly purr of approval. He allowed you to worship, to lathe him with your tongue and bathe him with your spit.

But then, he didn’t.

Wide hands wrapped entirely around your skull, and broad hips surged forward to lodge his cock as far into your face, and down into your throat, as physically possible. Where you’d have fought him before, you now groaned. Your body tightened, lengthened, moistened.

Your desire for his meanness was grotesque, carefully curated and expertly executed.

“Did you tell them? Hm?”

He pulled you off of his dick so fast you sputtered. Sticky ropes of spit connected you to him, and you struggled to think. He didn’t give you any time to answer before he bucked forward and sunk back in. You gagged around him. Your tongue jumped and tried to curl up, but he occupied every centimeter of your stretched mouth.

“Did you fucking tell them?”

At the next reprieve, as you sucked down air miserably, you shook your head as best you could against the tangle of his fingers at the back of your skull. You blinked hard to make the two of him combine to one.

“Th-they didn’t ask me that.” You fought to steady your heaving chest, to calm the thunderous beat of your heart. “They think you’re dead.” You bit at your swelling lower lip and tried to hide the falter of your voice. “I thought you died.”

“Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

Every muscle clenched. You wanted to obey, but you also needed something in this moment. You couldn’t put words to it, but you crumpled, both hands slamming against the floor. You keened, louder than you expected, because the war inside you was too great.

“Please.” You wept, reaching out to clutch at the toe of his shoe. “It’s… it’s been weeks. I need…”

Your dick. Your hands. Your belt. Make me see stars. Make me bleed and scream and burn. Drown me. Bite me. Hit me. Crush me underfoot. Anything so you’ll see me.

The me you made.

“Stand up.” His fingers dug bruises into the soft flesh under your arm and hoisted you up. “Fast.”

He spun you and lifted you onto your toes. You clawed at your own thighs for a bit of leverage, but he held you exactly where he wanted with his incredible strength. With not even a hint of caring, he lined the fat head of his dick up with your opening and slammed all the way home in one vicious thrust.

Valiantly, you didn’t scream. You shook and swallowed hot tears, but you didn’t scream. You remembered the rule, though, and the words tumbled from your mouth louder than you intended.

“Thank you. Fucking Christ, thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.”

He gripped half of your face in his right hand, shutting you up with a growl and making himself an effective handle. He dug fingers into your soft belly and rammed into you, painfully filling you, driving you mindless. The flutter of his breath at your ear, the sexy grunt against your shoulder, the bite at your throat, all of it coalesced to send you reeling.

“We have fucking work to do.” He groaned into the side of your neck, his thrusts unrelenting but stuttering. “And you’re begging to be fucked like a common whore.”

You squirmed at the lewd squelches coming from your flooded cunt and whined against his palm. You knew you’d pay for it later, for making him wait with your idiot feelings, but even the thought of that lit you up, fire under your flesh. Another gush of molten slick perfumed the air as you imagined him carving you up again or tying you to the bedpost and beating you to sleep.

Cursing, he wrapped both hands around your hips, and threw himself into you recklessly. You plastered both of your hands where his had been to dampen the shrieks you couldn’t possibly keep down. You knew better than to cum without his permission, but he hadn’t even given you leave to beg. Still, your body tightened, and your cunt contracted, dangerously close.

“Say it, pet.” His voice was choppy, split by labored breaths. He was going to spill into your sloppy pussy any second, and you flew, leaving your body until he gouged trenches into your back with his uneven nails. “Fucking say it.”

An otherworldly calm settled over you, slipping you further away from whatever the normal world was and into this mania with him. It was delirious, abhorrent, obscene.

He made you his own pet monster, blood hungry, wanton, and vulgar.

“My name is Eos.” Somehow, your breathy voice was stable. “And I belong to Kylo Ren.”

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 58 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Katya found out she might be pregnant, the assistant network caught on to BDR’s latest paramour, and Violet was ordered to go home and rest.

This Chapter: Gigi’s new look gets the reaction she’d hoped for, the twins enjoy some one on one time with their respective partners, Courtney has a rain-soaked nightmare, Pearl looks (but doesn’t touch) and Katya stresses.

***

Courtney knocked softly on Ivy’s door, a smile on her face that had been there almost all day. Fame had thankfully left early, she and Patrick spending the evening at some fancy opera event at the Met, leaving Courtney to get ready for her date in peace.

Her first official date with Bianca. It was almost too exciting for her to comprehend.

“Hey Courtney, what’s up?” Ivy asked, looking up from her computer, beckoning Courtney inside.

“Well, I have a date tonight...and it’s really important and I need to look hot and...I thought maybe I could borrow something from the closet again?”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s fine. Um...let me just finish this email and then I’ll help you. Feel free to go have a look around, though.”

“Thanks.” Courtney bit her lip, sensing that Ivy was decidedly less enthusiastic about this than the last time she’d helped. She was probably in the middle of something important, maybe anxious about her own Friday night plans. Courtney felt bad, and would have told her to forget it if she had literally any other options. “I promise to be quick!”

“Yeah, no worries.”

Courtney kept her promise, pulling a short, royal blue dress with a high slit and a pair of strappy aqua shoes.

“Are you sure you wanna wear those shoes, Court? It’s kind of horrendous outside,” Ivy said, but Courtney shook her head.

“It’s fine, I’m just gonna be going into a cab and then inside. Thank you so much for your help!”

“No problem,” Ivy said, always gracious even when Courtney was obviously annoying her. “I hope you have a good time.”

“I’m sure I will!” Courtney exclaimed, taking the dress and shoes back to her own office to change, already feeling giddy with excitement, wondering what Bianca’s idea of ‘wining and dining’ would be like.

She took her time getting ready, freshening her hair with a curling iron she’d stashed in her desk and giving herself what she hoped was a sexy smoky eye. She kept an eye on the clock, knowing that Fame expected her to be in the office until 7:30. She chose a berry-colored lip gloss from the samples that Alaska had given her, and then stepped into the bathroom to get dressed, thrilled that the dress fit perfectly. She checked her phone and computer one more time before signing out, making sure that there were no last-minute requests from Miss Fame, and then made her way downstairs to grab a taxi.

She’s just settled into the backseat when a message came through that made her heart sink.

FAME: Dogwalker sick. Need you to walk Charles ASAP.

Courtney groaned, tapping on the glass partition to redirect the cab driver, and then texting Bianca.

COURTNEY: Still dealing with a work thing. I’m so so sorry, I might be a little late.

BIANCA: No rush. We can always push the reservation.

COURTNEY: I’ll tell you the second I’m on the way.

BIANCA: XX

Courtney knew that dog walking was an occasional part of her job, although it hadn’t come up yet before. However, she’d carefully read the 7 pages of instructions Violet left about him, knowing that Charles was Fame’s treasured companion and she would be toast if anything ever happened to him, and prepared for the time when she’d have to step up. She wasn’t terribly worried--after all, she loved dogs, and her own family had German Shepherds, so a big dog shouldn’t be any trouble.

But Charles wasn’t just big. He was massive, outweighing her by a hefty amount, first fighting her as she tried to put on the raincoat that he apparently hated, and then dragging her down the street so fast that she slipped on some ice, falling to her knees on the corner, immediately cursing herself for not listening to Ivy about those stupid shoes.

“Charles, sit!” Courtney was terrified that he would run into the street without her and get hurt, rain and sleet pummeling her face as she sacrificed her umbrella to grip the leash with both hands. As she tried to stand, a bus drove by, sloshing icy gutter water all over her. “Fucking shit!”

Charles, of course, paid no attention to her predicament, still single-mindedly bound for the edge of the park where he was trained to do his business. Courtney got up, shivering, and took him across the street, finding herself soon faced with picking up a steaming, human-sized pile of shit in the pouring rain. By the time they got back to Fame’s mud room and Charles properly toweled off (with him stepping all over her chest with muddy paws in the process), she was soaked to the bone and shivering like crazy.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, wincing at her soggy, lifeless hair and smeared eye makeup, knowing that there was no way she could show up for a date looking like that. She got out her phone, dialing Bianca’s number with shaking fingers.

“Hey, sunshine,” Bianca answered, and Courtney closed her eyes, cringing at how wrong that nickname was at the moment.

“Hi. Um...I don’t think I can make it tonight,” she said, trying her best not to cry.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just...I had a situation with Fame’s dog and I’m soaking wet and I look an absolute mess and I can’t-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa...are you okay? It’s freezing outside!” Bianca exclaimed.

“Yeah...I just...I should go home, I can’t-”

“You’re not seriously thinking about getting on a train to the Bronx right now, are you? You’ll die of hypothermia. I can hear your teeth chattering, for fuck’s sake.”

“But I can’t go out, I look-”

“Okay, then we’ll stay in.”

“But you wanted to go out, and-”

“No, I wanted to spend time with you. I’m starting a hot bath right now. Get a cab, come over, I’ll see you in ten minutes,” Bianca instructed, and Courtney couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief that someone else was taking charge of the situation.

***

Gigi couldn’t stop staring at herself in the hallway mirror, her fingers gliding through her silky soft hair for the third time.

It was the most gorgeous deep auburn red, the color bringing out her freckles and playing up her grey eyes.

She looked like a completely different person, and she loved it.

“Looks like someones been to Juju’s.”

Gigi turned to see Symone leaning against the doorframe, a smile on her face, the adorable gap between her white front teeth stupidly charming.

“What gave it away?” Gigi giggled, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

“Just wait til you go shopping.” Symone grinned, her jeans slung low on her hips. “The underwear I have now is more expensive than any other clothes I have ever owned.”

“You got new underwear?” Gigi felt her eyes widened. “With like… With Sutan?” She bit her lip. Sutan had gone with her to the salon, him and Juju talking quietly while she was getting her hair washed by an assistant. They had obviously made the right choice, Gigi feeling like a superhero, but she couldn’t imagine any man coming with her to a lingerie store.

“Sure.” Symone shrugged. “It’s all ‘foundational undergarments’ and ‘French cut’ this, ‘t-shirt bra’ that. ‘You need a secure adhesive backless’. Where I’m from we just call those chicken cutlets.” Symone smiled. “For my first fitting, he asked me to wear high rise briefs and a seamless bra. I felt like my grandma.”

Gigi laughed, the tiny worry she had felt flare up already gone again.

“Do you want to cook dinner together?” Symone pushed out from the door, and Gigi nodded, this modeling thing already so much better than she had dared hoped for.

***

“Ah!” Violet moaned as Sutan pushed her forward, his body boxing her in and keeping her in place. They were in the kitchen, the counter digging into her hips.

“Hey gorgeous,” Sutan’s voice was low, his lips against her neck, his warmth breath tickling her skin. She felt him grab the edge of her skirt, hiking it up and over her knees, thighs and even ass as he pulled it higher and higher, pooling it on the counter, forcing Violet to hold it herself, his hand guiding her before he let go.

“Please-“ Violet groaned, his fingers digging into the fabric, every move she made exposing herself further.

“Please what?”

She could feel Sutan’s fingers glide up her outer thigh and Violet blushed, her core burning hot, her panties getting wetter by the second.

“Please-“

It felt absolutely filthy, and so fucking good, Sutan in complete control and Violet loved it.

They were both tipsy, their wine glasses and dinner plates in the sink, the dishes completely forgotten when Sutan had given Violet a quick kiss that had developed into so much more.

“Please what lovely eyes?” Sutan’s voice was silky smooth, nothing in his tone betraying the way his fingers danced over her ass cheek, nails scratching on skin, a fingertip sneaking under the lace.

“I-“ Violet swallowed. She felt like she was drowning, wanted to drown, wanted to disappear in everything Sutan was. “I-“

“Tell me,” Sutan whispered, his lips against her ear. “Or I might punish you darling.” He leaned forward, pushing her that little bit further, and that was when it happened.

“Ah!” Violet closed her eyes, a blinding pain shooting through her. “Wait! Wait wait wait!”

Her foot had gotten caught on an angle, and Sutan jumped backwards.

“Wait,” Violet took a deep breath through her nose, the pain already disappearing, frustrated tears welling up in her eyes. “Fuck-“

“Everything okay?”

Violet turned around to see that Sutan had taken literal steps back, his trousers still tented, his dick obviously hard underneath the zipper.

“Mmh,” Violet nodded, the delightful embarrassment from earlier replaced with something that felt a lot more like shame, her eyes focused on Sutan’s feet. “I-“

“Can I touch you again?”

Violet’s head snapped up, Sutan looking at her, a glimpse of insecurity in his eyes, almost like he was the one who had done something wrong.

“Please-“ Violet opened her arms, and seconds later she could bury her face in his neck, his arms around her, holding her tight, kisses pressed into her hair.

“I’m sorry,” Sutan murmed, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to-“

“I know-“ Violet smiled, the apology so unnecessary it was almost comical. “I know.”

“Good.” Sutan pulled back, a hand in her hair tilting Violet’s head upwards so he could look at her. “Good. I shouldn’t have-“

Violet leaned forward, shutting him up with a kiss, her arms going around his neck as she held him tight.

***

When her cab pulled up in front of Bianca’s building, the doorman immediately rushed forward to open her door. She was fumbling with her credit card, fingers still stiff and cold, but he gestured for her to put it away.

