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wreckedandpolemic · 1 day

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dancing is a dangerous game - matty healy

(mdni) in which a last-ditch attempt to garner respectability may just hold the key to your lovelorn heart after all... 10910 words.

warnings: fingering, oral (f receiving), period-typical misogyny, excessively purple prose

You snap the Society Papers shut with a huff, glowering at your mama over the top of the paper. As if it weren’t bad enough to be married off to some stranger, must the entire ton know about it? You already know what they’ll say; false compassion murmured behind fans, just loud enough for you to hear. Poor thing. Three seasons out, the family must be getting desperate. That marriage is sure to be a loveless one. Perhaps there’s something… not all there about the girl. Your fists clench, blinding anger rising in you the longer you stew over your predicament. Sold off like cattle to a man you don’t even know, your entire marriage a spectacle in which you’re an unwilling performer.

Well. You know Lord Healy, in much the same way a chamber-maid knows her mistress. You remember him well, his last season your first, every girl in your set tripping over herself to catch his eye. You remember him as handsome, certainly, but little else; not worldly or clever, not remotely interested in propriety or the role he long should have stepped into by now. Content to just lounge about, rakish, his utter lack of interest in taking a wife had only served in making the mamas more ambitious and their daughters more desperate. Then, as the season came to a close, he had announced his distaste for polite society and disappeared, ostensibly to travel the world.

His return had already been sure to cause a stir, not in the least after his mother had sent yours a letter you can only imagine to be pleading for you to take him off their hands. The news had spread fast, gossip travelling faster than wildfire among the gentry, and you can’t imagine the bedlam he’d been greeted with when he docked has made him any more amenable to the idea than you are. And yet, you can hear gravel crunching under wheels and hooves, your skirts splayed out and arranging you into a perfect, demure little picture as the shackles you’ll wear for the rest of your life stroll up the steps to your door.

“You’ve a caller, my lady,” says the maid, curtsying hastily as you wave a hand to have her beckon him in.

Getting to your feet as he enters, your breath catches slightly in your throat. He’s more handsome than you remember, once-cropped curls now loose in a halo around his head, the silver in one ear standing out starkly against the dark backdrop. His sleeves are rolled up, and… good Lord, does he have a tattoo? As if you weren’t enough of a laughing stock to the ton, the only man willing to have you is a pierced, inked rake whose defining characteristic is flagrant disregard for the aristocracy. He holds his hand out to your mama, bowing politely. “Lady Marlowe. A pleasure to see you again.” His voice is smooth and rich, yet tinged bitter, expensive coffee poured over your senses.

You curtsy to him as he turns to face you, taking your hand in his own, calloused from hard work and smudged with ink. “My lord,” you murmur, eyes to the floor as he lifts your hand to his lips, warm where they meet your skin. Something sparks between you, flaring to life as you meet his eyes.

“Miss Marlowe. So lovely to finally make your acquaintance. I was rather… shocked, to return to England and find myself betrothed, but I suppose I ought not see a woman so beautiful as you as anything less than a blessing.” You flush, swallowing hard. Of all the reactions you might have expected from your first meeting, this certainly isn’t a turn of events you could have predicted.

You give a high, tinkling laugh, polite and artificial. “You flatter me so, my lord. I am not deserving of such–”

“You certainly are,” he interrupts, his smile disarming. Your traitorous heart longs to trust in his honeyed words, your rational brain desperately beating out the smoke before anything can catch alight. “Would you care for a turn about the garden? I find it so stifling to be cooped inside on days like this.”

With your mama following at a distance, you loop your arm through his and allow him to lead you through the garden. The last lingering raindrops clinging to the grass wick into your skirts, cold and grounding as they brush against your stockings. “My lord,” you begin, low enough that your mama won’t overhear.

“Matthew, please. I have spent three years travelling the world simply as Matthew, and I’ve taken quite a liking to it. Lord Healy sounds to me like someone rather tiresome.” The nails of your free hand bite into your palm. It’s all very well and good for him to flout every maxim of polite society, scoff and bite his thumb at whomever he likes; you don’t have that luxury.

You’d been perfectly happy to live as a spinster, well-learned in the thin line you’d have to tread for the few remaining years before the season closed its doors on you, and you resent that he has the luxury of walking out of his own volition, that open arms were waiting for his return. “That isn’t proper, my lord,” you reply, clipped and irritable.

Lord Healy’s answering smirk is exactly what you’d expect, louche and irreverent. He leans close, and you shiver. “Fuck proper.” You give a shocked little gasp. “Listen, darling. I can tell there isn’t anywhere in the world you’d like to be less than here, but I’m afraid this is our lot. The way I see it, proper’s what’s trapped us like this. Won’t you break the rules with me? It can be our little secret.”

He smiles earnestly, and you feel a sick sense of guilt even as you swoon. So charming and handsome that he could have had any woman he liked, now saddled with a girl best known for being a lost cause. And yet there’s something undeniable and sincere in his eyes, and you find yourself meeting them boldly. “Very well, Matthew. I suppose a little secrecy never hurt anyone.”

“Well, I’m glad that we settled that. I suppose if we’re to spend our lives bound together in matrimony, we ought get to know each other. Tell me about yourself, love, please.”

You smooth your skirts, the practised spiel springing easily to your lips; the laundry list of qualities that might make you a suitable wife, a successful mother. “I am accomplished on the pianoforte. I am fluent in French. I am talented at needlework.” You don’t even attempt to sound as if you care for any of it.

Matthew makes a short, disparaging noise. “That all sounds… incredibly dull. I feel as though you agree, love. I want to know what you enjoy, not what you think might please me to hear.”

A flush creeps up your chest, a traitorous stain high on your cheeks. You aren’t certain whether that question has been asked of you once in the last ten years. “I am… an amateur novelist, I suppose. I was, in youth, a skilled fencer, although I am out of practice, to say the least.” The admission feels tight as it escapes you, a confession that belongs buried in the drawers of your writing-desk under piles of correspondence and spilled ink.

Matthew smiles, boyish and almost fond. “A fencer. You must remind me to cower behind you, should we ever encounter bandits.”

Scowling, you slip your arm out of his and fold it across your chest. “If you were going to tease, I don’t know why you would ask.” That butterfly of hope you had foolishly allowed to flicker in your chest is snuffed out, and you curse yourself for even letting it take root in the first place.

A warm, concerned hand rests against your arm. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to be hurtful.” He draws a deep breath, tipping his head back and exhaling slowly before he speaks. “I know this isn’t remotely how either of us pictured spending this time. But, truly, I am trying to make the best of a bad situation. I’d like to make this as painless as possible for the two of us, so I implore you to humour me, just for a little while. And I promise, if the thought of being my wife still reviles you by the time we’re wed, you’ll live out your days wanting for nothing with as much freedom the constraints of society allow you.”

His words are sweet, flowery, surely born from the ink staining his hands. On the surface, it sounds a charmed life, an ideal outcome; to you it’s nothing more than empty words, the bitter taste of arsenic disguised in sweet almond marzipan. You’ve long accepted living without love, made your peace with the pitying looks of the ton, and yet he presents you with further ways you might be humiliated, arranges them on a silver platter like you wouldn’t notice the rotting centre.

You aren’t an imbecile. You understand what such a marriage would mean for your already-tattered reputation. You can practically hear the murmurs, read the gossip rags, feel the prying stares. Can you believe it? The new Lady Healy couldn’t keep her husband’s interest for even a month. I can’t say I’m surprised. Always an odd one, wasn’t she, like a repellent of the opposite sex. Certainly, you’d be free, with your husband in any bed but your own, but free only to wither and rot in the darkness of his country home with only a swaddled heir for company.

It’s been too long since you’ve spoken, Matthew expectant at your elbow. “I don’t believe I have much of a choice, my lord,” you murmur faintly, and his face falls.

Your conversation is stilted, polite but stiff as you make your way back to the house. At the door, Matthew bows to you, lips warm against your hand. “Please, think on what I have said. I eagerly await seeing you again.”

No sooner has he climbed into his carriage than your mama practically accosts you trying to climb the staircase. “Well?” she demands. “What on earth did he say to you?”

You sigh, fighting the urge to bury your face in your hands and scream. “Not an awful lot, mama. That is what happens when you attempt to force a rake and a spinster into matrimony.” Folding your arms across your chest, your mama presses her lips into a thin line, displeasure etched into her features.

“You are not a spinster, dear.”

You scoff. “No thanks to you. I hope that whatever agreement you reached with the Healys is worth the cost of my happiness,” you say bitterly, not staying long enough for your mama to formulate a response and sweeping up the stairs. For the best part of an hour, you sit at your writing-desk, quill poised above parchment, writing and scratching out the same handful of words over and over in a Sisyphean rhythm. By the time you decide to give up and go to bed, ink-stains blotch your hands and bloom across your skirt with nothing at all to show for it.

Your sleep is restless, dreaming of engagement rings looming into shackles, binding at your wrists and ankles. Matthew’s smirk and his honeyed words drift through your dreamscape, a cruel torment disguised as remedy. Relief fills you as sunlight slants across your bed, your eyelids cracking open and letting you shake off the dream. You sluice cold water across your face, scrubbing the sleep from your eyes gratefully. Naturally, though, your relief is short-lived, your mama bustling into your room with three housemaids in tow, far too chipper for the hour.

“Good, you’re awake. Come, we are to the modiste this morning,” she says firmly. Resistance is futile, so you stand, letting yourself be primped and squeezed and poked at until you at least resemble a respectable lady. You rattle through the streets of London, the bustle of the city only serving to feed your longing for the worn paths and quiet streets surrounding your country house.

You hesitate deliberately at the door to the modiste, long enough that your mama scowls in frustration and seizes your arm harshly to drag you inside. The seamstress bustles over, your mama immediately lighting up and engaging her in conversation about the quality of her fabrics. Quickly, you tune it out, wandering idly across the shop floor. A hushed conversation drifts into your ear, and you pretend to be admiring the bolts of fabric stacked to the ceiling as you inch closer to its source.

“...Cannot imagine he’ll stay that way,” says a first voice, high and haughty. “Lord Healy was always the rake of his set, and has since travelled the world, surely… sampling many worldly women on his travels.” She pauses to allow her companion to titter snidely, giving you time to place her voice; it belongs to Evelyn Mountfitchet, a girl your age who had married in her first season, her tongue sharp and cruel, weaponised with her seemingly endless stores of gossip. Her companion, then, must be her sister Elizabeth, surely thrilled to be out in society and now privy to scandal. “I tell you, he’ll take what he wants from that girl, then leave her ruined and without a ring. It wouldn’t even be the first time,” she adds smugly, and you feel a pit open up in your stomach.

You hadn’t even considered the possibility of such a scheme, and now you feel even worse the fool for not seeing it. Everything dichotomous about him clicks into focus as if Evelyn has lifted opera glasses to your eyes. It couldn’t be plainer — his sweetened words, promising what he surely knew he couldn’t provide; his disinterest fading into persuasion as he determined you a desirable, susceptible target. You’re trapped, utterly and completely, worse than you’d thought. Until moments ago, the worst-case scenario had been living with a husband who carried on behind your back, with at least the respect tied to being a lady to cushion the blow. This is worse than you could have imagined. Lord Healy is going to leave you utterly ruined, whether you give yourself up or not: if that is precedent, that will be what the scandal sheets announce, that will become gospel to the ton, leaving you cast out, dishonourable, utterly unmarriageable. You won’t even be able to retire peacefully as a spinster with the stain that will stick to you.

“My goodness!” gasps Elizabeth, shocking you back to the present. “Who is the poor girl?” She sounds eagerly scandalised, a voracious little gossip-monger in the making.

Evelyn makes a non-committal sound. “I know not. The family are being ever so tight-lipped. Although, I suppose I should be, too, knowing my fate was either to have my daughter married off to or ruined by a man like him. Do you know he has tattoos? As if he were a shipyard worker or some other such lowlife,” she scoffs bitingly.

“He is ever so handsome, though. Perhaps the girl is so vile of face that his progeny will save the family from ruin. Or overwhelmingly poor, and they–” Elizabeth’s excited diatribe is cut off by exaggerated hushing, and you slowly sink into a chair as you attempt to process all that you’ve heard.

“You shouldn’t speculate so. Not where anyone could hear, at least.” Evelyn’s smirk is audible. “It is most likely that the family are simply desperate, that the girl failed to capture any man’s attention in her seasons, and must be married before she winds up in spinsterhood.” She pauses to giggle. “Perhaps it is the Marlowe girl.” Your blood runs cold. “Pretty enough, I suppose, but ever so odd. Fits the bill exactly, I’d wager.”

Nausea roils in your stomach. Having the news broken at a debutante ball would have been scarring enough, even with dozens of other girls for the vultures to circle. But having it found out early, allowing the scandal sheets days to pick over you and your history before you even set foot in a ballroom? It’s the stuff of nightmares. Delicate footsteps pick their way toward you and you scramble to stand, ducking around a corner to escape from view. No such luck, though. “Darling, where did you go?” your mama calls, obnoxiously loud. “I must see how this fabric will look against your complexion.” Face flaming, you pick your way back to your mama and the seamstress, letting them drape a delicate lilac silk across your shoulders.

“Oh, how wonderful you shall look, miss,” the seamstress declares. “Your engagement shall be the talk of London, I will make sure of it.” Your heart sinks, so fast and far that you’re sure it lays in two pieces in your slippers, Evelyn and Elizabeth exchanging a proud, shocked glance, and you know for certain you’ll be plastered across every gossip sheet in London the instant they come off the press.

You grit your teeth. “Yes, I am certain it will.” Your voice comes out scraped over gravel, your venomous glare in the sisters’ direction most definitely not helping matters. The dresses you paid for will be beautiful, to be sure, but hardly worth the stinging slap of humiliation you endured to get them.

When Lord Healy calls on you the next evening, you don’t even attempt to hide your scowl, listless as he attempts to ply you with flattery while leading you into the gardens. “News of our engagement will reach the gossip rags by morning,” you warn, tone flat and eyes directly forward, lest he disarm you with that deceptively sweet smile of his.

“Bollocks,” he swears. “Nobody in this godforsaken city can mind their fucking business.” His jaw clenches, furious, and you hate yourself a little for how undeniably attractive you find the emotion on him.

“Must you be so vulgar?” you snap. “Are you not putting me through shame enough for your selfish goals that you think it fair to humiliate me even before this farcical engagement meets its end?” The words come out bitter, corrosive and acrid on your tongue, genuine hurt written across Lord Healy’s face. “My lord,” you add poisonously.

His nails dig into your arm, halting you in your stride and forcing you to face him. “Are we really back to my lord? Damn. I had thought you might be warming up to me.” He throws you a grin that you’re sure makes the women he’s used to weak in the knees. When it doesn’t work, he switches tack. “Look, love. I don’t know what you’ve heard to make you think so lowly of me. I would have thought you of all people would know not to believe the scandal sheets, but–”

“Do not patronise me,” you hiss, wrenching your arm from his grip. “I know that you were engaged before, that you ruined some other poor girl. I know that you plan to do the same to me. I plead that you at least allow me some final months of dignity before you leave me with nothing.” Something sour has rooted in your chest, decaying from the inside out; your insides withering to match your reputation.

To your surprise and disgust, Lord Healy tips his head back and laughs. Revolted, you start to turn away, and he reaches his arm out. “That’s what this is about? Love, you couldn’t be more wrong. I was never engaged, I was courting the girl.”

“Oh, well, I’m ever so glad that was clarified. I suppose it shouldn’t matter, then.” Anger is boiling in your veins, his flippant tone only serving to further enrage you.

Lord Healy takes your hands, his skin soft and warm against yours. “If you’d let me finish,” he scoffs, but there’s fondness colouring his tone. His wide, brown eyes shine earnestly, and something convinces you not to pull away. “That girl was a friend, and I was doing her a favour, I swear it. She needed a way out of the ton, all its rules and restrictions, in order to live and love freely. And she is. Much happier these days, lives a more honest life than this.” He waves his hand, collecting your house and gardens in one insouciant motion. “I’ll take you to meet her someday, if you like. If you won’t be too scandalised by the kind of unsavoury company I keep,” he adds with a smirk, and some of the ice in your veins thaws.

