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Oils and Incense [Masseur AU]

FEATURING : AITO SOUSUKE (OC) X male reader

Following your friend's suggestion, you went to a health & beauty spa, specifically for a massage and you're surprised to find a fellow student working there as a part-timer. What's that smell and why do you feel so hot? This was the wrong room? Your body won't be the only thing getting oiled up!

dubcon af, rough sex, aphrodisiac on both ends, shady reader(?), sousuke munching, profile

Find out more under the cut!

"All the rooms are full?"

The clerk standing at the register nodded with a polite smile on her face. (m/n) frowned, feeling the ache on his shoulder weighing on his figure.

It had been a harsh week for the (h/c), catching up on his assignments, managing his club activities and after sleeping on his desk for a week straight, his muscles were tense and in pain.

His friend, Daisuke, had suggested this place, a high-end beauty spa and of course it was expensive that motherfucker was loaded. But you decided to treat yourself, as a reward for getting through the semester and you drove over to the place after your classes.

Unfortunately for him, all the rooms are filled and busy.

"Well, we do have a private room available. Although it is usually booked in advance for regulars, I can make an exception for you." She winked at him, feeling sorry seeing the (h/c)'s tired expression. "I'll take it."

"And what kind of package would you like?"

(m/n) didn't bother reading the whole brochure, only skimming through the numbers. "Two hours, please."

The lady escorted her to the room, opening the door inside and (m/n) awed at the interior, fluffy flooring, multiple candles on mahogany cupboards with decorations to make the room more presentable with gold and green highlights with a warm lighting to compliment the whole design.

A massage table stood in the middle, layered with a white covered mattress and a hole for the face in the head area. "The rooms are designed for your privacy and comfort, thick walls and we provide a change of clothing afterwards. Your assigned masseur will be here soon." He thanked the lady and placed his bag on one of the lush seats.

(m/n) stood in the room idly, peering at the ceramic dishes and balls before hearing a conversation outside.

"Make sure you take the right incense and oils, okay. He's not one of the usual clientage." The woman from before seem to be speaking to someone. The masseur perhaps.

"Yeah yeah, I know." The voice replied with a drag, implying annoyance followed by a smack.

The door opened and (m/n) turned to see a familliar person, holding a basket of bottles and taper candles. Said person, with his long red hair in a claw clip with strands sticking to his forehead, froze seeing the (h/c). He had adorned the usual white piece, what masseurs would usually wear.

"You..." He seemed to be taken aback, although his face doesn't show much, (m/n) could definitely tell he knew him and vice versa as well. "...We go to the same university, right? Keio Shiki?' (m/n) broke the awkward silence with a nervous grin.

The redhead seemed to snap back out of his trance as he coughed into his fist and moved to one of the cupboards, setting up the session, placing the taper candles in its holders. "Yeah, we do." He replied dismissively.

"We shared a class once, too. Aito? Was that your name-?" "It's Sousuke. Just Sousuke." (m/n) tensed, nodding quickly as he rubbed his nape.

(m/n) had seen Sousuke around campus before, always alone and keeping to himself with his muted red hair that had always caught his attention. When they shared a class together, the (h/c) had attempted to converse with the redhead but was ignored or only received half-assed answers.

He only knew snippets about the redhead from his peers, who told him to stay away from the man, saying that he brought trouble everywhere he goes. However, (m/n) thought of otherwise.

"So you work here? I thought your dad runs a dōjō." It's not everyday you get to talk to the brooding guy in your prestige university, especially when he's supposed to service you. (e/c) eyes gazed at him with a smirk, teasing the redhead whose hazel ones squinted at him.

"...It's temporary. Until that old man gets off my back." He mumbled, lighting one of the candles with a long nozzle lighter, clicking it a few times. The (h/c)'s eyes still wandered, lingering on his muscular back the white uniform couldn't hide. "Do you remember me? You looked shocked when you first walked in here-"

(m/n)'s words were cut off as Sousuke promptly pressed a white fluffy cloth to his chest. "I do. (l/n)." The redhead emphasized, pushing the article on his chest with pressure. There's a hint of annoyance but (m/n) can see the tip of his ears turning red.

"You can call me (m/n)." His lips stretched a smile, cheekily looking up at the redhead through his lashes.

Sousuke stared for a second before turning away. "Change."

The (h/c) held the cloth Sousuke had given to him, it was literally just a white fabric meant to tie around his waist. "Just this-?" "Yes." Sousuke huffed as he turned back to the (h/c), his fingers snapping a pair of black latex gloves on his hands. "In other words, strip."

"Will do." (m/n) whistled, pulling his clothes off.

The redhead rolled his eyes, rummaging through the cupboards as the (h/c) had his fun teasing the former.

Sousuke did not expect the (h/c) as his customer for the evening. His father had sent him here for work since he had broken three sandbags at the dōjō, apparently his old man's friend owned the place and needed a pair of strong hands to cover a few shifts. Unluckily, Sousuke had been taking a degree in physical education so he was more or less qualified to work here.

However, the clerk suddenly called him on his break, saying that there was a fill-in in one of the private rooms, he was never allowed to step in there by the way, and the woman told him that there was someone looked like around his age while lecturing him about grabbing the right bottles or whatnot.

Sousuke had mindlessly grabbed the basket for the private rooms, there can't be much difference there can it? Probably just the brand itself or whatever.

Fuck, why is he here? Sousuke grumbled silently. He had known the (h/c), (m/n) (l/n) who had caught his eye ever since he walked on campus. His stupid cute smile, really nice build and those fucking thighs-

He snapped himself out of his thoughts hearing shuffles of clothing behind him as he lit the incense and waving the smoke around, letting it dissipate. Something smelled weird. He's dealt with incense before but this one smells more honey?

"I'm done."

The redhead had to stop himself from looking too much as he ushered the (h/c) to lay stomach down on the massage table.

(m/n) pouted, seeing the redhead was quick to place him down as he straddled the massage table, putting his head in its place and his face facing the floor through the hole.

Sousuke helped him place his legs on the rest of the table, his large gloved hands pulling his calves up before setting it down, avoiding looking at the (s/c) presented before him.

The (h/c) felt like he was purring in bliss. "It smells...sweet?" "It's the candle. Nothing much." Sousuke reassured (m/n) and himself, he had never used this specific candle before.

Taking a bowl of warm water, he placed three different sizes of ceramic balls or spheres, letting it sit in the liquid while the (h/c) attempted to start a conversation with him. "How've you've been? Anything interesting coming up?" "None of your concern." (m/n) scrunched his nose at the immediate rejection.

Was the room supposed to be this hot?

He felt warmer than usual, the blood rushing to the lower part of his body. (m/n) continued staring at the carpeted floor beneath him, talking to the redhead. "My team is having a practice match next week. With a university in the next town over."

Tilting the glass bottle, Sousuke dripped the oil in his gloved hands before rubbing them together, warming it up. "So?" "Will you come watch?" He huffed. "For what?"

"For me." There's a hint of flirt and Sousuke had to take a breather before nearing the laying (h/c), avoiding looking at his (s/c) legs. "I'll start now." "What-?"

(m/n) bit his tongue to prevent a moan from escaping his lips when warm gloved hands pressed on in between his shoulders. Fingers moving around, testing the waters as Sousuke gently spread the oil on his back like slicing butter on a piece of bread.

When the redhead felt the skin beneath him less tense, he slowly pressed his fingers deeper, kneading the muscle beneath him, rubbing his thumb in the notches and crooks of his shoulder blades.

Then he moved upwards, trailing his hand and poured more oil directly on (m/n)'s shoulders, letting it stain the cushioned table and he dipped his fingers in the skin between his neck and his shoulder, inching closer to his chest as he massaged his clavicle.

Sousuke was wondering why was the chatterbox underneath him was quiet. Usually customers would let out a satisfied groan every now and then. Maybe it was better for the redhead himself, not having to answer to the (h/c)'s incessant questions.

Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead, sliding down the tip of his nose. (m/n) was holding in his breath, his eyes rolling to the back of his head when Sousuke's fingers massaged his nape, pressing his knuckles on the base of his neck, letting the pressure subside when he reached his hairline.

He had been holding in gasps and groans from his throat, feeling so pleasured with the service he's receiving. He felt more fired up than usual. (m/n) almost released a whine when Sousuke pulled his hands away, walking over to the front of him, where the bowl of water was and (m/n) stared at his legs, licking his lips.

"...Everything okay down there?"

Yeah I want you down here- "All's good." (m/n) felt his cheeks flushed, trying to focus back but his mind was foggy, all fuzzy and warm, he couldn't keep his head straight only thinking about those nice thick gloved fingers touching his skin.

Sousuke carefully picked up the smallest ball, placing it in the middle of (m/n)'s back, the latter letting out a noise of confusion. "It's a new thing they brought in. Constant pressure isn't good but the warmth helps and we've been receiving positive feedback..." The redhead muttered, stabilizing the sphere.

"Is it okay for you?"

(m/n) nodded drowsily. "Yeah, yeah. Anything's good from you." Sousuke's mouth gaped from the comment before looking away, grabbing the second ball while ignoring the butterflies raging wildly in his stomach.

"Don't move." He mumbled, balancing the second ball on his upper shoulders, near his nape. He rolled it around, using it as a tool before letting it rest on (m/n)'s body. Sousuke was unaware of the drooling (h/c) who was resisting the urge to utter the most sinful things human beings have ever heard.

The redhead paused, his steps stopping as he gazed at the taper candle, his eyes brimming suspicion before (m/n)'s voice brought him back to reality.

"Hurry up." He whined. Sousuke gritted his teeth, his cheeks warming at the cute noise the other had mewled out. "Be patient." (m/n) grinned. "Don't think you're supposed to talk back to your customers."

He heard the redhead sighed, his legs coming into his line of sight and Sousuke's face suddenly appeared close to his. "And I don't think you should be acting like a brat but here we are. Be quiet...and let me do my job." Hazel eyes stared up at him, his position crouching on the floor near the massage table.

(m/n) was silent, taken aback by the sudden proximity of his handsome face. He definitely got hard. "... Yes, sir." Sousuke groaned in annoyance, immediately standing back up, secretly adjusting his pants.

Immediately, he retrieved the third sphere, letting them all line up on (m/n)'s lower back, the latter letting out a guttural groan at the pressure. Hazel eyes leered at the (s/c) legs on display, sighing lowly as he poured another batch of oil on his gloved hands.

Steadily, he placed his hands on the (h/c)'s thighs, near the cloth and he dragged his palms down, pulling the muscle and knots all the way down to the ankle. Heat was looming all around his crotch as he massaged (m/n)'s foot, rubbing his fingers in between the appendages.

"You're like...mmn- really good at this."

Sousuke heard the drowsy comment from the mouth at the other end. "I work here. It's my job." "Wasn't it temporary?" "As I've told." "Wish it wasn't. I'd come for you everyday."

(m/n) was slurring his words, his cheeks flushed, his dick hard and sweat was dripping from his face to his nose. Fingers massaging him all over, caressing his thigh, pushing his skin and god he wished those fingers were in him.

Just fuck me- The (h/c) grinned to himself, not noticing the reddened masseur who pulled away, grabbing the spheres as well, eager to end the session already.

"Sit up. We'll work on your front next." "...My front?" "Yes. Is there a problem?" Sousuke went to grab a pillow to fill the hole in the head area so (m/n) could lie down on it but when he turned around, the (h/c) was on his side, his face looked embarrassed and he looked away when Sousuke's eyes travelled down to (m/n)'s crotch.

"...It's normal." The (h/c) frowned, mad that Sousuke isn't getting the hint. What the hell? Is it normal for customers to get hard after you massage them or what? (e/c) eyes glared at Sousuke, who was panicking in his head.

"And if I say it's intentional?" "I won't believe you."

He couldn't deny his slight attraction to the (h/c) and what the fuck why does he feel so hot right now? Sousuke staggered when the loop of his pants was tugged.

"Is it normal for you to get hard too?" (m/n) whispered into his ear, huffing his warm breath into the shell of Sousuke's ears that flushed at the contact.

The redhead looked down and he was indeed hard. Had he not noticed the whole time? Sousuke pulled away, facing the cheeky (h/c) who was kneeling on the table, the cloth around his waist barely hiding his erection and an amused expression on his face.

"Stop that." "You don't hate me." "I can." "I don't think you will."

What? Sousuke pressed his lips into a thin line, his head dizzy. (m/n) was so lax around him, closing the gap he had with others, toying with his boundaries like he was edging the redhead, wanting to draw a reaction out of him.

It's the same when they had first met too, when they shared a class. To (m/n), it was normal but to Sousuke, it was thrilling and confusing.

He was melting under the (h/c)'s gaze, his lips quivering and he felt his eyes water. "Are you flirting with me?" (m/n) purred. "Maybe." He winked and held out his hand.

The redhead swatted it away. He can feel his sweat building up on the collar of his uniform. (m/n) looked like a meal in front of him but he couldn't, his heart conflicted.

"Don't...play about these things. Don't toy with me." Sousuke stated, him placing down the pillow, covering the hole in the massage table, (e/c) eyes following him. "....I'm not."

Sousuke clenched his jaw, his neck tense as he felt fingers inching on his nape, tugging his claw clip. He yelped, his hair now loose, red strands laying on his back as the redhead glared at the (h/c).

(m/n) clipped the hair accessory onto his own tresses. "You should kick me out. I'm harassing you and all, aren't I?" The redhead stared at the now sitting (h/c) who swung his feet back and forth. He glanced at his hair clip on the (h/c)'s head.

"I ought to." "...You're hot, Sousuke." A cough escaped his lips, exasperated at the sudden confession. The redhead scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. (m/n) gleamed at him, glancing at the taper candles behind him.

"If you wanted to have sex with me, all you had to do was ask." "What?"

"You think I don't see that?" (m/n) jutted his chin to the candle holder behind Sousuke, the one he had lit up earlier. "Lucky Clover. Common choice but it does its job."

Sousuke snatched the candle out of the holder, blowing out the flame, his eyes scanning the brand name edged on the side of the candle. He had grabbed the wrong basket. "I didn-"

"Haa...now I'm all hot and bothered. It's not fair you're not as affected as I am." "I took the wrong candle. I didn't mean to-" "Whatever was your intention, it doesn't matter." (m/n) rested his chin on his palm, his body was coated with sweat, his back smooth with the oils Sousuke had rubbed in earlier.

"I have at least an hour and a half left. Now come here and do your job, masseur."

Something snapped inside the redhead at that moment, something raw and viscous. His feet slowly moved to the (h/c), settling behind him and grabbing a bottle of oil.

Sousuke should have never denied the attraction he had for the (h/c). His words that jumbled his thoughts, his eyes that made his legs quiver, his tongue that flicked against his teeth that made the redhead desire to grab his neck so he can-

(m/n) leaned his back against Sousuke's chest with a satisfied sigh, smudging the redhead's white uniform. Biting his lower lip, he grinned while staring at across the room. Sousuke was something (m/n) had wanted to solve, it wasn't a priority, but with the massages and the oils, it was like a candlelit dinner for him.

The claw clip was pulled from his hair, Sousuke swiping (m/n)'s hair back and clipped it in properly, (m/n) rubbed his cheek on the redhead's hand, the latter not responding and the (h/c) heard him picking up a glass bottle.

Slippery liquid trickled down his chest, Sousuke tilting the whole bottle on (m/n)'s torso letting it trickle down onto the (h/c)'s crotch. He placed the bottle aside, cracking his fingers. The redhead placed his arms underneath (m/n)'s own, looming his hands over his body before placing it flat against the (h/c)'s chest.

(m/n) gasped when Sousuke cupped his pecs, rubbing his nipples in between his fingers. "Mmnn!" He mewled as the redhead continued his work, massaging his man tit, rubbing his hands up and down as (m/n) gripped Sousuke's arms.

He squirmed when Sousuke's movements became rougher, squeezing his chest and essentially groping him. The redhead's right hand trailed down and rubbed the oil all over his stomach, kneading it into his side.

(m/n) was wrong when he had stated that the redhead was not affected as he is. The redhead had only not noticed. His will is strong, not something that is easily swayed by a mere candle.

Sousuke had bear flirts, jabs, and allure from the (h/c). He's a man. He has sensual passion. Although the redhead simply locked his aptitude to bite back deep inside himself. However, (m/n) was brave. Almost like he was aware Sousuke would let him trample all over him.

Hovering his tongue over the (h/c)'s shoulder, he licked a stripe experimentally. (m/n) flinched, his head turning to the side, looking with his glossy (e/c) eyes. He was panting disheveledly, Sousuke's hand still playing with his chest, gripping the fat and pinching his nipple.

The redhead leaned in closer, his face close with (m/n)'s and their breaths mixed. (m/n) was staring at the masseur's mouth, gazing over his lips and the redhead was looking for any sign of desire in his eyes until (e/c) met hazel.

There was only pure unholy lust. Sousuke pushed his mouth towards (m/n)'s awaiting lips. The latter moaning as they mushed their tongues together, exchanging drool and (m/n) was so excited as he sucked on the redhead's muscly organ.

"Aanh haa ah ah!"

Sousuke's right hand went lower, cupping (m/n)'s erection as he squeezed it lightly. The (h/c) bit his lower lip in response, the redhead gasping as (m/n) stuck his tongue inside Sousuke's mouth.

Tearing the fabric at (m/n)'s waist off, Sousuke grabbed (m/n)'s cock, pumping it up and down, earning whines from the (h/c). It was so slippery, so easy to move with the oil coating (m/n)'s skin and Sousuke gave no mercy to the (h/c) whose hips started to stutter in his hold.

(m/n) bucked his hips, loving the attention his cock was receiving as he pulled away from the makeout session. "I-I'm close- nggh ahh ang ahh!"

Ropes of cum spurted from his tip as Sousuke gripped his base, dragging out (m/n)'s orgasm. His hazel eyes had a fire in them, one (m/n) had ever since Sousuke laid his hands on him.

Drool seeped from his lips, (m/n) was in a daze as Sousuke laid his body on the massage table, letting him lie stomach down. He shivered when he felt the redhead pour more oil on his bottom, the liquid dripping on his ass, seeping and touching his twitching hole.

"You wanted this." Sousuke grunted, pulling off of his sticky uniform, revealing his sexy sweaty torso. His hand rubbed one of the (h/c)'s asscheeks before bringing it up and slapping it. The (h/c) yelped at the contact and Sousuke spanked him again, rubbing the oil on the cheek before swinging his gloved hand back down.

"Ah! F-Fucking- ah!" (m/n) screamed, feeling his cock twitch every time Sousuke smacked his ass. His hips stuttered he felt the redhead gripped and spread his ass, revealing his perky hole, Sousuke dipping his covered thumb in experimentally and scratched his rim.

Whining endlessly, (m/n) flinched as Sousuke spat on his hole, feeling the cold liquid trickle down. The redhead pulled his hips up, (m/n) hugging the pillow for stability, his nails digging into the fabric and pushing his face into the pillow.

Sousuke laid his tongue flat against (m/n)'s balls, licking up until he reached the wet entrance and he pushed a finger in, hearing a squeal from the (h/c). Digging inside, he shoved another gloved finger in to spread the hole with a scissoring motion. The (h/c) could only emit muffled cries, staining the pillow with his saliva.

The redhead licked his hole, a flinch from (m/n), and he pushed his tongue inside, brushing his fangs against (m/n)'s rim. He kissed, licked and spat on the twitching entrance, taking his time and ignoring the begging (h/c).

"P-Please- mmn ahh! I-I'm sorry- ungg mmn!"

Sousuke didn't want an apology from the (h/c). All he cared about was the ass in his hand he was eating right now. The redhead sucked on (m/n)'s balls while pistoning his fingers in and out of the (h/c)'s puckered hole.

He stopped when a hand grabbed his arm, Sousuke glaring down at the crying (h/c) whose back was facing him. "T-Too much. I'm s-sorry- mmn!" (m/n) cried, his tears and drool wetting the pillow under him.

"...Then what do you want?" Sousuke asked nonchalantly as he released (m/n)'s hips, letting him drop onto the table. (m/n)'s lower half was trembling.

"I w-wanna suck you off..." "Is this your apology?" (m/n) shook his head. "I want your c-cock in my throat." He mumbled.

Sousuke stared at him, (m/n) tried to calm down his nerves but his entire body was so hot, the oil covering almost every inch of his skin. "Get on the floor." He heard the redhead ordered.

Shakily, (m/n) pushed himself off of the table, landing on the floor on his knees with a pitiful whine. He turned to the unimpressed redhead who stood, his back leaning against the massage table, his flowing red hair framing his gorgeous face.

"I don't understand you, (m/n)." Sousuke mumbled, grabbing his jaw when the (h/c) inched closer to his crotch while on his knees, his (s/c) glistening under the warm spotlight.

Caressing the (h/c)'s inner thigh with his shoe, Sousuke gazed at his dripping dick, raising his line of sight to (m/n)'s panting flushed face. "You don't have to..." The (h/c) closed his eyes, enduring the tightening still gloved grip Sousuke had on his face.

"You're so...confusing. Pushing my buttons, testing my limits. I'm a man, (l/n)." (m/n) nodded drunkenly. "Handsome man..." He slurred and Sousuke rolled his eyes at that and extended his hand into (m/n)'s face who pulled off the drenched latex gloves with his teeth.

"I can't believe you're into this shit." The redhead raised his bare hand, slapping (m/n)'s face, not too hard but enough to leave a red mark. "You like this? You like getting slapped?"

Sousuke smacked the (h/c) again, who only cried out wantonly, his body leaning closer to the redhead's. "Does your friend know? That you're a fucking freak." (m/n) shook his head, tears threatening to spill from the corner of his eyes.

"I'm supposed to be special then?" (m/n) couldn't even talk properly, getting slapped for the third time. He only slobbered, his eyes peering up at Sousuke's hazel ones. "I-It hurts..." He whined.

The redhead released his tight hold, carressing (m/n)'s cheek. "Went too far, huh? Least' I know your limit now." He gently stroked the (h/c)'s reddened cheek fondly, as if its a way for him to say sorry. (m/n) purring into his touch.

