#this sent me so far into oblivion.

[mysticdragoni]

Something bad is about to happen to me

[hongism]

what lies beneath us. - c. san (m)

➼ genre; fluff, smut, slight angst for the first half but i make it better quickly promise ➼ pairing; san x afab!reader ➼ au; established relationship, college au ➼ warnings; explicit smut ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 6.4k

one busy semester is all it took for you and san to find yourselves struggling to find footing in the storm that is your relationship, yet rather than let go, he asked for one more week, one more day, one last chance to help get you back to shore

part of the ...and it's snowing collab.

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➼ smut warnings; unprotected sex, oral: m, vaginal fingering, praise, body worship, service-top san, san has some slightly submissive tendencies, coming inside

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You normally wouldn’t find yourself in Wooyoung’s apartment on a Tuesday morning, sitting at the bar counter beside his roommate with two mugs of coffee sitting on the granite between you, but you also haven’t had any leisure time to waste lately. It’s a miracle that Wooyoung is even up before ten o’clock, though that might be in part due to you pleading desperately over the phone to come over.

“Oh, you make her coffee but not me? The fuck is up with that, Hwa?” Speak of the devil, Wooyoung comes into the kitchen still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“She’s a guest, you live here. And I had to wake you up because you slept through three alarms so my sympathy levels are close to zero right now.” Seonghwa flashes a faux shrug despite the heated glare he’s sent. Wooyoung lets out a huff but lets it go in favor of redirecting his attention to you.

“Right, well, what did you need to talk about so badly that it couldn’t wait until the afternoon?”

“San is coming over tonight, I couldn't do the afternoon,” you mumble.

“Is it about him then? Did something—” he waves a hand through the air like that’ll explain his thoughts, and when confusion shows on both your face and Seonghwa’s, he gives up “—did something happen between you guys?”

“It feels a bit awkward,” you admit over the rim of your coffee mug. Wooyoung scoffs at that, but Seonghwa is far more forgiving than your best friend in that he sends you a sympathetic grin. 

“Awkward?” he prompts, toying with his own drink. Wooyoung pushes away from the counter and turns to the coffee maker.

“I don't know. Yeah, awkward, a bit. I guess. Like we don't know what we're doing or how to be in a relationship anymore.”

The brutal semester you both just suffered has been the main factor in the wedge in your relationship. Weekends full of studying, ones that you spent together at the start of the semester when he would come to your place or vice versa so that you could be together even while working. Then, San started picking up more shifts at his part-time job, and you had to redirect your focus to a particularly important internship that required you to forgo those weekends in the blink of an eye. You did have two weekends free of school and work, but San had to rush home during one of those on account of his mother falling ill. The other one was shot by you falling ill with the worst cold you’ve known in all your years of living. San came by that Friday with your favorite chicken and beer, but you couldn’t bring yourself to risk getting him sick when you knew how important the semester was to him too. It didn’t keep him from coming by again Saturday and Sunday both, soup was delivered to your front door along with voice messages wishing you well throughout the night. Even your text conversations were fizzling into oblivion by the time finals rolled around, which only served to amplify your feelings of dread. 

“Has he been acting differently?” Wooyoung tunes back into the conversation, this time more serious with his tone. “Like, he's pulling away or something?” Wooyoung stands on a different footing in this conversation and knows things Seonghwa doesn't in terms of your relationship with San. He's been there for you since well before you started dating San, and you're certain that he'll be there for you if it were to end tomorrow, the next day, or years down the line. 

“It's gonna sound so childish and stupid but he hasn't been calling me nicknames since the semester ended.” You tuck your hands into your lap and shrink into yourself a little, feeling the hot burn of shame well up inside.

“That's not stupid at all, y/n,” Seonghwa reassures barely a second after you finish your train of thought. “That's not.”

“He's right. That's totally unlike San.”

“Not! Helping!”

“I'm just being honest?!”

“Look, y/n, I don't want you to start having doom thoughts or thinking the worst — that doesn't mean his feelings for you have changed.” You’re starting to think that you should’ve asked Seonghwa for advice from the start instead of Wooyoung. “Maybe he's feeling that awkwardness you are too, or maybe he's feeling insecure. The only way to know is to ask. Have an open and honest conversation about it.”

“But…” You glance past Seonghwa to look at Wooyoung's back. Without even needing to look back, he seems to feel the weight of your stare.

“You're scared that if you bring it up, the worst will happen and y'all will break up.”

“We've been dating for so long that I don't know what I would do if that happened. I don't know how to be single, no offense to either of you, but it's just that we've been together for so long now. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if it ended.”

“If…” Wooyoung bites his words back as though he's unsure of how they will come out. “I don't want this to sound harsh, but if all it takes for him to lose his feelings for you is one busy semester, then that's not someone I would want you to have a future with. I know it's not up to me and it's not my business, but I want you to value yourself more than you value your relationship with San.”

“I truly don't think he's lost his feelings for you, y/n,” Seonghwa cuts in again, hand darting out across the counter in your direction. “Woo is right; you should value yourself more than the relationship you're in, but that doesn't mean you can only have one of those things. They can coexist.”

“What if I’m fighting for something he doesn’t want any longer?” you inquire softly and under your breath.

“The spark isn’t gone, y/n, I’m certain of that much. Maybe you just… need to find a way to reignite it!” The coffee maker dings loudly behind Wooyoung. And like it’s turning on a lightbulb in Wooyoung’s head, his expression turns suddenly bright. “Why not do just that? It’s been half a decade, to be fair, so really you can’t be blamed if things feel a little stale. If you went and did things that made you fall for each other in the first place, wouldn’t that help a bit?”

“I hate to say it…”

“You always say that when I’m right!”

“Ignoring him, that does sound like a good plan, y/n.”

Despite the reassurance from both your best friend and someone you consider to be far more mature and wiser, it doesn’t fully quell the concerns settling in your gut.

It’s only been six days since you last saw San, though you would argue that it feels a lot more like six months given how absent you both have been from each other’s lives of late. While that isn’t particularly your fault or his wholly — it’s definitely a joint effort that’s kept you apart — it does make your skin itch with anxiety every time you think about seeing him again.

It’s all culminated into this moment right now, where you sit on the edge of your couch waiting for the doorbell to ring and announce his arrival. You want to see him, desperately so, you’ve missed him so incredibly much that you can hardly stand it. And yet — you’re rooted to the cushions riddled by anxieties. You tried to rid yourself of the lingering stress after leaving Wooyoung’s apartment by doing chores properly for the first time in months, going so far as to run to the grocery and restock some necessities as well. You hate to be the type of partner who cannot do anything alone without associating it with your partner, but San was on your mind throughout the day.

Will he feel the same as you even though the flame keeping your relationship alive has been inching closer and closer to nothingness? The two of you don’t fight, in fact, your friends like to say that things go a little too smoothly between you two, and while that’s true, they aren’t aware of what it looks like when you and San aren’t getting along. It looks the way this semester has, slow conversations that lead nowhere and less time spent in each other’s presence. You aren’t fighting right now, but you certainly aren’t all sunshine and rainbows. The weather mirrors your emotions — dim greys shrouded by white flurries of snow that have been falling since early afternoon.

You clench your fingers around the seam of the couch cushion. No part of you wants to play the part of the overbearing partner: if you’re too eager to see him, wouldn’t he find it off-putting? 

The doorbell rings.

It takes a moment for you to brace yourself for impact, standing and walking over to the door as slowly as you can manage without it seeming like a deliberate delay. The second you open the door, however, your worries melt away for a moment. 

San smiles so brightly like you’ve not gone a second without reveling in each other’s presence. The weather is clinging to his coat still even though he had to climb three flights of stairs to reach your door. The little snowflakes are beginning to melt into the fabric.

“May I come in?” The facade cracks a bit. It’s not like him to ask such things, but you choose not to hold it against him now.

“Yeah, yeah, I finally had time to clean the other day so everything’s — nice.” 

If your smile is strained, he says nothing about it, stepping over the threshold and into your apartment like it’s the first time he’s ever done so. He’s polite all the time, but now it makes those seeds of doubt sprout further because you’ve been together for five years now, what reason does he have to act like a stranger in your home? A home he’s been in time and time again, one he’s slept in, fucked you— 

“Do you want ramen or pizza?” You force the thoughts to come to a halt before your expression turns bitter.

“Let’s do ramen, I’ll cut up the vegetables for you.”

There’s an elephant in the room that it seems neither of you wants to address, and so you keep your mouth shut just the same as San with the thought of “maybe this awkwardness will pass after tonight”. You watch him remove his coat and hang it up on the door while still picking at your nails. He extends a hand to you, one you take eagerly, and you lace your fingers through the gaps between his. A bit like a well-oiled machine, you think, something that Wooyoung had noted about the two of you as far back as freshman year of college. San presses his lips to the top of your head. You lean into the touch ever so slightly. 

You share in a quiet synergy that carries you through the motions of preparing food, with no conversation exchanged aside from a “watch for the knife” and “careful, behind you” on occasion. You’re still trying to psyche yourself up to bring up what’s truly on your mind, so you aren’t sure that you’d be able to get any conversation out without it spiraling into insanity right off the bat. For the moment, for now, you want to simply drink in San’s presence. 

He hums as he opens a cabinet in search of bowls, but they aren’t there. 

“Oh, I—I moved the bowls to the other side.” Three months ago, your mind adds. It would do nothing but add salt to a blossoming wound. San stops dead in his tracks too. He seems to suffer the same crisis that you do right then. After a few seconds of mental buffering, he resumes his humming and shifts to the adjacent cabinet like the moment didn’t happen at all. 

You sit beside each other at the bar counter, atop the uncomfortable stools you’ve had for well over two years now, but it offers a weird comfort because it’s familiar, it’s something San knows, it’s something you share and have shared for years. 

“Thanks for the meal,” San says, still wearing a bitten-back smile. 

“Of course. Thank you for helping.” But the detrimental reality of not speaking to someone properly for a long while is that part of you forgets how to make conversation with them. There is nothing for you and San to “catch up on” seeing as you’ve been keeping each other updated on your lives through dry text conversations. “Um…” He’s eyeing you carefully now, and you could pass off the watering in your eyes as the spice of the food, but he would call your bluff in an instant. The funny thing about doubt is that once it’s taken root, it’ll keep growing back no matter how many times you chop at the stem.

“What’s wrong, y/n?”

“It’s just — I don’t — are we breaking up?”

San freezes halfway over his ramen, chopsticks nearly falling from his fingers as he rushes to put his noodles back down. Your shoulders start shaking before you can stop it. He doesn’t stop you from turning away from him, but San has always been endlessly patient and gentle with you so you don’t expect him to ask you to look at him anyway. He does rest a hand atop your forearm though, and his thumb drags small, comforting circles over your skin. 

“Talk to me, y/n, what do you mean by that? Why would we be breaking up?” The words themselves sound calm. There’s a slight quiver to his tone, however, that makes you want to crawl inside yourself and disappear. “A-Are you wanting that?” Your continued lack of response makes San more urgent than ever, and he shifts his hand to your leg, spinning you to face him. You can’t be certain of the expression on your face (though you’d wager there is some degree of hurt); whatever San sees makes him let out a distressed noise from the back of his throat. “Come here, duck, talk to me.”

Standing on somewhat shaky legs, you push yourself closer to San, and he instinctually moves his knees apart to let you tuck yourself into the space there.

“Don’t cry, baby, I’m here, you can talk to me,” he murmurs, hands cupping your face in his hands. You reach down to cling to his shirt like it’s a lifeline. 

“That’s the first time you’ve called me that in weeks. This is the first time we’ve spent time together in six days. We’ve barely spoken or spent time together all semester, and I know why — I know we agreed that school and work have to come first. I know that.” Your voice drops to a whisper as you lose the confidence to speak. “I didn’t think it would mean losing you though.”

“You haven’t lost me, y/n. I’m still here, with you, loving you just as much as ever.” San smiles a little as you push your cheek further into his palm. “My feelings have not changed. I thought about you every day, wondered how you were doing, and if you responded to my texts late, I hoped you were eating well and getting enough rest. I listened to your voice memos rooting for me every night. Your face was always the first thing I saw in the morning because I still keep that slideshow of you as my lockscreen.” Reaching around to the back of your neck, he gives you a little tug, and your foreheads bump together. “The thought of you helped get me through the semester because I knew that it was you who was waiting for me at the end of the tunnel.”

“Sannie…”

“How long have you been worried over this, baby? You should’ve come to me the moment you started having doubts. I wouldn’t have let this go on if I had known.”

“I thought I felt you pulling away so I was scared to bring it up. You weren’t calling me nicknames anymore, and I started reading into it too much and freaked myself out.”

“I’m so sorry, y/n. Don’t put the blame on yourself, it’s not a crime to have anxieties. I didn’t even realize I stopped using them. I suppose I just got swept up in my own feelings and wanted to call you by your name as much as possible.” He nudges you with his head again. “Because I missed you so dearly.” Your lips turn up at the corners, a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend. “And because I adore you so so much, my y/n.”

“Stop that.” You hope he doesn’t, truly.

“But I’m so mushy and full of love for you, y/n.”

“You’re gonna make me blush.”

“Oh, I can think of other ways to do that, baby.” San stands, subsequently pushing his body into yours, but your hands are still on each other, his moving down to caress the back of your thigh before he hooks his fingers around the bend of your knee and hoists your leg up over his hip. “I haven’t been good to you, my sweet,” he murmurs close to your lips. “What kind of boyfriend am I if I let you feel unwanted?” Your heart skips a beat as he grips tight at your other leg, then you’re suddenly weightless for a second as he hoists you up to his waist.

“We just ate—”

“I don’t plan on letting that stop me.” You let out a gasp as San traces the line of your jaw with his lips, hot breath spilling across your skin as he carries you from the kitchen. “Unless you want it to?” This damned man knows what he’s doing, he knows the hold he has over you — your brain is already turning into a foggy mess of want, and even the prospect of waiting two minutes for him to lay his hands on you is too much to bear. Your nails drag across his shoulders, tugging at the thin material. He misses the doorknob to your bedroom thanks to your antics, sending you against the wood a little harshly and forcing the air out of your lungs. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Still on the pill.”

“Hm?” he echoes, managing to turn it right on the second try and popping it open properly.

“I’m still on the pill,” you repeat. San freezes in place to stare at your face. You bring a hand around to toy at his parted lips with your thumb. “So you can fuck me raw.”

San becomes so dumbstruck that his jaw moves up and down over and over without any semblance of noise coming out.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me come in my pants like a horny teenager,” he says under his breath. You drop your head back and laugh. San’s hold on you feels so blissfully warm. You didn’t even have time for this during the semester, sometimes thanks to your workloads but more often thanks to sheer exhaustion. A few solo jaunts before bed are hardly enough to please you the way San does. Based on how tightly he’s gripping your ass, he seems to feel exactly the same.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

He manages to get you both to the bed without further incident, laying you down on the mattress with a sort of reverence that makes your chest swell with emotion. Even through the barrier of clothing, his fingers are hot and sear a path from your hips up your waist then right back down again as San wastes no time in stripping you of your pants. 

“I missed you so fucking much it’s insane.” You want to respond, but the sight of your lover dropping to his knees at the foot of the bed stops you in your tracks. All you can do is lie there and watch him tug your pants off, lips moving to kiss each bit of exposed skin along the way. Goosebumps rise across your body when he kisses his way up higher. His broad frame cages you in the closer he gets to your face, and despite his hands being on the somewhat small side, they feel all-encompassing when they’re sneaking under your shirt and exploring the skin beneath.

“I missed you more,” you murmur, catching his chin between your fingers and angling his face upwards so you can properly look at him. “I love you so so much, San. More than I can put into words.”

“Yeah?” You make no effort to pull him higher although he moves as though you do and climbs all the way up to be right over your face. He hums before dipping down to kiss the corner of your mouth. “I think I’ve missed you more still though—” another kiss, this time to the opposite side of your mouth “—but you’re welcome to challenge me on that.”

“San,” you whine. He pulls back and sits back on his knees. Your brain goes totally blank watching him take his shirt off. It’s something you’ve seen time and time again, truly nothing new or foreign to you, but something about it now makes your gut twist in on itself. He’s lost a bit of the muscle you’ve grown accustomed to seeing on him, now softer around the edges, at the waist and across his stomach. It doesn’t curb your desire for him in the slightest; if anything it makes you want him more, to cling to him tighter and feel him firmer against you.

He throws the shirt down to the floor and drags a hand through his dark hair. His legs are splayed around yours, putting the prominent bulge in his pants on full display before you.

“I want you to use me, y/n.” He grabs your hand from where it’s resting against the bed and brings it to his chest. You dig your nail into his flesh like it’s second nature to do so. “Tonight, for your pleasure.” His eyes trail after your every moment, watching as you sit up and pull your legs out from under him. You graze the underside of his dick ever so slightly yet it’s still enough to make his lashes flutter. 

“Then…” San is like putty in your hands, conforming to every move you make while still maintaining that unbreaking eye contact. He turns with you, and you climb off the bed to stand despite feeling seconds away from toppling over. All it takes is the slightest push against his chest for him to lie flat on his back. “Will you be good for me?” 

His response comes in the form of a bitten-back whine thanks to you cupping the bulge of his cock as you withdraw your hand. It’s intoxicating to strip him of his jeans and feel every inch of his pretty tapered waist. You urge him to move further up on the bed, making room for you between his legs once you’ve tossed his pants down beside yours on the floor. The tip of his cock peeks out the top of his underwear, already stiff and leaking precum onto the elastic band. Saucy nudes here and there don’t do him nearly enough justice, you think. You tease just the bit of him that's exposed with your tongue, licking at the sensitive and swollen head, and he twitches beneath the fabric. Humming to yourself, you inch his underwear down just far enough to put his whole member on display, along with his balls, but you don’t go any further than that. It’s enough for you to get your mouth around him, after all, and that’s exactly what you do without giving San any time to brace himself for the touch.

He lets out a desperate moan the moment your wet heat envelopes his length, fingers curling into his palms around the comforter. His hips twitch with the desire to thrust upwards, but he keeps himself firmly planted on the bed, fulfilling his end of the bargain for you and being so delightfully good. The weight of him on your tongue isn’t nearly enough; you want him buried deep inside you as soon as possible, and you’d go on and do it now if you didn’t think it would hurt like a bitch given how long it’s been since you’ve taken him. San isn’t distracted enough to miss the way you retract a hand to touch yourself, and he fights to speak through broken moans.

“I w-wanna touch you, pretty.” You lift yourself off his cock until just the tip sits on your lower lip.

“I’ll let you later when I ask you to fold me in half and fuck me into the mattress.” You sink two fingers into your hole, taking San back into your mouth to revel in that full feeling again. You’re just as needy as he is, in reality, because your walls are already coated with arousal and it pools around the base of your fingers in such a way that it makes your cheeks flush. San’s noises aren’t helping in the slightest — for as quiet as he is in day-to-day life, he is ever so vocal when it comes to sex, especially when his cock is buried in your mouth. He’s just long enough to push right into the back of your throat, making it far easier for you to take him fully. 

“Your mouth feels so — fuck, fucking good, baby.” If you weren’t preoccupied, you would love to return his words with your own, so you settle for tugging at his balls a little. It earns you a delightful little yelp, and his hips buck up to drive his dick further into your throat than expected. “Hngh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“I want—” you don’t finish your train of thought, too rushed to bother with it as you scramble to rid yourself of your underwear. San greets you with his hands when you climb back onto the bed and grabs hold of your waist. He tugs and pulls at your shirt until it’s gone too, leaving you with nothing more than your plain black bra. However, even that San seems to find issue with, because he toys with the clasp until it comes loose and throws that aside too.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, settling back against the mattress. He’s always told you this is his favorite position, to see you straddling his hips and bouncing on his cock, though he favors missionary quite a bit as well because it lets him see your body and face while he’s fucking you (despite how much he loves your ass). His cock is trapped between your pussy and his stomach now, hard and throbbing for the same kind of stimulation you so desperately crave. You drag your folds along his length a few times just to tease San, but he grips your hip in warning. In hindsight, you should have let him finger you open more before because the stretch is far more than you remember — not enough to hurt, but enough for you to really feel every inch of him entering your body. It makes you writhe atop him, your spine arches, and you drop your head back. San holds you like you're a precious gem, thick arms circling around your waist as you rest your hands on his chest. The position gives you some much-needed stability, but San's fingers have begun to get severely distracting. He rolls his thumbs into your skin, pausing only to squeeze and pinch at the more sensitive parts of your sides. 