Really, you have no reason to trust Evelyn Mountfitchet over him, spiteful woman that she is. Mollified, you slide your arm back through his, and his relief is palpable. “I’m not such a delicate flower, you know.” You pause, weighing your words carefully. “That was a kind thing to do for her, knowing what the scandal sheets would say.” You’re certain you know what sort of love the girl wanted, to necessitate such a sure and dramatic departure from polite society, and it’s a comfort to know where he stands in regard to such relationships. “I think that, perhaps, if it is til death that we may part, we ought to be friends,” you say cautiously. Matthew’s answering smile is brilliant, so dazzling that your heart melts just a little, like fondant on a hot day.

“I’d like that very much,” he says softly, something like affection in his gaze. “And, it was only the decent thing to do. I hate to see a friend struggling, especially not when I could help. Besides, it was rather mutually beneficial — the ambitious mamas kept away as if I were diseased,” he laughs.

“And now you are saddled with me,” you say. It’s intended as a joke, but it comes out self-deprecating and a little pathetic.

“There are far worse women I could be saddled with,” he says, playful enough that you aren’t offended. He pauses, still and pensive. “Truly. You are a most unique manner of woman, and I mean that in the most earnestly complimentary way possible. If I were the marrying type, I would surely have devoted myself to capturing your affections.” You flush, pressing an embarrassed palm to your heated cheek. “I must commend your skills in deception, to convince so many that you are undesirable. Kind of you to allow the other girls in your set a chance.”

At that, you laugh outright, clapping a hand to your mouth in embarrassment. “It isn’t an act. I simply have no time for such things. Or, had, I suppose. I should have liked to be a spinster and utterly invisible to society, but I see that fate had other plans.” You wander your gaze over him, the soft curve of his mouth, the gentle slope of his cheek, the alluring lines of his body. You wonder, briefly, if maybe your life isn’t over. Maybe, just maybe, Matthew is a gift.

Something must change in your expression, because Matthew mirrors it exactly, a fond smile crossing his face and his hand moving from your arm to low on your waist. The contact is thrilling, scandalous and precious, a thing to be held onto and treasured. “We do make quite the pair, don’t we?” he chuckles. “An aspiring spinster and a rake with the heart of a romantic.” It’s eerily similar to what you said to your mother, yet woven through with the thread of gold that links you; a flimsy, frail thing, but shining nonetheless, and you allow the hope you had killed to flutter back to life, a butterfly beating its wings against your ribcage.

“A romantic, hm?” you begin, circumspect. “I don’t know if I believe that. If you are only playing the rake, you play him very well.” You hope your tone is coming across light and teasing, that you’re only curious at his motivation behind the falsehood, if one exists. “I have seen your behaviour firsthand, you know. Three years past, my first season out. You were quite the catch, and I don’t recall seeing you ever dance with the same girl twice.”

“Do you want the truth?” You nod eagerly. “My first season, I truly looked forward to the prospect of finding love. But there was never any thrill, any excitement, any romance. Every girl just a two-dimensional caricature of what is considered desirable, and most just sold off to the highest bidder. It’s all so proper, and it disgusted me. Earnestly, it reviles me that you haven’t a choice in this arrangement. If I could grant you one, I promise I would in a heartbeat.”

Your chest warms, heart softening with every word, passion spilling over every syllable. “I know,” you say softly, and mean it.

“The reputation as a rake came that year, I suppose. Polly and I came to the arrangement that we would pretend to court, and I would leave her ‘ruined’ and free. The scandal sheets simply ran with the idea, and I didn’t stop them. It kept the expectations off of me, but the more I came to know how the rest of England lives, the more I was overwhelmed by the sheer unfairness of it all. A friend of mine, my best friend, is deeply and irrevocably in love with a woman, a beautiful, kind, intelligent woman. The kind of love that should be shouted about from the parapets and paraded in the streets. And yet, he is forced to love her in secrecy and solitude, because she is not the ‘right kind of woman’ for a man like him.”

You frown, filled with sympathy for these lovers. “It sounds like a love story in a novel I would be forbidden from reading.” He laughs, liquid and mellifluous, the sound worming its way into your chest and cradling your thumping heart. “Well, that explains the rake. When does this supposed romantic heart come into play?”

Snorting, Matthew digs you in the ribs. “I’m getting to that. So impatient, aren’t you?” Something about those words runs cool water down your spine, a feeling you can’t place buzzing to life under your skin. “When I left England, I fell a little bit in love with everyone I met. So many people, so many places, so many lives, all unique and blessed in their own way. The wide world is true poetry, and I suppose that I long for a romanticised place in it.”

Your tongue feels thick and clumsy in your mouth, words you might struggle for hours to pen falling easily and thoughtlessly from his plush lips. For the first time, you notice that your mama has retreated inside, affording you the tiniest moment of snatched privacy. Emboldened, a wave of brazen desire overtakes you, so strong that you go lightheaded. Your mouth opens without permission, words spilling free before you can stop them. “I think I’d like to kiss you.”

Matthew smiles, eyes crinkling as one of his hands comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. The simple touch makes you weak in the knees, your gaze curious as he leans down, so close that his lips are a hairsbreadth from yours. He murmurs one simple word. “Please.”

Your lips connect, head spinning as his mouth moves against yours. You’re floundering a little, at a loss in unfamiliar territory. Time slows around you; Matthew’s lips on yours the only feeling you know, your head going hazy like you’ve drunk far too much wine. It feels like you’ve been struck by lightning, like you’ve lived all your life in a sketch and suddenly been ripped into three dimensions.

The world blurs around you, grounded by his hand at your waist, his lips on yours. It’s all top lip, shockingly chaste despite the passion spinning between you, all your desire poured into the kiss. He’s breathing heavily when you pull apart, lips slick and face flushed. “Was that… I… I’ve never…” you trail off, suddenly riveted by the grass beneath your feet.

“Then you are a natural,” he praises, and you flush impossibly redder. “So adept on your first try, darling. I’ll surely die a happy man if you continue to kiss like that.”

“So presumptuous,” you tease, audacious bravado fuelling you. “Who says I’ll continue? Perhaps the desire has been flushed from my system,” you say with a smirk, laughing when he clutches his heart in mock-horror.

“You wound me so,” he laughs, taking your hand. That butterfly seems to have multiplied in your chest, a kaleidoscope of them fighting to burst free from your chest the longer his palm warms yours.

You find yourself forlorn when he leaves, the mere hour you spent in his company having shifted your worldview on its axis. As you had expected, your engagement is plastered across every gossip rag you come across, but you don’t find yourself debilitated by it; you have a confidant in Matthew, at the very least, and a chance for companionship to bloom into something more. You don’t dare tease yourself with the word, refuse to prop open the window for him until you’re certain of what you want.

That night, your pen flies across paper, inspiration flowing free. You even pen a letter to Matthew that will never again see the light of day, a messy, raw untangling of your sudden feelings that bares your soul uncomfortably. Instead of dreaming of shackles and snide words, your head is filled with sparkling jewels and soft lips, hands in your hair and… You wake flushed and sweating, the mirage of his touch still on your skin, certain that you wear your shame plain on your face.

To make matters worse, your mama has invited a dozen respectable, recently-married ladies to pass the morning in your home, insisting that you must become acquainted with your peers in ladyship. Among them, of course, will be Evelyn Mountfitchet, sharp tongue poised to entertain the other ladies with a colourful recounting of your every misstep disguised as concern. Really, it’ll be an open forum to discuss your shortcomings while you’re forced to smile like you’re being lavished with compliments, and you’ll hate every minute of it.

Nonetheless, you are dutiful first and foremost, and knowing now that your married life shan’t be an utter torment buoys your spirits a little as your maid laces you into a sage-green daydress. Sipping at your tea, you peruse the morning’s scandal sheets, grateful that the vultures seem already to have moved on. The day’s transgression appears to be a lord having taken a fancy to a merchant’s daughter, leaving the family horrified when he presented her at dinner. You really ought to stop purchasing the gossip rags, but your curiosity wins out each time your fingers hover over the paper. In all fairness, the gossip is already printed — is there such harm in you being one of the hundreds of readers?

You curtsy idly to the women as they cross into the parlour, mentally reciting their names over and over to save yourself from any faux pas. Tight, awkward smiles and knowing glances thrown at your expense across the table in lieu of conversation, until the silence is miraculously broken. “My compliments to your cook, Miss Marlowe. I don’t know that I have ever been so delighted by tea and cake in my life,” says Mrs Vincent, a woman you remember as having a good, sensible head on her shoulders. You had been rather disappointed when her attentions were captured, hoping that you might have found a friend whose ideals lay in a similar bent to your own, but she and her husband seem a true love match, which is rare enough that you cannot begrudge her for choosing happiness.

“You are most kind,” you say, grateful for a conversation topic that allows you to hold your own. “Our cook comes from France, brings with her the most wonderful French cuisine.”

Evelyn titters snidely behind her hand, and you swivel to face her, annoyed. “Don’t you find it rather fanciful? Personally, I prefer a good, honest English meal. But, I suppose you ought ensure your palate is discerning to the tastes of your betrothed. He has rather a taste for the European, no?” The implication is clear, the other ladies watching with bated breath for your response.

Careful, practised calm holding you still, you take a pointed sip of your lemonade before you reply. “My betrothed is well-travelled, certainly. I could not be satisfied with a man who has no regard or curiosity for the wonders of the Earth beyond our borders.” It’s a simple, dignified response — that doesn’t acknowledge or address her insult. Exactly what the women at the table expect. You can see pity in their faces; they think you haven’t perceived it at all. “Although…” you add, a dozen heads suddenly perked up with interest. “If I recall correctly, your husband took a similar trip just months after you were married. Perhaps you concern yourself with the wrong man’s European… proclivities.” You try not to grin too smugly, eyebrows raised across the room and Evelyn turning an unattractive shade of puce. None of the other women thought you had it in you, and you know it.

Having spent years curbing your tongue, sitting in shadowed alcoves at balls, you’ve enough repressed wit and stockpiled gossip to start your own scandal sheet, should you so choose. Keeping your lips sealed and your cards close had seemed the best option when you were aiming to avoid notice, but with your position changed, you suddenly harbour a most esurient need to make the ton take notice of you. “Would anybody else like to offer their unsolicited opinion of my intended, or should the discussion perhaps turn to something more productive and befitting women of our station, hm?”

Newfound respect is written across their faces, carefully reframing their social games in order to take you seriously as a player. You even enjoy the conversation a little, filing away each new piece of gossip with a grin and accepting invitations to social events you’d never have even glimpsed before today. Proud, satisfied and even a little excited as you wave your guests off politely, your mama stands smugly at your shoulder. “It is lovely to see you engaging willingly in your role, dear. Perhaps you might allow me to gloat a moment, for I recall telling you numerous times that if you would just–”

You square your shoulders. “I shan’t,” you say brusquely. Ordinarily, you’d never speak so bluntly to your mama, but the knowledge that you’ve mere weeks until you’re a lady in your own right emboldens you. “There is a difference between going somewhere willingly, and going there without complaint due to the executioner’s axe at your back. It is fortunate that Lord Healy is a good man, and one I could come to love, yes, but that could easily not have been so. He could have been any manner of man, a gambler, a drunkard, a sinner.” You aren’t yet entirely sure he isn’t the lattermost, if the heat you feel under his gaze is any indication, coiling under your skin and knotting in your chest, working its way down, down, down… Heavens, this is hardly the time! “And nonetheless I would be his wife. So, I implore you, do not mistake my acquiescence for forgiveness. I had made a choice, and you took it from me.” Your mama gapes at you as you leave, stalking into the library to lose yourself and forget all your troubles.

The passage of time escapes you, and you don’t realise how long you’ve been in the library, resting in a patch of sunlight like a house cat with your nose buried in a book until a maid finds you and informs you that you must dress for dinner. In all your distaste of the morning, your evening engagements had entirely escaped your awareness, and you dimly remember dinner with the Healys scheduled for the night.

Your ride is spent in stony, cold silence, your parents looking anywhere but your eyes. It’s not a long journey, thankfully, but it feels like an eternity before your carriage pulls to a stop and a footman helps you to the ground. You dip into a polite curtsy to Matthew’s parents, softening into a smile when you lock eyes with your betrothed. “You look wonderful. Doesn’t she, Matthew?” his mother says, nudging him unsubtly.

Matthew clears his throat, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I— Yes. I don’t quite… have the words for how lovely you look,” he says, his gaze intense as you meet it boldly.

“Thank you, my lord. You are too kind.” It’s a stiff response, measured and polite, born from uncertainty over your company.

His smile is winsome, your mama pinching your back as if to say I told you so, and you bite back a scowl. “I am afraid dinner is not quite ready yet,” he says with a polite nod to your parents. “Perhaps you might like a brief tour of the house, Miss Marlowe. It is soon to be your home, after all.”

Your mama makes a soft noise of protest. “That would be rather improper, no?” she says, casting glances at Matthew’s parents for support she evidently doesn’t find. You conceal a smirk; perhaps if she’d had a care to learn anything about the man she was marrying you off to, she wouldn’t need to be so concerned of what was proper.

“Oh, I do find the rules of propriety so stifling at times, don’t you? They are a young, engaged couple, we ought allow them a few moments of privacy. Come, we will take tea, and the men can have their whiskey and cigars. Dinner shan’t be long,” she says, and though your mama desperately wants to argue, a retort hanging from her lips, her own imposed rules of politeness prevent her — they are the hosts, after all.

Matthew takes you by the hand, the contact sending a pulse of warmth spreading from where his skin touches yours, and leads you deeper into the house. The moment you’re alone, he pulls you against a wall, his hands falling to your hips and grasping tightly. The closeness thrills you, heat prickling under your skin as he watches you with heavy, lidded eyes. “I have thought of nothing but your kiss since your lips left mine. May I kiss you?” he asks, hushed and reverent, and you nod slowly, eyes closing and head tilting up in anticipation. His lips meet yours, sweet and soft and gentle, but interlaced with a foreign, breathtaking hunger.

You melt against him, letting him take control of the kiss, determined but tender. You part your lips eagerly for his tongue, the taste of him suddenly overwhelming your senses. Breathing hard as you pull apart, you look up at him with wide eyes, feeling foolish and lovesick, some unfamiliar feeling of want pulling under your skin. “Is there really going to be a tour, or was that simply a facade to get me alone?” you tease, and Matthew smirks, interlacing his fingers with yours.

“I have often found that mixing an honest goal with an impure one can be… pleasurable… for all involved,” he answers, almost a purr. Something unknown thrills in your belly, licking down to settle in your core, forbidden. Then, his intense gaze breaks into a smile, and the tension breaks. “No, there really was somewhere I wanted to show you.”

Your footsteps echo through the cavernous halls, interspersed with breathless giggles when he pulls you a little too fast and you stumble into his arms, meeting in a sweet kiss before you start off again. You almost can’t believe your luck, that you’ll get to spend your days traipsing through these halls and kissing him whenever you like; you feel as though you’re waiting with bated breath, like pride must come before a fall.

With a dramatic flourish, Matthew comes to a stop before a grand set of double doors, flinging them open to reveal an even grander library. Your jaw drops as you marvel; stacks of shelves that must stretch the entire height of the house press against both walls, light filtering through a pane-glass window and puddling on the floor. He seems to sense your awe, his body warm at your back as he takes hold of your waist. “You seem like the kind of woman to appreciate a good book and some peaceful, private space.” He leans heavily on the word private and mouths at the shell of your ear, a shudder running through your body at his ministrations.

“I do,” you say shakily, though you can’t think of a time you’ve cared less about books than standing here with Matthew’s lips hovering against your neck.

“May I ask you something rather…” he says, slowly spinning you around so you’re face-to-face. “Improper?”

The look in his eyes is familiar, now, but impossible to define, eyes wide and crow-black. “It’s a little late to be seeking my permission for your indecorousness, no?”

Matthew smiles, the expression slow and salacious as it creeps across his face. “Perhaps,” he says, taking your hands and walking you deeper into the library. “But this is a question of a more… intimate… nature.” You’re acutely aware with every step that, should anyone else enter the library, the two of you would stay obscured from view. “I want to know…” he begins, voice low as he pulls you down onto a chaise, tucked neatly away in a shadowed corner. “What do you feel when I kiss you?”