“Ms. Del Rio is taking care of that,” he said, handing over some cash to the driver, then covering her with an umbrella and walking her to the lobby, where she was sent up in a different elevator than last time, directly to Bianca’s second floor, right outside her bedroom.

Courtney clutched her soaking wet jacket, trying to get her bearings when Bianca appeared around the corner, looking at her with concern and dismay.

“Omigod, baby, come here…”

Courtney barely knew what was happening as Bianca rushed her into the bathroom, helping her strip off her wet things.

“What the fuck are you doing in these shoes in this weather? And this jacket--why aren’t you in a winter coat?” Bianca asked, dropping it to the floor and then unzipping her dress, her voice gentle despite the scolding words.

“Th-that is my winter coat.”

“That’s not a winter coat,” Bianca informed her, pulling the dress down.

Courtney didn’t have the energy to protest, and besides, she was much more concerned with the dress.

“The dress isn’t mine, I think I ruined it-” she began, voice breaking, and Bianca looked it over while she stepped out of her panties and placed her jewelry on the counter.

“It’ll be fine, it just needs to be cleaned,” Bianca promised, leading her, still shivering, over to the jacuzzi tub, where a huge pile of bubbles was waiting for her. “I didn’t make it too hot, because I didn’t want to shock your system. But you can change the temp if you want.”

Courtney sank into the bubbles, the water silky and warm as a hug. After a few seconds, she finally began to feel her fingers and toes again, flexing them under the water, a sigh leaving her. She looked up, where Bianca was setting a remote control at the edge of the tub--which apparently controlled the jets and the temperature and even the lights. Courtney had never seen anything like it. She’d also put out a whole basket of bath products and lit a couple of candles.

“I’ll give you some privacy now,” Bianca said. “I left some towels and a robe on the warmer, and uh...if you need anything else, just let me know, okay?”

“Can you stay?”

It was embarrassing to admit, but Courtney didn’t want to be alone right now. Bianca didn’t make her feel weird about it though, simply took a seat on the ledge beside her, chatting about her trip, the trouble her staff had created while she was away, her voice soothing as Courtney leaned back against the terry cloth pillow with her eyes shut.

After she’d warmed up a little, Bianca washed her hair, strong and sure fingertips massaging the lather into her scalp as the other hand cradled her neck. She then helped her dry off with heated towels, and finally wrapped her in a warm fluffy robe while she ran a blow dryer through her hair. Courtney couldn’t remember ever feeling this cared for in her life, not even as a child, and if it wasn’t such absolute heaven, she’d probably feel ashamed at how much she enjoyed it.

She managed to swallow down a few mouthfuls of soup from the Chinese delivery that Bianca had ordered for dinner before her eyelids began to droop. Bianca noticed immediately, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then leading her to bed. She curled into Bianca’s arms, limbs growing heavy as hands stroked her back soothingly.

“Do you feel better now, angel?” Bianca asked.

“I felt better the second I walked in the door,” Courtney murmured.

“Yeah?”

“I guess there’s not really a door. The second I stepped off your elevator,” Courtney said, making Bianca laugh, her sleepiness causing her to be more honest than was probably called for, adding a whispered, “You make everything better.”

***

Pearl sat at a stool towards the back of the club, nursing a drink while telling herself over and over again that she was doing nothing wrong.

For one thing, she and Adore were over. Actually, fully over. And for another, she had no idea if Dahlia was even dancing tonight. She’d just come by for a casual drink...for the third time in 3 days. Just to see. Just to look.

And there was nothing wrong with looking, right? Even if she had lied to Trixie and Katya about where she was.

Pearl had already brushed off a parade of girls, tipping all of them, but saying no to everything else they offered, since she didn’t want to miss her chance of seeing Dahlia.

She was just about to give up, when one of the last dancers of the night came on, and there, there she was.

Dahlia was just as beautiful as Pearl remembered her, even more beautiful actually, since her costume for the night was the naughtiest sheer black teddy and lace panties, tiny little pink bows attached to the spaghetti straps of her top.

Her brown hair was styled in a delicate mess of brown curls, her plump lips painted pink, her eyes heavy and sultry, Dahlia looking like a sex kitten getting ready to go on the prowl.

Pearl swallowed as ‘Kiss It Better’ by Rihanna started playing, taking a big gulp of her drink.

Pearl hadn’t known if she wanted Dahlia to notice that she was there, hadn’t really thought this through at all, but when Dahlia dipped down on the pole, her ass beyond perfection, their eyes met across the room.

Pearl watched as Dahlia’s lips parted for a second, her eyes widening, but then, she smirked, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

***

“Mmh,” Raven moaned, her fingers in Raja’s long dark hair, her fiancée's lips on her neck, one of her hands up her top. They had been watching a movie on the couch, staying in just the two of them such a rare treat that they had even made popcorn. “Please-”

“Please?” Raja grinned, her long body on top of Raven’s under their blanket, their movie completely forgotten. “Are you being polite princess?”

“Fuck off.” Raven showed Raja’s shoulder, which only made the older woman laugh. “I’m perfectly polite.”

“Sure,” Raja smiled, shifting her knee so it slid in between Raven’s thighs, her skirt riding up to make room for Raja’s pant covered leg. “That’s what I love about you. How polite you are.”

Raven pulled on Raja’s hair, a surprised gasp leaving her girlfriend. She thrusted her hips, forcing Raja off balance and down in a messy kiss, teeth clacking, their lipsticks smearing, Raven taking charge.

***

“Just a few more minutes.” Trixie smiled, his open palm resting on Katya’s knee, his thumb rubbing up and down, trying his best to be comforting.

They were in the bathroom, Katya sitting on the closed toilet while Trixie knelt on the floor next to her, the elephant in the room the pregnancy test that was lying on the edge of the sink, both of them doing their damndest not to look at it yet.

He could tell she was anxious, knew that from the second she told him that she’d bought the test after work, even before she admitted that she was afraid to take it.

Trixie had always assumed that one day he’d be a father, and he was certain that Katya would be the best mom ever, so in his mind, this news was either amazingly exciting or slightly disappointing.

But Katya was another story, her clear terror making him dampen his own enthusiasm so that she felt safe to express herself. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel guilty for being scared on top of everything else. He knew, also, that there was a chance that she wouldn’t want this potential baby, so he prepared himself mentally to support her in whatever she wanted to do.

“I love you,” he offered softly, adding, “And it’ll be okay, no matter what it says.”

“Mmhmm,” Katya murmured agreement, though her eyes said that she didn’t fully believe him.

“Yo yo yo, where my bitches at?!” called out a voice, the slur telling them that Pearl had been drinking quite a bit.

Trixie assumed that Katya wouldn’t want to be interrupted during this private moment, but apparently, he was wrong.

“We’re in here!” Katya called, and Pearl’s heavy footsteps approached the door, pushing it open.

“This is a weird place for a party, dudes,” Pearl said, jacket hanging off one of her shoulders. “What’s going on?”

“Umm…” Trixie considered how to handle the situation delicately.

“I might be knocked up,” Katya said quickly, and Pearl’s eyes grew large, her mouth falling open.

“Wh-how?”

“Probably sex,” she answered, and all three of them laughed, breaking the tension just a little.

“So…” Pearl plopped down beside Trixie on the tile floor, and a rush of gratitude flooded his heart, relieved for the distraction, understanding why Katya called her in. That is, until she asked, “Have we thought about names? Cause I’d like to submit ‘Pearl Junior’ for consideration.”

“Pearl Junior?” Trixie scoffed. “Why, you’re not the father.”

“Come on! Little Pearlie J. P.J.?!”

“I don’t hate it,” Katya said, and Pearl cheered, giving her a fist bump. “But remember, I might not even be pregnant.”

“True, but you guys are getting married. It’ll be relevant eventually.”

“Not necessarily,” said Katya, gripping Trixie’s hand tighter. He squeezed her back in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

“Yuh huh! That’s why we call you ‘breeders’!” Pearl insisted.

“But I just don’t-” Katya began, but was interrupted by the timer on Trixie’s phone.

“You ready?” he asked, taking both of her hands in his.

“No.”

“Well...remember, sometimes these tests aren’t 100% accurate. So whatever it says, it might not mean...” He reached out, catching a tear that had slipped down her cheek. “Babe…”

“I know. But I...can’t look.” Katya curled into his arms, burying her face in his neck. “You do it.”

Unfortunately, the stick was just out of reach, unless he let go of her, which he wasn’t prepared to do.

“Pearl, can you-”

“Sure.” Pearl snatched the test off the sink, looking at it, brow furrowed. “What the fuck does 11 mean?”

Katya’s head snapped up, reaching for the test while Pearl picked up the box.

“Why would it say 11? That’s so dumb, how do you know if...ohhhh.”

[jbbuckybarnes]

Professor Sugar - 7/7

Pairing: Student!Reader x Professor!Bucky Description: Like tons of other students you struggle with finances, but you can’t get any aid since your parents are filthy rich. The system doesn’t care that they broke off contact after you came out as bisexual. There is, however, someone else that cares. The prof of your class on PTSD and trauma. Professor Barnes. Warnings: 18+, f/m smut, secret relationship, not beta read.

Professor Sugar Masterlist // Masterlist

New beginnings

You took the final in his class with a jumper of his hugging your body for support. The thoughts going into it were neutral. You had studied a lot, but you also didn‘t want to get your hopes up too high. The week before finals and the week he graded them were almost without contact. You understood that. Both of you didn‘t want to feel like you were cheating the system. Only sleeping in his shirts really helped to not go crazy during that time.

