#so i will continue drawing her in that lesson

[emily-escott]

Jedi Master Lene Kostana

I’ll admit, the format of Dooku: Jedi Lost was really hard for me to engage with. Because it reads like a script, it felt to me like all the characters were going 😐 at each other the whole time. I know I probably should have listened to it to get the full effect, but I have a really hard time locking in for audiobooks, even if it’s a whole production ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it’s one of my flaws. But anyway! Lene is so fascinating to me because she really is cut from the same disaster cloth as Yoda’s lineage. Almost every decision she made had me going “why would you do that” or “thats just going to make things worse” but we really do love to watch someone who’s technically not wrong about the fate of the galaxy continuously make questionable choices that harm the ones they care for and undermine their reputation with the Council. It’s an age-old tradition.

Here’s my headcanons for her -

- After getting to know Thame Cerulian through their shared interest in the Sith, she initially viewed him as an irritating, pseudo-intellectual bother. His belief that the Sith could return comes more from a place of (by her estimation) frivolous academic conjecture rather than actionable concern. However, when he’s offered a seat on the High Council, she realizes it could be advantageous to involve him in her research. He is incredibly knowledgeable, and as long as she puts up with him, he can intercept most of the prying questions from the Council. (To be clear, I don’t ship these two - Thame likes guys)

- She watches as Dooku, Sifo, and Jocasta all develop a big stupid crush on each other and goes out of her way to foster whatever that is. She does this largely because she thinks it’s cute, but also to confuse Thame and spite Yoda. Thame isn’t sure why these boys are always hanging out in his apartment, but he doesn’t really mind. Yoda knows exactly what’s going on, but is frankly relieved Dooku even has friends.

- While training Sifo, she quickly learns her words carry a lot of weight and anything she says could potentially end up being extremely impactful to her apprentice. This is advantageous most of the time - Sifo only needs to be told something once for the lesson to stick, and it warms her heart to see him basking in her praise, even over something small. The downside? Lene is horribly foul-mouthed, and Sifo is a sponge.

In terms of visual references, there’s obviously not much to go on. The book basically says she’s purple, she’s got a shaved head, and she has a curl of hair behind her right ear… The lil baby version of her in that one comic I haven’t read at least shows what the species looks like. @ junchan_nyan_art has a couple gorgeous drawings of younger Lene on insta, and @bolithesenate more or less captured how she looks in my mind! idk what the curl of hair behind her left ear is supposed to mean or look like. So I’m giving her a sick faux hawk. idc. I was pretty much happy with her design right off the bat, it just took a few drawings to really nail her features. What do we think, is this something?? I feel so late to the party. She’s been on my to draw list foreverrrrr but I just wasn’t getting around to reading the source material 💀 we’re really in serious blorbo territory now, this ain’t an entry level Star Wars blog anymore, if it ever was

[get-snuck-up-on]

Drawings I made of Sister Molly doing what she does best: Her job!

And click on 'Keep reading' for some new Sister Molly lore!

Sister Molly works at a park known as the "Crossnave Estate." It is a large, religious-centric estate that houses many different buildings. The name of the estate is a combination of two religious terms - cross and nave. The Crossnave Estate is a small community run by a group of nuns who take care of orphans until they are old enough to live their own lives. Here is a reference sheet of all the buildings located on the estate:

Sister Molly started working at the Crossnave Estate as a nun when she was only twenty years old. The other nuns tend to act miserably on a regular basis. This is due to the fact that the Crossnave Estate is so small and underfunded. The other nuns dislike their poor living conditions, leading them to act negatively towards each other and the orphans. But Molly is nothing like that. Unlike her sisters, Molly is a very joyful and caring individual. She does not let the negativity of the world get under her skin. Molly acts happily because she knows feeding into negativity won't do her any good, and she doesn't want her own gloomy feelings impacting the orphans she looks after.

Despite her caring nature, Sister Molly can be stern if necessary. Molly is a kind soul who will tend to whoever is in need, but she won't let others push her around. For example, if you were to mock Molly for whatever reason, Molly will simply brush it off. Empty threats and lowbrow insults have no real impact on her. But if you continuously harass her over something very specific, she won't hesitate to tell you off. As long as you're nice to Molly, she will be nice to you in return.

When Sister Molly started working at the estate, her job was to teach the orphans the ways of the lord. Lessons Molly conducted included the idea of nature vs. nurture, biblically accurate angels, what it means to forgive someone, the power of love, and not to mock someone because of their appearance. Molly would also tend to each orphan individually, hearing them out on any issues or struggles they're going through. This was Molly's job for the longest time, until a certain orphan changed up her whole life.

One day, a young girl named Linda Shepherd was given up to the estate. Unfortunately for Linda, not a single nun wanted to help her. The nuns didn't see any potential in poor Linda, as they believed she was too different from the other orphans. Sister Molly was the only nun who knew that Linda wasn't a bad seed. Molly spoke to Mother Superior about Linda's situation and asked if she could become Linda's permanent caretaker. Because Mother Superior saw how caring Molly is, she granted her request. Ever since then, Molly takes care of Linda and tends to her every need. Molly still tends to the other orphans, however. Linda just happens to be the orphan she takes care of regularly.

Along with being Linda's caretaker, Sister Molly has another job at the estate. Molly is the "Assistant to Mother Superior." This means Molly plans events, organizes meetings, checks in on all of the nuns and orphans, and makes sure the estate is in top shape. Molly was given this position because Mother Superior noticed how much of a hard worker Molly truly is. Along with that, Mother Superior saw the good in Molly, as she realized Molly is the only nun at the estate who wasn't flat-out miserable. So, Mother Superior gave Molly the position of "Assistant to Mother Superior." Mother Superior even had the other nuns clean out an old building on the estate, which was converted into an office building for Molly.

As the Assistant to Mother Superior, Sister Molly was given a blue habit to wear, opposed to a black or brown one. The blue habit Molly wears is to tell the other nuns that she is the assistant to Mother Superior. This makes it easy to identify Molly from the other nuns on the estate. Molly also wears a cross under her guimpe. The cross was given to her as a gift from Mother Superior. She gave Molly the cross as a way to say thank you for everything she's done for the estate.

Sister Molly's office doubles as her office and her living quarters. She has a bedroom in her office, meaning she doesn't have to live in the building for the other nuns. In Molly's office is a desk that she refers to as her "planning table." This is where Molly plans out how each day will unfold. She uses figurines of the nuns to pinpoint where they will be stationed throughout the day. Molly uses a staff to push each figurine around the table. When Molly is done planning, she will gather the other nuns into her office and show them how the following day will go.

Now working as Linda's permanent caretaker and the assistant to Mother Superior, Sister Molly passionately takes on both of these job titles. She deeply cares about her job and helping others find the good in themselves. No matter what happens, Molly wants to ensure that everyone at the Crossnave Estate is given the proper care they deserve. ❤️

[aviyx]

messing around in lesson

[runefactorynonsense]

Melotober - Day 9 - Jam/Jelly

Not only must there be plenty of stock- but make it look good! Organized! Colorful!

[nortonwifey]

i started rewatching ml.p:fim last night after talking about it with my classmates to relieve some nostalgia and. omg. this show is so sweet and cute 🥹 like i honestly understand why nicole and i really loved that show

[psychomusic]

okay so I've been a little sick today so i skipped uni BUT I've been wanting to know more about campbell's hero's journey and apply it to vegoia's story AND IT ALREADY FIT IN MOSTLY like. expect two things there were out of place it already lined up well??

[thewildwaffle]

Friend Shaped

The professor clacked his beak sharply three times in the front of the room. The students, around 40 individuals, and many species from across the galactic arm hushed almost immediately. “Welcome back, class. The day for your first planet-side mission to Nemulon 3 is fast approaching, and we've still got a lot of safety training to cover, so let's get started.” The professor stepped aside to allow a projection to display against the board behind him. A picture of a blue, green, and gray planet shone brightly against the dark tapestry of space. Nemulon 3 had been discovered deca-orbits ago but offered a wide variety of biomes that were the perfect blend of challenging and safe to train new recruits to the Galactic Alliance’s Exploration Fleet. “Today we're covering some alien fauna you may encounter while conducting exploratories. Most are small enough that they won't pose much of an issue, but we do have a few category 5 lifeforms that you need to be aware of.” The display behind the professor changed from an image of Nemulon 3 from orbit to a chart topped by 5 images with their respective labels: karindru, oold, dini-dini, barintuna, and great lavalen. Before the professor could start in on the next part of his lecture, a voice spoke out from the middle of the classroom.“That looks like a dog.” The professor stood with his beak half open. He was certainly not used to being interrupted, let alone this early in the lesson. “A what?” He finally choked out. There was a pause as if the offending student was thinking better about drawing more attention to themselves before slowly putting their hand up in the air. It was a human. Cadet Valentina, if the attendance role had been accurate. “I said it… it looks like a dog.” Human Valentina inhaled as if gathering the courage to say more. “They're a carnivorous canine species on earth that humans domesticated thousands of cycles ago and selectively bred to be pets.” The professor’s beak closed with a snap and some of the features near the base of his neck ruffled slightly. “Nemulon 3 is 47 light years away from Earth. Any similarities between each planet’s fauna is purely coincidental, a product of parallel evolution.” The human bowed her head and said nothing else, so the professor continued. “Now, for many of you of larger stature, a single karindru might not pose much of a threat, but their real danger comes from their numbers. They live, travel, and hunt in packs. Thankfully, their method of communicating with each other in their packs are quite loud, so you will hear them long before you see them, and hopefully, before they see you. Typically you’ll hear anything from yipping, chirping, and howling.” “Kind of like coyotes.” The professor stopped and stared at the human again, feathers ruffling once again. “Another kind of canine species back home,” Valentina offered quietly. If the professor was capable of growling, he might have been tempted to at that moment. Instead, he sighed slowly. “I can assure you, trying to get close to these will likely end with your injury or death.” “Well, that's what ancient humans thought about wolves too, but then we bred them into dogs and now they’re our best friends.” “Karindru are not, nor are any native creatures on this planet, your friend. Not now, not ever.” The professor turned sharply back to the board. The entire class was dead silent. Few even dared to breathe. It was quiet enough, in fact, to hear the human mumble under their breath, “If not friend, then why friend-shaped?”

The human was promptly given detention and assigned extra homework of writing “I will not try to domesticate any native fauna on Nemulon 3” one hundred times by hand.

[yieldtotemptation]

BLUEBERRIES ft. Chaewon

chaewon x male reader smut

9k words

"SURPRISE ATTACK!"

—is the last thing you hear before your entire world tilts sideways, the weight of your girlfriend crashing into you, sending you toppling over the arm of your chair and onto the thankfully plush carpet.

And just like that, Kim Chaewon has arrived—shattering the quiet of your apartment with the sound of her giggles and the thud of your bodies.

To her credit, she gracefully lands on top of you—legs straddling your torso, hands pressing down on your chest—pinning you to the floor, and she's grinning—all doe-eyes and mischief, her hair fanned out around her like a strawberry-blonde halo.

"Do you surrender, baby?"

You could pretend to put up a fight—push back a little, buck your hips, take her by the waist—get a little rough. But why would you? Especially when losing meant having Chaewon on top of you.

So, like always, you decide it's best to give your girlfriend exactly what she wants and you play along: enjoying the creamy thighs squeezing your sides, that collarbone peeking out of your stolen sweatshirt, those impossibly large eyes looking down at you as she makes herself comfortable—and you respond with a rather theatrical groan, "I surrender, Chae."

"Nuh uh," she corrects you, her voice dropping down a comically low octave. "It's Chaewon-rys Targar-something, Queen of Apartment 19-4, Ruler of..."

"My fridge?" You offer.

"Very funny,” Chaewon replies, bemused.

It's been weeks without this—without her—and you've barely survived. Chaewon's schedule is a merciless beast, devouring every second of her time. But here she is, now, with you—on top of you—back in your life and picking up from exactly where she left off.

“But,” she continues, “seeing as you're in the mood for jokes how about… ThisI" Chaewon turns cruel, unveiling her most brutal method of torture—tickling. She catches you off guard, shifting her weight, her hands abandoning your chest and flying to your sides, her light fingers dancing over your ribs, her nails lightly digging in just enough to make you squirm.

"Wait-wait-wait!" You try to twist your way free, but she's got you good, her fingers now inching closer to your armpits, towards your most vulnerable spots. "Mercy!" you yell, but she's just getting started— “Mercy!”

"No mercy!" She's relishing this far, far too much, all giggles and grins, delighted at your pathetic efforts to struggle out from her grasp and escape her vicious assault. Your laughter comes out in uncontrollable bursts, as you desperately try to cover your sides to protect yourself from her onslaught.

"Ok-ok-ok-I give up! You win— you win—I give up!" You cry out, your laughter morphing into wheezes as Chaewon's relentless tickling at last, mercifully subsides.

"Aha! Round 129 goes to Kim-Chae-Won!" Chaewon turns and bows to an imaginary audience, mimicking a faraway crowd chanting her name "Kim-Chae-Won! Kim-Chae-Won!"

"I have once again been defeated," you feign a dramatic sigh, drawing an even harder laugh from Chaewon as you roll your eyes to the back your head and let your tongue loll out of your mouth.

Your apparent death does little to faze Chaewon, who takes this as an opportunity to plop down on your stomach, pressing her full weight down on your chest. She props her elbows on either side of your shoulders, her chin resting on her interlocked hands. “I guess it’s time to claim my prize.”

Chaewon slides her hands upwards, her fingertips walking up your arms towards your wrists, squeezing them lightly and pulling them over your head, holding them firm against the ground.

When your eyes finally refocus, she’s hovering over you, her button nose brushing against yours, and her lips—bright pink and slightly parted—just millimeters away from your own.

You're trapped under her, but you hardly mind—she's so warm, so soft, so natural—crime would skyrocket if this was considered a form of punishment.

"Let this be a lesson," she's whispering now, very much satisfied, so close that waves of her strawberry-blonde hair spill down on either side of your face. Strands tickle your nose with the scent of her shampoo, a floral bouquet that you've come to associate with lazy Sundays and the promise of warm breakfasts in bed. "I. Always. End. On. Top."

She finishes her victory speech by stealing a kiss—as light and sweet as she is—but it’s still far, far shorter than you'd like.

That simple kiss has your mind wandering, entertaining the thought of flipping the script—of surprising her, overpowering her and turning the tables.

You could grab her, kiss her long and hard—get rid of that ludicrously oversized sweatshirt and tear off those dangerously short sweatpants. Part those lithe, never-ending legs, feel the warmth of her bare skin against yours, mark your territory on her perfect, toned thighs and each individual abdominal muscle.

But the way she's looking at you, her cheeks flushed from the exertion, her eyes sparkling with playful triumph, she's so adorable that the thought of manhandling her right now seems almost...sacrilegious.

And, let's face it, it's seeing this side of her that you love—the Chaewon that's free from the glitz and glamour of the stage, the choreography, the smiles that are painted on for the cameras. The Chaewon that is not wearing the mask of someone enjoying herself, that is actually, genuinely having a good time.

Here, in your apartment, with the curtains drawn and the outside world blocked out, she's just yours—Kim Chaewon, your girlfriend. The one who laughs at your terrible dad jokes and makes fun of your outdated sense of style, the one who can tell whether you've had a good day or not just by how heavy your feet are when you walk through the front door, the one who knows all the perfect ways to make you relax after a tough day at—

Fuck.

Work.

The word sneaks into your mind like a ninja in the night—silent, swift, and really fucking inconvenient.

Fucking work.

A bullshit spreadsheet you're supposed to be updating and a deck that needs to be finished by tomorrow morning, even though you know it won't be looked at for another month.

You don't have to say anything, Chaewon's already reading the frown lines on your face. "Oh—no-no-no. That's your—'fun time is over I have work to do'—face. I hate that face."

"There's these slides..." you know you’re fighting a losing battle, your voice trailing off as you try to hold onto the last remnants of what was once a very pleasant afternoon.

"No way—not happening," Chaewon insists, emphasising her point with a firm squeeze of your wrists. "I only just came back from Japan, and it’s been weeks. There is no way you're going to ditch the beautiful love of your life for that laptop. I'm literally on top of you right now!"

"Come on, Chae, I was almost done when you came in—"

"—when I defeated you in combat and forced you to surrender— "

"At least let me do a quick review then I swear I'm all yours," you negotiate, trying to maintain eye contact with her but failing as your gaze falls to the laptop atop your desk, the open tabs taunting you. "Five minutes, tops."

"Nope, not moving, not going anywhere, you're just going to have stay under me like this forever." Chaewon's being petulant now—this is more your fault than anything, you've been spoiling her like a princess—and while she is acting like a brat, it's a brat of your own creation.

"Chae—come on—let me up, please."

"If I let you up, you'll get into one of your 'zones' and then it'll be hours before you’re done and you’ll completely ignore me," Chaewon pouts, her nose scrunching up in a way that's both endearing and exasperating. "And I've missed you too much for that."

"I promise I won't—”

Chaewon rolls her eyes at that.

“I'm serious—just let me up."

"Oh, you're serious now, how scary."

"Five minutes, Chae—"

“Bullshit.”

“Come on, let me up.”

"Or what, what are you going to—wait—what the—wait!"

It doesn't take much effort at all—face it, she's at best a hundred pounds soaking wet—but you're already on your feet, wrists free of her dainty fingers, holding her up with just one arm and a single hand palming an ample ass cheek.

You catch your breath as you stand, and she’s still reeling as the sudden balance shifts. She’s forced to cling to you, wrapping those long, toned legs around your waist, and looping her arms around your neck, her hands grasping at the back of your head as if she's afraid you're going to drop her.

"H-how the—how did you—I had you pinned!" Chaewon squeaks out, pure disbelief colouring her voice as she clings onto you.

You leave her to work through the logic on her own, returning to your desk, righting your fallen chair, all the while still holding Chaewon like a prize you've just won at an arcade.

"Hey! Don't ignore me!" Chaewon protests, but it's too late. You've already set her down on your desk, the laptop between the two of you like a barricade. She tries to keep her limbs wrapped around you, legs around your waist—do anything she can to stop you—but you gently, quite easily, peel her off—earning another scowl from your girlfriend.

You can feel Chaewon's eyes boring into you as you sit down at your desk, her legs swinging back and forth from the edge of the desk in frustration. The work itself doesn't take long—you were being honest—just a minor grammar check here, fixing some formatting there and—

"What was that? How did you just—”

It's the first time you've ever seen Kim Chaewon—usually so composed and untouchable on stage—so completely, utterly flustered.

"I don't get it. I mean did you just get this strong?" Chaewon's voice is small, barely heard over the sound of your keystrokes—trying to process what just happened. She's shifted on the desk, leaning back now on her palms, looking at you like you're a puzzle piece that doesn't fit anywhere at all. "Or have you always been—you were just—were you letting me win? Hey—why are you laughing?"

You hit a final 'enter', saving your work with a performative flair, and spin the chair around to face Chaewon so you can give her your full, undivided attention.