Extending his hand, (m/n) tugged Sousuke's pants, sticking his tongue out eager to suck his cock. The redhead scoffed, his face expressing amusement. "You're cute, y'know?" The (h/c) pawed at the redhead's zipper, pulling it down and shuffling his pants off.

Sousuke pushed his briefs down, his hardened cock springing out and (m/n)'s eyes brightened, his tongue drooling and he whined even more, leaning closer into the redhead. Sousuke cooed, running his fingers through the (h/c)'s hair and he pulled the hair clip off, placing it on his own head.

(m/n) placed his tongue under Sousuke's tip, sliding it gently as he licked the base, caressing the veins. The redhead groaned, bucking his hips and accidentally gripped the (h/c)'s hair. Moving his head forward, the (h/c) took the long cock in his mouth, slobbering his spit all over the shaft.

It was a wonder how their dynamic switched. When (m/n) had first walked in, he was so adamant at poking at the redhead, now he was the one on his knees, sucking Sousuke's cock so desperately.

His cheeks hollowed as he hummed, (m/n)'s palate being grazed and the tip touching the back of his throat. He choked and coughed, Sousuke wanting to pull back but (m/n) grabbed his hips and shoved his own face into the redhead's crotch, his chin touching his balls.

"Anngg- mmff!" Sousuke held onto the table, his fingers clenching on the cushion as he closed his eyes, hot pleasure focusing on his dick and the (h/c). Cum shot from his tip and he was ready to pull out but (m/n)'s nails dug into his hips as he hissed in pain. Sousuke pulled his other glove off with his fangs.

The (h/c) sucked everything he could muster out of the redhead, letting the semen pool on his tongue as he shakily stood up and grabbed Sousuke's face, pushing his tongue in so the redhead could have a taste of himself.

Sousuke choked and gagged as the (h/c) shoved his tongue into his mouth as they stumbled, the redhead's arms around (m/n)'s waist and the latter around his neck. They planted themselves back onto the massage table, (m/n)'s back lying on the stained cushion and he spread his legs.

"Put it in." He breathed out, staring at hazel eyes who gazed back at (e/c), their sweaty foreheads touching each other. Sousuke took a breather and he adjusted himself, pumping his cock and lining it up against (m/n)'s hole.

"Just a second." The redhead spoke, he leaned forward, (m/n) stupidly clinging onto his body and rubbing his cheek against his face as Sousuke grabbed a decanter, biting the cork off and spitting it on the floor. The (h/c) rubbed his dick against the redhead's abs, letting his precum smear all over the rockhard muscles.

Sousuke pushed (m/n) to make room, tilting the decanter and pouring oil onto the (h/c)'s thighs, the liquid dripping down onto his ass and the redhead used his fingers to push it into (m/n)'s throbbing hole.

He also spilled the oil onto his own body, letting it drip from his chest and onto his dick, (m/n) now thrusting his hips to get the redhead's attention. "I know, I know." He mumbled, brushing his lips over (m/n)'s forehead.

Carefully, he held the (h/c)'s waist, adjusting both of them and he pushed in, the slippery oil letting him thrust all of his cock in one go. (m/n) let out a satisfied mewl, his thighs shaking as Sousuke pulled his cock out until only the tip nestled inside the twitching anus.

"Aannh ann ah ah ha ahh!" (m/n) wailed as the redhead began to pound himself with wet sloppy noises emitting around the room. Their squelching was so loud, the oil making their skin soft and wet as it smacked together.

Sousuke licked the (h/c)'s ear, his fangs biting the shell as the (h/c) spread his legs even wider, letting his ankles dangle in the air and the redhead slapped his inner thigh. "God you should've came here earlier." Sousuke groaned into (m/n)'s ear who nodded ferverently.

"Fuck fuck fuck." The (h/c) cussed with a moan , every time the redhead's cock kissed his prostate, his shaft dragging against his walls. Sousuke poured more oil on his base, as he pushed (m/n) down on the table, humping and fucking his meaty cock into his drenched ass.

The candle's waft still lingered in the air, although not as intense as earlier but (m/n) wished that it would last longer. His untouched cock was flicked by the redhead's fingers and (m/n) came, cum shooting out of his stimulated penis and it landed on both of their chests.

Sousuke wanted to kiss the (h/c), however he opted to graze his neck and sucked on the skin there instead, leaving hickies and marks. His hips stuttered as he shallowly thrusted into (m/n)'s bottom, his orgasm arriving and reaching its peak and (m/n) locked his ankles around the redhead, forcing him to still and cum inside his ass, filling his hole with his white batter.

(m/n) pulled Sousuke by his hair away from his neck and crashed his lips onto his and their teeths clashed. There were biting and saliva dripping from their chins, the (h/c) pushing his hips, indicating his want for a second round.

Sousuke climbed onto the massage table, asking (m/n) to kneel like him and he positioned himself behind the (h/c). He rammed himself inside (m/n) who arched his back and started to bounce himself on Sousuke's lap in time with his thrusts.

The redhead hands sneakily cupped (m/n)'s chest, groping his pecs and rubbing the skin. (m/n) whimpered when Sousuke scratched his nipple with his nails, pinching and twisting it as he continued slamming himself in and out the (h/c)'s throbbing hole, his previous cum spilling and dripping out of (m/n)'s rim.

(m/n) turned his face to the side, his (e/c) eyes begging Sousuke for a kiss as he stuck his tongue out. The redhead obliged licking (m/n)'s lips and kissing him again, them sloppily making out for the nth time already. The table shook with each thrust, shockingly still able to support the two.

Sousuke came inside the (h/c) again while (m/n) was pushing his ass back desperately for his own orgasm, the redhead gritting his teeth as (m/n) prolonged his climax by using his cock like a joystick.

Both of them lost any sense they had as they succumbed to their arousal, having sex on the table as much as they could. (m/n) was having the time of his life getting slapped, used like a fleshlight, begging Sousuke to fold him into many position and the redhead indulged in his cries, pushing him up against the cupboard, forcing him to ride his cock and they only stopped when the clerk had came back, knocking on the door while Sousuke was pushing (m/n) into a mating press.

"Is everything alright in there? Aito, the session is supposed to be over."

The redhead grunted out a half-assed response as he covered (m/n)'s mouth and quickly fucked himself inside the (h/c) making them both cum. (m/n)'s body was sweaty and slippery, his skin covered in oils and bite marks, his neck filled with hickies and his ass was dripping spit and cum.

Sousuke pulled the (h/c), pushing him and himself into the small shower station they had and quickly washed themselves clean, (m/n) begging the redhead for one last round and he unceremoniously followed through, making the (h/c) cum on his cock under the pouring shower head.

The redhead forced (m/n) to help him clean, changing the cushions, wiping the floor, throwing away the candle tapers so the clerk won't lecture him for using the wrong ones. Sousuke checked everything, making sure he didn't leave any evidence behind as he changed the drowsy (h/c) into a simple clothing the spa provided for customers.

He packed (m/n)'s clothes and his dirty uniform into a paper bag, clocking himself out of his shift as he left the spa hurriedly with the (h/c) hugging him fondly. Sousuke made sure to drive (m/n) back to his dorm with the latter's car, not trusting him to arrive safely as the (h/c) immediately passed out in the passenger's seat.

"(m/n), someone's looking for you." His classmate called him, the (h/c) lifting his head from the table he was sitting in. The class had just ended and (m/n) wanted to stay behind to finish his notes before his classmate yelled for him.

It had been three days since the whole massage thing and he couldn't find the redhead, not even at the spa. Hilarious to think that (m/n) actually went back searching for him but the clerk informed him that Sousuke asked for a few days off, him claiming that he had exams to study for and the (h/c) frowned, knowing that the redhead was avoiding him.

Understandably he was taken aback when he was met with the sight of the abashed redhead, who was standing with his hair still clipped in that purple accessory, his shoulder bag on his side.

"I thought we should go on a date. After that whole y'know." Sousuke handed him a singular sunflower, its stem jagged and (m/n) could tell that he didn't bought this at the florist.

(m/n) caressed the petals as he laughed. "Now which poor gardener did you stole from?" The redhead jabbed his finger behind him, the window showing the university's prestige courtyard with many beautiful flowers blooming, people won't notice one going missing.

"How sweet." The (h/c) smiled and Sousuke looked away, his ears reddened. "Let me grab my bag first. Where are we going?" "Eat. You need some meat if you want to win that practice match."

(m/n)'s heart fluttered, Sousuke remembered the practice match he had mentioned and he took it as a sign of him attending it for him as he hurriedly retrieve his books, shoving it in his bag as he skipped to the redhead.

"Told you I wasn't toying with you." The (h/c) teased Sousuke as he hugged his bicep. The redhead only rolled his eyes, letting (m/n) hang off of his arm as they walked through the hallway, earning weird looks from the rest of the students.

"The sunflower reminds me of you." Sousuke quirked an eyebrow, he had only chose said flower because it was the biggest one in the flower patch. "A flower?" "The sun." The redhead was silent, not understanding what he meant but shrugged. He'll let his potential boyfriend run his mind in weird places.

"Say...do you have it?" "Have what?" (e/c) gleamed up at the redhead. A knowing grin on (m/n)'s face as Sousuke slightly opened his shoulder bag, letting (m/n) peek inside.

The same candle taper, a new one, Sousuke had grabbed some from the spa. He'll cover a shift or two later and (m/n) kissed his cheek, the latter flinched and blushed heavily.

"Can't wait." The (h/c) was now pushing the redhead, eager to start and finish their lunch date so he could make room for their raunchy dinner that would last from the early evening to the dead of night.

[END SCENE]

[unedited]

Afterthoughts :

profile

I had debated the plot for this au but i didnt want it to be some random drugged bunny fuck so theres the convo, the trifling comm, and the buildup there. Everything is better w feelings involved and its good if its one that makes u think, its what gives character

I wished this fic was what debuted sousuke on my page argh. this might be my proudest work yet. When i meant rough I meant ROUGH

This will probably be my last one before i disappear for a couple of weeks. I'll reply to stuff but to post nahhh new sem starts soon so imma be super bz.

Haha i got happy cuz ppl commented on my last post so i shat this one out as quickly as i could.

comment lots and ill post lots mkay🍖

#bottom male reader #sub male reader #x bottom male reader #x male reader #male reader #male reader smut #oukabarsburg #aito sousuke #oc x male reader #oc #oc x reader smut #oc smut #oc x reader #Spotify #rough smut

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harstyle · 3 days

Text

the styles' nanny: part two

Summary: Harry finally realizes his mistake, but is it too late? Featuring a strange encounter with Jamie’s mother, another sad drinking session and an unfiltered conversation that changes everything.

Pairing: plussize-nanny!y/n + older-singledad!harry

Word-count: 10.2k

Warnings: age gap (13 years), mentions of alcohol and drinking, kissing, mentions of sex

here’s part one!

A/N: guys!!! It’s been three months!!! I hope you haven’t completely lost interest in this story :( I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting for so long, I just didn’t expect so many things to come up (plus somewhere along the way I lost motivation). I also hope you enjoy this second and (at least for now) last part. No smut, but maybe in a blurb/oneshot of some kind? Anyway thanks for waiting and happy reading!

—

I’m resigning. I will stay until we find a replacement but not longer than necessary. I thank you for your generosity during my time working for you, but I’m ready for a fresh start as I think it’s what would be best for me right now.

I’ll see you soon,

Y/N

That was the text Harry had received at 11am, just one hour ago. He’d called profusely, probably ten times in total, and sent out a pathetic amount of text messages that had all gone ignored and unanswered.

Harry had lashed out— he could see that now; he’d been horribly unfair and he had taken advantage of Y/N’s inability to express herself in situations of distress. Harry’s worst trait was his short-temperedness and while he had gone through years of therapy to work on it, sometimes it took ahold of him in ways he couldn’t realize until after the fact.

Of course the last thing he’d wanted was for her to resign, which was exactly why her message had twisted his stomach a bit more intensely than he would’ve liked; he had no idea how to rectify this situation. Most things in his life went as he wished and if they didn’t, he found it was easy to make it so they did. But not now— no, he had to think about this carefully.

It had turned one when his phone rang; he was typing away in his office, trying to distract himself. Her caller ID flashed on his screen, but it wasn’t her voice that caught his ears— it was a man’s. A man’s who’s name was Andrew.

“I’m from the viper,” he said, and Harry could swear he started seeing red, “your friend Y/N got a little too drunk for me to feel comfortable sending her away on her own. Is there any way you could come pick her up?”

Harry couldn’t help the string of curses which left his mouth as he gathered his house key. “Is she okay?” He asked, only to receive a conflicted hum.

“She had too many martinis and she was crying earlier. She said something about a fight.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, man. Will you keep an eye out until I get there?”

“Of course.”

As Harry got into his car, he felt the overwhelming urge to chastise her, to keep talking until she finally listened to him when it came to her own safety. Not even one day had passed since he’d had to pick her up the last time— no lesson learned, no regrets.

But then, as he neared the bar, the rational part of his brain advised him against it. Y/N was no child, she was aware of her actions and she knew what was best for her— so for Harry to act high and mighty would be wrong and uncalled for.

He needed to just be there for her. Drop the barrier and be there.

He was ready to offer that to her.

—

Y/N could swear her eyes were playing tricks on her. It wouldn’t be unrealistic, really, her vision had become blurry about an hour ago— but, well, she would probably recognize that silhouette anywhere. He wore jeans and a shirt and his hair was still styled for work; Andrew was pointing at her, and so his green eyes followed. When he spotted her, Y/N felt naked under his gaze.

And before she knew it, he was walking toward her.

“What are you doing here?” She demanded, lower lip jutted out in a pout. Y/N had gone drinking in the hopes of distracting herself— and yes, maybe it wasn’t exactly working, but it definitely wouldn’t start working if he was physically here.

“Andrew called me. Stand up, I’m taking you home.”

Andrew was somebody she‘d met a few hours ago. Originally he‘d flirted with her, asking questions about her as she sat at the bar willing to answer all of them soberly— but once eleven had struck, all she could talk about was Harry. Y/N wasn’t fond of airing dirty laundry so she‘d left the gory details of their fight out, but Andrew knew of a fight.

She was starting to regret it now that Harry was here.

Instead of doing as he’d asked— or ordered, more like, she leaned into the booth further.

“No.”

His eyebrow raised, “no?”

“I don’t leave or go out with dickheads. You taught me that.”

He looked ticked off and it satisfied something within her that had been needing it all night. When he breathed a sigh, eyes closing momentarily, she knew she had him.

“Y/N, would you please humor me and let me take you home? We can keep talking in the car, but not in front of these people.”

“What if I don’t want to go home, huh? Why are you always telling me what to do like you have the right? You’re not my dad.” Her words were slurred and her expression loose. Then she laughed to herself, giggled actually, ridiculously loud. “That’s funny, of course you’re not my dad cause he’s dead! Dead, six feet underground, you know? Probably lower, cause he definitely didn’t go to heaven! He’s, like, really deep underground.”

Concern warped his features.

“Y/N,” he warned, “please.”

She’d turned heads.

“But you know what you and my dad have in common? Yelling. Just yelling, for no fucking reason— yell yell yell, make it feel like my fault even though it isn’t. Right? That’s what my dad used to do to my mom, you know that? That’s why he’s in hell.”

She was pointing an accusatory finger at him, slurring even more than before.

“And you know what I said to her when she left him? That I would never let a man treat me that way. Never! Promised, hand on my heart and everything, I promised. But you’re different, aren’t you? Cause I like you, cause you’re not like my dad.” Her face fell again into the surfaces of her palms, “you’re not like my dad, but you reminded me of him. And I feel— feel like I’m betraying my mom.” Y/N hiccuped quietly, stumbling over a few words.

The gravity of her words were not lost on him— in fact, he’d never felt as guilty in his life.

“Hey,” he beckoned her to look at him, placing his tentative hand atop her arm, “we’ll talk about it. About everything. But not now. Not here.”

“You’re so confusing, you know that? One second you’re really nice to me and then— and then you aren’t.”

“Sweetheart,” he grasped her face as a last attempt to catch her undivided attention. Harry thumbed at her cheek and stared dutifully into her clouded eyes, “let me take care of you tonight. I’ll make it better.”

In all fairness, she’d lost the fight the second his eyes had met hers. There was something about them, maybe their deep shade of green or how effortlessly she could read them, that could probably persuade her into doing anything.

“Fine,” she mumbled after a minute, letting Harry wrap an arm around her waist as they walked. On their way out Y/N said goodbye to Andrew and stayed quiet otherwise, choosing to give Harry the silent treatment. Harry knew he couldn’t expect her to speak to him, so he didn’t force it.

As they drove, Harry couldn’t help glancing over every once in a while to study her expressions. There was barely a moment she wasn’t staring out the window watching cars drive by; even when his hand instinctively landed on her thigh she didn’t react, only moving it away slightly from his touch.

“Are you driving me to my apartment?”

And although both of them knew he’d really been directed toward his house, Harry still pretended to have chosen to take another route. “Course,” he muttered hoarsely, trying to mask his embarrassment with a quiet cough. Y/N sighed, her eyes pressing shut for a moment as she tried to let the guilt roll off of her back. He doesn’t deserve your sympathy.

“Where’s Jamie?”

He clicked his tongue. “Still at my mother’s.”

“Oh.”

The stubborn thing she was, Y/N refused Harry’s help getting out of the car. Instead she opened the door by herself, almost tripped when she jumped down from her seat and kept a distance anyway. Harry still watched, though, ready to help if needed.

Y/N unlocked the door (failing to find the keyhole several times) and kept it wide open for Harry to follow behind. The first thing she did was toe off her shoes followed by falling into bed.

“Y/N, have some water.”

“Stop telling me what to do,” she uttered, but accepted the glass of water anyway.

He ignored her. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m tired.”

“You can sleep as soon as you’ve changed and washed your face.”

She groaned, pulling a blanket over her head, “Harry…”

“Y/N.”

That stern mention of her name was enough to get her out of bed, limbs pretty much hanging loosely from her body as if she had no control over them— and honestly, it felt like she didn’t. Her eyes closed as Harry wiped a cool cloth over her face, ridding it of a light layer of makeup and sweat, everything that had accumulated at the bar. There were times she leaned into him, forehead falling to his shoulder and arms wrapping instinctively around his waist for support. She could swear that for a moment he’d pressed his lips to her forehead, but the daydream she was in barred her from really registering it.

“Why’d you go out drinking again?”

“Wanted to.”

“Told you not to do that. I meant it.”

“Well people keep hurting my feelings,” she mumbled, “and drinking your pain away is kind of a tradition in my family, so.”

Y/N had never really shared personal details about her family to Harry, but… well, the words were flowing right out of her mouth and the memories reincarnated newly in her head. She was referring to her mother, the former alcoholic in the family. Growing up her mother had drunk so much that she’d almost died from liver failure. As a small child Y/N had promised herself never to end up like her, but she was starting to understand more and more why her mother spent so many years drinking.

Harry‘s thoughts stayed internalized, but he made sure to make her feel heard. Rubbing over the top of her eyebrow, his breath hit her forehead as he spoke, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You didn’t deserve it.”

Her eyes peeked open, the previously warm towel no longer warm. Harry ran it under water again. “Deserve what?”

“Everything, especially the way I behaved earlier. I should’ve taken a moment to myself, instead I lashed out on you.”

It wasn’t until now that Y/N noticed the close proximity between her and Harry— obviously she knew he was cleaning her face for her, but it didn’t really click until now, she supposed. She could see everything, but it didn’t really matter; there was nothing about Harry, especially on him, that could deter her from thinking of him as the most beautiful man alive. Imperfections and all.

The towel met her neck this time, the other side held upright by his steady hand. She could feel his thumb tracing shapes on the surface of her skin and although she was trying very hard not to think of him in any inappropriate way, the image of his hand wrapped around her throat awakened something horrible within the confines of her intoxicated mind. It stayed there.

It was self destructive how often she spent thinking about him, really.

“You still there, baby?”

And he was so gentle— whenever he wasn’t yelling at her, of course— and soft, knowing the lines of what she could handle and what she couldn’t. No man had ever been this considerate and while it may just be his nature, it meant everything to Y/N. As the boundaries had begun to blur more and more, it became easier to misinterpret normal gestures for something more, something so much realer than it could ever be.

But he was calling her baby, and nobody had done that before.

“Yeah.”

“You were much more mouthy back in the bar,” he breathed out, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t wanna yell at me anymore?”

“No, I‘m not like you.”

“Ouch.”

Harry was humoring her and while it was really really nice; this whole thing, the gentle touches and the giggles shared in between a serious conversation, Y/N couldn’t let it get to her head.

“You were really mean to me and I didn’t do anything.”

His eyes searched for hers, but hers were stuck to his chest. “I know. I don’t know how to make it up to you, but I’ll spend a long time trying, I promise. You’re so sweet to me, so nice, I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. You know that, right?”

And although her heart was still furiously bleeding out, she was willing to ignore that for now. Throw bandages on and refuse a trip to the hospital because really she was just fine. There was just something about how he spoke to her that made it feel like she was floating— like she really was fine.

“Yeah.”

“Good, it’s very important to me that you do.”

Y/N’s eyes nearly glazed over when she thought about Harry being like this on the regular. It was a dangerous game they were playing.

“Look at me,” he breathed, beckoning her to do so with the grip he still had on her throat. Her eyes looked so innocent in this moment and although Harry knew Y/N was nothing if not tainted, she looked like she’d never been touched by the realities of life. “So pretty, you know that? So beautiful.”

She felt smaller in his gaze. “You think so?”

Y/N didn’t think anyone had said that to her ever. Nothing of the sort.

“I know so.”

“Thank you.”

“How about we go find you something comfortable to sleep in, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Y/N shook her head, willing to rid herself of this weird tension in her body before allowing Harry to lead her back into the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed as Harry retrieved some clothes and looked up at him expectantly when she could barely keep upright.

“You sure?”

“I physically can’t stand up, Harry.”

And though he looked torn, he ended up reaching for her sweater to pull it over her body, revealing the lacy bra she hid underneath. Y/N’s breasts had always been the biggest ones amongst her skinny friends and growing up she often felt ridiculed for it, though she supposed she could count on Harry not to judge. They were just there, so why pretend like they weren’t?