“I’m gonna start moving,” you whisper like being too loud will break some sort of seal. San nods and unwraps his arms enough to simply hold your hips. Despite the decrease in definition of his muscles, his strength doesn’t seem to have gone anywhere, because he lifts you with such ease that it’s a bit dizzying. Still, he lets the control rest in your hands. You sink down slowly on his cock, letting your walls get used to the drag, before doing the same motion two, three more times. The first whimper to fall from your lips is what snaps your resolve. San’s hold on you remains firm but only to ease the strain on your thighs as you begin to pick up your pace. 

“Beautiful, beautiful, you’re so beautiful, my sweet.” San rolls his hips up in time with your movements, driving his cock up into your cunt as you drop yourself onto him, and it reaches so deep inside you that you see stars behind your eyelids. “Missed you so much, missed this, seeing your body through photos wasn’t enough — fuck, it wasn’t enough.”

“How many, ah, times did you come to those photos, hm?” You crack one eye open to watch San’s face. He’s already flushed with want, but the red in his cheeks deepens more upon hearing your question. You lean your weight further into your hands. “I fingered myself so many times thinking of you, Sannie. B-But, hngh, it wasn’t good enough. Not as good as your cock. Nothing… n-nothing feels as good!”

San thrusts up with more vigor now, all but taking over for you to go slack above him as he drives your hips down with his hands and pushes his length into you from the opposite direction. Then, suddenly, his movements falter and stutter to a halt, and he looks just as shocked as you are when his cock twitches against your walls. A blooming of warmth fills you right after, along with the realization that San has just come inside you without warning.

“I-I’m sorry, I — I didn’t mean to, ah, I thought I would last longer.” He slings an arm up over his eyes, and the red in his face deepens in hue. “I’m sorry, I should’ve let you come first.” You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth. Leaning down over him, you peel his arm away from his face so that you can see his shamed expression better.

“Your dick is far from the only thing that can make me come, babe. Right?” 

He nods a few times, but there’s still a pout on his lips. You kiss it away. 

“Then—” you detach yourself from his body, bringing about an unwelcome emptiness as his spent cock slips out of you, and roll onto your back beside him. He watches with rapt attention as you spread your legs and open your pussy to him. “Why don’t you?”

San moves with surprising haste for a man who has just come, rolling into the space between your legs, and while you expected him to just use his fingers to get you off, he hooks his hands around your thighs and shoves his face into your used cunt instead. It yanks a startled moan out of you, and it’s only amplified when he closes his lips around your clit. He’s lucky you don’t give him a concussion with how quickly you slam your thighs around his head. You don’t notice that he’s moved a hand until fingers are prodding at your leaking entrance and urging the come he just pumped into you back into your hole.

“O-Oh, San.” 

Normally, he takes his sweet time eating you out, bringing you to the precipice of orgasm before sending you right back down time and time again without release. Though, either out of lingering shame at coming early or simply out of a desire to make you unravel, San laps at your clit so eagerly that it sends shudders through you. You can feel your blood rushing lower as he urges you to come, walls clenching around his fingers. It only takes another second more for the first wave to hit you, and it makes you scramble to grab hold of San’s hair as he keeps curling his fingers over your sweet spot. He does so throughout each wave of your orgasm until tears burn the corners of your eyes and you’re all but pleading for him to grant you some mercy.

“You — you had nothing to prove, you know,” you say between desperate attempts to catch your breath. San giggles and looks up at you from his lewd position. “Ugh!” You shove his head away from you half-heartedly just to spare yourself more embarrassment.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that, duck!”

You only go as far as the pillows, turning back to him immediately and opening your arms to welcome him into them. 

“I came too early, of course I had something to prove,” he adds once he’s snugly placed against your chest. You slot together like two pieces of a puzzle, his head under your chin and your breath stirring the messy strands of hair in your path. “I’ve fallen out of practice. When was the last time I did that? It’s embarrassing…”

You can’t contain your laughter.

“You always come a little early when I ride you.”

“That’s not fair!”

All you can do to soothe him is pat his head. You feel a tad sticky and gross all over, but San’s warmth more than makes up for it, and if you’re not careful, you’re certain you’ll fall asleep within minutes. A small sniffle coming from the man atop you chases thoughts of rest away in the blink of an eye though.

“San?”

“’m okay, promise.”

“You’re crying, baby, that’s not ”okay“.”

“I just,” he inhales and licks over his lips, skating across your sternum in the process. “I wasn’t sure I was gonna stay afloat without you.” You comb your fingers through his hair.

“Tell me when you need me and I’ll be there. Always.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt your schedule and get in the way.”

“You have to trust that I’ll take care of myself and my responsibilities even if I help you too. You always tell me that when I worry over the same things. It goes both ways, San, okay?”

“Okay.” He nods against you. “Okay, I’ll try to remember that. As long as you don’t lock yourself away when things get tough. Rely on me if you need strength. And talk to me when something is on your mind.”

“Alright, we have an agreement.” Out of nowhere, you remember Wooyoung’s suggestion from this morning. Picking at a stray piece of San’s hair, you mull over your thoughts some more. You could let things settle as they are now since things seem to be back to a pleasant state of balance. But even so, would it do any harm to try anyway? “I’d like to go on a first date again. With you. I want us to go on a first date again.”

“Hm?”

“Like… I want us to go out like it’s the first time all over again. And feel that excitement and giddiness we had back then. We don’t have to, it’s just a thought. I don’t know. Maybe it’d be a good thing after this semester.”

Silence overtakes the room. San’s breathing is so steady that you think he’s fallen asleep, but the second you try to shift and see his face, he tilts his head up and looks into your eyes.

“Alright. Let’s go on a first date again.”

…

“I figured we’d go to that little Thai place by the grocery before heading over to the Christmas light show?”

“Oh!” Your thoughts rearrange themselves around his words. “That sounds really nice, yeah.”

“The guys wanna meet up at Wooyoung’s after for chicken and beer, but I told them I’d leave the decision up to you.” He tilts his chin a bit to the side as he speaks, lips quirked up at the corners, and you find yourself so incredibly fond of him all over again.

“Let’s see how we feel after walking around.”

You offer to drive tonight, but he denies you quickly, whining about how he filled his tank full of gas just for tonight so you don’t push the matter any further than that (though, you still tease him a bit once he opens the passenger door for you). When he turns the car on, music starts blasting through the speakers, a song you recognize well, and the dash shows that he’s been listening to the playlist you made for him at the start of the last school year. 

“Sorry, forgot the volume was up so high.” He scrambles to twist the dial down, but you stop him with your hand, gripping his wrist lightly and giving a firm shake of your head.

“I didn’t realize you still listened to it. Normally you just have the radio going.”

“Ah, well,” San’s cheeks are a bit flush under the low lights of the car, “I suppose I’ve been feeling a bit sentimental these days.” His next move is a bit hesitant; he reaches across the console and lays his hand atop your thigh. You reassure him by putting your hand over his, fingers curling around his once again. It feels normal and familiar, though you can’t count on two hands the last time you’ve done something as menial as holding hands with San. 

“San?” He makes a noise of acknowledgment while watching the road. “I’ve missed you.” His nails dig into your flesh a little, and the pressure makes your heart clench in your chest.

“I’ve missed you more.” You can only see his side profile, but it’s enough for you to catch the upturn of his lips. 

“I’ve missed you most then.” The statement slips out through a pout. 

“And I love you more than the moon loves the ocean.”

The weight of his hand is comfort enough for you to be at ease for the rest of the drive.

────────────

please like & reblog this work and consider leaving a reply or sharing your thoughts in a reblog or ask!

this work belongs to caly / hongism (2023). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.

[futureplayboibunnie]

Aphrodesiacs Pt.8

Miguel O’Hara x fem! spidey! reader

You and Miguel O’Hara were bitten by the same spider…what could possibly happen?

*sigh* let me just feed my starving children. consider this my girl dinner to you all. fully feeding u this time. the day has finally come (in more ways than one)

NSFW AS ALWAYS (but pls extra caution on this one, i got carried away and i don’t want to spoil the surprise) 18+

also i was gonna finish this series at 10 chapters but pls lmk if u want more!

It was far too late to function. You were pulling on many mental threads as you sprawled out on your bed.Sighing into the empty, overly spacious air of your room didn't alleviate anything, you were still wearing Miguel's shirt.

The streetlights dimmed into your room, the warm glow offering nothing to help fix this crack that resided in you. Tossing and turning wasn't helping, your limbs fluctuating from rigid to limp whenever you thought about Miguel. Your sheets were hurled to the floor and your half-naked form contorted at every angle on the bed, nothing was comfortable and you couldn't sleep. Your mind buzzed awake from the lightning shooting down your thighs whenever you inhaled, his shirt was so big on you but it smelled so good, and the fact that he let you just have it.

It smelled like him, his cologne, his natural ambiance, his musk. You rubbed your naked thighs together.

You couldn't help but sigh breathlessly and throw your head back into the pillow, whining at how stimulated you were just by inhaling. For fucks sake. Since when were you this pathetic? You almost wanted to bite into your pillow out of sheer aggression. Today was a cluster fuck of emotions, your lips still felt the tingle of him, your tongue was against his enough that you could still feel him exploring when he wasn't even there. It was like a ghostly touch, tracing against the most sensitive parts of your body. You still couldn't believe that he had finally kissed you, he had finally given in to such a disastrous impulse that he so constantly warned you about. Your pussy fluttered at the fact you affected him enough to go against everything he believed in, that you meant that much to him. The pulse under your heated skin sent your body into an unshakable overdrive.

Miguel tasted like testosterone, anger, and sex. The way you were just pressed against him had slick forming between your thighs. You were so ready for him. You've always been ready for him. The way he gave you a tiny fraction of what he was going to do- what he was prepared to do...well before Peter had to cockblock you into oblivion. He was going to fuck you on the sink like an animal. Hot and Heavy. But then Miguel had to go back into his old ways.

Your throat was raw, and constantly groaning in frustration was a default setting at this point but it was getting worse and worse. You draped your forearm over your eyes, involuntarily arching your back against the mattress and spreading your legs as your stomach lurched. Your pussy would drown in his cum. That seemed to be the last straw. The canines of your teeth dug into your bottom lip at a depth that pierced the blushed tenderness of your lips, tiny holes turned into splits as blood pooled inside of your mouth and slightly dribbled to the outskirts of your mouth and chin.

“Fuck…” You winced out, more pained by the thought of Miguel leaving you unfulfilled than the pulsating of your lips bitten raw.

-

Miguel was aimless, ice doused his heated veins as he swung from building to building. He attempted to convince himself that he was in your universe for any other reason he could get, he was particularly good at lying to himself but in this case, it wasn't. The most honest thought he's had in months is knowing that he wants you.

Miguel knew where he needed to be right now. With you. He hated how he left you in the bathroom, part of him wanted to fuck you while anyone watched, just to show them who you belonged to. But he could never do that.

He groaned as he whacked through the air, his fingers smashing against his neck to get rid of the mask. He felt claustrophobic like you were subconsciously taking away his ability to breathe. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. You had steel in your spine and that only fueled the flames of desire that were lit in him long ago. The roaring fire in your eyes every time you laid into him made him hard as ever, no woman has ever been stupid enough to question him- and then there was you. At HQ you were the perfect picture of cool elegance and competence, you weren't as fun-loving as the others and nowadays Miguel felt like he had pulled that out of you. Miguel frowned at the thought. Your presence evoked an unwanted heat in his gut and a leaking cock to go with it, and he didn't even fucking like you, he just had to deal with you. But now, after all this, you were the name he'd call in the middle of the night. His entitled, needy, girl. He couldn't take two steps without Jess or Lyla gushing to him about how lovely you were

It was galling.

Maybe he could marry you. Fuck you full of his kid.

Jesus Christ.

Miguel squashed the thought with a grimace and a shake of his head. With a grunt he landed on the side of your apartment building, using his claws to dig into the brick, subtIty was never his play but in this certain situation, it was completely off the board. He had no idea what he was going to say to you or if he was going to see you at all he just needed to be near you. He wanted to see those eyes darken in pleasure again, if that's all he could get from a kiss, he couldn't even begin to wrap his head around what would happen when he was actually in you. He knew he drew near when the scent of you clouded his brain, he quickly hung from the side of the building until he got to a large window, it was cracked open slightly. Windswept hair made tufts of his hair impair his vision, Miguel peeked his face to get a glance at the window it was your bedroom window.

You were sat on the edge of the bed, sweet face buried in your hands, hair tumbling down your shoulders, contemplating something for a second before standing up.

He could smell how wet you were. Maybe one day he could pour wine all over you, cum on you and then taste it off your sweet body.

He bit the bullet. He raised a pointer finger and tapped his talon on the glass. The moonlight outside kissed your face perfectly, but he did notice some red around your lips- he didn't know what it was.

His mouth dried as his gawk fell to what you were wearing- you were still wearing his shirt. Fuck

You hummed in irritation, thinking your sex-filled mind was making you hear things. Your heart sank at the wave of shock when your gaze accidentally flitted to your window. Then you saw it. Your tongue ground into your jaw, waves of shock reaching every corner of your already fire-tinged body- but now every single cell was about to sizzle into thin air. All this time, it felt like you were both dancing with your hands tied. Your pulse pounded in your ears when you saw him, eyes wide and concerned but ultimately fucking elated. It was like God answered your prayers just this once. You stood up from sitting, a random burst of adrenaline licking at your knuckles, you were practically shaking and Miguel was more than happy with that.

The sight of Miguel's face could make you cream: that black hair, olive skin, taut muscles, and brooding attitude made for complete devastation in a spider suit. You watched like a dumbfounded idiot as Miguel pried the window open and crawled through, he wormed into your room and stood up tall just taking a beat to drink you in.

Damn.

He thought you looked fucking incredible in a bikini, but here you were, standing there with a vacant doe-eyed look wearing nothing but his shirt. He doesn't think he's ever been this aroused just looking at someone.

Miguel raised an eyebrow to see blood on your lips, trailing a little down to your chin as you blinked up at him. He inched closer and raised his hand, his fingers slightly cupping your chin to meet his scorching, worried gaze.

“What happened here?” He asked softly, his breath was warm and honeyed, a stark contrast to the Miguel you've always known. That cool bleak demeanour cracked for a split second.

“You.” Leaning into his touch proved to be easy, you melted into his fingertips, lips parted and eyes needy as the man you've been fantasizing about for so long was touching you again, but it felt more meaningful than the last. Miguel's eyes were the clearest you've ever seen, a tinge of red gleaming against the burgundy of the outer rim. The way you uttered that word sent a shudder spiraling through him, you were both affecting each other so much- that first kiss only fueled the ever-increasing wildfire.

“What are you doing to me…?” Miguel whispered. He was asking himself that question too: what were you doing to him? He's driven himself crazy, utterly mad over this dance of death he called morality and ethics. You were holding your breath, scared that if you gave into the natural urge to breathe, you'd moan out his name.

“You never finished telling me all the things you wanted to do to me.”

“If I told you all of the things I wanted to do to you...we'd be sitting here all weekend talking and then I'll never be able to show you exactly what's been running through my head every hour of every day, the reason why I can’t sleep, why I can’t fuck my fist without thinking of you.” Miguel inched closer and cupped your face with both hands, smoothing out your soft skin, your palms fell onto his hands too.Just touching each other softly. Miguel was still afraid. He was afraid of hurting you, and losing himself, he's already not in control when it comes to you. You sighed out at his vulgar words and you were ready to get on your knees.

You stood in silence, gawking at each other intensely. You scoffed to yourself, teeth clamping onto your bottom lip as the corners of your mouth upturned to a smirk.

“That would be quite inconvenient.”

“Yes, it would carinõ.” Miguel hummed lowly, definitely understanding the effect the pet name had on you. Miguel thought your snarkiness would be the death of him by now but here you are, being so compliant. His thumb toyed with your bottom lip, teasing it into your mouth. Your eyes grew wider as his thumb massaged your tongue For easier access, you just stuck your tongue out, licking and sucking on it every so often. He had dreamed about this day but he never fully thought what it would really be like once he gave in.

Miguel's pretty features were locked in a state of vacant yet concentrated drunken smugness. Anger played at his brows, creasing the olive skin around it, his stare was piercing, looking at you as if you were both a diety that needed to be worshipped and a dirty slut that was begging to be pounded- he sighed at the thought, he was beginning to slowly lean in. Your free hand went to the fangs that he was baring, your fingers prodded at the sharp point, slurring completely drunk off of his presence.

“These are spikey...I love it.”

“This is so wrong.” He muttered against your lips, feeling the explicable sensation of hot and heavy lust sparking between your lip.

“Tell me how wrong it is then.” You nipped at his bottom lip, making his eyes flutter closed.

That was it.

A sickening crunch ripped inside of him.

A chain loose of its hinges.

His muscles coiled inside of him, reaching their apex, and now his restraint was seeping between his fingers until there was nothing left in his hands...except you.

Shock, hope, fear, elation, and uncertainty all mingled together on his face until they were indistinguishable from each other. He blinked for a second and then his eyes mixed both black and red, midnight specks in the violent pool of red. He was angry and so hard. Frustration overrode his guilty conscious. Fury carved harsh lines across Miguel's face, hardening his jaw and turning his cheekbones into slashes of tension by the moonlight. His eyes simmered with a slow-burning desire, the type that snuck up and annihilated him before he knew it.

Miguel had always been intimidating, but at that moment, he looked like the devil himself had left hell to exact his retribution. Arousal leaked out of you at that look. The air sharped with dense tension and desire, enough that it finally yanked him out of his frozen stupor. Time suspended for a brief, agonizing moment, just long enough for your breath to become his.

Miguel yanked your arm away from him and curled it behind your back, your soft gasp making drool form at the back of his throat. His other hand gripped your chin and at that moment he saw thunder in your eyes. “I'd rather fuck you instead.” Uncertainty evaporated from his voice, leaving nothing but satin and smoke in its wake.

His mouth shattered against yours, finding its rightful place in your mouth. Home. You thought his last kiss was good, but this was ferocity at its most unhinged. You had succumbed to the skillful assault on your senses.

Your body was molded to his, all hard muscles under the holographic suit. Your mouth was like a pure shot of heroin- the forbidden fruit that he was restraining himself for was now all his to devour, his to savor. The first kiss was passionate but impulsive. This... was sticky and wet, saliva mingling with saliva, this was primal and addicting. Miguel's worries melted into nothing, for now, he was fucking delighted that your body instinctively curved against his, seeking more contact like a horny virgin. His lips left yours to breathe, a rough calloused breath shot out of his throat, as his mouth fell to your jaw, kissing and sucking so fucking hard, desperate to mark you.

“Miguel…” You moaned out in failed protest, the word rolled like heaven off of your tongue. You were made to moan his name.

“I'm going to wreck this tight cunt..”

“Listen, listen...I'm bad. I'm a bad girl. Now I'm making you bad..” You whispered in his ear, yelping a little when he bit down hard on the skin of your jaw. You felt the indents of his teeth.

“Carinõ...I'm not a good man, you know that.” His eyes wildly found yours again, his face hardening like granite, his steely resolve thrumming in the air around you.

You begged to differ, but you didn't want to think about that right now.

Miguel shoved you on the bed, manhandling you by being completely careless of where you landed.

“Miguel!” You whined like a kicked bitch in heat, it felt so humid in your room, you scrambled to get your- well, his- top off. Miguel stood up straight and gawked at you from the foot of your bed, waiting like a hungry predator. You discarded the shirt so you were completely naked on your bed, shining and glimmering in the pale moonlight, skin as soft as fresh silk. Your chest rose and fell with every rapid breath, Miguel's eyes were clouded in the dark hellfire that is desperation when you spread your legs. You propped yourself up on your elbows, tilting your chin down to glare at him with impossibly sizzling fuck me eyes. Miguel's heartbeat pummeled to the tip of his leaking cock at the sight of you in such an impossibly filthy position- free for him to use, fuck and bite however he pleases. He glanced at your hands and your fingers were ripping up the sheets under you, spotlighting the tension and swirling heat in your cunt. He was like a kid in a candy store, your pussy was leaking, the clear sticky liquid running down your thighs.

“Every time you speak, this is what happens.” Your tone was dead serious and the expression on your face was stony- you were definitely not toying with him now. You were just too eager for that.

Miguel's eye twitched. Without warning, he grabbed your ankles and pulled them to the edge of the bed, you gasped softly when you felt your legs dangle out, Miguel was between your thighs, glaring down at you with a demanding instinct.

“Sit up straight.” He ordered coldly, you felt a new wave of wetness form between your folds at his words.

You did what you were told, eyes piercing against his, challenging each other but it was obvious who had the upper hand.