But she's not looking at you—no, she's still trying to make sense of it, her gaze flitting from the chair, to the floor, to the laptop, to your hands that are now folded neatly in your lap. You're expecting a comeback, something witty and biting, something that'll make you laugh, but she's just sitting there—pouting. Adorably so.

"Chae, come on."

"What?" She snaps out of her daze, the hardware in her head overclocking. "I just—I exercise way more than you—I run, I dance everyday, I go to the gym, I do pilates—you can't be that much stronger than me."

"I'm like twice your size, Chae." You chuckle, reaching for the water bottle on your desk and taking a well-earned swig. "And I do manage to sneak in some workouts when you're not around to tickle me to death."

"But... this whole time?" Chaewon asks, there’s an accusation in her voice as she crosses her arms over her chest, inadvertently distracting you with the way it makes her sweatshirt pull tightly across her breasts. It's too fucking cute, and you can't help but lean in for a kiss, but she turns her head away at the last second. "Every time, you've been taking it easy on me? Kiddie gloves?"

You sigh.  "More or less."

"Why?"

"I guess I thought you knew," you say with a sheepish smile, "but even then, I didn't want to spoil the fun for you." You take another sip of water, watching her carefully. "You're so competitive, Chae. And when we’re playing like this and you win, you're so... happy. I just like seeing that."

"But that's..." Chaewon stammers. "Even when we're... You know... You're so... Gentle with me."

"Of course, I never want to—I'm just afraid that—"

"Afraid of what? That you'll break me? Okay, Bruce Banner." Chaewon teases, seemingly having made some decision in her own mind, as she hops off the desk to face you. "So, you've been holding back? You really think you’re that much stronger than me?”

You give her a very cautious shrug.

"Prove it."

"What?"

"If you’re really as strong as you think. Show me. Here—take my wrists—" Chaewon says, holding them out to you, "—and I bet I'll still be able to break free like I always do."

“I’m not sure if this is such a good idea,” you say, setting your bottle aside and standing up to face her.

“Why? Chicken?” She answers, and you try not to facepalm, reminding yourself that it is easier to just give her what she wants—most of the time, anyway.

"Alright, if that's what you want," you reply, gently placing your hands on her shoulders and guiding her so her back is flat against the nearest wall. She's staring up at you the whole time, watching you intensely as you take both her wrists in one hand, holding it against the wall and above her head.

"Really, only one hand? This will be real easy to get out of—" Chaewon starts to taunt, but she never gets to finish her sentence, because your grip tightens around her wrists and she feels the full weight of your body pressing into hers. She tries to pull away, expecting the same give she's felt countless times before, but your hand is like a vice—firm and unyielding—and it dawns on her that she's not going anywhere.

Her eyes widen slightly, and she tries to hide her surprise—because she's still in the game, still playing along. She tries to push off from the wall with her legs, but you anticipate it, placing a hand on her waist and keeping her in place.

Even you're surprised at how little effort it is to keep her still—a small push here, a slight change in weight there—Chaewon is at your mercy and it feels... different.

"Wait—I can't—" Chaewon still hasn’t given up, squirming and wiggling, doing little to help her escape but a lot to make you want to keep her against you.

She's trapped, every move she makes only making it worse for her—better for you—moulding her body closer into yours, aligning the softness of her curves with the hard lines of your chest.

But still, she struggles, tries every way she can think of to break free—twisting, turning, pushing with her legs, even trying to bite you at one point—but her best efforts only make you chuckle, and press her harder into the wall, press yourself harder into her.

You can feel her heart racing beneath her sweatshirt, and there's something there—you both feel it—a sudden tension in her helplessness, a thrill in your newfound power over her. "Damn it—this is so—argh!"

Chaewon’s eyes meet yours, and there’s your confirmation—that spark of something new, something unspoken. It's not anger or fear—no, she's never looked at you with fear—it's something else entirely. It's excitement, curiosity, a hint of arousal.

And so, you lean in, closing the last gap between you, and kiss her—right there against the wall.

It's not the gentle peck she's used to, it's not the sweet, loving kiss she’s grown to expect—it's more. You don’t even understand it yourself—it's raw, it's passionate, it's the kind of kiss that could start a war—or end one—the kind of kiss that sucks all the air from the room.

Her body tenses up, and for a moment you fear that maybe this is too much, too far, and you ready to let her go.

But she melts into it—into you. You let go of her wrists to cradle her face, and her arms fall to your shoulders, wrapping around your neck as she kisses you back—kisses you like she doesn't want you to ever stop, like she knows she couldn't stop you even if she tried. Her nails dig into your skin, not painfully, but with enough pressure to remind you that she's here, that she's alive and real and in this moment with you.

You push her into the wall, the plaster giving a gentle protest, and she’s lifting her legs up—she’s straddling you again, gravity doing its job and keeping her affixed to your torso.

Chaewon adapts, her ankles lock behind your back, pressing herself against you, her thighs tightening around your waist, and she’s hips grinding down over your sweatpants.

It’s almost too much, too fast—zero to a hundred in record time. You break the kiss, panting, breathless, but Chaewon's eyes stay closed, her chest heaving, as if she's afraid that if she opens them, this moment will evaporate like a mirage.

"Enough proof for you?"

"Yeah," is all Chaewon can muster, and she opens her eyes, dazed, like you’ve just woken her up from a particularly good dream.

"I'm sorry," you say, the words coming out in a rush, "I didn't mean to lie to you, I just didn't want to ruin your fun. Are you upset?"

"Upset?" Chaewon repeats, letting the word roll around her lips. "Maybe a little bit," she's biting her lip—so endearingly—and you can see the wheels turning in her head—recalculating, reassessing. "But now I'm just..." she pauses, looking down and rolling her hips against you once more, "I'm just really, really turned on."

Her admission hangs in the air between the two of you, and the air in your apartment begins to feel hotter, thicker, laced with something new.

"I love how you take care of me, how you make me feel safe..." Chaewon continues, "But this... the way you're holding me up like this... So easily, it's just so..." Another shifting of weight, another grind of her hips, and she’s slowly discovering what your sweatpants is making very little to hide. "Hot."

"Is that right?" You're asking, but you just can't take your eyes off her lips. The way they wrap around each delicious word. Maybe you've been wrong to treat her like she's fragile, like you could hurt her if you're not careful enough. Maybe what she’s really needed is to prove herself to you; been desperate to show to you that she can handle you—all of you. "Tell me what you like about it."

"I like how—ah—" The words get lost, breath catching as you let go of her waist with your hand, sliding it under her sweatshirt. Running your fingers over her toned stomach, feeling it cave in a sharp inhale. "How in control you are. How strong you feel."

Even without your hand at her waist she doesn't fall—her legs simply tighten around your waist, her grip on your neck becoming more secure, more possessive. You trace her belly button with your fingertip—her breath catches, her eyes flutter shut.

"How it feels like you could do—mmm—" she continues, her words getting lost as your hand rises higher up her body, reaching the swell of her breasts. Chaewon arches her back, pushing her chest out for more, a soft mewl escaping her lips. “—could do anything to me and I wouldn't be able to stop you."

You slip your fingers under her bra, the fabric stretching to accommodate your touch, press your thumb against her nipple, feeling it pebble under your touch. You pinch and roll them lightly, basking in her reactions, the way her eyebrows furrow, the way her mouth forms a perfect 'O'.

"I can do anything I want to you."

Chaewon's eyes open, and she’s looking at you like she’s seeing someone entirely different in place of her usual, doting boyfriend. She's panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her cheeks a glowing shade of red that seems to spread down her neck and into the fabric of her sweatshirt. She opens her mouth, her breath coming out in short, sharp gasps, and she whispers—"Will you?"

Two simple words. Two simple words that unlock something deep inside you. Something primal. The thing inside each man since the dawn of time that drives them to hunt, kill, fuck like their lives depend on it.

Two simple words that have you leaning in and kissing her again, not just her lips—your mouth traces a fiery path along her jawline, the tender spot behind her ear, down her neck. Each kiss is a promise of what's to come, each nip of your teeth makes her shiver.

Chaewon gasps, her body writhing under your touch, her legs tightening around your waist, desperate and afraid you'll pull away. You don't. Instead, you press into her, feeling the wetness spreading through her shorts, and it takes all your self-control to not rip them off her right there.  

"Bedroom," she manages to get out, a soft, fleeting whimper between kisses, "take me to the—"

You never find out the end of her sentence—twisting her body around, your hands cupping the firm, round globes of her ass, and in a single, swift motion, you lift her higher, throwing her up and over your shoulder.

"Wai—" Chaewon squeals as you hoist her up, her legs dangling in the air, has ass pointing to the sky.

She's giggling again, the sound muffled by the fabric of your sweatshirt, her laughter vibrating through your back as you carry her across the apartment.

"I can't believe you're actually doing this—" she's still giggling, managing to separate herself from your back to chide you,

"—you're so strong it's unfair—",

"—treating me like I weigh nothing—" ,

"—like a caveman—",

"—I'm going to have to tell the others about this—",

"—they won't believe it—",

"—I don't even believe it—",

"—my what a big, strong boyfriend I ha—"

But she's cut off again as you kick open the already ajar bedroom door, the wood slamming against the wall. Before she can realise what's happening you're throwing her onto the bed, her body bouncing once before she lands in a sprawled mess of limbs and exclamations.

"Are you ever going to let me finish a full sen—"

"Chae," her name comes out deeper and gruffer—far more demanding than you intended, cutting off her playful protests in an instant.

For once, Chaewon is paying full attention. No quips, no sarcasm, no laughter to lighten the mood—the room dead quiet except for the sound of her breathing, and even that seems to hush.

You stand over her, her legs still in the air, spread and exposed for you. The sweatshirt riding up, revealing the smooth expanse of her stomach, the little mole you've kissed a thousand times just above her navel, the shorts stretched so nicely over her thighs.

It's in the way she's looking at you too—the way she squirms under your gaze, the way she can't help but make her body arch up towards you, pushing out those beautiful, perfect breasts, slightly parting her legs as if inviting you to dive in—wanting you to take her (to fuck her) in all the ways you wanted to but were too afraid to try before—it's all so different, all too much, all so fucking intoxicating.

"You want me to do whatever I want to you?"

Chaewon swallows hard, and nods.

"You want me to take you however I want?"

Another nod, another submission.

You step closer to the bed, your mind completely made up. "Then say it."

Her voice comes out hoarse, a strained whisper. "Take me."

"Again."

She repeats it, this time her words clearer, urgent. "Please—take me."

And with that—her shorts—those tight, far too tiny shorts—become your first victim. There's no time for slow, teasing unbuttoning or the gentle tug of fabric over skin. You're too far gone for that.

So, you rip.

The button pops off with a satisfying ping, and the material gives way, revealing her panties beneath. The sound makes Chaewon gasp, her body shiver.

Hooking your thumbs in the waistband, you drag the shorts down her legs, bringing them gliding over the soft skin of her ass, catching briefly on her thighs before you toss them to the floor.

Her panties are next—white, cotton, and oh-so-innocent looking—the kind tailor-made to be ripped off and left in shreds. But just as your hand reaches the waistband, something holds you back.

A thought—a flicker of doubt—crosses your mind. What if she doesn't like this? What if you're getting caught up and taking things too far? What if she regrets what she's about to let you do to her?

But then, "I'm okay," Chaewon says, reading your hesitation. "Stop thinking like that." Her voice is firm, almost commanding. "I want this."

"Chae—"

"I. Want. This." Chaewon repeats, her voice stronger. “I want it all.”

You trust her—you always will—and so, you nod, understanding the gravity of her words. You lean over her, capturing her gaze, making sure she sees you, really sees you. "Alright, but we need a safe word."

"A safe word." Chaewon echoes, a smile rising on her face, as she realises what a safe word means—what it enables you to do to her.

"If you want me to stop," you say, slowly, like a professor and his star pupil. "Just say..."

"Blueberry," Chaewon interjects, the corner of her mouth curling up into a mischievous smile.

"Blueberry?" It's so unfitting, so fucking adorable, so Chae. "Fine then, if you want me to stop," you begin to explain the rules of the game that you're already starting—kissing down her calf, over her knee, down that gorgeous curve of her inner thigh, until your lips are meeting cotton— "you just say 'blueberry'. As loud as you can, the second you want me to stop. Otherwise, we keep going until I'm satisfied. Got it?"

Chaewon nods eagerly, a little too eagerly, but you don't miss the glint of excitement in her eyes. She's so ready for you, so ready for what's to come next, her body vibrating with anticipation.

"Good."

The single word hangs in the air, a declaration of intent. With it, your hand moves to her panties, the cotton material damp with her arousal. You don't hesitate, you don't play it slow, again—all it takes is your thumb in her waistband and you rip. What were once her panties gives way easily, tearing with a sound that's halfway might as well be a starting pistol, revealing her bare, already glistening, already so wet pussy to the coolness of the room.

But Chaewon's not just lying there waiting for you to make your next move. No, she's not that kind of girl. She's sitting up now, her sweatshirt coming off with a flick of her wrists, the heavy garment flying through the air to land somewhere in the room, forgotten.

Her bra follows suit—quick, efficient, like she couldn't wait another second to be naked for you. Chaewon's breasts bounce free, full and firm and so fucking perfect, rosy tips hard from the cold air or maybe just from the way you're looking at her.

Fuck, the sight of her alone. It's too much. You take a moment, just to breathe her in. Admire the way the light from the bedside lamp casts shadows on her skin, highlighting the curves and valleys of her body.

Chaewon's a work of art, a masterpiece, and now, she's all yours—every line, every freckle, every goosebump that pops up as the cool air kisses her heated skin.

But you're not here to admire, not now. You're here to give her exactly what she wants, to treat her exactly how she deserves.

Pushing back into the bed, hands on her shoulders, making the mattress sink under your weight. Kissing her again—no, not kissing, consuming. Kissing her like you're trying to claim her, like you're trying to brand her with your mouth, and she's kissing you back with matched desperation, nails digging into your skin like she's trying to climb you, to get closer, closer still.

"Mmmm..." Chaewon presses herself up against you—taut, stiff nipples pushing into your chest; perfect buds squashing themselves against your body, bare skin gliding over your shirt. Her pussy, hot and wet and slippery, working its way over the swell of your sweatpants.

Her hands are everywhere—fumbling with your shirt, running up and down your back, grabbing fistfuls of your hair, and her lips follow, peppering kisses across your cheeks, your jaw, your neck. Teeth graze the skin just below your ear, tongue tracing the shell, lips whispers sweet—filthy—nothings into your ear.

She dares to move a hand lower, squeezing in some tiny gap between your two bodies, reaching for the waistband of your sweatpants, fingers teasing the skin just above the elastic.

But you're quicker, catching her wrist, pulling it away with a firm, yet gentle grip.

"No."

You collect her other wrist in the same hand, stretching her arms out and over her head, pushing her down—with your grip, your weight, your hips—keeping her in place, keeping her where you want, paying her back in kind for her earlier “victory”.

"I know what you want," you murmur against her neck. You lean more of your weight into her, your hips pressing down, grinding against her—a slow, deliberate movement, that stains your sweatpants with the juices leaking from her pink, puffy lips.

"Yes," she purrs, "I need you."

"I know," you taunt—another grind, another groan, a deepening stain, "but I need you to want me more."

"I do," she's pleading, begging, "please, I need your cock."

"Not yet," you say, a light chuckle at the whine that escapes her lips. "Not yet."

"But—"

"I am going to fuck you," you say. "Not how you're used to." Her breath hitches, throat swallows—apprehension, arousal, adrenaline—it's all there, playing out on her face like a silent movie. "I'm going to fuck you in every way that I've ever wanted to, in every way I thought you could never handle."

You snake a hand from her waist, drawing a path with your fingertips, running them over her soft, unblemished skin, the ridges of her abs, as you move your hand down, down, until you're right at the juncture of her thighs.

"Ah!" It's the sweetest sound, a high-pitched gasp that turns into a full-throated groan as your index finger breaches her wetness, sliding into the slick, dripping opening of her cleanly shaved cunt—so, so wet—until it's buried knuckle-deep inside her.

Chaewon's back lifts off the bed, her body curving as you slide your finger in and out of her, settling into a steady rhythm. Every movement earns a different, delightful reaction—you trigger your finger: her body shakes, you kiss her neck: she echoes back your name, you add your middle, then your ring finger into her tightness: she falls apart.

"God—gah—" she chokes on whatever noise her mouth is trying to make, her legs spreading wider, hips bucking up to meet your hand, your rhythm. She's beyond soaked; her thighs, her lips, your palm—all drenched in hot, insatiable wetness. "You're so—so fucking good at this."

You add your thumb to the mix, brushing the hood of her clit with the pad; you curl your fingers inside her, finding that spot that makes her crumble.

Her eyes start to close, she’s lost to the sensation, her face contorting in beautiful agony as her walls close around your digits, before you snap her out of it—tightening your grip around her wrists, a slight jolt of pain to force her eyes to meet yours.

"Look at me," you grunt. "Look at me while I fuck you."

Chaewon doesn't dare even blink—she’s so obedient—and the way she's looking up at you now—so willing, so wanting to please, so eager for more—it's bordering on complete worship.

So, you give it to her. Plunge your fingers deeper, twisting and turning, feeling her tighten around you, wetness coating your hand, the walls of her pussy fluttering with each stroke. You can see it in the redness of her cheeks, the trembling of her thighs, the way her abs tighten and release—she's close, she’s been so close for far too long.

"Good girl." You kiss her forehead, her nose, her dimples, something sweet amongst the depravity.

"Am I?" Chaewon's question is hopeful, so disastrously erotic, her voice a breathy whisper. There's the beginnings of a storm in her eyes, the first hints painting her features in a way that's so vulnerable, that tells you the only thing holding her back from collapsing is your explicit approval.

"Yes, Chae," you murmur against her ear, nibbling gently, your fingers melting inside her folds. "You're being such a good girl for me."

"Th-thank you," she manages shaky words, barely keeping it together, at the mercy of the quickening of your fingers, the circling of your thumb, the movements of your hand, helping her climb towards that wonderful peak. "Oh my God—how are you—how is this—so—fuck—fuck—"

"Good girls deserve a reward." You're roughly kissing into her collarbone, feeling her pulse hammering under your lips—you want to leave a mark on her body, something for her to remember this by—something to remind her how completely she came apart for you. "Cum for me—cum now—cum on my fingers. Show me how much you want it—how much you love it."

"Please," Chaewon's desperate, so desperate, trying to do something, anything, everything that she can to convince you to let her fall apart. "I love how you touch me—just—please—I’m so close—"

She’s on fire, there’s too much pressure—your fingers work inside her, undoing a knot of their own making—unravelling that slutty ache inside your girlfriend—your good girl—fucking her and stretching her, making her eyes roll to the back of her head and her mouth to drop open in a silent scream.

"So good—so fucking good—just like that—mmmm-MMMPH!"

You breathe it in—your mouth on hers, her cries dying in your throat—feeling her tighten, tense, release around your hand as her small, tight frame—her whole, amazing body—overwhelmed by just three fingers and a thumb.