For Harry, taking off Y/N’s sweater was a completely different experience and although he didn’t wish to be a creep, he couldn’t help but letting out an awkward but knowing cough when he accidentally stared right down them. He hastily threw the shirt he’d brought her onto her torso, scared of what would happen if he were to delay it any longer. Harry prided himself on being a respectful man, but being with Y/N had always tested that quality of his.

“What?” She asked, a touch of feigned innocence to her tone, and he rushed to shake his head.

She knew what.

“Nothing.”

“M’kay.”

“Stand up for me?”

Y/N felt less amazing about her thighs, to be frank. She couldn’t really explain it, but they weren’t visually pleasing to her; cellulite littered the back of them and she obviously didn’t have a thigh gap, but that had become less of an issue. Y/N felt like her thighs had no real redeeming quality. It was a destructive way of thinking, she would admit, but… well, she’d carried that around since childhood.

As Harry pulled down her jeans, she felt void of anything. She didn’t exactly feel great, but better than when other guys had taken off her trousers. It was probably his age. She figured maturity increased as age did, and if Harry were to dislike the look of her body, he would be graceful about it.

“Hold onto my shoulders and lift your right leg.”

He got on his knees in front of her, pulling one leg in after the other. After doing so successfully, he allowed her to get under the covers.

“I’m still mad at you,” she mumbled into the covers, eyes fluttering to a close.

He hummed, “I know.”

“But thank you.”

“Don’t have to thank me for taking care of you.”

“Mhm,” she breathed, “it’ll be the last time, I promise.”

Sleep was pulling at her eyelids.

“Last time what?”

He received no answer. Upon a closer look, he saw Y/N completely overtaken by sleep. Her lips were situated in a pout and her foot peeked out of her thick comforter in the way he had already seen last time he’d brought her to bed.

He allowed himself more time to watch over her this time, scared that if he were to leave it would be the last he saw of her. The anxiety settled on his chest in heavy waves and the image of a precious Y/N was slipping further away from his mind. He had been a horrible person, allowing himself to become the type of man he’d always tried not to be… and he couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t let this be that with her. He couldn’t bare it.

Harry had always thought of himself to be tattooed with imperfections. As he stared down at Y/N’s sleeping body, he couldn’t help the guilt that wrapped around him like a torture blanket. To him, she was perfect. She was kind and beautiful, she carried her heart out on her sleeve and overcame her past to grow in spite of painful trauma.

What he didn’t know, though, was that she thought the same of him. She thought of him as the most capable person, strong and kind. Her heart yearned for him in ways no one could comprehend.

She thought of him as everything but instead of embracing it, he’d pushed her away… and now both of them had to suffer the consequences.

—

Harry had stayed the night, but he hadn‘t slept; he‘d spent the night lying on Y/N‘s uncomfortable couch with various thoughts swirling around in his head. At eight he‘d stood up, started preparing breakfast and wasted time looking through social media to distract himself from the girl sleeping in the next room.

Y/N slipped out thirty minutes later, surprised when she saw Harry moving through her kitchen as though he knew it like the back of his hand. She coughed, not knowing where to put her arms and folding them in instead.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he tried to smile, “I hope you’re hungry, I made you a bagel with eggs if that’s okay.”

“That’s… yeah,” she swallowed a lump in her throat, stepping close to the counter, “thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“My pleasure. You—“ he pointed at the side of her face, “you have something there.”

“Oh, I—“ Harry reached forward to swipe at it, wiping his finger clean on his trousers and stroking her cheek once for good measure. “Thanks. Probably toothpaste.”

“Probably.”

Silence decorated their next few seconds, awkward glances and uncomfortable tension felt down to the bones. Then Harry straightened up and breathed in, simultaneously Y/N opened her mouth.

“I—“

“Are you— oh, sorry.”

“No, you go on,” she urged, waving a dismissive hand at him.

Harry smiled, “are you okay?”

“Uh, yes. Yeah, I am actually. Bit of a headache but that‘s expected. Thanks for…picking me up, I guess. I didn‘t want to be a burden, but I kind of told Andrew about you and he got a hold of my phone…“

Harry’s eyebrows drew together, “no, I’m glad he called. You should always reach out to me when you’re in trouble.”

“Yeah, but last time didn’t go over very well, so…”

Harry cleared his throat. “Right, I’m sorry about that. I was out of line, but that doesn‘t mean I don‘t want you to call when you need help getting home. There’s nothing more important than your safety, Y/N.”

“Yeah, but…” Y/N shook her head, overwhelming thoughts swirling endlessly inside rendering her speechless. There wasn’t anything she could say to efficiently express these concerns to him— Y/N had always been bad at communication and the last thing she wanted was to poke the bear even more.

“No go on, tell me.”

“I just… I don’t know. I felt like shit after last time.”

“I know,” he breathed out lowly, “I know you did, and I’m sorry. I didn‘t mean it.”

“But clearly you did if you felt the need to say it. I mean, it doesn’t just come out of nowhere, those accusations. You felt them. And I was thinking about it all day yesterday and… you were probably right, we are too unprofessional.”

“No, sweetheart. I enjoy our dinner sessions and I appreciate that you feel comfortable to talk to me when something bothers you—“ It didn’t matter, though. There was nothing he could say to change her mind.

The words that left her mouth were mostly involuntary. They were a protective barrier, a reason to say no, back off and a clear indication that she had no capacity for this. And although it hurt somewhere deep within her chest to express them, to become a viscous reminder of last night, especially when Harry’s eyebrows drew together in deep regret, it needed to be said.

“Harry, I meant it when I quit last night.”

A reasonable response was lost on Harry. For a moment he needed to think, to gather his thoughts— not that there were very many. He had to admit, he’d hoped they would gloss over her drunken text and pretend as though it hadn’t been. He’d hoped that Y/N felt a small spark of embarrassment when she thought about it, that she looked back on it with regret. Alas, she didn’t.

“Oh.”

He pulled back, shoulders tensing when the gravity of her statement had pulled him down along with it.

“Yeah. I mean, I love working with Jamie, I do, but I—“ I’m scared that I’ll form an attachment I will never recover from. I’m scared of the proximity we share, of how sometimes you let your fingers brush over my thigh. I’m scared because I don’t know what you mean, scared because psychoanalyzing doesn’t work on you. Or maybe— maybe I’m scared of love. With you. Or with anyone. Maybe I’m not capable of being loved. And maybe I’m not even capable of loving and maybe— just maybe, this will be the end of me. And for what? For you to say that the affection you extend to me is customary? That I have a tainted perception of reality, of love? Because I know I do. I know I do, and yet hearing it from you would hurt much more. And so maybe… maybe in this case, finding out isn’t worth the hassle. You’ll probably find I’m not either.

There was so much to say and such little capacity to say it. All Y/N could think to do was sputter words she didn’t mean and hope he understood because the alternative was ridding herself of every. little string of dignity she still possessed and she simply couldn’t do that. She couldn’t allow herself to unfold in front of the only person who’s perception of her she wanted to nurture. No one had stayed. Even if he would come to leave, she wanted him to leave with a sound picture of her.

“But you…”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t… because of yesterday?”

“No. I mean, I guess that was a bit of an eye opener, but I—“ Y/N breathed in, “I think I’m getting too attached to you. You and Jamie.”

His eyes widened just a bit and he took a small step toward her. It was so small she hardly felt him entering her space. “I don’t mind that, Y/N, you don’t need to quit—“

“I do though,” she interrupted him, a stern undertone to her voice. She coughed and said again, “I mind.”

“I think you’re still angry about yesterday.”

She had to contain the urge to roll her eyes, “I’m not. This is separate from that.”

“So it’s the attachment that’s the problem?”

“Yes.”

Harry scoffed, “that’s ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with attachment.”

“It depends on what kind, doesn’t it?”

“Enlighten me then.”

Y/N’s mouth closed. She couldn’t do that.

So she deflected.

“Harry, my contract says that as long as I stay long enough to find a fitting replacement—“

“Fuck the contract, Y/N,” the volume of his voice almost caused Y/N to flinch into herself, “I know what my contract says. What I don’t know is why you’re giving up a job that you love, a job that pays you well, for reasons you can’t even explain to me.”

“Is my resignation not enough for you? Would hearing my reasoning really change anything if I will keep insisting on resigning no matter how often you’ll advise me against it? I doubt it matters. I doubt you would even so much as give a shit, Harry."

Y/N shook her head, tears building in the ducts of her eyes. Her father had been of great emotional abuse, her mother had spent half of her life drinking herself to liver failure and her brother had moved to Madrid as soon as he’d turned eighteen, leaving Y/N to fend for herself in a household that contained not one ounce of love— and yet this felt worse. This felt like her heart was being ripped from her chest, dropped on the floor beating and bleeding.

“You think I don’t give a shit? Really?” Y/N couldn’t help rolling her eyes, huffing when he tapped her on the wrist, muttering with a steady furrow in his brow, “don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“You know why I’m quitting and yet you want to hear it come out of my mouth. I’m not going to do it.”

“I don’t know.”

She almost laughed, “sure”

“Sweetheart—“

“Don’t call me that.” She gave him a sharp glance before heading back to her bedroom, arms falling to the sides of her timid frame. Harry stopped her just short of the door, a steady hand gripping around her wrist. She couldn’t help the gasp that left her mouth, built up tears finally streaming down in heaps— embarrassment brewed in her stomach and she couldn’t bare to look him in the eye anymore. Harry’s touch elicited a spark on her skin, blistering with uncomfortable heat. “What?”

“You’re being rude. I really think you should consider this.”

“There’s nothing to consider, okay?! I… I feel too much for you, there’s too— there’s too much, okay? There’s too fucking mu—“

What would transpire between them next was a kiss. Initiated by Harry.

It was barely a kiss, more of a brushing of the lips— tentative movements, gentle breaths. It was the minimum and yet it was more than enough. There was an electric feeling that dragged through Y/N’s entire body as she closed her eyes and let herself feel. Harry didn’t seem very much like a gentle lover— generous, without doubt, but Y/N had always pictured him as a pin-to-the-wall, bite-to-the-lip type of man and she quickly received confirmation when he began squeezing her hand as if feeling restrained.

Y/N hadn’t kissed many people; less than five, probably, but she could say with certainty that this was already better than all of the other ones combined. She knew why. She knew the reason was that she genuinely liked Harry, that he made her feel things she’d never felt before.

But then again, Harry was her boss. He was off limits, taboo. And he was absolutely out of his mind right now.

“Wait.”

His breath fanned against her chin. “You don’t want me to?”

“No I do, I just—“ she shook her head, thoughts in a disarray like they’d never been before.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

Her mouth opened but nothing came out, merely staggered breaths as she tried to regain the ability to think. The interruption came when Harry’s phone rang on the counter.

He groaned, took a glance at the screen and broke away when he saw his mother’s name flash as the caller ID.

“Yes?” He called into the speaker, frustration molding his features as he kept on listening. “Yes, okay, tell him I’m on my way. Give me twenty minutes… Love you too, bye.” When he turned to her, phone slipped into his back pocket, she could tell that he yearned to say more, that he yearned for her to say more. She knew he would halt his actions, leave time for her to get her words out before he left for whatever emergency he’d been called in for, that if she only said something he would consider putting her as a second priority after his son. She knew that he would make her feel important. But she said nothing. And nobody, not even the most patient person in the world could work with nothing. “Jamie’s asking for me. I need to go get him.”

She only nodded.

He sighed, running a tired hand down his face. “Alright. I need to go. I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

She stood at exactly the same spot as Harry slammed the door shut, unwavering.

Her heart was still pounding as the words she should’ve expressed minutes ago died on her lips.

—

Résumés had been sent to him, interviews were lined up, and Y/N had received no reply back. She hadn’t received anything, really, just a text on Thursday that he would arrange for another babysitter to come in for Jamie while he left for his late meeting, to which Y/N had typed a dry ‘ok’ and left it to sit in her inbox.

The week had started fresh and Y/N had finally left home again (only to her classes, but still). After days of not working, she was scheduled to pick up Jamie at two thirty and hoped for these last weeks to resume seamlessly. She’d gotten the car from the house, locked the door back up again and made the ten minute drive down— everything was fine.

Until now. Until Y/N set foot on preschool grounds and noticed another woman hugging her arms around Jamie’s shoulders. She seemed unfamiliar at first— glasses tipped back on her long blonde hair, a pencil skirt concealing her toned legs. Y/N had no idea who she was dealing with until she took a closer look and recognized this woman to be Stacie. Y/N had seen a picture of Stacie up in Harry’s study— she seemed to have changed a little, but the structural features she associated with her still remained intact through all these years (big blue eyes, defined cheekbones).

As soon as Jamie’s eyes set on Y/N, though, Stacie’s hands were torn away from his shoulders as he ran for her. She got on her knees, his familiar smile melting away all of the cold spots she’d developed in over a week of not seeing him.

“I miss you!” Jamie pulled away to plant a kiss right on the top of the apple of Y/N’s cheek, something he only started doing recently. She guessed he’d only really learned how to. “Daddy said you pick me up today.”

“I missed you too, buddy. I see somebody else came to see you?”

“Oh, Stacie. She wants to take me home but daddy said you pick me up.”

“Yeah, okay. Do you want to wait a second while I talk to her?”

Jamie nodded, moving to stand next to her (small hand clutched in hers, of course) while Y/N greeted Stacie. Well, greet was a bit of an exaggeration; she didn’t get to before Stacie decided to introduce herself first.

“I’m his mom, I called Harry in the morning telling him I’d come for pick up. I have a packed schedule, so I’d appreciate it if you could let go of my child.”

Y/N almost laughed, the audacity of this woman a damn near mystery to her. “Wait. Don't talk about him like some sort of property. Harry never told me about anyone else coming to pick up Jamie.”

“He must’ve forgotten. He’s a busy man, I’m sure he would confirm—“

“Well then let’s call him, shall we?”

Stacie wanted to interject, she could tell, but Y/N had dialed way too fast for that to happen. The phone only had to ring once before Harry picked up, his voice coming in clear.

“Hey, you‘ve got Jamie?”

“I’m here at preschool but Stacie showed up before me and wants to take him home. You didn’t tell me, so I…” she trailed off, hoping he’d fill in the blanks.

It seemed to take a minute to click. “Stacie? His mother showed up at school?”

“Yes, was this arranged beforehand or…”

“No. No, don’t let her take him home. Shit, we talked about this last week, I don’t—“

“You… you talked about this last week?” The confusion dripped from Y/N’s voice and all she could hear was Harry’s attempt at concealing profanities. “What did you talk about last week?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just get home, tell her to call me to clear this up. I don’t want Jamie knowing Stacie is his mother yet, okay? So just get out of there before she tells him herself.”

A frown settled over Y/N’s features before she continued to end the call, scoop Jamie up into her arms and walk away after quick word. Stacie protested, but both her and Y/N knew she wouldn’t do much more than that in fear of causing a scene.

Y/N failed to pay attention to Jamie as she fastened the belt on his seat, only registering when she looked back into the rearview mirror and noticed the little pout starting to pull at his small lips.

And when he finally asked her, little quips of fear polishing his quiet tone: “is Stacie my mum?”, all Y/N could do was pretend she hadn’t heard and hope he would forget, knowing he wouldn’t.

—

Y/N bombarded Harry with questions the second he‘d unlocked that front door.

“Y/N—“

“No, I’m entitled to know this time. I’m entitled to know when she ambushes us at preschool. Don’t you want me to know what I’m dealing with if it happens again? That woman almost fucking kidnapped him—“

“Calm down, Y/N. Sit down and I’ll explain it to you.”

She huffed in annoyance, listening nonetheless. She set herself down on one of the kitchen stools and tried to take control of her breathing. She watched as he took a seat opposite her.

“Stacie came to visit last week on Wednesday. She’d called beforehand, asking if it would be okay. She came and we had dinner, we talked some things out while Jamie was in bed. She apologized, asked if we could start working things out again. I agreed under the condition that she would approach the idea of Jamie as a friend first. She said that she would respect my wishes and that she wouldn’t come near him unless I gave my permission. That’s it. So far all Jamie knows is that she’s a friend of mine. I didn’t—god,” Y/N felt bad when Harry buried his head in his hands, itching to reach out in comfort. She chose to play it safe, settling a gentle touch over his thigh. “I know I should’ve known but it seemed real when we spoke last, you know? I didn’t think she’d do this.”

Y/N hadn’t seen Harry this distraught over anything. “I’m sorry. That’s heavy.”

“It’s—“ he sighed, “it’s something I keep having to deal with. All she wants is to have him on the weekends, have him pose as her cute son. But she doesn’t actually care about him.”

Y/N couldn’t do much more than nod. She was caught between playing the comforting role and being honest. She wasn’t sure if this was the place, if her opinion would be welcomed or if it would contribute to Harry’s sorrows. “She seemed… uncooperative when I spoke to her at school. Like she was in a rush or something, it scared me.”

“Yeah, she’s hardheaded.”

“Right.” Y/N pulled her hand away when Harry lifted his head, clearing her throat and averting her eyes. The change in her behavior didn’t go unnoticed, though he knew he shouldn’t ask. “So when you talked… when you agreed to working things out, you meant that in a friendly manner? Or were you going to be… a couple again?”

“We… I don’t know. We kissed— well, she kissed me a few days ago when we met up again for a playdate with Jamie. Never discussed it any further.”

“Do you love her?”

Y/N had begun to hold her breath in, but she didn’t notice it.

Harry did. He noticed the suction of a deep breath and he noticed how his own hands got clammy with sweat.

Harry looked skeptical, as though there was something on his tongue ready to peek out tentatively, only it couldn’t because he had to spare her feelings. Because there was little Y/N, intimidated by everything she’d ever had to face in her lifetime— little Y/N who had rejected him and still expected loyalty. Little Y/N who couldn’t have him, but had always wanted to.

“I think a part of me will always love her. I mean, she gave me Jamie and he’s… the best thing to ever happen to me, really. I love him, and I will always love her for giving birth to him. I will always love her for the good parts of our relationship.”

Y/N hated herself for hating his answer. It was a perfectly reasonable answer, truthful as Y/N expected, yet her mind wandered past the barriers, past the barbed wire. She couldn’t fully grasp how he could still love her— and yet she understood perfectly. There was Jamie, of course, but there were many other things. There was her hair, her bright complexion, the beautiful curve of her hips and the effortless look of her makeup. There was the fashion, the business-casual look that seemed to mesh so well with Harry’s. There was this calling when Y/N pictured the two of them standing side by side, almost like they were destined to be together. She could imagine it perfectly, the many years they had spent together. She could see it. And it looked perfect.

Y/N coughed, head nodding along to his words as if she were listening to instructions and not some heartfelt confession. It seemed instinctual, though.

When it came time for her to speak, she let a smile mold her lips into a perfect crescent moon. She never thought faking a smile could hurt more than a physical injury, but she’d been proven wrong. Everything looked intact— Y/N was sure she almost seemed unaffected from the outside. She wasn’t, though, and she wondered if Harry would recognize that.

“That’s… yeah. I get that.”

This was the first time Y/N actually felt the age gap between her and Harry. He sat here, ready to air it out. He spoke about his concerns, about the state of his son, and the only thing she could fret about was herself. Her sadness had no weight, it was too insignificant in comparison to his and it made her feel pathetic. It made her feel young and stupid and pathetic.

Harry deserved better than this. He deserved careful consideration, security for his child. He deserved trust and honesty, a sort of transparency Y/N couldn’t afford to offer to him yet.

“That’s not to say that I want to approach her in that way, especially after today, but…” he trailed off, only finding his words when it’d clicked that she wasn’t responding, “I just want you to understand that it’s complicated.”

Y/N nodded. Then she cleared her throat, ready to rid herself of this spotlight. She always messed up in the spotlight. “Um, Jamie asked me if Stacie was his mum today. I didn’t answer, but you might want to think about what you’ll say to say to him next time. I also sent you a few résumés, I’ve talked to a few people and have set up interviews, the first one is scheduled for tomorrow—“ she visibly flinched when his hand came down on her thigh, “please, Harry. I can’t. Please just let me finish this.”

“Okay.”

A deep breath, “it’s scheduled for tomorrow after you come home from work. Do you want me to come on the call, or are you okay interviewing yourself?”

“I’d like you to come.”

“Okay. I’ll stay longer tomorrow.”

“Can we talk about us now? Properly?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Harry almost laughed, “there’s a lot to talk about. We just added on a good bit today.”

“I’m quitting. That’s it.”

“You know, I don’t understand why you insist that there’s nothing going on—“

“Because there isn’t,” she snapped. “There isn’t. I’m going to check up on Jamie.”

She was teary-eyed as she slipped from the stool, ready to conceal it all for the ball of sunshine sitting in the living room. She could do it all for Jamie— she would do it all.

Before he could say any more, Y/N disappeared behind the door. Harry could hear the two of them converse in the next room and his heart felt heavy as the gravity of the situation dawned on him. Harry had always known what to do— he was a CEO, for god’s sake. He was trained to find solutions, take control of seemingly unfixable problems, to make life easy. And yet, this girl thoroughly baffled him. He had no idea what the fuck to do anymore.

And yet, he was determined to keep trying.

—

Two people had interviewed over zoom and Harry had hated every one of them. His excuses were vague, something about the lack of experience (even though they both knew that Y/N hadn’t had any when she’d started either) and the supposed ‘wrong vibe’. One time he’d criticized a woman for her ‘ridiculously shrill voice’, at which point Y/N had rolled her eyes and proceeded to walk home in a fury.

The next day Y/N showed up again, ready to interview three more people. She sat beside Harry as he set up the video call and listened as he asked questions. Y/N was mostly in attendance to listen and give her honest feedback by the end (she really did want to find someone spectacular for Jamie), so the difficult part came later. For now she could be quiet.

This woman, aside from qualified, seemed very kind. So far, it’d been the best candidate.

“So how flexible is time for you?”

“Very. I do online classes for uni, so I can very well manage my time how I see fit.”

“That sounds fine. And you’ve had plenty of experience, I see.”