Oh…the things Miguel could do to you in this position. The things he wanted to do, x-rated scenarios reeled through his head. You blinked up at him with doe eyes, wide and needy. His needy, desperate girl. A hint of a wicked smile played on his lips. Miguel smashed a few buttons on his watch and his holographic suit disintegrated off. Your eyes scanned his golden olive skin, his body was sculpted with such perfection you expected to find Michelagelo's signature embossed on his V-line. Broad shoulders. Muscled chest. A faint dusting of black hair that tapered down to…

Oh fuck.

His cock was staring at you right in the face, jutting out, huge and hard- 11 inches for sure at least. It curved to the side, a thick vein bulging out of the underside, an angry red tip leaking pre-cum. The mere idea sent twin frissons of apprehension and anticipation spiraling down the deepest pit of your stomach. You gawked blankly at his dick, mouth open wide and eyes outspread. It felt like you'd never even seen one before. Well, you had never seen his before.

That fucking face, that gape. He was going to frame it in his office and fuck his fist under the desk staring at it.

There was no way he'd fit. It would be impossible.

“Oh my…God.” You mumbled under your breath

When you finally dragged your gaze back up to his, Miguel's eyes were already laser-focused on you, dark and smoldering with a banked heat that you were sure could crumble you to dust. His hand gripped your cheeks, ensuring that your eyes were on him without hesitation. Miguel smiled crookedly when he spotted the slivers of saliva hanging from your bottom lip, quite literally drooling over his cock absentmindedly. He loved how dumb he’s got you already.

"Aww querida...I always seem to think about my own suffering, yet I neglect yours the most.” His tone had slivers of mockery in it, and tears pricked in your eyes.

“Yes. You do. So just fuck me already.” You scowled, pretty eyebrows tensing and creasing when he planned on stretching out such a momentous occasion. If anything it should be you punishing him for the amount of times he had denied you of the very thing that kept your soul alive.

Hypocritical son of a bitch.

Miguel harshly let go of your face and slapped your cheek with his dick, your face whipped to the side due to the sheer force of such an obscene thing- he definitely caught your attention now, undermining his authority never sat well and it regurgitated back onto you tenfold. You blinked up at him, the surprise hitting you like a brick and making you choke out the breath you forgot you were holding, your cheek heated red as the stickiness smeared slightly. You were about to internally combust, for such vulgarity to feel that good.

"All you do is fucking talk.” Miguel snarled at you gruffly, the force behind it sounded very real.

“I'm prepping you, getting you all wet so you can at least take about half of me.” You wanted to kick him in the face and make his fangs stick into the walls of his gums and snap them. He really thought you wouldn't be able to take him? Well, a few minutes ago you thought it would be quite frankly impossible to take his sheer size but now since he doubted you...you thought otherwise, wildly determined didn't even begin to cover it.

You cocked a condescending eyebrow at his incredibly smug statement. “I'm wet enough! We were practically designed to fuck each o-!“

Miguel cut you off, waiting for the opportunity when your mouth was wide enough to just shove his cock in. And he did just that. He grinned and let out a low rumbling chuckle at your pathetic and dumb demeanor, who knew a woman who viewed herself so highly could end up being so damn bendy for someone else. Your eyes pricked glassy mirrorball tears, he almost saw his own smug reflection in them, that beautiful surprised look on your face needed to be painted and sold for millions. Your mouth was so warm, so wet, bucketfuls of spit spilling on his cock as you sucked, glaring him right in the pupils of his midnight rings. Miguel's lips flipped to a pretty smile as he watched you struggle to take him all. Your tongue was flat on his tip but what was really jarring was the barely there touches you'd flick onto the sensitive slit, causing him to be unable to repress his animalistic grunt. He could've cum right then and there just from how your mouth felt alone, but he had to endure- he couldn't be known for lasting 5 seconds.

“Yes, we were. You're exactly right.” He gritted through his grinding jaw.

This was exactly what you dreamed of, the spark that lit the flames of desire that licked at the very essence of your soul. It just felt so right. He was so thick and he tasted so good, his natural musk clouded your nostrils, and your throat flexed to take him that much more. One more jerk and he was sure he was going to cum.

Woah, easy. Easy.

Miguel's eyes shot open as you hummed around him appreciatively.

He really thought you couldn't do it. You'd show him that he meant jack shit. There was something so heady about the idea of making a man like Miguel fall to your mercy. You could either bring him over the edge or keep him there forever.

You slid him down your throat a little more. He put his fist in your hair to jerk your head around but you scratched and slapped them away earning nothing but a breathless, accusing scoff from him.

“You'll choke.” It was a half-assed warning and a half-assed patronizing joke. A hint of wariness crept into his voice when you finally gripped the base of his cock with two hands. The sensation tinged his nerve endings in heat, saliva escaping the corners of his mouth.

You didn't care, your eyes tangled with his as if you were saying ‘You think I can't? Watch me.’ You slid him all down your throat, hitting the very back of it. You whimpered tasting the salty sweetness before you swirled your tongue from side to side, bobbing your head up and down, suckling softly at first before fucking him hard with your tongue. Jesus Christ, his mind was exploding with static heat- he was trying to conceal his chest from heaving but he couldn't.

Fuck.

This was most definitely the best blowjob he's ever had, you had this twist-and-jerk technique that was truly remarkable. Miguel raised his eyebrow, dumbfounded by your skill but then a wicked smile slashed through that.

What a pretty little slut. His pretty little slut.

“You feel so good. You're...fuck. You're fucking perfect for me...” Miguel moaned drunkenly, unable to control his lips from moving. He's never been this sensitive before, every barely there touch elicited a new wave of pleasure. Pain and pleasure blurred into one at this point. The compliment made you wetter if that was even a possibility.

“I'm gonna...Mierda...g'na...I'm gn'a cum.” He could barely string together a sentence, a coil snapped inside of him, the coil that has been tightening ever since he met you.

Miguel pulled his cock out of your mouth and jerked himself off, cumming on your chest, creating a pearl necklace with his hot salty cum, dripping all down your tits to your stomach. His face creased into a desperate wince as he groaned from the deep chasms of his gut, a rumble as he released all over you. Your gasp was helpless and he wanted to hear that specific sound all night, it turned into his favorite music. This was the most gratifying and fulfilling orgasm he's ever had. He opened his eyes after they screwed shut, peeking through to see the mess he made on his fist and your body...and there you were looking like a sculpture, something akin to a Greek goddess, leaning back slightly, hair touselled and messy, skin glowing. He could finish again at the sight alone. His sex drive was insatiable.

“Still think I'm in need of prepping?” You chided, embarrassingly pleased with yourself at proving him wrong.

You didn't have any time to lose, your mouth was wrapped around him again.

You retracted a hand from the base of his leaking cock and let them slide down your thighs before your nimble fingers edged to your hot cunt. Your index finger found your swollen clit, rubbing it for a single second, feeling a small fraction of delicious pain before his glare caught you red-handed. Miguel's blood reared at the blurry sight, he gripped your hair again with his white hot fist and pulled you off of his cock, drooling-invisible strings of cum and spit connecting you together. He took a moment to admire you at your most beautiful, heated cheeks, swollen pink lips dribbling into a lazy smile

Miguel grew indignant in a matter of nanoseconds.

“No. Don't you dare think about touching. You've done more than enough yourself.” He grunted like a boar. He used your hair like a leash and threw you back flat on the bed, breasts bouncing at the action. You pouted as he crawled on top of you, his heavy weight being a welcome invite to your body, his cock slapped against your stomach and you could feel his skin turn wet due to your drenched mound. “I said don't give me that look.” He said seethingly. The feeling of his skin on yours was making you intensely needy. You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking yourself in your new favorite position: under him.

“Please...Miguel. I need you, I'm desperate for you, I'm tired of waiting for you, I've been ready for you for so long…” A desperate plea ripped away from your throat in a choked sob. Miguel had never seen your eyes emanate such honesty and sincerity, glowing in the pale moonlight- you weren't making a glib or clippy joke about this. It was as honest as you could get.

Miguel's eyes darkened as your words fell on his ears, slurring at your incessant whining. “Mi nina necesitada…” He hummed under his breath. “So cockdrunk already?”

You had been dying to let him roam your body freely, doing whatever he pleased, a breathy moan escaped from your parted lips when his apathetic hand traced the curves of your body, goosebumps strangely patterning your heated skin. Miguel crashed his lips against yours again, his fangs snagging against your mouth and his teeth clinking against yours. It was messy and sloppy, spit against spit, tongue against tongue. His hands palmed your tits, feeling them before his talons pinched and rolled your already-sensitive nipples. Pulling and playing with them, snarling and grinning crookedly against your lips as he swallowed your moans.

“I'm gonna cum..” You breathed softly but Miguel was not having it. “Miguel...if you keep doing that I'm gonna cum.” You warned him but it landed on deaf ears.

"You're gonna cum on my cock.” He corrected you unkindly before chuckling lowly. “My sweet sensitive cunt.”

Before you knew it, Miguel gritted his teeth, you didn't have time to do anything more than gasp before his length slid into you so easily, hitting that spot that made him realize you were right: you were designed to fit each other, designed to fuck each other

“Fuck...Oh my god...” You moaned out loudly.

He filled you up to the hilt with only one thrust. You only had a few seconds to adust before one hand was on your neck and the other gripped your hip and slammed you up and down on his cock, hard, while he drove down inside of you. Each thrust was more brutal than the last, you were getting embarrassed at the whines and moans, and attempting to conceal them with your fist wasn't helpful either. You threw your head back into the mattress, exposing more skin on your neck for his palm to grip.

“Be loud. Let me hear you.” He demanded coolly, his steely resolve shattering just from watching your swollen lips turn into a full-blown gape. You gave in to his instruction and let yourself moan without shame. Miguel manhandled you and threw you about sloppily again and again, harder and faster until your knees buckled.

His fangs ground together, threatening to shatter the pearly whites he was known for as he watched your body contort. Fuck, you looked so beautiful. He saw his cock bulge under the skin of your stomach and it was just another lightning bolt that was the thunderstorm between you two. You whined when he grabbed your knees and pushed them into your chest, smooshing your breasts together, allowing him better access to pump you full.

Miguel knew you were on birth control but he couldn't help but feel disappointed about it. He disguised it as a throwaway thought

“You can't even begin to understand how bad I've wanted you.” Your tongue slipped out, reiterating the same thing as always: your desperation.

“Tell me I'm the best you ever had.” He growled brutally, staring down at you, watching your hair nuzzle into the pillow. Your nails dug crescents into his back, probably enough to draw blood if you angled it another way.

"You're the best I've ever had!” You screamed back, begging to finish. “Please...you're the best I've ever had.” You cried out, eyes welling up with tears, streaking down your warm face making Miguel even more aroused. Miguel felt so dirty and depraved, but that's the kind of man he was. He wasn't a good man at all.

You clung onto him for dear life as he rutted in and out violently, you threw your head back into the pillow, his talons were sure to leave indents on your neck, and you drooled at the idea. Your body felt nothing more than a mass of sensation and nerve as you matched his rhythm and grinding your swollen clit up against him: like you were made for each other. It was like you were sucking the soul out of him.

“You need to get used to being fucked like this because I'm not leaving you alone for the entire weekend Hermosa.” Miguel declared with a snarl and it felt like the world was tipped on its axis. “My pretty little cumslut, eh?”

That's all it took.

One promise.

One last final rub of your clit.

Your mouth fell open to a silent scream, but then Miguel glared at you- instructing you to be loud. So you did. Your pussy gushed onto him and your throat ripped out a pornographic moan, the sound echoed into every nook and cranny of your being- it was an out-of-body experience, both a complete cleansing and a complete dirtying of the person you've become. You've never cum that hard, ever. It was so powerful and all-consuming that it drowned out every sound other than Miguel's heavy breathing. He was still pounding into you, chasing his second release of the night. His dick twitched when he saw your face look so blissed out, stars burst behind his eyes as his dick pulsated. Miguel threw his head back and spurted inside of you, before pulling out, spurting again, and then plugging his dick back in.

You were both panting messes, sweat rolling off of your skin as if you had just finished a marathon. Your faces were inches away from each other, gawking at each other vacantly, eyes wide and glittering with that after-sex aura. Silence clawed into the atmosphere, all you could do was stare at each other, silently saying ‘I can't believe we just did that’

Miguel leaned in and planted a soft kiss on your lips. “I meant what I said. I'm not letting you leave” The contrast between his gentle kiss and his filthy words made you feel limp.

-

i feel like this was lowkey self serve bc all i want to do is give miguel head LOL .

i also just have to say another thank u to all the people who love this series! i’m so overwhelmed by the idea that you guys like the way i write miguel. thank u so much! i love u

-

taglist (giggles): @thel0velykey190 @scaleniusrm @drefear r @imkikibtw @tbeanie3 @spxctorsslxt @saturnknows @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick k @mafer383 @i-feel-violated @crowleysthings @avatar-lover @l3laze @wyvernnest @rowboatweeb @schniti-is-in-the-house ri @d1lf-loverrr @iamv1n @ro99se @nxrdamp @mrssabinecallas @jesmynsjoys @xiylio @leahnicole1219 @reine-sans @tallmanlover @neverlandlostchild @axerrri @frieschan @plzfeedmebread @rorel1a @z0mbiekat @rey26 @stunkbiggu @honeycovered-bandaids@hearttjason @brittney69 @thyroidissues @4imhry @pinkliquor @realalpacorn @dr-skazka @simoniithehomii @aisyakirmann @deezisnotreal @synamonthy @bread6069 @iite-cool @thedevax @soymiguelsesposa @heartthrobinsblog @siidmm @queerponcho @luvingmyships @dhollandhs @kehlanilopez @lyrasdrawer

(IT WONT LET ME TAG ANY OTHER PPL BRUH TUMBLR WHY)

[wandering-winchesters]

Breaking Point

Word Count: 1,402 Summary: After an argument at the bunker pushes you to your breaking point, you storm out to a bar to escape. Trigger Warnings: Alcohol use, Emotional distress, Mention of physical confrontation, Mild language Requested: No

Masterlist

The argument at the bunker had been building all week. Tensions were high, and everyone was on edge, but this time, it had gotten to you. Maybe it was the hunt that went sideways, or the constant weight of keeping everything together, but the words flew out of your mouth before you could stop them. And when Dean pushed back—like he always did—you’d had enough.

Grabbing your jacket, you stormed out of the bunker, not even sparing a glance at Sam or Dean as they called after you. The sound of your boots echoed in the empty hallway, your heart pounding in your ears. It felt like you couldn’t breathe inside those walls anymore. You didn’t care where you went; you just needed to escape.

The bar was the first place you thought of. Familiar, dark, and loud enough to drown out your thoughts. You weren’t planning on getting drunk, but after the first drink, the sting of alcohol dulled the ache in your chest. So you ordered another. And another.

Hours passed, and you felt the familiar warmth spread through your body. The numbness was welcome. It made everything quiet. You didn’t have to think about the bunker, the hunts, the danger, or even Dean. Especially not Dean.

Back at the bunker, Dean was pacing. It wasn’t unusual for you to storm out, but you always came back, always sent a message at the very least. But tonight, his phone stayed silent. Sam tried to calm him down, suggesting you needed space, but Dean knew something was off. His instincts told him that you were in trouble, or headed for it. And Dean trusted his instincts.

Without another word, he grabbed his phone and checked your location. The bar. Of course. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed his jacket and keys, his worry morphing into anger. He didn’t like that you were out drinking alone, but what bothered him more was that you didn’t tell him where you were going. That you didn’t let him help.

By the time Dean burst through the doors of the bar, he was half expecting to find you passed out in some corner, but what he saw made his heart drop. You were at the far end of the bar, your head resting against the cool surface, eyes bleary as you nursed what had to be your fifth or sixth drink. He didn’t have to count to know you were wasted.

He crossed the room in long, determined strides, the anger he felt melting into concern as he saw just how vulnerable you were.

"Y/N," he said, his voice low but firm as he placed a hand on your shoulder. You barely looked up.

"I’m fine," you muttered, your words slurred, trying to shrug him off. "Just leave me alone, Dean."

Dean crouched beside you, lowering his voice so only you could hear. "You’re not fine. Let’s get you home."

You shot him a glare, one that was less effective with how glassy your eyes were. "I’m not going back there, Dean. Not tonight. I can’t."

Dean’s jaw clenched. "What the hell does that mean? You can’t just disappear and drink yourself into oblivion. Do you know how worried I was?"

"I don’t care," you snapped, the bitterness in your voice catching him off guard. "I just needed to get away from all of it… from you."

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Dean's heart dropped, but he pushed the hurt aside. This wasn’t about him. He knew you were hurting, more than you let on, but hearing it out loud still stung.

"Y/N," he began, softer now, "I get it, okay? But this—" he gestured around the bar—"this isn’t the answer. You can’t just run."

"I’m not running," you mumbled, your head dropping onto the bar. "I’m just… tired."

Dean could hear the exhaustion in your voice, the weight you carried every day, and he hated that you didn’t feel like you could come to him with it. That instead, you chose to carry it alone. He sat next to you, not saying anything for a while, just being there, hoping his presence would be enough.

That’s when Dean noticed the guys. A group of them had been watching you since he walked in, and now they were making their move. One of the guys—a tall, burly man with a leer that made Dean’s blood boil—sauntered over and stood too close to you for comfort.

"Hey, sweetheart," the man said, his voice thick with arrogance. "Why don’t you ditch the loser and come sit with me and my boys?"

You barely registered his words, but Dean stood up immediately, stepping between you and the guy. "She’s not interested," Dean growled, his eyes narrowing.

The man’s smile faltered, then twisted into something uglier. "What, she needs you to talk for her? I’m just trying to be friendly."

Dean’s hands balled into fists at his sides, and it took everything in him not to knock the guy out cold. "Walk away," he said, his voice a dangerous low rumble. "Now."

The guy sneered, taking a step forward as if to challenge Dean, but the bartender was quick to step in, threatening to call the cops if things escalated. The man finally backed down, muttering under his breath as he stalked off, but not before throwing a final glare at Dean.

Dean turned back to you, his heart still pounding from the adrenaline. You hadn’t even noticed what had just happened, your head still resting on the bar, eyes half-closed.

"Y/N," he whispered, crouching down again so he was eye-level with you. His hand gently cupped your face, turning you toward him. "You’re coming home with me."

You blinked at him, your walls crumbling as the reality of the night hit you. You were tired, not just physically, but emotionally. All the anger, the frustration, it was masking something deeper—fear, pain, the crushing weight of everything you had been through. You couldn’t carry it anymore.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and before you could stop them, they spilled over. "I don’t know what I’m doing, Dean," you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t… I don’t know how to keep going."

Dean’s heart broke at the sight of you like this. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him, his hand smoothing over your hair. "You don’t have to do it alone," he murmured into your hair. "I’m right here. Always."

For a moment, you stayed like that, wrapped in his arms, letting his presence ground you. The fight drained out of you, replaced by a deep, aching sadness you had kept buried for far too long.

"I’m sorry," you whispered into his chest, your voice shaking.

"Don’t apologize," Dean said softly, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. "We’ll figure it out, okay? Together."

You nodded, too exhausted to argue. And this time, when Dean stood and offered his hand, you took it. He helped you to your feet, steadying you as you stumbled slightly. He kept a firm arm around your waist, guiding you out of the bar and into the cool night air.

As the two of you walked to the Impala, the weight of the night still lingered, but for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had to carry it all on your own. Dean was right there beside you, and somehow, that made all the difference.

And as you sat in the passenger seat, leaning your head against the window, you let yourself believe him. You didn’t have to keep running. Dean had your back—he always would.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers

[tddyhyck]

36 + jisung

babydoll [ p.js ]

bestie tysm for requesting this was so fun 🤭

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 ⇢ bf!jisung x gn!reader

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩 ⇢ “YOU SENT ME PICTURES OF YOU NAKED WHILE I WAS IN A WORK MEETING!”