It takes her like an eruption, a natural disaster—dancing along her skin, to her hips, her thighs, her ribs, her breasts—turning her into a shivering mess, leaving her limp beneath you.

"Fuh—"

You release her lips, watching her pant and quiver, her chest heave, her body spasm from the aftershocks of her climax.

Your hand is drowned in her heat, her juices sticking to your skin as you slowly draw your fingers out of her, glistening in the soft light of the room.

"Here, have a taste." You lift your hand to her face, tracing your sticky fingers along the seam of her mouth, smearing her juices over her soft, parted lips.

Chaewon's tongue darts out, welcoming your digits as you push inside her mouth. She sucks greedily, her tongue lapping your fingertips—she can't get enough of the taste of herself on you.

"Good girl," you say again, and again—she shivers.

The tremors of her orgasm start to fade, and you pull your fingers from her mouth—no longer lathered in her cum, but shiny with her spit.

You straighten, leaning back so you're on your knees, between Chaewon's spread legs. Her eyes follow your hand as it leaves her wrist, traveling up to the neck of your shirt, pulling it off your head and reuniting it with the growing pile of discarded clothing.

Her gaze wanders down, down your body, landing at your waist, at your pants, painfully stretching over your erection.

"Take it out for me, Chae," you instruct, unnecessarily—she's already there, licking her lips, quick at work. Practiced fingers pull down your sweatpants and set your cock free, letting it spring into view, hard and heavy, landing directly on her lips.

But she doesn't get the chance to take it in her mouth, to swirl her tongue around the tip and suck you like she's so clearly been dying to—you have her by the hair before she can dive on your cock, to take it down her throat. It's harsh, it's sudden, it elicits a startled groan from her throat—but it makes it clear that this is not going to be the usual 'good little girl' kind of night.

"No," is all you have for her. You're on the edge—you've been on the edge ever since she pleaded for you—you’re done with the foreplay; you're done with the teasing. Fucking Chaewon senseless. That’s all there is now—fucking her hard and fast.

You pull her up by her hair and your mouth is back on hers, pushing and pulling, tongue in her throat, tasting her—tasting her nectar on her lips—dominating her, her own tongue dancing and wrapping around yours, her teeth grazing your bottom lip.

Your other hand finds its way to her chest, squeezing her breast in your palm, feeling the weight of it, the softness of her skin, the hardened peak of her nipple against your palm. There's not enough time—you want to shove your face between them, taste her nipples, feel them roll between your teeth, give them the attention they deserve.

But instead, you're pulling back on her hair again, gritting your teeth. "Turn around. Bend over."

There's no hesitation, no protest from her—Chaewon's a good girl, and good girls do as they’re told. She rolls onto her hands and knees, her ass in the air—she's presenting herself to you: an offering, a prize, a fucking goddess on a platter. Her spine arches as she looks back at you over her shoulder, the soft curve of her cheeks begging for you to take it.

You startle her, taking her by the hips, pulling her back to you so that when you lean in, your mouth is pressed to her ear, and your cock is twitching against the waiting, wanting, folds of her lower lips. "I'm going to make you feel it," you whisper. "Every part of you, understand?"

Chaewon nods, but it's not enough—not for what you have in store.

"I don't just want a nod, I want to hear you say it. I want you to tell me how good it feels while I'm fucking you—I want to hear it all."

"O-Okay.” She’s tense, you can see it, like a coil winded up in her body, but she's eager, so fucking eager, been waiting for this for far too long—"make me scream for you—FUCK!"

Chaewon's true to her word—she shrieks as you bury yourself deep inside her, is undone by your cock—as ready and wet as she is for you, she's still so incredibly tight, needing you to stretch her, fill her, own her.

But it's not enough—you’re not going to ease her into this, to the pleasure ripping through your bodies, not going to let this moment breathe.

As soon as you've sunk into her, given her every inch that her needy little pussy could take, you're backing up, sliding your stained shaft right out of her cunt before slamming back forward.

She's crying out, making barely intelligible sounds, as you’re digging your fingers into that tiny waist, holding her by her hips as you crash into her, feeling it all—the unfathomable heat, the tightness, the wetness, the way she clenches around you with each thrust—again and again and again.

"Words, Chae," you remind her, needing more from than just the sounds of her sweet, sweet agony, and the slapping of your hips against her ass cheeks. "I want words."

"Y-yes—fuh—fuck—YES!" One-syllable noises are all that Chaewon can manage to start—all you can fuck out of her—but with each thrust, she's getting better, getting bolder. "It feels so good, so hard, so big—God, so deep—you've never—I've never been fucked like this…"

"More." It's addictive, hearing her talk like this, knowing every word that comes out of her mouth is the absolute fucking truth—the proof is in how she's shaking beneath you, how she drips around you, how her fingers claw into the sheets, trying her best to hold on. “Tell me more.”

"Y-you're going so fast—so fucking hard!" Mindless, stream-of-consciousness, fuck-drunk ramblings spill from her lips—she's begging, cooing, whimpering as you mercilessly fuck her, making her divine tits swing below her, her ass ripple with each collision. "Making me so wet—making me so fucking wet—I can't even—can't think straight—just your cock—your fucking cock!"

"This is what you wanted, isn't it Chae?" You hiss, over the sounds of the headboard slamming against the wall, the bed creaking beneath you, and her moans—oh those moans. "This is how I'm going to fuck you from now on—however I want, wherever I want, whenever I want."

"Yes-yes—this is what I want—what I fucking need. To be fucked like this—pounded—broken—so fucking sensitive." The words come so easily from her lips, straight from the pleasure centres of her brains and to your ears. "I deserve this—I've been so good—haven't I? Aren't I your good girl—please tell me I'm your good girl—please?"

"You're my good girl, Chae, you’re my perfect little slut," you acquiesce, and she cries out in relief, her body shaking under the weight of your words—she leans into your touch, your control, your cock. "And good girls get what they fucking deserve."

Another thrust has Chaewon bowing her head down to offer more of herself to you, to give you a better angle to pump her harder, deeper, laying her cheek on the bed and turning her face so you can see that blissful grin on her face, see her lips mouth your name like a prayer.

It's so perfect—she's so fucking perfect—so impossibly tight, a ridiculously wet dream of a cunt—"all yours, all yours"—so aching for you to fuck her straight into the mattress—"I can't take it"—so needy for you—"use me"—so hungry for you—"more—please—I need it."

You're giving in—giving long, intense strokes—you're consumed by it, by her, by how every lovely curve and tensed muscle of her immaculate body is doing its best to take you, to please you, to give you a fraction of the ecstasy that’s breaking her into a million tiny, euphoric pieces.

"God, I love it—love your cock—pounding me—fucking me—hurting me—I can't even think—GOD!" She's doing her best to form coherent sentences, but it's futile, she's slipping—you're not even sure if she's aware of what she's even saying anymore—it's just raw, unfiltered need.

This is going to be a problem—you're never going to be able to go back. Not when she's so needy for you—so needy to be filled by you, so needy to hear your praise as she takes your cock, so full of nothing but words of thanks for how roughly you're treating her, how you're completely ruining her—"thank you—thank you—thank you for fucking me so good."

And then you're falling, a deep, sharp thrust and you’ve sent her forward—her knees give in first, her elbows buckle. She's taking you with her, pulling you by the cock still lodged deep in her cunt. You catch yourself before your face hits the bed, one hand on the mattress, the other still wrapped around her waist.

It does little to slow you down—just gives you a better vantage point to fuck her deeper into the mattress—"yes—yes—fuck—fuck—" —to run your hand up her body and seize her by her tits, so ripe and full and yours to squeeze and twist and tease— "touch me—hurt me—it's all yours—all fucking yours."

And you do—oh, you do—you take her by the tits, feeling the soft flesh of her breasts give way to your grip, roll her nipple between your thumb and forefinger—so sensitive, so responsive. She's lost in it, so happy in the pain and pleasure of your touch—you're leaving another mark—and she cries, she curses, she clenches around you, she joins her hand over yours and pushes you for more, needing more of the loving sting you're giving her.

She’s pulsing on your shaft—walls tightening and quivering—she's so close, so fucking close to cumming—and your body responds, your cock thickens, your strokes powerful, purposeful. "I can't—I can't—baby, please—please—please—"

"You're going to cum for me now, aren't you?" You ask, like it's a question, like you can't see the tension building in her body, can’t see how she's holding her breath and gritting her teeth—it's so fucking obvious she's about to explode.

"Yes—yes—I'm about to—about to—FUCK! I can't fucking take this anymore!"

You take her by the throat—twisting her face so you can see it—you need to see it—need to see the moment she breaks for you. "Look at me," you demand—her eyes rolling up to meet yours, all teary and flawless and beautiful— "look at me when I make you cum."

"God yesssss," Chaewon gurgles, shivers, quakes, "please—please—I'm cumming—I'm cumming— I'm cumming on your fucking cock—OH FUCK!"

Your name leaves her lips in a long, symphonic, slurred cry—and she cums—not in that lovely, beautiful way you've seen her orgasm dozens of times before—this is overpowering, consuming, violent—a million tiny deaths—one magnum opus—sculpted by the Gods and utterly ruined in all ways possible, reduced once again to nothing but a mess of quivers and mewls and moans—pushed over the edge by your cock, forcing her to gush down her thighs.

She's clenching and wringing and doing everything she can to bring you with her—"God—so fucking good—I’m cumming so hard—GOD! I just need—I want it—please give it—give me your cum—fill me with it—do whatever you want to me just give it to me!"

Her eyes are open again—she's inflicted with the same curse as you—she needs to see it, see the look in your eyes as you fill her, finally claim her in her entirety as yours, finally join and become undone in the same preciously brutal ways.

"Keeeep going—cum in me—cum in me—" It’s becoming a mantra now—three short words—as if there was any other option, as if she had any choice. As much as you want to hold on, to drag this out, to savour every second of this chaos—fucking her silly, viciously, tight pussy choking your cock, she won't stop, refuses to— "cum in me—cum in me—cum in me -"

"You want it? You need it? Does your cunt need my cum?"

"Y-yes, please—fuck—fill me up—fuck me up—fill—me—fucking—PLEASE!"

She's a vision, a goddess, she's yours, she's—"Fuck, Chae, god-fucking-take-it!"—she's taking your cum like the fucking slut she is.

God, it feels dizzying, a high so perfect it must be illegal, making your vision dark and your ears ring—the only thing tethering you to the Earth itself is the feeling of her burning hot cunt, the cunt you're fucking like its only purpose in this world is to make your cock feel good.

You’re speeding towards the final stretch now—hard and rough and somehow lasting forever but ending far too soon. Nothing matters except for her exceptionally tight hole, taking you—all of you, everything you have—and you’re clinging onto her—her tits, her throat—you’re bruising and choking her, your body crushing her into the bed, and she's still screaming your fucking name like she's so damn grateful to you for treating her like she deserves.

And then, you let go.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby, oh my fucking God," Chaewon groans, "It's so much—you're filling me up— oh, fuck, oh, fuck, OH FUCK!"

It’s a car crash, a pressure valve opening, it’s too fucking much—you can’t hold back—she can’t possibly take anymore.

It burns through you both—the first, the second, the third—rope after rope after rope of cum firing into her sore, well-fucked cunt, filling it completely to the brim. All the lust, all the tension, everything, all at once, released at once in a tidal wave of white into Chaewon's swollen, sopping wet pussy.

“SO GOOD—SO FUCKING FULL!”

One final thrust—one shared cry—like nothing you’ve ever felt before—like you’re being torn apart and reassembled, piece by piece—and you collapse into her, your bodies melting into one— boneless and shaking in the aftermath of it all.

Chaewon’s cumdump of a pussy is still twitching around you—still begging for more, milking your cock even though it’s already given everything it can, every drop it has—making it impossible for you to pull out without feeling like you're leaving a part of yourself behind.

Eventually—when the numbness subsides and you're able to move again—you slide off her, onto your side, slipping your spent cock out of her well-fucked pussy. It's an image that you burn into core of your brain—her ass in the air, your cum dripping from her, the puddle of you leaking from her glistening folds and pooling on your ruined bedsheets.

"So good... so good..." Chaewon's slurring, drifting—fucked out of consciousness—already lost in some blissful, post-orgasmic dream.

That's where you follow her, exhaustion seeping into every bone in your body, and you're slipping down, down and away into that heavenly oblivion.

-

When you awake, Chaewon's curled into you—your chest is her pillow, your arms her blanket. She's still (thankfully) naked—your cum drying on her thighs, and she's awake, lazily drawing circles with her finger around your heartbeat.

"Hey," you say, getting her attention with a kiss on the top of her head.

She looks up at you, a soft smile on her lips and it nearly tears your heart in two. God, she's just so fucking beautiful. "Hi."

"That was..." You dare to start, but the words get lost before they can surface.

"Perfect," Chaewon finishes for you, "so fucking perfect."

"Are you sure? I got lost in the moment there, Chae, I—" The ghost of an apology is on your lips, but Chaewon's eyes widen, and she slaps a hand over your mouth.

"Don't," Chaewon stops you, "don't ruin it with an apology. I wanted that. Needed it. More than I thought, I guess. It was amazing."

Looking down at her, assessing the damage, seeing how small she is in your arms. Searching her face, her eyes, for any hint of doubt or regret, but all you can find is perfect contentment.

And she's smiling, so sweetly. So happily. So Chaewon. The slutty cum dumpster, the adorable princess—the woman of your dreams.

She’s giggling still, tracing wider patterns on your chest, her breath warm against your skin. "You were incredible," she presses her nose into your neck and inhales deeply. "I never knew you had that in you."

"I didn't either," you admit, idly stroking her hair, looping strands between your fingers. "I had no idea how much I'd like it. How good it would feel. I mean I love this—holding you, hugging you, kissing you, but—"

"It's nice not having to treat me like I'm fragile, right?" She finishes. A beat passes, before Chaewon tables her final request. "You know, that thing you called me, while we were..."

She trails off, and she's blushing now—and it just makes you want to kiss it off her cheeks and then kiss it until it comes back again. "I think I called you a lot of things that probably shouldn't be repeated outside of this room."

"You know what I'm talking about," she says. "Call me it again. Please? Can you?"

You laugh, bending down so you can steal a kiss—as light and sweet as she is—but it’s still far, far shorter than you'd like.

She's pouting, doe-eyes wide and hopeful—so Goddamn adorable—and you can't resist, after all—it's always best to give your girlfriend exactly what she wants.

"My good girl," you murmur into her ear, "my perfect little slut."

[millers-girl]

where it hurts

chapter 4 of willow & whiskey

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: an injury, an apology, and a lesson in survival bring you and Joel closer – and reminds you what's at stake.

warnings/tags: age gap, adult language, blood and violence, death

word count: 6.5k

series masterlist

Somewhere in western Pennsylvania, Joel stopped the truck at a gas station. You were running out of gas, meaning he’d have to get lucky and siphon fuel from other cars – if there were any who still had some left.

As he worked, with Ellie keeping him company, you remained in the passenger seat of the stationary truck, feet up on the dash, head buried in The Two Towers. 

Save for Ellie and Joel’s conversation, the world outside was quiet. Only the occasional chirp of a bird or the distant rustling of leaves interrupted your silence.

With the windows down, you heard Ellie ask, "So, how does it work?" 

Joel, kneeling on the ground with a tube in hand, answered, "It's a siphon. It's when liquid – travels against gravity – because pressure – umm – "

Ellie was already on the verge of giggling. "You don't know," she accused. 

"I know it works."

You smirked behind the book, flipping to the next page nonchalantly as you cleared up, "It creates a vacuum in the tube so liquid draws up from the car and gravity pushes it down into the red container Joel's holding.” 

Ellie hummed, nodding along before quickly growing bored with the conversation altogether. She stalked toward the tree line. 

"No wandering," you and Joel said at the same time, both your heads snapping to lock eyes with each other. You swallowed, looking away first. 

"Okay," Ellie said, leaning against the back door of the car and pulling a book out of her pack. "This is both your faults then." She flipped to a random page. "It doesn't matter how much you push the envelope, it'll still be stationery." She laughed to herself while you got out of the car. "No Pun Intended, Volume Too by Will Livingston. Volume Too. Look. You get it?" 

"Jesus," Joel mumbled, shaking his head.

Feeling the stiffness in your muscles from sitting too long, you shut your book and got out of the car, stretching your arms above your head before walking over to Joel.

"Need any help?" You asked, leaning against the car he was siphoning gas from.

You weren’t really sure how to approach your conversations with him anymore. The tension had been uncomfortable between you since Bill’s town. He’d crossed a line and hadn’t apologized––not really––but he had given you that book, the one now resting on the hood of the car, as some sort of peace offering.

It wasn’t much, but it was something. Still, the silence between you both stretched too often, the weight of what was said heavy. 

Joel shook his head at your offer, sucking on the end of the tube until gas started pouring out into the red container. His eyes flicked up to yours as he did it, and you bit your lip, fighting the instinct to mutter something inappropriate. Okay, you pick – you want the comment about sucking something while making eye contact with me, or about being on your knees in front of me?

Before, you might've said it, testing the waters, seeing him fluster. Now, you weren’t sure if that door was still open. The space between you felt fragile, like one wrong move would shatter it entirely.

As if sensing the strain, Ellie continued with her jokes until Joel gave her a reaction. "I stayed up all night, wondering where the sun went – “

"No," Joel begged. 

Triumphant, Ellie finished anyway. "Then it dawned on me."

You chuckled as Joel turned to Ellie with exasperation. "Feel free to wait in the truck."

"Ugh, okay," Ellie groaned, conceding. "But, just know – you can't escape Will Livingston. He'll be back... there's nothing you can do to stop him."

She climbed into the truck, and you started to follow until Joel’s voice stopped you, surprising both you and him. "What part of the book you on?" he asked, quieter than you expected.

You turned back, brows furrowed. This was how he wanted to break the tension?

"What? It can't be worse than that joke book."

“It’s not,” you confirmed, though your voice still carried a hint of strain. You tried to keep it lighter. “It’s just…”

"Just what?"

You hesitated, then let it go. If he wasn’t ready to talk about things, you wouldn’t push it.

"Why is it so slow?" You huffed, flipping the book in your hands. "No, seriously. I mean, I flew through the first one. Now, it's taking forever to get through Frodo and Sam's journey to Mordor."

Joel rolled his eyes. "Patience is a virtue. You gotta get through the boring stuff to appreciate the good stuff."

You scoffed. "And why is there no action? The first book was full of it, and now – “

"Not everything in life is fast-paced," Joel said, his voice softer now. "Some things take time. You gotta peel back the layers – doesn't make ‘em any less worth it."

Your breathing hitched, eyes locked onto his. As a chronic overthinker, you couldn’t decide if he was saying that with a double meaning or just as a throwaway comment? Surely, the former. Surely, he was talking about himself – trying to apologize without apologizing again – saying he had a lot of walls up, layers that needed peeling back. And that you were doing it, slowly but surely. And it would be worth it.