“Yes, I started babysitting when I was fourteen, so for more than ten years now. The last family I worked for just moved out of the country, which is why I’m looking for something new, but I was with them three years.”

This woman had nothing but good evidence she would be the best for the job; no doubt better than Y/N. She had the experience, she seemed mature, she looked kind— she would act in a professional manner, something Y/N had never quite figured out yet.

That didn’t matter to Harry, though, because as soon as she’d gotten off the call, he muttered a ‘no’.

“Why not?” Y/N asked, bewildered by his blunt response, “she was literally perfect for the job.”

Harry lifted his shoulders in a shrug, busying himself with his laptop, “just didn’t feel right.”

“Okay, this is just getting too unreasonable at this point. You didn’t like the lack of experience, fine, that one woman’s shrill voice, fine— but this? She just didn’t feel right?”

“I don’t expect you to understand—“

“No. We’re not doing that.”

“It’s a feeling, Y/N. When I interviewed you, I got the feeling that it’s right, that I’d feel safe leaving Jamie with you. It takes trust.”

“But she’s— she’s so qualified, she—“

“Experience isn’t everything. It’s important, but not everything. You weren’t experienced when you came for your interview but you gave me the right feeling. Thus you were qualified for the job.”

And she understood, really, but it still fucking pissed her off. “That’s fucking— you’re being too picky.”

“For good reason.”

“At least two of the people we interviewed were qualified enough for a test run.”

“We still have about fifteen to go and there’s no rush.”

Y/N found this ridiculous. She muttered under her breath, pushing some hair back with a sweaty palm.

“Why is it that everything I do makes you angry?”

“Because you’re fucking infuriating.”

He breathed a chuckle, “that’s nice,” and closed his laptop. “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’ll make your favorite pasta.”

“I don’t—“ but Harry had already gotten to work, tuning her voice out without much trouble. He smiled at her, almost mocking.

“Do you have another job lined up?“

“Uh,” Y/N didn’t want to admit no, that she hadn’t even begun looking properly (save for that one café down the street from her apartment), knowing the consequences and aware of the tiring reprimanding from Harry ahead. A pitied glance. A pathetic speech. “I’ve applied.”

“Where?”

“A cafe.”

“Where?”

“You wouldn’t know it.”

“Are you hired?”

She huffed, “no.”

“Where else?”

“Um, a… another café. It’s in... near my apartment.”

“Would be bad if it wasn’t,” he quipped, paying her a shortened glance from over his cooking pot. “Do you need help?”

“No.”

“Financial help, maybe?”

Y/N groaned, “no.”

“Because I wouldn’t mind sending you some money—“

“Harry,” she cut him off in an instant, glaring daggers at him, “I’ll just send it back. I’ve saved up enough to get by for a few weeks.“

“That doesn’t exactly ease my—“

“Can we just— can we not?”

And they didn’t. Harry closed his mouth— forced it closed, actually— having to clench his jaw to stop himself from voicing unwanted thoughts. Y/N looked away, pretending this conversation hadn’t happened at all. It was easier that way, to pretend he hadn’t conveyed such an open and honest display of care, to pretend that it hadn’t ripped her heart to shreds.

There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn't. It was the first time in a while that Y/N stayed (somewhat voluntarily) after her shift, and he couldn't risk pushing her away further.

For now, he had to be okay with this.

—

Y/N couldn‘t keep her eyes off of Harry, images of last night flashing in between conflicting thoughts.

She was in bed. She was clutching her blanket, a wet spot and the outline of her body marked by sweat on the sheets. He‘d looked so real fucking her, he‘d sounded so genuine whispering into her ear as he thrust up into her cunt.

He‘d called her a good girl, and she‘d run with it, afraid to look back.

But it hadn‘t been real, had it?

It‘d been a dream. But god, was it a good one.

Would he do it all the same? Would be hold her close, spreading his fingers over the expanse of her breast as he kissed her neck? Would he glide them up, and wrap them around her throat? Would he— fuck. No. She couldn’t.

But he would. And they‘d look so pretty resting there. And she‘d feel so pretty as he overwhelmed her with his presence, his chest pressing against hers. He‘d look so right as he danced along the fine line of praise and degradation— the line of rough and sweet, cold and warm. Because he would know. He would know exactly what she would need.

Wouldn‘t he?

He would. As she watched him move through the space of his living room, she knew he would. She‘d always known, really.

And Jamie wasn’t here anymore, he’d fled up the stairs. And Y/N really, really shouldn’t be here with him alone.

She was biting on her nails, eyes cast downwards in avoidance as Harry read his book on the other end of the couch. He had an arm stretched along the back of the couch and her legs were tucked to her chest as she scrolled on her phone, trying her hardest not to let her gaze run wild. It proved especially difficult when his arm fell mere inches from her legs. And when he touched her, warm thumb rubbing comforting circles into the cold of her skin, she couldn’t help biting her lip.

“You okay?”

“Hm? Yes. Why?”

A smile stretched his mouth wide, “just seem distracted, is all. Squirmy.”

“What? No, I’m fine.”

God, she was feeling small under his gaze.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” she mumbled. Harry saw her eyes, though, tired dark circles resting where they don’t belong. He saw how they widened, how desperate they seemed for something she didn’t want to disclose to him and he wanted so badly to satisfy that need for her. “I should go home.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly. “Would you like me to drive you?”

“Um, no. It’s okay. Thank you.”

But she failed to move.

Y/N had shut him out for so long that the effect he’d always had on her multiplied by ten. It was much much worse and the finger on her leg burned through her skin with ease.

“Sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Come here,” he demanded softly, watching as a war unfolded on her face. He could read her like a book, sensing the exact moment her heart won and her head gave up. He pulled her to him, fingers dancing up and down her shoulder. “You seem tired.”

Y/N cleared her throat, tips of fingers holding onto the edge of safety and threatening to let her cascade into the depths of danger. “I had three classes in the morning and I’ve been writing this paper, so—“ she allowed him control as he made her face the other way, legs outstretched, her back just inches from his chest and his hands massaging her tense shoulders. Her eyes closed in pleasure at the sensation. “And last night, I—“

“Last night you what?”

“I had… I had this dream and—“

She didn’t want to finish and he didn’t need her to.

“Is this okay?”

His voice felt soft and comfortable against her neck. “Yes, thank you. You’re good at that.”

He hummed.

“I really should go home though,” she mumbled, getting quieter with each word. She knew she wouldn’t dare push him away now, but she supposed it was more about convincing herself that she’d tried. “Cause I have classes early in the morning.”

“It’s only seven.”

“Yeah.”

Harry snickered quietly, her awful try at resistance not surprising him in the least. He had never seen her quite like this though, weak and smitten in his arms, on the verge of purring like a cat. He definitely couldn’t complain when she inched closer and dropped her head so it could rest comfortably on his shoulder.

“Can you do my arms?”

“Of course, baby.”

She could’ve melted. In fact, she probably had without noticing.

And when she felt his lips pressing to her skin… well, then it was game over.

“Is this okay?”

She nodded promptly, heart racing.

Y/N was tired of rejecting this feeling, tired of pretending as though she didn’t want Harry’s affection. Because truly, it was all she wanted, all she’d longed for.

A love like his would feel so great.

“You look really beautiful, you know that?”

“Thank you,” she squeaked, sensing Harry’s chuckle rolling against her back at the response.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

“Me neither.”

“You’re the one who keeps running.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

Y/N took her time answering, grateful when Harry didn’t rush her. He would sit here waiting for an hour if he needed to, she was confident in that. There was no hurry, just soft hands on scalps and warm kisses on necks— Y/N hadn’t experienced such an overwhelming feeling of comfort in the arms of a man.

“I’m scared to stay.”

He sounded unfazed, giving her a surge of confidence when he asked, “why?”

“Because we’re such different people. You’re a dad, a very accomplished ceo. I’m a student, so much younger—“

“Don’t make me out to be so old, love.”

Her eyes rolled. “A little younger than you. And last week when I saw Stacie, I don’t know… it did something with my brain, I guess. You seemed so right together, you know? I didn’t want you to wake up one day and regret anything, don’t think I could bear that.”

“Look at me,” he muttered, tilting her head so that he could pin her down with a stern stare, “I couldn’t regret you, sweetheart. I regret much in life, but I wouldn’t regret you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Eh, I’m a pretty good judge of character.”

“Harry,” she warned, “I’m not the most lovable person once you get to know me.”

“I doubt that,” he retorted.

“Past experiences have proven as much.”

He gave gentle strokes to her cheek, a glaze he didn‘t expect overcoming her eyes, pulling him in, “so let me show you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, his nose mere inches away from hers. “Show me what?”

“How easy it is to love you.”

Time stood still, but it couldn’t not have with a statement of that kind. It seemed so easy for him to brush off concerns as something undeserving of thought, to create an allusion of simplicity where it didn‘t belong. Those words meant everything to her.

“You must know how wonderful that sounds coming from your mouth.”

Harry breathed a chuckle, nose nudging against hers softly. When he asked for permission, Y/N couldn’t deny him of another kiss.

And if it could’ve gotten any better than their first kiss, then it definitely had. There was a newfound sense of freedom and security with this kiss, unspoken thoughts reduced to small details rather than what had been when they’d spent time together last.

When they parted, nothing needed to be said. They already knew it all.

—

A month later.

“Y/N, will you hand me another bowl for the soup, please?”

As Y/N fulfilled Harry’s plea, she couldn’t help but let her giddiness dictate her movements. Things were fresh, things were good— but they were also scary. He was scary. Anxious butterflies spread in her lower tummy at the mention of his name and infested it with the low sound of his voice.

She waited by his side as he tidied up, ready to be of assistance. It was pathetic, really, how awfully smitten she’d become for him.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

She hummed in reply, scared that if she were to speak all that would come out was a squeak. Harry chuckled, smirk molding into his cheekbones as he grasped Y/N by the waist and pushed his lips against hers in a gentle kiss. His hand slid lower, giving her a squeeze.

“Are you nervous?”

“Yeah.”

“It’ll be great, I promise. And whatever he says, we’ll work it out.”

“Okay,” a surge of confidence rode her to sunny dry shores, shoulders sacking in comfort, “yeah, okay. I trust you.”

“You ready then?”

“Yes.”

Things proceeded as they always had; Y/N and Jamie shared funny anecdotes of their day as Harry mostly listened, admiring the two of them with love filling his eyes. It wasn’t until desert had come that the setting changed, unbeknownst to Jamie, and Harry took the lead.

“Jamie, we want to talk to you about something.”

Jamie stared between the two of them, waiting.

“Do you remember when you came home from school and told me about Katie and Josh? That they’re boyfriend girlfriend?”

“Yes, they still are.”

Harry chuckled, “and do you remember what I said when you asked if I had a girlfriend?”

“You said that you don’t.”

“I did. And while that may have been true for that moment, things have changed.”

Her heart melted and sank all the same when his little green eyes lit up, “do you have a girlfriend now?”

“I do,” Harry laughed, “you know her.”

“Who?”

Harry smirked, motioning to Y/N with a nod of his head to draw Jamie’s attention away. Jamie’s gaze landed on Y/N and in the matter of a second it filled with excitement. His mouth dropped open in surprise.

“Are you okay with that?” She asked, timid at first but becoming more confident when a genuine smile imprinted small dimples in his cheeks, a feature he’d been lucky enough to receive from his father.

He nodded, full of movement, and hummed in confirmation.

When Y/N and Harry had put Jamie into bed later that night, and had vacated to the kitchen to enjoy a glass of wine together, things finally fell into place. The thought of happiness within a relationship was no longer a distant one— no, it had become a reality. Harry had kept up with his promise, he had shown her easy, he’d shown her effortless, and while there was no doubt in her mind that hard times were still to come, she was confident that no matter the circumstance, her gratitude for his open portrayal of love could never be put into question.

“I love you,” she shared, eyes glassy, head tilted. “You don’t have to say it back, but I just want you to know. I think I’ve loved you for quite some time, I just didn’t want to realize it.”

The silence was short lived.

He placed his glass back down on the table and smiled, though to her it almost looked awkward. “Wow.”

“I know, you don’t have to… cause I know it’s a big deal, so you don’t have to say anything.”

“I do too,” he then offered, hand traveling to rest on her knee. “I love you.”

“Really?”

“I do.”

This stumped her.

And now it was her turn: “wow.”

Harry’s laughter spread everywhere on Y/N’s skin, engraving itself into her soul and staying there to be kept and remembered forever.

“Good. Now that that’s cleared…”

She couldn’t deny him of a passionate make-out session, hands on thighs and lips everywhere they fit, everywhere they felt right. A moan slipped from her mouth, his smirk molded into her hot skin.

“Move in with me,” he muttered, dirty against her mouth, “we’re finding a new nanny for Jamie and you don’t have a new job planned yet. Just focus on university, move in with me, with us. Let me take care of you.“

“Harry—“ his mouth collided against her neck, her eyes closed shut, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

“We’ve only been together—“

“Doesn’t matter, I’ve fought for a long time to have you. I believe in us, I trust this.”

“I…“ Y/N felt torn— on one hand, she really wanted to move in with him. On the other, was that really wise? To move in with a man after a month of dating him? Albeit this was Harry, and she trusted him too. Fully. It was herself she didn’t trust. “Are you sure?”

And when she looked into his eyes, there was no not one ounce of doubt in them. They welcomed her.

“Jamie would love it just as much as me.”

“Would he?”

“Are you kidding me? He loves you so much.”

“I love him too,” she played with a strand of his hair.

“Then move in with us.”

A smile began to pull at her lips. “But I pay for groceries.”

“No,” he mumbled, “you’re too broke for me to let you do that.”

“Harry!”

“It’s true!” He laughed, massaging her thigh. “Baby, I don’t expect you to pay for anything living here. I’m more than capable—“

“I know you’re capable, but I just… I was taught not to burden other people.”

“You’re not burdening me,” he insisted, finger sliding under her chin, “it’s okay to let other people do things for you. It’s okay for others to show their love.”

“I know that.”

“So please don’t worry about it. Focus on your studies and make me proud in that way.”

“I need to make money somehow.”

“No you don’t. I’ll support you.”

“No,” she breathed right away, “I won’t depend on you for money. You’re not my… my sugar daddy.”

“Why not?” He grinned, “you call me daddy either way—“

Y/N’s eyes rolled, “shut up.”

“Told you not to roll your eyes at me.”

“Sorry.”

Harry hummed, “try it for a month. If you want to move in after, you can. If you don’t, I’ll help you find a new place. Or I’ll pay your rent while you’re here so you don’t lose out on money.”

Comfortable silence dictated the next few seconds as Y/N thought about her boyfriend’s offer, and then: “fine. We’ll try it for a month.”

Harry’s smile widened, “yeah?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t regret it."

He'd been right.

The end! Would love to hear your feedback :) but also like… don’t be too harsh cause I can’t handle it

tags:

@tpwk-mia @gem1712 @behindmygreyeyes, @sinarainbows @infixinfinity @adkmermaid2399 @daphnesutton @imaginexxharry @bry211 @haliastyles @watarmelon212 @impossibleme @cali-888 @dreamybabbyy @evie-119 @cumuluscranium @c-a-b3002 @buckybarnessimpp @freckles-things @harryedwardstylesluva24 @ihavesimpedovermanyfictionalmen @angelbunny222 @ivegotthecinema @harryscowgirl

I hope I didn’t forget anyone!

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hidden-poet · 1 day

Text

Commander Snow; 8

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns, explicit, violence, death.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

The door was fixed with great haste. Before you knew it, you were back in the apartment playing housewife again. Coriolanus’s distrust of you grew to a new level. He no longer trusted you to remain home by yourself. Edmund was still not found, and Coriolanus was certain he would reappear and take you away.

You now worked with him, slept with him, and ate every meal with him. The fence line seemed like an impossible goal with him being so suffocating. You were pretty sure the broken chain was not found. He would have said something, would have taunted you with how close your freedom was. It meant you had something up your sleeve against him.

But you had no way of getting to it. You had tried to disappear during his work hours, when he was most distracted, but the only time you seemed to be out of his sight was when you showered. If there had been a window in the bathroom, you were sure that he would have been in there too.

You tried your best to soften him with affection. When you had the chance, you baked him the oatmeal cookies he loves. He ate whole plates in one sitting.

But as his work increased, your work decreased. Long days spent at his office were hard to fill. He sat behind his desk and never seemed to stop working. Sometimes there was mending you could do, or shoes to shine but most of the day you sat on the couch reading what was on hand.

You had taken to organizing the books in alphabetical order, then grouped them according to color. You worked quietly and slowly. Careful not to make any noise to disturb Coriolanus from his work. You had taken them down again just moments ago to reorganize them by subject when Coriolanus' assistant came in carrying a tea tray and a large parcel.

She drops the parcel down on the table in front of you, amongst the books. You look over it to see your name neatly scribbled on the recipient's information.

The receptionist doesn’t look at you as she puts the tea tray in front of Coriolanus.

He thanks her but her response is drowned out to your ears by the opening of the box.

“Is it from Tigris?”

You wait until the receptionist shuts the door behind her to respond.

You confirmed it was, as you pulled a soft silk nightdress from the box. It was light pink which was uncommon for the districts. Dark pink lace trimming boarded along the bottom and top of the dress. You run your finger across it. It was the most expensive material you had ever felt.

Another dress was folded in the box and you take it out.

It was light blue with yellow birds flying across it, made of a soft cotton material that would fall around your ankles.

“You like them?” he asks.

“They are beautiful,” you admit.

You look in the box for more to see a small pouch filled with sweets from the Capitol.

Tigris was too kind. If things had been different, you would have been a good friend to her. But as her cousin's captive, you were now sworn enemies. The box of treats didn’t change that.

You return the items to the box and see parchment paper protecting soft material at the bottom.

“There's a shirt for you.” It was a long white dress shirt with gold stitching running in horizontal lines down it.

He comes from his desk to collect it. Taking it gently from your hands, he brings it up to his nose and inhales the scent.

“You really miss home,” you comment, watching him breathe in the scent the shirt carried.

“I do. More than anything.” He returns to his desk with it still in his hands.

“You’ll be home soon.”

“We’ll be home soon”.

You smile thinly at him. “That’s what I said.”

“You should see the Capitol. Clothing, culture. Actual buildings, not these pieces of tin. You’ll be able to breathe much better in the Capitol.”

The scratching of his pen picked up where his sentence had been incomplete as he began his work again. The shirt lay across his lap.

“I have the day off tomorrow,” he said without stopping his work, “I was thinking we could visit the waterfall again. It will probably be the last time before Ravinstill dies.”

The thought made your stomach drop. If you don’t make it beyond the fence, it would in fact be the last time you ever saw your favorite place. The time was better spent within the compound waiting for an opportunity. He would never let you get too far in the district.

“I’d prefer not to.”

“Why?” he questions with a hard tone. He continued to write but the pen pressed firmly into the paper.

“I am behind on my chores, and I haven’t made anything in a while. The food in the fridge will go bad if I don’t get to it soon.”

“Let it. The Capitol is full of food.”

You realize now that Coriolanus had already made up his mind to do the activity. You wondered why he chose it. He hated the heat and the bugs.

You walk over to the tray of hot tea and pour out a cup, making it to his liking and placing it down in front of him.

“We’ll go if you want to.”

“Why don’t you want to go?”

“Why do you want to? The walk up there will take us nearly the whole morning in the hot sun.”

“I thought it might make you happy.”

He was trying to win your approval before he ripped everything you had ever known from your finger tips. It was something to use against him. Coriolanus responded best when he was in a position to be a hero. He would do anything so long as he felt he was the only one who could do it for you.

You lean down and wrap your arms around his shoulders, resting your face against his neck.

“You know what would make me happy? Some vanilla extract so I can send Tigris some shortbread cookies back”.

He responds positively by wrapping his hands around your forearms. He liked you looking out for Tigris.

“She’s been asking to meet you.” He says, his hand gently wrapping your arm around his shoulders. “I have a call with them next Friday afternoon. Maybe you’d like to come with.”

You retract your hold now that he was in a better mood.

There was only one answer you could give him when it came to his family.

“I’d love to”.

You had a deep hate for Capitol people but Tigris seems different. In any case, you were sure you could remain civil for an hour-long phone call.

Pouring yourself a cup of tea, you return to your spot with it and Coriolanus returns to his work.

———-

You stood out in the sun with Coriolanus as he discussed the new recruits' performance with another high-ranking officer. They were splitting them up into areas of work. The strong and fast became foot soldiers, the slow were put on kitchen duty, and the ones who showed a inclination to aggression were watchmen. He spared a couple to the infantry to learn basic medic care and help around the hospital. You couldn't work out what sent those recruits apart. It seemed random but you knew nothing Coriolanus did was without great care and strategy.

All the men seemed equally angry and you wondered if Coriolanus was the same when he was a Peacekeeper.

The sun felt nice upon your skin after so long. It was late afternoon and it had just begun to set, leaving behind a nice cool breeze.

You thought about your mother and Edmund. Were they enjoying the sun too?

The sound of a vehicle approaching ruined the moment of reflection. Coriolanus took your hand in his as soon as the tires upon the gravel could be heard as if you were to be run over if he didn’t.

It surprisingly stopped in front of where you stood. A transport car with no doors and a large trunk carried two men. A younger man wearing a District 12 peacekeeper uniform and an older man who wore a Commander uniform set apart by its light purplish color.

“Commander.” The older man greets as he swings out of the car.

“Vongurt.” Coriolanus uses his spare hand to offer a handshake which is strongly and fervently taken.

Another Commander had come to see Coriolanus. You doubted he was any better than the last.

“This is my wife, Y/N.” With his hand, he leads you in front of him to show you off to the Commander.

You were stiff with shock as the man's disapprovingly raked his eyes over you. He too felt jarred at the label of wife. District women weren’t wives. They were barely considered human.

But he smiles nonetheless, something you couldn’t return.

“Pleasure.” With a kiss placed upon your hand, the Commander's attention was turned back to Coriolanus.

“Your compound is impressive, Commander Snow. It has to be the largest I’ve seen.”

Coriolanus seemed unimpressed by the comment. He turns back to the Peacekeepers watching them as they leap, and fight.

“A palace of scrap metal.”