Your heart speeds, stomach swooping as clumsy words stumble to your lips. “I— I don’t… I can’t describe it.” You lower your eyes, looking up at him through your lashes, that same, indecipherable look in his face.

“Would you like to know what I feel?” You nod minutely, breath caught in your chest. The air around you feels charged, like the minutes before a thunderstorm when your hair starts to stand on end. “I feel desire. Have you ever known desire, sweet thing? A quickening in your pulse, heat under your skin, smouldering in your chest.” Matthew inches closer with every word, pressing you back against the cushions until you’re almost prone, rucking up your skirts with one knee.

His every breath against your lips is incendiary, the feeling rushing under your skin finally given a name as you breathe out the word that might be your unmaking. “Yes.” Matthew crashes your lips together, slides a hand into your hair, all pretence at being a gentleman cast aside in favour of a frantic, consuming hunger. His tongue is greedy, his teeth sharp, pulses of pure want skittering down your spine and settling between your legs. The sensation thrills you, illicit and sharp and new, the heat of his body against yours soaking through your clothes.

“I was not entirely honest, before,” he says, and your blood runs cold. Your fear must be evident in his face, because he cups your cheek gently before he speaks. “When I said I had thought of nothing but your kiss. I thought of you constantly, certainly, but in a rather… filthier way.” His low tone washes over you, stomach clenching in some sort of sick anticipation as his lips meet your neck.

“What…” The words catch in your throat, desire clamping your neck like a vice. “What did you think about?”

A gasp slips from your lips as Matthew catches your earlobe between his teeth, kissing softly at your pulse point and pressing a soft hand against your leg. “I thought about you while I pleasured myself,” he murmurs, and you go hot all over, your skin feeling far too small to contain all you’re becoming, your chest tight and pulse racing. “I spilled in my hand with your name on my lips. I thought of how you might look, undressed beneath me, caught in rapture. Have you ever felt pleasure like that, darling?”

His voice is low, raked over gravel. You can sense his restraint, that he longs to teach you. “We cannot. Not now, not here, not before we are married.” You taste regret as you speak, so consumed in desire that you want to discard every carefully-learned edict of society, but the warning bells that chime for this act are too much to ignore.

Matthew huffs a quiet laugh. “So, you haven’t. If you trust me, sweet thing, there are ways I can show you pleasure without fucking you.” He leans heavily on the curse, an answering thrill clenching in your stomach as his fingers find the hem of your chemise. “Would you like that, darling?”

“Please,” you gasp, a breathless invocation from wanton lips. Matthew’s hand creeps up your thigh, higher and higher until… Your eyes fly open, your entire body jolting as a spark of pure sensation catches you alight. “Oh, my God,” you cry, back arching up as he slowly circles with the tip of his finger.

“I also answer to Matty,” he smirks, and though you groan, you’re grateful for the diffused tension. Your hips move of their own accord, chasing the pleasure that spills from his fingertips. “My God, you don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he groans, his gaze fixed on your face as you slip into bliss. “Have you ever touched yourself like this?” You shake your head, whining quietly when he pulls his hand away and takes hold of your wrist. The tips of his fingers are wet where they meet your skin, and you flush crimson. “I’m going to show you how to pleasure yourself, and, tonight, when you’re laying in bed with your lights turned out, I want you to bring yourself to that peak as many times as you want; get to know your body in the most intimate way. And then,” he leans close, whispering into the shell of your ear, his filthy words coiling under your skin and licking deliciously down your thighs. “I want you to tell me all about it. As your husband, I must know exactly what brings my wife to ruin.” In the same moment, he slides two of your fingers into you, the sudden stretch between your thighs unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Matty’s thumb comes up to circle your bundle of sensitive nerves, puppeteering your fingers in and out of you torturously slow. “Can you do that for me, sweet thing?”

It takes a moment for your hazy mind to register what he’s asking, whining as your hips rock up into his touch. “Only if you go faster,” you gasp, choking on a whimper as he speeds his motions, pleasure washing over you and wiping your mind clean.

“Anything you want,” Matty murmurs, tugging on your wrist so your fingers speed up, pressing deep as your eyes roll back in your head. “Curl your fingers for me, love,” he instructs, and you obey unthinkingly, gasping as a shock of pleasure ripples through your body, drool pooling in your mouth as Matty watches you adoringly. “Does that feel good?”

You moan out an affirmative, writhing under his touch and slowly picking up a rhythm of your own, too caught in a haze of pleasure to find words for what he’s making you feel. Tension coils in your belly, your body limp and loose on your bones. “Oh, God, please,” you whimper, not even sure what you’re begging for. He knows, though, somehow able to show you exactly what you need as he slides two of his own fingers alongside yours.

“Oh, love, you’re soaked,” Matty croons, following along with your rhythm and steering you to move faster, every movement sending a ripple of desire pulsing through your veins. “I think you needed this, didn’t you, sweetheart? Needed someone to show you how to feel so fucking good?” His palm is warm against the back of your hand, calluses pressing rough against your skin as your body stretches out around him. Your eyes fall closed, head swimming in slick, gleaming ecstasy. “Come on, love. Watch,” he instructs.

Obediently, your gaze falls to where your hands are joined, your wetness dripping over your fingers and a slick sound embarrassingly audible; sounding in time with the thumps of pleasure rolling over you. You moan helplessly, letting Matty take control as you fall into bliss, his breath coming in hard gasps against your lips. There’s a pulling low in your stomach, a twisting tendril of carnality tugging at every muscle of your body. A final swipe at your bud of nerves sends you pitching over an edge you hadn’t even known you were approaching, biting down hard on your lower lip to keep yourself from crying out wantonly. You flutter around your fingers, gasping and rocking your hips, chasing the high as it fades from your grasp.

“That was… incredible,” you murmur, Matty’s expression at once smug and awed. “I’ve never felt anything like it. I just… fuck,” you breathe, almost a laugh as the curse slips from your lips, the only word that feels fitting for the feeling rolling through your body.

“I promise you, darling, that was barely the beginning. Just you wait until we share a bed.” He smirks down at you, the eye contact deliberate as he slides his wet fingers between his lips, swirling his tongue purposefully, desire spiking in your core all over again. “And you taste so sweet,” he praises. “Go on, have a taste for yourself, love,” Matty urges. Cautiously, you bring your hand up to your lips, softly licking at the pads of your fingers. The taste of you is unfamiliar, but you strangely don’t hate it, pressing an eager kiss against Matty’s lips and licking carelessly into his mouth.

You trade lazy kisses for a few long, sweet moments, breaking away only to giggle against his mouth and gaze deeply into his warm, honey-brown eyes. Eventually, regretfully, you pull apart and climb to your feet, legs shaking a little until Matty loops an arm around your waist to support you. The dinner is lovely, to be sure, and his parents are perfectly pleasant, but you can think of nothing but Matty’s eyes on you, his tongue in your mouth, his fingers stretching you out and pulling you into oblivion. The barest brush of his lips against your hand, a polite goodbye, is almost enough to set you off again, a shudder running through you as a knowing smirk pulls at his lips.

Matty’s gaze meets yours, sharp and challenging, and he mouths think of me just as you leave. A flush creeps up your cheeks, and you look away, the intensity of his eyes too much to bear. And yet, you obey, moonlight slanting across your bed as you push your nightdress up around your waist. Matty’s voice circles your brain, his name sweet on your lips as you drag yourself to that peak countless times. Your body is exhausted but insatiate, an endless well of greed tapped and free-flowing. You can barely stand to clean yourself when you finally give in to lassitude, legs trembling and a voracious cramp in your wrist.

Your mama gasps in horror at the circles under your eyes the next morning, shameful imprints of your long, desire-soaked night. “Goodness gracious,” she gasps. “What on Earth kept you awake all night? Good Lord, you aren’t a child anymore. You simply cannot spend your nights with a candle and your nose in a book any longer. You have responsibilities.” You nod idly, stifling both a yawn and a smirk. “Go back upstairs. Get some rest — you might at least attempt something resembling respectability for the ball this evening.”

Oh. In your daze, you’d utterly forgotten. Ordinarily, you’d refuse out of spite, and your mama gives a long-suffering sigh, expecting a fight. But something thrills you about showing off your engagement so publicly, staking a claim on the man so many debutantes failed to ensnare. The chance that you might slip away with him into a shadowed alcove or a private garden certainly doesn’t hurt either. So, with nothing more than a slight scoff, you go back to bed, snatching a few hours of much-needed sleep. Visions of Matty dressed in full finery fill your head, a surprising, sudden excitement growing in your chest.

You can’t hold back a gasp when your mama produces your gown; you’d never bothered examining the new season’s dresses, already resigned to misery. Your fingers trail gently over the sparkling fabric, running like water under your touch. “You shall be the most spectacular thing in the room, dear,” says your mama smugly.

The word thing hits you like a splash of ice-cold water. Of course. “Yes,” you say faintly, your voice sounding muffled to your own ears. “I must pen a letter of thanks to the modiste,” you add pointedly, your mama’s face falling. She sweeps out of the room without a word as if to say, see how well you’ll look without me.

It turns out, unsurprisingly, that your ladies are even more proficient at their craft without your mama’s hawkish gaze picking and prodding at whatever she pleases. You gaze at yourself in the looking glass, awestruck. Your cheeks hold a healthy glow, dusted with rouge that matches the stain on your lips, and as you smile softly, you realise that, for the first time, you find your reflection pretty.

Even the now-familiar cold silence of your journey fails to dampen your spirits, the glittering warmth of the ballroom enveloping you as you cross the threshold. You search the room for Matty, a little crestfallen when his wild curls aren’t immediately apparent. Of course, you shake off your parents as quickly as possible, surprised by your sudden enjoyment of the atmosphere without the crippling burden of a dance card looped around your wrist.

Lost in the wealth of colour and light surrounding you, you jolt at a gentle touch to your elbow. Expecting to meet Matty’s warm, adoring gaze, you turn eagerly, only to come face-to-face with a lord who’s practically withering into dust where he stands. “Good evening,” he says, a sinister smile revealing half-rotted, missing teeth. “May I have this dance? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

You don’t think so either, but you’d be surprised if the man could remember how to button his own waistcoat. His fingers are like sandpaper against your bare arm, the sensation positively emetic. “I am spoken for, my lord,” you say, without even attempting at politeness. He’ll hardly remember it tomorrow, age-addled as he is. As if on cue, a murmur ripples through the young ladies, eagerness turning to disparagement as it reaches their mamas, and you look up to see three young men burst into the room.

On the left, the most serious-faced one holds up a pocketwatch, evidently admonishing the other two for their more-than-fashionable lateness, while the tallest one laughs him off. In the middle, you watch Matty slyly ribbing the former until he relents, smiling exasperatedly. “Ah!” you say brightly, grateful for the out. “There is my betrothed now. Good evening, sir.” You curtsy politely and blow out a relieved breath as soon as his back is turned, beelining for Matty and his companions.

“Hello, love,” he says warmly, something in your body instinctively relaxing in his presence. He takes your hand, warm in his calloused palm, and brings it to his lips. You smile a little self-consciously, hyperaware of the other two sets of eyes on you. Nodding politely to the other two men, you bite your lip and jerk your head at Matty; it isn’t polite for a lady to introduce herself to a gentleman, and you’ve too much company to publicly flout the rules of conversation.

When he doesn’t pick up the hint, the more solemn one shakes his head with an annoyed yet fond laugh, bowing politely. “Mr. Hann,” he says. “Adam, really.”

It seems to spur the other into action. “George,” he says simply, and you raise an eyebrow. “Lord Daniel, if you must be an utter bore about it.”

You curtsy, but flicker your gaze to the ceiling in the universal gesture of Lord, give me strength. “Great heavens, there’s two of them.”

Adam snickers. “Four, actually. I’m certain it shan’t be long until you discover that for yourself,” he adds with an enigmatic grin that makes you like him all the more.

“Fuck’s sake, Hann,” Matty scoffs, and you still jump a little at the vulgarity and how easily it falls from his lips. “I told you how hard I had to work to get her to like me, don’t go turning her against me now. I’m not all that likeable, you know.” He turns to you, and the full effect of his disarming, fathomless-deep gaze settles on you. You run hot all over. “Would you care for a dance, my lady? Before I allow you to be poisoned any further against me,” he chuckles, and you accept with a gentle smile.

Matty sweeps you into a waltz, leading commanding and effortless, and you can’t keep a smile off your face as you lose yourself in him. “You look radiant, love. Truly, a beauty like yours is mythical.”

Heat floods your cheeks, and you look away, demure and slightly disbelieving. “You’re quite the dancer, my lord,” you say, in an obvious and unconcealed attempt to divert the subject.

Thankfully, he allows it. “You sound surprised,” he says, mock-affronted. “I’m a musician at heart, darling, I could lead a waltz in my sleep.” You smile, but your attentions are drifting; snatches of conversation pass you by, murmured but not so low you can’t hear them. An odd pair… Surely ruin her… Heavens, look at him… Isn’t nearly pretty enough…

Matty is utterly oblivious to the noise, watching your face fall with obvious confusion. “What are we doing here, Matty?” you murmur, suddenly helpless. “Even if we could be happy together, how can that possibly be enough? Endless whispers, following us anytime we set foot in society; this stain stuck to us forever.” Pain is written clearly across his face — he wants to argue, but he’s at least allowing you the courtesy of coming to the point before he does. “You could still leave me,” you say quietly. “Find safety with the devil you know. Play the rake until the perfect girl comes along, one without all the collateral I carry.”

Fittingly, the song draws to an end, Matty pulling you to the edge of the room with eyes full of frustrated consternation. “I’m not going to fucking leave you,” he hisses, crowding breathlessly close. “You want me to go searching for the perfect girl, yes? I have travelled from nation to nation, spent days upon weeks in the open seas, visited wonders on every continent, and yet… if you were to ask me the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen? That smile, that first real smile you gave me. Without a question or a second thought. Please, darling, let me love you. See yourself the way I see you.”

Your resolve shatters, that greedy, hungry part of you that’s gone starved for love all your life snapping to the forefront in your chest. “How do you see me?” you breathe, low and pleading, hunting for an answer in his eyes.

“I know this house well,” he says, and your brow furrows at the sudden change of subject. “The thought of an audience for the maudlin display I am about to put on is almost too much to bear.” You huff a quiet, disbelieving laugh and let him lead you through a maze of winding, labyrinthine corridors until you come to an empty parlour. The air is still, quiescent, like stepping into a still-life portrait as you sit delicately at the edge of a divan. Matty sinks to his knees in front of you, resting his palms against your skirts over your thighs. “You want to know how I see you? I see a fierce, clever woman, one who has, perhaps, never been truly seen before. I see the woman I want to make a life with, who I want to share my thoughts, fears, dreams with. Who I hope will respond in kind.” Pure, earnest kindness shines in Matty’s gaze, a frail hope you recognise as a twin to the butterfly that perches on your ribs.

You can’t do anything but smile down at him, at a loss for words. “I simply… I just… I cannot…” you stammer, stopping and starting as if you’re hunched over your writing-desk.

“Do you trust me, love?” You nod mutely. “Then trust this, trust what you feel, trust yourself,” Matty urges.

Damn him. Damn him to hell. “Come here and kiss me.”

His wide, adoring smile turns to a slow smirk. “I’m perfectly happy where I am, love.” His hands fall to the hem of your skirt, slowly inching up your legs, familiar heat coiling to life between your thighs. “Now, tell me. Did you do as I asked last night, darling?”

“Yes.” The answer comes rushed, breathy, shameless. Matty gazes up at you, encouraging. “I thought of you, only you. I wished it were your hands bringing me to ruin over and over again, wished I could do the same to you.” His eyes are black with desire and your mouth goes dry. “I know that you have… experiences, and I do not wish to–”

“All that means, darling, is that I have the privilege of being the one to teach you,” Matty insists, pressing a kiss to the side of your knee. Your skirts brush against your heated skin, pushed up until he’s gazing at your exposed, glistening core. Your eyes follow him, questioning, as he leans ever closer. “You’ve felt pleasure by hand, yes, but what I really want is to get my mouth on you. Would you like that, sweet girl?”