You couldn’t tell – but it gave you a little hope.

And that was why you ripped the band-aid off, cocked your head to the side, and joked, "Are you trying to give me life advice? Or get in my pants?"

Joel choked on his water, coughing into his fist. "What?"

"Some things in life are worth the effort," you echoed his words, lowering your voice to mimic him. "Like what, Joel? Are you teasing?"

"I could've meant anything when I said that," Joel retorted, attempting to regain his composure.

You crossed your arms, smirking. "But you didn't."

"You're real forward, you know that?" he deflected. 

“And you're avoiding the question."

Before you could press further, Joel turned back to look at Ellie in the backseat of the truck. "We should get movin’. It's getting late, and we got a long drive ahead."

You sighed, disappointment flickering across your face. For the first time in days, a conversation between you two had felt easy. And just like that, it was over.

Clearing your throat, you muttered, “Right – got a schedule to keep.” 

Joel could hear the shift in your voice, so he cleared his throat too, picking your book off the hood of the car to hand it to you. "Keep readin’. You're almost to the good part."

You took it from him, fingers grazing his. He pulled away quickly, but the warmth lingered.

Climbing into the truck, you stretched your feet up onto the dash. When Joel began to drive again, he tapped your leg once. When you ignored it, he reached over and grasped your ankle, gently pulling it down.

You frowned, making him say, "S’dangerous. What if we crash and the airbags go off? You could get injured."

You rolled your eyes, cheeks flushing. "You have so little faith in your driving skills, old man." Still, you kept your feet off the dash.

When Joel had turned onto the highway and you shifted your eyes down to your book, Ellie’s head popped up in the space between you two. 

"I got something," she announced, holding a cassette tape out. "This make you all nostalgic?" She turned to Joel with a grin.

Joel took the tape from her, glancing at it before stating, "This is actually before my time. It's a winner, though,” He popped the tape into the slot. A moment later, the car filled with music, the static-crackled notes settling over the three of you.

"Got something else," Ellie announced. You could hear her flipping through pages in the back. "It's, uh... light on the reading, but it's got some interesting pictures."

You turned back, eyebrows raised, just in time to see her holding up a porn magazine. Joel caught it in the rear-view mirror at the same time, his entire body stiffening.

Your reaction was immediate. Laughter burst from your chest, bubbling up uncontrollably until tears pricked the corners of your eyes. Joel meanwhile, remained panicked, yet firmly put on his ‘parent voice.’

"Oh. No, no, no. Put that back. That's not for kids. Ellie."

His eyes darted between the road, you, and the rear-view mirror. Wiping a tear away, you simply giggled, “It’s sex ed.” 

“It’s not,” Joel countered, exasperated.

"How would he even walk around with that thing?" Ellie gaped at the photo in front of her.

"Please get rid of it," Joel begged, visibly mortified.

Ellie sighed dramatically. "Hold your horses. I wanna see what all the fuss is about."

Joel turned to you, desperation laced in his voice. "Can you…?”

You huffed, facing forward but holding your hand out for Ellie to hand the magazine over. "Why are all these pages stuck together?" Ellie asked, before shoving the magazine into your grasp. 

You barely had a second to process the words before you recoiled, dropping the magazine like it had burst into flames.

"Ew, Ellie! What the fuck?!" you yelped, wiping your hand on the nearest fabric available – unfortunately, Joel’s jacket.

Joel turned to you with a disgusted look on his face and you both glanced at Ellie. "I'm just fuckin' with ya," she cackled, tossing the magazine out the window. “Bye-bye, dude.” 

Joel made dinner that night, warming canned pasta over a small flame. Ellie scarfed it down.

"Slow down," Joel tried.

"This is slow," she mumbled, mouth full of food. "What am I even eating?"

"That is twenty-year-old Chef Boyardee ravioli."

"That guy was good," Ellie complimented.

"I actually agree," Joel said, making you softly smile. Even if your relationship with him was somewhat strained, you still liked seeing him get along with Ellie. 

Your eyes shifted to the girl in question, whose mood suddenly changed. She’d gone quiet, stirring her food idly. "What's on your mind, love?"

"How long are we staying out here?" she asked.

You turned to Joel. "I figure I sleep tonight... and drive tomorrow all day, all night, get us to Wyoming by next mornin'."

"Why don't you teach me how to drive tomorrow?" you suggested. "We can split the driving."

Joel gave you a flat look. "You don't know how to drive?"

"Must've missed driving lessons in the middle of the world ending."

“Alright, smartass,” he muttered.

Ellie pulled her jacket tighter around her. "Can we start a fire? I'm freezing."

"Now, why am I gonna tell you no?" Joel asked. His tone caught your attention because it was the first time he'd used it with Ellie. It wasn't bad; he just sounded like a dad scolding his kid. 

"Because Infected will see the smoke," Ellie droned, as if she already knew the answer.

Joel shook his head. "No, Fungus ain’t that smart. This is too remote for Infected, anyway."

"People?" Ellie asked, Joel nodded, jaw tight. "So what are they gonna do? Rob us?"

"Oh, they'll have way more in mind than that." 

The way he said it made your stomach twist. Ellie stiffened slightly, and without thinking, you nudged Joel in the side. He shot you a look, rubbing his ribs. 

You knew that comment would stick with Ellie. 

Later that night, you felt Ellie shift beside you in the sleeping bag, restless. "Joel."

"What?"

"Can I ask you a serious question?"

"Yeah."

"Why did the scarecrow get an award?" 

Joel waited a moment. "Because he was outstanding in his field."

Ellie's laughter filled the air around them. "You dick! Did you read this?"

"No." He turned back around. "Now go to sleep."

She then nudged you, whispering, "Hey... those people Joel mentioned... there's no way anyone knows we're here, right? No one's gonna find us?" 

You ran your fingers through her hair, voice soft. "No one's gonna find us."

She sighed, curling deeper into the shared warmth. "Okay."

You should have fallen asleep easily after that, but something gnawed at your gut. Hours passed, and when you blinked awake, a shadowed figure stood a few feet away.

Your breath hitch, heart hammering – until you saw the familiar shape of his shoulders, the familiar line of his stance.

Joel.

He was standing watch. 

Because of Ellie's comment.

You exhaled, tension unraveling from your limbs. Carefully, you slipped out of the sleeping bag, grabbed an extra blanket from the car, and made your way over to him.

“Busted,” you softly teased, grin wide as you plopped down against a tree nearby, draping the blanket over yourself. “How long you been up?” 

He huffed quietly, making his way over to sit next to you under the blanket. “Never fell asleep.” 

“You’re turning into a softie,” you accused. He didn’t deny it. “You want to get some sleep? I can take over.” 

He shook his head. “Naw, I’m good.” 

You silently nodded, but didn’t move, and Joel seemed to understand what that meant. This was you extending an olive branch, giving him the time and space to apologize for what he’d said back at Bill’s town, how he’d treated you. 

A long pause stretched between you before he finally cleared his throat. “Listen, I uh… Back at Bill’s… I shouldn’t have said what I did.” 

And, even though you’d given him the space to fill the silence with an apology, you suddenly found yourself unable to meet his eyes. “Which part?” You quietly asked, pulling at the weeds by your feet and staring ahead at the fire. 

“All of it.” 

Another silence. As far as apologies went, it was pretty shit – even Joel knew.

He forced himself to continue, as uncomfortable as it clearly made him. “I was pissed… Not at you, but I took it out on you anyway. Wasn’t right of me.” 

You swallowed, finding the strength to meet his eyes. “Did you mean it?” 

He frowned. “What?” 

“That my grief is useless,” you said simply, watching his reaction. “That I’m not doing anything with it.” 

He shut his eyes for a moment, silently berating himself for speaking such cruel words to you in the first place. “I didn’t mean it like that… I used to think… I used to think grief was somethin’ you had to carry, hold on to, or it meant you didn’t care.” He swallowed, eyes flickering toward Ellie’s sleeping form before coming back to you. “I was wrong.”

The admission hung between you two, heavier than anything else he’d said.

Your gaze softened. “I’m trying,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “I just don’t know what to do with all of it – I mean, I don’t – Nate would’ve – ” You cut yourself off quickly, realizing you’d let his name slip.

Joel studied you, watching how you froze for a second. And then, in a quiet movement, he reached out. It wasn’t much – the briefest of touches, the backs of his fingers grazing your wrist where your hand rested against your knee. But it was enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

His touch lingered, hesitant. Testing.

You could feel the calluses on his fingers, the warmth of his skin.

Your throat tightened, but he didn’t pull away. “I got no right tellin’ you what you should and shouldn’t do with your feelings,” he said, voice low, rough. “But I… I don’t want you carryin’ it alone. S’not fair.” 

Your chest ached at that. Slowly, carefully, you turned your hand over, letting your fingers brush against his. 

His breath hitched, just barely.

Before you could overthink it, you blurted, “Nate took care of Ellie and I in the QZ. He used to be a guard, but even so, we barely made ends meet… He used to get into these underground boxing fights to get some extra ration cards so we could eat. I told him it was dumb; we’d get them another way, but… he was stubborn.” You chuckled quietly. “I miss that about him.

“He wouldn’t let me go to those fights – said it wasn’t safe… And, one night he went, and he didn’t come back. And all the other guards got rid of his ID, the stuff in his locker, his uniform… like he never existed. They never spoke about him again… I filled in the blanks myself.”

After a beat of silence, Joel spoke up. “Nate,” he tried the name out on his tongue.

“Nathan,” you corrected, with a hint of a smile. “I was the only one he ever let call him that.” After a moment, you concluded. “Nathan. That’s the name behind my grief.” 

Joel met your eyes, feeling his words escaping past his lips before he could try to wrangle them in. “Sarah,” he said in a voice softer than you’d ever heard it, speaking her name for the first time in a long time. “That’s the name behind mine.” 

He didn’t say anything more; he wasn’t ready to. And that was alright by you.

For the first time, you let yourself lean into the proceeding quiet between you, into the way his presence steadied something in you.

And when his fingers finally curled around yours––warm, steady, solid––you let him.

The next day, Joel was slurping coffee like a man starved for it. And only you knew why. Because, with every sip he took, you felt the same bone-deep exhaustion he did. You’d stayed up all night too. Not because he asked you to, not because he let you take watch. Just because you kept him company, watching the dark stretch of road with him, listening to the quiet hum of the night.

Now, in the daylight, the atmosphere was much lighter. In the car, you kept glancing at Joel, a soft smile ghosting your lips. The weight was finally off your shoulders – you felt relief. 

Hours passed with only light conversation and a Hank Williams cassette to fill the silence, until Ellie asked, “What’s his name?” 

"Whose name, love?" you asked, looking up from your book.

"Joel's brother."

"Tommy," Joel answered. 

"Younger or older?"

"Younger," you answered for him without thinking, your eyes flicking up to meet Joel’s. You tilted your head to the side. "Come on. You so give off older brother energy."

"Why isn't he with you?" 

Joel exhaled through his nose, shifting in his seat. "Tommy's what we used to call a 'joiner.' Dreams of becomin' a hero. So he enlisted in the Army right outta high school. A few months later, they ship him off to Desert Storm. Point is, bein' in the Army didn't make him feel much like a hero. Cut to 12 years later, outbreak happens. He convinces me to join a group makin' their way up to Boston, which I did... mostly to keep an eye on him, keep him alive.

"It's where we met Tess. And that whole crew, we, uh... Well, for what it was, it worked. And then Tommy meets Marlene. She talks him into joinin' the Fireflies. Same mistake he made when he was 18. Wants to save the world. Pipe dream. Him, Fireflies, all of 'em... delusional. 'Course last I heard, he quit the Fireflies, too. So now he's on his own out there, and... I gotta go get him."

After a beat of silence, Ellie asked what you were thinking. "If you don't think there's hope for the world, why bother going on? I mean, you gotta try, right?"

"You haven't seen the world, so you don't know. You keep goin' for family. That's about it." 

"I'm not family," Ellie said quietly.

"No... you're cargo. And I made a promise to Tess. And she was like family."

You rolled your eyes at that comment. You knew he didn’t mean it, not really. You could see it, even if he couldn’t. He was starting to look at Ellie differently, starting to protect her like something precious. She wasn’t cargo – he just didn’t know it yet.

So, instead of snapping at him, you turned to Ellie, grabbing hold of her hand and squeezing. “You’re my family. That’s all that matters.” 

You said it simply, with no resentment or sarcasm towards Joel. Ellie looked at you, eyes flickering with love and gratitude before she squeezed back.

An hour later, she was fast asleep in the back, making soft snoring sounds that were music to your ears. And, in the front, Joel was keenly aware of you curled up in a ball on your side of the seat. 

"Look, what I said – "

You were already shaking your head. “I think one apology is enough for today,” you said considerately. “Besides, it’s not like you mean it.” 

His brows furrowed. “What are you talkin’ about?” 

You merely shrugged. “You don’t stay up on lookout all night for someone who’s just ‘cargo.’” 

And, to that, he didn’t have a comeback.

You didn’t need to look at him to know he was chewing on your words, turning them over in that head of his.

The quiet stretched until he hit a road bump – a pileup of cars blocking off the rest of the highway. 

You finally glanced up from your book, frowning. “Where are we?” 

“Kansas City.” Joel sighed, eyes glued to the road. “Can you hand me the map, darlin’?”

You froze for half a second before handing him the map.

Darlin’. 

It was the first time he’d ever called you that. It made you feel warm; your fingers tingled, like they wanted to reach out and take his –

“Screw it,” Joel cut off your thoughts. “We can jog around this tunnel, take the next ramp, and we’re back on the road. Minute tops.” 

You swallowed, pushing whatever that was down, and turned to wake Ellie, knowing she’d want to see the city, even if it was just a glimpse. 

What was meant to be “a minute tops” ended up being much longer. Joel got turned around, and you were no help with the map.

“I don’t know where we are,” you sighed in defeat. 

Joel glanced at the map in your lap. “Don’t look at the state map. Turn it over to the inset.” 

“Ellie’s better at this,” you argued before handing the map to the teenager in the back, hoping she could make sense of it. 

“This is my second day in a fucking car, man,” she defended. 

As they bickered, and Joel kept driving north––eyes constantly shifting between Ellie, the map, and the road––you felt it before you saw him. 

A shift in the air. A sickly dread curled in your stomach, cold and sharp.

Your eyes remained glued to the figure stumbling onto the road.

“Joel,” you tugged at his sleeve, pulse spiking. “Joel!” 

He looked up just in time to see the man clutching his side, blood seeping through his fingers, staggering towards the car.

“Hey!” he cried, voice raw with pain. “Please help!”

Your stomach twisted.

Without taking his eyes off the man, Joel said, “Seatbelts. Now.”

You were already halfway through the motion, hands shaking slightly. You knew what was coming next.

“Aren’t we gonna help him? Ellie asked, voice lined with uncertainty.

“No,” you and Joel said in unison.

Your grip tightened on the dashboard as Joel slammed his foot on the gas.

The man barely had time to dive out of the way before something crashed onto the windshield from above, shattering glass in a spiderweb of cracks. Your heart lurched as the tires then hit a spike strip, the car jerking violently as they deflated.

A second figure appeared from around the corner.

Joel cursed under his breath, yanking the wheel hard. You barely had time to brace before the car crashed straight through a storefront window.

The impact sent shockwaves through your body; the air felt knocked out of you. 

When the car stopped, Joel immediately turned to you. “Are you okay?” You nodded, swallowing hard. Your hands trembled, reaching for his arm as he turned back to Ellie. “You’re not hurt? Nothin’?” 

“I don’t think so,” Ellie answered, just before gunshots rang through the air, aiming at the car. It made all three of you flinch, ducking down before quickly undoing your belts and exiting the car in a crouch.

Joel crouched between you and Ellie, rifle in hand as more gunshots rang through the air. The smell of gunpowder and dust clogged your nostrils, mixing with the metallic tang of your fight or flight response on your tongue.

“Hey,” Joel said, voice low but firm, grabbing your and Ellie’s attention. “You see that hole?” He was referring to one on the adjacent wall, leading through to another room. “Can you squeeze through?” He asked you, knowing Ellie would fit. 

Your breath hitched. “What?” You squeaked. “I’m not leaving you.” Your fingers dug into your pack, pulling out your gun as if that alone would prove your point. 

Joel barely spared it a glance. “When I say go, you two crawl to that wall and squeeze through. You don’t come out until I say, okay?” 

You sighed in frustration as Ellie nodded along, head shifting nervously toward the sound of bullets. “They’re not gonna hit you, love,” you promised, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “Now, can you do as Joel says?” 

Joel turned to you, ready to argue, but you shook your head, pushing closer to him. “I’m not leaving you. Now, are we gonna protect Ellie and get out of this, or you wanna keep arguing?” 

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Instead, he turned to Ellie. “You stay down. You stay low. You stay quiet.” 

Ellie nodded, clearly still nervous. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” Joel echoed. He turned to you, eyes lingering like he was memorizing your face. Then, a sharp nod. “Go!” 

You didn’t wait to see Ellie get to the hole – you had faith in her abilities. Instead, you and Joel both rose from behind the truck bed, guns aimed at the hostiles, and began firing.

Later, you retreated behind a toppled shelf, breath coming in short gasps as you reloaded. Only one hostile left.

When Joel took him down, you both waited a moment. Silence. 

Then, when it was seemingly safe and Joel was fixing the jam in his gun, another body came hurtling through the back exit of the store, crashing into yours and sending you sprawled onto the cold concrete.

Your head smacked against the ground, and for a moment, everything blurred – the world narrowing into muffled noise and a high-pitched ringing. 

Through your haze, you saw Joel pinned beneath the attacker, and your pulse roared to life. You scrambled to your feet, but before you could act, the sharp crack of a gunshot split the air.

Ellie stood a few feet away, arms locked, hands gripping a gun. 

The man collapsed on top of Joel. 

Joel shoved the body off of him, coughing and wheezing to catch his breath. You crouched down beside him, helping him sit up.

The man, now on his back, pressed a trembling and to his spine, pulling it away to see blood. His expression shifted from pain to shock to fear.

He looked up and met Ellie’s eyes past the barrel of her gun. “No, no, no. It’s okay,” he said, voice shaking. “It’s over. We’re not fighting anymore… I’ll go home and tell everyone you’re good.” A sob tore through him. “I don’t know what to do.” 

You glanced down at Joel, sharing a silent, weighted look, before helping him up. His fingers curled around your forearm, grounding himself – or maybe grounding you.

“My legs don’t work,” the man wheezed. “My mom isn’t far, if you could get me to her… We could trade with you guys.” 

A lump formed in your throat. The desperation in his voice clawed at something deep inside you, something you tried not to acknowledge. He was just a kid. Just a scared kid.

Beside you, Joel exhaled sharply, eyes flicking over you. 

“We could be friends,” the man begged. “I didn’t know. I’m Bryan – I’m Bryan. What’s your name? Are you guys sisters?” His gaze darted between you and Ellie.