He waves over a tall man in a high-ranking uniform, who quickly makes his way over from across the field.

“Your apartment is only slightly better. Sergeant AJ will take you there.”

“I was hoping that we could talk. I’ve come all this way from District 2.”

“Later, Commander. The conference room at 7. You’ll have my undivided attention there.”

The man nods back and follows his guide back into the car.

Coriolanus makes a comment to his officer about a recruit and the man jotted down all of his thoughts.

You wanted to get away. Break free from his hold and bolt to the fence line. His delusions had reached a new height, with him now openly telling lies to men with power.

Your body moves to your thoughts. You hadn’t even realized you were twisting your hand away from him until he tightened his hold.

He turns to you, asking if you are ok.

“I need to go home” you respond. Home to my mother. Back home to normalcy.

“Take whoever we missed today and regroup them tomorrow morning” he directs the man next to him. A whistle is blown and the recruits stop their training, instead they congregate in front of you.

Coriolanus turns as his officer begins to dish out instructions, taking you back to the apartment.

“The heat can get to you,” he says.

You had lived in District 12 all your life if anyone was to know about the heat it was you. But you verbally agree and apologize for taking him away from his work.

He hushes you and it ends the conversation for the walk home.

He lets you go as you enter your prison, and you take off without him to the bedroom.

You hear his voice wafting down the hallway telling you to lie down. You shove your boots off and get into bed. Every day your window closes. It won’t be long before either the broken fence is found or you are carted off on the train.

But he had called you his wife. Not just to anyone but a Capitol Commander. Even if you got away, the idea that he would leave you here for the presidency is just a fantasy.

How long would you need to live in hiding before he forgot you? Could you bear the costs of it for as long as needed? What work could you do in the mountains to support yourself and your mother?

Wife. Why did he have to say wife? You weren’t that. You were his captive, a victim of his need to be cared for.

Coriolanus enters the room with a wet, cold rag and runs it over your forehead. A victim of his need to pretend he was capable of caring for something.

He sits on the bed beside you running the cloth over your forehead and into your hair.

“Do you feel alright?” he asks as you take the cloth off him.

“I am fine. Just a little lightheaded.” You throw the cloth on the bed stand and he takes it as a signal to get up.

“I’ll get you some water.”

He disappears and you're thankful for the space to think. Could you tell him you just need a walk around the compound by yourself to think? No, he would take it as an insult.

You had to get out. The fence was so close.

You don’t notice him as he sits back down beside you. Only the glass to your lips made you see him.

“I won’t go to the meeting with Vongurt if you are unwell.”

You sit up straighter at his words, pushing the glass away from you.

“No!” you say harshly, “No, you should go. I am fine.”

“You don’t look well.” You were sure you looked terrible after you had the shock of your life.

“But I feel fine. Just too much sun.”

He looked annoyed that you were arguing with him so you switched tactics.

“We need his support to get back to the Capitol. Maybe you could just leave the door open for some fresh air?”

You had pushed too hard, and he got up

“If I am not here, the door is shut.”

“Of course,” you breathe with a soft smile at him, “I’ll be fine by the time you have to leave.”

Coriolanus hovered around you for the next hour and a half before he had to start getting ready for his meeting. He took a shower to wash the sweat off him from the day and changed into his official outfit. It fit snugly, his broad shoulders carried the uniform well.

He attached the dressings of his uniform as you watched him from the bed.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go tonight. What if you feel unwell while I am away?” His fingers were still on the badge he was trying to put on.

“I am fine,” you assure him, “I feel fine.”

“We should invite him here. That way if you need me, I am here.”

You cringed at the thought of serving Commander Vongurt.

“I won’t need you. Besides the conference room is much nicer.” You get up to help him put on his badge and send him on his way.

“I haven’t felt unwell since dinner.” Coriolanus stood over you as you cooked, convinced that the heat in the kitchen would make you unwell again. With a knife in your hand, it was a dangerous time for Coriolanus to tell you what to do.

“You’re sure?” he pokes.

You were tired of saying it so you just nodded your head.

“Go to the bathroom then.”

It was an odd request.

“What?” you question.

“Go to the bathroom and take a shower. Get changed into your night dress.”

He checks his watch once before motioning you forward.

There was no other option for you then to follow his request. You thought maybe he just wanted to complete the bed time routine. He wanted to know you were washed and dressed for bed for his own comfort. You never knew what made him tick.

You complete the tasks quickly and return to find he had placed a glass of water and a packet of dried mixed fruit.

You quiz him on it but he doesn’t answer. He takes your wrist in his hand and tugs you to the bed.

Taking out his handcuffs, he clips your wrist into the cuff, pulling it up to the headboard where he attached the other cuff.

You tug against it in protest. “What are you doing?”

“Just in case, Edmund comes back.”

“He won’t! Please unlock me.” you beg.

“I left your book there if you are not ready to sleep yet.” He stands tall and readjusts his uniform.

“Coriolanus!” You say in a serious tone, “Get this off of me.”

You pull against it brutally and he captures your hand against the headboard.

“I left you one hand so you can read. I don’t have to.”

“Please, don’t leave me here like this!” He ignores you, bending down once more to flick on the lamp.

“You’ve had a big day. Try and rest. I’ll be home soon.”

“Coriolanus!” you call out watching him leave. He flicks off the main light as he goes.

“Coriolanus!” you yell.

You had never felt anger as you lay trapped in bed. He dictated when you worked, when you rested, when you ate. Nothing was yours anymore. Every breath you took was only because he allowed you to take it.

There was nothing to tell the time on. It felt like years waiting for him to come back and release you. You didn’t read, only plotted.

Could you feed him something to make him sick? Surely he would request you to come see him in the infirmary. You could break away when returning from your visit. What if he caught you trying to poison him though?

Friday provided the perfect opportunity. While he was distracted with his family you could sneak away. The communication building was on the other side of the compound but at least you would be outside of the apartment.

But how would you get away far enough to make a break for it? You thought about what was in the surrounding area of the communications building. Nothing would be a reasonable excuse to pardon yourself.

Could you excuse yourself to the bathroom? Surely one of the surrounding offices would have one. Would he let you go alone? Sacrifice time with his family to take you. Would he even let you go or just expect you to make do until the phone call was over?

You came up with twenty different scenarios of escape routes, each one ended with Coriolanus catching you.

You wished you didn’t shoo Edmund away now. He could have got the door opened in time. It was only your fearfulness that stood in the way of your escape. You could be with him now, with your mother. Up in the mountains, safe and sound.

God, you hoped they were safe and well-fed.

You wished for nothing more than to tend to your mother, to ensure that she was alright.

The care that was supposed to go to her was now unjustly turned towards Coriolanus, who was adamant to wring it from your hands.

Edmund had always taken whatever care you gave him with great appreciation.

Never demanded more, and then took it with force.

He was kind and patient. Two things Coriolanus is not.

And now you have dragged him into this mess where his life is at great risk. Still, he had never demanded any more from you.

When his lips first met yours, they were placed almost in questioning. It was up to you to accept and beg for more.

You wished you had seen his affection for you sooner. But he was your brother's best friend, and the main protector of you and your mother. If Coriolanus never entered the picture you doubt he ever would have acted on it.

But he had, and you had returned the affection. It was the start of something new and beautiful or the end of years of friendship and familiarity.

Once Coriolanus went back to the Capitol, your new life would begin.

You hoped it would be alongside Edmund. You would pay him back for his bravery.

You would be a good girlfriend to him, then wife, and then mother of his children. You would never ask him for anything, and take great care of his family life. You would ensure his happiness, as he ensures your life now.

You almost forget you were chained to the bed of the Commander as you daydream of brown-haired babies. But the sound of Coriolanus arriving home was a solemn reminder. His boots against the hardwood floor soften as they reach the bedroom door.

You still had a great challenge before you got to nurse Edmund’s children.

You had to get away from Coriolanus, and the only way you could do that is if he had no idea that you planned to.

The door creaks open and you sit up straight to watch him enter.

“I am sorry. Did I wake you?” He places his coat on the foot of the bed and crawls over to where you lay.

“No. I was waiting for you.”

He smiles down at you as he unlocks the cuff from your wrist with the keys in his pocket.

“You seem happy,” you comment. You could smell the whiskey on his clothes as he leaned over you.

“I am. I have you. I have Commander Vongurt’s support behind me, and Ravinstill is not expected to last the winter. We’ll be home before you know it.”

Throwing the keys on his bedside table, he leans down to kiss you before resting his head on your collarbone.

“That’s not long,” you comment.

“Three months at the most.”

You drowned in your anxiety quietly as he rested.

Three months and your life was over.

He takes your silence as a quiet contemplation.

“Are you thinking of your mother?” he runs a curled finger along your nose.

“Yeah. I’ll miss her”. You hope to never have to know the pain of missing her again. These past few weeks have been unbearable.

“You’ll write. I’ll organize a time she can come to the compound for video calls.”

You were sure he was going to let you write and call. For how long was another thing. You could see it already, your calls being cut short, your letters ‘lost’ in the mail.

“Yeah,” you respond again.

Your mind races with ideas of escape. You could fake a sickness and be sent to the medical camp. No, he wouldn’t send you there. He panicked today over a supposed case of heatstroke.

He lowers his head down closer to you where you can smell the evening on him.

“You want to know what I was thinking?” he asks playfully.

You could start a fire during dinner time. He was sure to open the door to let you out before dealing with the flames.

“Yeah?” you entertain. Fire could go wrong for a number of reasons. Besides you would have to fight your way to the oven. Especially now that Commander Vongurt was here. Coriolanus would be too busy to wait for you to cook something.

“I was thinking I hope we have a boy first. Then two girls, then another boy.”

Your eyes shoot open as his hand reaches out across your stomach. His hand finds its way under your shirt and he lays a warm palm over your belly.

Then again, a big enough fire might kill him. Was it worth a shot?

“You called me your wife today. That’s not true.”

“What else should I have called you? We sleep together, eat together, wake together. We look after each other. The only thing missing is an official title but as soon as we get back to the Capitol, we’ll fix that.”

You turn away from him to your side. Now that the talk of the Capitol was becoming a more serious threat, you felt sick.

“Did I scare you with talk of babies? It wouldn’t be for a few more years yet.”

His rants did scare you. That would be your life if you didn’t figure out a way to the fence. Nursing Commander Snow’s babies in the Capitol. Away from your mother. Away from Edmund.

Still, you had to perform. You couldn’t let any more distrust between him and you grow.

“You didn’t scare me. I am just tired. I’ve waited up all night for you.”

You feel a soft kiss press against your ear before the weight of the bed was shifted as he moved.

“Go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He leans over you once more to flick off the light. You hear him walk out to the bathroom to take a shower.

Could you force him to give you the keys? The chain was still dangling from the headboard. If you could somehow get his wrist caught, you could threaten him with a kitchen knife. You shake the thought from your head. You couldn’t hurt him with a knife. You were sure even one-handedly, he could take it off you if you tried.

You just needed a distraction, just two seconds when his attention wasn’t on you to escape.

Wet, salty tears rolled down your cheeks as you lay in the dark, but you made no sound.

You were still awake when he returned from his shower, dressed in his pajamas. Thinking you are asleep he is slow and quiet as he rejoins you in bed.

He curls up against your back and rests his hand on your stomach as if there is something already inside. He wasn’t going to wait a few more years. He said it purely for your comfort.

He dreamt of being a young President with a baby on the way. And another one close after that, and another, and another. He would undo history. He would have as many baby Coriolanus’s and Tigris’ as it took to heal the past.

Watching you nurture, feed, and play with his children would overtake his memories of fighting for his life when he should have been nursed by his mother.

He felt as if he was in the area but soon to be crowned Victor. President Ravinstill just had to die before he could have it all.

His destiny that had been interrupted when his father died but was now back on track. From birth, Coriolanus Snow was supposed to be the man who had it all. Not some impoverished boy, hanging on to his father’s legacy.

When he died, he would be remembered as his own man. Not as the shadow of his father.

Coriolanus Snow; Beloved President of Panem, star pupil of the Academy, Plinth Prize winner, devoted husband and father, and Victor of the games. Coriolanus would be remembered as the man who had it all.

You lay awake under him. The smell of alcohol mixed with the scent of his soap. It burnt your nose as you inhaled.

President Ravinstill could die tonight. There was no guarantee that he would even make it to winter. You had to get out. If you made it to the Capitol, you would never get back home.

While he was intoxicated was your best chance. He seemed so still now, you could take the keys off the nightstand and go through everyone. You were sure he wouldn’t wake, not until it was too late. You remember when your father drank on special occasions, he would sleep for 14 hours at a time. Coriolanus was sure to sleep for at least half that.

You wait until you can’t feel him twitch before you rise from bed. Very slowly, very carefully, you peel yourself from him, shoving a pillow in your place. He doesn’t move from your actions so you continue over to his nightstand where his key ring is laid.

Rows and rows of keys looped together. They jingle as you pick them up. Panic runs like ice up your spin as you turn back to see Coriolanus; unmoved and unknowing.

You wrap your hand around as many keys as you can to stop further noise and make your way to the door. Checking every few steps to ensure he wouldn’t turn up behind you.

The floor creeks as you pass the hallways to the living room but no other sound follows as you cross the kitchen to the door.

You start at the very first key. It slots in but refuses to turn. Moving on to the next, and the next in methodological order, bypassing the ones that were too big or small to be entertained.

You try numerous times but the right key is buried among the many.

Feeling as if it had been hours since the first key, you felt confident that it was coming up.

You stuck a key in with no resistance. The hope that died in you reappeared as the lock turned with the key.

But all too soon it died again, as you felt a hand snake into your hair. It yanks your head harshly back and you find yourself pressed against Coriolanus.

“That key will get stuck in the door, and it’d be a great pain to get it out again.”

His hand in your hair pulls you back.

“I was just going to the kitchen to get some ingredients for a hangover cure. I was coming back.” His hand twists unforgivably in your hair as you make your plea.

“Don’t lie to me,” he seethes.

“I am not!” You protest, trying to break free from his grasp.

“You think I am some type of fool?”

Reaching over you, he takes the keys out of the door and leads you back to the bedroom.

“Coriolanus. Please just listen to me.”

“If I had listened to you, I would have left the door opened. You spoiled, deceiving, little bitch.”

He was still drunk. You could smell it from his breath.

You thought it would make him complacent but it instead made him more violent.

“I was getting you my father's hangover cure.”

You stumble as he pushes you over the doorway.

“You need to trust me, Coriolanus.”

He shoves you until you are back to your side of the bed.

“I don’t.”

He throws the keys hard across the room to free his hands.

“I trust you.” You don’t fight him as he recuffs your chain, instead you willingly go along with it.

For good measure, you place a kiss on his cheek which throws him off guard.

“I don’t trust you.” he reiterated softly.

“That’s ok,” you state, “One day you will. We’ll have a happy life together. You, me, and our children.”

He looks perplexed at your words but makes no further comment as he lays down by your side, resting his head on you.

“I’ve tried my best to take care of you. To make you happy.”

“You have.” you console. You were no longer worried about President Ravinstill lasting the night, but rather yourself.

“Then why-”

“I wasn’t running. I was trying to take care of you.”

His face turns into your skin. You bring your free hand up to his head and press it down.

“Everything is ok. Just go to sleep. You’re drunk. You don’t mean it.”

You run your fingertips up and down starting from behind his ear, down to the bottom of his neck, and up again. You do it until you feel his shallow breaths upon your skin, only then do you release the tears from your eyes.

When you wake the next morning, your wrist is free and Coriolanus is not in bed.

You rise to find him in the kitchen, frying bacon. Maybe he was too intoxicated last night to remember his anger towards you.

“Good morning,” you offer. He doesn’t return the greeting. Maybe he did remember last night, and you were in a lot of trouble.

“How are you feeling?” you try again.

“What’s your father's hangover cure?”

“Two eggs, hot sauce, milk, salt, pepper, and honey”. Your father did not have a hangover cure and it did not include hot sauce or honey, both of which were considered luxury items in the District.

He looks for the ingredients, slamming the cupboards he turns towards you. “All here.”

“Oh,” you comment, “That’s good. Did you want me to make you one?”

The bacon pops in the pan and you rush over to distract yourself with it.

“Sit down. I’ll take over cooking”. The bacon was overcooked to the point where it would be barely edible.

“So what did you need for the compound kitchen last night?”

“I didn’t know we had the items. It's been that long since I cooked, I just assumed we were out.”

“You assumed you wouldn’t get caught.”

You sigh. Coriolanus in a bad mood would only mean bad things for you.

“I wasn’t running. I was trying to help. Are you always going to doubt me?”

“Yes.” he answers, pulling the pan back off you.

He dumps the bacon onto a plate and takes it to the kitchen table. You begin to clean up after him as he sits and eats.

The plate is still full by the time he is telling you to go get ready for the day.

You put on the blue sun dress he likes which acts as a two-second buffer for his anger when he sees you.

He had paused in the middle of throwing his bacon into the trash. Such a waste of food. You thought.

But he was determined to stay in his mood. He slides the empty plate across the counter.

“I am late for work,” he says.

It was unusual for him not to hold your hand as you walked to his office. You would have to work hard today to please him.

His tea was already sat upon his desk when you arrived and you rushed to pour him one.

He doesn’t drink it. It goes cold as he does his work.

You try extra hard to be quiet. There was sewing left from yesterday which you begin to complete.

“We still haven’t found your mother,” he says out of the blue after a morning of not speaking or looking at you.

His words filled you with confidence. If you could get to the mountains, at least you knew you were safe.

He doesn’t look up as he speaks.

“Edmund hasn’t returned to his house but there was a rumor that he was swapping meat for medical supplies just yesterday.”

What would he need medical supplies for? You wondered. Was your mother okay? Was he okay?

You needed to see them to make sure.

“He’s probably hiding with your mother in what’s left of the forest. Don’t worry. We’ll find him and bring your mother home.”

It was a disguised threat. He was trying to get a rise out of you.

“Good,” you comment. Keep searching the forest while they remain safe in the mountains.

“Good.” he repeats back.

A comfortable silence returns as you both go back to work, but it’s interrupted by his secretary bursting through the doors.

“Sir! Sir!” she gasps. Coriolanus shot up from his chair.

“Commander Vongurt is angry!”

You follow him without a word out of the office.

“The courtyard!” the secretary directs.

You fall behind his fast pace and reach for him blindly to keep from falling too far behind.

A crowd had formed by the time you reached the courtyard. You could hear the familiar sound of flogging and painful cries.

The crowd parts as Coriolanus approaches. In the middle of the bystanders was Commander Vongurt and a young boy curled on the dirt floor.

Coriolanus looks upon the same boy who failed to hit the target on the hot day.

Grabbing the baton from the Commander, he throws it to the ground.

“What are you doing?”

“Commander Snow,” Vongurt was out of breath from exerting himself in his beating, “This boy is a disgrace to your legacy. I caught him passing scraps to the prisoners through the bars.”

With the protection of Coriolanus, you felt safe enough to speak out, “He’s just a boy.”

“Take him to the jail. He can sleep there for a week if he likes their company so much.”

“Coriolanus!” you take his arm and tug it. He gives you a harsh look and you know you won’t be able to persuade him.

The boy cries out and begins to beg as he is carted away by two others.

“Coriolanus, please!” You tug his arm once more and he hits you harshly across the cheek.

You stumble upon the impact. The men shuffle away from you as you try and regain your footing.

Coriolanus takes your arm in a harsh grip, pulling you back in the right direction but he is turned to speak to Vonngurt.

“District 12 is my district. Next time you feel like taking discipline into your own hands, don’t.”

The older Commander nods his head, but you can see he is displeased to have been spoken to in such a manner.

“Let’s go.” He was now talking to you and shoving you forcefully in front of himself back to the office.

You tear yourself free as the door shuts behind you.

“You don’t dictate my decisions.”

Your nose is clogged from your tears. You couldn’t tell if you were crying out of pain or anger. Your brain was still trying to catch up.

“Calling my name,” he says astonished, “It doesn’t matter if you disagree with my decision. Your job is to support me.”

He catches you as you try to make your way from him and he tosses you to the couch, where he stands over you.

“You embarrassed me. Vongurt already thinks I can’t control my Peacekeepers, now he thinks I can’t control my women as well.”

You cup your bruised cheek. This wasn’t about Vongurt. He was still hurting about your attempt last night. All day he was looking for a reason to lash out, Vongurt only provided the opportunity.

You were put back on defense. With only at most a month before you were carted off to the Capitol, mistakes couldn’t be afforded.

“I am sorry.” you choke out.

He squinted his eyes, bringing his hand up to his head before throwing it back again, “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t!” you spit. There is no sincerity in your voice.

“Look at me when I am talking to you.” He takes your chin into his hand and pulls it up to his eye level. “Ravinstill is expected to die shortly. This behavior of yours cannot be brought back to the Capitol.”

“It won’t be. I am sorry.” Your fists clench by your side.

He turns your chin to expect your cheek.

“I did it too. That’s the only reason I spoke out. I would have been thrown in jail too.” you contend.

He lets go of your chin and stands up to full height, “You think a Peacekeeper would get the same punishment as a District? No. You would have been hanged. Yet another reason to be loyal to me. I’ve saved you.”

“I am loyal to you. Grateful for you.” You get up and follow him as he makes his way to his desk.

“Coriolanus, please don’t be mad at me. I was only ever trying to help.”

You sob ugly causing him to spin around. Your cheek hurt, and you felt the weight of the world on your shoulders trying to get away within such a short time frame. You were overwhelmed with the whole scenario and the thought of dealing with Coriolanus as he looked for opportunities to lash out was too much to bear.

He softens upon your unraveled composure, taking you into his arms.

“Stop crying. It’s okay”. You feel him rest his head on top of yours. “I am just a little wound up trying to get everything in order. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I am sorry.”

You smile slightly, he is back on defense.

—------

Friday came quickly. The call wasn’t until the afternoon so you spent the whole day as a ball of anxiety.

But at least you had a plan. On evening walks you took more notice of the building surrounding the communications tent, and saw a nurse carrying a load of blankets into a building of washing machines.

There were few things Coriolanus let you do alone, washing was one of them.