With weak knees you went to his apartment the day grades were announced on the school‘s online platform. They went up right when you were at his front door and he would either have to calm you down or celebrate with you. Mobile data really was absolute shit in this city. Why did you not wait until the grades went online with going outside. Oh, yeah, celebration or makeup sex. The damn loading bar on top of your browser was killing you as you got out at your station. Once you were in the proximity of his WiFi it loaded fully. Your eyes went wide and you wanted to collapse and yell at the same time. A-. You ran up the stairs and got the door opened in an instant before falling into his arms. „I. Am. So. Proud. Of. You.“ He said kissing you after every word. A happy squeal left you as you grabbed his face to kiss him thoroughly. While he closed the door behind you he also grabbed you closer. There was not even a millimeter of space between the two of you. He couldn‘t keep his hands off you. Your shirt flew somewhere into the direction of his couch, his somewhere onto the kitchen floor. Your bra was removed in one go before his thumbs went under your panties and janked both your leggings and panties down to your thighs. He looked into your eyes for a second, panting heavily, „Nope, won‘t make it to the bed.“ You were picked up and pushed onto the kitchen counter, the rest of your clothes taken off before you heard his. „Hmm, full circle.“ You hummed as he came up above you. „I had to keep this from you for a week.“ He growled as his kisses went down your neck. „Oh, so your primal touch comes from that and not from you missing my-“ You were silenced with a harsh, passionate kiss and a deep push making your back arch up. „Missed you so much, so proud of you.“ His mouth claimed yours again as he started thrusting into you. „Knew you‘d wing it.“ He grumbled before moaning. There were little bites into your neck and shoulder that bathed you in a new nuance of bliss. „Finally all mine.“ He growled. He was celebrating that you weren‘t his student anymore. No more subtle guilt. „Ho-ly shit.“ You panted before moaning out again. „Uh-hu. That‘s my girl.“ He panted before thrusting harder, making you scream out. „Oh fuck.“ You squirmed in his tight grasp on you. „C‘mon. Show me you‘re mine.“ He growled down at you. He needed the satisfaction of claiming you as his now. This wasn‘t just some student and professor having the hots for each other and one helping the other financially anymore. This was passion and love. His hips stuttered as your head fell back with a loud moan and a deep scratch of his back. His warmth was following shortly, before he settled there for a moment. „Looks like we should clean the counter.“ You giggled and went through his hair as he came up a bit to look at you. „Mine. Mine. Mine.“ He kissed the corners of your lips and your nose with that. „Yours.“ You whispered while going over his beard. He got off the kitchen counter shortly after, making you see the mess you made with him. „Hm, not bad.“ You shrugged. „Want me to do better? ’Cause I‘m not finished with you, darling.“ He smirked a little evil before swooping you up and bringing you to his bed. There was another round of passionate and intense sex before you changed to sweet lovemaking. You opened your eyes two hours later. You both had fallen asleep from all the physical activities and you really needed the nap after all those weeks of studying. You grabbed a pair of his briefs, his giant hoodie from the armchair in his bedroom and your socks from the kitchen floor. The other clothes laying around the apartment were put into a neat pile and placed on top of his washing machine. You cleaned up the countertop and proceeded to stalk his fridge. There was a little box of donuts with a „For you“ in his handwriting on it. He really was a cute dork through and through when he wasn‘t in professor mode or putting you through the mattress. You grabbed the box and sat back down on the countertop, ignoring the bar stools as per usual. A hum behind you got you out of your thoughts. He was leaning against the frame of the bedroom door and looked at you with a content smile. „You look the best in my clothes.“ He said with his soft and grumbly sleep voice. „You look good...naked.“ You eyed him, still chewing on a chocolate donut with chocolate filling. „I‘ll put on something. Can‘t have you attached to me all day.“ He chuckled turning around. „Yes, you can. Especially with that ass.“ You commented, mouth still full of food. „You‘ll get to see it as many times as you want. Just need to be wearing something to give you something else.“ You heard him from his closet. „If it isn‘t an orgasm I‘m not interested.“ You yelled over and heard him laugh. In briefs and a hoodie himself he came out of the bedroom with a box in his arms. „Where did that come from?“ You raised a brow, letting the last bit of the donut vanish into your mouth. „I think you were too busy moaning your heart out to see this in my closet.“ He sent you sly smile before setting it down on the coffee table and waiting for you to come over to the couch. „Well, let‘s see if this compares to your hard work.“ You smirked and sat down next to him and heard a deep inhale and exhale. „So...I know we have been talking about this whole thing of me buying you stuff and that you didn‘t want to feel like you were just sleeping with me to get things from me. So I saved up all the things I bought you in between until the end of the semester. Which is right now.“ He explained all innocent and cute. „So I just put my moans into a savings account...is what you‘re telling me?“ You grinned before laughing out loud with him. „I mean...kinda. Hey, look, I love buying you things. Not because you have sex with me, but because I genuinely like spending time with you and because I want to see you grow as a human being.“ He explained a little more serious. „Sugar Daddy with feelings.“ You whispered with a smile. „I‘d be pretty upset if you would‘ve managed to fake all of this.“ He chuckled. „I‘m not. If I could do that, I already would‘ve had my try at this whole sex for money kinda thing. I mean, I‘m a desperate college student.“ You laughed, „But I guess not anymore, ’cause you already helped me so much with little things.“ You thought about that little study account idea he had in the beginning of the semester.  By now it had grown to a few thousand people and you were starting to get things offered as well as people asking you for products, telling you how to make them, making new friends in the process. You leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek. „Open it.“ His demeanor was soft. Softer than usual. You grabbed the box closer and undid the bow around it. There must be tons of things in there unless he bought something incredibly big. You flipped open the lid and stopped breathing for a second, „Wow.“ „There is an order to it too,“ he announced proudly and got out the first three things. „Toys,“ you commented dryly and looked at him, „Why did you wait with those? I just spent two weeks without your d-...whatever, let me see them.“ „Hmm.“ You read through each description on the box. One of them was something one of your friends kept talking about, so that was a good sign. The other two would need a thorough testing. „Well, we won‘t get sleep tonight...or, well, I will, after these prove to be good.“ You grinned at him and got a kiss behind your ear with a deep chuckle. He handed you the next packaging, „The rosegold headphones I‘ve been talking about!“ You could see in his eyes how much he bathed in the feeling of making your face light up like this. You unpacked the headphones and ran through the entire apartment to get it to charge somewhere. „So, there‘s been that thing you kept talking about whenever we were driving over here from campus…“ He held up a H&M bag and set it down between you both. „You..bought me the teddy bear material jacket.“ You gave him full puppy eyes for that. Your heart just started exploding at how much he listened to the little things on the side. „You will look gorgeous in it.“ He smiled and gave you a kiss. „Will you take pictures of me in it?“ You asked all giddy about it and got a big nod back. Then he got out four big books and set them down on your lap. „All the books from the author of the Pentagon book?“ You jumped and wiggled on the couch cushion. „With audio book codes,“ he announced super proud of himself. „My god. I‘m not sure if you can top that.“ You said hugging the books. He made a gift card appear between two of his fingers. The little logo on it spelling IKEA. „$700 IKEA gift card...bought it after we managed to get that noise complaint. You can buy a bed or a closet with it. Or a stupid amount of decorations.“ He started chuckling at your frozen body with the shocked face. „SEVEN-HUNDRED-DOLLARS. ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND?“ You threw yourself backwards against the cushions. „Yes, I am.“ He chuckled and dragged you back up. „You can also spend it helping others...if that‘s what you wanna do,“ he said still holding onto your hands gently. „But that‘s it, right?“ You looked at him frowning a little. „Well…“ He scratched his back and chuckled at your head falling into your hands. „Only two more things.“ He finally let you know. The next thing was brought out, jewelry box, flat, a bit bigger. He opened it to reveal a necklace with a little plate. „Wait…“ You tried to process and looked up. „Had part of my old tags redone for this necklace. I want you to know how much you mean to me. I wouldn‘t just give this to anyone. That thing is what makes me feel pain and safety,“ He picked it up, „And you don‘t have to wear it, but it would mean the world to me if you did.“ You sat there with your mouth so wide open that your jaw started hurting, „I‘m- Wow- This is- Yes, of course I‘ll wear it.“ You nodded heavily as his demeanor changed to a more relaxed one and he carefully put the necklace around your neck. „And the last gift kinda comes with that one.“ He mumbled and got out the last gift, also a small box, a little less jewelry-box-looking. He handed it to you and you carefully opened it. There was a key in it, a key with a „B“ stamped into it at the top. „This is also your home now, if you want it to.“ He said almost shy. For some reason this didn‘t feel fast moving. Yes, this thing had only been going on for around 3 months, but it just felt right the entire time. You had the right chemistry, you talked a lot, you just got each others‘ brains and your morals matched. „This place isn‘t my home, Bucky. You are,“ you whispered. It was true, since you both hit it off you were worrying less about the future and your place in the world.

He grabbed your hands again and cleared his throat before looking at you. „I just knew you were different the second you came up to that desk and asked me for suggestions like the biggest, most determined, nerd. You seemed so interesting and you just sounded like an unpolished crystal the more we talked. So I started looking forward to talking to you in my office twice a week...and I guess it kinda clicked along the way. And it kinda clicked again recently, when I realized you wouldn‘t be a student anymore that I would have to hide to protect. My god, I‘m so completely and utterly in love with you. So much love shouldn‘t even be allowed. I‘ve never been so happy and so far away from all my bad thoughts. Thank you for being you, darling. I love you.“ He opened up his heart to you. Your face lit up, „I feel the same. So much lighter, less misplaced, like I have more purpose. I feel the way you make me grow, okay? I love the little soft and nerdy bits you show of yourself. Or the lovey dovey things like right now. I love all of it. I love YOU!“ He grabbed your face and gave you one of the softest kisses you shared until now. „Let‘s take this as a new beginning and actually start living now. No dumb second thoughts because of the educational system.“ He mumbled against your lips. „Yes, a new beginning.“ You smiled staring into his storm blue eyes. Maybe you‘d manage to graduate how you wanted to, get a good job, or maybe make money from that study account and those products, buy a house with him and have your little happy ever after. You looked forward to that. You finally looked forward to the future.

M a s t e r l i s t

[justanotherlifeff]

Levi Ackerman × reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Fluff, matured themes, slowburn

Warning: There's mentions and descriptions of underage rape and suicidal themes and self harm. DETAILED SMUT IN THIS CHAPTER

Levi POV

She just got naked infront of me. "What the hell (Y/N)?!" I exclaimed trying to look away from her but my eyes failed me. She was small and had curves exactly at the right places. She had a firm breast and ass. The view she gave me made me more turned on that any other woman ever got me. I still had to control myself as I didn't want to hurt her.

"What? Don't you want this? Don't you like the way I look? I need to know that you won't go running back to another hoe. I need to know if you're satisfied with me" she whispered in a strained voice. "Trust me, it's taking all my effort to not take you right now but I can't do this. You're not ready. You're trembling. I don't want to hurt you (Y/N)." I tried to reason with her. In response, she came close to me and kissed me. I froze in her embrace unable to think of what to do about it. She removed her lips from mine and whispered demandingly, "Aren't you the one who said Eren that he had to make the choice that he believed that he won't regret? I just took your advice and made a choice. Do it".

I looked at her with wide eyes and asked, "Are you really sure?". My body was losing control as I stared at her smooth skin, her (B/S) shaped body, her (E/C) eyes and soft lips. "Yes but I need to use the washroom. Could you wait for a minute? " she answered with a hint of blush on her face. "Okay. Wash yourself down there" I murmured as she went off to the washroom as I sat on the bed to process everything. Before I could change my mind about everything, she returned and stood in front of me with a bashful expression.

Her expression told me that she had no idea about what to do. I stood up and trailed a finger to her vagina. It was dry. I knew she was scared and I knew that I had to ease her up a bit so that she won't regret it the next morning. She hugged me as I rubbed her clitoris and I could hear her ragged breathing. "Lie down on the bed" I told her as she listened to my instructions.

(Y/N) POV

I expected pain from the begining but Levi heichou's touches weren't painful. They made me feel somewhat weird and weak at my knees. When he asked me to lie down, I knew that it’s time for the painful part. I did as he asked me to but after that, he did some very unexpected things. Firstly, he pinned me down and kissed me. As he kissed me, he used one hand to continue the rubbing on my clitoris and used another hand to start massaging my one of my breasts sometimes pinching and rubbing the nipple.

My mouth made embarrassing sounds inside his involuntarily. After continuing that for a while, his mouth moved to my neck and kissed there. I never had my neck kissed before and I realised that I found it very pleasant. I could feel a wetness form on my vagina. I usually had this problem while reading erotica novels. They sugar-coated sex a lot. I knew how painful it was.

I heard heichou whisper in my ears, "I'll leave some hickeys on your neck. You don't mind do you?". "No I don't" I gasped as his finger actions on my clitoris and breast was messing with my breathing patterns. I felt him suck on my neck bruising it. It painfully delicious and I surprisingly enjoyed everything so far. I was questioning my experience already when heichou went down further and started sucking one of my breasts while massaging the other. I felt sensations that I never knew, I blushed furiously because I assumed these were shameful acts preserved only for erotica novels. Having heichou do these to me further contributed to that annoying wetness along with a dull pain inside my vagina. It was pleasant nonetheless.

This went on for a while and just when I thought things couldn't get better, heichou went right down to my vagina and gave me a big lick there. The light moans that were escaping my mouth for so long turned into louder ones as heichou continued licking. I felt my heartbeat increase and my body twitch when heichou suddenly stopped. "You're wet enough. I'll start with fingers" he murmured looking at my exasperated face. I was liking what he was doing before. I knew inserting finger hurts. However, when heichou did it, it didn’t hurt. I realised that the wetness helped him slip in.

I felt an awkward sensation. I felt... Full? He inserted another finger and I gasped as the sensation increased and my the sense of being full increased. Then to make my body go crazy, he started moving the two fingers sending of volts of pleasure all over my body. I felt my insides clenching again after a while when he stopped again. I saw him unbuckle his pants and pull his rock hard member out. It was big and I was sure it would hurt more than anything I ever experienced. "It might hurt at first cause you didn't have sex for a long time. Just tell me to move when it stops hurting" he instructed and I nodded because I was too nervous to form words.

He moved his hands from my body and used them as support as he continued to pin me down and position himself. He then used one hand to guide his member inside me. I felt a sharp pain as he inserted it slowly. I grabbed his hand to ease myself as he leaned down and kissed my neck to distract me from the pain. I felt him hit the end of my vagina, which gave me a weird sensation along with the pain. He didn't move as he continued to kiss my neck. The pain surprisingly stopped in a matter of moments. I remembered his instructions and whispered him to move. As he started moving, I felt a slight discomfort which was replaced by immense pleasure in seconds. The erotica novels were right.

The sensations that were flowing from my vagina to every other part of my body was hindering my ability to think and I felt myself loosing my mind. I had no words to describe this. He moved slowly and steadily, in and out as louder moans escaped my mouth. I wasn't controlling any of my actions now. It was him making my body do all sorts of embarrassing things.

Back in the underground, I remembered being forced to call out to those men as they enjoyed it for some reason but right now, I felt the need to call the captain out. "M-master please..." I gave out a strained moan. However, the captain abruptly stopped to that and looked at me with wide shocked eyes. "What did you call me?" he asked. All my senses returned to me as he stopped and I felt beyond embarrassed which made a few drops of tears leave my eyes. "I-I'm sorry. That's what I was taught when I was young. I don't know what I'm doing" I stammered. I saw heichou's eyes soften as he said, "I'm not your master. You don't have a master, (Y/N). Don't call me that." he said as he kissed my tears away and continued his pace.

"L-levi Heichou?" I tried to continue as I was loosing my mind again. I saw him smirk as he said, "As much as that turns me on, I want you to call me Levi. Just Levi. Whenever we are alone, I'm just Levi to you except for special circumstances". I didn't waste any time now as I moaned, " Levi, faster. Please.". He listened to me and picked up his pace as I grabbed onto his hand moaning his name out to keep a grasp onto my sanity.

Levi POV

Watching her orgasm was quiet amusing. She had no idea what was happening and she was trying to hold it back because she thought she will pass out. I had to instruct her to let go and it took a while for her to trust me. I came a while after she did. This time, I came faster than usual because her expressions were so raw that it turned me on more than anyone ever did, her vagina was tight and her small body was really easy and comfortable to handle.

We laid down for a while till I decided that we were filthy as we both sweated a lot and she had semen all over her. She was tired and passed out moments after we were done, so I had to pick her up and bath her and myself at the same time. I changed the bed sheets too and when I felt like things were clean enough, I placed her on the bed and got in beside her myself. She snuggled next to me and for once in my entire life, I felt happy.