Your breath stuttered. You turned away, unable to look at him, unable to look at Ellie as tears brimmed your waterline.

From beside you, Joel’s voice came low, firm. “Get back behind the wall.” 

Ellie hesitated, eyes shifting to you. You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking. A hand covered your mouth, holding in any sound that threatened to slip free.

“No, no, no. I’m sorry – I’m sorry. Please, please – we could just talk. Please, please. No, no no! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” 

Over his shouts, Joel turned to you, voice barely audible. “You too, baby.”

You flinched. He wanted you to go too. To look away.

You bit your bottom lip, wiping away the tears as your grip on his jacket sleeve tightened. “I’m not leaving you,” you whispered.

It wasn’t fair to let him carry this alone. It seemed like he always did. And he always would if you let him.

Joel held your gaze, reading into everything you weren’t saying. He exhaled, nodding once.

The man sobbed, calling for his mother.

You pressed your forehead against Joel’s shoulder, eyes squeezing shut. His warmth seeped through his jacket, grounding you in the chaos and reality of the moment.

Joel raised his gun. The shot echoed in the small space, final and unforgiving.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. 

Then, he turned to you, thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. His touch was fleeting, like he wasn’t sure if he should do it. 

Then, he called out to Ellie, who cleared up the doorway for you two to enter the room she was currently in.

She caught you staring at her––not just you, Joel too––and shrugged off the looks.

“I’m okay,” she said quickly, grabbing her pack off the floor. “I’m good.” She cleared her throat. “What now?” 

While you observed her, Joel answered. “We go up. Hopefully, we can spot a clear route out.” 

You reached for Ellie, a steady hand on her shoulder. She leaned into it for just a second before pulling away.

With one last glance at the wall, behind which the man’s lifeless body now laid, you followed Joel out.

And didn’t look back.

“Are we okay in here?” Ellie asked as the three of you holed up in some abandoned bar. The windows were boarded up with wooden planks and old, yellowed newspapers, their edges curling with age. Dust hung in the air, catching the slivers of light that managed to slip through the cracks.

“For now,” Joel answered before shaking his head. “But they’ll be comin’ through here soon enough.”

The shootout in the store had turned the entire resistance group in Pittsburgh against you. That explained why you hadn’t seen any FEDRA officers or a QZ – just a lawless city now teeming with people hunting you down.

Ellie had spotted a skyscraper a few blocks away. The plan was to wait until the patrols moved further out before making a break for it.

For now, you all settled in as best you could. Joel took a seat at the bar, his posture heavy with exhaustion, while you and Ellie slid to the floor, leaning against the barricaded windows. The wood was rough against your back, but it was better than nothing.

You winced as soon as your head rested against the panes, a sharp sting radiating from your scalp. 

“You okay?” Ellie asked as you reached a tentative hand to your scalp and pulled it back to see your fingers sticky with blood.

As soon as Joel saw, he was kneeling in front of you, brows furrowed deep as he assessed the wound. 

“I’ll be fine,” you murmured, trying to brush off the concern. “Just a cut on my scalp. It’ll stop bleeding if I put some pressure on it.” 

Joel didn’t say anything, just got up and disappeared behind the bar, rummaging through whatever he could find. When he returned, he pressed a makeshift rag––as clean as he could find––firmly against the back of your head. His other hand was gently against your forehead, counterbalancing the force.

Even as he took such good care of you, he wouldn’t meet your eyes. 

You frowned. “What’s wrong?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “Thing is… I didn’t hear that guy comin’... and if I did, you wouldn’t be bleedin’ and Ellie – “ He looked over at her, his expression pinched with guilt. “You wouldn’t have had to… you shouldn’t have had to… you know.” 

Your stomach twisted as you followed his gaze. Ellie sat stiff, her fingers anxiously picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. You reached up, gently pulling Joel’s hand away so you could shift your focus to Ellie. Running a soothing hand through her hair, you spoke for him.

“I think what Joel means is… you’re only fourteen, love. You shouldn’t know what it means to have to make that decision.”

Joel swallowed hard and nodded. “It was my fault. You shouldn’t’ve had to… and I’m sorry.” 

Ellie’s breath hitched, her fingers curling into fists as she furiously wiped at her eyes. It wasn’t enough. You reached out and pulled her into your arms, pressing a soft kiss to her head as she clung to you. Her shoulders trembled against you, silent tears soaking into your shirt.

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered, your hand moving up and down her back in slow, steady strokes. “You’re okay now. You’re safe. We’re not going to let anything happen to you.” 

You wished you could undo it. Wished you could take back her shot, take away the weight of what she had to do. But, the truth was, you couldn’t shield her from everything. You could only teach her how to survive it. 

You met Joel’s gaze over the top of Ellie’s head, your voice quiet but firm. “Can I have her gun?” 

He silently reached into the back of his jeans, pulling out the gun and handing it over to you. You unloaded the magazine and emptied the chamber before offering it to Ellie.

“Show me your grip,” you said gently.

Ellie adjusted her hold, her fingers wrapping around the handle.

The way she held it had Joel nearly scoffing. “Now, who taught you that?” 

“FEDRA school.” 

“Figures.” He reached over to correct her grip. “There you go. Now, look it.”

He went to snatch the gun from her, but Ellie tightened her grip, holding firm. Joel shook the gun lightly, testing her hold, but she didn’t let go. It made her giggle, and you found yourself smiling, storing away the rare lighthearted moment like a mental picture.

“Okay?” Joel asked, making Ellie beam and nod.

He loaded the gun and glanced your way––you nodded in silent agreement––before offering it back to Ellie, grip first.

“It’s only for emergencies,” you told her, watching as she started to tuck it into the waistband of her pants like Joel did.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel cut in, shaking his head. “You put it in your pack. You’ll shoot your damn ass off.” 

Ellie snorted. You laughed. The sound felt foreign but welcomed nonetheless in the middle of your current predicament.

When it was time to move, and Ellie went to tuck the gun into her bag, you helped Joel pull the barricades from the door. As you lifted one of the heavier planks, you let your fingers brush over his, squeezing gently in silent thanks.

He met your gaze. “We’ll get through this,” he promised. 

You nodded, believing him. “I know.” 

With Ellie between you, the three of you slipped out into the daylight, heading for the skyscraper. .

Climbing up thirty-three flights of stairs was brutal, even for you and Ellie. It hit Joel harder, making him feel his age by the time you reached your destination. As soon as you hit the landing, he dropped onto the floor with a groan. 

Ellie nudged his boot. “Come on. Get up, you lazy ass.” 

Joel scoffed. “Lazy ass?” He pushed himself up with a dramatic grunt. “Fifty-six years old, you little shit.”

You and Ellie giggled, setting up your makeshift beds. In no time, you had them set up – piles of cushions lined up, Ellie’s the furthest from the door, Joel’s the closest, and yours in between.

“I could sleep for five years,” Ellie yawned, sprawling out onto the cushions as her eyes fluttered shut. “Good night.” 

“Yeah, good night,” Joel grumbled from your other side, settling into his bed.

Having used your hoodie for a pillow, you stared up at Joel, meeting his gaze with big, expectant eyes. He took one look and sighed, shrugging his jacket off and tossing it over you. You grinned and pulled it close. 

When he laid on his side, facing you, you frowned and pulled his cushions closer to yours. “What’re you doin’?” He whispered, watching you tug your makeshift pillow between you two, wordlessly offering him the other end. 

After a beat, he shuffled closer, resting his head on the hoodie. You pulled up the extra fabric of his jacket, covering him as well. Then, you settled again, eyes shutting as your breathing began to even out.

He could feel it on his neck, and he wasn’t sure how much sleep he’d get if continued – it was all he could think about.

“Joel,” Ellie whispered, cutting through the silence of the night. He hummed, acknowledging her. “Did you know diarrhea is hereditary?” 

Joel lifted his head up off your hoodie to look at her. “What?” 

He glanced down to see a smile forming at your lips, though your eyes remained shut.

“Yeah,” Ellie continued quietly before snickering. “It runs in your jeans.” 

He pressed his head back down to your hoodie, mumbling, “Jesus,” into it before he began laughing quietly, joining Ellie. “That is so goddamn stupid.” 

Ellie giggled again from your other side. “You laughed, motherfucker.” 

“I didn’t laugh,” he denied. 

“Yes, you did.” 

You peeked an eye open. “You did,” you mumbled with a smile of your own, finding yourself shuffling closer to him. 

“Jesus, I’m losin’ it,” he muttered, barely audible.

“Big time,” you mumbled practically against his chest at this point. 

And for the first time in a long time, you slept soundly. Until Ellie’s voice cut through the silence once more, tensely calling out to you and Joel.

Your eyes snapped open, body tensing at her tone. You immediately sat up, your movement waking Joel, whose body was pressed against yours in sleep. 

You barely had a second to process before you saw it – Ellie, hands up, a gun pointed at her head.

Your eyes moved up the hand holding the gun and settled upon a familiar face.

“Henry?”

.

.

.

taglist: @orcasoul @lizlil@littleshadow17 @joeldjarin @mrsyixingunicorn10 @luvwanda @escaping-reality8 @hoddystark @mmkkzz @victoriaholland @xodilfluvr @mystickittytaco @21tao

[divadepreshawn]

𝑬𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒔𝒔

Aaron Hotchner × fem!reader

I think it's more like BAU × fem!reader

Summary: The downside of seeing the team as family is intimacy

Today was a relatively quiet day at the office, no cases at the moment, no emergency trips, just a mountain of paperwork to finish.

You decided that you deserved a break and as a reward for your effort - which in this case was not having freaked out yet - you treated yourself to a coffee with lots of caramel and whipped cream.

You were at your desk absentmindedly sipping your coffee while looking towards Hotch's office.

Subconsciously, of course.

At first, you looked because the window of your office was right in your line of sight, so it was natural to look, right? Your mind was far from the report you needed to finish filling out.

Your brain loves to get distracted by anything when you have to fill out paperwork.

Spencer had given you the name of a store that had the vinyl record you had been looking for for a while.

"Maybe I should stop by after work" you mumble before drinking some more coffee and- Did Hotch always have that pen? It practically disappeared in his fingers as he filled out the report. It shouldn't be that appealing, should it?

“For the love of god, it's just a pen,” you shake your head, “I need to finish this soon, I'm going crazy,” you straighten up in your chair to focus on the report.

But there's something that always pulls your gaze back to the window. You secretly nicknamed Hotch the black hole, not only for the intensity of his presence, but for the inevitable way he draws your attention no matter what you're doing. It's unfair how he manages to draw your attention without any effort. So what else could you do but give in to the universe's wishes?

The way a small strand of his hair fell over his forehead when he leaned down slightly, how his mouth turned into a straight line when he analyzed the finished report, how terribly hot he looked when he massaged his temples.

You find yourself imagining what it would be like to massage his shoulders until that frown between his eyebrows diminished.

Your gaze continues downwards, his tie was slightly lower than usual, his shirt was a little tight on the arm, just enough for imagination, you bite the bottom of your lip, that shade of blue suits him.

Will this chair hold the two of you? Probably not, but the table should be strong enough to hold you and-

“Girl you're making me blush” Emily's voice brings you back to reality.

You blink in surprise, frowning slightly, turning to her “Hum..?”

“Oh please, the way you look at him, it's like you're going to devour him any minute”

You widen your eyes and can feel the extremities of your body slightly losing their ability to circulate “I wasn't- I'm just thinking about what I have to do after I get out of here, I wasn't focusing on anything specific” you answer quickly while gesturing with your hand.

“Is it in your plan to eat Hotch?” She asks with a mischievous smile.

Yes, in every corner of that office.

“What? Oh my god, no.” You answer quickly, too quickly, which she might have missed if your voice hadn’t gone up an octave.

“Honey, you’re insulting my intelligence and competence in this job.” She leans back in her chair with a playful smile.

You let out a frustrated groan, hiding your face in your hands. “I don’t—you’re overreacting.”

“Who’s overreacting?” JJ approaches with a cup of coffee.

“No one is exaggerating, I'm being very honest with the facts” Emily clicks her tongue and points her index finger at you “She's looking at Hotch like a wolf looks at a lamb”

“I told you, I was just thinking” you defend yourself

JJ analyzes you while taking a sip of coffee “Nah, it's not just that… you're closer than before” she turned to Emily “You know what, the other day I caught Penelope giving Hotch a lesson on pop culture”

“You're kidding” she smiles incredulously.

“Seriously, I got to the part about pop divas, the weirdest thing is that he really seemed interested in how a pop diva is built, his jaw dropped when Pen told him that Beyoncé's father made her run and sing on a treadmill, he asked if that wouldn't get you arrested or something.” She shrugs.

“He’s learning about what you like.. Oh my god, that’s it.” She lets out an exaggerated sigh, placing her hand on her chest.

“..What is that..?” You ask, slightly suspicious.

“He likes you! He’s so grumpy today because he thinks you have a date tomorrow. I didn’t think I’d be alive to see him with someone again. How old are you? About 10 years?” She seems to think for a while, but then dismisses him with her hand. “Well, that doesn’t really matter.”

“Some women prefer older men. They’re more mature, have financial security, know how to communicate, have had previous experiences, so they know exactly how to have a relationship. There are some articles that say that it’s even biological for women to seek out older men and for men to seek out younger women. Something about the biological clock and reproductive capacity. Research shows that couples with this age difference are more likely to have more children than couples who are the same age.”

“..Spence?” You look at him in shock as you can feel the heat rising up your neck.

“W-what” he looks up from his computer, blushing when he realizes he said it out loud “I-I didn’t mean to, um” he clears his throat “It’s just…well, he’s not as discreet as he thinks”

“Excuse me?” You ask genuinely confused.

“What? What do you know?” JJ and Emily ask in unison.

“Um…when we need to catch the jet there’s always a blanket on top of Y/N’s seat, Hotch places it there surreptitiously every time he thinks no one is looking, in the SUV the heater is always on, even when it’s hot for us because we all know Y/N gets colder than usual, not to mention when we go to a snowy city and he mysteriously feels kind enough to buy us all 3 coffees a day.” Spencer answers counting on his fingers as he speaks.

You look at Spencer like he has two heads now “Did you hit your head?”

“No honey, he’s well aware and you’re not far behind” Derek replies joining Spencer’s side.

“Where are you guys coming from? Doesn’t anyone else work in this office?”

“Don’t try to hide it” He smiles “You stay late every Friday to help him with the paperwork, he fills it out and you scan it so he can go home early, you’re reading more about human development even though you only use the basics in cases, I can swear it’s to help him with Jack and I’ll change my name right now if you weren’t the one who gave him that massager that’s attached to his chair to ease his lower back pain”

Okay, now your jaw is on the floor “How did you…?”

“I know a lot of things.” He boasts with a smile.

“Why did my love life become so interesting to you guys?”

“Because Hotch made me redo the same report three times, if I have to redo it a fourth time I’ll be arrested, do you want my son to grow up without his mother?” JJ closes her eyes and points at you.

“Hmm… I don’t think so”

She smiles “Great, if you don’t mind we’ll continue”

People think JJ is the calmest of the group, but appearances can be deceiving. She’s the scariest.

“I can’t believe you guys got together and didn’t call me. Next time, besides a lecture on sexual harassment and language at work, you’ll have to hear about ageism too” Rossi approaches with a smile. “What are we talking about?”

“You know what intimacy is?” You ask as you rest your face on your hand

“Hmm… what about it?” And he hums in confusion

“She’s a piece of shit”

Rossi laughs, settling himself next to Emily

“Don’t say that, honey, we just want our father to be happy” Derek smiles, pointing to Hotch’s office with his head.

“Are you implying that Hotch is our father figure?-” Spencer starts but is interrupted by Rossi

“Oh so you guys are finally dating? I thought turning you into the 4th Mrs. Rossi would be faster than him admitting it and asking you out on a date”

“You naughty, so you guys are already dating?” Emily crosses her arms with a mocking smile

You sigh “I’m not dating him, we’re just friends”

“Let me get this straight” Derek starts “You want me to believe that Hotch was one step away from jumping on that Vegas cop’s neck just because he’s your friend? Nah, nonsense, he likes you!”

“Hey, his name is Nick, and he’s been my friend for at least 10 years, and Hotch wasn’t like that because he likes me, he just has trust issues.” You shake your head.

Do you like your boss? Yes.

Would you go out with him? Yes.

Do you have dirty thoughts every time you see him in that damn FBI vest? More than you’d admit out loud.

But there’s no way it’s reciprocal, is there? I mean, what Spencer said applies to the others too, Hotch takes care of all of you.

Rossi looks at you for a while, analyzing if you really don’t know or if you’re just pretending.

“Right, and his bad mood today certainly has nothing to do with the date you have scheduled for tomorrow, right? There must be another reason why he's mad at the wind today.”

You frown “It's not a date, Nick is coming to a convention here and then I'm taking him to see Quantico.” You grimace “He's like a brother.”

“Every time I remember that you used to work with Crime Scene Investigation you get like, 100 times hotter.” Penelope's voice comes from the landline on your desk.

Everyone stares at the phone with wide eyes.

“What the fuck—”

Derek lets out an incredulous laugh “Babygirl, how are you?”

“I'm in everything all the time my chocolate thunder.” She answers and you can tell she's smiling by her tone of voice.

“That's… disturbing.” JJ mumbles still in shock, you nod.

“But I agree with the others, Hotch thinks too much and ends up complicating things that were supposed to be simple, I think you should ask him out” Penelope whispers the last part. “Oh and I’ve already prepared the ground, you can talk about anything in pop culture.”

You sigh looking at them and then at Hotch, who was still focused on reading the report.

“I could even believe you, but you’re crazy so the chance of me getting dumped, going into a spiral of depression and constant embarrassment until I quit or jump off a building is about 80%.”

“A hypothetical dump” Rossi comments while faking a cough.

Spencer straightens up in his chair “Actually I’d say the chances of Hotch dumping you are 0.001% to-”

Hotch opens the door to his office putting only half of his body outside “Case report Jane” he looks at the report and then at you “Redo it, all of you.” and then goes back to the office.

Everyone sighs, muttering small curses.

“Can you please be so kind as to go over there and ask him out on a date?” Emily pleads with her hand on her chest “No, better yet, can you go over there and eat him?”

“I second that, I’ll clear the office in two minutes” JJ raises her hand.

“I’ll finish your reports and Reid will scan what Hotch has already approved.” Derek points to his chest and then to Spencer who nods in agreement.

“I have a really good acquaintance, I’m going to buy the softest couch there is for that office” Rossi picks up his cell phone to make a call.

Penelope lets out an excited squeal “You don’t need to say anything else my loves, I’ll set the mood.” As if it wasn’t absurd enough, your phone starts ringing Careless Whisper.

You shake your head as you hide your face in your hand “Seriously, I hate you guys.”