You shudder. “Please.” No sooner has the word left your lips than his mouth connects with your core, lapping up your arousal with an ebullient hunger. A moan escapes you, blinding heat flashing across your skin. Your breathing is instantly ragged, pleasure burning in your chest as he buries his tongue deep inside you.

Your hands slide into his hair, anchoring yourself to reality. His answering moan against your skin ripples through you, muscles tensing and loosening in keeping with your hammering heartbeat. “Just like that, darling.” Matty murmurs against your skin. “Good girl.”

The praise draws a long, pleading whine from your lips, a cavalcade of desire marching through your bloodstream. “Matty, oh, fuck,” you gasp. The profanity still feels foreign on your lips, but there truly isn’t another word in your lexicon that can describe the pure ecstasy coursing through you.

Matty presses soft kisses to your inner thighs, smearing your arousal against your skin and licking you clean. A flash of teeth scrape against your tender flesh, pulling a gasp from you as you drag his mouth back to where you need it most. Euphoria winds under your skin, an insistent hum at the base of your skull growing louder with every passing second. His tongue works over you in sure, fast strokes, dragging you higher and higher.

He sucks on your nerves, your legs flailing out helplessly in response. One of his hands creeps up, teasing your nerves as he fills you with his tongue over and over. A filthy sound fills the room, slick and wet and lustful, and you clench your hands into fists in his hair. You clench your thighs around Matty’s head, his tongue driving deep into you as you clench your thighs around his head, whimpered obscenities dripping from your mouth. His pace speeds, slows, never allowing you to get complacent in a rhythm, flames stoked in your core.

You’re half-delirious with it, implorations for something you couldn’t name falling slurred from your lips. Pleasure balls into a fist in your belly, hot and demanding, knocking the wind out of you as it slams into your gut. You gasp out his name in an endless litany, writhing with need as pure bliss rolls over you, loose and free on your bones. “Oh, my God,” you breathe, still pulsing with aftershocks as Matty pulls away, lips and chin soaked when he smiles up at you.

“No God, darling. Just me,” he says smugly, and you scoff. He quirks an eyebrow, licking his lips exaggeratedly. “What? Look around, love. Do you see God in this room? Or do you see a man, bringing you pleasure?” You bite your lip, chest still heaving with the tangible, real evidence of what you felt. “In any case, I am kneeling for you. Not for any God,” he finishes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, your slick obscenely visible against his alabaster skin.

Matty stands, pulling you with him, and tugs you in for a slow, deep kiss, the taste of you blooming in your mouth. “That’s blasphemy,” you say, appalled and intrigued in equal measure. “You could be prosecuted for that.”

He grins against your mouth. “Are you going to turn me in?”

Your heart thuds where your chest is pressed against his, heartbeats aligning in a perfect, rhythmic duet. “Never.”

#this was soo fucking fun to write Omg #lowkey this is like top 5 most Sweet romantic things ive ever written probably #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 smut #writing #smut #dancing is a dangerous game

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starringthesturniolos · 2 days

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bite me(part 6)-Matt Sturniolo

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

summary: matt hates your guts but all of that changes when he wakes up and finds out your his mate.

contains: vampire!matt x reader, highschool au! (18 years old), dark themes, death, smut (not in this part)

A/N- THIS CHAPTER IS KINDA SAD but y'all will be alright, trust. a lot of violence in this chapter so by all means if that is not your thing please don't read. I want everyone that reads this to ENJOY it. love yall, bye!

matts pov.

the drive back to my house was silent. even with my heightened sense of hearing, I could only hear the sound of our breathing and the quiet hum of my engine. two minutes ago, she had been crying and I saw into the darkness that was her life. key word, was. between the protection spell and me, no one is ever going to hurt her again. a dark thought pops into my head, and ,unlike any other time, I welcome it with open arms.

"do you want him dead?" I mutter, letting the thought free. I said It quietly, but it sounded like I might as well have screamed compared to the quiet of my car. it made my skin crawl and judging by the look on her face, it made her's crawl too. "what is that supposed to mean??" she whips her head to me with fear in her eyes. merciful. I added that to a list of chracteristics that y/n had that I subconsciously accumulated in my own head. even though he hurt her in the worst ways, she'd never want anyone to lay a finger on him.

"he's my dad, matt!" she panics taking my lack of response as a promise that I would go back to her house and finish him off. I put one arm up in defense. "I was just asking. you panic too much, someone should go check your blood pressure.Jesus." I scoff, playing it off as if I wouldn't have gotten rid of him the moment she told she wanted me too.

she slumped back in her seat, clearly relieved. its right then that I notice the dark circles under her eyes. she's tired, and humans need rest. "go to sleep, you look like shit." I quip. if she were in her right mind, she probably would have said something back. instead she brings her knees into her chest and puts her head on the window. her eyes close and in a few minutes her breathing and heart rate slow. she's asleep and my eyes stay on the rough, pot - hole infested road. all the way home, I dodge the holes so she sleeps fine.

unreasonable fear hits my chest at my own actions. when did you start to care so much? is the question I ask myself as I gently lift her sleeping form into my arms to bring her into the house.

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y/n is in the other room, and I wake up to my phone buzzing incessantly. I pick up my phone to see that nick is calling me. "he disappears off the face of the earth for two days and all of a sudden he wants to chit chat at the crack of dawn", I think to myself before smashing the accept call button in annoyance. "what?" my gruff voice answers in a more than grumpy tone.

"I need you to come to meet me, now! I'll send you my location. do not bring anyone with you, and do not to take your sweet ass time either matt." he says seriously. I can hear in his voice he is fighting to keep himself from sounding panicked. sensing the danger he's in, worry surges through me, and I can't help but wonder what he's gotten himself into. "don't worry nick, im coming." I say back just as seriously before hanging up the phone and rushing out the house.

I drive over as fast as I can to the unknown spot. it's just a clearing of trees and grass where two cars are parked side by side. ones nicks' and the other is someone's I don't recognize. I hop out of the car quick on high alert. nick where are you??

"you think you can just take my daughter and get away with it. I'm sorry son, but you're in for a real treat." says a terrifying voice that-unless god forbid I took another girl to my house tonight- could only be y/n's fathers’. I turn slowly to see him, a tall, burly man. he's holding nick close too him, a knife pressed lightly against the sensitive skin of his neck. regulary, I would look at this and shrug, vampires aren't supposed to be able to die. but nick's neck is bleeding from where the knife lightly grazes him. vampires can make other people bleed, but they themselves can't bleed, at least that's how it's supposed to be. even though the wound wasn't deep enough to be lethal, the wound itself was the problem to begin with. All thoughts aside, I lunge forward to grab nick away from the man but he dodges with unnatural speed. he smells human, but he's quick, too quick, which can only mean one thing.

y/n's dad is a fucking lunatic magic user, and, based on the position he's got me and nick in right now , he's a damn strong one too.

he throws nick to the side right then, and nick flops to the floor gasping for breath and clutching his bleeding throat. I freeze in fear for what's happened to nick. for what is going to happen to me. he waves the same knife he had pressed against nick at me in tauntingly cold, cut motions.

"matt, run" nick says weakly. my feet listen to nick's instructions, and I turn to bolt, only to find the powerful magic user right in front of me in an instant. before I can react, he plunges the knife into my stomach in three quick motions. unbearable pain laces through me and I feel something coming that I never thought I'd ever have to experience. that something is death.

"should of asked for a protection spell yourself." he lets out a cold, hard laugh as I drop to the floor slipping into an abyss of darkness.

@bbernard-03

@sturnthepot

@hoeformatt

@sturtriple16

@faygo-frog

@sturniol0s

@katie-tibo

@cindylcuwho

@I34n

@chrissv4amp

@sturnslimited

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut

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mtchee · 2 days

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An Honour to be in a Harem!? - [Genshin Impact SAGAU] | MDNI | GN AFAB 18+

blurb:

The concept of all these gorgeous people bowing before you is hard to grasp, but it's even worse to think that they'd actually offer themselves to you as a love interest. So obviously, you brush them off and decline, retorting that just because you're their supposed Creator doesn't mean they should feel as though they had to subject themselves to your unwanted affection. After all, who were you really, to compare to them? Unfortunately (or fortunately, actually) they seem quite boggled at your output. Ah! It all makes sense now! Their dearly Beloved is the shy type! Worry not, your Grace! Your dearest acolytes are more than happy to bask in any sort of attention you decide to share! Rest assured, they'll take care of all your needs~

cw: not edited, second-person-pov, kind of a sequel?, afab bodied, you are dearly beloved and longed for <3, realistically if this happened i would rather die of a heart attack, lots of love and affection!!, mdni, spicy content, swearing, smut, overstim, manhandling, voyeurism, squirting, fingering, cunnilingus, sub [name], use of terms cunny cunt pussy tit breasts, help i'm embarassed i wrote this omfg who am i, would u believe me if i said this is my first smut

| masterlist | genshin impact collection |

< prev. - amab! ver.

[3.0k]

What is this bullshit.

You can't help but just blink at the Archon knelt at your feet, his head bowed low. When you emit a shocked squeak he looks up at you, amber eyes latching onto your flustered expression.

Your gaze darts around the few others surrounding your throne--you only really sit in it when the people of teyvat line up for personal prayers and blessings, or when someone tells you to. Otherwise, you avoid sitting in it.

Venti, Ei, Al-haitham, Ayato, Ningguang, Jean, Furina, Neuvillette, and Tartaglia stand past Zhongli who is knelt before you.

You force a polite smile and let out a nervous laugh, "Aha, um... d-dont.. you don't have to do that. Really."

"Do not misunderstand, Beloved," The geo Archon stands to his full height, and you feel small despite the grandness of your seat, "it truly would be my--our, utmost honour." He places a hand over his heart and bows lowly by the waist. The others follow in tandem, and you panic.

"No! Really," Although all your fanfic dreams were coming true, knowing that these are now very much real people and not just characters put you on edge. They all have their own lives to live, their own goals and ambitions, likes and dislikes, preferences and attractions that you certainly didn't and never would attain.

At first, the idea is flustering and the offer makes you feel giddy, but looking into it, you feel bad. They see you as their All-Maker, who are you to make them miserable?

"You don't need to do that. I-I know there's that rumour going around, but really, I'm fine by myself."

"Your Grace," Ei steps forwards with a tiny furrow in her thin brows, "please, it would be our honour--"

"You know what would really be an honour," Your heart stings slightly, but you straighten up on your throne and give your audience a reassuring smile, "is if you went out on your own to seek who you actually love, to find a partner you'll be happy to spend your time with--to love on your own accord. That, would be an honour, I'd say."

You're not oblivious to how everyone reels back at your words, a mixture of shock, fear, and disbelief covering their features sported by prominent frowns.

Al-haitham is the one to break the tense silence that freezes the room.

"Beloved," His eyes flicker over you, thought and theories wiring around his ever working mind, "are we unsatisfactory?"

You blanch, "Gah! No! Oh my--it's nothing like that!" You can't help but feel flushed under the intensity of their eyes.

"It's just, you need to not see me as a duty."

You address them calmly, forcing your fluttering feelings down to school your face passively.

"You need to focus on yourselves, and your own lives. I'm not here to come between that."

Their silent stares are unnerving, and Venti and Furina share a look with hidden smiles while Jean steps forward with a respecful bow.

"Of course, your Grace."

"F-Fuck..!"

Embarassed tears sting your eyeline while you hold your breath, desperately trying to get ahold of yourself.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

Your pretty eyes roll to the back of your head and a loud moan is forced out of you each time Ayato's fat cock plunges in and out of your sloppy cunt.

He sits leant against the finest silken pillows with your naked back pressed against his bare, toned chest, an arm wrapped securely around your waist while the other sweetly fondles with one of your spit laden breasts.

Thoma lay stomach down on the soft doona, face buried dutifully between your quivering thighs which he holds apart with surprising strength. He tongues at your swollen clit fervently, and you cry out in humiliation when your slick gushes from your slit and onto the expensive fabric below.

"G-nngh!" You clench your eyes shut at the embarassingly loud noise of skin slapping against skin and the lewd sucks of Thoma's mouth and the squelching of your pussy, "a-ah..! Ah! Ah!"

The Kamisato Commisioner lets out a low moan by your ear, feeling your hot and gummy walls squeeze down on his cock deliciously.

"Remember-- hng! R-Remember to breathe, my beloved."

He gently squishes the enticing softness of your tit, bucking up into you abruptly when you let out a squeal as he pinches your nipple.

"M-Mm~ my dearest," Thoma moans onto your slickened pearl, and you just about explode at the burst of electric pleasure that shoots up your spine, "you taste.. divine..~!"

Your heart thrums at the messy sight of him, his lips, chin and cheeks covered in your honey thick slick with half lidded eyes locked onto your expressions. You let out a needy moan when you notice him desperately grinding his naked hips into the bedding for release.

A now all too familiar searing pleasure suddenly coils in the utmost depth of your body, and you scream at the sheer ferocity of it.

"C-Can't! I can't!"

You buck your hips away from Ayato's throbbing length and bump into Thoma's chin, but they only follow you--the commisioner's arm moving from your waist to your hips, locking you in place while Thoma's grip moves from your thighs to the underside of your knees, opening you up and forcibly holding you still.

You dig your nails into Ayato's arm, your other hand fruitlessly shoving at the housekeeper's head to push him away.

The pleasure becomes piercing, and you choke on a sob as your gushing cunny just goes squelch, squelch, squelch with every thrust you have to take. His cock feels so dangerously good, and you fear your clit might bleed from its continuous onslaught of pleasure.

Thoma's tongue licks at the opening of your slit and the base of his lord's cock, and Ayato curses lowly, his grip tightening.

You feel something thick and heavy and hot spurt inside you, though the pounding doesn't let up and the near painful coil violently pops inside you, and you shriek in tandem with the burst of watery clear fluid that squirts from your throbbing cunny.

Your face burns hot with humiliation, and you can only muffle your embarassed moans into the fabric of the couch.

Naked and vulnerable, you're bent ass up and face down over Al-haitham's lap with his dominant hand knuckle deep in your wet pussy.

Maybe, just maybe you might've been able to handle this amicably, but not with Kaveh walking in and berating the Akademia Scribe turned Grand Sage on his pleasure skills.

With your ass held high and knees spread, your leaking cunt is on display for the genius architect while his roommate fingers you ruthlessly, constantly prodding and rubbing that special squishy spot inside you that renders you immobile.

"H-Hah.. mmngh! Ah..."

You can do nothing but take it and drool on the couch while they squabble above you as though you're not there.

"--Y-You brute! That's our beloved and you're treating them like that!?"

"I'd say our Creator quite likes it."

You stifle a screech when Al-haitham takes his other hand and spreads your ass open to prove his argument to Kaveh.

"See?" He takes out his fingers and spreads them apart, watching your hot slick string apart, "and here too." You sob loudly as he gently prods your pussy lips apart to stare down your red, throbbing clit.

Kaveh's face flushes at the lewd display, and he gulps while setting his suitcase down off to the side before approaching.

"A-And?"

"[name] has cum thrice already."

Kaveh's brow twitches, "Were you not going to clean them up?!"

Al-haitham huffs indifferently despite the miniscule tint of pink arousal across his cheeks, "I'll leave that to you."

The blond hmphs at him before cooing at you softly, praising you with your title and demeanour.

"Our beloved," He caresses your back, and you shiver pleasantly at the tingle it stimulates, "you've been so good, haven't you? Done so well..."

He hushes you gently as he moves closer behind you, kneeling at the couch's edge, face level with your puffy cunny. Al-haitham remains quiet this time around, his non-slick covered hand patting your head lovingly.

"It's okay~ I'll take good care of you now, I'll clean you up all nice, alright?"

You only whine when he sinks his tongue into your pussy, lapping up your spilled juices and nipping at your reddened bud. Your body trembles with an absentminded moan when he sucks on your sore little clit, and he emits a noise of suprise as a new abundance of syrup leaks from your opening.

Al-haitham quirks up a brow, "Four times, now."

"Mercy! M-Mercy..!" You cry out.

"Oh," Lisa tuts demeaningly, "no, no, no dear one~ You see, you didn't quite seem to believe our intentions true when we offered ourselves to you. So it only seems right that we prove it, yes?"