The next morning:

I woke up to find (Y/N) sitting on the bed staring at the bathroom door and thinking hard about something. She covered her bare body with the bedsheet. Suddenly, I felt a stab of fear in my mind. Was she regretting last night? "(Y/N)? You okay?" I asked as I moved to sit beside her. "Yeah I'm fine. I was just thinking" she replied. I didn't beat around the bush and asked her, "Do you regret last night?". She looked at me and smiled and answered, "Of course I don't regret it. I was just confused. Last night was so much different from every other time I had sex. I felt like I am a protagonist in an erotica novel last night.".

"You were raped (Y/N). Last night was actual sex. Before that, your body wasn't developed enough for this. The people who did that to you deserves to be castrated." I answered with a sigh. She actually thought it was going to be something like her previous experience? I felt a pang of guilt for not letting her know that it wouldn't be like that. She probably was scared the whole time until the actual penetration began. I, however, admired her bravery. It was one of her many qualities that made me notice her.

"Did you enjoy it?" she asked me without looking at my face. "Yes. It was a lot better than any of my previous sexual encounters. I suppose I'm more into small women than tall now." I answered her. She still wasn't looking at me. I was looking at her, waiting for a response when I heard a soft sniffle coming from her face. I immediately turned her face towards me to find her crying softly.

"What's the matter? Are you okay? Did I hurt you last night? " I asked her panicking. "No you didn't." she consoled me. "It's just, I wish I never experienced anything before you. I want to forget everything that happened before." she said as her crying intensified. Just as she completed that sentence, she was crying like a baby. I didn't know how to comfort her so I instinctively hugged her. I remembered my mother doing this when I was sad. That was a long time ago and I never used this on anyone so I hoped this would work on her. I heard her muffled cries as I felt her tears wet my chest but I didn't let go of her. She cried for a long time before calming down slowly. I still didn't let go of her even when she was calm. She didn't try to get away from me either.

We laid down on the bed holding each other till someone knocked the door. I had to let go of (Y/N) as she ran into the closet to wear some clothes. I walked into the closet to pick a pant of mine with her and when I was done, I opened the door. The hotel manager was standing outside.

"Captain Levi, I had to speak with you" he said formally. I moved from the door as he came in and sat on the sofa of the living room. "It has come to my attention that Ms (L/N), who is staying with you has hit one of our sex workers. I'm aware that you know about it too as you were in the scene and we both know that it was Emilia. Now, I don't want to know if there is anything between you and Ms (L/N) but starting a bar fight isn't an appropriate thing to do..." he said before I stopped him and said, "Before you continue, you should hear our side of the story. Emilia tried to force herself on me even if I tried to politely push her away. I had to be rough with her only because she wasn't getting the message. Ms (L/N) tried to reason with her and said her that I’m not interested but she insulted Ms (L/N) and body shamed her. You should take these into account, Mr Davis".

"I see. Well, you do have a point but letting you stay in this hotel for now would only raise rumours about you and Ms (L/N). I'm sorry but I don't want my hotel to have a bad reputation for bar fights." the manager concluded formally. Before I could reply, I heard another knock at the door. I excused myself and opened the door to see a panting military police cadet. "Levi heichou, Commander Erwin has regained consciousness!" he informed.

"He's awake?" I heard a surprised and relieved voice behind me. (Y/N) stood there with a smile on her face. "Yes. Go pack. We won't have to stay here anymore now anyway" I commanded her as she slipped back into the room and started packing. "Well, I'll give you time to pack and I'll arrange horses. Good day" the manager said to me and walked out of the room. I went to help (Y/N) pack our bags.

To be continued...

Taglist: @reality-is-often-disappointing, @kingtamakimurder

[penwieldingdreamer]

The Devil’s Daughter

Oh my, this was a good idea. You guys are great, thank you so much for your feedback. I’m so happy you guys like it. Taglist is still open, so if you want to be on, let me know. Happy reading and let me know what you thought.

Part 1

Warnings: description of violence, angst, nightmares

Words: 1717

Part 2

“Jonathan!”

He was surrounded by fire, the earth beneath him burning. The last time he had walked through this place had been when Angela had been possessed. Constantine was used to the sight of demons scattering about, but what he was seeing there made his blood turn cold.

She was there, her body coated in darkness. Her wings were replaced by deep gashes as if someone had cut them off. John didn't know why but he had to go to her, free her from the fires of hell. The devil sat on his throne watching them both intently.

“My favorite.” Satan whispered, his hand supporting his head from the defeat he felt. “My best creation. And yet you have disappointed me.”

Without looking at her the King of Hell signaled Mammon to proceed. His son raised the sword high, gleaming in the firelight that burned around them. John felt icy fingers gripping his heart and yet he couldn't move. He desperately tried to reach her, safe her but as much as he tried, the warlock was stuck to the ground. It felt like invisible fingers were holding him there. A cry escaped his lips as he fought with all his might and yet he could only watch on. Black feathered wings spanning out behind the dark Price as he swung the sword down.

“Johnathan, help me!” she cried anguished.

With a loud cry Mammon stabbed the broad sword through her heart. Jonathan's eyes widened and with renewed anger he broke the invisible chains around him, lunging at the warrior as he saw her crumbling. Her eyes loosing the light he had seen in them only days before. The ground around her turning dark from her blood.

Falling to his knees, mindless of the mess seeping into his pants, Constantine gathered her into his arms.

“J-John.” she brokenly whispered. Her hand, stained with the dark matter common for the devil's lair, reached up, softly stroking his cheek. His skin now dirty and stained, yet it didn't matter. The occult detective held onto her. “I'm sorry.”

Her eyes started to close and Jonathan lightly shook her, his hold getting tighter with each short breath she took. “You stay awake do you hear me?!” he pleaded, tears gathering in his eyes. “Don't you dare close your eyes! Please! Come on!” But his laments were not heard, she drew her last breath as the light finally left her eyes, with the warlock's face buried in her hair.

The devil and his son watched him curiously. Never before had they seen him this desperate, never seen him crying. Johnathan Constantine wasn't someone to show these emotions. Satan's eyes widened as he finally found the reason for this display. “By the gods, sonny! You love her” he grinned, leaning forward on his throne. “Don't you?”

Mammon laughed loudly, clapping his hands. “This is funniest thing I heard in centuries.” He joined his father's side again, standing next to the throne. “The one sending us demons back to where we belong falling in love with the devil's daughter. It is quite a joke, don't you think so, Johnny boy?”

“Johnathan, Jonathan, Johnathan.” the King of Hell scoffed, standing up from his seat and strode to the pair, leaving dark footprints in his wake. “She had to die, Johnathan. My daughter was going to keep your soul pure, so I couldn't claim you, but you belong to me, sonny.” The devil put his hand on the back of his neck, leaning down to growl in his ear. “You. Belong. To ME!”

With a loud gasp the occult detective woke up, bathed in sweat and shivering despite the high temperature in his apartment. It was the first time in a long while that he had a nightmare, but he didn't know why nor did he know the woman he so desperately cried for. It wasn't Angela, he was sure of that.

So who was she?

»¤«

“Hello?” he called out, his arms wrapped around his body, shivering despite the heat surrounding him. “Hello!”

The sound of flapping wings reached his ears and the young man turned around, trying to locate it. He saw a dark figure moving toward him and fear gripped his dead heart, remembering the fight at the hospital. Was it going to be the same as before, demons and angels fighting against them? If Constantine was here, he'd know what he should do, but he was dead.

Chas Kramer was as dead as can be and all because he wanted to help John Constantine fight of the evil that lurked in the shadows around them. Gabriel had killed him, he had seen him when Johnathan was fighting with the angel and his soul still hadn't decided where to go. Now he was in this darkness, the only source of light coming from the fire at the end of the hall, the one place that figure was coming from. Chas willed his eyes to stay open, despite the fear taking over. This was against every rule he had read in the book Johnathan had given him. Show no fear. But how could he not when he didn't know what he was fighting against.

“Welcome Chas Kramer.” you moved slowly, the blood red skirt of the dress you wore trailing behind you. Your bare feet making no sound as you finally came to a halt in front of the young man. “We have waited for you.”

With a gasp he stood up, trying to put on a strong face. “Why am I here? I didn't kill myself. John said only those that did”

“John?” you asked curiously, cocking your head to the side to watch the young man in front of you. “Do you mean Jonathan Constantine?”

Chas bit his lip, not sure how he should answer. I would betray his friend and mentor if he told you anything that could compromise him. Even though he was dead now, he would try to keep quiet no matter what you would want from him.

“I have seen you before, Chas Kramer.” you proclaimed, circling the former apprentice, a finger tapping your pursed lips. “You followed him like a puppy and Jonathan didn't even acknowledge your worth until it was to late.”

“W-Who are you? How do you know Constantine?” he demanded, moving his face closer to yours. “What is your name?”

Your laugh sounded like bells in the otherwise bleak surroundings and Chas couldn't understand how you belonged to the darkness. He watched you intently, searching the markings on your body for any kind of indication for your identity. “My name would be poison on your lips, my dear.”

Your fingers softly moved across his cheek, stroking along his jaw before you grabbed him tightly, your long fingernails digging into his skin. “I am the daughter of Satan, his most trusted servant, his master torturer and you, Chas Kramer are going to help me.”

He flinched, tightly closing his eyes and trying to turn his head away from you. Despite his attempts to stay strong, the young man showed the fear in his eyes. “I'll not help you kill him.” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up to shove you off.

Smiling at him, you indulged the young man, letting yourself be pushed back. Your wings spread out to keep you from toppling over and stay upright. “I'm not going to kill him, Mr. Kramer. You are going to be resurrected and will take me to Jonathan.”

Growling, the former apprentice ran at you, his fist swinging. You cackled and fought off any of his attempts. You were immortal and had more power than a mere human trying to play warlock.

“How will I know you're not going to hurt him.” he inquired, his fists still raised to defend himself should you attack him. “I don't even know you.”

Shrugging your shoulders, your eyes gleamed at him. “You'll just have to trust me this time.” You put your hands on his chest, squeezing the place where his heart was supposed to be and started the process. Never in a million years had you used your gift for the good. When your father had decided he wanted to get Constantine's soul even though he sacrificed himself, you knew you had to stop him from doing something stupid. Jonathan was many things, but he was still a good guy, helping and saving others. He might not believe in god, but you had a feeling god still needed him for the good deeds in this world.

Chas cried out from the pressure building inside his body. The heat was rising and he felt as if he was burned alive. Was this how it felt to move through hellfire? The book covered the nine circles of hell, but he never would have guessed that he would be one of the souls ending up here.

“You are not going to stay here, Chas Kramer. I need you in the land of the living.” you whispered in his ear, pushing him back. It send him tumbling through a hole you knew would lead back to earth.

A raging cry sounded from behind you. Mammon had seen the whole display and knew you were going to betray your father. He raised his sword, striking at you. Despite trying to fight back you weren't able to conjure enough strength against your brother. He had always been stronger and a far better warrior than you. The scythe you had conjured in your hand was throne away by the sheer force of his broad sword clanging against the small blade. A cry escaped your lips as the sharp edge sliced your hand, dark blood rising from the cut.

“I will kill you, Y/N. You have betrayed father.” he raged, his sword hitting against your shoulder. His violet eyes burned into your own as he swung the blade, cutting away your wings. “Now you will be were you wanted to be.”

Mammon pushed you away, making you fall to your knees. The pain was blinding you. “This is what pain feels like. You are one of them, those filthy humans.”

Another hole opened and you could feel yourself falling, your brother's maniacal laughter following you.

Part 3

Taglist

@fanficsrusz @ladyreapermc @meetmeinthematinee @toomanystoriessolittletime @a-really-bi-girl @pinkzsugar​ @ficsnroses​

[splendidlyimperfect]

This is ridiculous and straight up fluff but I needed something happy - we're putting my cat down tomorrow because she's really sick, and I've been grieving about it all week. She's the sweetest kitty and I'm going to miss her a lot, so I needed to make something happy with these idiots being sweet.

Fandom: The Witcher Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier

-----

“Geralt?”

“Hm.”

“What is this?”

“A cat.”

The words are matter of fact, and Gerald doesn’t even look up from the blade he’s sharpening. Jaskier raises an eyebrow at him, then looks back down at the small, bedraggled bundle that’s sitting on the end of the bed.

“I can see that it’s a cat,” he says slowly, reaching out a tentative hand for the tiny animal to sniff. “What I meant was, why is it here?”

“Should have asked that, then,” Geralt replies, turning the whetstone in one hand and inspecting the edge of the blade. The metal catches the light of the fireplace flames, bright orange and yellow bleeding down into a sharp point.

Jaskier sighs. “Geralt?”

“Hm.”

“Why do we have a cat?”

Continue reading on AO3

Geralt shrugs. “I found it.” He sets the sharpened blade down carefully on the silk laid out next to him and picks up his other sword, inspecting its edge before starting to run the whetstone across it.

Jaskier rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to the cat. It’s a kitten, really, barely bigger than his hand, with wide blue eyes and dirty fur that might be white if it was clean. It’s damp and shivering, but it stumbles clumsily across the bed toward Jaskier and headbutts his fingers.