The washing machine in the apartment would need to be dealt with. But the long hours spent in his office meant that the dirty clothes were piling up. He would demand a fresh uniform for work. If you left it close to his phone call with his family, he was sure to let you go.

You push it out for as long as you can. He had wanted to leave ten minutes ago but you kept pressing him for one more minute.

You had taken small rocks from the ground during your afternoon walk, telling Coriolanus you would like to take a part of home back to the Capitol with you. He had allowed you to collect a small jar, you picked the biggest rocks you could find.

Big enough to jam the pipes of the washing machine.

“Darling, please. We have to leave.” He bangs on the door of the washing room.

You finish shoving the rocks as far as they would go down the pipe. It made an awful sound as the washing machine ate them up causing the water to rise.

“Coriolanus,” you call. As soon as you open the door, he grabs your arm, ready to yank you out.

“Coriolanus. The machine is broken. Look.”

He barely glaces at it, “ I’ll send someone to fix it. Let’s go.”

“I need to do the washing,” you pick up the basket as he pulls you from the room, “Can I use the compound washing machines?”

“That’s fine. Just move, we are late.”

You struggle to keep up with him as he rushes along the compound. He hated it if his phone call was cut short by even a second. Now he was two minutes late and he was almost running to make up time for it.

You reach the building in record time. He lets go of you to pick up speed, leaving you by the door as he hurries.

He rushes to the small screen, not bothering to sit down on the wooden chair as he twisted the knobs. “Tigris, Tigris? Can you hear me?”

He must have heard a voice on the other side as he broke out into a smile. It was a pretty, genuine smile that you had not seen before.

“Hey,’’ he laughs. You watch from where you stand by the door. He seemed almost unrecognizable. A young boy sent away to a summer camp instead of a ruthless and ambitious Commander. “I am sorry. The washing machine broke. How are you?”

His tone is light and happy as he talks to Tigris. You wonder if he had forgotten he even brought you. He didn’t glance at you as he spoke, giving her his full attention.

You wonder if it is best to make your exit now but his words stop you.

“She’s here.” he waves you over. You drop the basket in coming to him. You wondered what Tigris would look like. What she would sound like.

Coriolanus holds out the receiver for you. You peer at the screen to see a blonde girl in colorful clothing before you put the receiver to your ear.

“Hello,” you greet.

“Oh!” Tigris croons. She pulls the receiver away from her mouth to lessen her shout, “Grandma’am come see!”

She smiles as she turns her attention back to you, “Oh, Coryo has talked so much about you.”

“What is she saying?” Coriolanus places his hands on your hip and pulls down so you are sitting on his knee.

“She’s said you’ve talked about me,” you answer.

He smiles gently at you, turning the receiver in your hand out between you.

An older woman comes too close into the frame and Tigris pulls her back.

“Is that her?” the old woman asks Tigris who nods.

“Girl-Girl.” she talks into the speaker.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“You must be grateful he is sending you back to the Capitol. Don’t ruin it like the last one.”

Coriolanus snatches the receiver away from your ear to soften her words but you heard them any way.

“Grandma’am is unwell,” he tells you, “Pay her no mind.”

Tigris takes back the receiver and positions it in a similar fashion to Coriolanus.

“Did you get the dresses I sent?”

“I did. Thank you. I was hoping to send you back some shortbread but Coriolanus has been busy with work.”

“He was saying you cook. Grandma’am and I are so excited to meet you!”

“Me too,” you lie. “I hear the Capitol is wonderful. I look forward to exploring it with you.”

Tigris laughs. She was beautiful, you thought. Perhaps too popular to be showing you the capital. You felt foolish for even lying about it.

“We’ll have a ball. I’ll show you all around.”

“In time,” Coriolanus interjects. The chains around you would not loosen just because you were in the Capitol. “The Capitol is big. There’ll be time to see it all.”

You let Coriolanus take over the talking. Only offering agreements or soft smiles as the Snow women talk.

The family soon falls into a comfortable way of talking. You had said next to nothing for the last 10 minutes, and it had gone unnoticed. It was time to make your way.

You slowly rise from Coriolanus who latches out on your arm.

“I’ll just put the washing on. That way it will be done by the time we finish.”

He tugs you back down causing you to fall into him. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Tigris almost cringe.

“We’ll do it later,” he demands.

“We’ll be washing well into the night if we leave it any longer. I’ll just pop it on. I’ll be five minutes.”

His face twisted with his words but you kissed him to stop them from leaving his mouth. It was the first time you had ever kissed him on the lips. You could tell by the way his mouth stilled that he was surprised.

“Five minutes.” You kiss his bottom lip to quell any fight he has in him. Grabbing the phone in the meantime.

“Tigris. Grandma. I’ll just be 5 Minutes to put the washing on”.

Tigris smiles at you, letting you know that it is fine. You could just barely hear Grandma’am make a comment about how the people in the Capitol don't do their own washing but it is cut off by you shoving the phone back in Coriolanus's hand.

He cups your face to bring you down for another kiss.

“Five minutes,” he repeats.

You smile at him as you pull away. It was too easy, You had won.

It felt like victory as you picked up the basket and placed it on your hip. You turn back halfway out the door to see he has gone back to talking to his family.

You don’t make it to the tent. Five steps away from the door and you had dropped the basket and taken off at a fast pace.

You walk to try not to draw attention to yourself. It worked for the most part. Hardly anyone gave you a glance. You could see the bins coming into sight. Your freedom is just behind them.

“Hey!” you hear someone call out. You ignore them at first, not thinking they could mean you. But a harsh hold on your arm spun you towards a Peacekeeper.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“What? Nothing”. Your freedom lay not ten feet away but was hindered by a zealous guard.

“Where’s Commander Snow?” He held you too tight. It interfered with your clear thinking.

“The communications tent.”

“Is that where you should be?”

“No,” you try and tug your arm away from him but his nails dig in. “Let go of me. Let go!”

“Let’s go ask Commander Snow what you should be doing.” The man starts to drag you along as you dig your feet into the dirt.

“Let go!” you shout. He was sure to notice you gone soon if he hadn’t already. Time was running out.

In frustration, you slap the Peacekeeper across the face.

“How dare you touch me. I’ll tell Commander Snow about this. You’ve hurt me.

You feel his grip loosen on you but he doesn’t let go completely.

“No, I haven’t!” he says somewhat fearfully,

“Commander Snow has asked me to get something for him, and not only have you stopped me from doing that but you hurt me in the process. How do you think he will react to that?”

You manage to tear free from him and give yourself some distance.

“I am going to do as he asked me, and you are going to do your duties like you should be doing. Otherwise, I’ll report you to the Commander."

The Peacekeeper mulls over his course of action before raising his hands.

“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. Excuse me.”

You turn your back on him and quicken your steps to your destination. Making sure the coast is clear, you crawl behind the large bins. You couldn’t see any broken fence behind it.

Did they find it? Have you just made a fatal mistake?

You continue to crawl, placing your hand on the metal for any movement.

The chain bends showing cut wire as they bend. Relief washing through you.

It digs harshly into you as you pull yourself through.

You could have kissed the dirt on the other side. Freedom. Edmund.

The guard in the tower above you looks out across the field. You keep under his eyesight as you slide across the fence as quietly as you can.

It runs out, leaving ten feet of open field before the safety of the forest. Ten feet and then you were free. There was no cover, meaning that the guard could easily spot you if he was looking.

You say a silent prayer that the guard will keep his focus straight before you take the chance of discovery.

You leap across the field, throwing yourself upon the first tree you touch. The bark smashed your bruised cheek as you waited for the sirens to sound.

He mustn’t have seen you. You had got away.

You take a second to laugh as quietly as you can. Run, a voice in your head told you. You regain your breath and do. You run as fast as you can, taking the backroads back to your home.

Your lungs burn, willing you to stop but you keep going until your house is in view. You only slow down to stop drawing attention to yourself.

People had started to return home from work. You could see them as you walked along the back of their houses. You're careful not to be seen.

The back steps of your place come under your feet, and your caution disappears as you fling yourself into your home.

Edmund was sitting at the kitchen table dressing a rabbit he caught.

He stood up. Turning his knife towards you thinking you were an intruder.

You knew he would never hurt you so you throw your arms around his shoulders despite the threat.

The knife drops and he takes you into his arms.

“I was so worried.” he breathed.

“We have to go. We need to leave,” you state but make no attempt to pull away.

He does pull away, throwing the rabbit into his hunting sack and picking up his knife. You take his bloody hand and he leads you back out the back door and into the forest.

The walk to the mountains takes well into the night. You both do it silently. What was there to say? There was still a long road to safety.

You stay as close as you could to him. Always holding his hand or latched onto his arm.

The mountain trail is tough and you wonder how he made it up with your mother on his back. He knew the way well, having worked in the mines nearly all his life. He warned you of which boulders were loose, and when you tripped over he caught you as if he almost expected it.

You were worn out by the time you reached the campsite. Rows and rows of small wooden houses for the miners. All were empty this time of year as it got too dark too early and not light enough too late for the hours they worked.

You saw a freshly put-out fire and knew that your mother was close.

“Your mothers in that one,” he pointed to the right cabin, “My family’s in the next one.”

For the first time in the hour's walk, you tore free from him and ran into your mother's cabin.

It was a relief to see her sleeping figure. You throw yourself on top of her and begin crying.

She wakes in fright but knows the figure of her daughter well. She throws her arms around you and joins you in crying.

You were home. You were safe.

—---------

As soon as the door closed, Coriolanus felt as if he had made a mistake. He trusted you.

You were better now. Doing well. He could trust you.

But Tigris’s words made no sense to him. You were coming back.

He tried to focus on his family but he eyes the door expectantly.

Dread fills him. How long did it take to put on washing?

“Coriolanus?” he hears Tigris call.

He dashes out of his chair. He had made a very big mistake.

“Coriolanus?” the receiver resounds.

Upon opening the door he is met with his washing by his feet. He takes off running to his apartment. You were sick the other day, maybe you had fallen ill again and taken to bed.

He pushed past Peacekeepers as he ran to his steps. Taking them two at a time he reaches the top and pushes open the unlocked door. It was only ever locked to keep someone in, never someone out. He calls out for you but is met with silence.

He opened every door along the way to the bedroom, hoping you were just hiding.

He calls your name again and again until falling silent upon the empty bed. You weren’t here. Coriolanus had made a big mistake.

Clicking the radio built into the collar of his shirt, he demands that the compound is shut down.

“Has anyone been through the gates?” Both leading officers of the two entryways confirm that no one has. The Peacekeepers are diverted into searching the compound for you.

Coriolanus joins too. He didn’t trust the ability of his Peacekeepers. He searched every nook and cranny of every office and building he could find. His temper flared the longer the search went on.

You had to be in the compound. How could you have got out?

He returns to his apartment. Maybe you had returned upon hearing the sirens.

A cat catches his attention as it sits meowing and eating bits of food from the ground that the birds had managed to pick out.

He had never seen a cat in the compound before. Could it have got in the same way you got out?

He walks over to search it for any clues it might have but it runs off as he comes closer.

He chases it behind the bin where he watches it slip through the bent wire in the fence.

You had got away. Now at large in the districts.

He sighs deeply before taking his rage out on the back of the bins, bashing and kicking at it until he is forced to lean against it to catch his breath.

A search party would be sent out, interrogations would be issued. Someone had to have seen you along the way. He would find you and he would bring you home to him.

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@inloveallthetime

#coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #dark!coriolanus snow #commander snow #dead dove do not eat #coriolanus x reader #tom blyth #hunger games

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yandere-romanticaa · 2 days

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I've had a very fun and fruitful conversation with @allfearstofallto and she had some very strong reactions for a story about yandere Diluc and Tartaglia that has been marinating in my mind for a while now. I'll just give you a brief version of my idea.

You and the 11th Fatui Harbinger are to be wed. With your freedom stripped away from you and with your wedding date fast approaching, you are working tirelessly to escape the Harbinger's grasp.

However, even with your freedom stripped away, even if you have no autonomy on your own, there's an inkling in your heart in which you cannot hate your captor. He is far too kind and gentle towards you, the way in which he treats you makes your heart swell with a plethora of emotions.

But enough is enough.

You need to leave. Fast.

One evening, you act sweeter, more submissive than usual. Your fiancee eats it up and is delighted by this change in attitude. His happiness is evident because now things can proceed without a hitch. Don't worry darling, you won't be anywhere near his work. He'll keep you safe, fed and loved.

All he asks in return is to be in your heart. Love him. Love him, please. It's a hard request, a selfish one even, he knows this.

He can make it up to you. He can and he will.

He promises.

You kiss him in bed, telling him that you understand. Your eyes shift towards the hidden suitcase in the corner as you feel the drugs start to kick in. Tartaglia is fast asleep, and you finally taste the sweetness of freedom.

The man wakes up the next morning in a daze. The bed is empty and cold.

His heart shatters into a million pieces. He roars out your name like a wounded animal, his throat sore and bleeding from the pain.

He must find you.

Meanwhile, you made your way towards the City of Freedom.

You settle in, find a job, a place to live in. It's hard but you manage.

You ignore the lingering presence that you feel behind you when you're alone at night. You're making it all up, you keep telling yourself.

No one is following you.

One evening, you enter a cozy tavern. You order a drink and it is prepared by a handsome, albeit stoic bartender. You manage to get him to open up. He introduces himself as Diluc, the owner of the fine establishment in which you sat in.

How neat.

Due to various different factors, after a short while Diluc takes you in. He is patient and strict. It's an improvement.

You don't know about his ever growing obsession with you. You don't know about the endless sea of portraits he has of you. He keeps it all hidden well under wraps.

Regardless, Diluc is still only human. It's only natural that his jealousy would bubble up and rear in its ugly head from time to time.

Dawn Winery is in a way, forced to attend a massive social gathering. Diplomats from the North are everywhere and, of course, Tartaglia spots you in the crowd.

Even if his eyes were to be plucked out, he would always manage to recognize you.

Tensions rise and the danger of bloodlust reeks in the air. Much to his chagrin, Childe cannot simply just kill Diluc and be done with it.

He is being forced to play Mr Nice Diplomat.

Oh the horror, being stuck between these two.

Now, since this has the potential to be long as fuck, I was thinking of making it into a multiple part story. The best name I could come up with it so far was "A Song of Ice and Fire". I'm open to title names, if someone has better ideas. An important note to add would be that this would be a serious commitment for me as I haven't done a story like this in years. Chapter updates would probably take me a long time due to my job and potential lack of energy, but this idea has been in my brain for years now, which is a clear sign that I'm passionate about it. And, my question is - would you like for me to make this story come to life?

#yandere childe #yandere tartaglia #yandere diluc #genshin impact #♥️ girlie says

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obsessedwithceleste · 2 days

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Mattheo Riddle Headcannons

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

Being the son of the Dark Lord is no easy task. Obviously.

Growing up, Mattheo had very limited contact with other people, which stunts his social skills a lot, especially with his peers

Once he breaks out and has the ability to meet other people, he's 100% an extrovert because he feels like he has to make up for everything that he missed out on

Growing up alone though made him very independent and self sufficient

Lots of trust issues, lots of abandonment issues

But he's also very bad at picking up on social cues, and reading other people's emotions

He grew up being outwardly judged by everyone around him, which caused him to develop a sort of apathetic attitude as a buffer

This gives him a sense of freedom because if he doesn't care about other's opinions, he can do whatever he wants, they'll judge him either way, so why not do what makes him happy

Mattheo also has a deep internal rage

Like, level 11 out of 10 on the scale of anger issues

He bottles up all his emotions and frustration with the world, often lashing out and exploding at the smallest triggers

His frustration mostly stems from the fact that it's not fair that he's suffering for the actions of his father. Because at the end of the day, he's still innocent in all of it

This is also why he's particularly spiteful and disdainful of authoritarian figures

He simply doesn't owe them anything

At Hogwarts it's hard for him at first. It's pretty clear that he didn't have much of a childhood and that he was forced to grow up much too fast

And once again, he finds himself being judged by everyone, so nothing new

His biggest pet peeve is when someone complains about a minor "tragedy" from their childhood, because he's absolutely certain that he had it worse

Lowkey victim complex™️

He's able to eventually bond closely with Theodore Nott, sharing a lot of similar childhood trauma (we <3 trauma bonding) and surprisingly Lorenzo Berkshire who shares his fuck-all mentality

Many assume that he's a malicious bully, based solely on his last name, but he's really more of a chaos instigator

He rebels against authority and stands up for what he might find to be an injustice, but he'd never go after someone without cause

Hogwarts is one of the first places he's able to truly act his age

He joins the Slytherin quidditch team,

He's a beater (which is kind of therapeutic as it allows him to let out a lot of his anger)

Often skives off of class,

He's not book smart like Theo, but makes up for it with street smarts

And likes to pull Theo into the fray simply because he can

This is also how he gets his reputation for frequently sleeping around to put it nicely

Mattheo grew up with a distinct lack of affection from those around him which causes him to search out any hint of it that he can find

He doesn't really use girls per se, he just doesn't quite understand the concept of love

But when Mattheo falls, he falls hard

The first time he catches feelings, he's absolutely terrified that he's under the influence of a love potion

Very confused, very upset, and denies it to the ends of the Earth

But once he comes around, he's all in

He doesn't like to think of himself as jealous, just territorial.

Jealousy is when something isn't yours and you want it. But you belong to him, and he'll be damned if he doesn't defend his territory

He also isn't shy at all when it comes to PDA, simply because he wants everyone to know what's his

Definitely love bombs, but he doesn't know what that means

Won't bat an eye before hexing someone for looking at you too long (will act innocent and pretend it wasn't him)

Honestly probably would not be the best partner initially because he's so used to being independent

And would likely try to hide a lot of his anger and emotions from you because his biggest fear would be being judged by someone he loves

It would take a lot of time and effort to work through, but Mattheo would be willing to put in the work because he's determined to have the one thing his father never could

#slytherin boys #slytherin #matteo riddle #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle fanfiction #mattheo riddle headcanon #mattheo riddle headcanons #harry potter universe #my boy desperately needs therapy

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triluvial · 1 day

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Imagine being a freman captured by feyd and just as you’re on the cusp of stockholm syndrome he spits on you. To him he’s just degrading you but you see it as an honor he’s giving you his water…

oh I love this. I feel like to fall into this the Reader has to be primed for it.

Like the Fremen seem to live in fairly small groups (aside from the deep south) so if Reader came from a bigger family then their romantic options may be severely limited. Reader, feeling lonely and longing to leave their small settlement just to find romance would be a great start for this AU.

Then when Feyd captures her, she knows he's probably going to be tortured and killed or turned into a slave. She may have read books and heard stories of dark lovers being soft for their one true love but she's not an idiot, she's under no illusions this will happen to her.

But then the first few weeks pass and Reader is unharmed. She's not tortured or raped and doesn't even see the face of any person other than Feyd.

Feyd is likely thinking he'll keep Reader like an exotic pet - the last of her kind once he razes Arrakis to dust - as he torments her with news of Fremen death. (Paul's rebellion is taking way longer ig)

Unintentionally, he's training Reader bit by bit to be totally dependant on him. He brings her food and water when he visits every second day so the relief of hunger and thirst becomes inescapably entwined with Feyd's presence. As he is literally the only other person she sees, he becomes the only thing she can think about, the only thing she ever dreams about.

This is when the spitting scene occurs. It's a declaration of love. Reader's thrilled. She swallows. Feyd begins to spend more and more of his time just thinking about Reader because no one ever reacted that positively to him just behaving however he wanted (this would probably work best if the Harpies weren't allowed to come with him, were killed right after he arrived on Dune or never existed in the first place).

Childish dreams of an Out-Worlder sweeping Reader off her feet and away from her inescapable family and into a life of dramatic romance begin to be mapped onto Feyd's face as Reader spends most of her time alone in the darkness of her cell.

Until I'm thinking Gurney and some Fremen scouts break into the Arrakeen palace for an assassination attempt and while they're there, they free Reader against Paul's orders (Hey, she has a big family at least two of them are on the team). She's ok with leaving until she learns they want to assassinate Feyd. The Harkonnen tactics advanced so much upon his arrival they think they can win if they take him out. Reader knocks them out from behind. This is how Feyd find her. Surrounded by the unconscious bodies of her would-be rescuers.

I couldn't pick an ending here so here's both:

Feyd tests Reader by "accidentally" letting her take one of his swords. She uses it to kill the scouting team to protect him. He proposes with the idea of stringing her along and seeing what else he could make her do for him before locking her up again. However, the horror that his fiancée evokes in the Bene Gesserit makes him so happy he decides to drag it out longer. Then, she tells him about the deep-south holdouts and stops him from relaxing when all the northern Fremen are seemingly dead he has to keep her on his arm a little longer. Then she wins a sparring match against him so he has to keep her around until he can soundly beat her, take everything she can teach him and turn it against her. Before he knows it they've been engaged for a year and there's legitimate wedding planning happening. He still wouldn't call it love but it might be as close as he gets. Reader still loves it when he spits on her.

Feyd gets Reader to fake a break-out and helps her move the unconscious rescuers out a secret escape. When they wake up she claims Feyd found them but she killed him and dragged them all to freedom. She's his spy on the inside and with the confidence of Feyd's supposed assassination Paul and the other Fremen will be overconfident. This would probably culminate in Feyd winning the knife fight against Paul and then saying, "You did perfectly, sweetheart." And Reader bolting like an Olympian into his still bloody arms.

#feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #original #asks #feyd x you #thank you so much for sharing your idea!#Hope i did OK!

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weirdkpopgirl · 2 days

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Forever | Jaemin Imagine #13

Title: Forever

Genre: Tooth-rotting fluff ><

Warnings: light making out

Word Count: ~1k

Author's Note: Yet another story of mine that was inspired by my admiration for Jaemin. Trust me, I've liked a lot of k-pop guys. But for some reason, Jaemin stands out the most to me. Maybe because he's my ideal type. But every time I see him, I find something that makes my heart beat faster. I wonder if that's what falling in love feels like? Anyway, hope you guys like this. Thank you for reading ^ ^

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The Totoro lamp on the accent table next to the television cast a soft glow that warmed the living room of your once lonely apartment. Cozied up at the edge of the gray loveseat, you sat with your knees pulled close to your chest, allowing your thoughts to wander as they often did past 10 p.m. However, those thoughts were interrupted by the light padding sound of slippers against the wooden floor panels. Soon after, the couch cushion next to you sank under added weight.