You can't squirm away from Eula's mouth, her strength baffling as she keeps you stood still against the Grand Master's desk with ease. Amber mouths at the mounds of your breasts, obessed with how soft the fat of them are.

You whimper loudly when Eula curls her two fingers into your front wall, clenching down on her and nearly screaming when she thrusts them into you punishingly.

Jean can't help but watch in stunned silence of you, your voice and body ethereal. She can't wait to get a taste of her own as you shudder and gasp.

It was bad enough when Venti had his way with you earlier under Vanessa's tree, simultaneously teasing you and giving you everything you wanted.

He ran his mouth with words that were both endearingly sweet and pure debauchery, controlling the winds to graze at your hardened nipples with ghost like touches that left you spasming and breathless.

He'd shown you his choice of belonging to you through the intimate thrusts of his hips and sloppy, loving kisses across your body--he'd then guided you back to the gates of Mondstadt with the help of the wind to keep you balanced.

You cry when a thin zap of purple shocks your pulsing clit, cumming instantly while Eula's tongue soothes over it with the help of her cryo ability. Your lewd honey drips down your leg and onto the floor, and the blue haired girl sneers at the waste of it.

A whimper escapes you when Amber nips at your soft tit a little too harshly, and she murmurs a timid apology, looking up at you reverently before continuing.

"P-Please..!" You hate how they've all been able to make you cry with pleasure, as though they always knew just what they were doing to you, "it..-it hurts now..! A-Aaahhh..."

You let out a long, breathy whine as you cum again, tears steaming down your cheeks as the gentle wave of bliss washes over you. You almost miss Acting Grand Master Jean calling for someone to enter after a knock on the door.

Humiliation of your state causes you to flush and shut your teary eyes as Kaeya walks in, gaze latching onto you immediately.

He closes the door behind him, humming lowly at the sight.

His eye glints in dirty interest, a grin creeping up his lips at the sound of your whimpers and sloppy cunt.

"Oh? It's our turn already?"

"Kaeya! You're just in time," Lisa grins mischieviously, "I believe our dearly beloved is ready for something... thicker, now." She smiles as though her filthy implication were a casual statement of time.

You hate being the centre of attention, but fuck does it feel good. You hate feeling so vulnerable, but good god do they take care of you.

Maybe, just maybe you could allow yourself to indulge in their affections...

Nope.

Hate. You hate, hate, hate, hate hate it.

You whimper quietly, head bowed to hide your face from the prying eyes of the others seated around you.

You're back in the lands of Inazuma, in the very same place you were last time the picnic was set up. It was much more lavish this time around, based in the early evening with a gorgeous ocean view, lights strung up in the trees and scattered atop a few stable rocks.

The blankets laid down were much thicker this time, and the pillows larger and fluffier. The sunset paints the horizon gold and pink which fades into a rich purple and, eventually, the glimmering darkness of night.

You sit in Zhongli's lap, a spare blanket covering your bare lower half as you squirm on his throbbing cock. You could feel his other drooling pre-cum against your lower back.

The others had been coaxing you to eat your share of the platter, Navia and Wriothesly feeding you small portions since you were too shy to do so yourself.

Though ashamed and bashful, you can't help but clench and throb, and you fluster when Zhongli lets out a small groan from behind you.

Navia places a comforting hand on your covered knee.

"Beloved Creator, are you alright?" Her voice is soft, loving.

You swallow sharply, shoulders hunched and tense nervously from those watching.

"Your Grace?" You glance over at Diluc who huffs with a small blush of his own, "we'll take care of you."

Your cunt throbs, and Zhongli thrusts into you.

You yelp at the sudden motion, straightening up instinctively to balance yourself only for your most devoted to thrust into you again, and again, and again. His arm wraps around your waist to keep you seated, and the blanket slowly slips from your lap from the movement.

"A-Ah! Zhon--aahhh!"

Squelch, plap, slap, his fat cock hits the textured roof of your squishy insides and sends an overwhelming shock of pleasure through you. Throwing your head back with a lewd moan, both your embarassment and arousal increase tenfold at the sight of your most shameless worshippers touching themselves at the sight of you.

Others swallow roughly, barely holding themselves back with a single thread of dignity. Those of them watch with eyes that burn your body into memory, and the intensity both frightens and arouses you.

The better of them murmur and coo praises at you, causing your stomach to flutter and your pussy to gush.

You pant loudly when Ayato softly intructs you to breathe, and you squeal when Tartaglia reachs out to play with your pretty clit while rubbing his neglected cock.

"Pl..ease..! Hah..!"

You feel a pair of lips on your neck and whine, whimpering shamefully when Neuvillette starts whispering sweet praise into your ear, sucking on your skin softly. You white knuckle the thick blanket by your forcefully opened legs and clench your eyes shut in humiliation.

Your cunny starts to tingle with sparks of pleasure that strike your overstimulated bundle of nerves, and you flush at the feeling of your sex juices trailing from your slit to your ass, soiling Zhongli's clothed lap and the pillows and fabric below.

"Hng! Cumming! AH!" You shriek, thrashing in their hold, "c-cumming! H-Help, 'm cumming-- oohhh~ Ohh~"

That weird prickly feeling coils in your tummy again, and you let out a lewd and bratty whine when they don't let up on their touching.

"S-Slow! PLEASE! F-Fuck! Feels funn-y~!"

When you slap at Childe's hand, your own are quickly restrained by Kazuha who simply smiles with red cheeks and mutters to you flowery reassurances.

The sound of your pussy is loud, it's noisy, and filthy. You emit a desperate, pleading wail, not knowing if your subconscious is trying to beg them to stop or to stay.

Saliva pools in your mouth then begins to hang open as your starry eyes roll into the back of your head, chest heaving.

Your thighs tremble and your fingers twitch--Kazuha intertwines them with his own, and you lock onto the comforting hold.

"G-Good!" You can't stop yourself from babbling, "m-makes me feel soOo goood~!"

"Oh, sweet one~" Yae Miko giggles.

"You understand that we choose you now, yes?" Ningguang hums with a teasing quip. Her eyes torn between your adorably lewd features and your swollen, glistening cunt.

"Relax, beloved. It's only us, your most faithful~"

"Mm, don't hold back, dearest."

"Can you moan for us, beloved? You sound just delicious when you moan!"

"Are you gonna cum for us?"

"It's not fair how they got a taste of you first~!"

"Hng..! A-ah, hah!"

"Oh-oh! Beloved, calm down, you're alright. Just let it happen.."

"Do you feel good, your Grace?"

"--c-cumming- cumming! Cumming..!"

A white hot blaze of heat crashes over you, and your ears ring as your body trembles in utter bliss. Your slick pussy squeezes and gushes with your lewd honey, and as your abused little pearl sears with an almost painful pleasure, your body squirts out your most powerful orgasm that soaks the blankets and the people surrounding.

Pleasure caused tears leave hot stains on your face, and your head lulls to the side tiredly. Your chest heaves for breath as you come down from your high, and it takes a few moments before the ringing finally stops and you can hear again.

Doting whispers and coos are the first thing you process, followed by something thick and hot leaking out of your stretched and now empty hole.

A hand caresses your head as many others touch on you innocently, checking in on you and taking care of you.

Someone holds a glass to your lips, and someone else helps you lean forwards to sip.

You startle at the feeling of a soft mouth coming to gingerly lick and suck at your sore pussy, and you let out a delirious whine.

Another acolyte hushes you gently, kissing you softly before another joins in peppering kisses all over your tired face to distract you from the one cleaning you up between your legs.

You still feel light headed from the embarassment of it all, but you've latched onto the pleasant tingling you feel when they look at you so adoringly--more lovingly than just in reverence.

No, actually.

You don't hate this at all.

#character x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #x reader #various x reader #gi x reader #mtchee's tea & story house #mtchee's library #genshin sagau x reader #sagau x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #smut #afab reader #afab #genshin sagau #mdni #18+ mdni

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lottiies · 3 days

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one of his many journal entries about you

arthur morgan x fem!reader and male!reader <33

i won’t lie…i have 45 hours on the game and i’m not even past chapter 2 (っ- ‸ – ς) why progress when i can save myself the pending heartbreak and instead admire this pretty man and his journal sketches?

anyways…love all you arthur morgan kissers ♡

“my body doesn’t feel right as of late. my hands are too rough, my face is all wrinkled up, and my voice isn’t all that pleasant. if only i could sound as smooth as i write.

never been the most confident of men, but well, this body’s what i’m stuck with. used to go months on end without shaving until i realized my beard looked like bills. how embarrassing. miss grimshaw, the strong-headed woman she is, knocked some sense into me too. well…more like slapped me.

shaving makes me look more approachable, and that’s not really a good thing with my reputation. but, i did it anyway and spent a pretty penny on the barber up in valentine’s…had to pay a bit extra because of the drunken ruckus lenny and i caused there last time.

if my heart hadn’t been captured, maybe these worries of mine wouldn’t even exist.

oh, the ridiculous things love does to a man…”

꒰ fem!reader ꒱

“about as beautiful as the stars above; a woman so otherworldly that sometimes I have to look away. she shines too brightly for these tired eyes of mine. i suppose that’s for the best, ain’t it? a man like me, the walking embodiment of sin, isn’t worthy of such a loving lady.

but that doesn’t keep her away. she often asks me to recount some of my adventures, and i hesitantly do so, fearful she’ll think me a bad man. craziest thing is, she looks more worried than anything else whenever i do as told. telling me to be more careful with that honey-like voice of hers. could listen to it all day. it’s like a balm to the soul.

can’t keep myself away from her either. doesn’t matter what she’s doing, i always find myself wandering over to her. i don’t usually have trouble sleeping, i’m like some rock when it comes to it. but she’s occupied my mind too much lately, falling asleep is difficult. like right now. should be sleeping, but i’m not. just up wondering about the ifs and hows.

i’ve been saving up some money so i can go get her something real nice, maybe a pretty dangly necklace. could just steal one, but i want to prove myself to her. she deserves the best, not something that belonged to some other stranger.

god knows i’d do whatever i can to keep her safe and sound. i’d die for her. funny thing is, i considered myself to be a selfish man before breathing the same air as her.

i can say with absolute certainty that i would give up everything for a future with her.

if she’d have me.

…

now, this fool’s about to try and sketch her.

not sure if i can encapsulate her beauty onto a page, though.”

꒰ male!reader ꒱

“i fear I’m going mad. i never thought i’d feel this way about a man before. then again, pursuit of romance has never been a priority in my life. he’s one of a kind, something about him makes my palms feel all clammy.

he never leaves my head, every inch of this brain of mine is consumed with thoughts of him. his grin, the way his hat perches on his head, the stories he shares ‘round the campfire.

i’ve come across many men on all my journeys, but his handsomeness is unmatched. and he’s different. doesn’t nag me like dutch or get on my nerves like micah, but he isn’t just a brother like some of the other folks here.

i’ve been a bit too scared to drink these days. you know me, i spill my guts out and say stupid things like a damn fool when i get like that. wouldn’t know what to do if i were to sputter out how fine of a fella i think he is, or how grateful i am for him. is this only a special friendship? no, i don’t know how to describe this.

well, yes i do, actually.

love.

my fingers trembled while writing that.

some may call this spark a sin, but going down an altar with him would be a taste of heaven itself. that wish is too far-fetched though.

all i ask for is a sign. just one. maybe i’m misreading the glimmer in his eye, or the way the bastard slings his arm over my shoulder and sings after he downs some moonshine.

weird how life works, isn’t it?”

#arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan x you

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edgarallen-foe · 3 days

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I made it all the way to Phoenix on the money I had saved. The trees looked different, but everything else was exactly the same. I started using a new name. Sleeping at the cheapest hostel I could find. The Pink Opaque was over. I got a job at the mall. At Build-A-Bear. Filling the dolls up with stuffing. I got out of that town. That place I knew would kill me if I stayed. But something was still wrong. Wronger, even. Time wasn’t right. It was moving too fast. And then I was 19. And then I was 20. I felt like one of those dolls, asleep in the supermarket. Stuffed. And then I was 21. Like chapters skipped over on a DVD. I told myself… “This isn’t normal.” “This isn’t normal.” This isn’t how life is supposed to be. I thought about running away again. About moving to Santa Fe and changing my name one more time. But I knew that everywhere would be just the same. I had seen how it ended. I knew where I was. A little bit after my 22nd birthday, I paid this burnout kid who used to hit on me in the food court $50 to bury me alive. I mean… he didn’t know he was burying me alive, but I doubt he would have cared too much even if he did. I bought a coffin. I dug a hole. I got inside and I closed the lid. I said to myself, “This is crazy.” “What you’re doing is crazy.” But another part of me knew that it wasn’t. That it was survival. And that I didn’t have much time. That what felt like years in this world was actually just seconds. So I waited. And then finally, the first spadeful of dirt hit the top of the box. And then another. And then another. I sang songs to myself. I counted to 10,000 without skipping any numbers. I pissed and I shit my pants and I forced my mouth to produce whatever saliva it could muster just so I would have something to drink. I screamed as loud as I could for help. I apologized for the whole thing. And I begged God for someone to come along and save me. I tried and tried to claw my way out, but that burnout guy had packed the dirt in too tight just like I had asked him to do. And then, after I don’t know how long, I felt myself start to leave myself. And it was like I was watching myself on TV from across the room. And I was moving further and further away from the screen until the screen was so small that I couldn’t even see myself anymore.

#ic #words #i saw the tv glow #i saw the tv glow 2024 #isttvg

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littlefireball · 2 days

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CS|As a vampire's gift (M)

Vampire! San x Human! Reader

Today is San's 126th birthday, a milestone that you are excited to celebrate together for the first time. As you browse through the boutique, you ponder what gift would truly surprise and delight him.

With his long life and myriad experiences, you find yourself at a loss, wondering if there is anything left that he desires. He has tasted different blood types, found his soulmate, and even shared intimate moments with you. What more could he possibly want?

As you struggle to come up with the perfect gift, you realize that perhaps it's not about fulfilling a desire, but rather about showing your love and appreciation for him.

Memories of the ‘marking’ flood your mind, stirring up a mix of emotions and thoughts. You blush at the sudden rush of impure fantasies, quickly pushing them aside.

You still vividly remember the details of that day, and for some reason, it awakens desires that have been dormant for a while. As you look up, you realize you've unknowingly wandered to the entrance of the restricted zone.

"Um... When did they have these things..." Another impure thought crosses your mind.

"Give myself to him as a gift."

"Ah ah ah! What am I thinking!" You cover your blushing cheeks, feeling the heat radiating from them, and your fingertips start sweating.

Feeling more and more embarrassed, you suddenly notice someone approaching.

"Damn! Why is someone here?" In order to avoid an awkward encounter, you swiftly grab a red piece of clothing and quickly pay before leaving. You haven't even looked at the details of the lingerie, but you assume San will like it since it's red.

Finally, back at home, even though you're alone, you cautiously make your way to the bathroom, ensuring no one can see you. You take out the mysterious lingerie from the packaging.

"Oh my god, what did I buy?!" This lingerie is completely outside of your comfort zone.

"This is more like underwear than lingerie!"

Feeling a mix of reluctance and determination, you reluctantly sift through the lingerie, pondering, "What am I supposed to do with this?"

Despite your initial uncertainty, you find yourself unable to come up with an alternative gift idea.

"Just this once, for his birthday," you concede as you slip into the delicate attire. Avoiding your reflection in the mirror, you keep your gaze lowered as you navigate the unfamiliar garments.

"It does feel quite airy..." you admit, noting the discomfort of the open slit in the panties. Awkwardly crossing your legs and nervously biting your lip, you can't shake off the self-conscious feeling.

To complete the look, you decide to don a sheer red outer robe from the package. The crimson fabric drapes elegantly over your fair skin, accentuating your curves and adding a touch of allure to your appearance. Despite feeling a bit exposed, you can't deny the allure of the outfit.

Still hesitant, you linger in the living room, the cool breeze between your legs adding to your unease with each step. Reminding yourself of the goal to surprise San, you muster up the courage to head into the kitchen and start preparing dinner.

"Maybe I should have changed after cooking," you grumble to yourself as you whip up San's favorite dish, blood wine.

Carefully, you slice open your chest with a knife, extracting a few drops of blood and mixing it with a potent liquor from the fridge to create the unique concoction.