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 ⇢ smut, mentioned (impact play, somnophilia, bondage), sexting, nudes (i think that’s all), reader wears lingerie but no body parts are explicitly mentioned

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 ⇢ 1k

masterlist

it started off as more of a joke, sending jisung flirty texts while you knew he had tons of important meetings all morning. giggling into the phone when he called at lunch complaining about distracting him when he needed to focus.

now it became more of a common occurrence texting him about how you missed him and needed his cock at 10 am. or asking him if he could do that thing with his tongue when he came over. and he would still call at lunch and whine about how busy he was and if he could he would.

you always knew when he saw you next he would bend you over and fuck you into oblivion telling you how bad you were for distracting him and not letting him work. you got excited knowing your ass would be red and bruised when he was finished.

the two of you had a fairly vanilla sex until you started the teasing. then it was like something snapped in both of you and some of the things you said over texts became far bolder than you were willing to say to his face but he loved it. sending him texts about wanting to handcuff him to your bed and ride him, or wanting him to take you on a romantic date and finger you under the table, or even the time you admitted you would love for him to fuck you while you slept next to him.

all of it sent your sex life to the next level exploring new kinks with each other from bondage, impact play, and jisung hated to admit he liked the way you clenched and whimpered when he called you names he would never call anyone.

you had never ventured into full-on sexting or sending nudes definitely not videos, preferring to call him and hear his voice instead. and you initiated most of your nsfw conversations anyways.

but today was different, you and jisung had a long weekend due to a holiday and he had planned to stay at yours all weekend. you had bought a new lingerie set to surprise him. a pretty sheer pale pink babydoll top with matching panties. you had planned to just send a photo of the set before putting it on, but the thought of having a photo shoot for him made you giddy.

you put on the set feeling the soft material against your skin while posing in the mirror. you grabbed your phone snapping a few photos in the mirror switching angles and poses showing off any and all angles. flipping the phone camera you continued your posing.

you decided to get on your knees in front of the mirror, spreading your legs slightly before taking more pictures. lifting the fabric from where it laid against your thighs. you could see your panties peeking out below the hem of the baby doll. you felt sexy and bold and brave bringing a hand over your panties before taking more pictures and hiding your face behind your phone.

feeling fearless you flipped around arching your back and sticking your ass out in the mirror. you let the fabric ride up to give a glimpse of the skinny string hiding between your cheeks. once you had taken enough photos to fill a scrapbook you felt satisfied scrolling through the pictures making yourself blush.

you picked a few of your favorites before deciding to send one of the less lewd ones. a simple pose similar to an outfit of the day pic you often sent your boyfriend. you hit send before tossing your phone on the bed and scurrying away a feeling of nervousness suddenly settling over you.

you heard your phone ping from your room as you went to grab a glass of water. you tried to ignore it but you found yourself running back to your phone swiping at the screen.

“so pretty”

that was all he had to say he didn’t think you were sexy or hot or fuckable? you groaned, almost annoyed at his innocent response. but you weren’t backing down determined to spend the weekend fucking his brains out. you scrolled through the photos selecting one with your hand down your panties and another of you bent over your ass out.

you sent them and didn’t feel nervous, you felt excited wanting a response before the messages could even be sent. you stared at your phone hearing the swoosh indicating a sent text. you saw dots appear at the bottom almost immediately making you perk up.

“what the fuck”

you grinned. ‘got him.’ you thought to yourself. but he didn’t respond again, in fact, he didn’t say anything for almost 30 minutes and it made you pout into your pillow. you didn’t hear your door open or him drop his bags on the couch or even his footsteps against the hardwood floor.

“you think you’re cute.” you jump, rolling over to see jisung standing at your door, hands on his hips. you hadn’t expected him until this evening but here he was standing in front of you in a suit his tie loosened and hair tousled from his fingers.

“i asked you a question.”

“sorry, i.”

“what are you sorry about? you were pretty bold earlier.” he stalks towards you like a predator.

“i just wanted to show you my new lingerie.” you smiled up at him innocently, fingers playing with the fabric. he tutted, long legs finally meeting the edge of your bed towering over you.

“you sent me pictures of you naked while i was in a work meeting,” he groaned, tough resolve being pushed aside as he leaned over you. you just giggled reaching your hands up to comb through his hair.

“but you liked them, right?”

“of course i fucking liked them.” he groaned into your chest nose pressing into your collarbone. “you’re so hot. it was so embarrassing i literally choked.” his hands slid beneath the babydoll kneading your skin, cold hands making you shiver.

“aww was my baby embarrassed?” you coo at him.

“shut up,” he whispers, nuzzling his head into you. “i got hard and told my boss i wasn’t feeling good. you’re so mean.”

“what are you gonna do about it?”

“we have all weekend right?” he asked looking up at you.

© tddyhyck

[ghost-proofbaby]

i don't know if anyone else does this, but for summertime sweetness can i have a strawberry midsummer's night with taking a cold shower with eddie munson to cool down from the heat? those just hit different in th esummer

oh i absolutely do this, and so would eddie <3 sorry this got a bit long

cold showers

warnings: some brief mentions of st canon towards the end, but... eddie lives, obviously. this would be set around summer of '87. also, brief mention of steve harrington's parents being shitty (one line literally)

wc: 1.6k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

You and Eddie had had plenty of bad ideas together. 99% of the time, whenever the two of you had been within vicinity of each other, chaos would follow. Things that wouldn’t go to plan, ideas that had been wonderful on paper but terrible in execution – over the years, most of the time, you two had had your fair share of mistakes.

But this? This was not a mistake. 

You’d almost thought it had been for a brief second when he’d first turned on the shower. Wisps of steam had momentarily snaked their way out of the drain as the first pelting of water had swirled down it, the mirror had begun to get a foggy image, and the warm moisture in the air had begun to mingle with the sweat on the back of your neck. You almost thought his previously genius idea had fallen through. You almost thought the entire cool-down solution had been a bust. 

And then, the steam had vanished. The mirror cleared. All the humidity of your own creation lightened, and you realized your boyfriend was, in fact, a genius. 

“Oh,” he practically moans as the two of you step into the tub, tilting his head back as it begins to soak his curls, “Oh, yeah. This was a great fucking idea.”

You roll your eyes as you give him a gentle shove, trying to make it where at least some of the water might hit you, “Yeah, yeah. Bask in all your glory without hogging all the water.” 

The heatwave had been intense. It was always intense, though, every summer in Hawkins. An unforgiving sun, drowning heat that sent both of your hair into frizzy messes, overcrowded pools. It’s never like the movies – there are no lake days with friends without complaints, and beer will always run warm within minutes of pulling it from the ice chest. 

One thing that had never changed, and had always served as a saving grace for the most miserable months of the year, was Eddie. Eddie, and all the unique ways the two of you would try to come up with just to survive till fall. 

As kids, it was cheap sprinkler sets bought at the Melvald’s. Soaking the technical front yard of the Munson trailer with luke-warm water as the two of you got caked in mud. Neither of you had ever really cared, thirteen year olds returning to a youthful oblivion just to spray each other with a hose and make ridiculous games out of jumping over the sprinkler attachments. Water balloon fights that had carried on well into your teens, eventually becoming so intense that there had been a time where both you and Eddie ended up bruised and battered on the Munson couch, getting lectured sternly by an exhausted Wayne Munson. You’re too old not to know better, Wayne had said to Eddie as he’d taken a look at the knot on the back of your shoulder that year. 

Eddie had felt bad enough before Wayne’s involvement, but he’d almost resembled a kicked puppy at that specifically scornful retort. 

Things had slowly changed the last few summers, though. You had changed, Eddie had changed, the entire dynamic had changed. Suddenly, after one little dare to kiss one another, ice cream dates had become a solution. ‘Tanning’ had become an excuse to see Eddie stare at you for far too long than any friend should, and plenty of nights ended with lathering each other up in aloe as your hands wandered farther than any friendly touches would. 

And then there had been Steve Harrington’s pool. God, you missed Harrington’s pool. 

You almost mentally curse your newest friend for having taken a family vacation that was lasting half the summer, denying the entire group of what had been the staple solution last summer, but he was probably more miserable than all of you combined based on what you knew of his parents. 

“You can’t even deny how smart this was, sweetheart,” your best-friend-turned-boyfriend  laughs, formally turning and offering you a proper place beneath the stream of water. As the cool water beats down on your warmed summer skin, you can’t even find it within you to be annoyed anymore, “Go ahead, say it – Eddie’s a goddamn genius.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you decide to lean your face into the sweet reprieve, not caring how your eyes stung just a little, “I am not inflating your ego right now, Munson. Fuck off.” 

“You wound me.” 

“You’ll live.” 

The pipes had clearly been cleared of all stagnant and heated water, and for the first time in two months, you almost shivered from the cold. 

When you finally stop letting the water splash across your cheeks, you open your eyes to find Eddie simply staring. Wide grin, sparkling eyes. It ignites all the nostalgia you should get from those summer nights the movies portray, a lifetime of good memories and better company right before you. 

“Have we ever even showered together before?” you ask randomly, already reaching for the shampoo on the small shelf behind Eddie before he has the chance to answer.

You hadn’t. Neither of you owned a bathroom that seemed big enough, practically, to attempt this. But desperate times had called for desperate measures. 

“Taken a cold shower together?” he scrunches his nose, hand flying out to cut through the water. Some splashes on your lips, and he goes wide-eyed, as if trying to appear innocent enough that you won’t react. It works. “Nah. Usually, it was me by my lonesome, and you sitting out there in the living room in the shortest shorts known to man-”

“Those pajamas were not that short.” 

“They were!” you finally retaliate and splash some of the water at him, making both of you giggle, “They really fuckin’ were. Been over here killin’ me since summer of ‘78, baby.” 

Twelve years old, new to town and petrified. You can still perfectly envision a younger version of you approaching a younger Eddie sporting a buzzcut, nerves choking you up as you stuttered through a question if he wanted to hang out. And you can still picture doe-eyes looking at you, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting to become the latest punchline. 

The shoe never dropped. Instead, a friendship bloomed. Instead, the start of something refreshing had started, for both of you. 

Before you pop the top of the shampoo, you take a moment to look over Eddie’s nude torso. Recalling the first time you’d seen him shirtless as he’d answered the door unexpectedly for you after a movie night with girls you thought were your friends had fallen catastrophically through. The first time he’d been comfortable enough to take off his shirt around you during all your summer shenanigans, grabbing you by the waist and launching the two of you into the pool together. The first time he’d try to play you at your own game with the half-naked tanning plots, coming out in only swim trunks and with his own towel, gas station sunglasses perched on his nose to hide his lingering gaze as he’d situated himself beside you on your porch. 

You’d both been playing a losing game that day. You may have embarrassed yourself by tracing over the deep Vs in his hips blatantly, but his glasses hadn’t hidden the way he’d been trying to memorize all your own curves and dips. 

What holds your stare now are all the jagged lines that trace his sides. Pink and fleshy skin that has long since healed, following from his hip up his neck. A memory of a time that cuts you deeper than any summer. Scars of a time you wish you could erase from your history, just last spring. 

Maybe summer wasn’t your least favorite season. Maybe it was spring, because you’d almost lost everything in the spring. You’d almost lost Eddie.

“Shut up and turn around,” you smile, shaking your head at all the memories, reminding yourself that you didn’t lose him. He was here, and he was taking a cold shower with you, and that was what mattered most. “Might as well wash your hair while we're here.” 

Might as well. As if you wouldn’t thank the Universe for every time you had the privilege, as if you wouldn’t wash his hair a thousand times if he asked you for it. You’d do anything he asked of you. For the boy who had cheated death, and still found his way back home to you after it was all said and done. 

A thousand cold showers. A thousand summers. A thousand moments. You’ll take whatever you can get now – you’ve learned your lesson about taking time with Eddie for granted. 

“You’re gonna wash my hair?” he lights up a bit, shuffling his feet as he readies to face his back to you, “I suppose I’ll allow it. Who could say no to a little pampering?” 

You grab him by his shoulders, keeping up a faux show of annoyance, “You, apparently. Turn around before I change my mind.”

There would never be any changing your mind. 

He doesn’t call your bluff, though. He turns, just as you request, and lets you get to work. There’s no real rush, anyways. You may not take moments for granted anymore, but for now, the two of you had your own little infinity under the stream of a cold shower.

You both go quiet, and you almost quietly pray to whoever may be listening that the moment really can last forever. Just you, just your boy, and all the suds of the shampoo lathered into his curls and between your fingers. Small hums of approval and the occasional peck of your lips against his bare skin as the most silent of I love yous.

Yeah. The cold shower was an excellent idea. 

[munchmemes]

taylor swift lyrics, the tortured poets department edition, part two

guilty as sin?

▸ my boredom's bone-deep. ▸ am i allowed to cry? ▸ i'm seeing visions, am i bad? or mad? or wise? ▸ one slip and i'm falling back into the hedge maze. ▸ oh, what a way to die. ▸ i keep recalling things we never did. ▸ how i long for our trysts. ▸ how can i be guilty as sin? ▸ i keep these longings locked inside a vault. ▸ someone told me there's no such things as bad thoughts, only your actions talk. ▸ they're gonna crucify me anway. ▸ what if they way you hold me is actually what's holy? ▸ i choose you and me religiously.

who's afraid of little old me?

▸ the "who's who?`" of "who's that?" is poised for the attack. ▸ you don't get to tell me about 'sad'. ▸ if you wanted me dead, you should've just said. nothing makes me feel more alive. ▸ who's afraid of little old me? you should be. ▸ the scandal was contained, the bullet had just grazed. ▸ at all costs, keep your good name. ▸ you don't get to tell me you feel bad. ▸ is it a wonder i broke? ▸ let's hear one more joke. then we could all just laugh until i cry. ▸ i was tame, i was gentle till the circus life made me mean. ▸ they say they didn't do it to hurt me but what if they did? ▸ i want to snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me. ▸ you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me. ▸ isn't that what they all said? that i'm fearsome and i'm wretched and i'm wrong. ▸ you lured me and you hurt me and you taught me. ▸ you caged me and then you called me crazy. ▸ i am what i am 'cause you trained me.

i can fix him (no really i can)

▸ the jokes that [you/they] told across the bar were revolting and far too loud. ▸ they shake their heads, saying "god help [them]" when i tell 'em you're the one. ▸ i can fix him, no really i can. and only i can. ▸ i could see it from a mile away. ▸ you had a halo of the highest grade, you just hadn't met met yet. ▸ come close, i'll show you heaven if you'll be an angel all night. ▸ trust me, i can handle me a dangerous [man/woman].

loml

▸ we were just kids, babe. ▸ i don't mind, it takes time. ▸ i thought i was better safe than starry-eyed. ▸ i felt aglow like this. never before and never since. ▸ you and i went from one kiss to getting married. ▸ you said i'm the love of your life about a million times. ▸ a conman sells a fool a get-love-quick scheme. ▸ i felt a hole like this never before and ever since. ▸ what we thought was for all time was momentary. ▸ i wish i could un-recall how we almost had it all. ▸ the coward claimed he was a lion. ▸ i'll still see it until i die. you're the loss of my life.

i can do it with a broken heart

▸ i can show you lies. ▸ i'm a real tough kid, i can handle my shit. ▸ they said 'you gotta fake it 'til you make it' and i did. ▸ you said you'd love me all your life but that life was too short. ▸ i can do it with a broken heart. ▸ i'm so depressed, i act like it's my birthday every day. ▸ i cry a lot but i am so productive, it's an art. ▸ you know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart. ▸ i can hold my breath, i've been doing it since [you/they] left. ▸ i'm miserable and nobody even knows!

the smallest man who ever lived

▸ was any of it true? ▸ now you know what it feels like. ▸ i don't miss what we had. ▸ in public, you showed me off then sank in stoned oblivion. ▸ you didn't measure up in any measure of a man. ▸ were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? ▸ good riddance 'cause it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden. ▸ i would've died for your sins. instead i just died inside. ▸ in plain sight you hid but you are what you did. ▸ i'll forget you but i'll never forgive.

the alchemy

▸ this happens once every few lifetimes. ▸ these chemicals hit me like white wine. ▸ what if i told you i'm back? ▸ the hospital was a drag. worst sleep i ever had. ▸ ditch the clowns, get the crown. ▸ what if i told you we're cool? ▸ honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy? ▸ where's the trophy?

clara bow

▸ all your life, did you know you'd be picked like a rose? ▸ i'm not trying to exaggerate but i think i might die. ▸ this town is fake but you're the real thing. ▸ take the glory, give everything. ▸ promise to be dazzling. ▸ you're the new god we're worshipping. ▸ beauty is a beast that roars down on all fours, demanding more. ▸ it's hell on earth to be heavenly. ▸ them's the breaks, they don't come gently.

[pr0cyon-lotor]

I've been thinking about my COTL AU for Svsss. I made some designs for the main guys :D

Our simple but put together Cult Leader

His cold and sharp right hand man and husband

And their troublesome husband I mean— follower 👀

A little excerpt (im taking liberties with the lore because ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯) ↓

The Bishop of Death was once a kind shepherd. He led lost souls to eternal rest with a comforting smile. 

No one knew where he came from or why he stayed, but he was loved, and he loved his kin back. It was like the heavens above graced their undeserving lives with a good reason for death. Just to be cradled in his arms and pulled to permanent sleep. It was something to love with him there.

No one knows when it happened, but the bishop changed. Something tainted the shepherd. Those smiles were no longer kind; there was a madness in his eyes, and his voice lost its warmth.

A snake and a crow always whispered in his ears, the culprits many guessed. Yet his devoted followers refused to believe their shepherd would lead them astray.

A little lamb and goat were the most vocal about their belief in their shepherd. They were saved by him long ago; they didn't believe that cat, who smiled so fondly as he shielded two herdless creatures from the cruelty of their world, was gone. That kind shepherd was in there, they swear.

Then their shepherd attacked the other bishops. They heard this information from the very same bishops, bloodied and torn.

It didn't matter to the lamb and the goat. All they knew was that their god was gone.

It wasn't long before the lamb was taken after so much senseless slaughter of his kind. The goat tried to stop it but only got discarded on the forest floor, drawing his final breath as the lamb cried out for him to wake up. Those cries turned to static as the goat closed his eyes.

It hurt. The lamb never thought he'd be the one on an altar, a knife puncturing through his soft wool and even softer flesh like it was nothing. His last breath came out in a muffled cry, and darkness met him.

Oblivion. The same oblivion their shepherd would lead lost souls to. If only they were led by him this one time...

Except it wasn't oblivion where they stayed. They were thrown at the feet of a massive, chained figure. Fear bloomed in their chests before a familiar voice welcomed them.

"Ah— My little lamb. My lovely goat. You visited me far too early," said that comforting voice. A veil covered his face, but there was a smile, barely visible under the dark veil.

It was almost worrying how quickly they agreed to make a cult in his name. Maybe it was simple devotion, although it felt different than devotion. It felt warmer. It was more.

They fought tooth and nail for their god. In those small moments of failure, they were greeted with a smile and sent back gently. They truly didn't see the insanity in the shepherd's eyes, or maybe they didn't want to believe it.

Bishop after bishop, they fell like cards. Each gave warnings about the shepherd, and their god's excitement turned to mania with each fallen card.

Once the last card fell, they were left with the last one. The Ace. It was truly no surprise that the shepherd betrayed them. The veil was ripped off during the fight; they were met with the insanity in those eyes.

It hurt as much as the knife that reunited them as they made a mighty mountain fall. No longer the colossal being that they looked up to, just a cat. Wounded and weak.

They approached, and there was a moment of clarity in his eyes. The fallen shepherd looked at them and smiled as he did that first day.

"My little lamb. My lovely goat," he said fondly, as if he wasn't at their mercy.

The lamb just needed to raise his blade and...

It would be so easy. So simple. Their fallen shepherd wouldn't have to suffer anymore, but...

There was a silent agreement between the lamb and the goat as they sheathed their blades. The lamb gingerly picked up the former god of death, careful with his injuries, and brought him half unconscious to the very same cult they made to his name.

They left him to their healer. Yes, their shepherd wouldn't have his madness healed overnight, but they were going to make sure he can once more see through his madness and see them again. No matter how long it took.

[creepling]

the slaughtered lamb - johnny slaughter / <;1k

tags: smut. MINORS DNI. fem/afab!reader. dom!johnny. implied stockhom syndrome. sharing a bed. male receiving foreplay. praise. use of pet names. deep throat. possessive. fem penetration.

It ain’t so bad, is it? Johnny asked, gently lying on his bed, caressing the back of your head as you leaned into the pillow.

What’s all this about, Johnny? You asked. It wasn’t every day he let you out of the basement, where you had to spend your days.

I feel right terrible keeping you down there. But you know I gotta, don’t you? If you were up here all the time, looking as lovely as you do, my family would try and hurt ya. I can’t let that happen, Johnny reassured, but today’s a good day. There ain’t no one around. Everyone is sleeping.

That’s nice of you. Thank you, you whispered, kissing his hand gently.

Johnny let you wash up for bed and gave you fresh sleepwear. As he took his clothes off, soaked in sweat from the Texan heat, you lay in bed witnessing his bare chest on display. Lightly toned, the definition clear on his arms and torso. He noticed you staring and sent a smirk your way. Unbuckling his jeans, making sure you took him all in, he slid them off and stood in his underwear. A blush erupted on your face.