Jaskier makes a sound that’s definitely not an adoring squeak.

“Where did you find it?” he asks as he runs a finger up its nose and along the top of its head. It starts to rumble with a purr that’s much louder than he’d expect for something so small.

“Woods,” Geralt replies. “Near the river. There were others, but they didn’t survive. It was alone.”

Jaskier makes a sad sound, scratching behind the kitten’s ear. It clambers up into his lap, sharp claws piercing through the fabric of his breeches, and begins to knead his thigh.

“You take care of things,” Geralt adds, voice quieter than before. He runs his fingers along the sharp edge of the blade. “I thought you could…”

“We will,” Jaskier says, scooping the kitten up under his arm and pushing himself up off the bed. “We’ll take care of it together.”

Geralt looks up at him, and the uncertainty in his eyes makes something in Jaskier’s chest spark with affection. He’s still filthy from his fight – hair nearly brown with dirt, smear of blood across his forehead – but in the glow of the fire, he’s gorgeous.

“C’mon,” Jaskier says, reaching out his hand. Geralt frowns at it and Jaskier rolls his eyes, gesturing for him to put the sword down. “You both need a bath.”

 ~

The kitten is the first to get washed. Predictably, it hates the water, and they both end up with more than a few scratches on their arms before it’s clean and curled up in a towel, grooming itself indignantly.

“She’s a girl,” Jaskier says, wincing at the tiny cuts along his fingers.

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “How can you tell?”

“We had barn cats growing up,” Jaskier says. There’s that tug in his stomach, the wildly uncomfortable sensation of talk veering into personal territory, but he ignores it. Geralt is safe. “We should give her a name.”

“Pig,” Geralt says.

Jaskier stares at him. “Geralt,” he admonishes. “That’s a terrible name.”

Geralt shrugs. “She likes it,” he says. “Right, Pig?” The kitten meows at Geralt – a high-pitched squeak that Jaskier has to admit sounds fairly pleased. Geralt gives Jaskier something that almost resembles a grin. “See?”

“You’re both ridiculous,” Jaskier huffs, crossing his arms and glaring at Geralt. “And you still need a bath. You smell like something died on you.”

“Something did die on me,” Geralt says lightly. 

~

By the time the tub is filled, Pig is finished grooming herself and is sitting at the edge of the bed, purring contentedly while Geralt scratches behind her ears. She is white, now that she’s clean, with a gray nose and a ridiculously fluffy tail.

“Get in here,” Jaskier grumbles, tossing a handful of scented salts into the water and nodding at Geralt. “Before the whole bed smells like monster entrails.”

“He’s bossy,” Geralt says to Pig, and Jaskier’s eyes widen when he bops her on the nose before standing and walking over to the tub.

“Who are you,” Jaskier says slowly, “and what have you done with Geralt of Rivia, White Wolf, the dreaded Witcher?”

Geralt snorts, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it into a pile next to the tub. Jaskier makes a heroic effort not to stare at the lines of Geralt’s back, at his scars, at the way the muscles in his shoulders ripple when he stretches. When Geralt sinks into the water, Jaskier breathes a sigh of relief.

“Your hair is filthy,” he says, reaching out to pour water over the dirty locks. Geralt tips his head to look at Jaskier and reaches up, gently touching the inside of his wrist. “Sorry,” Jaskier says quickly, heat flushing up his chest into his cheeks. “I didn’t—”

“Come here,” Geralt says, voice soft as he wraps his fingers around Jaskier’s wrist.

“I am—”

“Here,” Geralt clarifies, gesturing to the tub. He swallows, looking down at their hands. “Please?”

Jaskier’s fairly certain he’s never heard Geralt say “please” before. It takes him a second to process the unfamiliarity of the word, and then his eyes widen as he realizes that Geralt is suggesting they bathe together.

“Oh,” he says softly.

“You don’t have t—”

“Yes.” Jaskier shivers at the brush of Geralt’s fingertips against the sensitive skin of his wrist, then takes a careful step back and plays with the hem of his shirt. “Yeah, I just have to…”

Geralt nods, quickly looking back at the water as Jaskier unlaces his pants and kicks them off, nearly tripping and falling on his face in the process. He looks at Pig, who is curled up with her tail over her nose, then back at Geralt, who has ducked down into the water to wet his hair.

“Fucking hell,” Jaskier breathes, wondering if he’s dead. It would explain the kitten, and the soft words, and the—

“Get in before it gets cold.”

“Yes, yeah, I’m…” Jaskier swallows, shuffling closer to the tub and then quickly stepping in before he can change his mind. It’s large enough that he could, theoretically, sit with his back against the opposite end of the tub, but Geralt gently takes his arm and tugs him down so that his back is flush with Geralt’s chest.

The heat combined with the sudden racing of his heartbeat makes Jaskier dizzy.

“Good?” Geralt asks, running his hands slowly up Jaskier’s arms until his thumbs are resting at the base of Jaskier’s skull, moving in slow, soft circles. Jaskier nods, not trusting himself to talk, and when Geralt’s fingers move into his hair, he nearly stops breathing.

“You don’t have to—”

“You always take care of me,” Geralt says softly, cupping the water in both hands and wetting Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier shivers, unconsciously tipping his head back into Geralt’s gentle touch. Geralt’s fingers move through his hair, combing out the knots and tucking it behind his ears as his fingertips move up to Jaskier’s temples.

Jaskier can’t help it and he breathes out a quiet moan as the tension bleeds out of him. He melts against Geralt’s chest, tipping his head back onto Geralt’s shoulder and shivering when strong hands move down his jaw, dipping into the hollow of his throat and across his collarbone.

“What… are you doing?” Jaskier asks quietly, keeping his eyes closed because if he opens them, he might find out that this whole thing has been a dream.

“Taking care of you,” Geralt replies, and then his lips are brushing Jaskier’s cheek, and Jaskier’s tipping his head to the side, and their noses brush together. The moment hangs between them, quiet and hesitant, and then Geralt leans in and kisses him.

Jaskier gasps softly, turning around as Geralt wraps both arms around him and pulls him close. One hand tangles in Jaskier’s hair and the other slides down to the small of his back, shifting him until he’s straddling Geralt’s thighs and they’re chest to chest, hearts beating against each other.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispers against his lips, and Geralt hums, deep and rough as he tugs as Jaskier’s hair and nips at his bottom lip. “You—ahhh.” Geralt tips Jaskier’s head to the side and moves his lips down, pressing a kiss below his ear, then on his neck, then to the hollow of his throat. “Yes, gods—ahh, plea—”

“You’re never quiet, are you?” Geralt murmurs against Jaskier’s throat.

“Hnnn,” Jaskier replies, bringing both hands up into Geralt’s hair and tipping his head up to kiss him again. “Not if you’re gonna touch me like that.”

Geralt laughs, kissing Jaskier again and again, holding him close until they feel like one person, one being of light and warmth and soft, contented sounds. They surge against each other, gasping and moaning and breathing each other in, and Jaskier can’t stop whispering, “Geralt, gods, yes, fuck, please.”

They’re so caught up in each other that when a tiny, indignant meow breaks the quiet around them, Jaskier jumps in surprise. They both look back to the bed to see Pig giving them a pitiful look as she kneads the blanket.

Jaskier bursts out laughing, turning back to Geralt and kissing his nose. “She’s probably hungry,” he murmurs, sighing happily when Geralt’s hand slides up his back and across his shoulders. “We should get her something to eat.”

“Hm,” Geralt replies, kissing Jaskier once more before sighing and leaning back. “If we must.”

“We must,” Jaskier says regretfully. “We did promise to take care of her, after all.”

“I suppose,” Geralt says. He gives Jaskier a rare, soft smile and tucks his hair behind his ear. “But after that, I’m going to take care of you, too.”

[dusk-realm]

Chrysanthemum [Chapter 13: Rogue]

Tagging: @featurelengthfics @thedungeonsbat @severussnapesupporter @southsiderepresent @pan-lokistan @gbatesx @a-slytherin-sin @wangmangagavroche @theblackdeath87 @zeroscarletcross @xxaamzxx @soft-slytherin-sweetie

A/N: and I said I could get this ready earlier, you know, like a liar.

Masterlist

━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━

(Y/N) sat in front of Severus’s desk, frozen and fearing him as ever, watching the man in front of her as though he was a complete stranger.

He hadn’t even sat down yet; he had been pacing back and forth behind his chair almost since he dragged her by the arm to the dungeons.

The Gryffindor table had made sure to cheer loudly at the little scene that took place in the opposite side of Great Hall. The Head of Slytherin, however, didn’t see the heroics, and he icily ordered the student to sit while he picked what he was going to say first.

The silence felt heavy in the room. The air was dense to breathe. (Y/N) felt tiny and defenseless on that chair. She’d never seen Severus angry, and she had the certainty that it would be less scary if he simply screamed at her like any other professor would do.

‘Care to remind me…’ he finally spoke, in such a soft tone that she could barely hear him, ‘what did you call Miss Parkinson?’

The apparent calmness of his voice barely masked the seeping venom of his tone.

(Y/N) didn’t answer immediately - why bother? 

What did he want from her? Embarrass her? Make her feel remorseful?

Oh, she would regret this dearly, of course. Pansy Parkinson would ensure it one way or the other.

But he stopped his pacing to look at her with an arched eyebrow, and she knew she had no option but to answer.

‘...Filthy inbred swine,’ she murmured.

Severus didn’t say anything for a long while, again. (Y/N) was starting to feel like they had spent hours like that, when he laid both of his hands on his chair’s backrest and leaned forward.

‘Why?’ He breathed.

Why… Why? Was he seriously asking why?

(Y/N)’s eyebrows scrunched together.

Are you blind, Severus Snape?

Severus’ hands slammed against the wooden desk in annoyance. (Y/N) had never seen him this mad, with his lips pressed together into a thin line and his eyes fiery.

‘Answer me, girl!’ He roared.

The harshness of Severus’ voice made her cower in her seat. She wished for the chair to suddenly develop a mouth and swallow her whole right in that instant, but it didn’t come true.

She huddled a little more and hugged herself, trying to find a little bit of comfort. Her fingers softly traced the trail of bruises on her side. 

They still hurted, as well as her empty stomach, and her head spun as well, but she had to bear with it.

More silence.

While the idea of just telling Snape everything was terribly attractive… Snitches get stitches.

It was a mystery what Pansy would do to her in revenge, and, to be honest, she prefered that it stayed a mystery.

After an elongated pause, Severus grew tired of waiting for an answer that wouldn’t arrive, and spoke again, firmly:

‘You will serve detention for three weeks, starting tomorrow after dinner with Professor Lockhart.’

Severus watched her intently, hoping for a reaction.

Anything.

Sending (Y/N) off with Lockhart was the professor’s last attempt to pull something out from her; an excuse, an explanation, a protest... Anything that would let him understand why his pupil had so recklessly slammed another girl’s face against the table in front of everybody else, and breaking her nose in the process.

His attempt, however, was futile.

In the end, he let her go without further conversation, tired of watching the student just sit there in silence, staring into nothing.

Maybe on another occasion, he told himself.

Severus plopped on his chair and buried his face in between his crossed arms.

He sighed softly and closed his eyes for a moment, somewhat feeling that he had failed.

He had been so sure of having (Y/N) figured out.

Severus thought... no, he could assure that (Y/N) was a pacific girl, what had gone wrong? He had not noticed anything wrong with her behavior, so he had let her be.

She was difficult to see sometimes, yes, and with food and meal times, but that wasn’t strange either in her whatsoever, as he saw in his own house, when she was under his care. The girl would skip plenty of meals without even bothering to give an excuse nor an explanation.

Severus raised his head to stare at the chair on which (Y/N) had been sitting a while ago and let out a small groan of frustration, which got lost in the solitude of his empty office.

━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━

On the next day, a rather strong arm suddenly flopped on top of (Y/N)’s shoulders, and right after, another one did the same from the opposite side.

The Slytherin panicked in the darkness of the dungeons, unable to identify the people there with her. At first, she thought it’d be Pansy and Millicent wanting a hot-served revenge, until someone spoke:

‘That was a blunt hit, you should be the next Slytherin beater.’ A boy said.

Then, the other guy hummed, and they lit their wands at the same time.

‘I’m Fred,’ said the boy that had spoken.

‘And I’m George,’ the other said.

Fred offered his hand for her to shake, and so did George, making (Y/N) cross her arms in order to shake both of their hands at the same time.

Their little game made her smile a little bit, and she introduced herself as well.

‘I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N),’ said she, as the twins led her upstairs, where the morning light bathed the castle’s insides.

‘We know!’ They exclaimed in unison.

‘Do you have plans? Care to have breakfast with us?’ George asked.

‘Uh… no, not really… wait, you don’t mean on the Gryffindor’s table, right?’

‘Yes!’ They answered in unison again.

‘(Y/N)!’ A familiar voice echoed in the corridor, and (Y/N) turned around.

‘Hermione?’ (Y/N) whipped her head to look at the Gryffindor witch, who joined the group, and they all entered into the Great Hall.

Too late to back away.