"Okay, done.But this lingerie..." You still can't get used to it. Thus, you decide to put on one of San's shirts, which conveniently reaches your thighs. Sitting on the bed, you anxiously wait for San to return.

"I'm back." The sound of the door opening and San's approaching footsteps quicken your heartbeat, the rhythm echoing in your ears.

San, puzzled by his own racing heart, reaches for the light switch as you gather your courage and step out of the shadows.

"Why haven't you turned it on..." His words trail off as you wrap your arms around his neck, tilting your head to meet his lips with a soft, sweet kiss.

A smile plays on your lips as you wish him a happy birthday, surprising both him and yourself with your boldness.

"Come, I've prepared your favorites," you say, taking his hand and guiding him to the dining table. The candlelight dances around the room, casting a warm glow that highlights the crystal chandelier above, creating a mesmerizing play of light and shadow on the walls.

As he follows you, his gaze lingers on your outfit - a simple white shirt that hints at the red lingerie beneath, a tantalizing sight in the flickering candlelight. A sudden warmth spreads through him, and he swallows hard, feeling a stirring in his lower body.

You offer him the wine glass, a mischievous glint in your eye as you reveal the special blend of your blood with his favorite wine. He raises an eyebrow in surprise, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes, making him look utterly charming.

Curiously, he takes a sniff of the concoction, the sweet metallic scent filling his senses. Unable to resist, he takes a sip, savoring the perfect blend that glides smoothly over his tongue, leaving a tantalizing mix of wine's aroma and a honey-like sweetness.

"Do you like it?" you ask, a playful smile tugging at your lips. He nods in approval, setting the glass down. You snatch the glass from his grasp, his expression a mix of confusion and intrigue.

With a mischievous glint in your eye, you pour the wine over your body, the crimson liquid cascading over your curves and pooling at your feet. The once-white shirt now stained with the vibrant red wine, revealing hints of your skin and alluring pajamas underneath.

You press a finger to his lips, a seductive smile playing on your lips as you raise a thigh and press it between his legs. With narrowed eyes, you whisper, "This is not how you drink wine.”

San pulls you closer, his gaze fixed on your lips as he whispers, "Is it?" Your lips parted eagerly, inviting his kiss.

As your tongues danced in a sweet, sensual rhythm, a trail of saliva lingered between you when you finally broke apart. San's breath grows hot against your skin as he savors the taste of wine and the scent of your arousal.

With a quick flick of his tongue, he traces the contours of your body, his touch igniting a fire within you. Your shirt falls open, revealing the alluring lingerie that accentuates your curves.

San's heart races at the sight of your figure, and he can't resist burying his face in the softness of your breasts.

"I love your lingerie so much," he murmurs, trailing kisses down your chest and exploring every curve with reverence.

His touch sends shivers down your spine, your body responding eagerly to his every caress. As his hands roam lower, he discovers your lack of inhibitions, and his desire surges even more intensely.

"It's open," he confesses, your cheeks flush with embarrassment. A satisfied smile crosses his lips as he delves between your thighs, offering you unbridled pleasure.

His gentle kisses and playful nips elicits a chorus of gasps and moans from you, your body arching in ecstasy. He licks your clit slowly and gently with a steady rhythm. Sucking your sweet juices, he circles your clit with his long fingers.

"San...Ah!" you moan, your words lose in a haze of pleasure as he skillfully guides you to the peak of ecstasy. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your hands tangling in his hair as you lose yourself in the intoxicating pleasure he bestowed upon you.

“You’re so delicious, just like the blood wine.”

He stands tall, pressing his lips against yours once more before gently guiding you to lie down on the dining table. Your body stretches out on the smooth surface, legs entwined with his, hands caressing his face as your mouths danced in a passionate embrace. Breath mingles between you, creating a shared rhythm of desire.

“Please…” “I have to fuck you now.”

With practice ease, your hands find their way to his pants, releasing the confines around his lower body. His touch grazes your garter, causing your bra to shift and accentuating the curves of your breasts. A soft gasp escapes your lips as he nibbles at your chest, leaving a trail of tingling sensation in his wake.

Straightening his body, he positions himself at your core, seeking permission with a silent gaze. A nod from you and he enters, eliciting a gasp of pleasure as you feel him fill the void within you.

“Ah!! So big!!” You throw your head at the back and moan out.

The sensation is intense, almost overwhelming, yet perfectly satisfying as he moves with a steady rhythm, each thrust igniting a symphony of pleasure between you.

Moans of ecstasy filled the air, mingling with the sound of skin meeting skin in a symphony of desire. His movements grow more urgent, driving deeper and harder, each thrust a symphony of passion and fulfillment.

Your moans escalate, a chorus of pleasure that echoed through the room, mingling with his own primal sounds of lust.

As the intensity peaks, he flips you over, pressing your chest against the table as he enters you from behind. Each new angle, each shift in position, brings a fresh wave of sensation, hitting your sweet spot with precision and driving you to new heights of pleasure.

“So fucking tight, babe.”

His voice, husky with desire, urged you to open your eyes, to meet his gaze in the midst of ecstasy.

Struggling to comply, your vision blurs with pleasure as his touch roams your body, teasing and tantalizing every inch of your skin. His lips find yours once more, a wet and hungry kiss that leaves you breathless, lost in a whirlwind of sensation.

“Gosh!!Fuck!!” You can’t help but swear.

“Such a dirty mouth.”

His hands move to your breasts, caressing and squeezing, sending shivers of delight through you as he plays with your nipples, each touching a promise of more to come.

“Please…I am gonna…cum”

“No you can’t just hold it.”

He flips you over, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you to the sofa. Your position shifts as you straddle him, his back against the sofa.

"Ride me," his voice, a seductive melody that compels you to obey without hesitation. Placing your hands on his shoulders for balance, you begin to move with a slow, tantalizing rhythm. Each bounce sends a shiver of pleasure through you as you feel him deep inside you, his cock pulsing with desire.

As you picked up the pace, the friction between your bodies intensified, the sound of your skin meeting filling the room as both of you moaned in unison.

“Please, san!I can't.”

“Can’t what?”

“Pretty please… let me cum…!”

“Okay, just cum, babe. You did well.”

His primal instincts take over, and he can’t resist sinking his teeth into your chest, a mix of pleasure and pain sending a rush of sensation through you.

“Oh my god!” You reach the peak of ecstasy, climaxing hard on his cock, but he shows no signs of slowing down.

"But I didn't say you could stop," “What…?” You can feel his cock still hard and even become bigger, wondering if it’s an illusion or reality. He pushes forward as a punishment, his tip goes so deep inside as if breaking your limit and causing you a little bit of pain.

“Shit, sannie.”

“Call me this again or I can't hold back.”

Before finishing his words, his fangs found their mark, piercing your skin as a rush of blood flowed between you.

“You know what, darling. Your blood is so sweet, so tasty! I can't get enough of it.”

He savors your essence, pinning you beneath him as he shifts your legs over his shoulders, thrusting with a primal intensity that bordered on inhuman.

“Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!San-Sannnn!!!!!!Slow…..!!!” He ignores your pleas and continues sprinting. The intense love making finally reaches its climax as San releases inside you before you reach your own peak.

Reluctantly pulling away from your lips, he gazes at you with narrowed eyes, withdrawing from within you. Gasping for air, he rests his forehead against yours, feeling the fatigue spread through your bodies.

"Happy birthday, my San," you weakly whispered. He blinks, a silly smile playing on his lips as he pecks yours, teasing, "Are you my birthday present?" "Of course, aren't I? I summoned all my courage to wear this lingerie, not to mention my heart's blood," you replied.

He smiles indulgently, "Thank you, I love you. But can't you wear this lingerie every day?" Wide-eyed, you pat his chest, "Dream on." He pouts, rubbing against your chest in an attempt to coax you.

"Impossible, I won't be able to leave the bed," you turn away, avoiding his wolfish gaze.

"Oh? Admitting I'm skilled?"

"You... you..." at a loss for words, you glance around in a fluster, giving him a soft smack, "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to."

Pushing his chest, you make a dash for the bathroom. "Where are you going?" He catches up, desires still unfulfilled.

The next day, you struggle to get out of bed, your sore waist making movement difficult.

"Shouldn't have bought that lingerie," you mutter. Despite your words, your body spoke differently as you quietly ordered lingerie online that you knew he would love.

"Why didn't I do this before? Am I foolish?" you chuckle. Looking at the lingerie, erotic thoughts stirred once more.

"Am I becoming addicted?" Blushing, you bury your face in the covers, tossing and turning. Both of your desires remained unfulfilled.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez x female reader #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #ateez san

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sturniolo04 · 3 days

Text

Cheater C.S.

Cheater!Chris x Fem!Reader

A/N: If you don't like the preadded name in my stories, you can either add your own name or not read it; it's up to you :)

"Get out" you said to Chris as you saw him kissing my sister, "Baby its not what it looks like", you nodded "Right I'm going to say this once and only once get the fuck out of my house both of you and Mia if you ever I mean ever try to talk to me again I will literally punch you in the face so hard i'll knock your teeth out. I told you once that if you even kissed my boyfriend again you would get hit and Chris you promised me you weren't like the others so just leave"

Your sister walked over to you and smiled, "see you at the family reunion sis" you smacked her across the face as she shed a tear "fuck off you stupid bitch" she ran out of your house crying as Chris came up to you.

"She kissed me" you rolled your eyes as you walked up the stairs and he followed me "i didn't mean for this to happen" you picked up some of the clothes he left here and you threw them at him "i never want to see you again" he looked at me as you were now crying.

He tried to hug you as you put my hand on his chest and pushed him away "I didn't mean this, i never want to hurt you Im sorry" you grabbed his hand and put the engagement ring he gave you in it " I forgive you but I don't give cheaters second chances not even the ones i was hoping to have great future with" he cried as he took the ring back.

you gave him one last kiss "I love you Ayla" you cried "I love you too Chris but leave before i hit you" He picked up his clothes and bag as he left.

Two Weeks Later.

You sat in the bathroom on the toilet "Ayla hurry up or let me in" you rolled your eyes as you let Nick in "how much longer" you looked down at your timer "a few seconds"

As the timer went off you reached for the pregnancy test and began crying "I'm pregnant" Nick pulled me into his chest.

The guy I'm having a baby with cheated on me with my sister holy fuck "you have to tell him" you shook my head no " I cant no I swore to myself I would never ever see him again" Nick looked at me

"This now comes down to this baby" you rolled my eyes as you sat back down on the closed toilet seat, "fine your right and ill tell him but ill tell him when I'm ready" Nick nodded as he got a call "speak of the devil" you laughed as he picked up the phone.

"Yes Chris" Chris always talked loud on the phone "are you at Ayla's" Nick didn't say anything and you shook my head no "Im just running around town doing a few things ill be back at the house soon" Chris let out a sigh "tell her I'm sorry, I love her and that I miss her" Nick also let out a sigh as you felt a tear go down my cheek.

"Sorry isn't going to cut it Chris, you were supposed to be different you know that and that's all you wanted to be to her was the guy she married because you didn't cheat on her" you heard Chris and it sounded like he was crying "I know and I hope she finds that guy because I love her enough to know that she should be happy with whoever treats her better than me anyway hm.. matt said you need to hurry the um youtube video cant record itself"

"ill be there in 15" Nick hung up and hugged you "you need to tell him soon and I have to go but I love you Ayla" you nodded as you pulled away from the hug " I will love you too"

you sat on your bed and cried your eyes out, the next day you got out of bed and went to work.

"Good morning Ayla" you smiled at my boss "can we talk in your office please" she looked at you weirdly "Yes i hope you arent quitting on me" you laughed as you sat down in the chair in front of her desk and she sat in front of you.

"I'm pregnant" she smiled "congratulations, I hope you and Chris are very happy" You looked sad for a minute "Chris and I are no longer together anyway don't want to bore you I just wanted to tell you so you have a heads up"

Eight Months Later

My beautiful son, Cooper was born

6 pounds 8 ounces

"Ayla" you smiled up at Nick as he looked disappointed, "I'm sorry I just couldn't how did you even know I had him" he looked at you like he was mad " because I'm still your emergency contact now you need to tell him" you shook your head no " he is too beautiful to have father excuse me a cheater of a father"

He rolled his eyes, 'im not doing this with you either you tell him or I will" you looked at him "you wouldn't" he looked at you and gave you his you wanna bet look "watch me" "Nick please understand where Im coming from on this" he rolled his eye as your boyfriend walked through the door

"Youve moved on just tell him" you shook your head no as the nurse came in with a little bed for Cooper, "he has a right to know babe" you looked up at your boyfriend.

The nurse put Cooper in her bed as you turned on your side an watched him sleep "I'm his mother and whatever i say goes, and if you don't like it then both of you can leave. Mason i am forever grateful you opened your arms for me and want to help raise Cooper but i don't need to talk Chris and Nick if you don't like it then i don't need your approval. Chris won't believe you anyway" Nick nodded.

"You're probably right but its the right thing to do and he does know how to put two and two together he will figure it out besides the worlds a small place Tessa" you rolled your eyes "Obviously he is good at putting two and two together called his lips and my sister" Nick let out a chuckle "he knows you didn't forgive him like you told him you did" you shook my head

"Who would"

Three Years Later

You smiled down at Cooper as he was eating his ice cream "mommy wheres my dad" you got sad for a moment as you lifted him on your lap "Your dad huh? Have I never told you about him" he shook his head no. "Okay how about we go home and ill tell you all about your dad" he got happy as we walked towards our new apartment. Mason had left you, he found a girl who didn't have a child with a new man "tell me about him mommy" you put him on the counter as you sat in front of him

"Well sweetie, you have his eyes and his smile. Your dad was a very sweet person, he would stop and give homeless people what money he had in his pocket or in his wallet." he smiled and laughed " he was the nicest man I ever knew but honey your dad did something to mom that ruined us and I don't think you will understand till your older why he isn't around" he got sad.

"will i ever meet dad" you shrugged "do you want to?" he thought about it " I do" you nodded "maybe one day" he nodded and hugged you "I love you mom but I tired" you laughed as you put him down for a nap, texting Nick.

Nick: coming over in ten

Ayla: just put Cooper down for a nap

Nick: do you mind if Matt and Chris come?

Ayla: tell them not to be loud this time, Cooper still is mad at you uncle Nick

Nick: i told him I'm sorry and bought him ice cream

Ayla; we get ice cream every other day, anyway ill see you in then

Nick rang the doorbell as you went and got it you hugged him and Matt and stopped when you saw him standing right behind Matt "no" Nick looked at me " Just talk to him" "i told you i cant and i wont"

you opened the door for all of them to come in even Chris... "just talk to him please" you gave Nick the death glare "i can leave if you want i understand, i tried to stay back" you shook my head no.

"i guess it is time to talk um.. lets go out to the balcony Nick you know whats going on upstairs so keep it down" he nodded as you and Chris walked out to the balcony.

"Look I'm sorry i don't even know why the guys wanted me here so badly" you rolled my eyes "Chris i think its because, something happened and i know you might be a little pissed at me for it but i think you will get over it" he looked at you and just by looking at him you knew he was hurting.

"You didn't cheat on me before did you" you shook my head, "no sadly you still own that title" you looked down and stopped at his necklace which had your old engagement ring on it, he looked towards where you was looking " sorry it just reminds me that i should stop being such a fuck up"

You nodded "its fine" there was a knock at the door and looked to see Matt holding Cooper "sorry he ran down crying" You took him out of his hands and rocked him in your arms. Chris looked down then back up as Matt walked away closing the door.

"Can i ask a question" you nodded as Cooper just looked at Chris, " is he yours" you nodded as you smiled down at Cooper and your tear up " he turned three today" he looked up as you started crying and Cooper hugged me.

"it's okay mommy, i not get old" you laughed as you opened the door "go play with uncle Matt me and Chris have to talk" he nodded as he ran and jumped into Matt's arms.

"He's" you cut him off "yes he is, i found out after i told you to leave and was debating about telling you but you hurt me a lot Chris and i let that hate get the best of me."