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

Sorry for any mistake, english is not my first language

[nanaslutt]

on my knees begging and praying for more perv! geto🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🛐🛐🛐

Some PervyRoomate!Geto (and 1 perv Satosugu) drabbles for you :3

contains: voyeurism, stealing, fantasizing, Gojo makes an appearance, degradation, p*ssy eating, cumming untouched, restraints, masturbating, handjobs, unprotected sex, slight somno, overall creep behavior... pls be warned

note: i do not condone any of this irl :3

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Perv!Geto who stands outside your door and jerks off to the sound of you getting your brains fucked out by your latest partner. If he closes his eyes and squeezed his fist hard enough he can almost imagine he’s the one fucking you. He’s timing his thrusts with the slaps he hears on the other side of the door to immerse himself deeper into his fantasy; and when you cum- he cums all over his hand while his other covers his mouth to prevent any moans from slipping through his lip.

Perv!Geto who steals your dirty panties, shirts, shorts--anything at all from your dirty clothes hamper and holds it up to his face to smell your scent while he jerks his cock furiously with his lip pulled between his teeth. You're just in the next room over, he can hear you giggling with Shoko at something funny she said, the sound spurring him on as he imagines you're laughing at him, at how pathetic he is for stealing your clothes to jerk off. Of course, when he cums he makes sure to make a mess all over the garment before he throws it back into your hamper. Maybe one day you would go searching through your dirty clothes and find the present he left for you and teach him a lesson for being such a perv.

Perv!Geto who sucks your fingers into his mouth while you ride him because he's been waiting for so long for this moment and he needs to taste you. Your neck, lips, thighs, hands- anything. He would gag and moan around your lithe fingers when they hit the back of his throat, jolting around in his mouth from the roughness of your thrusts on his too-sensitive cock.

Perv!Geto who sits on his knees with his hands tied behind his back, his heavy neglected cock and full balls hanging freely in the air as you grip his hair from his scalp and roughly shove his face into your cunt. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, his face flushed a gorgeous crimson color as you fuck his face while degrading him, telling him how filthy and dirty he is for being such a creep to his poor unknowing roommate (you). He would cum untouched with a pathetic whine into your cunt at your mean words, as he continued to suck and flick his tongue as he brought you to orgasm.

Perv!Geto & Gojo who FaceTime late at night to talk about all the filthy things they would do to you while they jerk off together. Sometimes when you aren't home they sneak into your room and jerk each other off on your bed, working each other up as they dirty talk each other about what you would do to them if you were here. "Yeah? You like the way they stroke your cock? Huh?" Gojo would groan as he twists his hand over Geto's tip while the dark-haired man has his eyes squeezed shut, pretending its your hand. "Yeah cum inside her Gojo fuck, she wants it so badd~" Geto would whisper as Gojo came all over your nice clean pillow. The two of them constantly plotted on how they would get you in their beds.

Perv!Geto who would sneak into your room at night and jerk off to your sleeping body only clad in tiny shorts that showed half your ass and a crop top that your breasts spilled out of. He never touched you, but he would get close, seeing how far he could test the limits before his cute roomie woke up to a face full of cum. He would jerk off right over your face, his heart racing out of his chest when you stirred in your sleep, the fright making him back up as he cums hard in his hand, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood as he tried to keep himself quiet.

Perv!Geto who would offer to stand behind you on the train while you wore a skimpy outfit so you didn't have to be pressed up against some olf perv. Little did you know he had the same intentions as them. He felt himself get hard as your ass bumped back agaisnt his crotch when the train ride got bumpy. He would pray for the time when you would lose your balance and almost fall so he could grab your waist in his massive hands to steady you. Your meek 'thank you Sugu' Going straight to his cock at how oblivious you were.

Perv!Geto who offered to sleep in your room to cuddle when your relationship ended. Who was he to leave you alone when you spilled the news to him with fat tears rolling down your cheeks, that made his cock twitch in his pants. He should feel bad about taking advantage of your vulnerable state right now, but how was he supposed to when your smaller frame was pressed right up against his body and his nostrils were filled with your scent from being smothered by your sheets? He wasn't able to stop himself from humping his hips into your ass when he felt your body relax agaisnt him, your breaths evening out as you slipped into dreamland while Geto used the friction of your soft ass to reach orgasm and cum hard in his pants.

Bonus: Perv!Geto who was more than happy to fuck you to back sleep when you awoke right when he released his load into his pants. Him getting off on you calling him needy while he fucked his next load into your cunt, not being able to stop himself from thinking how he wasted a perfectly good load in his boxers when he could've just woken you up and fucked it into your cunt as well :( How was he supposed to know you wanted him as much as he wanted you? You did break up with your boyfriend for him after all.

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Mafia Ateez OT8x Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, poly ateez, violence and weapons, mafia ateez, organized crime, parental death and grieving process, bullying, possessive and controlling behavior,

Summary: When Y/n Ricci is forced to marry Kim Hongjoong—leader of the notorious ATEEZ organization and one of eight men who cruelly abandoned her seven years ago—she finds herself trapped in their heavily guarded compound with the ghosts of her past. As she navigates the dangerous world of mafia politics and her own wounded heart, Y/n discovers that all eight powerful, irresistible men still harbor deep feelings for her, suggesting an unconventional solution to their shared dilemma. But before she can consider forgiving them, let alone loving them again, she must uncover the dark secret that tore them apart—a truth that could either heal their fractured bonds or destroy them all completely.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

18+ only- Minors do not enter

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist

Chapter 2: The Wolves' Den

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed nine as you returned to the drawing room with Hongjoong. The conversation between the men paused, all eyes turning to assess your expressions, searching for signs of reconciliation or further hostility.

You kept your face carefully blank, taking your seat once more. If they were hoping for a miraculous change of heart during your garden chat, they were about to be sorely disappointed.

"Have you two reached an understanding?" your father asked, his tone suggesting he expected the answer to be yes.

"We understand each other perfectly," you replied coolly, not looking at Hongjoong. "We always have."

Mr. Kim cleared his throat. "Excellent. Then perhaps we can finalize the remaining details."

Your father nodded. "As we discussed, the wedding will take place at the Kim estate. Traditional ceremony, followed by a reception for our closest associates."

"And the honeymoon?" Mr. Kim inquired.

"Two weeks in Sicily," your father replied. "At the family villa."

You bit back a bitter laugh. Of course they'd already planned your honeymoon. Why not your entire future while they were at it?

"And in the meantime," your father continued, his eyes shifting to you, "Y/n will be staying at the Kim estate to become better acquainted with her future husband and his... organization."

The words hit you like a physical blow. "I beg your pardon?"

Your father's expression hardened slightly. "It's been decided, Y/n. You'll be moving to the Kim estate tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" You leaned forward, dropping all pretense of composure. "You're shipping me off to live with strangers for three months?"

"They're hardly strangers," your father countered. "You've known Hongjoong and his associates since childhood."

"Known and been abandoned by," you corrected sharply. "And you expect me to just... what? Pack up and move in with them? Like some sort of trial run before the main event?"

"It's a common practice for arranged marriages in our circles," Seonghwa interjected smoothly. "It allows the bride to acclimate to her new family and household before the wedding."

You turned your glare on him. "Thank you for the cultural lesson, Mr. Park. I'm well aware of our 'traditions.' I'm simply questioning why this particular one is necessary in my case."

"Because," your father said firmly, "the Ricci estate is no longer secure."

That stopped you cold. "What do you mean?"

A look passed between your father and Mr. Kim—a silent communication that sent a chill down your spine.

"The Russo family has been making moves," your father said finally. "We've intercepted information suggesting they may target you to get to me."

"So instead of increasing security here, you're sending me away?" you asked incredulously.

"The ATEEZ compound is the most secure location in the city," Hongjoong said, speaking up for the first time since you'd returned from the garden. "No one gets in or out without our knowledge."

You turned to him slowly. "ATEEZ?"

"Our organization," he replied, a hint of pride coloring his tone. "Separate from our family businesses, though allied. The eight of us formed it five years ago."

"How entrepreneurial of you," you said sarcastically. "And this compound—who exactly will be there?"

Hongjoong met your gaze steadily. "Myself. Seonghwa. Yunho. Yeosang. San. Mingi. Wooyoung. And Jongho."

You couldn't help the sound that escaped you—something between a laugh and a growl. "All eight of you. Together. How convenient."

"Each has their role," Hongjoong continued, undeterred by your reaction. "We've built something... significant."

"I'm sure you have," you said, your voice dripping venom. "One big happy family. And now you want to add me to your collection."

"Y/n," your father warned.

But you were beyond caring about decorum. "So I'm to be a prisoner in a house full of men who couldn't even be bothered to say goodbye seven years ago? Is that it?"

The words hung in the air, and for a split second, you caught something flash across Hongjoong's face—guilt, perhaps, or regret. Seonghwa's expression remained carefully neutral, but you noticed his hand tighten imperceptibly on the arm of his chair.

"You'll be a guest," Seonghwa corrected. "Protected and respected."

"Forgive me if I don't find that particularly reassuring coming from you," you said, Seonghwa's parting words from seven years ago echoing in your mind: "Find some nice civilian boy to marry, Y/n. Someone more... your speed."

"Enough," your father said sharply. "This isn't a negotiation, Y/n. It's been decided. You'll go with Hongjoong tomorrow and stay at the ATEEZ compound until the wedding. End of discussion."

The finality in his tone left no room for argument. You sat back in your chair, fury building inside you like a gathering storm. Trapped. You were going to be trapped with all eight of them, with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide from the memories and the pain they represented.

"If that's settled," Mr. Kim said, rising to his feet, "we should be going. We have much to prepare for Y/n's arrival."

Your father stood as well, extending his hand. "We'll speak tomorrow before she leaves."

As the men exchanged handshakes and platitudes, you remained seated, your mind racing. Three months in the lions' den—no, the wolves' den. Because that's what they were, weren't they? A pack of wolves who had once welcomed you as one of their own, only to turn on you when it suited them.

"Y/n," your father's voice broke through your thoughts. "Say goodbye to our guests."

You rose mechanically, your smile tight and false. "Mr. Kim, it was a pleasure. Mr. Park, always illuminating. Hongjoong... until tomorrow, I suppose."

Hongjoong inclined his head slightly. "I'll send a car at noon."

"How thoughtful," you replied. "I'll be sure to pack light. Wouldn't want to impose."

His eyes narrowed slightly at your tone, but he said nothing more. As they turned to leave, you caught Seonghwa watching you with an unreadable expression. For a moment, you thought you saw something like regret in his gaze, but it was gone so quickly you might have imagined it.

Once the door closed behind them, you rounded on your father. "How could you do this to me?"

"I'm protecting you," he said firmly. "The ATEEZ compound is a fortress. You'll be safer there than anywhere else."

"With the same men who abandoned me without a word? Who left me wondering for years what I'd done wrong? That's your idea of protection?"

"We felt sorry for you because your mom was sick, but she's gone now. Maybe it's time you learned to be alone." Wooyoung's last words to you floated through your mind, making your chest tighten with renewed pain.

Your father sighed heavily, suddenly looking older than his years. "There are things you don't understand, Y/n."

"Then explain them to me!" you demanded. "Tell me why my best friends disappeared from my life overnight. Tell me why you're suddenly so eager to marry me off to one of them."

A flicker of something—guilt? discomfort?—passed across your father's face before he carefully composed his features again.

He moved to the bar, pouring himself another drink. "Some secrets aren't mine to tell."

"Convenient excuse," you spat. "Everyone has secrets they can't share, decisions they can't explain. Am I the only one expected to accept everything blindly?"

Your father turned to face you, his expression grave. "In our world, ignorance can be a form of protection. Sometimes, not knowing is the safest position to be in."

"I stopped being safe the day I was born a Ricci," you countered. "At least give me the dignity of knowing what I'm walking into."

For a moment, something like indecision flickered across your father's face. Then he downed his drink in one swift motion. "Pack your things, Y/n. The decision is made."

You stared at him in disbelief, then turned on your heel and stormed out of the room. Your heels echoed against the marble floor as you climbed the stairs to your bedroom, each step fueled by rage and frustration.

Once inside, you slammed the door behind you with enough force to rattle the paintings on the walls. For a moment, you stood there, breathing heavily, fighting the urge to scream or break something—or everything.

Instead, you moved to your closet and yanked out a suitcase, throwing it onto the bed with unnecessary force. The thought of living under the same roof as all eight of them—eating breakfast across from Yunho's too-bright smile after he'd once told you to "Stop crying, it's embarrassing," passing San in the hallway who had called you a "lost puppy," hearing Wooyoung's distinctive laugh echoing through the rooms after he'd said you were "exhausting and needy"—it sent a confusing mix of emotions coursing through you. Anger, yes. Resentment, absolutely. But beneath that, something else—a dangerous flutter of anticipation that you refused to acknowledge.

You began throwing clothes into the suitcase haphazardly, muttering curses under your breath. "Stupid, arrogant, presumptuous men, thinking they can just—"

A knock at your door interrupted your tirade. "What?" you snapped.

Paolo's voice came through the door. "Miss Y/n, your father asked me to tell you that security protocols have been updated in light of tomorrow's move. No one leaves the house tonight without an escort."

"Fine," you called back. "Is that all?"

A pause. "He also said to remind you that the ATEEZ organization has a... reputation. They're not the boys you once knew."

You stilled, a silk blouse dangling from your fingers. "What kind of reputation?"

"They're effective," Paolo said simply. "Ruthless when necessary. But fair, by our standards."

Our standards. The standards of a world built on violence and power, where loyalty was currency and betrayal was punishable by death. A world where childhood friends could tell you that you were "not special" and that they'd been "just being polite all these years," then disappear without a trace.

"Thank you, Paolo," you said quietly. "Good night."

"Good night, Miss Y/n."

As his footsteps faded away, you sank onto the edge of your bed, the blouse forgotten in your lap. ATEEZ. You'd heard whispers of the name over the years—a new player in the city's underworld, methodical and disciplined in a way most organizations weren't. You'd never connected it to them, never imagined that the boys who had once sneaked you ice cream past your bedtime were now the men others in your world spoke of with wary respect.

You looked around your bedroom—the space that had been your sanctuary for years, the one place where you could pretend to be normal, where the weight of the Ricci name sometimes felt a little lighter. Tomorrow, you would leave it behind for a house full of ghosts from your past.

With renewed determination, you returned to your packing, this time with more care. If you were walking into the wolves' den, you'd be damned if you'd go unprepared.

As you folded a black evening dress—the kind that could double as armor in the right circumstances—you made yourself a promise. You wouldn't be the victim in this story. Not again. If they thought you were still that same trusting girl they'd left behind, they were about to learn how wrong they were.

The words that had haunted you for seven years—"You talk too much," "It's pathetic," "We've outgrown this phase of our lives," "Find your own life"—you would force them to eat every single one.

Hongjoong Kim might have agreed to marry you, and your father might have agreed to send you away, but that didn't mean you had to make it easy for any of them.

The game had changed, and this time, you would be the one setting the rules.

***

The morning arrived too quickly, sunlight streaming through windows you'd forgotten to close. You'd slept fitfully, dreams filled with shadows and fragments of memories—eight faces, eight voices, eight different kinds of betrayal.

By eleven, your bags were packed and waiting by the door. You'd chosen your outfit with deliberate care—black high-waisted trousers, a crimson silk blouse, and heels that added three dangerous inches to your height. Battle armor of a different kind.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts.

"Come in," you called, expecting your father with one final lecture about behavior and duty.

Instead, Paolo entered, carrying a small wooden box. His weathered face was solemn as he approached, setting the box on your dressing table.

"Your father is on a call," he said. "He asked me to see you off."

You nodded, unsurprised but still disappointed. "Of course he did."

Paolo's gaze softened. "Before you go, I have something for you." He gestured to the box. "It was your mother's."

Curious, you approached the box, running your fingers over the polished wood before lifting the lid. Inside, nestled in dark velvet, lay a pearl-handled pistol and an ornate dagger with an engraved hilt. Your breath caught in your throat.

"My mother's..." you whispered.

Paolo nodded. "The Beretta was a gift from your father on their wedding day. The knife was her grandfather's—Sicilian, from the old country." He reached in, lifting the pistol with careful hands. "She called this her insurance policy. Said a woman in our world should never be without options."

You took the weapon, feeling its weight—surprisingly light, perfectly balanced. Despite its delicate appearance, you knew it was as deadly as any of the more modern firearms in your father's collection.

"It's loaded," Paolo said quietly. "And the knife is sharp enough to slice through silk."

You looked up at him, understanding the message beneath his words. "Thank you, Paolo."

He inclined his head. "Your mother was fierce. You remind me of her more each day." His eyes met yours. "The ATEEZ boys—they're dangerous men now. But they were good boys once. I remember."

"People change," you said, carefully replacing the pistol in the box and closing the lid. Mingi's words echoed in your mind: "We're not the same people we were as kids, and honestly? Neither are you."

"Yes," Paolo agreed. "But not always completely." He lifted the box, handing it to you. "Hide these well. And remember—"

"A woman in our world should never be without options," you finished for him, tucking the box into your handbag.

A sad smile crossed his face. "May God go with you, little one."

You reached up, pressing a kiss to his weathered cheek. "Thank you for everything, Paolo."

He nodded once more, then turned to leave. At the door, he paused. "Your father loves you, Y/n. In his way."

"I know," you said softly. "In his way."

After he was gone, you stood alone in your bedroom for the last time, mentally saying goodbye to the sanctuary it had been. Then, squaring your shoulders, you picked up your handbag—now considerably heavier with your mother's "insurance policy"—and headed downstairs to meet the car that would take you to your new life.

* * *

The ATEEZ estate loomed before you like something from a gothic novel—a sprawling modern mansion of stone and glass, set behind imposing gates and surrounded by meticulously landscaped grounds. Security cameras tracked your arrival, and armed guards stood at strategic points along the perimeter.

As the car pulled up the circular driveway, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. Your mother's pistol and knife, now hidden in strategic places on your person, gave you a small measure of comfort.

The driver—a stoic man who hadn't spoken a word during the thirty-minute drive—opened your door. "Miss Ricci," he said with a slight bow. "Welcome to the ATEEZ compound."

You stepped out, surveying the fortress that would be your home for the next three months. "Charming," you murmured. "Does it come with a dungeon, or is that extra?"

The driver's expression didn't change as he retrieved your luggage from the trunk. "Mr. Kim and the others are waiting for you inside."

Before you could respond, the massive front doors swung open, and there they were—all eight of them, lined up in the entrance hall like a receiving line from your nightmares.

For a moment, you couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't think. Seven years collapsed into nothing as you took in their faces—so familiar yet so changed. Boys no longer, but men with edges hardened by whatever lives they'd led since leaving yours.

Hongjoong stood at the center, impeccably dressed in all black, his posture rigid. His last words to you hung in the air between you: "Did you really think this was real, Y/n? We have real futures to build now, and frankly... you don't fit into them."

Beside him, Seonghwa watched you with that same unreadable expression from the night before, the man who once told you to "find some nice civilian boy to marry."

Yunho, taller than you remembered, shifted his weight nervously, the same man who had once said, "Stop crying, Y/n. It's embarrassing."