The twins sat down flanking her, near their younger brother Ron, and also with Hermione, and Harry, and Neville was also around. A few of the other Gryffindors stared at the Slytherin and whispered between them, but Hermione didn’t allow her to think too much of it.

‘(Y/N), what happened yesterday with Pansy?’ She inquired.

(Y/N) noticed how everyone was watching, even though most of them already knew about what happened, but they still wanted to hear it first hand. So much attention made her cheeks flare with embarrassment, and she tried to calm down by staring only at the rim of her skirt, under the table.

She didn’t really want to answer, though, because that would probably mean attracting even more attention to herself.

‘It was just… Pansy Parkinson being Pansy Parkinson.’ She answered, and then looked around. Neville lowered his head, and a few others nodded in quiet agreement.

While Parkinson was not the most abominable bully at Hogwarts, she sure had a history on picking on other students and sometimes even publicly humiliating them, like poor Neville.

‘You’re Slytherin’s public enemy, how does it feel like?’ asked Fred in a journalistic tone, softly elbowing her.

‘I- uh…’

True, she was still at the Gryffindor table… What would her housemates think now?

‘I think I really should leave now, before they lock me out of the common room…’

She said, and with that, (Y/N) tried to stand up and leave as soon as possible, but George grabbed her by the arm.

‘Nonsense, stay with us for today.’

━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━

(Y/N) and Hermione were heading to the library, as they used to do lately, although now they would not spend as much time together.

‘...Anyway, I don’t think I’ll stay late today, I need to show up for detention, today’s the last day.’ (Y/N) commented on their way.

‘Oh, of course… Are you still going to Professor Lockhart’s office?’ Hermione asked, and (Y/N) shrugged it off with a soft hum, as if it was no big deal.

‘I’ve been putting up with him for the last two weeks, I suppose I’ll survive another one.’ She said, watching with amusement how Hermione gritted her teeth. 

Later, both girls had settled their stuff on the table and studied together, or at least they pretended to do so in front of the other. Hermione suddenly looked very indignant for some reason, and her quill slid so furiously on the parchment that she was spritzing black ink everywhere.

(Y/N) sat there staring blankly at her book. 

She hadn’t been able to bring herself to continue reading it, because it reminded her of Severus. 

They hadn’t talked again since he sent her to detention, not even during class.

It just… hurt.

Her heart shrank and ached each time she thought about how much she had trusted him, how she had expected him to just look out for her, and how wrong she had been in believing in him so much.

It made her cheeks burn and her limbs go numb, she felt like a fool now being aware of how much she had simply taken for granted.

‘(Y/N)?’ A tremulous voice dragged her back to reality, and (Y/N) glanced up at Hermione with glassy eyes.

‘Yes?’

‘Are… are you alright?’ Hermione’s eyebrows were scrunched together with concern, seeing how her friend was at the verge of tears.

‘Yeah… I was just… thinking of returning this book.’ Said she. (Y/N) gently placed her hand on the over the title Moste Potente Potions and felt the leathery cover with her fingertips. Yes, returning it was probably the best idea.

Hermione saw her chance, and cleared her throat. The trio’s lucubrations were now trailing off more towards Draco Malfoy, and they still needed the book to rat him out as the Slytherin heir.

‘Are you not interested anymore? Can I have a look?’

(Y/N) pondered it for a minute. Would Snape know? Probably not, and she was not sure the he would give a damn anymore anyways, but, on the other hand… could she risk making him angry? it was a book from the Restricted Section, after all, and there were reasons as to why not any student could access it...

‘I don’t think I should let you, Hermione, sorry.’

‘Why not? Snape mentioned it in class, didn’t he?’ The Gryffindor protested, a little more hot-tempered that she would’ve wanted.

‘Professor Snape signed a note for me to borrow it, perhaps you could ask him to sign one for you as well?’ (Y/N) put away her belongings in her bag and stood up, ‘I’ll return it now anyways, I don’t want it anymore.’ 

Then, (Y/N) bid goodbye and left the library after a brief talk with Madam Pince.

‘Moste Potente Potions?’ Madam Pince repeated suspiciously, trying to take the note from Hermione; but Hermione wouldn’t let go.

‘I was wondering if I could keep it,’ she said breathlessly.

After (Y/N) announced her intention of returning the book, Hermione had been fast to fetch Harry and Ron to accompany her to check out the volume.

‘Oh, come on,’ said Ron, wrenching it from her grasp and thrusting it at Madam Pince. ‘We’ll get you another autograph. Lockhart’ll sign anything if it stands still long enough.’

Madam Pince held the note up to the light, as though determined to detect a forgery, but it passed the test. She stalked away between the lofty shelves and returned several minutes later carrying a large and moldy-looking book. Hermione put it carefully into her bag and they left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.

The term seemed to get wilder and wilder day by day; soon, the news that Harry Potter had caught the snitch during a Slytherin versus Gryffindor quidditch match started spreading much to Draco Malfoy’s dismay, the Slytherin’s seeker. It wouldn’t had been that extraordinary if he hadn’t broken his arm in the attempt, and Lockhart had erased his bones while trying to mend them, leaving Harry in the Hospital wing with fleshy gelatin as a limb. On the same day, there was another attack. The new victim was Colin Creevey, a first year Gryffindor that was completely obsessed with Harry Potter and chased him around taking pictures of the living legend. Now, his body laid stiff and cold to the touch in the infirmary, waiting for a cure.

All the first years walked around in packs, tightly pressed against each other as they looked everywhere. (Y/N) was extra wary as well, as she couldn’t erase Pansy’s words from her mind.

No Slytherin had been attacked so far, but that fact alone would not suffice to calm her down; the legend of Hogwart’s founding told that the school had been founded over a thousand years ago by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. 

The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. The castle was built far from prying Muggle eyes, as it was an age when magic was feared by muggles, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution.

The founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then, after some years, disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school. Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing and, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school, who would unseal the Chamber of Secrets and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic.

(Y/N) thought that the Slytherins were a bit too overconfident; while the builder of the chamber was Salazar Slytherin himself, what guaranteed that no Slytherin would be harmed? The purge had begun with the muggleborns of other Houses, yes, but why wouldn’t the cleansing reach the Slytherin House as well? Wouldn’t the heir want eliminate those unworthy of being in Slytherin by the status of their blood? What would happen to muggleborns? Or… Half-bloods, like Severus himself!

Severus...

━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━

December rolled in quite quickly, and although her detention had ended a long ago, (Y/N) was still sore with her protector. The girl still refused to talk to him about how her classmates treated her, and decided that it would be wisest to move on and deal with the matter on her own, as she had been doing in the past.

Truth be told, (Y/N) felt at her loneliest. While she had a handful of new friends, the weakness of their bond was almost tangible for the Slytherin, and their thinly veiled conventions left her to feel incomplete. Their company was never enough, as she found those relations way too shallow. Too new, too superficial and too irrelevant for her to really enjoy. Each of them had different interests, and different chores to do and deal with, which created a growing feeling of frustration, feeling that her loneliness could not be mended.

The motivation to earn points was also long gone.

Her absenteeism had started only due to the time she was obliged to waste in detention, and she had even missed helping around in her free time, mostly when she could’ve been with McGonagall or Flitwick instead of the swanky Professor Lockhart. However, once her detention was over… what was the point?

Why bother struggling so much to earn points for her House, when her work would go unnoticed?

What for, if not even Severus would be looking?

Why risk it, when there was a monster on the loose, and nobody knew who could be its next victim?

Her abulia soon translated even to the classroom; while the term had started with a heart fluttering with enthusiasm, (Y/N) now limited her performance to sitting in class and staying in silence. The Slytherin’s behavior was still pretty much unproblematic, but her mind was obviously in another place.

Her apathy, though, did not go completely unnoticed.

[readbeneaththelines]

His Possession Pt. 13

A/N: Debts are collected, one way or the other. Unfortunately, you were the collection for your father’s debt.

Yoongi is ruthless, cunning, and obsessive.

Characters: Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: soft Yoongi, in his own way, teeny bit of crack if you look closely, angst, talk of character injuries

Word Count: 1520

Your head was spinning, your heart racing, at the kiss he just gave you. If every kiss would be that intense, then you would kiss him every hour on the hour, just to feel that euphoric over and over. When he set you back down, you opened your eyes to see two dark orbs staring back at you. 

Dammit. You wanted him. And wanted him desperately.

“Take a shower with me Yoongi. I need your help with, um bathing. Seeing I have a bit or trouble reaching over my head or to my back.” You knew exactly what you were doing, and your inner goddess was delighting in the look on Yoongi’s face.

Swallowing hard, Yoongi had to tear his eyes away from you. “Shower? With you? I don’t think that is a very good idea at the present moment, Y/N. Not saying I don’t want to, but, well. I don’t think I could do much bathing, considering right now all I want to do is make you need another shower.” His face flushed and his eyes grew wider and darker at the thought of the filthy words he would elicit from those beautiful lips of yours. Holy water wouldn’t be enough to cleanse the dirty thoughts from his imagination. Through your cuts and bruises, he could still see your perfect beauty. What you made him feel was something akin to unadulterated wanton desire. If he wasn’t careful, he would claim you as his without a second thought, leaving his own marks on your skin, marks of passion and love. He would kiss every bruise away, lavish every inch of your skin with kisses and caresses. He would have to wait, though. Wait on your physical scars to heal, as well as your emotional ones. He would wait an eternity for you, if you asked him to. Until then, he would keep himself in check, wanting and needing you from a distance.

“Min Yoongi, you are a difficult man. I am trying to tell you that I want you, and here you are turning me down. The audacity.” you smiled at him, pressing your hand to his cheek as you felt his jaw tense beneath your touch. You somehow knew that he would be a gentleman when it came to you. Even after all you had been through with him, he would never do anything to hurt you purposefully. That trait was what drew you to him. The security you felt when he was near. He was the one thing that kept you alive during your torture. He was the one thing that carried you through. He may have committed his crimes out of anger and some subconscious need, but yet when it came to you, he would put aside his anger and become practically anything you wanted or needed him to be.

“Yes the audacity indeed. But I told you, when we are to finally be together is will be because you want it, want me. Even if we are married, I won’t force you into anything you don’t want.”

“You are willing to wait for me? What if I never want to, even after the marriage?” you chided.

“Ahh, but you just admitted you wanted me, so I know I won’t have to wait long. Now get in that shower before I lose all self control.” He smacked your ass playfully, sending you on your way. 

Shutting the door, you turned on the water, letting it warm up while you examined yourself in the mirror. The swelling was almost gone from your left eye, the few scattered bruises on your cheeks were nearly completely faded. There was still some deep purplish black bruises on your chest and side, along with cast the covered your right wrist. Scuff marks covered both knees, and your hair was a rat’s nest of tangles and knots. You found a small trash bag that would cover the cast and wrapped it snugly. You stepped into the water, the hot water and steam surrounding you in a peaceful relaxing comfort. You leaned forward letting the water stream over your head. You found the shampoo, the wondered how you were planning on getting it on your hair and massaging it in. Damn. You really did need Yoongi in here. You popped your head out of the shower stall calling hid name over the rushing sound of water.

“Yoongi.” you called, saying it a bit louder the second time, when he didn’t answer. “Yoongi!”

He nearly knocked the door down, rushing in at your calling of his name. His feet slipped on the steam covered tile. 

“Are-are you okay?” he was panicked that something had happened to you. When he saw you, a dollop of shampoo dripping down your wet hair, he had to laugh. 

“I actually really do need your help. I can’t very well wash my hair with one hand, and its a mess. So, if you think you can handle yourself like a gentleman, can you join me?” what your voice said was totally different from what your eyes were saying. The way you watched him undress to his boxers had you practically drooling. Your eyes raked up and down his lean frame, at last settling on the V of his hips. 

Fuck. He was so fucking fine looking. You adverted your eyes when he looked up at you. Taking a few cautious steps forward, you stepped back into the shower as he stepped in. The space wasn’t small by any means, but when he entered, the space closed in around the both of you. 

Yoongi had to use every fiber of control he ever had to keep himself from claiming you as his right then and there. His hand trembled as he gripped your elbow to turn your back to him. His fingers massaged your scalp as he worked the shampoo into your hair, running them through the strands to untangle each and every knot. He noticed the goosebumps that were like a second skin, even in the heat of the shower. Pulling your hair gently back, he let your head rest in his hand as he rinsed your hair, repeating the process with conditioner. When your hair was clean and tangle free, he took the bodywash and poured some onto the loofah. He tenderly and carefully washed your back and arms, avoiding the cast. He then turned you into the water so he could wash your legs. He kept his eyes down, knowing full well that if his eyes met yours, he was done for. 

Your hand grasped his upper arm, puling him to his feet. You took the loofah from his hand and placed it on the small holder. You cupped his cheek in your hand, leaning against his body to support yourself as you stood up on your toes to see him eye to eye. Letting your hand slip to the back of his neck, you pulled him to you, brushing your lips across his. It was barely enough to be a kiss, but he felt it. He felt the fire building low but hot, the electricity between you palpable. His hands found your waist, hold you too him as he took the kiss deeper, more passionate, more heated. His teeth nipped and pulled at your bottom lip, you mouth parting at the silent plea for entrance. Once you obliged, his tongue swiped and swirled, tasting you in all your delicious flavors. Moans passed through the kiss, his chest heaving as lungs began to beg for air. When he finally had no choice but to part his lips from your, you both were panting and dizzy from the heat and head-spinning need for each other. 