I sleep like this. You don’t mind, do ya? Johnny asked, basking in your fluster.

You shook your head, cutting out your stares and laying back into bed. Johnny slid next to you and flicked off the lamp. In the darkness, you shuddered as Johnny’s body heat radiated through your back.

This is nice, Johnny whispered, his lips close behind.

You mumbled in agreement, mentally anticipating Johnny to come closer to you. The thought of his touch makes your body grow hot. Almost reading your mind, Johnny traced his fingers along your side, causing a shudder to come over you.

I am one lucky guy, having you next to me, he mumbled, pressing his touch to feel the curve of your side. His lips hovering over your neck, eyes half-lidded.

You exhaled, reaching your hand to cup his face, inviting him to kiss your neck. His teeth crazed your sensitive spot ravishingly, causing you to let out a breathy moan. For a moment, he pulled away, shushing you gently.

We can’t wake up the others, you hear. I need you to be quiet for me, He contested.

His hand snaked to your clit and tucked between your legs to test your ability in silence. Feeling your warmth, Johnny shuddered and bucked his hips closer to you. You felt his length press against you and calculated his size, how far he can go, how much he can stretch. You mewled into your hand and pushed your entrance into Johnny’s hand, the feeling of his fingers satisfying the hunger building inside you.

My God, look at you—such a pretty sight.

Johnny had you kneeling, your eyes peering up at him like a lost puppy. His hand massaged his length over his boxers' fabric, admiring your submissive state. The overwhelming feeling of catching prey overtook him, and he began pulling down his boxers to reveal himself. His dick sprung across your face. You gulped in anticipation.

You took him exceedingly well, taking both of you by surprise. Johnny’s head fell back, and he exhaled a long, satisfied breath. But he knew he wanted to pick up the pace. He liked it rough – and fast. His hands bolted behind your head; he sinks into your warm mouth. Your gasp is stuffed and muffled. It slides down, his tip touching your throat.

Fuuck, baby. Yeah, that’s more like it. Your hands grip his thighs and push forward, but your slick slit drips on the hardwood. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you take him all in. Johnny’s cock leaves your mouth with a pop. You gasp for air. Begging for more, your tongue licks his shaft.

Johnny grips your hair, and with a yank, your mouth is agape. That’s it, good girl. His cock enters again, your mouth rimmed along his girth, his protrusive vein sliding along the corner of your lips. Fucking you into oblivion. Tears swell in your eyes, your vision is blurred, and you accept the fate to be ruined and perversely satisfied. Saliva pools in your mouth and drips down your chin.

You are halted and thrust onto the bed, your bare back exposed to Johnny erect and pumping his cock with a firm fist. Perking your slick cunt, you let out a pathetic whine for him to fill you. Johnny trails a finger over your sopping walls, running his tongue along his bottom lip.

I like this side of you, begging for me. Johnny whispered with bated breath, completely feral for your tight, soft body to be his possession—such a pretty little bunny.

Burying your face into the sheets, you squeak from the adjustive pain of Johnny entering you. Barrelled deep within you, your walls tightening around his cock, Johnny doubles over and grunts into your ear. You know what this means, huh? You’re all mine now.

An entanglement of whimpers and mewls escapes your mouth as Johnny performs harsh thrusts into your pussy. Groaning with every pump inside you, he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, reminding you that you are the one below, and he is the one on top. My pretty little thing. You’re all mine now, no one else can have you. Gripping your hips, pinning you deeper into the mattress, hunting for the most profound part within you to fuck his cock into. Yeah, that’s a good girl. You take me so well.

[marlsswrites]

June 29th <3

Always - @rosekillermicrofic - words: 873

TW: Character death, mentions of blood.

It was a dark night, Barty and Evan sat on the damp green grass on the edge of the forbidden forest. Above them was a tall tree, with flowers of varying colours flowing through the vines and lighting up the area.

Fireflies flew around the two boys and moonlight hit Evan in a way that made him look like he was glowing, Barty was sure he actually did glow.

This was all he ever wanted, Barty thought, this moment right now. He could live it forever, play it on repeat in his head. Always thinking of his Evan.

When he held Evan’s hand, he clutched onto it like he was going to run away. When he kissed Evan, he always made sure to leave a mark, because that was Barty’s Evan, no one else’s.

Evan lay his head to rest in Barty’s lap, his blonde hair splaying out and his long dark eyelashes fluttering shut over his ghostly blue eyes. He hummed as Barty ran a pale ring adorned hand through his hair, kissing Barty’s wrist with a small smile tugging on his lips.

“I’ll always love you Evie, you know that right?” Barty whispered in his ear.

“You will?”

Barty nodded and pushed out a hushed yes. “Of course I will.”

“I’ll always love you too Bee.”

-

One year later, Barty was sobbing. He was shrieking for help, he was crying, he was bawling, he was shaking and pale and pleading. “Evie no.” He croaked out as he held the dying boy in his lap, urgently running his hand all over Evan’s hair.

“It’s okay Bee.” Evan whispered, his voice hoarse and croaky like it hurt to even speak.

“No- no it’s not.” He hissed and sniffled, his cheeks flushed red and tears streaming down his face. Barty Crouch Jr never cries, never. But he was a mess right now, and even he knew there was no stopping what was about to happen.

Evan coughed, the bloodstains on his shirt becoming more prominent. Barty had found him like this, a rather injured and bleeding wizard running away from him, who just left Evan here to rot. All alone.

Pressing his hands against the wounds, Barty shrieked out a cry as he buried his head in Evans shoulder. It’s something he’s used to doing, he does it all the time, and Evan always used to kiss his hair and whisper sweet nothings into his ear.

He cried more into his lovers shoulder, his Evan, always his Evan. Nobody should’ve been able to take him away, Barty should’ve been there. That’s not fair, it doesn’t work like that- he can’t go. Not yet.

“Evie.” He muffled into his neck. “Please don’t leave me.” He choked out. “Not- not yet.” His voice was small, muffled by the material of Evans jumper. He could practically hear Evan smiling a pitying smile as he ran a hand through Barty’s hair, kissing the top of his head.

“I’ll always love you, Bee.” Evan whispered into his ear. “Always.”

Barty’s cries grew, chanting a string of no and please. “I’ll always love you too Evie.”

“Always?” Evan whispered into his ear again.

“Always.”

Holding Evan tighter as he felt the life drain out of his body, Barty muffled his last cry into Evan’s torn clothes. “I’ll find you, I promise.”

-

“Dora.” Evan shook her shoulders.

It was years later, in the afterlife to be exact. It was beautiful here, far more relaxing and lacked the horrors that were the wizarding world. Or so he thought.

“Dora, why isn’t Bee here?” He asked warily. “Why? He should be here, he-“

Pandora had tears in her eyes, she looked horrified.

Evan had sent her to watch over Barty as he took his last breath, Evan couldn’t bear to see it. He just wanted to see Bee, his Bee. “Pandora, what is it?” He asked again in a smaller voice.

“He-“ A beat. “The dementors kiss.” She trailed off, staring into oblivion. Her horror struck face stone and fixated on the ground.

“No- no he’s not.” Evan shook his head and stepped closer to Pandora. “Pandora look at me.” She looked up, biting her lip anxiously and blinking away the tears that were already streaming from her eyes.

She placed a hand on his cheek, Barty always used to do that, he thought. “I’m sorry-“ She started.

“They can’t take him from me again.” He swallowed. “No, they haven’t it’s not true…” He cried.

Shrugging Pandoras hand away, he fell to the floor. Sitting at the bottom of a nearby tree and resting his back on it, his head slammed back into the wood as he groaned in pain, but not from his head, from his love.

His sister crouched down in front of him, placing both hands on his knees. “I saw it happen, Ev.” She sniffled.

He couldn’t bear to imagine it, Barty, Bee, his love, getting his soul sucked from his beautiful body. Left motionless and pale on the cold stone floor of a cell, nobody there to mourn him, nobody left to care.

I’ll always love you Bee. He thought as he sobbed into Pandoras shoulder.

Always? A deep voice spoke from the back of his head.

“Always.”

[bweeeb]

PLS DO AN ENEMIES TO LOVERS THEO FF

" FIVE DAYS TO FALL IN LOVE "

Enemies to lovers

Theodore Nott x Y/n Hilton

Notes: Heyyy, I'm sorry about this writing, I tried to write something good but I ended up realizing that I have to work more with Enemies to lovers 🤣 I hope you still like what is written a little, I know I can do better with it, but I didn't want to throw away this work, so that's it, my apologies

Summary: A forced marriage is synonymous with hate, but perhaps one of them started falling in love before

Blood supremacy in the wizarding high society has always been a striking factor in the wizarding world. If you're a Muggle-born, you end up with nothing; some say their fate is to fade into oblivion. Conversely, if you are part of the blood supremacy, you'll have everything you want or whatever your parents desire. Y/n never agreed with her family's obsession, but she never intervened directly and that's why she claims she ended up where she was now. With firm steps, Y/n descended the stairs of her house with crossed arms and a scowl on her face. The low conversation echoed through the hall, and Miss Hilton's gaze went to the maid standing at the bottom of the stairs and a gentle smile was sent her way, which she kindly returned before speaking.— Your parents are waiting for you in the living room...with guests. The elderly woman informed, and Y/n gently patted her left shoulder.

— Thank's , Lydia.

She thanked her before walking towards the French doors leading to the living room where her parents awaited her future - literally, her future.

— Y/n, there you are! Y/n’s mother said, rising from the couch where she was sitting with her husband and two figures of which Y/n knew very well, Theodore Nott and his father.

— You've arrived just in time to meet your husband, dear. Her father said to her, and with a push from Mr. Nott, Theodore stepped forward and grabbed Hilton's hand, placing a kiss on the back of her hand.

— This is Theodore Nott, Y/n...

Y/n’s father said once more, and blood rushed to Y/n's head as she looked at her father with anger.

— I know who he is, father. It’s not like we didn't study at Hogwarts together. Y/n said harshly, and Mr. Nott's face tightened in confusion, as did Theodore's, who was no longer holding her hand. It had been a year since Y/n and Theodore had graduated, and it was no secret that their parents were desperate to maintain the pure-blood lineage. Both hated being there, but Y/n was more openly resentful about the situation.

— Y/n, where are the manners I taught you? Her mother looked horrified, and a sigh of regret escaped Y/n’s lips.

— I'm sorry, Dad. She apologized.

— It's okay, dear, I understand that the wedding nerves are getting to you. Her father said, and a crooked smile appeared on Y/n’s lips as she looked at her Givenchy boots, feeling nothing but anguish inside. Theodore wasn't an ugly man, quite the opposite; her friends drooled over Nott during school, and Y/n couldn't deny that even she found Theodore Nott attractive. But his reputation was terrible, which made everything worse. Y/n wanted to be with someone she truly loved, not just anyone for the sake of status.

— Perhaps you two should walk through the garden to get to know each other again. Mr. Nott suggested for the first time in that conversation, and all Y/n did was nod without looking anyone in the eye. She saw Theodore extend his arm towards her, which she accepted.

When they were far enough from their parents' eyes, Y/n released Theodore's arm and continued walking beside him without much intention of speaking, unlike Theodore, who was already uncomfortable with the fact that she hadn't looked him in the eyes.— Are you blind or something? The voice loaded with an Italian accent made Y/n stop walking and frown. Turning to face him and looking him in the eyes for the first time since the beginning of the interaction.

— Excuse me?

— You didn't look at me for a second, I thought you couldn’t see, but apparently, it was just ignorance... Theodore said bitterly, and Y/n’s face became more irritated.

— Ignorance? For the Gods, Theodore, the ignorance is yours for accepting this ridiculous marriage idea. The young woman said, rolling her eyes and continuing to walk into her garden.

— It’s not like I wanted this, Y/n. He said a little behind her.

— I know they asked if you agreed, Nott….

Y/n retorted without even looking back.

— How would you know?

— Because they always care about the man's opinion! Now answer me, did you at least have a choice? Y/n turned to face Theodore up close, and her face exuded truth, she could see it.

— It was either a Hufflepuff, Eloise Midgen, Pansy... Parkinson or you.

— You had three choices… I found out about this yesterday. Go to hell, Nott. How could I be ignorant?Y/n's voice was never loud, but she didn't need to shout for Theo to feel the venom spraying at him.

— I didn't want this, Y/n.

— Then stay away from me, Theodore.

Inevitably, staying away from each other wasn't easy until after the wedding. Their parents wanted to see physical contact and closeness between the two; it was important for the wedding guests to know they were happy with each other, even if it was a lie.

A year later, it was already common for both of them: no physical touch, no exchanged conversations, kisses only during sex, and that was their life. Theodore worked at his father's company, which after the wedding, was also associated with the Hilton name. Y/n had not been assigned any role like her mother, and she hated sitting where she was, feeling useless and alone. And that's how she felt at the charity party her parents organized. Theodore was with his friends near the pool, her parents were somewhere inside the house already drunk, and she was alone, occasionally looking at her glass of white wine.

She didn't want to look miserable, but she already was.

— Don't you think you should keep your wife company, Theo? Pansy, who was next to Theodore, asked him, glancing outside the friends' circle to where she had decided to sit.

— She's fine! Theo said, still looking at Y/n.

— She looks really bored, Theo. Daphne interjected into the conversation, and from there, all of Nott's friends were in on it.

— She's always like that, it doesn’t matter. Theo shrugged, trying not to give importance to the situation his friends were giving.

— Man, if you look into her eyes, she's miserably bored, where are her friends? Mattheo said, and Theo looked at Y/n once more until Draco's voice called his attention again.

— I'd be miserable too, imagine waking up every day with this guy next to you. — Horror movie.

—Someone can't make the little princess cum, I think. Draco provoked Theodore, who pushed his friend's arm — Shut up, asshole. I'm sure I do twice as much as you do. The group laughed and briefly forgot about the subject, but not Theodore, he kept his eyes on her all night and wondered why she were so alone.

At the end of the night, Theodore drove back to their house, and the strange air in the car bothered Theo. His left hand left the steering wheel and slid up her thigh, revealed by the dress that had ridden up when she sat down. Despite the warmth of his hand against her skin, Y/n’s gaze, much to Theodore's dismay, did not turn to him. She was quiet, quieter than usual.

— No music? He asked, and she shrugged, briefly glancing at him. Y/n might not talk much to him, but Theodore had gotten used to hearing her hum along to songs during the car rides. — Why didn't your friends come today? Theo's sincere doubt reached Y/n, who just kept looking at her ring-laden hands.

— They're very busy. "They're busy because they don't exist," Y/n thought before sighing tiredly.

— Busy on a Friday night? Theodore asked, confused.

— Your friends seem nice. Y/n said, changing the subject.

— Yeah, they are...

The rest of the car ride was silent, so silent that Theo thought the sound of his eyes alternating between the woman beside him and the road could be heard.

When they arrived, both got out of the car and went separate ways. Y/n went up the stairs so fast it was as if she had apparated, disappearing from Theodore's view. When he went upstairs, the bathroom door opened minutes later, and Y/n emerged from the bath with a towel wrapped around her body.

— Sorry, I didn't know you were up here. Y/n apologized, referring to the towel, and Theodore's face contorted.

— Why? This is my room too.

— I know, I meant about the towel, Theodore. You usually don't sleep here so i thought that i would be alone... She said, and Theo felt a pang of guilt fill his chest, looking now at the naked back of the woman as she sighed, realizing he was leaving her alone in bed more times than he wished.

— I thought you wanted space…. He said, and the silence remained between them.

— Yes, a year ago, you're right. Her whisper was so low that Theo almost didn't hear it, but hearing it, he knew something was wrong.

— What do you mean?

— What do you mean? Y/n asked, taking off the towel from her body and putting on her underwear.

— Why did you say that in that tone? I thought you wanted me away from you. Theodore was more harsh with his words, and Y/n shrugged, glancing at him over her shoulder.

— I don't know, Theodore. Y/n shook her head while putting on her pajamas, thinking she had finished the conversation. Theo held her arm and turned her to look at him.

— Talk to me, Y/n.

— I don't know what you want me to say, Theodore. She exploded, and Theodore laughed without humor.

— What is your problem? He asked, and Y/n freed herself from his grip.

— You are my problem, Theodore Nott.

— No, you are your own problem, you can't seem happy. Even my damn friends noticed your miserable face today. You have EVERYTHING. Theo huffed, and the woman in front of him clenched her jaw in anger

— I'm NOT happy, Theodore. I have NOTHING, I don't have good parents, I don't have friends, I don't have love, I constantly feel alone, and I can't seem happy BECAUSE I'M NOT. So don't come at me with this now, you have everything, not me. Y/n said angrily as tears shimmered in her eyes. — And I heard you're cheating on me with your secretary, which made me feel even more useless.

— What? I didn't cheat on you! — Theodore said desperately. — Y/n! I didn't cheat on you! I would never do that! Theo walked up to her, stopping in front of her side of the bed, where she was about to sit down. — Fuck it, who told you that?

— It doesn't matter…

— Dolcezza, I would never do that to you.

He said, placing his hands on her cheeks, wiping the tears that streamed down with his thumbs.

— You hate me, of course you would. She said weakly, so weakly that Theo almost felt his knees give way. He might not show all his love for her, but he had promised to love and protect her above all else, he had made that promise at the altar and to her father when he chose her, and all he was doing was the opposite of that.

— I don't hate you.

— Yes, you do…

— You don't hate me, how could o hate you? Theo whispered, stroking her cheek.

— You hate me because I hate you.

— Then say you hate me.

— I hate you. She murmured without conviction and sniffed afterwards.

— If you hate me so much, why are you crying for me, mia cara? We have to stop this hate game, you are my real wife, bella. Theo whispered and gently joined his lips to hers in a kiss unlike anything they had ever felt.

— That's not what I wanted, Theo. Another sniffle came from her nose when she pulled away from his lips.

— Don't you want me to kiss you? What did you want, Principessa? Please let me get it right with you once. Theo begged and Y/n closed her eyes trying to control her emotions, and so did she and shook her head in rapid movements. — Y/n, talk to me please.

— My whole life, my friends, my clothes, what I'd eat, were all my parents' choices, and the only thing that would really be mine was also chosen by them, Theo. I have nothing and there's no way you can fix it because you became something of theirs, not mine. — silence settled between them and Y/n replaced the smendel with hers, pushing away the tears streaming down her cheek — Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't want to be complaining to you. You should go to sleep.

She said turning her back on the man who stood behind her watching her take the blankets on the bed made and lie down.

— I can be yours! Y/n, I can be yours. — Theodore said it in a way that Y/n had never heard him say before, it was as if he was afraid that she would disappear forever.

— You don't have do this, Theo... And that was something they both didn't understand, he wanted to do that.

As soon as he sees her, Theo walks to the other side, takes off his clothes, leaving only his underwear and lies down next to Y/n. It had been so long since he lay there that he was amazed at the softness and comfort the bed gave him and once again he felt guilty.

— You don't have to sleep here out of pity, Theodore. Y/n said demonstrating less of her vulnerability as she stared at the ceiling.

— I want to be here, Y/n. Can't you see? — Theodore murmured looking at the woman's profile next to him.

— Theodore?

— Yes?

— Are you sure you didn't do anything with your secretary? Y/n asked and Theo took her hand which was above his belly.

— Look at me, please. He asked and so she did

— Do you know why I chose you? I know nothing was fair in all this, but I need you to know why I chose you.

— Why?

— I remember you in the fifth year, in the astronomy class, you were in a corner with two other girls and they wouldn't shut up and I saw you making a wish for shooting star that passed in the sky, I found it genuine and I started watching you and realized that you were beautiful and very interesting, I realized that you were worth it, I realized that I wanted you…— Theo sighed as if it had become a weight on his back — Pansy was never an option because she is my friend and is in love with Draco, my father would never make me marry some girl that I didn't approve of, you are incomparable to the rest and I saw that it was you when you started to hate me when I stepped in front of you and…

— I never really hated you, Theodore…I just realized that it was easier to hate someone who hadn't hated him yet than whoever caused it. Y/n said.

— Let me fix this. Theo asked pulling Y/n for more and eptonde his body.

— I'll give you five days to fall in love with you, Theodore Nott.