Yeosang's face remained impassive, but his eyes never left yours—the quiet one who had cruelly told you that you "talk too much" and that they "used to draw straws to see who had to listen to you ramble."

San's lips curved in a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes, the charmer who had dismissed you as "pathetic" and compared you to a "lost puppy."

Mingi stood slightly apart, his gaze so intense it was almost physical—the gentle soul who had become harsh enough to call you "clingy" and "desperate."

Wooyoung fidgeted, barely containing whatever energy coursed through him, the one whose words had cut deepest when he called you "exhausting and needy" and said they only tolerated you because they "felt sorry for you."

And Jongho, the youngest but somehow looking the most formidable, stood with arms crossed—the protector who had told you that you were "embarrassing yourself and your family" and to "have some dignity."

Eight men. Eight ghosts. Eight pieces of your past, standing before you in the flesh.

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words and buried memories.

Then, like a dam breaking, Wooyoung bounded forward with a cry of "Y/n!" before anyone could stop him. He swept you into a crushing hug, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around just as he had countless times when you were younger.

"You're finally here! I've been counting down the minutes! You look amazing—that red is totally your color—and your hair! I love what you've done with it!" His words tumbled out in a rush, his embrace warm and familiar, smelling of expensive cologne and something uniquely Wooyoung.

For one treacherous moment, you melted into the hug, your body remembering the comfort his arms had once provided. This was Wooyoung, your Wooyoung, who had once held you through the night after your mother's funeral, who had made you laugh even on your darkest days.

Then, just as quickly, another memory surfaced—Wooyoung's face, cold and distant, telling you that you were "exhausting" and that they "used to joke about how suffocating you were." The memory sent a chill through you, hardening your resolve.

You stiffened, planting your hands on his chest and shoving him away with enough force to make him stumble. "Touch me again without permission," you said icily, reaching into your jacket where the knife was hidden, "and I'll shoot you where you stand."

Rather than looking hurt or offended, Wooyoung's face split into a delighted grin. "There she is! Our fierce Y/n!" He turned to the others. "Didn't I tell you guys? Still the same spitfire!"

"Wooyoung," Hongjoong's voice cut through the air, sharp with warning. "Give her space."

Wooyoung pouted but stepped back, still grinning at you like you'd just shared an inside joke instead of threatening his life.

Your eyes swept over the rest of them, cataloging their reactions. Seonghwa's lips had thinned in disapproval—at Wooyoung's behavior or yours, you couldn't tell. Yunho looked caught between amusement and concern. Yeosang's expression hadn't changed, but something in his eyes had softened. San was openly smirking now. Jongho had unfolded his arms, his stance slightly more relaxed.

And Mingi... Mingi was looking at you with such naked longing that it felt like a physical blow. His eyes traced your face as if memorizing every detail, his expression so full of yearning and regret that for a moment, you felt your resolve waver. How could the same man who had called you "clingy" and "desperate" now look at you with such undisguised need?

You tore your gaze away, focusing instead on Hongjoong. "So, my dearly devoted fiancé," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm, "please show me to my cell. And I'd also make sure either the guns or bullets are hidden because if I find both, it will be a long night."

A muscle twitched in Hongjoong's jaw, but his expression remained controlled. "Your room is upstairs. Follow me."

You moved toward the staircase, deliberately brushing past the others without acknowledgment. As you passed Mingi, you felt him inhale sharply, as if capturing your scent.

"I'll have your bags brought up," Seonghwa said, his voice perfectly composed.

"How hospitable," you replied without looking back.

As you ascended the stairs beside Hongjoong, you could hear the murmur of voices below.

"Holy shit," San's voice drifted up. "She's even more beautiful than before."

"And deadlier," came Yeosang's quiet observation.

"That mouth on her though," Yunho added with a low whistle. "She's got more spirit than I remember."

"More sad," Mingi's solemn voice cut through the others. "Didn't you see her eyes? She's carrying ghosts."

There was a pause, then Wooyoung's distinctive laugh. "If she keeps being that mean to me, I might fall in love all over again."

"All of you, shut up," Jongho's deep voice commanded. "She can probably hear you."

You allowed yourself a small, bitter smile as you continued climbing. Let them talk. Let them wonder. Let them feel a fraction of the confusion and pain they'd inflicted on you.

Hongjoong remained silent beside you, leading you down a long hallway lined with modern art and subtle security cameras. Finally, he stopped before a door at the end of the corridor, producing a key.

"This will be your room," he said, unlocking the door and pushing it open. "You have your own bathroom and a small sitting area. The balcony overlooks the garden."

You stepped inside, taking in the spacious room with its elegant furnishings and muted color palette. It was beautiful, tasteful, and completely impersonal—like an upscale hotel suite.

"The key," you said, holding out your hand.

Hongjoong hesitated. "We don't typically lock doors here. The compound itself is secure."

"The key, Hongjoong," you insisted, remembering how he'd once told you that you were just "convenient when we were bored."

After a moment, he placed it in your palm. "Dinner is at seven in the main dining room. Seonghwa will show you the way."

"How thoughtful," you said flatly, closing your fingers around the key. "Anything else I should know about my incarceration?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "This isn't a prison, Y/n."

"No? Then I'm free to leave whenever I choose?"

"You know that's not possible," he said quietly. "Not with the Russo threat."

You laughed without humor. "Of course. Always some convenient reason why I have to do exactly as I'm told." You turned away from him, moving to the window. "You can go now."

You could feel him watching you, could almost hear the words he wasn't saying. Finally, he spoke.

"For what it's worth," he said softly, "this isn't how I imagined seeing you again."

You didn't turn around. "I'm sure it isn't. Your plans probably involved me being much more compliant and much less armed."

"Y/n—"

"Seven o'clock," you cut him off. "I'll be there. Now please leave."

The door closed quietly behind him. Only then did you allow your shoulders to sag, the weight of seeing all of them—of being seen by all of them—suddenly overwhelming.

You moved to the bed, sinking down onto its edge and pulling your mother's pistol from its hiding place. The pearl handle caught the light as you turned it in your hands, cool and solid and real when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

"Insurance policy," you whispered to yourself, echoing Paolo's words. Whatever game they were playing, whatever secrets they were keeping, you wouldn't be defenseless.

You thought of all the cruel words they had hurled at you seven years ago, words that had cut deeper than any knife could reach. Words like "pathetic," "embarrassing," "clingy," "exhausting," words that had made you question your worth, your place, your very self.

But now, sitting in the heart of their domain with your mother's pistol in your hand, you made yourself a new promise: they would never hurt you like that again.

Not this time.

Next>>

Taglist: @imagine-all-the-imagines @green-moon @thelordofshadows21 @yunyunrin @vinylphwoar @thuyting @mdurir @dachshunddame @ninjakitty15 @moonchild-stuff7 @stellmeiv @spenceatiny18 @herpoetryprincess @m00njinnie @starz-choisanii @ateezswonderland @mxnsxngie @purple-bell @awkward-fucking-thing @hecateslittlewitchling @pixie0627 @parkthothwa8 @hwa2tiny @s1ar4s @atinystay-xxx @moonxxlover @babymbbatinygirl @londonbridges01 @miracle-sol @killerwaifu @peachyplumsss

[elliespassagerprincess]

that professor ellie was perfect. please do a nsfw one LOL i feel like she’d be so sweet but also lowkey not BUT ONLY SOMETIMES bc she’s usually gentle but other times she’s like I HAVE TO HAVE YOU HEHEHE but never too crazy but also is she??? im spiralling

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

warning: NSFW content! MDNI 18+

☆ By day, she’s the composed, sarcastic, brilliant literature professor — but behind closed doors, Ellie becomes the kind of woman who whispers filth in your ear while holding your face like you’re precious.

☆ Her desk is definitely not just for grading. She’s taken you over it more than once, locking the door and muttering, “Need to teach you a real lesson.”

☆ Ellie buys you expensive lingerie “for her eyes only” — and makes you wear it under your clothes to class just to tease her. She'll smirk knowingly while lecturing, completely composed while you're squirming.

☆ That calm, slow professor tone? It drops an octave when she’s turned on, and it drives you wild. Especially when she reads poetry to you while touching you.

☆ She worships your body. Whispers “my good girl” while brushing your hair out of your face. Calls you brilliant, beautiful, irresistible — even when you’re falling apart beneath her.

☆ Subtle in public — a hand on your lower back, a kiss to your temple — but in private? She's feral. Leaves marks like she’s afraid someone else might look at you wrong.

☆ Ellie makes everything sound intellectual… even sex. “Let me illustrate this theory,” or “Let’s conduct an experiment,” as she pins your wrists down.

☆ Some nights it’s slow, candlelit, and gentle. Other nights she’s gripping your hips, leaving you breathless and blissed out because she needed you that bad.

☆ When she keeps the glasses on during sex, you know she means business. She looks down at you like you’re a book she’s studied a thousand times but still finds something new every time.

☆ Yes, she will continue a sentence or a theory while slowly sliding her fingers into you — “Pay attention. This part’s on the test.”

☆ Weekend mornings always start with lazy kisses, sleepy fingers, and Ellie growling, “Don’t get up. Not until I’m done with you.”

☆ Ellie lives to see how far she can push you. Fingers, mouth, toys — she’ll draw it out until you’re crying her name like it’s scripture.

☆ Once in a while she gets so turned on she loses it — hair messy, biting your shoulder, saying “I need you. Right now. Don’t care where.”

☆ Immediately after, Ellie’s soft as ever — running you a bath, wrapping you in one of her flannels, feeding you strawberries like you’re royalty.

☆ That locked drawer in her office? Yeah, it’s not just for documents. It holds your favorite toy, a silk blindfold, and one of your panties she “borrowed.”

☆ Reading You Erotica: She’ll find the filthiest passage from some obscure book and read it to you while you sit in her lap, grinding slowly, whimpering.

☆ If someone else flirts with you, Ellie pulls you close, kisses you hard, and whispers, “Mine. Let me remind you.”

☆ She doesn’t always need to speak. Sometimes it’s a look — those sharp green eyes locking on you — and you know to drop to your knees.

☆ She tells you she dreams about you. That she can’t concentrate in meetings because she’s thinking about how you taste, how you sound.

☆ She calls you her “thesis.” The one thing she’ll never stop studying, never stop learning, never stop needing.

☆ Her hand wraps around your throat, but it’s never rough — it’s possessive. She leans in, kisses your lips softly, and says, “Breathe for me. That’s my girl.”

☆ One time, she made you sit through one of her lectures with a remote-controlled vibe inside you. Smiled at you from the front like nothing was happening — then turned it up when she caught you squirming.

☆ Ellie isn’t flashy with bondage. She prefers silk ties, slow binding, and long stares as she murmurs, “You look better like this. All mine.”

☆ Ellie needs to hear every sound you make. She’ll edge you for hours just to hear the pitch of your moans change, cataloguing them like they’re part of a study.

☆ She tugs your hair not just to dominate, but to angle your head up — to kiss you, to praise you, to look you in the eye and say, “So fucking pretty like this.”

☆ If you're a student, she makes you earn your orgasms during finals. “Get an A, and I’ll ruin you. Fail, and I’ll really ruin you. Either way, baby, you’re not walking right.”

☆ Ellie has a thing for your hands on her — gripping her shoulders, clutching her shirt, leaving nail marks down her back. She thanks you for them like you gave her a gift.

☆ She once let you ride her while still wearing her full robe, glasses slipping down her nose, hand on your waist as she said, “Professor’s privilege.”

☆ If you ever admit to having a dream about her, Ellie insists you describe every detail — while she touches you exactly how you described it.

☆ In bed, she gets scary quiet. One word from her — strip, stay, come — and your body obeys before your brain catches up.

[targtowerxstark]

A woman’s touch- Cregan Stark X Wife Reader.

(Fluff Drabble)

Summary: Cregan is helping train the young lads of Winterfell. While doing so he gets a cut on his arm from fighting. He returns to his shared chambers and his wife takes care of him. Which leads them to have an intimate conversation about his other scars.

———————-————————————-———-———Cregan Stark stood in the training yard, surrounded by the eager young lads of Winterfell. The air was crisp, with the scent of pine and snow lingering in the atmosphere. He exchanged a glance with his guard, Ser Jory, a loyal man with a quick wit.

"Shall we show them how it's done, Ser Jory?" Cregan challenged, a playful smirk on his lips.

"Only if you can keep up, my lord," Ser Jory replied, drawing his sword with a flourish.

The boys gathered around, eyes wide with anticipation. Cregan and Ser Jory circled each other, swords clashing in a dance of skill and experience. Cregan feinted to the left, then swiftly struck to the right, catching Ser Jory off guard. As Cregan looked at the young boys as he lowered his guard, Ser Jory took advantage, landing a quick strike that left a thin cut along Cregan's forearm. With a swift movement, he disarmed his guard, sending Ser Jory’s sword clattering to the ground.

"Impressive, my lord!" one of the lads exclaimed.

Cregan chuckled, but Wincing slightly, he shook his head, "A fine lesson for the boys, but I believe I shall need a moment to tend to my wounds."

With a nod to the lads, Cregan made his way to the shared chambers he had with his wife. He opened the door to find her nestled in bed, a raven from her brother resting beside her.

"Y/n," he called softly, a smile breaking through his fatigue.

She looked up, her eyes sparkling with warmth. "Cregan, my love. How was the training? Did the boys impress you?"

"They showed promise," he replied, moving closer.” But winter is coming they must train harder, Though I fear I may have overestimated my own abilities today." He rolled up his sleeve, revealing the cut on his forearm.

Her expression shifted from curiosity to concern. "Oh, my love," she said, sitting up and reaching out to inspect the wound. "You must be more careful."

"It is but a scratch," he reassured her, though the warmth of her touch sent a shiver through him. "The lads needed to see that even seasoned men can falter. Winter is coming, and they must be prepared." He spoke as she climbed out of the bed to get a water basin and fabric from a nearby table.

As she cleaned the cut with gentle hands, he continued, "You should have seen the way they rallied. They are eager to learn."

"And you, my lord, are eager to teach," she teased lightly, her fingers brushing against his skin.

Cregan chuckled, “Aye, but I have my scars to show for it.” He gestured to the one on his jaw. “This one? A wilding thought he could challenge me.”

"And the one on your stomach?" she asked, her brow furrowing in concern.

"Ah, that was a deserter from the wall," he replied, a hint of pride in his voice. "He thought he could escape the North's justice."

"And the one on your hand?" she pressed, her gaze unwavering.

"That one," he said, a soft smile playing on his lips, "was from my uncle. It reminds me of my triumph against him”.

Y/n shook her head, a mixture of awe and concern in her eyes. "You have faced much, Cregan. But you are here now, and that is what matters."

He took her hand, intertwining their fingers. "And I shall always return to you, my love."

As the evening drew near, they settled into bed, the flickering candlelight casting a warm glow around the room. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting the history of their house, and the scent of burning wood filled the air.

Y/n cuddled into his side, her head resting against his shoulder as they gazed out the window. Snowflakes began to fall gently, blanketing the world in white.

"Look at the snow," she murmured, her eyes reflecting the falling flakes. "It is beautiful."

"Much like you," he replied softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Together, they watched the winter wonderland unfold outside, wrapped in each other's warmth, knowing that whatever the future held, they would face it together.

[saintsanddevils]

Never Alone - pt 3

Aaric Graycastle x Fem!Reader

Summary: Since Aaric tried to make you leave Basgiath, you’re not speaking to him. So, you decide to take out your frustration on the mat.

Warnings: Iron Flame spoilers, violence, swearing, Mr. Darcy’s School of Yearning, ANGST

Author’s Note: I’m basically ignoring the entirety of the canon plot-line of Iron Flame so…

Word Count: 4K

Part Two | Part Four

————

-Assessment Day-

(Reader POV)

Anxiety and anticipation run rampant amongst the cadets as we stand around the edge of the large mat in the quadrant’s gym.

Professor Emetterio stands on the sidelines of the mat, parchment in hand as he reads out the rules and pairings for each session.

As he lists names, I feel a heavy, pleading gaze on the side of my face. Like I’ve done all morning, I ignore it. I never look, never meet those green eyes, and continue on with my day. Thank the gods I had chores this morning and I didn’t have to be anywhere near him. It’s hard enough knowing he thinks I can’t survive here. That I’m fragile.

“I can’t watch you die.”

His words from last night slam into me, stealing my breath. Burning fills my eyes and I quickly close them, counting each rise and fall of my chest to keep any tears at bay.

I’m not going to cry in class. I’m not.

I pinch my nails into my palm, ignoring the sudden awareness to the scar on my skin that matches his. The memory of our pricked skin, our promises, makes the burning in my eyes so much worse. Fuck.

Stop it, I chastise myself. Don’t waste your tears on him. Get a grip already. Focus.

I allow that festering anger from earlier to rise again. I quickly latch onto it, opening my eyes and holding firm to that anger to keep me from meeting Aaric’s stare.

“Sloane Mairi and Aaric Graycastle,” Emetterio suddenly calls out, dragging me away from my thoughts.

I ignore the burning need to look at Aaric as he approaches the middle of the mat. I catch him rolling his shoulders in my peripheral and I try not to snort at the absurdity. He’s had private tutors all of his life. Lessons on combat were one of his favorites and he insisted on extra lessons. He’s going to wipe the floor with every single person here.

I smirk. Except for me.

The blonde girl who slept in the cot next to mine in the dorms strides across the mat. This is an awful pairing; it’s obvious already. She’s shorter than Aaric and lacks awareness of her limbs as she begins to pace around him. Her movements are jerky and unsure. Aaric’s are swift and calculated. I can’t help but allow myself to finally look at him, watching for his tells. From the way his eyes snap to hers, I can see he’s already found her weaknesses. If you blink, one would miss how he quickly sweeps her legs out from under her, holding her legs down with his as he wraps an arm around her neck, squeezing till she immediately taps out. It’s over in under a minute, and everyone stands in bewilderment.

I roll my eyes. Fucking show-off.

“Again!” Emetterio yells from the sidelines.

I feel someone slide up next to me.

“Hey,” Violet greets quietly, as to not draw attention to us. “Still ignoring him?”

I try to ignore the distant sound of Aaric slamming Sloane into the mat, her groans echoing in the gym.

“Again!”

This is just unfair to Sloane.

I turn to Violet, sighing. “The prick deserves it. So does Dain, that nosey son of a bitch,” I glare in Dain’s direction, where he catches my eye and shrinks back a bit from my lethal stare. Good.

Violet huffs a laugh. “Yeah, Dain deserves that. He’s not on my good side right now either, if that keeps me in your good graces,” she winks.

I bite my lip to keep from smiling as I shove her playfully, ignoring the open stares from Violet’s friends across the mat. Gods, I’ve missed her. And Dain, when he’s not being so self-righteous. When we were little, we all used to play tag in the palace gardens. As young teens, we mock-played being riders and flying dragons before accidentally crashing into some precious heirloom and running away, making Cam’s twin older brothers, Halden and Alic, take the fall for it.