“I-I think your clean now.” he huffed out, his eyes never leaving yours. 

His voice echoing in your ear brought you back to earth, his arms still holding you upright. Yoongi took a step back, drinking your naked body in. He stored the image in the recesses of his mind, reminding himself that you were the fuel for his dreams until he could really claim you as his. 

“Umm, thank you. Thank you for helping me. Can you want to help me dry off?” You gave a shaky smile as you turned the water off. He reached through the door to grab you a towel, holding it out for you. You cocked your head to the side, giving him the look of  ‘are you really not getting the idea?’ as if to read your mind, you mimicked your movement. 

“If I help dry you off, you won’t be putting any clothes back on for a while, if you catch my drift, Princess.” 

Oh the way that pet name fell from his lips, the sound like a lion’s low predatory growl.

“Maybe that’s what I want.” you mewled as the look of lust filled your eyes.

“Princess, I don’t want to hurt you, and trust me, when we do get together I will not be holding back.”

The thrill of the hunt was on, and you were more than ready to play the prey.

@min-shookga-yoongi @beautifulseoulliar @agustd-suga-yoongii @astronomyturtle @aspaceformyself @dreamyoongi @holy-yoongi@trashkazuya @maxinaptak @micky1518 @rosiemilas @karri570

@seoulsunshineandstories @kwonnansi @xjamlessparkx @berryjam17

@zombiewerewolfqueen @crazybutcutecatlady

[scaryscarecrows]

Out of Hell

AN: I have read the prequel comics (worth it because Alfred. They’re not bad in general but Alfred is the BEST.)

I do cherry-pick however. So this doesn’t COMPLETELY line up, but it’s close enough.

* * *

Joker hasn’t been back for a while. He broke out, Jason thinks, which means Boles comes down every couple of days to feed him and take up the slack a bit. Fortunately, he’s not creative, just an asshole, and he’s an idiot. Usually drunk. Why he’s made it as high up as he has is beyond Jason, but this is Arkham.

Jason’s just grateful Harley isn’t coming down as much. She is creative, and jealous, and he suffers no illusions that she doesn’t want to wind his intestines around a giant spool.

Boles is distracted today, for reasons unknown, and normally Jason wouldn’t care (he’s going to die down here, hopefully sooner rather than later), but…

There’s something shiny in his pocket. He almost doesn’t notice it, but the light catches it just so as Boles is leaning over the table. Knife. That’s a knife. Fucking idiot, doesn’t he realize these animals…

Eh, if Joker’s paying him, it doesn’t matter anyway. But. Knife. Sharp object.

Jason twists his fingers upwards a bit, feels the ropes around his arms. They’re not tight, and they’re not that thick; if Joker had used these at the beginning, Jason could’ve gotten out of them. Hell, when the clown’s here, they’re not in use at all; Boles is just paranoid and Harley’s a bitch.

Knife.

He might be able to…if Boles is here today, the Joker isn’t expected back for another couple’a days, at least…

He has to try. If he dies, well, he’s out of his misery and that’s fine. Death is better than this.

Boles is nowhere near gentle when he shoves the water bottle against Jason’s lips, and he nearly chokes. That’s okay, though, because the angle the man’s at means he can feel warm metal against his fingertips. He didn’t survive as a kid through being a shoddy pickpocket, either, and he gets enough of a grip to draw it from the pocket and slip it against his wrist.

Boles doesn’t notice.

Jason wants to laugh, or stop breathing because this is a set-up, Joker’s back after all and this is another one of his tricks, but…

But. But Boles leaves, flicks the light off like he always does so that Jason’s alone in the dark, breath ragged in his throat.

Death is preferable. If nothing else, maybe he can slit his own throat before they can get the knife away from him.

He adjusts his shaky grip on the knife. It’s closed, which is a bit of a problem. It’s also stiff, and for a few seconds he’s convinced he’ll drop it before getting it open. But he does manage, in the end-nearly slices his finger open, but still.

It’s difficult to get an angle on the ropes, and the process is both terrifying loud

RRRRRR-RRRRRR-RRRRR

and agonizingly slow. Every little sound has him flinching and freezing solid, but nobody comes down. Eventually, he hears the slip-slip-shuuuuu of the ropes falling away. His wrists confirm their freedom a minute later and he pulls his arms in front of him. They’re shaking, and they hurt, but they’re free.

He snaps back to reality and saws frantically at the ropes around his legs, nicking through the jumpsuit but who fucking cares he’s getting outta here or dying on the way, so help him god.

It takes a few minutes to actually stand up, and then he’s wobbly and shaky. Walking into the dark is daunting-is anyone down here?-but he grips the knife tight enough to make his hand hurt, puts his other hand out in front of him, and shuffles forward. 

His toes touch the bottom stair. Okay. He can do this. He can do this, if he gets up high enough he can also fling himself back down the damn stairs. Granted, he might end up paralyzed rather than dead, but if he severs the right nerve, the Joker won’t be able to inflict pain anymore. That might be better. There he’d be, unable to fight back, but unable to feel anything.

That’d be fucking hilarious.

Halfway up, now, and he thinks he can see a sliver of light in the distance. He can hear things now, shouting and running and gunfire and oh shit what’s going on?

The sliver of light grows and he reaches out, grasps the doorknob. It’s cold under his fingers and it’s not locked, is it, please don’t be locked, not now--

The Joker’s nightmarish cackle sounds in the distance and he jerks back, presses up against the door and strains to see if he’s behind him, if he’s been following him up the stairs.

No. No, he’s on the other side of the door, he’s…on the intercom?

Jason swallows once, twice, three times and takes the doorknob again, twists it.

It turns and the door opens with a soft click.

This is a trick, or a hallucination, Jason’s sure. But he’s come too far to stop, and that spark of hope that he thought was dead is flickering again.

He goes through the door.

It’s chaos in the asylum proper; there’s corpses and bloodstains and screaming. The halls are foggy with dust and smoke and he’s on the intercom, laughing and laughing and shit he knows he has to know God please no more he can’t he can’t--

He doesn’t know. Or he just doesn’t say; he’s talking to someone who can only be Batman,

Left me you son of a bitch I should look for you make you see what you let him do to me

mocking him. But no one’s coming. Jason’s standing in the middle of the hallway and nobody’s coming.

He runs, sort of, stumbling awkwardly, until he trips out of a side entrance and onto the grounds. It’s raining outside, and there’s mutated plants that can only be Ivy’s everywhere (one just spat spores at some poor, screaming bastard), but.

But he’s outside for the first time in over a year.

Honestly, he has no idea what he wants in this moment. Every single sense is being assaulted; the smell of the plants and the wet chill of the rain and sounds of the trees…

A bath. He does know what he wants, and that is a warm-scalding hot-bath. And...and to avoid...he just…

He wants to be alone, but not...not stuck. He wants to be alone to do what he wants, whether that’s sleep or shower or slit his goddamn wrists open. And to do that, he has to get off the island.

His ankle hurts from his awkward run, but he gives it a mental toughen up, you useless prick, and starts trudging gingerly towards the main gates.

Honestly, he has no idea how he ends up in one of Gotham’s crappy no-tell-motels with a wad of cash (safehouse stash? pickpocket?), but here he is. The clerk gives no fucks and gives him a room on the ground floor.

Jason hasn’t laid eyes on himself since...since Joker got hold of him. So he supposes it’s understandable that he doesn’t recognize the boy in the mirror for a second.

He’s filthy, hair matted and tangled, and the orange jumpsuit he’s been stuffed into is bloody and torn. But that’s not the worst of it. That would be the burn on his cheek, a crisp, clear J that still hurts and is barely healing. When he brushes his fingers against the skin under it, he can feel it shudder as the nerves tingle warningly.

He tears his gaze away from the mirror, lips curling, and runs a bath. While the water’s filling up, he strips the jumpsuit off, hurls it aside and resolutely doesn’t touch the still-healing bullet wound in his chest, pretends it’s no big deal that his ankle doesn’t look quite right.

He eases himself into the tub. The water’s the best thing he’s felt in forever and he adjusts himself so he can dunk his head under.

Oh God yes please--

He stays under until his lungs burn because he can, because he’s in total control of this situation. If he wants to just bob up and down, he can. If he wants to blow bubbles, there’s no one to stop him. No Joker to force him back or haul him up by the hair, no Batman to point and intone, stay back, stay out of my way.

For the first time in...maybe his whole life, Jason Todd is his own man.

And like HELL is he going to let anybody take that from him.

THE END

[reciprocityfic]

a slight return home, chapter 7

Title: A Slight Return Home Fandom: The Walking Dead Pairing: Rick x Michonne Rating: T Summary: Rick’s death shakes Michonne’s world to its core. With her daughter and her remaining family, she tries to navigate her changed life, and all the struggles and surprises that come with it.

Author’s Note: Hi all! Here is chapter seven of A Slight Return Home.

Strangely enough, I listened to Taylor Swift while I wrote this chapter - to a song called False God from her new album, Lover. The music, more than the lyrics, just put me in the mood I needed to be in to write this, so there ya go I guess. The title comes from that song as well.

read chapter one on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter two on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter three on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter four on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter five on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter six on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter seven on archive of our own or ff.net

blind faith

Coming home is hard.

* * *

She’d expected to be happy when she saw him again.

The first time she sees him, he’s curled up at the edge of an empty, dank room.  The power is out, and the room is mostly dark, save for one overhead light that keeps flickering on and off at random.

That’s how she catches glimpses of him - through those brief flashes of light.  He’s crouched down in the far right corner, barefoot, hands over his head.  She can tell, even from where she’s standing, that he’s frail - he’s so much smaller than she remembers him being.  She can see a lengthy, unkempt beard growing on his face, hair longer than she’d ever seen it, sweaty and curly and more gray than brown.  A thin hospital gown is the only thing covering his body, and for a moment, she’s swept away to a different moment in time, despite the chaos around her.  She imagines his memories - thinks of him waking up from a coma in that hospital bed, thousands of miles away, all those years ago.  Alone, confused, and terrified.  Wearing only a hospital gown.

She supposes he’s completed some strange, apocalyptic full-circle, and she almost lets out a morbid laugh before she hears a loud bang come from down the hall, and she’s reminded that they have to be quick.

She sprints in his direction, then stops about two bodies’ length from him and slows.  She doesn’t want to scare him even more than he already is.  A few steps later, her legs give out (because he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive, and he’s right there in front of her) and she crawls to him, on her hands and knees across a dirty, tile floor.

“Rick?”

He jumps at the sound of his name, but he doesn’t lift his head to look at her.

“Rick,” she says again.

She reaches out to pull at one of the arms covering his face, but he hisses loudly when she touches him. A glance down shows her an arm marred with yellow and purple bruises, fresh scabs and long, jagged scars.

“Rick,” she breathes.

She reaches out again, trying her best to avoid cuts and bruises, and he flinches.  But she continues on, because they don’t have much time and she has to get him out of here.

She’s not leaving without him.  She’ll die here, with him, if she has to.  But she refuses to leave without him.

She moves his arm rather easily, because he’s so weak.  When she does - when she can finally see his face - she almost breathes a sigh of relief.  There are cuts and bruises, but it’s nowhere near as bad as his arms.  His eyes are shut tightly, his chest heaving with rapid, panicked breaths.

“Look at me,” she tells him.

He doesn’t move or answer, so she moves her hand to his shoulder, and shakes him gently.  He lets out a low growl that sounds like it came from a desperate, caged animal.  He tries to back up further, but he’s already pressed against the wall, and she doesn’t let go.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” she assures him, making her voice as comforting as it can be, given their situation.  “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

She hears another loud bang.  Rosita calls out from behind her.

“Michonne.”

She turns her head briefly to see the rest of her group standing in the doorway, guns drawn, nervous looks on their faces as their eyes move rapidly, constantly scanning the area and keeping tabs on their surroundings.

She must be quick.

“Rick,” she says again, her voice cracking.  She’s felt the pressure of tears behind her eyes since she opened the door to the room, and finally, the first one falls.

Her mind floods with all the time she’s said his name.  The way her voice was full of hostility for the first few weeks, and then became softer and softer as time passed until it was almost friendly.  The way saying it made her smile when she found him and Carl after the prison.  How she tried to comfort him every time she uttered it when they first arrived at Alexandria.  The way it fell from her lips on their first night together, in pleasured keens and breathless whimpers.

The way she screamed it, the last time she saw him.  Screamed it as she watched the bridge burn in front of her, over and over again, until her vocal cords hurt.  And how she whispered it on dark nights, after he was gone, curled up in their empty bed and missing him so much that she thought she would die.

She’s never said it the way she does now.  She’s never been this desperate.

“Baby, look at me,” she begs, and she grabs his chin to try and turn his head towards her.  “Please, baby.”

She’s just about to open her mouth again when she sees the skin around the corners of his eyes loosen, as he relaxes his eyelids.  He stops breathing for a moment, and then inhales and exhales three times, slowly and deliberately.  She can tell he’s trying to calm himself down, and she doesn’t dare move so that she doesn’t disturb the process.