— I'll do whatever you want, Y/n Nott. Theo would burn the world if she asked, and now that he knows he doesn't hate him, he'd do anything to make her fall in love with him

[gorgeys]

MEET ME AT MIDNIGHT ★ camille l'espanaye

camille l’espanaye x femCEO!reader

again, you find yourself seated across from camille on a quiet night, and this time your flirting has real consequences

warnings: nothing really, it’s all sfw just some sexual suggestions

word count: 2440

note: this takes place before the court case and everything starts

also the ending is kinda rushed bc i just wanted to finish it sorry

the two regally dressed doormen opened each side of the gigantic glass doors, allowing your entry into the restaurant. famously known as the most elegant restaurant in all of new york city, it was unusually empty on this saturday night.  all of the tables were barren except one against the far glass wall.

it was a table for two, already prepped with the proper silverware and two full glasses of wine.  the table’s occupant didn’t spare you a glance as you took your time sauntering over to her.  you knew she must be able to hear the loud clicking of your heels against the marble floor, especially among the off-putting silence, but her eyes were fixed on the sights of the city behind the glass wall.  located on the top floor of a skyscraper, the entire skyline was visible through the glass walls of the restaurant.  it was an especially astounding sight in the dark hours of the night when the city glowed brighter than the stars in the sky.

only when you placed a perfectly manicured hand over the cream tablecloth did she turn her head to look at you.

“and for a second i thought he might actually show up,” you said, still standing over her.  you clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth.  “i should’ve known better.”

one of the waiters seemingly appeared out of nowhere to pull your chair out for you.  you gave him a smile and your thanks before you took your seat and he disappeared into oblivion.

“roderick always has to send one of the minions to do his bidding,” you said, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back in your chair.

“please, my father has much better things to do than deal with your antics,” camille said, reaching for her wine glass.  her gaze was as sturdy as you remembered.

“and you don’t?”

“apparently not,” she said before taking a sip.  “but you should thank me actually because he could’ve sent froderick instead.”

“you’re right, what a bore” you said.  you suddenly leaned forward and rested your elbows on the tabletop. you pushed yourself so close to her that your chin hovered just above the candle in the center of the table.  your face was illuminated so desirably by the light that camille wouldn’t have dreamt of taking her eyes off of you.  “thank you, camille,” you said, almost in a whisper.  the silkiness of your voice and the slight pout of your lips tempted and teased her.  she knew exactly what you were doing yet you were still undeniably persuasive.

it wasn’t until you abruptly returned to your original position that she was pulled out of your trance.

“you're welcome,” she said plainly, adjusting herself in her seat.

the server brought over two identical hors d'oeuvres before scurrying back to the kitchen.

“but i’d like to think you enjoy my antics.  you must like me a little if you keep agreeing to this,” you said with a knowing smile.

“i’m only here because the rest of my siblings are too incompetent to do…well, anything really,” she said, disinterestedly poking at the food with her fork.

“don’t lie to me.  no one—not even your father—tells you what to do.  you’re here because you want to be.  and because you like me, don’t you?”

camille looked up from her food only to glare at you through hooded eyes.  she hated your smug little smile and the way it made her feel.

“aww, come on, say it.  say you like me.  make me feel good,” you said, placing your hands over your chest.

as much as she would deny it, a little part of her brain wondered how good she could make you feel.  especially when you looked as good as you did, all dolled up for her in that red dress.  her eyes followed your hands which laid just above the hem.  it was only then that she realized you had worn the same dress for your vanity fair cover last month.  oh to be a fly on the wall during that shoot.

“i didn’t think a woman like you would need so much validation,” camille said, finally taking a bite.  “but look at you being a pathetic little praise pony.”

maybe you were going crazy but you could’ve sworn you saw a smile itching at her lips.  and that made you smile.

“i only want praise from you.”

she looked back up at you and you pursed your lips in an exaggerated pout.  if only she knew how serious you were.

“well, you won’t be getting any.  not tonight, at least,” she said.

your eyebrows jumped at that last part, intrigued by her suggestion.

“are you implying-”

“i’m not implying anything,” she quickly interrupted, predicting your every move.  “are you?”

“depends.”  you reached for your wine glass and took a long, thoughtful sip as you basked in the moment of silence you had created.  you ignored camille’s expectant stare for you to finish your thought and let her sit with the possibilities of what you meant.

“i mean, you take me out on these expensive dinner dates, rent out restaurants for me, and expect me not to feel special?  you do this for all of your girls?”

she scoffed at you.  your attitude would be irritating if you were any other person.

“you flatter yourself too much,” she said, leaning forward.  “if i wanted you, i would already have you,” she said with a self-assured nod and a tight, smug smile.  typically that assertive tone left no room for argument, no matter how true or untrue her statement was.  but that was never the case with you.

“oh, don’t lie to me, camille,” you said, leaning in to match her posture.  “i know you’re like your father: intimidated by powerful women.”

camille’s eyebrows shot up, surprised by your sheer audacity, but her eyes and smile still held an element of amusement.  not often was she curious—because in most situations she already knew too much—but the cunning look in your eyes pushed her toward that unfamiliar feeling.

“what else do you think you know about me?” she said, placing her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand as if she had all day.

“oh, just the regular things.  i know that you’re lucky number five,” you said, holding up and wiggling five fingers.  “i know that you and frederick are the only ones who are staying in the family business.  i know…that you’re bright and very good at what you do.”

she was barely listening, lost in your face and your hypnotizing eyes that never strayed from hers.  your words were blending together in her head, turning her brain to mush as she silently admired you in your natural state.  

it was your power that had intoxicated her.  not necessarily your business status or bank account, but the way you carried yourself.  the two of you were alike in that way.

“and that’s why it’s strange that he’s next in line for CEO while you’re slaving away in the basement being daddy’s sock puppet.”

that statement sobered her up quick.  you knew you struck a nerve when her brows pulled down and her eyes narrowed.  she wasn’t hard to offend.

“god, i can’t believe saffron hasn’t crashed and burned because clearly you don’t know a damn thing about business,” she spat, teeth showing and venom oozing from her lips.  “fortunato wouldn’t be a thing if it wasn’t for me cleaning up everyone’s load of dogshit.  you don’t even know how much dumb fuckery i have to deal with; my father—my entire family owes me.”

“relax, camille,” you said in your smooth tone, unphased by her aggression, your lips daring to quirk into a smile.  “that’s exactly what i’m saying; they don’t give you enough credit for what you do.”

suddenly camille was a bit lost as she was unable to figure out what your angle was.  you now sounded so genuine that it was off putting.  she had been so used to your play-fighting and exaggerated lust that she almost didn’t know how to take a real compliment from you.  almost.

“thank you,” she said, pushing her back over her shoulder and averting her eyes toward the window.  she was slightly embarrassed by her unwarranted, short-lived blow-up but made her best attempt to play if off.

“i mean, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to understand that your brother’s a flamboyant idiot.  i mean, i think i actually lose brain cells when he opens his mouth,” you said, smiling to yourself.  “but, even if you’re playing for the other team, i can admit that you’re impressive.  you’ve made yourself indispensable to fortunato.  you’re twice the man he’ll ever be.”

camille tried to restrain herself but a smile spilled onto her lips. it ranked among the top compliments she had ever received.  half because she knew it was true and the other half simply because it was coming from you.

your heart jumped, her rare show of warmth encouraging you to continue.

“i mean, just think about all that you could do if only you were given the means.  anywhere you are is already a force to be reckoned with, but with you at the top of the ladder, fortunato would be impenetrable.”

“cut the crap,” camille said, remnants of a smile still playing on her lips.  “what are you actually trying to say?”

she analyzed every twitch of your expression for a hint.

“what? i can’t just admire you?” you asked, tilting your head to the size and studying her as if she was a prized work of art.

she was a work of art.

she licked her lips, enjoying your adoring gaze.

“save it for the bedroom, y/n,” she said so casually, clasping her hands on the table.  your stomach churned at the thought, your mind drifting.  “i’m the one who called you here but you talk like there’s something on your mind.”

“just you.  always you, actually,” you said.  your smile was smaller and more thoughtful this time.

you had assumed that, with the court case looming, camille had come to broker a deal with you.  as the CEO of a competing pharma company that was in good standing with the public, fortunato could greatly improve their image and reliability by partnering with your company, saffron.  it was an obvious move, one you had predicted months before.  you had just been waiting for the ushers to finally approach you.  and in that time, you had developed a risky counterattack.

she was silent, her eyebrows raised and her lips pressed together, attempting to coax a response out of you.  you breathed deeply and then you gave her what she wanted.

“maybe your father doesn’t appreciate you, but i would appreciate you so much.”

your emphasis was telling.  you would never directly say what you meant but camille always understood.  though there was a hint of something else lacing your strong voice this time.  something not entirely sensual.

“appreciate?  now what could you possibly mean by that?”  she asked, wondering if your promise was simply flirtatious or if there was a deeper meaning behind it.

you chuckled and then you sighed, chastising her lack of deduction with the shake of your head.  your fingers danced across the tablecloth like a spider crawling toward camille.

“you really can’t take a hint, can you?”

she rolled her eyes at your rebuke.  meanwhile you leaned toward her, bracing yourself with your elbows on the table.

“you need to leave your father.  and then i’ll make you mine,” you said.  she was about to laugh but then she noticed your gaze.  it was uncharacteristically straight and serious.  that’s what made her realize that you weren’t joking.

 “i mean that, if you leave fortunato, there will be a spot waiting for you at saffron.  and i can guarantee you that it’s a much higher one than you currently hold.  how does president sound?  maybe even COO if you can charm the board.”

she immediately scoffed at you.

“you’re out of your goddamn mind, you know that?” she said, appalled by your request.  still, it was a better reaction than you were expecting.  “i…wh-what about the will, huh?  i’d just betray my entire family and get cut off?”

“well, first of all, we both know you couldn’t give a single fuck about your ‘family’.  it’s not like they raised you. and as for the will, it won’t matter in the end.  you’ll be making more than all of your siblings combined working under me.”  you subtly flashed her the diamonds on your fingers as proof.  “ten or twenty million more won’t even make a dent in your back account.  you’ll be the richest woman in the world. and do you know why?”

you stuck your chin up at her and smiled fully.  she watched anxiously as the long expanse of your neck revealed itself to her and your eyelashes fluttered majestically.

“because you’ll have me.  all to yourself.”

camille’s chin lowered, looking up at you through her own eyelashes as if to question the validity of your statement.  you nodded reassuringly.

“what are you waiting for?  i mean, fortunato is only on the decline.  it’s time to do something good for once and jump ship,” you said.

you paused, noticing the hesitation behind her blue eyes.  it seemed that she was actually considering your proposal.  so you decided to lay the seduction on heavy.

“there’s nothing left for you at fortunato.  but everything you could have is sitting right here,” you said, confidently motioning toward yourself.  “i mean, come on, baby, look at this face and tell me you don’t want it, this body,” you said, smoothing out your dress.

the wrinkle in her brow and the slight gap between her lips was telling. that distant yet focused look in her eye told you that daydreams were whisking her off to far away places.  she was imagining what her alternate life would be like, what it would feel like, what you would feel like. she was clearly conflicted.

“well, i’ll give you some time to think about,” you said, abruptly standing up from your chair.  she didn’t protest as you picked up your half full wine glass.  “in the meantime, don’t be a stranger,” you said, leaving her with a final smug smile.

you intentionally swayed your hips as you retreated from the restaurant, taking your wine to-go, reminding her that she would be stupid not to take you up on your offer.

“until we meet again.”

[short-honey-badger]

Phantom Pain part 3

Misunderstanding

I'm still not over this AU so have a little more. Pretty heavy angst here and some drinking just for a warning. misunderstandings and Fluff near the end. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Time passes, and you learn to live like a pirate. Not that you'd been far from being one before, but Shanks expected you to work just like the rest of the crew. Which was just fine with you. There were plenty of things to do aboard the ship, and it gave you plenty of excuses to escape your soulmate when he wore your patience thin.

The night you met Shanks, the man had dubbed you a part of his crew, and you got to know your fellow crewmates. Beckmann had even given you a hearty pat on the back that had nearly sent you to the floor and welcomed you aboard. He firmly believed that you would be the key to curing his Captain's occasional melancholy moods.

Shanks couldn't get enough of you now that you lived on board the ship with him. He would come and find you still in bed asleep most mornings and pull you into a hug, kissing your hair and breathing you in as if to reassure himself that you were still there. His actions never failed to send butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

On the occasion when you were busy in the morning and Shanks didn't find you in your room, you would feel a spike of panic, and then he would track you down and hold you for twice as long as his usual morning greetings. You assumed that it came from some fear of you running away, and you wouldn't realize how right you were until your soul mate didn't come and find you this morning.

In your month and a half here on the ship, Shanks never failed to come and find you, so why hadn't he today? Poking your bond didn't help since the redhead had shut his side down, leaving you poking at a wall with a frown. You can count on one hand the number of times Shanks had closed off his end, so you were immediately concerned.

You stand from where you'd been dozing in the late afternoon sun. You feel bad for not finding your Captain sooner, but you hadn't slept very well last night, and Yasopp had pulled you aside for shooting practice after you'd finished with your daily chores. So it wasn't like you've had too much time today.

You find Benn not much further away from your napping spot, "Where is Shanks?" you ask him, and Benn lets you know that Shanks hasn't left his room since this morning. You nod and bid him goodbye, thankful for his help.

You don't bother knocking when you find his room, instead simply barging in and shutting the door behind you. The room is dark and you have to stop and let your eyes adjust before you can step further into the room, and your heart aches at the sight that greets you.

Shanks sits slumped in a chair, head bowed, and an almost empty bottle of rum tilting dangerously in his lap. You sigh and go to his side, nose wrinkling when you smell him. Jeez. He must have been drinking since he woke up this morning. You take the bottle and set it aside, jumping when his hand snaps out and grabs your wrist.

"M not done with that," Shanks slurs and looks at you with droopy eyes. He stares at you for a long time, and your presence must be enough to distract him that he opens his side of the bond and you get a flash of the negative storm of emotions that's going on in his head. You fight back a wince when your right arm aches fiercely.

"You are now," You tell him and break his grip to set the bottle away and out of his reach, "How long have you been drinking?"

Your answer is a slow shrug and you watch his head lull to the side, eyes blinking slowly. You huff and turn away. He definitely needs food and water to start the process of sobering him up. Your stomach turns as you think about all that bad your soulmate had locked away. You don't understand why he'd decided to drink himself into oblivion, but you get your answer in his next words.

"Why haven't you left me yet?" Shanks asks and you hear the wobble in his voice and the tears in his eyes as they meet your own, "You don't wanna be here. I feel your desire to be free. To be free of me," he sobs the last word and his head drops, lone hand clutching his face as his shoulders shake in his weeping.

You stare at him, lost for words as your heart breaks. You stumble to his side, right arm fucking throbbing when the wall breaks, and you feel everything that has been building up over the day. Tears fill your eyes and you fall into the redhead, hands curling into his hair and yanking him down and into your chest. You bury your face in his hair and let him cry. His left arm curls around your waist and holds you close as if on instinct.

How could this stunning man ever think that you wanted to be free of him? Red-Haired Shanks has been patient, surprisingly giving you the time you needed to come around to being in a relationship with him after all your years of running. You had no reason to leave, to run away from your soul mate, and it broke you to see such a happy, joyful man succumb to his darkest thoughts. How long had he been hiding this from you?

A sudden realization caused you to stall. You pulled away enough to stare down at him, "Shanks," You say, trying to grab his attention.

No, No. Why was she pulling away? Wait-my name? His vision is swimmy, but he can still make out your beautiful features. A whine breaks out of his throat as he stares at you, arm clutching tight around your waist," I don't deserve you," he says, voice rough from crying and drinking, "But I can't let you go."

He sees your lips move, but he can't hear you. Everything is sideways and Shanks knows that he has drank too much, that you will probably be upset with him over it. And shit. That thought brings in a new fresh wave of tears that threaten to spill over.

"Shanks," You say a little louder this time and his arm tightens again, causing you to grunt at the sudden death grip. Well. since he wasn't listening, you would have to try something a little more hands-on.

Shanks is so far in his own head that he doesn't notice you say his name or the way your grip on his hair changes. He doesn't feel you steady his head or you lean in until your lips are sealing over his in a kiss. It's a simple press of the lips, just a sweet push and pull, and full of inexperience. But to Shanks? It is the greatest thing in the world.

The captain groans, tilting his head to the side to deepen the kiss, tongue peeking out to stroke against your lip for just a second before you pull away. You rest your brow against his, one hand leaving his shaggy hair to rest on his cheek and stroke the three scars going down his face, "You listening to me now, Shanks?" you ask him, breathing lost to you even after such a soft kiss.

Shanks stares, and finally, his bearings seem to have straightened when he nods, "Yeah, I'm listening," he grunts and squeezes his eyes shut to righten his swimmy vision, and when he opens them, it is to You, sitting on his lap with one hand in his sweaty hair and the other touching the scars on his face.

You search his face, swallowing as nerves suddenly swarm you, "I think... that there has been a misunderstanding here," You begin and pet his hair away from his face.

Shanks furrows his brow at you, confused, and that's when he feels it. Shame and embarrassment on your side on the bond. It has him frowning and opening his mouth to reassure you, but you beat him to it.

"I don't want to leave you. I want to stay here, with you, Shanks," You say and he watches your cheeks heat up, but you plow ahead, "And I am so, so sorry for making you think I want to run away and leave, but Shanks," your hand leaves his hair so that you can cup his face and stare down at him with all the seriousness in the world, "Sometimes you can be a little overbearing, and I need my space."

Relief suddenly floods the bond and Shanks yanks you down and into a hug. Space? he could do space. All this time he had though that you had wanted to leave him, hop on the closest ship, and sail as far away from him as you could. The redhead sniffles a little and pulls away so that you aren't suffocating in his shift anymore. He blushes when he sees your face and his own embarrassment tangles with yours, "'M sorry, Baby. Guess I overreacted, huh?"

You surprise him by shaking your head and giving Shanks, your wonderful, stupid, soul mate a smile so bright he could live without the sun. You lean in and kiss him again, just a peck on the lips that leaves him wanting more, "It's okay to be upset. Let's talk next time. There was an article in the paper that said communication was key to a healthy relationship." you rattle off and Shanks didn't know if he could love you any less at that moment.

That realization makes him pause, but for once, Shanks keeps his big mouth shut and leans in to kiss his soul mate. The two of them had a lot of learning to do it seemed.

[mystra-midnight]

Midnight Rider

summary: he was not a kind or gentle man; he was not soft. he liked to use you like a toy; it didn't matter that you weren't small or light; he was strong and able to throw you around with ease.

warnings: 18+ only. thigh riding. brief name calling; (slut, whore). mean/dom geralt. plus-sized reader.

words: 857.

notes: honestly geralt is so big and strong and he can ragdoll me any day of the week. there really isn't anything more to it.

It was starting to hurt—well, no, not hurt, but ache. Your skin felt bruised and burned beneath the iron loops of his fingers. You'd been in a bad mood all day because of something that had happened at the last village, and had settled on taking your frustrations out on Geralt of Rivia. You'd known you were being unreasonable; it wasn't his fault, but you'd still pushed every one of his buttons until he'd finally snapped.

That was how you found yourself in this compromising position.

When you'd ignored his last growled warning, he'd felt compelled to remind you of your place—beneath him. Or, rather, straddling one of his muscular thighs. With a hand around your throat, Geralt had forced you to your knees and into his lap until one of his thighs was trapped between your plump ones. Your skirts had been rucked up at your waist, exposing your arse, and your bodice ties had been cut open so your tits were free.

"Geralt, please, please," you whined, your lips brushing against his and parting for a desperate kiss that he refused with the turn of his head. Geralt held your wrists at the small of your back in one of his large hands, fingers tightening until bruises blossomed in the shape of his fingers. He was not a kind or gentle man; he was not soft. He liked to use you like a toy; it didn't matter that you weren't small or light; he was strong and able to throw you around with ease.

His expression was mean as he brought his free hand down against the outside of your thigh in a harsh slap, leaving in his wake a stinging, red mark. You cried out; the sound a mixture of pleasurable pain. Your cunt clenched desperately around nothing while you bucked wildly along his thigh.

You felt so far gone, lost in the mounting pleasure that was ruining you, but not quite enough to carry you into oblivion. Your plump thighs burned as you moved back and forth along his thigh in a frenzy, knees dirty from how they dug into the foliage on the forest floor. His leather trousers rubbed roughly against your bare cunt as he lifted his leg to press more firmly against your heat, the rips and tears pulling your puffy lips and exposing your throbbing clit with each motion of your hips.

Geralt dodged your mouth again, refusing to give you what you wanted. His hand came down on your thigh again, in the same spot, amplifying the sting. "What is it? What does my pretty slut want?" His voice was dark and rough, the words growled through his teeth in a way that sent shock waves of arousal shooting down your spine.