He nodded "i understand but i want to be a part of my son's life" you nodded "no of course" he smiled but that soon faded. "i need to tell you something" you looked up to him "what" "i never wanted to kiss your sister she just kind of jumped on me when you walked through the door and I'm sorry i hurt you " you smiled. "She told me everything that happened and i know you didn't want to kiss her" you stood up and opened the door " Cooper come here i have somebody you've been wanting to meet" he ran towards the door screaming "Cookie monster" you laughed as Nick did too along with Chris.

"No, baby" you grabbed him and you shut the door "who then" he sat down and looked and Chris waved as he waved back and cried a little. "its okay, I'm sorry i call you cookie monster" you laughed as you turned Cooper around in your lap so he was sitting sideways

"Remember who you asked me about before you took your nap" he smiled "dad" Chris stood up wiping his tears then sitting back down. "well this is your dad" he smiled as he got off of your lap and hugged him "hi dad" he let a few tears fall as he picked him up.

"Hi Cooper, I'm sorry i wasn't around but i am now okay" he nodded as he cuddled into him " mommy said you hurt her but what uncle Nick and uncle m't were saying mommy hasn't been smiling that much since i was born" you gave the boys a look through the window" "oh did they now"

You said as Cooper nodded his head " well i hope mommy finds her happiness soon" Cooper smiled as he hugged Chris again "Thank you Ayla" you smiled. "Im sorry i didn't tell you when she was born or when i was pregnant"

He nodded "at least you told me now"

Taglist

@adirtylittleheart @mintsturniolo @wh0resstuff

#sturniolo imagine #sturniolo triplets x reader #matt sturniolo #chris x reader #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo

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ninyard · 1 day

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🦮 the be with me one please????? I need to suffer and imagine a timeline where jean did leave with Kevin and no throat was sliced on the way out

Jean couldn’t look.

It was terrible - as Kevin cried, and pleaded for help, this was finally the injury that convinced him to look away. The churning of his stomach and the retch that threatened to leave his throat was involuntary at the sight of blood and bone and was it just skin that protruded out of the incoherent mess of a wound, or was it muscle? The way Kevin’s fingers bent unnaturally as his hand lay on the tile floor, limp and lifeless, left Jean feeling guilty that he didn’t immediately bend down to his aid when Riko had finally left the room.

“Jean,” Kevin forced his eyes back his direction with pleading, weak French. “Hurry.”

Jean sealed his lips together tight like a vice as he took in what he was looking at. He could still hear Riko’s yelling and Kevin’s cries ringing in his ears like it were playing like music in his ears. The angry Japanese, the begging English, the desperate French. Pushing down his discomfort, Jean knelt down at Kevin’s level, took the t-shirt from his own back to stop the blood, but paused inches away from the wound.

“You have to go to the hospital,” Jean said, like it wasn’t obvious, like it was an option. “I can’t save your hand with a t-shirt.”

Kevin gritted his teeth and used his other hand to force contact between the fabric and the bleeding. The cry he let out was a disgusting sound of anguish, and pain he had not felt before.

“We have to leave.”

Jean had to look away to gag as he lifted up his hand to wrap the already wet fabric around it. Partly because of how nauseous he felt seeing Kevin’s playing hand destroyed and unsalvageable, partly because of the guttural yells that Kevin let out as he worked.

“I’ll drive you,” Jean offered, knowing he would be beaten for it on his return. Kevin’s deep breaths blew a mixture of snot and saliva onto the floor. “But you will lose this hand if you don’t get help.”

“Take me to David,” He spat. “Get me out of here.”

Jean didn’t know what to say as Kevin made a failed attempt to push himself up off the floor. All he could do was stare at him and hope that he’d heard him wrong.

“Are you crazy?” He hissed in English, hoping it was a mistranslation on Kevin’s part.

It took Kevin far too long to get to his feet, only stopping once to retch so hard the noise that came out of his mouth was more like a scream. Horrid sounds echoed against the walls of the locker room, sounds of pain he’d never heard from Kevin. Riko had beaten those sounds out of him years ago; Kevin learned to be quiet far earlier than Jean did. Now, under no watchful eye of the king, he couldn’t help the groans and whimpers as he cradled his hand. Jean watched as he blinked the dizziness out of his eyes, and looked around to find something else to wrap his hand in.

“I can’t stay,” Jean caught him when he took a shaky step forwards and nearly stumbled, thrown off balance as he moved. “Take me, or I drive myself,” he only paused for a moment before adding, “Please. I’ll keep you safe.”

“With one fucking hand and what army?” Jean didn’t mean to say it so full of rage and vitriol, but perhaps it was Kevin’s delusion that angered him. For he thought it was so simple; a matter of safety and leaving, and not that they would last no longer than a week away from the nest without being brought back kicking and screaming.

“Fine,” Kevin looked him deep in the eyes, so sincerely that Jean was sure he could read his soul and feel the fear that bubbled in his stomach. “Stay here. But he’ll kill you when he finds out I’m gone.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Jean laughed in his face, and Kevin’s eyebrows screwed up, half in pain, half in desperation. “You are not leaving.”

“So come with me, then.” Kevin begged, his words in French again, knowing exactly what he was doing to Jean by pleading in his native tongue. “Please. I’ll take my car.”

“You’re planning on driving like that? Are you suicidal?”

Kevin stood up as straight as he could, and Jean saw that look of desperation beneath the layers of sweat and blood splashed across his cheeks.

“I’d sooner kill myself on my own terms than by whatever the consequences for this will be.” He used the collar of his T-shirt to wipe his face. Even on the black fabric, wet crimson stood out, shiny in the dim light. He started to say something, perhaps something profound and convincing, but instead all that came out of his mouth was a dazed mumble that sounded like, “You know you won’t survive it if you stay.”

“And so I deserve to die for the sake of your freedom?” Jean stood in his way, and Kevin didn’t have the energy to move him. “You’ll be slitting my throat before the door even closes behind you.”

“You deserve to live,” Kevin said. “You have one chance, Jean. Fucking take it.”

“How can you do this to me?” He wanted to hit and punch and scream at Kevin for being so stupid; even with his blood dripping onto the tiles below. But in a few minutes he would go into shock, or Riko would be back, or all these fighting words that blurred his senses would be lost by the crushing weight of what he was actually suggesting. “How can you even… do you really believe yourself, Kevin? There is no answer waiting for you outside of those gates. And what will David do, hmm? Tuck his son into bed and kiss what’s left of his hand goodnight? You will not live happily ever after in South Carolina.”

He didn’t answer. Jean’s words were steeped in truth, and he knew that.

“There’s a sweater in my locker,” Kevin whispered, and nodded towards Jean’s bare chest with a heavy-hooded blink. “I can’t stay here.”

“And what about me? My family?”

“We can figure it out when we get there.”

“Will you play for them?” Jean asked, like an answer would be admitting defeat, like he would regard Kevin as nothing more than worthless trash if he nodded a yes. How far he will have fallen, only to never be capable of reaching the top again. That was the reality of going to Palmetto State, but that didn’t seem to bother Kevin at all.

Kevin looked at him and sighed, his pained expression as convincing as any words that could’ve left his lips.

“Seven minutes,” he said, and Jean almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all. “I’ll wait in my car for seven minutes, and then I’ll leave with or without you.”

“You’re being selfish.”

“Either you come or you don’t.” He continued. “This is your out. I need you.”

Jean let him struggle towards the door before scoffing as he reached for the handle.

“The King will not be happy without his court,” He said, and Kevin didn’t turn around. “He won’t let us both go quietly.”

Kevin winced as he tightened the fabric around his hand, took a deep breath with his head resting against the door frame, before pulling it open. It slammed behind him with a harrowing thud. The panic set it quickly, then. This was happening, this couldn’t be happening, how can I stop this from happening? Then like a vision he saw it; Riko returning to the scene of his crime to find Jean alone. Jean could feel his skull cracked on tile, his bones shattered like he’d done to Kevin. He was running out of time. Be killed by Riko’s hand now, or by the families hand later, for his disobedience, for his disappearance. For aiding and abetting the escape of their most loved, their most precious. Jean would be surprised if either of them would actually make it to the gates.

Jean had to make a decision.

It wasn’t until he’d put his foot down on the highway that he realised what a mistake they were making, the smell of blood and sweat thick in the air of the car. On their way to certain death, Jean thought, as Kevin flickered between consciousness and sleep in the seat beside him.

#I won’t write it I won’t write it I won’t write it #sitting here picturing the 220k word 20 chapter fic with a sequel and a movie #mine

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heathersdesk · 1 day

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One of my favorite follows on TikTok is Reverend Oliver, a trans pastor in West Virginia whose whole thing is trying to teach leftist people how to shed their worst impulses and inclinations to be better members of their communities. He is a firm advocate for genuine connection, leftist cooperation and community building with those on the right, and the kind of activism that is truly transformative and leaves no one behind.

He made a post, in an ongoing conversation about ways for leftists to identify opportunities to connect with their larger communities, that listed some of the fronts where leftists need to consider society's unmet needs. He included child care and elder care on that list. He also included addiction recovery resources.

Seeing an opportunity for the kind of interfaith connection he's always talking about, I pointed out that the LDS Church has free addiction recovery programs that anyone in the public is invited to attend, regardless of religious affiliation. And unlike other resources like the bishop's storehouse, no interaction with ecclesiastical leadership is necessary or expected. You can just show up, get support, and leave without any expectation of obligation, financial or otherwise, to our church. And honestly, a healthy dose of reality for the program from voices outside of our own community might temper some of the attitudes in our own community about pornography and compulsive masturbation being equivalent to an addiction.

So tell me why a random ex-Mormon took it upon themselves to begin an argument with me in Rev. Oliver's comments about the LDS Church leadership and past animosity towards queer people, that it isn't a safe space for them, that all queer people are forced into conversion therapy (which is false), and people show up in ARP with things that aren't even addictions.

Even after I told that person I'm queer affirming, that I believe these are things the Church can and does need to change, that I have actively been working on those improvements through my church membership since Prop 8, they just kept going. I became the dumpster for their unresolved anger towards the institution, even though I'm a total stranger and have nothing to do with anything they were complaining about. I have never put any queer people into conversion therapy and never would. I'm not Dallin H. Oaks and never tortured queer people at BYU. I think the Church has many sins it needs to answer for in relation to its treatment of queer people. At no point did I disagree or argue against anything that was true. For all intents and purposes, this person and I probably agree about a lot of things.

So why were they still attacking me? I'm actively trying to improve what upsets them without invalidating any of their feelings, and they're still upset with me. Why? What more do they want from me?

I find myself in this position with ex-Mormons all the time. With a tenure on Mormon Twitter that went from 2009-2023, I've seen every form and progression of ex-Mormon sentiment that could ever possibly exist. Especially because I left the Church for a time and did so with heartbreaks of my own. They don't know this when they approach me because they have no idea who I am, and I don't expect them to. But the irony is never lost on me that we could honestly be besties if they would shut and stop making assumptions about me long enough to hear what I'm saying.

And I mean that with my whole chest, and with all the self-recrimination that comes with it: ex-Mormons engage people in fights when they have no intentions of listening, achieving understanding, or engaging in constructive resolution with anyone in relation to the Church. They use people for emotional catharsis, and that's all they want from these interactions. I'm just supposed to sit there and take it. That's what they want. That's what they expect. And when I refuse to engage in the process as a receptacle for their disregulated emotions and the shame they want to make me feel, they get mad at me for not giving them what they wanted from me.

They don't see me as a person. They don't respect me or the work I do. They don't actually want to see the Church grow or improve beyond the ways it hurt them in the past because it means the Church and its people were always capable of doing that, just not for them. And they aren't prepared to feel or confront any of that, emotionally or spiritually. All they've ever wanted is a real apology and real change, but when it happens—when someone from the Church genuinely apologizes to them and tells them they deserved better, as I always do—it's not emotionally satisfying at all. The skies don't part, angels don't sing, and they don't feel any better.

It's like that scene from Malcolm in the Middle where Lois finally apologizes to Francis for being abusive to him when he's not expecting it, he freaks out because he had built up what that apology would look like and what it would accomplish in his mind, and he gets mad at Lois for ruining the fantasy in his mind. She doesn't know what to do, so she asks him if $20 would help. He takes the money in a state of confusion, but clearly still doesn't feel any better because it also doesn't help.

So I'm going to say the same thing here that I did there, for when this inevitably happens here: I'm not going to apologize for trying to make the Church a better, safer place for everyone. I'm not going to apologize for my association with the institutional Church, despite its failures and imperfections. I have made peace with my place here, the good I do, the impact I have, and the changes I am making. This is my church too, and despite what people think, there's room for me here. And as long as I'm here, the Church is a better and safer place for marginalized people because I've committed to making it that way. I don't expect anyone to stay when it's safest and healthiest for them to go, but I'm not going to join them. I already tried that and it was a waste of time for me.

If someone decides to place the validation of their choice to leave the Church on my refusal to go with them, that's not my problem. I don't owe anyone that. And their choice to do that doesn't entitle them to use me as an emotional jizz tissue for their anger at (and grief for) the institutional Church and other people in it I've never even met. Put it in a journal or take it to a therapist you pay for. Don't hand it to me, then get offended when I hand it back to you. It's not mine. If you don't want the nasty end results of your emotional outburst, what makes you think I do?

All of this to say to ex-Mormon folks who do this: have some self-reflection. Do you do this to people? Is it healthy? Does it accomplish any of your goals? Is it helping you to become the person you envisioned you would be when you left the Church? Have you fully formed in your mind who that person is? Have you fully and appropriately grieved for everyone and everything you lost? If not, what impact is that choice having on the rest of your life? And should you be doing something about it instead of arguing with me?

Again, don't tell me. Put it in a journal. Tell a therapist. Or, even better, tell the person who actually hurt you. Because telling me isn't going to make you feel better. And you may not realize this yet, but it's tremendously difficult to be me, too. I'm the one telling your parents, siblings, grandparents, friends, neighbors, classmates, colleagues, co-workers, and other people in your life at Church that they need to treat you better—how to do it and what it looks like. You need me. What I do is important. It's also exhausting. And if you use up all of my energy in an argument with you, how am I going to do it? Do you think about that? Do you think about what it costs me to be the person you've already decided it's too exhausting for you to be?

I say this with all the love and encouragement I have: either help me or get out of my way. But don't make my job harder. Why would you do that? It doesn't serve you, me, or anyone else. It just makes you look bitter, makes me less effective at creating the changes you want, and all Mormons (former and current) look like we don't have our shit together. Because this isn't new. Every religious tradition on this planet has had to struggle and figure out how to create space for marginalized people. Every branch of Christianity has had to figure out their relationship to their own queer people, to stop actively hurting them and to embrace them instead. You're a part of this transition, even once you leave, by whether or not you perpetuate this animosity with people who stay. We all have to put down our weapons. The fighting will continue as long as anyone anywhere is still throwing punches.

If you're an ex-Mormon, be the best one there is. Be unbothered and totally disengaged from the Church and its problems. Create the life of your dreams with nothing from the past in it, if that's what you need. When the people in your life direct coercion and manipulation at you in relation to your spirituality and church disaffiliation, return to sender. Be so busy being your own best self, you don't have time for any of this.

That's what you deserve. That's what I want for you. That's what many in the Church who stay want for you, because we're not all selfish pricks who get our jollies from forced homogeneity and making people suffer. That's not even the majority of us. It's the people you're actually mad at. Stop treating us like we're all guilty by association. Have the courage to put the dog turd of your displeasure on their porch where it belongs, not mine.