A bitterness fills me as I remember Alic. It’s been three years since he was killed, and the memory of Cam’s fury upon receiving the news is enough to make me want to look at him right now. Remembering how he tried not to cry when receiving the devastating news, even when Alic was a complete asshole as an adult. It didn’t matter. He was still his brother, his blood.

My thoughts force me to chance a glance at Aaric. He has Sloane on her knees, gasping for air as she quickly taps out. Emetterio’s mouth is in a permanent frown as he assesses them. At this rate, Sloane’s going to end up black and blue if that swollen eye is anything to go by.

When she heaves for air, standing to face Aaric again, I can’t stand it anymore.

“I’ll take him!” I shout, louder than I should since every single person whips around to look at me. I make the mistake of catching Aaric’s gaze. His eyes widen as I step forward.

“No,” Aaric refutes, but it’s not loud enough for Emetterio to hear.

“Fine by me,” the professor nods to Sloane. “Take a breather. Hopefully, you’ll learn something from this.”

I wince watching Sloane limp her way to the sidelines.

“You sure about this?” Violet asks.

I nod before saying under my breath, “I’ve fought him before.”

“Enough to beat him?”

I smile at her.

Violet whistles, low enough for only me to hear. “Good luck. Kick his ass.”

Striding across the room, I can feel the frustration rising in Aaric. His stare is intense when I finally face him. His green eyes smoldering with annoyance as I take a fighting stance. With the cold fury I felt last night from being controlled by him, I let it consume me, bolstering me as I raise my fists in preparation.

At Emetterio’s order, we begin.

Aaric’s taller and broader than me, muscles defining his arms and legs from years of severe training, but I know I’m his match. I’m smaller and lithe, able to maneuver around him like a snake in tall grass.

We begin our dance like we’ve done many times before. Only this time, everyone in the room fades away. It’s just us, our bitterness, and unresolved issues. What could go wrong?

Knowing Aaric, he won’t make the first move, not with me. He’ll wait, like a patient predator. I give in, attacking him head-on with a punch that he slides through, catching my wrist and twisting me so my back slams into his chest. His arms cage me as he holds me against him, locking my limbs in place with his iron grip.

“You can’t keep avoiding me,” he whispers in my ear.

I knock my head back, but he knew it was coming, his head swerving out of the way as he wraps his arm around my neck, immobilizing me. He doesn’t squeeze or press into me like he did with Sloane. He’s going easy on me, the bastard.

I pull a cheap move and stomp on his foot with my heel, pushing backwards to make him stumble. He catches himself before locking me to him again, this time I’m facing him.

Green eyes with flecks of gold fill with concern as he stares at me. It must look as if we’re glaring with the way our arms are locked, pushing for dominance, but I’m entirely caught in his gaze. My heart begins to soften at his obvious concern, longing filling me to talk to my best friend, but the raging bitch inside me, the one who helped me cross the parapet, yells at me not to give in. Even if he’s pretty.

I want to scratch his eyes out, remembering how he stared at me last night. So full of desperation to get me to leave. His look bordered on pity when I fought for my right to be here, and it bothered me to no end. If I wasn’t so attracted to him and worried about his stupid face scarring, scratching him to death wouldn’t be a fucking issue.

I shove my elbow into the curve of his arm, disarming his hold on me. Dancing away from him, I use the distraction to throw a solid punch at his solar plexus. The impact makes him stagger, but he comes back at me swinging. I easily dodge the punches.

“Stop fucking around and fight me,” I growl.

Aaric subtly shakes his head, his jaw clenching.

“You’re a coward,” I hiss at him, low enough so no one around us can hear. “And a hypocrite.”

His face shutters, as if the words slashed through his defenses. Good. I hope they do. I throw a punch that he easily blocks, but use it to distract him from my leg rising to kick the back of his leg. He folds, trying to catch himself, but I use my momentum to tackle him to the ground. We’re a mess of limbs as I try to pin him, but he uses his weight and strength against me.

He slams me to the ground, knocking the breath from my lungs momentarily. I let out a gasping wheeze, and Aaric suddenly falters. His hands loosen.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry—“

I slam my head into his, bone crunching from the impact. Blood streams from his broken nose as my head throbs, leaving me momentarily disoriented. On instinct, his hand comes up to his nose to stop the bleeding, and I take my shot. I elbow his stomach and knee him in the groin at the same time.

Aaric groans, but I’m not finished. I leap upwards at him, throwing him to the mat. Using my weight, I pin his legs with mine and hold my elbow over his throat, digging to stop his airway. He chokes and gags. I press harder, uncaring, unfeeling. All I am is rage.

When his eyes meet mine, the anger that’s coursing through me suddenly dies like a flame in the wind. I’m left shaking and gasping, staring down at him in shock over what I’ve just done.

His eyes catch it. That momentary slip on my face. With anyone else, they’d use it to their advantage. Throw me over and take me down. But not Aaric. Not Cam.

“I yield,” he gasps from under my hold, but his voice is strong, sure. And Emetterio hears him, stopping the fight.

Gasps from our onlookers bring me back to the present. I shove myself off of Aaric, stepping out of his reach as he’s slow to stand.

I try to ignore the pang of guilt that stings me from seeing the blood still gushing down his chin, staining his skin. The slight pain in my arms and legs is nothing compared to the ache in my gut.

I miss my best friend. Every cell in my body yearns to confide in him like I always do. To seek his comfort. He knows everything about me, having seen almost every tear I’ve shed. Can’t he understand why I’m here? Why I followed him, to become a rider? Maybe I did come here to try and save him, but maybe I can prove to him that I’m more than just the girl who hung on his every word, following him around the palace like a dog. I crossed the parapet. I beat his ass on the mat. I can fight my way through this place and live.

Even if he doesn’t believe I can.

I shake my head, moving away from the mats and towards the exit. I hear a shout of my name far behind me, but I don’t look back.

————

(Aaric POV)

The spoon in his hand begins to bend as Aaric grips it tighter and tighter.

“Uh, you okay, Graycastle?”

She won’t look at me, let alone talk to me. It’s been weeks. I can’t sleep. This is starting to get fucking ridiculous.

A glance at the cadet who’s speaking to him has him grinding his teeth.

“Yeah, I’m just… not very hungry.”

Aaric ignores him once more and continues glaring across the room at Y/N. Weeks have gone by, and she’s completely blocked him from her life. Acting as if they’re strangers. The only time he has any claim on her attention is on the mat. Emetterio has been rotating everyone to test their strengths and learn from their weaknesses, but every time Aaric faces Y/N, she’s cold and lethal, like the glaciers of the north. At least she’ll meet his eye when they fight.

Training with her brings back too many fond memories. It was only a couple of months ago that their training diverted to private sessions. For the last year, they were partners, taking turns beating the other up. They’d discuss weak points and show one another different moves. Laugh when the other took a misstep and landed in the mud. Joke and tease when accidentally knocking the other off their feet. It was fun when he was able to train with her.

This time? Not so much.

For the last few weeks, when he trained with her on the mat, he met her calculated rage. This was far different from the Y/N he knew back home. The one who gave him carefree smiles and stole slices of cake from the kitchen to bring him out of his gloomy mood. The way she would endear herself to him when she talked non-stop about the newest edition of a book series she adored, just to distract from how much his father pissed him off that day.

Y/N laughs at her table, stopping Aaric’s heart and his train of thought as he watches her talk with Sloane. He wishes he were sitting next to her, hearing whatever it is she’s laughing about. It’s been a while since he’s seen her resemble her old self. He’s caught her reading in the quadrant’s library, curled up in a chair, a few times. Or even basking in the sun with her eyes closed as the cadets wait outside for their chance to practice the gauntlet. Those few moments have reminded him so much of his best friend, he would momentarily forget she wasn’t speaking to him. He’d almost try to talk to her if her glares didn’t solidify where they stand now.

But he plans to fix that.

When she gets up from her table, so does he. Following behind as she makes her way to Battle Brief. Just as she turns a corner, he grabs her by the elbow and shoves her through the first door he opens.

Y/N stumbles into the empty classroom as Aaric locks the door behind him.

“Kidnapping attempt number three,” she shakes her head, leaning against a desk. “I’m more shocked this didn’t happen sooner.” Her eyes skate around the room, never meeting his. Still avoiding him. “Going to put me on Dain’s dragon, kicking and screaming? Strap me down and throw me out this time?”

Aaric’s gut clenches. “Of course not.”

She rolls her eyes before examining a chart on the wall to the left of him.

Look at me, he begs. His fists clench to keep himself from walking over and grabbing her chin to force her to look him in the eye. He can’t stand this distance between them. It’s eating him alive.

He misses his best friend.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” the words strike out with desperation, sounding like a plea. He notices her eye twitch, but she doesn’t look at him. “It wasn’t my right to force you to leave. But,” he softens his tone. “Please understand why I tried to find a way out of here for you. This place is a death trap. I only want to protect you.”

She closes her eyes for a second, breathing deeply. He can tell by her stiff shoulders she’s holding back from yelling at him again. He wants her to yell at him if it means she’ll talk to him, stay near him, maybe forgive him.

“I can’t watch you die.”

“Then don’t look.”

The memory of their last conversation comes unbidden, leaving a sharp sting in his ribs. That night, after she left him alone in the dark hall, she never saw how he stumbled back against the wall, staring in pleading horror at the girl’s dormitory door. His eyes had burned, and the burning didn’t stop as he stormed away, disappearing into the night.

Since then, fear has been choking him, consuming him as days turned into weeks. Every night, he wakes with gasping, heaving breaths as nightmares plague him. Lingering dreams of someone snapping her neck on the mat, or being pushed off the parapet, or even finding her dead body in the hallway haunt him.

Aaric now knows what true fear is. It’s driving him insane.

“It’s not your decision to decide what’s best for me,” her voice cuts through the room, silencing his raging thoughts. “I’m capable of knowing what I can and cannot handle.”

“I know—“

“Do you?” She finally, finally, meets his eyes, coldness solidifying in her gaze. It takes everything in him not to shrink back. “It’s been almost a month since parapet, and all I’ve done is survive. You can pity me all you want, think me weak and fragile, but I chose to be here, same as you. Unlike yourself, I don’t have a death wish or a hero complex. I’m not trying to save the world, I’m trying to save you.”

Silence falls heavily upon the room as something cracks inside his chest. Something undeniably broken that almost sends him to his knees.

Tears fill her eyes, and the sight sends him jerking forward, desperate to hold her. But he stops, unsure. It’s that uncertainty that kills him.

Before coming to Basgiath, back at home, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Not with her. Never when she needed him. He’d have wrapped her fully in his arms, breathing her in, as she cried into his chest. That same instinct courses through his veins even now. Even when she despises him.

Yep. He’s severely fucked things up between them.

Y/N gives an exasperated breath, closing her eyes. A single tear falls down her cheek. “I’m so tired of this, Cam.”

Aaric softens and takes two daring steps forward to stand inches away from her. “I’m truly sorry,” he ensures his voice is gentle, calming. “I’ve never wanted you to believe that I think you’re weak or fragile. I’ve known you for so long that I know that’s not true in the slightest. You tore across the country just to kick my ass and tell me how much of an idiot I am. I’d say that’s a level of bravery I’ll never be able to reach,” he smiles softly, catching the slight blush that rises to her cheeks at the compliment.

“Not only are you brave, you’re also incredibly selfless and stubborn,” he ignores the slight narrowing of her eyes. “I truly wish you weren’t so you’d be far from here, reading by the fire as you wait to hear from me.”

She scoffs. “I can’t believe you’d think I’d just sit by—“

Aaric shakes his head. “You wouldn’t. You’re too good, too strong, and way too loyal of a friend to leave me. I should’ve known better.” He tilts his head to meet her glistening eyes, fingers burning to hold the skin of her cheek. “I know better now.”

Her shoulders drop at the confession, another tear falling from her eyes. The sight wounds him deeply.

“What can I do?” Aaric’s green eyes bounce between hers, desperately clinging to the fact that she’s still here, she hasn’t attempted to leave the room. He has to think that’s a good sign. “Please, tell me what I can do to fix this. I—“ he swallows, muscle jumping in his jaw as he clenches his fists to keep from reaching out and pulling her to him. “I miss you so much.”

His eyes suddenly drop to her lips. “So, so much.”

A heavy stillness coats the space between them. The moment feels suspended in time before she gives a small intake of air, a gasp, before she surges forward. She crashes into him, practically throwing him off his feet before he catches himself and finds she’s hugging him. Relief courses through him as he immediately wraps his arms around her frame. Breathing in her scent of lilac and citrus, a sense of rightness settles in his bones.

“I’ve missed you too,” she whispers against him.

They cling to one another, uncaring how long they’ve been hiding in an empty classroom as voices come and go in the hall. The feel of each other is so familiar, it echoes with memories they can never forget. Instead of being in Basgiath, they’re transported home.

If Aaric closes his eyes, he can practically imagine holding her in the palace library, as he’s done before. But the far-distant roar of a dragon brings him back to the present. Reality crashing through the quiet.

Using his fingers to find and tilt her chin up to meet his eye, he smiles at her. “Let’s start over, shall we?”

He reluctantly lets go of her, stepping back to extend a calloused hand between them. “Hi, I’m Aaric Graycastle, and I have a severe case of suicidal hero complex.”

The laugh that bursts from her lips has his heart soaring.

She smiles as she slides her hand into his. A tingle shoots up his arm from her touch. He tries to resist pulling her back into him to hold her again.

“I’m Y/N Thorne, and I’m far too stubborn to let my best friend get himself killed.”

His eyes sparkle as he purses his lips. “He sounds like a total prick.”

She laughs again. “He is.”

“You should beat his ass,” he winks.

She shakes her head. “I already have.”

Aaric holds his ribs as a laugh escapes him. Gods, he missed her.

“C’mon, let’s get to class, or we’ll be late,” she sidesteps him and raises a brow in obvious mockery. “Graycastle.”

He smirks. “Haven’t you heard? A prince is never late, Thorne.”

She raises a brow in mockery. “Oh? Do you see one? All I see is a pompous ass.”

Aaric rolls his eyes before nudging her as he opens the door for her. “After you, my stubborn wench.”

“Say that again and we’ll see how long our friendship lasts,” she glares.

He chuckles, stepping close to her. “I thought you were friends with me cause of my charming personality.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t make me break your nose again.”

“If that means you’ll touch me, I’m all for it,” he winks.

His focus is entirely on the way her cheeks flush, making her hide her face beneath a sheet of her hair. Pride swells in him at the sight.

“Idiot,” she murmurs under her breath.

Once in the hall, his grin is stupidly wide as he slips her book bag from her shoulder. She tries to fight him for it, but gives up as he races ahead of her. She chases him, before clinging to his side as they make their way to Battle Brief.

There’s a spring in his step as they walk, a lightness he hasn’t felt in weeks that makes him giddy. He looks down at his best friend, who gives him the carefree smile he’s missed, and everything feels so incredibly good, he hopes that together, they can survive this place and accomplish what he came here to do.

With her by his side, he knows he can do anything.

[storiesfromafan]

His Nightmare - Mattheo x Reader

A/N: do forgive me and my lack of Mattheo stories, or updates on my Obsessed series. But I am back, gracing you with a small under 1000 word one-shot.

I promise I am workiing on the next part of Obsessed 😅

They say Mattheo Riddle was possessive and a psycho when it came to you, his girlfriend. And that was warranted. The only thing most students didn’t know was that you were just as bad, if not worse then your boyfriend.

A silly Hufflepuff girl makes goo-goo eyes at Mattheo as she passes him in the hallway. You’re waiting a head of her, by a set of stairs. And when she is near, that girl accidently ends up going down them all the while you look on with a pointed glare.

An over confident Gryffindor girl passes Mattheo a note in potions, while you’re sitting next to him. Sure you both had a laugh at her stupid confession. But she ends up with detention after you hex her potion to explode when Snape is inspecting her potion. The classroom unfortunately has to deal with a dark cloud due to Snape being covered in a foamy substance.

A cocky Ravenclaw girl falls into Mattheo's lap when out in the courtyard, giggling and calling herself clumsy. When she’s far from it. Of course your boyfriend rolls his eyes and plays nice. But you don’t hold your tongue. Telling her to get her brain checked for a possible misplaced brain cell. Or better yet, go to Madam Pomfry and get her to use her bone growth potion to help fix her shotty legs. While you’re at it, get a life and sod off, as Mattheo ain’t interested in no bird brain. That last part a shot at the girls house.

Slytherin girls knew better. As the last, and only, girl to try to make a move on your boyfriend got the worse of it. No one will say what happened to her, but no one confirms nor denies an unforgivable curse was used. And that girl hadn’t returned after going home for Christmas break. Which didn’t help the rumors.

You’re a strong, darkness in Mattheo's life. And he wouldn’t have it any other way. For he was the same. Two dark souls, all consuming and loving the other. The unofficially titled King and Queen of Slytherin.

Lounging in the courtyard, you were propped up against a large tree. Your loving boyfriend was laying down, head resting on your lap. He was smoking a cigarette while you were reading and running your fingers threw his dark locks. Peace for the moment for you both. Something that doesn’t happen often. Your friends either in detention or bothering other students.

“I heard some interesting gossip" Mattheo said after expelling the latest draw from his cigarette.

“Hmm, really? Do tell" you replied turning the page you’d just finished.

He chuckled recalling the gossip. “I heard some Hufflepuff girl in flying lessons fell off her broom today".

“Oh? Is that all?” You questioned with amusement, your lips quirking at the corner in a small smirk.

Mattheo smirked to himself. “No, no. It seems the silly girls broom took off on its own. Taking her on a rather lively ride around the open area, before finally shaking her off and into a ditch".

You giggled darkly. “Is that so? How clumsy of her".

Mattheo looked up to you, amused by the joy you were experiencing from his words. “I thought you would have told me love, as you were in that class".

You marked your page and closed the book, setting it down beside you. You looked down at your boyfriend with warmth and satisfaction in your eyes. Leaning down you placed a small, lingering kiss up on his lips. The taste of his current cigarette invading you, but you most definitely enjoyed it when it was mixed with his own natural taste. Pulling back you gave him a beaming smile.

“It must have slipped my mind love, sorry" was your simple reply with a cute giggle. Before you sat back up, picking up your book and continuing were you left off.

Mattheo laughed, feeling nothing but pride. “Hmm, yes it must have".

He knew it was you. But what he didn’t know was that the Hufflepuff was mouthing off about you. Saying how Mattheo could do better then you. How you were beneath him. How she was better. You had laughed at that. And hexed her broom to teach her a lesson. Which it has, as when you crossed paths earlier in the hallway, as she was heading from the infirmary, displaying a frightened look on her face before she scuttled away. Tail between her legs.

Yes, girl after girl who comes up against you learns their lesson. Other female students know their place, but there are still those that step forward to challenge you. And you will always knock them down, to the place beneath you, were they belong.

“You are such a nightmare" Mattheo mused with delight and love.

You smiled, twisting one of Mattheo's curls around a finger. “Yes love, but I am and always will be your nightmare".

A/N: requests are open 😊