You pressed your mouth against his neck out of pure desperation, needing to taste him. Geralt slid his hand up your back, following the divet of your spine, causing you to shudder and gasp. He buried his thick fingers in your hair, wrapping tightly around the roots and tugging hard. With a cry, he pulled you back, tears springing immediately to your eyes, leaking from the corners to tumble down your face. Geralt mouthed your cheeks, following the salt-water path.

“Use your words.” His voice was stern and commanding, demanding your answer. Your hips faltered and slowed when he brought your mouth to his, finally giving you the kiss you craved, only on his terms. Geralt kissed like he fought—teeth, tongue, male aggression. In the wake of his growl, arousal dripped from your cunt and coated your thighs as it rippled over your tongue, down your throat, and down your spine. When he pulled back, you were panting, eyes glazed over, and desperate for more.

“Geralt…”

"Can't even use words? Is that pretty head of yours empty? Is that it?" His words were mean and condescending, but they aroused you like nothing else. "Do you want to cum? Is that what you need, to cum all over my thigh like a desperate whore?"

A sob bubbled up from the depths of your chest, ripping through your lungs and out of your mouth until you were blubbering nonsensically at him. "Oh, god, yes, please, Geralt. I need to cum, please, please make me cum!" There was a fire in your stomach; the flames were leeching heat through your veins until you felt like you were going to combust. You were so close and so terribly empty. You needed him in the worst of ways.

Geralt tutted, his hold on your hair tightening until you were staring up at the stars, watching through teary eyes as they played peekaboo with the leaves. His mouth found your throat, teeth grazing over your racing pulse and the hollow of your throat, only to settle at the junction of your shoulder. Geralt left your skin a tapestry of his teeth. The fire in your stomach turned catastrophic, leaving you squirming and restless in his grasp.

"If you want to cum," he murmured while retracing his earlier path along your neck. "You'd better ride, girl, because you're not getting my cock tonight."

[dorlilymylovesss]

The sky above the cemetery was heavy, like a low blanket of gray clouds, soaked with eternal cold. There was almost no wind, only a faint breeze touching the branches of the old trees. Between the moss-covered graves there were narrow paths through the wet grass and leaves. Time seemed to have stopped here: there was silence everywhere, broken only by the rustling of leaves underfoot and the occasional cawing of crows perched on the stone angels who had long since stopped guarding their people. The tombstones stretched away, stretching along the low fence, almost blending in with the grayness of the surrounding world.

"Regulus Black, heir of the great and ancient house of Black."

The stone was smooth, as if polished by the wind and rain itself.

No date, no epitaph. Just a name, like a label on something that no longer mattered to the world. The stove seemed too simple for a name that carried the weight of an ancient lineage, a name that was meant to be remembered through the ages. And yet here it was - lonely, silent, like Regulus himself, gone into oblivion before he could leave a trace.

Only the faint floral scent of flowers, still fresh, broke the sense of abandonment, as a reminder that someone still remembered, still came to visit

Barty, who visited this cemetery more often than his own home, bent down slightly to stroke the headstone

Barty's touch was gentle, as if in that silent moment between the dead and the living he felt Regulus' presence more vividly than ever. He knelt before the grave, his knees sinking into the raw ground, but he didn't care. The cold seeped through his clothes, but it made him feel even closer to Regulus.

"You killed me, Regulus."

Barty whispered, his voice barely audible over the stillness.

"You killed me and now I'm dead. I wish you'd let me lie with you, but you're not there, are you? You're not there. Tell me what I should do, my love. Tell me how I'm supposed to wake up knowing you're so far away."

"I followed you everywhere, you know? I'd do anything for you. And I did, didn't I? Why you disappeared so soon, why you didn't let me come with you."

"I can't let you go," Barty whispered, his voice breaking. "I've tried, but I can't. I lost everything that mattered because of you, and I'd lose it all again if it meant I could have you back. If only for a moment."

Tears blurred his vision, but he brushed them away.

Barty lifted his head from the headstone, wiping the wetness from his eyes with the back of his hand. He stared at the grave for a long time, lost in thought, until something caught his eye-a movement just to the side, where the headstones cast long, dark shadows in the gray light.

There, ridiculously close to Regulus's grave, laid a black, ugly dog. How had he not noticed it at the first glance? His fur was piled up, slick with rain and mud, and he blended into the darkness of the graveyard as if he belonged there. The dog was very still, its body pressed protectively against the stone, as if guarding the place where Regulus lay.

It looked at Barty with its gray eyes.

Gray, gray, gray, gray, Regulus had gray eyes

"'Go away, mutt" He muttered. " Go on, get out of here."

The dog didn't even move, but continued to stare at Barty, burning a hole in him with his sharp gaze.

Barty's heart raced at the sight of the dog's eyes, piercing, almost humane gray eyes that sent a chill down his spine. He took a step back, his breath catching in his throat.

"I said get out of here!" Barty's voice was louder now, filled with frustration.

The dog shifted slightly but made no move to leave.

"Get away from him!" he shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "If you're so damn hungry go find another grave, there's no one here, you hear me. It's fucking empty. This grave is empty. Get the fuck outta here. You ain't even gonna find no bones to chew on, you little shit, you hear me? Fuck you, go lie on another grave, there are plenty of them."

Low growl cut through Barty's rage like a knife, piercing him to the core. The sound was deep and harsh and guttural, with an almost primal hostility. The dog's eyes, unblinking and intense, seemed to narrow as it met Barty's fury face to face.

Barty's hands clenched into fists, knuckles white.

The dog bared his teeth, the growl turned to an even louder angry bark , and Barty stepped back involuntarily. A wave of frustration and helplessness swept over him, an overpowering feeling that even in this place he could not find peace.

With a shuddering breath, Barty turned away, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his emotions. “Fine,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, hoarse and broken. “Stay here if you want".

He took one last look at the dog, who had settled back to the ground, his gaze still fixed on him, but no longer so defiantly. Barty walked slowly away.

The dog stayed perfectly still for a long moment, its body pressed close to the headstone as though it sought some warmth from the cold stone.

The scent of roses, carried by a faint breeze, mingled with the earthy odor of damp cemetery ground. His ears twitched at the sound of distant footsteps, but he remained still, his attention fixed on the grave.

"Sirius, please, let's go home."

A voice called out to him from behind.

[light-yaers]

Take Care: Chapter Two

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes. 

A/N: I couldn’t wait. I wanted to get the ball rolling more before I slowed down, so here’s the second chapter for you all! Mwah

Word count: 7k+

Chapter Two

Well, Chris. That was certainly a disappointing start to the season for Richmond.

Indeed, Arlo. Arsenal were all over them. It seems that new coach Ted Lasso’s tactics aren’t cutting it just yet.

I think that’s probably unsurprising, especially from him being a NFL coach in the States before this. Have Richmond bitten off more than they can chew, do you think, Chris?

I don’t know, Arlo. But without Jamie Tartt the team wouldn’t have clinched even one goal, so I hope Lasso knows to utilise the young striker a lot more.

Very right, Chris.

I’m always right, Arlo.

That’s debatable, Chris. Remember the prediction of 2004?

We don’t talk about the prediction of 2004, Arlo. I told you that in confidence.

Defeat settled around the stadium. As far as first ever football games went, yours had gone to shit. The guys had played to oblivion, but Arsenal had been better. You sat in the box next to Keeley, feeling the commiserations from the home crowd. They would go home in a sulk, for sure, and you didn’t blame them. You were feeling it yourself, even, despite all that you didn’t know about the sport.

You and Keeley left the owner’s box together, heading down the stairs. You went to take a left, heading for the car park, when Keeley stopped you gently. “What, going home already?”

“Is that not a normal thing to do after a game is over?” you asked.

Keeley snorted. “Not today. It’s Sam’s birthday, you wally. I’m driving Jamie home, too. So come on! Don’t be another debbie-downer from the crowd.”

You followed her down another set of stairs, headed for the locker room. As you approached, you could hear Coach Lasso. He blasted an optimistic pep talk to his guys, but if you’d been sitting in that room after a 3-1 loss, you wouldn’t want to hear it personally.

Keeley turned the corner first, as you whispered behind her not to interrupt. She rolled her eyes at you, entering the locker room and leaving you outside. You let out an annoyed sigh, bobbing on the spot with anxiety, before you finally plucked up the courage to show yourself.

“Hard luck, boys,” Keeley said first, going to sit upon Jamie’s lap.

You emerged in the doorway, arms crossed. To your surprise, the sunken faces of a few players perked up at your arrival. Isaac sat up straighter when he saw you, as did Sam. They both sent you small smiles through their frowns of defeat.

“Well, hey!” Ted said. “Good of you to join us.” He gently squeezed your shoulder, showing you it was okay to come in.

You sent a look of sympathy around the room as you entered, before your gaze fell upon that of a dishevelled Roy Kent. “Sorry about the loss, guys,” you said, not knowing what else to add.

“It’s a shame,” Sam began. “This was your first football match, was it not?”

A collective groan went around the room, only making you feel worse. You raised your hands defensively, widening your eyes. “No, no, don’t feel bad!” you let out, panicking. “Listen, it’s taken me my whole life to watch a football game, alright? And despite the outcome of this one, I wouldn’t change it for the world.” Your gaze skimmed Roy’s again, and you pooled all your genuine feelings within that one look. He sighed heavily, but some tension was relieved from his shoulders.

“Well said,” Ted spoke up. “I know this isn’t the outcome we all wanted, but we take it in our stride, and we move on. Besides, we have a cake to eat for Sam’s birthday here!” he exclaimed. Isaac clapped Sam on the back, and a few smiles trickled around the locker room. “So, grab a slice, get some sugar back in your systems, and let’s do better next time.”

You stayed with the guys in celebration, as Coach Beard pumped some tunes into the locker room. Jamie was the only one who stayed visibly pissed off. Keeley jumped off his lap as he grabbed his bag, leaving the room with her on his tail closely.

You watched them leave, but couldn’t stay on them for long. Ted shoved a plate of cake into your hands, taking you by surprise. The guys milled around too, coming up to ask about the match and what you made of it. You hated to admit it, but this was nice. This was the first time you felt properly involved with the team, despite Isaac’s birthday the week before. That hadn’t felt as familiar, but this did. These were people you knew now, in all their boyish glory.

You sat down in the middle of the room, on the central island. You listened to Colin’s jokes, and Richard’s stories from back home in France. Sam opened a few stray presents that had appeared in his cubby over the course of the day. What had you constantly turning your head, however, was Roy Kent.

He sat by his cubby, sorting through his things silently, a plate of cake untouched by his side. You had the urge to go and sit next to him, but you didn’t know the reason for it. There was a huge sense of respect for Roy within the walls of this stadium, but when it came to socialising, Roy usually sat out. You set down your own slice of cake, standing up abruptly in the middle of a story by Bumbercatch. You headed for Roy, and sat down next to him before he could protest. You crossed your legs and leaned back into the cubby next to him, crossing your arms comfortably. Roy stopped sorting his things, just to look at you for a moment, before he continued.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“No,” you said, leaving it vague. “Was just wondering why you had an aversion to your teammates being social, is all.”

Roy rolled his eyes and let out a sound between a groan and a growl. It was like a mid-ground. “I don’t have a fucking– aversion– to social events with the team.”

You shrugged. “Okay.”

Roy froze. “I don’t.”

You shrugged again, more aggressively. “I agreed with you.”

“Yeah, but you’re fucking lying. You think I avoid them.”

“I don’t think you do. You do avoid them.”

“Oh,” he looked at you like he’d just stood in dogshit. “Just– fuck off– with your assumptions, and your–” he waved his hand in front of his face, then in front of yours. “Your fucking face.”

You scoffed. “My face?”

“You always look like you know something about me,” he said. “It creeps me the fuck out.”

You raised your hands defensively. “Sorry,” you said. “I can’t help the way my face looks, unfortunately.”

Roy dropped his gaze to the floor. “You know that’s also not what I fucking meant.”

“Was it?” you said, but by this point you were fully fucking with him. You found it enjoyable, especially since you’d squashed your beef, to play with him more. He nibbled on every joke, every dig, that it was impossible to stop making them.

“I– fucking hell–” Roy looked back at you, and you let out a proper laugh.

“I’m fucking with you, Roy. Jesus, don’t worry,” you said, gently resting your hand upon his thigh without thinking. You only noticed when he stopped to look down at your knuckles; that’s when you realised his bare skin was practically burning a hole through your palm.

You took your hand off him, placing it in your lap quickly. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll leave you be,” you said, genuinely, before you stood. “I know it’s shit, by the way. Losing,” you said, with your back turned to him, before you twisted yourself to peer down at him. “But I meant it. I wouldn’t change this being my first football match for the world.”

Roy took in your words, letting out a soft sigh through his nose. He nodded. “Thank you,” he let out softly. You smiled at him, before you finally left him alone.

Days became more routine. You’d walk to work, grab a coffee on the way, say hello to the boys upon your arrival, before settling into your office. When you weren’t working on articles or website updates, you were looking up football facts, or writing your own novel. Your days at the Dogtrack had become something you were fond of, especially now that you weren’t strangers with anyone there anymore.

Sometimes, Sam would pop his head around the door of your office, and you’d have a catch up about books. You’d been recommending reads to one another for a few weeks now, each of you bringing in books from your own personal libraries for the other to read. It was like a mini book-club of sorts. That, and you just enjoyed the company of Sam Obisanya. He was younger than you, but felt wise beyond his years. You think you latched onto one another from how foreign everything felt– he was in a completely new country, while you were in an utterly new industry. Both of you felt like fishes out of water, sometimes.

You’d become closer with Ted, too, for that very same reason. Between you, your combined knowledge of football was practically comical. God forbid anyone asked either of you to explain the off-side rule, or a handball violation. Beard was an enigma of a man, and someone you didn’t mean to avoid, but just ended up doing. But, with more matches being played and lost, team morale was at an all time fucking low. You could sense it every time you entered the locker room after a long day of training, or decided to join the guys after their Saturday match days. You could never do what they did– all that losing would kill you off before you’d even make it to a win. That was why you took it upon yourself to try and cheer them up in the ways that you could.

You didn’t pity them or stroke their egos. You sat with them, and you listened. Sure, you had no fucking clue what they were saying when they mentioned 4-4-2 layouts, or a football kicking manoeuvre, but still you listened. Sometimes, that was all they needed. It seemed to be helping, and you didn’t mind spending more time with the guys when they simply needed it.

That’s what led you to join them after training one Tuesday, but morale was certainly higher than you’d been expecting. You entered the locker room with a smile, giving Colin a high five upon your arrival. Sam and four others were talking enthusiastically in the corner, and you perked your brow.

“What are they talking about, Colin?” you asked, as Colin pulled on one of his trainers.

“The charity ball. They’re talking about their plus ones, I think.”

“A charity ball?” you asked, peering down at him.

“You don’t know about the ball?” Colin asked back, and you shook your head. He stood abruptly then, clapping the boys to attention. “Guys! This one doesn’t know about the charity ball!”

His alert led the guys to erupt in several different conversations. It was far too much for you to take in, so you raised your hands and let out a chuckle. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, one at a fucking time.”

The room dulled to a stable level. Sam took the lead. “The charity ball is Richmond’s event of the season. Celebrities, cameras, lights, a special performance from a musical artist, all for charity.”

“Musical artist?” you said.

“This year it’s Robbie Williams!” Colin exclaimed, prompting the room to go back to roaring.

You looked to your right and hit Roy’s wandering gaze. He winced at the volume in the room, before he inhaled deeply. “Hey!” he yelled suddenly, shutting the guys down. “I can’t hear myself not think. Also, I fucking hate Robbie Williams.”

“Are you going this year, Roy?” Colin asked.

“‘Course, I’m going. There’s booze, isn’t there?” he said, and all of the guys nodded in agreement.

“We’re just talking about our plus ones,” Sam spoke to you again. “Richard just landed himself a Victoria Secret model.”

“Fucking hell,” you let out, suddenly feeling the smallest bit insecure. It was like you forgot the guys were big name footballers, and when you were reminded of that fact it hit you like a suckerpunch, sometimes. “Good on you, Richard.”

Richard nodded, sat on the bench by his cubby. “She has a kind heart. And, she is smoking hot.”

You smiled awkwardly. “Brilliant,” you muttered.

“Are you not coming?” Sam asked, strolling towards you. “You are part of Richmond now, are you not?”

“Well, considering I didn’t know about it until now, I guess Rebecca hasn’t factored me in. When is it?”

“On Friday,” Colin said.

You winced. “Yeah. I’ve definitely been left off this guestlist.”

Almost immediately, the boys started groaning. They slapped their hands on their thighs and stood up with annoyance. They wanted you to come, and it made your heart warm, definitely, but there was probably nothing you could do.

“I think we all have plus ones now, sadly,” Sam said. He placed his hand over his heart. “Otherwise, I would have taken you as my date in a heartbeat.”

“No, no, I would’ve, bruv.” Isaac chimed in. As if on cue, all of the boys went around the room and reassured you that they would have taken you.

You inhaled deeply and smiled so genuinely that you had to tell yourself to stop. They did this to you often, made you feel special, and welcome, and all of the things that you thought you wouldn’t feel on your placement here. They were kind.

You raised your hands again, trying to calm them down. “Guys, guys! Thank you, all of you. I appreciate you all saying you’d bring me, but it’s fine. I’m grateful for the gesture, anyway.” They nodded at you, all smiling their winning grins, before they went back to packing their bags. “Well, I’ll be off then. See you all tomorrow!” you announced.

“Wait a fucking minute,” Roy said, and the room dropped to silence once more. You halted immediately, turning back to meet his eye. “I don’t have a plus one.”

In the corner of your eye, Sam’s eyes widened. Isaac’s jaw dropped open. Colin’s eyes darted between you and Roy like a tennis match.

You held onto the strap of your tote bag tightly, until your knuckles turned white. “Oh.” You tried to say it nonchalantly, but it came out statically, timidly. You hated the sound you just made so bad that it was a miracle you didn’t melt from your own embarrassment.

“So?” Roy asked.

“So…?” you repeated awkwardly.

“Do you want to be my fucking date or what?” he let out. “They’re right. You’re part of this club. You should get to join us.”

You looked around the room for approval, but it was then that you realised, if he’d only asked you in a different setting, you wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes. It was the pressure of all the guys around you that made it all the more worse. You knew Roy meant it as a kind gesture, not as anything more, but it was still easy for your heart to start pulsing harder beneath your ribcage.

You smiled bashfully, trying to play it off as nothing more. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Great,” Roy boomed, picking up his gym bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll pick you up.” He stepped towards you, headed for the door.

You scoffed. “You don’t have to do that. I can meet you there, or something.”

Roy peered down at you sternly. “I’ll pick you up,” he repeated.

“Okay,” you said timidly, giving in fast.

Roy left without another word, leaving you in the locker room. The guys stood around you with gobsmacked expressions, but one glance at them unlocked them from being statues. They went back to their prior conversations, with an underlying hubbub of gossip about what they’d just witnessed.

You left the stadium with two thoughts littering your mind. One, you had no idea what to fucking wear, and two– Roy fucking Kent had just asked you to be his date to the Richmond charity ball.

On the walk home, you called Keeley.

She picked up fast. “Hey babes, you okay?”

“Hey. Yeah, I’m okay. I do have a favour to ask of you, though,” you said.

“Okay, fire away!”

“I need an outfit for the Richmond charity ball,” you announced.

“I was wondering if you were coming! Leaving it pretty close, though, babe.”

“Yeah, well.” You sighed, knowing that Keeley would take the news the wrong way, but still you persisted. “I wasn’t invited explicitly, but Roy just asked me to come as his plus one.”

Keeley squealed like a crying baby. You held your phone away from your face, wincing in pain, until her shrill screams stopped. “Are you finished?” you asked.

“What the actual fuck!” she exclaimed. “This is just like that trope that everyone loves on Twitter.” She clicked her fingers impatiently, trying to remember. “Enemies to lovers!”

You scoffed immediately. “Please, Keeley, you’re making me feel a bit ill. It’s nothing like that. And besides…” You fiddled with your fingernails. “Roy and I would definitely be enemies to friends to lovers, first,” you added quickly. Keeley squealed again, and you winced once more. “Okay, okay!” you yelled. “Back on track. I need an outfit, and I desperately need your help.”

“Lunch break, tomorrow. I’ll pick you up,” she said, and you couldn’t help but smile. “This one’s on me, too, babes. I know MA students aren’t exactly dripping in gold.”

You sighed, but you couldn’t help the warm pang that raced through your chest. You really had some great people around you. A month into this placement and it had already exceeded your expectations. Even Rebecca had started warming to you, of all people.