#ex mormon #exmormon #exmo stuff #mormon #lds #mormonism #tumblrstake #the church of jesus christ of latter day saints #queerstake

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death-limes · 3 days

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Say, which characters in HB and HH do you hate the most character wise and then design wise

OHHH MAN i could write an entire video essay about this topic lmao, let me try to be as brief as possible

~~~

Hazbin - Worst Character: This one's hard, there are a few characters who probably suck but I just don't know that much about them. But based on what I know now, honestly…? Charlie. Coinsidering that… I think Faustisse?… confirmed that she's over 200 years old, the sheer level of naivete on her part is just annoying and unbelievable. She's over twice as old as Alastor, she should not be swayed so easily by him. As far as I'm aware she's not in a Disney Princess situation where she was shut inside the castle walls her entire life (PLEASE correct me if I'm wrong on that though) so there's no reason why she shouldn't be at least a little savvy to the ways of sinner demons. She should also have been able to see the VERY OBVIOUS SIGNS that Vaggie used to be an exorcist. Even Carmilla comments that it's super fuckin obvious; the Princess of Hell herself should be knowledgeable enough to pick up on hints that even the fandom picked up on when it was just the pilot. Overall, Charlie just comes across as kinda stupid imo. I don't find myself rooting for her at all.

Hazbin - Worst Design: Alastor. I know he may not necessarily look the worst, and I do in fact simp for him, but his design does absolutely NOTHING that a character design is supposed to do. Namely, it doesn't tell us anything about him & it doesn't help him stand out from the cast. Nothing about his design is uniquely 1930s (nobody wore their hair like that, pinstripe suits started in the 1800s and continue to be popular today, monocles were more of an 1800s thing and were considered old-fashioned by the 30s) or deer-esque (his ears really do not look like dear ears at all, and his "antlers" are just microscopic salad forks that don't even show up on his silhouette). The whole Voodoo thing, aside from being super disrespectful to a literal religion that is still actively practiced, is also so inconsequential to his character that it can be removed entirely and change NOTHING about him. Any of his traits that are in line with the Voodoo thing can still exist without it -- him being a trickster and a dealmaker, mostly. All the blacklight stuff doesn't match his aesthetic at all: in Princess and the Frog where everything was 1920s it gave a magic effect, but in Hazbin where all different time periods comingle it just gives a raver effect, which doesn't fit his anti-modern preferences at all. Also the living-shadow thing is yet another direct ripoff from Dr. Facilier (that might just be in the pilot though I'm not sure), I think the living microphone is a better route to take if you want him to have a spiritual companion type of thing; it's more relevant to his theming and more original. And of course none of this even touches on the "he's half-black" bullshit excuse that only came after V*v received backlash about the Voodoo thing. And it doesn't even solve the issue anyway. A mixed-race man from the 1930s would make for a very interesting character IF that unique experience/identity was actually integrated into his character in any noticeable way, but it's not. It was just slapped on at the last minute. Ugh. I could write an entire essay about Alastor alone tbh.

Helluva - Worst Character: Fizzarolli, but mostly when he was first introduced. Aesthetically he's the closest thing that I have to a "blorbo" in this show, but in the Ozzie's episode he just gave me the most rancid vibes ever. Definitely a "asexuality doesn't exist, you just haven't been with ME yet~" type of person. Admittedly that's more of a personal preference thing and less of a poor characterization; they're in the Lust ring, that type of attitude is kind of expected. What IS poor characterization, however, is his "development" later on when he and Ozzie basically get their own arc. His entire personality changes to be much softer and like…. idk, very obviously a trauma VICTIM and not so much of a potential trauma CAUSER? His character is not nearly as abrasive, but there's no corresponding event that would cause such a change. It just seems like now that he's supposed to be a sympathetic character, they changed his personality to be more appealing. He's not nearly as mean and rude as he used to be. Ozzie has a similar thing going on but it's not quiiiiite as severe, and he's saved from being the Worst by having a far more interesting and unique design. (If you had asked who I think has the BEST design in Helluva, I'd probably say Ozzie.)

Helluva - Worst Design: Beelzebub, no contest. A lot of people seemed to have a problem with her being bee-themed instead of fly-themed like the real Beelzebub in demonology, but that honestly doesn't bother me; I'm not expecting any Hellaverse stuff to be super accurate to The Real Lore so any tiny reference they can slip in (like with Ozzie's design) is just gravy. To me, bee and fly are close enough, I think it counts as a reference. Plus, the bee theme goes well with Gluttony ("nectar" is a common synonym for delicious food) and calling her Queen Bee is an easy way to make her name more appealing/sexy than, yknow. "Beelzebub." What DOES bother me is her canine aspect. Why is she a sparkledog? What is the logic behind that? Why isn't she huge-by-default like Ozzie and Mammon? (You'd think GLUTTONY of all sins would be a big character!) It really just feels like V*v wanted Ke$ha to have a cameo role as a major character and just arbitrarily picked one of the sins for her to be. So the character design has Ke$ha in mind faaaaar more than it has Beelzebub in mind. ***(Funny thing about Queen Bee: for a solid week after her episode came out, I was actually fooled by this page from an RP wiki: [https://hazbin-hotel-and-helluva-boss-rp.fandom.com/wiki/Beelzebub] The explanation that I'd gleaned for this version of her is that the picture shown is the REAL Beelzebub, and the one we see in the show is her daughter by the lord of Hellhounds, Cerberus, which explains her canine features. Queen Bee Jr. is the heiress to her mom's title in the same way Charlie is the heiress to Lucifer's title. The picture shown on that page is just SUCH a better design, and it looks like the show's style, and she seems to be a giant like Ozzie and Mammon…. can you blame me for being like "OH that makes sense!!" Cut to me a week later finding out this is just a fan RP wiki. Siiiigh.)

#hazbin hotel critical #helluva boss critical #vivziepop critical #reply #anon #anonymous #yknow i think the jester girls might actually be as bad as beelz too #forget their names but they sing im a klown???#i just. idk it feels like an insult to the whole concept of being a clown #like 'edgy sexy clowns' just feels Ugh

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frvnkcastles · 3 days

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FILL THE VOID ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: Struggling with BPD, you’re determined to not get attached to anyone again, but that quickly changes when you meet Frank.

Warnings: BPD, suicide ideation, language, hurt/comfort

Word count: 2.4k

Author’s note: Long time no see :) I’ve talked about this before but in addition to C-PTSD, I also struggle with borderline personality and I’ve started to talk about it with my therapist and it’s bringing up some feelings. Sooo I obviously had to write about it and insert Frank into the scenario to make myself feel better. I hope this resonates with someone else as well! <3

You had sworn to yourself you weren’t going to fall for anyone else ever again. You weren’t going to let anyone in, wouldn’t allow anyone to get close to you and unravel you and all your baggage. It was simply too much, bound to end in pain and abandonment and you couldn’t put yourself through that cycle for the millionth time.

Obviously, when you met Frank, he made that plan plenty hard to put into action. He was too charming for his own good, and he didn’t even know it. Really, he wasn’t looking for anything romantic and he certainly didn’t mean to sweep you off of your feet, yet he ended up doing exactly like that.

You were an idiot to think you wouldn’t get attached in one night. That was all it was supposed to be — just two strangers in your preferred albeit dingy bar, having a drink and chatting for the hell of it. You couldn’t deny that he was easy on the eyes, and little did you know, he thought about the same about you, but getting to know him more was what did the final nail in the coffin. You had your history of impulsive hook-ups, but you were really trying your best to ditch that unsafe habit. Somehow, connecting beyond the physical level was worse.

Your first mistake was asking his name. ”Frank”, he uttered out with that gravelly tone you were enjoying all too much, not bothering to do the whole handshake routine as he gulped down a swig of his beer and then looked over to you expectantly. You introduced yourself in return, but your mind was already wondering what Frank entailed, what kind of man you were on the cusp of learning about, and the curiosity was driving you crazy.

”So, who exactly is Frank Castle?” you queried, resting your jaw against your hand as you admired the man who started to look more and more delicious under the yellowy lights of the bar. He had a prickly stubble adorning his jawline and his hair was growing gloriously on the top, and there was something enchanting about his wide nose and the way he scrunched it up every single time he took a sip of his drink.

”Uhh…” He seemed reluctant to talk about his history, and you supposed you did come off a little strong. That should have been your sign to back off and be glad you dodged a bullet, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

”Sorry, don’t mean to pry”, you chuckled awkwardly, wiping your hair away from your face and looking down at your hands to avoid his stare.

”Nah, it’s alright”, he was quick to reassure you, something about the soft tone setting your soul alight as you looked back up at him. ”Just… ain’t a very happy story to share, y’know? Don’t wanna dampen the mood”, he continued, and you nodded in understanding before breaking into a teasing smile.

”And what mood is that?” you wondered before wetting your lips, and taking note of the sweep of your tongue, Frank once again found himself speechless before managing a chuckle, one that sounded almost nervous.

”I dunno, you tell me. ’M just enjoyin’ the company of a pretty lady right now”, he shrugged. Again, he hadn’t been looking for anything romantic, but he couldn’t deny being drawn to you already, and lately, he had challenged himself to put himself out there more. He would always miss his wife, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to find company in someone else after mourning her for years.

The compliment went straight to your head, feeding your already developing attachment. And before you knew it, you were exchanging numbers, an euphoric soar lifting your heart and undeniable excitement pounding at your ribcage with force necessary to break through. You were already being pulled in too deep to writhe away, and there was not a thing you could do to stop yourself from heading down that same path you had trodden so many times before.

When you finally called it a night, Frank, ever the gentleman, walked you to your apartment. And as you reached the front door, you swallowed thickly, knowing very well what was going through both of your minds. In fact, it was as if Frank had read yours.

”Hey, we can just say goodbye for now. No pressure”, he reminded, his hands deep in his pockets as he gave you a sincere look, insisting that he meant every word. You nodded carefully, tearing your gaze from his handsome face, knowing every second you spent looking at his impossibly deep eyes or full lips would only weaken your resolve more and more.

”Don’t get me wrong, I… I want to. But I really shouldn’t, I—I kind of have a bad habit of sleeping on the first date when I don’t even know the person that well and it usually backfires”, you explained shyly, rubbing the back of your neck and finally bringing your eyes back to him, finding a faint smile on his lips.

”I understand, sweetheart”, he promised, giving you a curt nod before taking a step back, ready to leave. Before he did, though, he gave you a look. ”Just so we’re clear, though… that wasn’t a first date. I’mma do it right whenever you have time for me”, he insisted, flashing a grin at you before turning on his heel and walking away, not even giving you time to process.

As you got inside your apartment and sealed the door behind you, an indestructible smile took over your features. So much for not getting attached.

At first, you were able to keep your behavior in check and Frank was none the wiser to your past issues, apart from the small tidbits you offered in return when he finally opened up about his family. He took you on dates, some of them with a great effort put into them, but some of them more lowkey which felt more like Frank. You were perfectly content having wine on the rooftop of his apartment building or sharing a pizza while watching cheesy action on his couch — you were just happy to bask in his company. He seemed perfect, like he could do no wrong, and even when he admitted to his vigilante activities, you saw no fault in him. To you, he was flawless, and you adored him.

But slowly, through the cracks in your facade, the problems you had feared were beginning to show.

It started when he ran into trouble with some criminals he had been after. His mood became irritated and stressed, and you took it to heart. Your own mood soured and you tried your best to help him, unable to stop thinking about him and how he was struggling, your mind in a vicious loop as you sat in the bad feeling. A few days later, he was feeling better, and you instantly felt rejuvenated and alive again, and when the inevitable disappointment came around once more, you couldn’t breathe.

The biggest downside, however, was him putting distance between you and him to avoid you getting caught in all his problems. And distance was not something you handled well. You didn’t know how to communicate it to him, either, so instead, you were left alone in an evil downward spiral.

You messaged. You called. You cried and you begged and pleaded for an answer and reassurance that he still cared about you. It was embarrassing and you felt so vulnerable and hurt that it was almost impossible to bear. You tried so hard to be rational and understand that he was probably in a lot of trouble and danger and he’d pay attention to you as soon as he could, but the wait was killing you. It felt like you were starving without him, like your emotions were bleeding and you didn’t have the tools to stop the flow. You were suffering and it was a pain only he could alleviate.

Eventually, one night, there was a knock on your door and you flew up from the couch where you had been reading over your and Frank’s text messages again and again. Without even bothering to check through the peephole, you swung the door open, and at the sight of Frank, you felt healed. You threw yourself in his arms, hugging him tightly and clinging on for dear life, with your eyes squeezed shut and your face buried into his chest.

”Hey, sweetheart”, he whispered, wrapping his arms around you as he walked into the apartment with a gentle nudge to push you along. He kicked the door shut and carefully pried you off of him, only so he could look into your eyes. ”I’m real sorry I haven’t gotten back to you. Been dealin’ with some scumbags for the past couple of days and it’s been… rough. But I shoulda called you back. That’s on me”, he apologized, a sad look in his eyes as he stared down at you.

”It’s okay”, you breathed out with a smile, ”you’re here now. That’s all that matters.” Just like that, it was like nothing had ever happened, all the pain forgotten now that you were finally back in his embrace. It was so easy to doubt his feelings for you when he was gone, like they ceased to exist when he wasn’t around to prove his affection every second, but now that he was back… you were over the moon.

But the worst was yet to come.

”Yeah, about that, sweetheart…”, he started, and in an instant, your heart sank. ”I… I ain’t here to stay. I gotta get out of town for a while. I got these guys after me…”, he explained, but as he went on, the words didn’t register. All you heard was that he was leaving and that was enough to break you.

Tears welled up in your eyes and you grabbed ahold of Frank’s arm. ”Don’t leave me, please”, you whispered, ”you can’t leave me. Please, Frank.” His heart broke at the sight of you crying, and he reached for your cheek to wipe the tears away with his thumb, but the soft gesture did nothing to comfort your breaking heart.

”I’m sorry, sweet girl, I am”, he spoke, and quietly, he leaned in to kiss your forehead. As his lips collided with your hot skin, you closed your eyes and tightened your hold on his arm, but it didn’t deter him.

Gently but firmly, he undid your grip from him and left. The apartment became painfully quiet, but only for a while, as your loud sobs soon enough broke the peace. You fell to your knees, clawing on your chest as you wept and grieved what felt like a monumental loss.

It was the beginning of the end, you thought. You quickly lost the will to get up in the mornings, to eat, to sleep. In fact, you could no longer see the point in living, at all. You contemplated just putting an end to your miserable existence, feeling not only griefstricken but so goddamn humiliated. You had let yourself get caught up in it again, had let someone in and as always, it ended with you depressed and suicidal at the bottom of your bed.

When were you going to learn?

For the first couple of days, you loathed yourself. Then, your mind started to turn against Frank. He had hurt you, had disappointed you, had hurt you. He had held your heart in his hand and he had just crushed it. How could he do that? He had to be evil. He had to be cruel. It was his fault and his alone. And yet, you would have done anything to have him back.

One week later, that was exactly what happened. There was a knock on your door again and you found the strength to get out of your bed to find out who it was, though you were only hoping for one person.

Much to your relief and delight, when you opened the door, Frank was stood there looking like a kicked puppy, his dark eyes filled with something apologetic and his hands folded in front of him like he was getting ready to beg for your forgiveness.

”Sweetheart, I—”, he began, gulping as he hesitated. ”Your friend called me. Told me everything. About… about you”, he went on, causing your eyes to widen in surprise. You didn’t know how to feel about that revelation. You supposed you had to be grateful to your friend who had visited you in your mourning, because she had brought Frank back to you, but you also felt ashamed. Like Frank saw you in a completely different light now. Surely, he was here to end it with you for good, unable and unwilling to associate with someone as troubled as yourself.

”I didn’t know me leavin’ would hurt you so deeply. I never wanna cause you any pain, baby. I… I’m fallin’ for you and I only left because it wasn’t safe, not ’cause I didn’t care for you. But I understand now that it must’ve been real bad for you when I did that”, he explained, and slowly, you nodded. You raked your fingers through your knotted hair, feeling insecure under the weight of his stare, but he found you just as beautiful as always.

”Are you here to break up with me?” you asked weakly, sniffling as you looked down at your feet. He reacted immediately, lifting your chin with his fingertip and meeting your gaze.

”No. Fuck, never. ’M here to ask you to come with me. I still have a lot to do but I want you on the road by my side. How does that sound, sweetheart?” he proposed, a hopeful smile on his lips.

You couldn’t believe your ears. But sure enough, you mirrored his smile eventually, and your heart came back to life.

”I would love to, Frank”, you sighed, breaking into tears again, this time out of happiness. He quickly pulled you into a hug, squeezing you in his arms and kissing the top of your head. And when he withdrew from you, it was only so he could meet your lips with his own in a tender but loving kiss. It was slow and deep and it took your breath away, your stomach doing backflips as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back with all your might.

There was still a lot you hadn’t revealed to him, but it was the first time someone had seen you at your lowest and accepted it, welcomed it, and for that, you had a feeling that Frank could really, truly, genuinely be the one.

#frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader

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