Then you felt the arms of your beloved wrap his arms snugly around your waist, and his warm lips planted a lingering kiss on your cheek without wasting another second. “Missed you,” he whispered, his voice slightly tickling your ear.

The corners of your lips curled into a fond smile, and you turned into his embrace so you could face the sweet man properly. You nestled comfortably between his legs, letting your hand naturally find its way to the back of his neck while your other hand brushed against the left side of his face.

“I missed you too, Nana,” you murmured, tenderly caressing his cheek. He leaned into your touch instantly, savoring it.

The simple action was enough to stir a flurry of emotions within you. In the brief moments of silence that passed, you studied your handsome boyfriend as if searching for any changes that might have occurred in the three weeks you had been apart. Other than his white-blond hair having grown longer so quickly after cutting it, you didn’t find any significant changes. Jaemin’s big beautiful eyes were as captivating as ever, complemented by his flirtatiously long eyelashes. His dark eyebrows were still perfectly arched, framing his expressive eyes, and his soft pink lips retained their subtle, endearing pout.

A small sigh from you couldn’t be suppressed, the sight of him having the same effect on you as always. Although, deep down you knew his kind-hearted personality made him even more attractive in your eyes.

“What’s on your mind, princess?” Jaemin asked in his dreamy deep voice that carried a mellowness at night. His eyes held a curiosity to them, and he didn’t need to say anything for you to know he was referring to your earlier distraction.

You hesitated for a second, before responding. “I was just thinking about relationships.”

Checking Jaemin’s reaction before continuing, you saw that his attention remained fully captured on you. The way he listened intently made your heart flutter so easily, a feeling you couldn’t quite explain.

“You know, I was watching YouTube before bed the other day,” you began to explain. “And I came across a few shorts about couples talking about how the first year is supposed to be the honeymoon phase, and then they start arguing a lot in the second year and often break up.”

Jaemin nodded, a gentle smile tugging on his lips. “I see. What’s your take on that, love?”

Although you had the answer to his question in your head, it took a moment for you to piece it together. “Hm, I don’t think there really should be a honeymoon phase. I mean, that’s not really the case for us.”

Almost instinctively, you glanced down at the diamond ring on your finger, its facets catching the light perfectly. A few days before Jaemin had to leave for Taipei with the Dreamies, he surprised you with a simple yet intimate proposal.

“Sure, we’ve both had to work on some things,” you continued, fixing your gaze on him once more. “But even after two years together, you still make me feel like a giddy teenager with a huge crush.”

Jaemin chuckled, his laughter causing a blush to tinge your cheeks. You knew how silly your words sounded, but they reflected your true feelings. However, it was rare for you to verbally express this to him. Before any doubts about being this honest could creep in, Jaemin’s hand moved to lovingly brush a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I feel exactly the same as you. Every day I discover something new I love about you, and every kiss we share feels just as special as our first,” he said sincerely.

A part of you sensed he said the last sentence as an excuse to kiss you, and sure enough, he leaned in to plant one on your lips shortly after. Even though you lost the number of times Jaemin has kissed you, you agree that all of them were cherishable.

Pulling away, you scrunched your nose slightly with a hint of skepticism in your voice. “Are we being too cheesy?”

If anyone had walked in and witnessed this, you were certain that they would cringe at hearing all the sweet, sappy things exchanged between the two of you. You could practically hear the fake gagging noises from his members.

“I’d like to think of it more as us being extra romantic,” Jaemin replied, wearing a playful smile that you secretly swooned over.

The conversation naturally faded into the background, as you lost yourselves in each other’s embrace once more. His lips moved against yours slowly, tenderly, without ever making you fear that he’d pull away anytime soon. One hand held your back securely, while the other gently cupped your face. Your fingers lightly ran through his light-colored strands as you melted into his touch.

“Gosh, I just want to marry you already,” Jaemin exhaled, a hint of sulkiness in his tone.

Despite his words causing you to blush profusely again, you relaxed into his arms and appreciated this quiet moment surrounded by love and warmth. Maybe you guys were pretty cheesy. But that didn’t make your feelings for each other any less real.

Being in love with Jaemin was a feeling you hoped would last forever.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

previous masterlist -> current masterlist

#nct dream #nctzen #kpop #czennie #nct dream imagines #nct dream fluff #nct dream scenarios #jaemin #nct #jaemin x reader #na jaemin #jaemin fluff #jaemin imagines #jaemin scenarios #nct dream x reader

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coreydoras · 3 days

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Another free way to help Palestine besides daily clicks

If anyone is looking for another free way to give to Palestine, FreeRice.com is a little trivia site that gives the financial equivalence of 10 grains of rice per correct answer on multiple choice questions. If you live in the US, you may have played it in school. It only takes around 10 seconds to answer a question and there are lots of different categories.

So if you're ever looking to pass time, learn, or just have a bit of fun, you can just go to this site. I figure I'd share since I have been doing a bit of research into more ways to help for free. More info under the cut that goes into details to avoid extremely long post.

Read this!: The organization is helping other countries in need as well (which is great too) so not every single "grain" is going directly to Palestine. The website is owned by the UN World Food Programme, which is where all proceeds are going. They focus on countries in crisis. You can click here to see what countries they are currently helping. Here is also their 2023 annual report for their work in Palestine.

any comments about the inefficiency will be blocked because it is not the point of the post. the point is that its a free way to help. not everyone can donate and it's not up to people outside of palestine to decide what ways are worth it or not. its still aid going to real people with no choice and you'd have to be really self centered if you think its not worth peoples time. If you can donate to gofundmes and organizations, please do.

I encourage you to read up more on the org if you'd like to know more. I cannot tell you how much 10 grains of rice is worth, but on their wikipedia page, it says it takes about 19,200 grains of rice to feed one adult in a day, you can kind of gauge it based on that. Just like the clicks, it adds up with everyone else's. It has been pretty active since the site's conception in 2007, and still has lots of daily activity, so it will add up. I can't answer further questions and have said what I could find. Any corrections or additional info are appreciated.

#palestine #glubs #kind of informal and a sloppy post but bleh. i just wanna get the word out

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sadhornydemons · 10 hours

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Rapid-Spoiler-Season-Speculation: Full Moon Edition

Following the lead, but hopefully not completely on the coattails of many great theories, I'll throw my ideas into the wind and hopefully only end up half wrong.

Stolas's bed curtains can be seen, this appears to be his magic displaying the day's info.

Stolas still has his bandaged arm. Cue panic, then duet song.

Afterwards, IMP returns from a mission, Loona has the book.

Time is 10 minutes until 6pm, clock out time! At least for Blitz who has removed his jacket.

Get in bitch, we're going shopping at the Asmodues private reserve safe, emphasis on privates.

(Fizz, unless Stolas is in full demon mode, the thing will murder his cloaca and not in a good way)

Meanwhile, waiting, worrying.

(Blitz, isn't not gonna fit!)

"Stolas, you don't have to turn on that red light." ♪

And as everyone and their second cousin predicted, Blitz freaks out. As to how long the talk went, or what exactly was stated, we'll have to wait and see. But we get a taste of Blitz cursing Stolas out.

Stolas is roughly still in the same place, as the earlier scene, as he gives what seems to be a closing goodbye. Although dialogue can easily be mixed in a trailer.

And at some point we get this moment of Blitz, with a sad expression(?), seemingly reaching for Stolas in what appears to be inside.

Then being teleported outside (by magic)?

Also referenced in a fantasy sequence here:

Did Blitz say some very terrible things to Stolas before the full details of the Asmodean crystal and Stola's intentions for their relationship were made clear to him? And then regretfully try to make amends? That's full speculation on my part, but considering what we get in what appears to be a follow up scene between these two:

The most common theory I've seen and can still believe myself is that this scene will take place in the Apology Tour, but I think it's actually taking place in Full Moon. This entire episode will probably be focused on these two and the preceded scenes (even with missing parts) aren't enough to fill a full (and heavily anticipated) one.

On a commentary note, and not to pick sides, but Blitzø Buckzo, what DID you do?! That bird didn't balk when you were torching his beloved Loo Loo Land to the ground and now he looks like he's 2 seconds away from releasing the hellhounds on your ass.

But on a positive note, he's at least outside, drinking wine and reading a romance novel. Not knocking down absinthe with the houseplants or burning all of Blitz's horse drawings in effigy. It's more of the 'My lovelife is in the shitter, Gabriella' vs 'He'll never love me and I'll die alone next the ice cubes' mood of earlier. But either way, dude looks PISSED.

A mocking angry bow. Blitz has a smile, but maybe it's just because they're talking instead of Stolas ignoring him.

(book is still in hand) "Do you have any kind of remorse for what you do?" matches the mouth movements. Yeah, I'm pretty sure this is directed at Blitz. Unless Stella happened to drop by at a bad time to pick up her mail (what happened?!!)

Judging by the sky, it now appears to be morning.

(note the roof and curtains behind Stolas, they're now under/inside a fancy canopied tent) Owl is still angry.

Blitz has kicked back his feet, making himself at home. Stolas's pose is familiar but possibly still mocking, based on his earlier expression. Does Blitz want to solve their problem the usual way and Stolas may not bite this time?

End of my speculated/confirmed sceencaps from this episode, save maybe for this:

Granted, this could be a scene from any of the Blitzø-Conga-Line-Trauma-Storyarc of this season, but I'm thinking it may end this particular one. Leaving Stoltiz in a not great, but possibly getting things out into the open place.

Leading into the Apology Tour!

#helluva boss #helluva boss spoilers #helluva boss full moon #stolitz #stolas #blitzø #blitzo

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cookie-crumblr · 2 days

Text

GN!READER x 3 YANDERE OC’s

thinking about how Enix, Lucy and Issac would be the first three of my OC’s to cut our legs off if we disobeyed them or tried to run away an i MMMMMMMMMM

CW: GN! Reader, no body descriptions for reader, dismemberment of reader, reader referred to as they/them, murder, drugging, vomit(non descriptive dw), spoilers for lucky, permanent body mutilation, non con, p in whatever hole you have, somno(in Enix’s part), reader has hair in lucy’s part mentioned (not described) Not proof read!

!!MINORS DNI!!

Enix~

When you first awoke in shackles, you couldn’t imagine staying! this guy that you had once thought was just a shy nerd, turning out to be a psychopath to this extent!? You can’t!

You think of a plan to escape as soon as you can.

He let you loose after a while. you promised you’d be good, schmoozed up to him too, pretending nothing had changed. And he believed you.

You ran the first chance you got. A neighbor saw you running in your underwear and hurried you inside. You asked to call the police, she rushed to find her phone.

But too soon after, Enix busts through her front door.

He has a pair of hedge trimmers in his hand… You tried to run but you were frozen solid watching him beat the old woman to death with them. You tried to tear yourself away from the gorey scene unfolding, you tried to run, but he caught you.

“Butterflyyyy~ Looks like Ill have to rip off your wings after all…” He holds you tightly in his grasp, his tall body fully encasing you. “I really didn’t want to”

He injects you with something as he’s holding you, and you feel your body grow suddenly so heavy and your vision fades.

Now he’s looking over your precious, sleeping form, you are even easier to watch and protect! and he can’t help but love how dependent you’ll be on him from now on.

His dick throbs.

You’re so perfect, even just sleeping under anesthesia. He lifts your stumps and gently feels his work… He shouldn’t. He stops himself. Not yet anyway, he wouldn’t want to injure you while you’re in a serious recovery phase.

But soon, he’ll definitely put you back under to fully enjoy what he’s done.

Upon waking you feel terrified… Something is so very wrong! you can’t move your legs! You shoot up into a sitting position, and see the reason…

You vomit over the edge of the bed.

Your legs are gone.

(He definitely mounts them on the wall in the bedroom with a little plaque and everything like they’re one of his prized specimens)

Lucy~

You’ve disobeyed her too many times recently, you’ve ran and hid yourself inside the forbidden red doored room.

You didn’t anticipate how obsessed with you she turned out to be.

The room is completely filled in every corner with something that has to do with you. Pictures and posters of you cover the walls, they look professionally taken. The shelves are filled with photo albums, journals detailing your days and old documents. Some have your thrown out med bottles, vials of what you can only assume is cum in some and blood in the others…. You shiver. You don’t want to keep looking, but it’s all around you.

There’s what looks like some kind of Alter at the front and center of the room.

You find it hard to breathe in here…

You think you might get sick if you stay too long.

There are two windows that don’t have screens on either side of the alter. You dash to one of them and try it, luckily, it slides right open.

“Where are they!?” She screeches. You hear her heels clicking against the wood down the hall. “Find them.”

You escape down a trellis covered in blue morning glories, and run into the gardens.

All too soon you’re being tackled to the grass, as one of Lucy’s guards finds you.

Lucy walks out next, taking her time to get to you, building up even more of your tremendous anxiety. Your heart is thumping in your throat, you can see each beat pulsing in your vision. You’ve never seen her so mad!

The guard holds you down obediently.

She’s got an axe.

“You don’t need both of your legs, right Y/N?” She stands over you.

“Wh-what??”

“Hold them still.” She says to the guard.

“Lu-Lucy!?”

She brings down the axe onto your thigh, a harsh, heavy pain bursts through you and you scream out. Your bone definitely snapped but she wasn’t strong enough to take off your leg in one clean hit….

She brings it down a second time, missing the same spot and just causing you more blinding pain, you scream until you’re coughing and almost vomiting.

“LUCY!!! STOP!!!!” You beg and plead but she looks wildly ecstatic as she brutally mutilates your body.

Again the axe comes down finally separating your leg from your body. the pain is immense and your blood soaks the garden bed. You’re so dizzy and you feel sick, you’re writhing and sobbing just glad the worst is over.

“Call the doctor. And a taxidermist.” She licks your blood off of the axe before she throws it and picks up her dress instead, and steps over you. Her body falls over yours, cradling your face in her arms as she now sits on your midsection. You’re fading in and out of consciousness and weakly try to do anything, but the pain is overwhelming.

“Aw… You’re so cute Y/N, I can’t stay mad at you~!” She pets you and wipes some sweat slicked hair off of your forehead.

Her soft lips come down to yours, you barely register the sensation. As you’re fading you feel her rocking her hips on you.

(She def keeps them in her worship room)

Issac~

“This is necessary, Y/N!”

“NO ISSAC PLEASE!!!!!” You threaten to rip your vocal cords with how loud you’re screaming!

He brings the hacksaw to your thigh, right under your cheek. You feel the rough metal touch you and flail wildly.

You’re on your stomach so you thankfully don’t have to watch…

“PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!” You repeat over and over, snot and tears staining your face.

“I hate to do this to you i swear! But you’ve made me! we told you not to run!!”

“I WONT I WONT I SWEAR I WONT!!!”

“We already gave you that chance.” He states coldly.

The metal touches your flesh once more, but this time he slides it across with pressure enough to cut right down to your bone. You feel the vibrations against the solid part of your body and shiver. The pain is intense and you don’t recognize the voice coming out of you anymore.

You writhe and curl into yourself against the concrete while he pushes the saw back over you, and then again.

The pain doesn’t stop when he stops cutting.

It’s the most intense thing you’ve ever felt.

You’re biting your lip and groaning and wailing when he puts it in you.

“What!!” You cant wrap your head around what’s happening! He’s entering you, while your bleeding out from your thigh!

He spreads your legs wider, you hear him sloshing around in the puddle of your blood.

He fully shoves himself inside you without regard, he can’t help himself every time that you’re completely at his mercy.

You’re all out of wailing at this point, you’re throat is too dry and torn. Your vision is filling with black spots and you feel terrified. All you feel is the throbbing numbness of where your leg used to be, and his huge dick slowly stroking your insides.

You feel the familiar sweat inducing sensation of a saw blade against your other thigh now, You can’t even scream anymore or beg him to stop, you just feel your skin start to be torn open all over again and pass out.

He cums inside you and it spills out around his length mixing into your blood puddle.

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television-overload · 2 days

Text

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 2/34 - decaf coffee

[Read on AO3]

In the next week, the topic of adoption doesn’t come up again, and she tries to put it out of her mind as much as possible. They wrap up their case, spending several dull hours working on their reports, and wait impatiently for something else to come across their desk, ideally something a little more intellectually stimulating than the last few duds they’ve worked.

The good thing about not having any cases, though, is that no one blinks twice when they take a long lunch here, or leave work a few minutes early at the end of the day there. A spontaneous mid-morning coffee break at their favorite cafe down the street gets them out of the building, enjoying a rare warm day in December.

On the way to the coffee shop, they walk side by side—as always—until Scully stops suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Oh, Mulder. Look,” she says sadly.

He follows her gaze to the other side of the street, where a little boy no older than four stands with frightened eyes, looking back and forth helplessly while busy businessmen and women in suits pass by without sparing him a glance.

Mulder checks for cars quickly before jogging across the street, giving Scully little warning before taking off. She follows behind, carefully dodging traffic as it approaches.

“Hey, buddy, you lost?” Mulder asks, approaching the boy and kneeling down to his height.

The boy nods, red-faced and eyes brimming with tears.

“That’s okay, we’ll help you get this figured out,” he says consolingly. “Are you here with your mom?”

“Uh huh,” the little boy answers shakily.

Mulder gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder, offering him a reassuring smile. “Alright, well let’s find her, yeah?”

“Okay.”

“I’m Fox and this is Dana,” he says, nodding up at her. “We work for the FBI, do you know what that is?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Well, we’re kind of like cops.”

He sniffles.

“What’s your name, bud?”

“William.”

The world slows to a halt, and Scully’s eyes widen.

It’s a common name. So common, in fact, that she can name at least six Williams, Wills, or Bills off the top of her head without hesitating. But that’s exactly the problem.

It’s a family name. Both her family, and Mulder’s.

Fox William Mulder.

“William? Hey, that’s my middle name!”

She won’t think about it. She won’t think about the way that she wanted to use that name, if they were lucky enough to succeed at in vitro fertilization. She won’t think of that little boy she pictured, or the man she hoped would stay and be his father.

“Really?” William asks, eyes lighting up for the first time.

Mulder smiles. “Yeah, better than Fox, right?”

She hears a giggle, and remembers Emily. Mulder got her to laugh, too, even under the most harrowing circumstances. She shakes her head, focusing on the situation at hand. She won’t be of any help if she can’t get her head out of the clouds.

Mulder asks, “You know what your mommy’s name is?”

“Um—Susan,” William answers.

“That’s great. Good job, buddy, that helps. Where did you last see her?”

“We goed to get me shoes for playing soccer,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Soccer, huh? I’m partial to baseball myself—”

“Mulder—” Scully stops him, tapping him on the shoulder. When he looks at her, she points to the other side of the road, and he nods his thanks.

“Hey, look, there’s a shoe store across the street,” he says triumphantly, refocusing in on William. “I bet you she’s right over there looking for you!”

He stands, reaching out his hand for William to hold, and they cross the street together with Scully following closely behind. She watches them, and thinks that if she were a passerby, she might think they were father and son, out for a midday stroll.

It’s a side of Mulder she doesn’t often get to see. A side she suspected lay dormant for a long time after Samantha disappeared, but it’s still there, popping up here and there when it is needed.

“Hey, Scully, can you go in and check if there’s a Susan in there?” Mulder asks, looking to her for assistance. “I want to stay out here in case she comes by looking for him.”

She nods, clearing her head once again of the swirling thoughts that had occupied her. “Yeah, of course.”

She goes in and comes back out just as quickly, shaking her head despondently.

“The clerk said she and her son left about 10 minutes ago,” she reports.

“Did he say which way they went?”

“To the right.”

Mulder glances in that direction and nods. “10 minutes, well she couldn’t have gotten far. We found him just over there,” he says optimistically. “William, keep an eye out for if you see her.”

“Okay,” he agrees.

They head to the right, Mulder now carrying William on his shoulders up above the crowds. They pass a few stores, finding no luck so far, but then are startled when some pedestrians up in front of them nearly get bowled over by the sudden opening of a shop door. A frantic woman exits, then darts off, apologizing as she goes.

Mulder starts jogging, knowing that it must be the mother. He dodges other people walking, skirting between them expertly, which leaves Scully behind by a fair few paces. Luckily, she’s used to it. The woman is poised to enter the next shop when he calls out, “Susan?”

She turns.

“I think this little one belongs to you.”

An instant wave of relief washes over the woman’s face, and she runs to reach them. “William!” she gasps.

The boy all but leaps into her arms, curling in close while she strokes the back of his head, comforting them both.

“Where did you find him?” she asks through tears, holding tight to her wayward son.

“Just across the street,” Mulder says with a smile, pointing to where they came from.

Susan sighs in muted frustration. “There’s an ice cream shop over there, I should have known.”

“My sister did the same thing when I was about 9. Gave us all a heart attack,” Mulder chuckles.

The casual mention of his sister causes Scully to look at him in shock, but he’s too preoccupied to notice.

“I can’t thank you enough. I turned my back for one second.”

“No problem, just glad he’s back where he belongs,” Mulder responds.

After waving goodbye to William, he turns around, a content smile on his face. He starts in the direction of the coffee shop, as if the events of the last few minutes had never happened. Expecting Scully to follow, he walks right past her, but she stands frozen in place.

It’s insane. It’s impulsive. She’s going to do it anyway.

“Okay.”

He pauses and glances back at the statue that is Dana Scully. Amusement plays at his lips, though there’s more than a little confusion there too.

“Huh?”

“Okay.”

He laughs, backtracking a few steps so he is closer to her.

“You’re gonna have to say more words, Scully, I don’t know what you’re—”

“I want to adopt a baby.”

His eyes widen, and he looks to his right and left as if someone might overhear their personal conversation and go tell on them to their supervisors.

“You’re bringing this up now?” he asks, a little incredulously.

“Yeah.”

“And– and you’ve thought this through? You’re sure?”