“Thanks, Keeley,” you said genuinely. You could practically feel her golden smile radiating through the phone.

You worked non-stop the next morning, too anxious to stop for even a second. Right before lunch, Rebecca made an unexpected visit to your office. You were mid sip of a cup of tea, and almost choked on it when she knocked on your door and popped her head around the frame.

“Oh, sorry, have I caught you at a bad time?” she said, and you forced yourself to swallow.

You shook your head quickly, panicking. “No,” you croaked, then cleared your throat. “No,” you said, normally. “What can I do for you, Rebecca?”

“Well, I assume you read Trent Crimm’s article about Ted in the Independent,” she said, stepping inside and sitting opposite you. She crossed her legs, and for a moment you were mesmerised at how long her legs actually were.

“Yes, yes I did,” you said, looking at her face, finally. “It was a great article, one that showed off Ted’s true colours, I felt.”

Rebecca’s face flattened slightly. “Yes. Brilliant, wasn’t it. Anyway– I was wondering if you could write something about me.”

You froze, overcome by the overexcited beat of your heart. “Oh?” you managed to get out.

“Nothing major,” Rebecca said, waving at you with reassurance. “Just something for the website, nothing for the tabloids, you know. We all know what they write about me, already.” She fiddled with her perfectly done manicure as she spoke, before she cleared her throat and looked back up at you. “I just thought it might be a nice idea, since my name has been in every paper for months now, having something to do with the club instead of my failed marriage, is all.”

You sighed at her warmly, relaxing finally. “I’d love to write something for you, Rebecca,” you said with a smile. “Though, I’m not really an article writer, just as a warning. More fiction, more novels.”

“I thought your player profiles on the website were incredibly well written,” she said plainly.

Your eyes widened, and she mimicked you, but with a smile on her face all the same. “Oh, thank you,” you let out. “I’ll do it, then!” you agreed.

Rebecca smiled. “Fantastic!” She matched your energy. You shared a few peaceful moments together, which you latched onto after her aversion to you in the very beginning, but you were cut off when you looked at the time.

“Oh, fuck,” you muttered, grabbing your bag quicky. “Sorry, Rebecca. I actually have lunch plans for once.”

Rebecca followed you in standing. “Oh? A date?”

You scoffed. “No, no. Keeley is taking me shopping before the charity ball.”

“Oh, fuck!” Rebecca exclaimed abruptly, making you jump. “I didn’t invite you, did I? Oh, fucking hell, I’m so sorry, darling.”

“It’s okay!” you reassured her, as the two of you left your office. “Roy’s taking me as his plus one, so it’s no trouble anyway.”

Rebecca stopped in the hallway. “Roy’s taking you as his plus one?”

You stared at her bluntly, overly annoyed about the reaction that that simple sentence had garnered over the past few days. You fucking wished Roy had asked you in private, for fucks sake.

“Yes,” you said plainly, annoyed.

Rebecca was taken aback by your bluntness. “Oh. Well, how lovely,” she said.

“I desperately need an outfit, and Keeley is my only hope,” you continued, heading up the stairs to the second floor together.

“Oh, well, now that you’ve said it actually, could I join you?” Rebecca asked. You flicked your gaze onto her, noting the soft way her brows were furrowed in question. You weren’t used to her being so adamant to actually hang out with you, but you weren’t about to exclude her.

“Of course!” you said. “I’m meeting Keeley in the car park, I’ll tell her to wait for you.”

Rebecca nodded in thanks, as the two of you parted ways on the final step. You headed towards the car park to the right, while she sped in her heels to the left, all the way down the corridor and up the stairs, to grab her bag from her office.

Your lunch break turned into a lunch day, but Rebecca didn’t seem to give a shit. The three of you went into several different fashion establishments, none of which you’d fucking heard of. Keeley asked you what you wanted, and what ‘vibe’ fit you, but you had no fucking clue. You’d been in the football world for a month, and you’d already had to branch out and act like someone from a much higher tax bracket. It was exhausting.

As you changed in a dressing room for the thousandth time, Keeley and Rebecca poured all of you a glass of complimentary champagne. You struggled with the straps of this latest number– some sci-fi looking dress where you looked more like a Dalek than a princess.

“How are you getting on in there?” Rebecca yelled from behind the curtain.

“I’m–” You struggled to zip yourself up, feeling like nothing but a sack of tomatoes under some tarp than someone remotely attractive. “I’m… trying. But, this one doesn’t feel like it’s for me!” you yelled back.

“Hmm.” Keeley hummed, standing up and downing her drink. She placed the glass down and headed towards a new rack, full of black jumpsuits. “What’s Roy’s favourite colour?”

“Black!” you and Rebecca yelled simultaneously. “But, we’re not matching or anything,” you added. “He just got me an invite to the ball itself, it’s not a date situation.”

“Isn’t he picking you up?” Rebecca asked.

You shoved your head out of the dressing room, flustered. “That was his idea. It wasn’t up to me.”

“So, maybe he thinks it’s a date, but you don’t,” Rebecca suggested.

You let out a frustrated huff. “God, can we just– not– talk about Roy for once? It’s been constant today, ever since he announced it in the locker room. It’s deeply annoying.”

Keeley grabbed a jumpsuit off the rack, bringing it over to the dressing room. “I don’t know, babe. Seems to me like you’re the one who’s pissed about it all. It’s just a bit fun, ain’t it?”

“Exactly!” you yelled, sticking your hand out to grab the garment from her. “Which is why I hate how much everyone is overreacting about it.”

“Who’s overreacting about it?” Keeley asked.

You stuck your head out of the curtain again, red in the face. “You squealed at me down the phone, Keeley! And Rebecca, you yelled in the hallway! I called my mother last night and she started crying when I told her.”

Rebecca and Keeley winced at you. “Sorry,” Keeley said.

“Apologies,” Rebecca added. “It’s just that, well, I don’t think anyone ever expects Roy to actually be a gentleman.”

You slipped on the jumpsuit that Keeley handed you, and looked at yourself in the mirror afterwards. To your surprise, it was good. It reminded you of the jumpsuit from Fleabag, a bit of cleavage shown off, just to make it sweet.

“I don’t get that,” you started, ruffling up your hair into something semi-presentable. “Roy is a bit of a gentleman. He went to my lecturer and explained that he’d been an arsehole, and ultimately got me the grade I deserved. He drove me home a few weeks ago, too. And, yeah, he gave up his plus one spot for me which was… sort of sweet, I suppose” You twisted yourself in the mirror, happy with the reflection you saw.

You pulled open the curtain and stepped out of the dressing room. “So, yeah, I’d say he is a gentleman.” You turned to Keeley and Rebecca, and both of them were frozen to their spots. You were taken aback by their wide-eyed and open mouthed expressions. “What… is it too much?” you asked, peering down at your body.

“It’s perfect,” Rebecca said, in awe of you.

“I think Roy fancies you,” Keeley said, biting at her fake nails.

You let out a colossal sigh, turning around to look at yourself in the mirror again. You couldn’t be bothered to keep looking, not when you felt great in something you’d tried on, finally. You had Rebecca’s seal of approval, too, which was absolutely good enough for you.

“This is the one,” you said, turning to the retail worker. “I’ll take it.”

By Friday, things had settled down. If it weren’t for your stern glares at the guys when they teased you, then they would have only continued, but you made yourself clear. You didn’t want to be hassled about this, and you definitely knew that Roy wouldn’t want it, either. You suspected he was already regretting his choice to bring you along with him.

Despite your clear annoyance over the past few days, the atmosphere at the Dogtrack was nothing but great. Training had gone well, with Ted and Beard finally making progress with the team. Rebecca had eased up even more, actually inviting you to join her for lunch the day after she helped you pick your ball attire. On Thursday, you played Cluedo with Higgins, and on Friday, you walked in on the coaches during one of their… special meetings.

You were alerted to them from the abrupt barking, but the noises were unmistakably coming from humans instead of dogs. Hearing the noise all the way from your office, you made your way down the corridor to the locker room. You kept close to the wall as you entered, knowing that Ted and Beard were in the manager’s office, but they weren’t alone. Higgins and Nate were with them, too, and it seemed that all of them had contributed towards the various barks.

“Well, gentlemen, it seems all of us have our wits about us this time around,” Ted announced, in his classic southern drawl.

“Ah, ah, ah, wait,” Higgins added. “I know we formed this group for the balance of men having each other’s backs emotionally, but does that stop us from expanding?”

“Expanding?” Nate asked.

“Further afield,” Higgins said. “You know, like gossiping.”

Ted and Beard gasped. “Well, Higgins, that might just stir a pot that doesn’t need stirring. The kind that your mom stands over the stove with for hours, you know? And as soon as she takes a break, and tells you not to touch it, what do you do? You touch it. And whatever custard or queso or sauce she’s making curdles.”

Higgins deflated a little. “I guess you’re right.”

There was a moment of silence, before Ted perked up again. “But, just because of the unhelped curiosity of man, what was it that you wanted to expand upon?”

You leaned against the wall outside, right next to the manager’s door. You knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t stop listening. It was infectious and impossible not to want more. Slowly, you leaned even closer.

Higgins cleared his throat. “There is a rumour circulating these halls…” You held your breath, wondering what tea was about to be spilled. “Roy Kent’s plus one for the charity ball has been filled.”

Ted, Beard and Nate all gasped. All semblance of cool that you had turned red immediately.

Without hesitation, you stomped your boots upon the ground like a spoiled child. “Fucks sake!” you yelled suddenly, before you quickly revealed yourself in the manager’s office doorway. The men inside looked immediately shaken, clutching onto their hearts like they were scared they’d jump out of their chests. You huffed from frustration. “It’s not a big deal!”

“Oh, hey!” Ted exclaimed, taking his hand away from his heart. “God, you gave us one heck of a fright.”

“Are you Roy’s plus one?” Higgins returned to the conversation at hand.

You leaned against the doorway, defeated. “Yes. And at this point, I wish I fucking wasn’t.”

“Hey now,” Ted said gently. “Is this what this rumour is, huh? That you’re Roy’s date to the charity ball?”

You shrugged. “It’s been constant this week. I’m surprised you all didn’t hear about it sooner, to be honest.”

“I did,” Beard chimed in. All eyes in the room fell on him, but he didn’t elaborate.

“Great,” you said plainly, before you turned back to the others. “It’s not like it’s a huge thing, or something so out there that it should be discussed. I feel like everyone’s been, I don’t know, whispering about it over the past few days. Keeley squealed at me. Rebecca yelled in my face. My own mother cried.”

All the men in the room winced in unison.

“Can I be completely honest with you all?” you asked suddenly, and as if on cue all the guys stood up straight. Immediately, they started making barking noises and whimpering like dogs, as if they were a gaggle of drama students. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you muttered in response.

“This is a safe space. Speak your mind as much as you wish,” Ted explained.

“Well,” you started, letting out a stress filled sigh. “First of all, he asked me in front of the entire locker room. From the get-go it’s been made out to be a bigger thing than it needed to be, you know? And after that, everyone started acting like it was huge! Like it was so out there that Roy fucking Kent asked the bloody social placement, of all people, to go with him to the charity ball. Rebecca said that it’s because no one expects Roy to be a gentleman, but I know he is one, so that doesn’t exactly make sense to me.”

“So, what you’re saying is, it makes it seem like it’s a huge deal because it’s you and him, instead of just him?” Nate offered.

You widened your eyes at him, nodding in agreement. “Exactly that. It just… makes me feel a bit shit. Like I wasn’t an option that anyone would expect him to pick. Which is fucking stupid because, God, it’s really not a big deal.”

“It’s been blown out of proportion, you mean?” Higgins asked.

You nodded again. “Massively.”

“And that’s frustrating you because it makes you feel judged?” Ted joined in.

You nodded again. “Yep.”

The room fell silent for a moment. It was almost suffocating, alongside the stares of four pairs of eyes landing on you all at once. You felt like a child, it was true, but you couldn’t deny how much this entire ordeal had got to you. You wished people would leave it, wished they’d stop fucking talking about it like it was some huge revelation.

Beard cleared his throat. “You need to fucking own it.”

You snapped your stare onto him instantly. “Excuse me?”

“Own it!” he exclaimed again. “If this is really bothering you, don’t let people know that you care. Stomping your feet about it and getting flustered will only perpetuate their reactions.”

“Are you really saying that my mother crying to me is my fault?”

Ted took the reins. “Not that.” He shook his head. “That’s all on her.”

“When you show up tonight next to Roy, act like you belong there,” Beard continued, leaning forward in his chair to look at you fully. “Because you do belong. You’re part of this club, and the guys all wanted you at the ball in the first place. Don’t let them rattle you.”

You furrowed your brows at him. “How do you know all this?”

Beard leaned back, propping his legs up on the desk casually. “I was in here when Roy asked you to be his date.”

“Ahaaa, so it is a date,” Higgins said, but was promptly shut down by all sets of eyes glaring at him to oblivion. “Sorry. Gossiping is an addiction that I cannot seem to shake, no matter how hard I try.”

“So, I should own it?” You kept the conversation on track. Beard, Ted and Nate all nodded in agreement. “Okay, yeah. You’re right. Fuck it all, right? I’m part of this team, and I deserve Roy Kent’s plus one the same as anyone else.”

“That’s it!” Ted exclaimed, before turning to the rest of the guys. “Well, that was another successful visitor pass discussion. Diamond Dogs, out!” The four of them all went back to barking like dogs, only made worse by Ted and Nate sticking out their tongues, as if they were lapping up water.

“Okay, I’m leaving,” you said quickly, immediately turning on your heels to get the fuck out of there.

As you walked back to your office, you took their advice on board. Was it really that simple, just to own it? Act like you belonged, act like it was just another normal fucking day at AFC Richmond? You sighed when you reached your door, knocking your knuckles against the wood of the door frame. It was sturdy, same as the rest of the stadium walls and floors, and you would be, too.

You wouldn’t let this ball phase you, wouldn’t freak out about the guys’ reactions, about Keeley and Rebecca’s, and certainly not your fucking mother’s. You’d be hard as nails when you got into Roy Kent’s Jeep, as the two of you pulled up to the venue. You’d smile for the cameras, be comfortable on Roy’s arm as you walked in, and have a brilliant fucking night.

Nothing would go wrong. Nothing.

Roy pulled up outside your door and honked his horn once, twice, three times. He figured that would be enough to get your attention. He fiddled with his tie as he sat behind the wheel, tapping his car's leather interior as he waited for you to open your front door and jump into the passenger seat next to him.

Little did he know, but you’d made the unwise decision to Google the Richmond charity ball while you were getting ready, only to see the prestigious guestlist. It was celebrities galore, millionaires, billionaires, but no MA students who’d been shoved into the club as a last resort. You took back everything you’d said about feeling bad about being Roy’s plus one– you weren’t one of these people, and that was fucking adament by the hoards of paparazzi, and thousands of pounds donated.

Roy honked his horn again, and you flinched on the floor of your bathroom. You leaned against the door, trying and failing to calm down the anxiety that raced within your bones. Roy honked again, and you found yourself groaning. “I can hear you, Roy!” you yelled, knowing that he couldn’t hear you back. “Fucks sake.” You fumbled as you grabbed your phone from beside the sink.

You unlocked it and went to texts, putting in Roy’s name at the top. Your eyes skimmed the last message you sent– the one about your assignment. You still had no idea if he had you blocked, or if other circumstances had kept him away from his phone at that time, but that didn’t stop you from texting him now.

Having a fucking nervy-b. Two minutes.

Roy’s phone pinged suddenly, and he shuffled it out of his inside jacket pocket. It was an unsaved number, but he knew it was you as soon as he opened the message up. Not just from the timings, but from the previous message that he didn’t recall getting at all.

This was for my degree, my first assignment is due on Sunday. It’ll be incomplete without you.

Roy’s eyes widened. “Fuuuuuuck,” he let out coarsely. He reread both messages, over and over again, before he made the decision to kill his engine.

He jumped out of his Jeep, slamming the driver’s side door shut behind him. He hopped onto the pavement and climbed the steps to your front door. He didn’t hesitate knocking with his knuckles, loudly. The banging reverberated throughout your ground floor flat, startling you as you sat in the bathroom. When the banging didn’t stop, you let out another frustrated groan. You had no choice but to let him in, and get over this small mishap that had got you so inside your own head.

You shuffled your way to your front door and clicked the intercom that came with it. “Can I help you?”

“What the fuck is a nervy-b?” Roy replied through the static.

You bonked your head down against your front door, hating yourself for ever writing a message without thinking. “I’m– it’s–” you stuttered, but there was no good way to say it. “Just come in. I’ll be ready soon.” You buzzed him in, and Roy entered through the main door into your building. From there, you unlatched the lock on your front door and kicked it open for him, before retreating to the comfort of your kitchen.

Roy closed the door behind him, breathing in deeply as he took in his surroundings. Your flat was dainty, but oddly comforting. It reminded him of the flat he had when he first joined Chelsea, all those years before. Albeit, yours was certainly cleaner and tidier, but it still left him with a fond feeling. He stepped further inside, catching a glimpse of you in the kitchen to the right.

“Hey,” he let out, crossing the threshold to approach you. “You alright?” he asked.

You leaned against the counter top, shoulders high and tense, with your back turned to him. “I’m good.” You lied.

Roy arched his brow at you. “I’m not quite sure I believe you.”

“It’s fine!” you exclaimed, before you finally turned to him. “Beard said to own it, so that’s exactly what I’m going to fucking do. None of it fucking matters anyway!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Roy took a step closer.

“This! I mean, I’m not a celebrity, I know fuck all about football, and had to get Keeley to help me pick out this fucking outfit, but I’m still going to own it.” You wondered, if you kept lying to yourself, would it finally stick? “Right?” you asked Roy.

He raised his hands slowly, gently. “I finally understand the meaning of nervy-b,” he said lowly.

You furrowed your brows at him in gentle pleading, before you dropped your head into your hands. “I fucking hate Google,” you said, your voice muffled through your fingers.

Roy took a moment to regard you, finally understanding what it was that was getting to you. He could understand why. As a professional footballer himself, a showboater, a performer, he hated being in the public eye when he didn’t have to be. He preferred to be left alone, staying far away from PR deals and interviews. He could relate to what you were feeling, despite all the years he’d had to get used to it.

Slowly, he stepped towards you. He brought his hands forward and grabbed your wrists gently, pulling them away from your face. When you peered up at him, it was like a chunk of his lung fell into the depths of his stomach. You were terrified, and Roy had no fucking clue how to make it better.

“If Beard said to own it, then own it,” Roy said gently. “If it makes you feel any better, I fucking hate events like this.”

You sniffed. “You do?”

Roy nodded. “But, it’s a necessary part of the job. By now, though, paparazzi know that I don’t give a fuck about them. They piss me off, so I know how it feels.” His eyes flicked over your face, trying to seek out the right words to say. “About the celebrities, though. Well, I’m a fucking celebrity, aren’t I?”

You scoffed abruptly, taking yourself and Roy by surprise. “Sorry,” you said quickly.

“See? It’s funny when I say it, right? Because we work together, and you thought I was the fcuking caretaker last month.”

“I’m still sorry about that,” you whispered.

“This is what I mean. The word celebrity makes it all the more scary and shit,” Roy continued. “You know all the guys at the club, and they fucking worship you. It’s a bit fucking weird sometimes.”

You laughed properly then, as Roy’s words started to sink into your skull. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” you said, breathing in deeply, and exhaling slowly.

Roy removed his grasp from you and took a step back. “Fucking own it.” He settled on, giving you a once over with his dark eyes.

You let out a shaky breath, expelling as much of your anxiety from your body as you possibly could. You stood up straight, shaking out your limbs. “Okay,” you muttered to yourself, before you headed off towards the bathroom, again.

You worked fast, calmly, to clean yourself up. Roy let himself out and leaned against the hood of his car, the same way you had in the car park a few weeks prior. When you walked out of your flat, shutting the door behind you, you were like a completely different person. No longer were the nerves and anxiety eating you alive. You’d been replaced by someone that knew her worth, someone who stood up tall and proud in her pair of platforms. Someone who, certainly, was going to get cold by the evening, but didn’t factor in a jacket of any kind when picking out this fucking outfit, so she had nothing.

Roy tugged open the passenger side door for you. You muttered a thank you at him, before you both got comfortable in his Jeep. Roy stuck the keys in the ignition, but turned to you before he switched on the engine.

“Ready?” he asked, just double checking.

You nodded. “Let’s fucking get this over with.”

“That’s the fucking spirit.” Roy started the engine, and you were off.

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CHAPTER THREE