He takes one more deep breath, and his eyes blink open.  Then, he turns his head.

She’d expected to be happy when she first saw him again.

But when his eyes meet hers, finally, for the first time in seven years, all she feels is pain.  Pain worse than she’s ever felt before.  Pain sharper and more searing than when the bridge exploded in front of her, and she lost him.

His blue eyes are completely dull as they dart around her face like he doesn’t recognize her.  To be fair, she wouldn’t recognize him either, except for the fact that he’s Rick and she knows him.  Her heart and soul and spirit know him, irrevocably, and she’d recognize him anywhere, no matter the circumstance.

She waits for that recognition to kick in for him too, because she’s Michonne. Because she’s his.  She waits, like she waited for Judith to come to her after she had to slaughter the children that were with Jocelyn.  She waits for him to fall into her, to cry, to hold her.

“MICHONNE!” Rosita yells again, more urgently this time.

The recognition doesn’t come, though, and she’s never been more afraid in her entire life.

“We have to go,” she tells him, standing and pulling him up with her.  She shudders at how easy it is to take on his weight, and she wonders what they’ll find when they finally take that hospital gown off of him.  She braces herself, preparing to put up with his struggling, but he doesn’t fight back.  He stumbles a bit, but he goes with her easily.  She tries to take it as a good sign.

“Ready?” Rosita asks, once she gets the two of them back to the group.

“Ready,” Michonne reports, and she tries to steel herself, to turn off her emotions so she can stay on mission and get Rick home.

But as she leaves the room and walks out into the warzone around them, sandwiched at the center of her allies as she half-carries Rick along, tears continue to flow from her eyes and fall off her chin and jaw in drops.

* * *

Coming home is hard. 

And sometimes, she feels like she’s slipping into a dark pit that she can’t see the bottom of.

* * *

He passes out on the way back to Alexandria, and they rush him to the infirmary as soon as they get through the gates.

Siddiq checks his vitals and clears him of any urgent health problems.  His heart rate is low, but normal.  Same with his blood pressure and temperature.  She doesn’t understand, then, why he’s not waking up, but Siddiq assures her that this can happen.  His body, not strong to begin with, just went through an ordeal, and needs time to recuperate.

So she stays with him, keeps vigil at the side of his bed, and will do so until he wakes up.  She remembers the way he did the same with Carl when the boy lost his eye, and with her when she was beaten by one of Jadis’ people.  It is her turn, and she is not leaving his side.

Siddiq stays around for awhile, checking his body, making secondary diagnoses.  Things like repeated trauma and abuse come out of his mouth.  Dehydration.  Malnutrition.  When Siddiq finally removes the hospital gown - when she sees his bloated stomach, his prominent ribs - she is tempted to go back to where she found him and kill the people who had him imprisoned for a second time.

Siddiq leaves when he decides Rick is stable enough to be without a doctor.  He’s filthy, so Siddiq leaves her the items she needs to give him a sponge bath.

As she runs the soft sponge over his body, she takes inventory.  She counts each of his ribs.  She trails the tips of her fingers against the bumps of his spine.  There are too many scars and bruises for her to categorize.  But she swears that she will watch each bruise yellow and fade until there are none left.  She promises that she will learn every new scar, memorize them and learn their stories and rub her fingers along them until she wipes away all of his pain.

She cuts his hair after she’s done, shaves off that grizzly beard.  He begins to look more like himself.  His hair is grayer.  He has more wrinkles.  He’s beaten and broken, but he’s come out on the other side.  And she supposes that makes him more him than he’s ever been before.

He’s Rick Grimes.  He’s hers, and she’s never letting anyone take him away from her again.

She doesn’t leave the infirmary, except to step outside and see Judith and RJ.  She doesn’t want them to see their father yet.  Not in the state he’s in.  She stays awake as much as she can, because she wants to be there when he wakes up.  Plus, she just wants to look at him.  She spent seven years not seeing him, and now that she can, she never wants to close her eyes again.  Not even to blink.

He sleeps for three days.  On the third, she sits next to him, holding his hand.  Siddiq has just left after giving her lunch, and now she’s alone again.  She likes it better that way, she thinks.  She’s missed being alone with Rick.

She’s looking down at their entwined hands, and playing with his fingers, when he wakes.

It happens all of a sudden.  Without warning, he begins to gasp for air, and she jumps out of her seat, startled by the abrupt noise.  He keeps heaving, and she’s about to run for Siddiq, when she notices his eyes are open.  She hesitates.  She suspects he’s having trouble due to panic rather than something medical, and she knows that adding another person into the situation will only increase his anxiety.  So instead, she turns to him, never letting go of his hand.

“Hey,” she says gently.  “Hey, you’re okay, you’re okay.  Everything’s fine.”

He looks up at her, eyes wide and frightened.

“Hey, hey,” she coos again, bending over him slightly.

“Where am I?” he asks frantically.  His voice is rough and gravelly, like he hasn’t used it in awhile and it’s collected a layer of rust.

“You’re in the infirmary.  In Alexandria.”

She almost asks him if he remembers where that is, but she doesn’t want to be disappointed by his answer.  He doesn’t say anything, but he does stop hyperventilating.  Since he seems calmer, she takes her seat again, pulling it a little closer to his bed.

He doesn’t move for a few minutes, just lays on his back and stares up at the ceiling.  Then, he turns his head in her direction, and notices their hands are clasped together.  He quickly pulls away from her, and folds his hands over his stomach.

He doesn’t like to be touched, that much is clear.  The words Siddiq used ring in her head - repeated trauma, abuse - and her heart shatters.

“I, uh, gave you a bath,” she tells him, just to fill the empty air with sound.  But she realizes that if he doesn’t remember her, that might make him feel uncomfortable.  “I hope that’s okay.  You were pretty dirty.”

He doesn’t answer.  One of his hands comes up and runs over his jaw, free from that beard.

“Yeah, I also shaved off that beard.  Hope you weren’t too fond of it,” she tries to joke, but he doesn’t laugh.  “I cut your hair a little bit, too.”

“How long was I asleep?” he asks.

“Three days.”

He nods, but doesn’t react any other way.  A silence falls over them.

She wants to ask him if he remembers who she is.  She is scared of what he will tell her, but she must know.  She needs to determine where she has to start with him.

So, she rises again, sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch him.  He still scoots over.  She closes her eyes, takes a deep, steadying breath, and forges ahead.

“Do you remem-”

“Michonne,” he interrupts.

Her heart leaps.  It’s the first time she’s heard him say her name since before he left for camp, after their family fun day.  Her vision blurs with tears.  She’d forgotten how much she loves the sound of her name on his lips.

“Yeah?” she asks, a single tear falling from the corner of her left eye.

He nods again.

“Michonne,” he repeats, and he sounds like a man who just found water after days of wandering in the desert.

She lets out a sob that surprises even her, and covers her mouth with her hand.  He looks at her for a moment, and then reaches out with trembling fingers to grab that hand.  He pulls it from her face, brings it down to his chest, and holds her hand in both of his.

She can feel the steady thump of his heart under her palm.

(he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive)

“Michonne,” he breathes.

And the corners of his mouth tick up.

* * *

Coming home is hard.

And sometimes, she feels like she will buckle under the weight of it all.

She didn’t expect it to be this hard.

* * *

He lets her hand go soon after he takes it, retreating into himself.  She sits back in her seat, waits for him to start asking questions about the past seven years, but those questions don’t come.  Instead, he lays back again and stares at the ceiling.

The silence that falls over them is heavy, and long, and she’s on the verge of falling asleep sitting up when he speaks.

“How is she?”

She knows who his question is about without having to ask.  He wants to know about his little girl.

Judith.

“She’s...perfect,” she tells him, a brilliant smile appearing on her face.  “Even more perfect than we could’ve imagined.”

“She’s ten by now, right?”

“Going on eleven.”

“Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath, and Michonne laughs softly.

“She’s amazing, Rick.  She’s smart.  Capable.  Knows how to survive.  Calls me out on my bullshit.  God, I can’t wait for you to see her.  She carries your gun around with her, you know.”

“My Colt?” he asks, surprise coloring his tone.  “Isn’t that thing nearly as big as her?”

They both laugh, but he stops suddenly.

“Wait.  How’d she get my Colt?  I had it on me when the bridge went up.”

She looks down, and bites her lip.  She doesn’t know why she’s nervous to tell him this, but she is.

“I found it when I went to talk to you,” she murmurs.

He provides no response, so after a few moments, she glances up.  He’s looking in her direction, instead of up at the ceiling, and has a confused look on his face.

“You...went to talk to me?”

“I did,” she begins, looking at the floor again.  “We never found your body - now we know why, of course - but back then, we just knew that we couldn’t find you.  I didn’t have anything to bury, or anywhere to mourn.  We put a little something next to Carl’s grave, but it wasn’t the same, because I knew you weren’t actually there.  So when I wanted to feel especially close to you, or talk to you, I would go to the bridge - the place I last saw you - and sit on the bank of the creek.  And just...talk to you.”

She shifts in her seat a little, and shrugs.

“I know it sounds kind of stupid -”

“It’s not stupid,” he interrupts, and when she looks at him, he has tears in his eyes.  “It’s not.”

She nods, and wipes at the wetness that starts to gather in her own eyes.

“What did you talk to me about?” he wonders.

“Lots of things,” she answers.  “But I mostly went when…”

“When what?”

She hesitates, and looks down again.  She’s not sure how much she should pile on him all at once, but she needs to tell him.  Not telling him is a weight in her heart that pulls her down.

She needs to tell him, so she goes on.

“When I was pregnant,” she says quietly.

She hears the springs of his bed creak as he sits up, but she doesn’t look at him yet.  She’s preparing herself for what she’s going to say next, gathering her emotions.  Trying to figure out how to tell him that he has a son.

“Wh-what?” she hears him stutter out, his voice cracking slightly.

“Rick,” she whispers, finally lifting her head so she can see him.  He’s staring at her with a bewildered look on his face, like he doesn’t understand what she’s trying to tell him.  His eyes still shine from the liquid gathered in them.

“I found out a few weeks after the bridge,” she explains, but he still looks baffled by her words.  She gets up and sits on the edge of his bed.  She longs to touch him, to cup his face between her hands and press her lips to the worry lines scrunching the skin of his forehead, but she knows he will shrink away.  She’s beginning to realize aversion to any type of touch is a kind of reflex he’s developed.

Repeated trauma, she remembers.  Abuse.

So she keeps her hands to herself, and tells him plainly.

“We did it, Rick.  We had a baby.  A little baby boy.”

He sobs.

He sobs over and over again.  At first, she thinks - or hopes, maybe - his tears are ones of joy.  But as they continue on, violent and heavy, she worries that they come from some other emotion.

“Rick?” she questions, a frown appearing on her face.

“What am I gonna do?” he asks her between his cries, his voice broken.

“What do you mean?”

“What am I gonna do?” he asks again, looking up at her desperately with puffy and red-rimmed eyes.  “I’m not the same, Michonne.  I’m not who I was.  Things happened - so much happened - and I’m probably never gonna be the same.  How am I gonna be a dad again?  The kind of dad they deserve, at least.  It’s gonna be hard enough with Judith, but at least she had me for a little while.  But now, with this one - I’m not the same.  I’m just this...hollow shell of who I used to be, and I don’t -”

He pauses as he sobs again.

“How am I gonna do this?”

“You’re not empty.  You’re not broken, Rick,” she tells him, her own tears falling now.  She places one hand on his cheek, and even though he turns to pull away, she doesn’t let him.  She follows his face with her hand, and gently rubs away the wetness at the corner of his eye.  “Not all of you.  Your heart, and your soul - they’re still there.  And the other parts - the parts that are broken - we’ll put them back together.”

“How?” he inquires, eyes wide and nearly hopeless.

“I’ll help you.  I’ll help you.  That’s what we do, Rick.  We help each other, through everything, and together we can do anything.  It’s you and me.  It’s always been you and me.”

He continues to cry, but leans into her hand, finally.

“It’ll be hard,” he tells her.

“I know.”

“It’s gonna be so hard.”

“I know, baby,” she assures him.  “But we’ve done hard things - the hardest kinds of things - before.  And we’ll do this, too.”

He stares at her, and she can see the skepticism in his expression.  But he nods, and the light stubble on his face scratches against her palm.

It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t believe her now.  She’ll get him there.  She’ll do whatever it takes to get him there.

As she continues to wipe away his tears, she silently pledges, to him and to herself, that she will do anything.

* * *

Coming home is hard.

She didn’t think it would be this hard - she wishes it wasn’t - but it doesn’t matter.

She once whispered, after he was gone, that they were going to be okay.  In the dark, surrounded by her children, she promised him that they would be okay.

She intends to keep that promise.  Judith and RJ will be okay.

They’ll be okay.  Him and her.  Rick and Michonne.  She knows they will be, deep in her bones.

Coming home is hard.  Its difficulties are hefty, and strong.

But they are stronger.

A/N: I don't know how I feel about this chapter, but I hope you all liked it. Sorry for all the angst :/

Thanks for everything!

xoxo, Rebekah