No, not really. To be honest, she’d barely thought through this at all. There are so many reasons why they shouldn’t, why this is a terrible idea. They’re not ordinary people. They have enemies who could use this against them, careers that have proven to be life threatening on multiple occasions.

And yet…

“Mulder, seeing you with that boy…” she says, her eyes trailing off in the direction the mother and son had disappeared. “Yes, I’m sure. Only if the offer still stands, I won’t hold it against you if you’ve changed your—”

He stops her. “No! No, I’m in. Let’s do it. Let’s– We should talk about this.” He grabs her elbow and starts toward the coffee shop with her in tow, and the pace of his step forces her to walk faster to keep up. “Buy you a cup of coffee? Breakfast sandwich?” he asks, scrambling for something to say.

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Just the coffee then.”

The bell jingles as they enter. They sit down at a booth and Mulder leans in, his voice low and placating.

“Okay, no need to panic. We’re just talking about it, yeah? Breathe.”

She huffs out a laugh. “How are you so calm about this?”

He smirks. “I’ve been reading about this stuff for months. You only found my stash of brochures last week.”

“Months?” she breathes, voice laced with disbelief. Her head feels like it’s spinning. “It’s just a little… overwhelming, I suppose,” she says.

“I have that effect on people,” he jokes. “It’s not a rush. If we do this, it will take time, we just have to decide if it’s something we want to pursue. There’s an application process, and getting approved, not to mention finding the right placement...”

Scully feels out of her depth. He knows a lot more about this than she does. She almost wants to ask if he has a slide show prepared.

“I want to do it. I do,” she assures him, carefully choosing her words, “I just don’t know where to begin. It sounds like a crazy idea. Is it crazy?”

“Probably,” he says with a shrug and a grin. “Kind of just makes me want to do it more.”

She’d never admit it, but she feels the same way. Maybe Bill’s right. He has rubbed off on her.

“So… where do we start? What do we need to do?” she asks, needing more information before she starts spiraling.

“Why don’t we take it slow? Start with you and me and an actual adult conversation about our priorities, and then maybe this weekend I can stop by with some Chinese and we can look into next steps.”

She takes a deep breath, heart rate slowing back down to normal.

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

How do we do this? How do we have this conversation we should have had months ago?

Before they get a chance, a waitress stops by to take their orders, and Scully opts for decaf. As electrified and anxious as she feels right now, she really doesn’t need caffeine to make it even worse. She can feel her knee bouncing relentlessly under the table.

Once the waitress is gone, Mulder gets the ball rolling with the first order of business.

“I guess to start us off, I need to know how involved you want me to be. I can help you find an agency and be your personal reference on your application, or I could—” he pauses. Breathes. “Like I said, I’ll be as involved as you want. I just need to know what you’re thinking.”

She shakes her head. “Mulder, I couldn’t ask you to—”

“I should tell you that the agencies favor couples over single parents,” he adds before she can finish, “It might be more difficult to get approved on your own, but if that’s what you want, I’ll help you.”

She studies him, the nuance of every microexpression on his face. She knows what her heart is wishing for, but what about him? Would she be asking too much of him?

“What do you want?”

He ducks his head, staring at the chipped surface of the table before glancing up at her with an apologetic smile.

“I’m a selfish man.”

She looks at him, needing more of an answer before she dares to respond. If he doesn’t mean what she thinks he means, one wrong word could spell disaster. Upset the delicate balance that is their friendship. She has to hear it straight from his mouth, this is no time for assumptions.

He sits back in his booth, and she braces herself for what he’s about to say.

“I want to coach little league,” he confesses. “I want to drive an ugly minivan, the ugliest one you’ve ever seen. I want to help with math homework, to tell crazy stories at bedtime and go on camping trips together.”

He looks deep in her eyes, and she shudders, feeling like his words have penetrated her very soul.

“I want it all, Scully. I want a family.”

I want you.

She feels tears pool in her eyes, her throat closing with emotion.

“I want that too,” she chokes out, unable to form any more words.

He reaches out a hand across the table and takes hers. She holds on tight.

“Well, that’s one thing settled,” he says, blinking back the pinpricks of tears in his own eyes.

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @slippinmickeys @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear @whovianderson

#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

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typenull · 22 hours

Text

on laios's approach to his consumption and desires

i am so sick of people making laios’s entire thing about “eating monsters” and turning him into someone that would eat a pokemon or whatever given the chance, when his entire thing is actually about both being the monster that’s eating, and the human being that’s getting devoured. because “monsters eat humans, that’s why they’re so cool (and everything i want to be).”

laios’s interest in eating monsters stems from his desire to understand the individual species, and has since he was a child reading about their taste in books. it most definitely isn’t from an innate fascination with their value or specific usage as food. laios doesn’t eat monsters the same way that a human eats animals! this is most obvious when you compare him and senshi, who is focused specifically on the usage of monsters as a food item, and a foil to laios - who is willing to eat whatever just in order to understand it a little more.

he may be curious how specific species taste - do walking mushrooms taste like regular ones? do nightmares and living armor taste like regular shellfish? - but these questions stem from a desire to understand them deeper and in turn get closer to a world of animality. personally, i think he would be offended at the idea that his desire to eat monsters stemmed from something so human-centric.

(notice how he seems to care significantly less about being a ‘murderer’ than a ‘dragonslayer’ lol. )

we know that laios has been curious about the taste of monsters since he was a child, but he still takes it seriously. the only reason he eventually resorts to eating monsters with his party in the first place is because they were in a situation of life or death - and laios, like a monster operating under the rule of ‘kill or be killed’, knew that they were going to need to do so in order to achieve their goal on such low supplies. but he isn’t a surplus killer, nor does he kill solely for the sake experimentation or pleasure! he's actually extremely respectful towards monsters, all things considered.

on top of everything... even though laios is clearly pleased about getting a chance to eat monsters initially, since he finally gets to fulfill a childhood desire - this actually sours for him fairly early on. in the monster tidbits page for the cockatrice, we see him lament on the fact that the information he'd idolized for so long ended up being totally fabricated, and doesn't seem too happy about pursuing his 'dream' of comparing the taste of cockatrice and basilisk anymore. i think this says a lot about his motivations and feelings when it comes to consuming monsters overall.

basically tl;dr - what i’m saying is - yeah, laios eats monsters, sure… but he wishes he was a monster too, and he wants his own human form devoured. with this idea in mind, you can consider that by eating monsters, he becomes closer to them, and a little less “human”. (even though he knows it isn’t that easy.)

this actually has A LOT of influence over late-game spoiler-related events - but i'll keep all late-game spoiler meta talk and panels under the cut:

even in death, laios's ultimate dream is to be consumed by monsters and become part of the natural world! but i think what's most indicative of this approach laios has towards consuming monsters is when kui kind of makes it incredibly obvious during the fight with the winged lion, lol. it's the definining point of the entire thing, isn't it?

laios, finally becoming his true monster form, is so overwhelmed by an unstoppable desire to consume his human self, erasing it from existence. he's so overcome with this desire to consume himself that on a surface level, it actually almost ends up becoming his downfall...

..but laios knew this would happen already, and with it in mind, he incorporated it into his ultimate monster self. he allowed himself to be able to consume other's desires - including the winged lion's. by consuming the demon disguised as himself, he's able to get to the core of the demon's appetite...

his same "kill or be killed" monster mindset is what allows him to win against something beyond human comprehension, something even beyond the human-monster dichotomy of this world. laios's existence as a monster and approach to life under these carefully considered rules of respect and curiosity are exactly what literally save everyone's lives, including himself and falin. it parallels all the way back to his initial decision to eat monsters at all as a last-resort decision of life or death to save someone he loves! laios saves the day by not being aligned with humanity at all!

through this laios gets to prove his love and devotion for those he cares about despite how far removed he feels from the human experience. he doesn't need to be understood by humans, nor does he need to understand humanity... as long as he has his strong desire to keep those he loves safe and love them with all his heart, it doesn't matter at all. this entire fight is one giant reflection of laios's inner workings throughout the entire series, and i don't see enough people view it through that lens.

laios is such an important character to me, and this wasn't even supposed to be a meta post, but i got so tired of seeing people make jokes about laios eating monsters nonstop!!! thanks for reading! check out my dungeon meshi tag for more long posts like this one :)

#dm #dungeon meshi #the only series to consistently get me writing meta posts

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theperfectawful · 3 days

Text

Blind Item / Chapter 1

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC

Chapter 1: Gimme More

Rating: Explicit (18+) Series Summary: 2007. Hollywood, CA. As a former child star, you face the harsh reality of growing up in the unforgiving spotlight. A car crash on Sunset Boulevard and a cocaine scandal give you one option: Rehab. Reluctantly agreeing, you embark on a 90-day stay at Promises Malibu to attempt to salvage your career. But when Dieter Bravo arrives, your journey takes an unexpected turn. Drawn to each other, you navigate sobriety and the wreckage of your reputation. As the double standard of Hollywood's treatment of troubled stars becomes evident, you question if redemption is truly possible in a world of unequal consequences. Word Count: 11k

Content/Warnings: Age gap (~10 years, Dieter is in his mid-thirties), alternating POV, heavy drug use, illegal drug use, alcohol use, driving under the influence, frenemy dynamics, oral sex (f!receiving), dubcon/noncon, it is neither reader nor Dieter's finest hour when we meet them. Period-typical language and behavior, Hollywood assholes.

Notes: This is my first fic - I've never written or posted anything like this before, so please be kind and feel free to share any feedback or suggestions. I never would have been able to write something like this, let alone work up the nerve to post it, if it hadn't been for the kind and gracious support of @pennyserenade, @whatsnewalycat and @frannyzooey all lending me their advice when I slid into their DMs. They all inspire me endlessly with their work and talent and it’s because of their work that I was inspired to write something of my own.

Our reader is, for now, and unnamed OC. While I’ve done my best to avoid using physical descriptors of her, it should be noted that this story is a period piece that takes place in early 2000s Hollywood. The main character would have been a contemporary of stars like Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan and Nicole Richie, and there are certain assumptions I’ve made about what she looks like based on that factor of this particular story. The early 2000s could be dark, ruthless times, y'all, especially for young women in and effected by Hollywood. My intention is to examine that. Thank you for reading!

Desperate times call for desperate measures: sources say that this former child star’s team is working overtime to keep her employed. When she made her not-so-graceful exit from her latest film, the star cited conflicting schedules as the reason for her departure. The film’s producer has a different story: the Hollywood juggernaut has been heard around town calling the star unprofessional, accusing her of being late to her call times and using drugs in her trailer. She’s got a shot at a last resort: a return to television. Word is, the bad publicity has her team bargaining and drawing out sober contracts just to get her hired.

Whenever you were in town for work, you stayed at the Chateau Marmont. You were in Los Angeles often enough and long enough to justify buying a home there, but you refused, the idea of actually owning a home in LA never quite sitting right with you. Instead, you rented the same room each time you visited. You loved that little bungalow. The thick, lush landscaping shaded the windows and kept it nice and cool inside, and your front door was only a stone's-throw from the swimming pool.

It felt like home after a few years, anyway. These old, tucked-away places were what you liked most about Los Angeles, unlikely, quiet havens hidden between sky-high condos and overly sleek offices. The building breathed old-Hollywood luxury, vintage tiles and original hardwood floors and the ghosts of silent film stars wandering the hallways. The staff knew you well. The same breakfast was delivered to your door at noon every day. The top-tier maid service employed by the hotel kept the living room, kitchen, bathrooms and second bedroom impeccably tidy, though they were given clear instructions not to enter your bedroom.

Your bedroom did not inspire the same glamorous aesthetic as the rest of the hotel. Clothing was piled high against the walls and pouring out of dresser drawers, tags and receipts discarded in the wake. Empty bottles cluttered the hardwood floors, clear, crushed water bottles and rattly orange pill canisters. A full ashtray sat on a side table, a makeup mirror and various products scattered next to it.

In the middle of the room was a king-sized bed, an antique walnut headboard sprawling against the wall with a mountain of sheets and blankets layered atop a deep mattress. You laid swaddled in those sheets, rubbing your palms into your shut eyes and groaning as you rolled over, dragging your hands wide across your face to peek out at the clock on your nightstand.

4:41pm. You blinked, straining your eyes to focus and confirm you read that right. 4:41pm. Fuck.

Bleary-eyed, you reached for your phone, met immediately by a barrage of missed calls and unread messages when you slid it open.

MELANIE [3:21 AM]: Bathrrom

PETE [3:36 AM]: Did u leave

CORINNE [9:00 AM]: Call with NBC @ 1. Please be available. Corinne Roxford.

MISSED CALL: CORINNE

CORINNE [11:30 AM]: Confirming availability at 1pm. Corinne Roxford.

(212) 555-4325 [12:06 PM]: Hey gorgeous ;)

MISSED CALL [12:30 PM]: CORINNE

MISSED CALL [12:45 PM]: CORINNE

MISSED CALL [1:00 PM]: CORINNE

CORINNE [1:03 PM]: ??? Corinne Roxford.

MISSED CALL [1:05 PM]: CORINNE

CORINNE [1:07 PM]: Call immediately. Corinne Roxford.

“Hiiiii,” a soft, tired voice called from across the room. You looked up, squinting, at your best friend Natalie leaning in the doorway to the bathroom.

“Mmmm,” you hummed in response, peeking out from where you lay buried in the sheets. “Hi.”

She crossed the room, kicking piles of clothes out of the way and perched herself on the corner of the bed, her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. You cracked open one eye, locking eyes with her. In an unspoken acknowledgment of your situation - what you got into last night, the state you’re currently in, the splitting headache you’re certain she has, too - you raised an eyebrow at her. She smirked back at you and the two of you erupted into laughter. You lifted yourself up to sit, pushing your foot into her side from under the covers.

“You were insane last night!” she accused, still smiling as she resumed brushing her teeth.

“Me!” your voice was raspy and you coughed. “Me? You were the one making out with the bartender.”

“He wasn’t a bartender. He said he was with the DJ or something.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s better,” you snorted, the sound muffled by the plush pillows that cradled your head. You rubbed your palms across your face again, feeling the coarse texture of your own tired skin. The room was dimly lit, with the soft glow of morning seeping through the half-closed blinds.

Your phone vibrated on the nightstand, disrupting the quiet ambiance. You picked it up, groaning when you saw your manager’s name blaring across the bright screen. With a sigh, you slid it open.

“Hi, Corinne,” your voice was a hoarse whisper as you did your best to sound alive. Natalie stirred from her spot and crossed back to the bathroom, old floorboards creaking underneath her feet.

“I needed you on that call this morning. This is your career I’m trying to save here. Do you think I’m doing all of this for my health?”

“I mean… you’re not not…” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop it. She is on your payroll.

“Very funny. I don’t think I need to remind you that you’re running out of friends and favors here, hun. I don’t think you want me to join that list.” Her sentence was punctuated by the sound of her horn honking and a muttered expletive. She sighs. “NBC still wants to speak with you, and soon, but they want to do a four-episode Growing special. The rest of the cast is on board, and they think if we play this right we can turn into a full-on reboot. But you have to straighten up, do you understand? I need you in the Santa Monica office first thing Monday to sign the paperwork.”

“I’ll be there. I promise.” Your eyes closed again, and you sunk into the plush embrace of the king-sized bed, the soft cotton fabric soothing against your skin.

“I don’t know how to make it any more clear to you how much trouble all of us are in. This is your shot at a comeback.”

“I understand.”

There’s a bit of silence, the noise of New York traffic floating through the airwaves and into your ear. You insisted on total honesty from Corinne, unable to tolerate your team coddling you, so her words might have hurt more if this was the first time you’d heard them. Or maybe if the haze you’d woken up in were a bit thinner.

“Tomlin and the team will be in on Thursday night to get you ready for the VMAs. I’ll see you then, too.” Corinne changed the subject, her voice a mix of stern professionalism and genuine concern.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” Your voice was sickeningly sweet, a defensive baby voice you switched into when you were nervous, a trademark of yours that had been mocked by everyone from ex-boyfriends to the cast of Saturday Night Live. Corinne said goodbye and you felt Natalie’s weight return to your side.

You groaned, long and drawn out, tossing your phone into the labyrinth of sheets and blankets surrounding you. The show she referred to was a reboot of the sitcom you spent your childhood working on - Growing Together. It's one-half cast reunion, one-half desperate, nostalgic cash-grab. The producer you sat across from at the pitch meeting was almost delirious with excitement - explaining what a smashing success it was sure to be, a “televised homecoming for America's favorite family.” It took so much strength not to roll your eyes right in front of him that you thought you’d pop a blood vessel.

“Are you in trouble?” Natalie asked, a teasing tone in her voice.

"Yeah, almost always," you replied, casual in your admission. As you sat up, fully awakening, you stretched and planted your feet on the floor. You chugged the warm Vitamin Water on your nightstand before reaching for your bag on the floor and digging through its contents. Gum, a fluorescent orange paper wristband, a baby pink Juicy Tube, a black and white photobooth strip of you and Natalie with your tongues out. Not finding what you were looking for, you dumped it out onto your bed and continued rummaging through the items and garbage inside. Your iPod, a receipt from the drugstore, 3 loose cigarettes and half a dozen empty quarter-sized plastic bags. You sighed, shoving everything back inside carelessly.

“Did we finish everything last night?” You call out, patting the bed behind you, your gaze darting around in search of your phone.

“We?” Natalie’s laughter rang through the room. “I don’t know about ‘we!’”

“God, no wonder,” you muttered, the realization of this morning's particularly splitting headache dawning. Locating your phone again, you typed out a text message to your dealer, padding out of your room to the kitchen.

[5:13 PM]: Andyyyyyy. U going to Lush tonight?

You tapped the side of your phone restlessly for a beat, then texted again.

[5:13 PM]: Can you bring what u brought last night

In the kitchen, you opened the cabinet, revealing an array of neatly arranged pill bottles. Without looking, you pulled out a bottle of Advil and an empty glass. Seated at the kitchen table, engrossed in her Macbook, was your assistant, Rhea.

“Corinne’s pissed.” She said before she even looked at you, focused intently on the screen in front of her.

“Good morning,” you responded, filling your glass at the sink and beaming an exaggerated, pageant-queen smile at her. She scoffed in response.

“The sun is going down in… 40 minutes.” she retorted, her gaze flitting momentarily to the clock on the wall, then back down. You made a mockingly offended expression, hands lifting with dramatic flair.

“Time is a social construct, Rhea,” you declared, tossing back the Advil and chasing them with the full glass of water.

“Yeah, for you, maybe.” She muttered, still typing like a maniac.

You were fired six weeks ago.

The movie was meant to signal a departure for you, a leap into serious territory - a drama marking an overdue graduation from the teeny-bopper films you’d spent the last decade of your life making. You’d been lucky a year ago - a really excellent writer took a chance on an elevated high school comedy with you at the helm that had people in the industry, finally, taking you more seriously.

Seriously enough to get you in the door, at least. Being on set gave you a different impression. You felt as coddled as ever, still treated like an unqualified child star whose presence was more of a slightly annoying novelty than a creative asset.

You wanted to be treated like an adult - a real actress, a professional. This movie was supposed to accomplish that. Despite the fact that this project had a huge, award-winning director attached to it, it was subject to the same issues you’d experienced on countless, lower-tier productions. Poorly communicated call times, technical issues, handsy producers hanging around your trailer. The latter issue caused you to insist on Rhea being by your side whenever possible - power in numbers in an attempt to keep greasy Hollywood exec’s hands away from you.

You weren’t going out any more often than you usually did. Now that you were old enough to not have to sneak into clubs anymore, you were having fun. Though your evenings often bled into mornings, occasionally pushing the limits of your call times, it felt manageable. However, Corinne was relentless in reminding you of the stakes and your professional expectations: show up, behave, perform.

That morning, exhaustion hung over you more heavily than usual. The night before, you’d been out celebrating Natalie’s 23rd birthday. A friend of hers had just returned from Amsterdam and brought with him a bag of European ecstasy as a souvenir. After Le Deux closed, you threw an after party at the Chateau’s pool, you and Nat drank champagne on your floaties as the chemicals rushed through your systems. Your fingers dipped in and out of the heated pool, the two of you gossiping and giggling and floating along until the sun came up.

You were on set on time - early, in fact - but the MDMA had worn off and your energy was plummeting fast. You’d run through the scene several times with Rhea, but it didn’t seem to have helped much.

“Cut,” the director called out, sighing and stepping out from his position behind the camera. Your costar groans softly, standing up from his spot across from you and stepping away as the surrounding crew moves quickly to reset the scene.

“I’m sorry Alan,” you offered immediately as the director approached your mark. A makeup artist swoops in, tapping a brush to your under eyes.

“You’re furious with him, remember,” he coached you. “I understand it’s early, but I need you to manage to muster up some energy.”

You nodded, trying to focus despite the persistent buzzing in your head. “I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t need you to apologize to me like a punished child, I just need you to perform the way I’ve asked you to. Can you do that?”

"I'll get it right this time, I promise," you assure him softly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

He eyed you skeptically, his weaning lack of patience with you made clear by his expression.

“We’ll break for five.” He called out to the room, still staring at you as you stood up and shuffled off behind him.

Rhea arrived at your side with your cell phone and a Red Bull. You flip open the screen as you walk, quickly scrolling through your text messages and trying to distract yourself from your dull, nagging headache.

“That was okay, right?” You asked, trying to sound casual but unable to hide the uncertainty in your voice. “Is it as bad as he says?”

“You were fine,” Rhea’s voice was uncharacteristically high-pitched as she held out the straw of your energy drink in front of you. Her eyes flit back and forth, scanning the area, and her voice lowers into a whisper as she continues. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m tired,” You brushed her off, shaking your head and handing your phone back to her. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

Rhea nods, a concerned eyebrow lifting as you arrive at your trailer. Everyone in your life was looking at you like that lately - as if doing anything less than completely coddling you would cause you to fly off the handle. The cautious glances, the careful choices of words, the subtle tiptoeing around your every move - especially from Rhea, who never gave a fuck about your feelings - it all grated on your nerves like an itch beneath the surface.

She held out her hand and you took it quickly, grabbing an orange bottle from her and slipping through the door of your trailer.

In your trailer, you sat at the vanity and closed your eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths before opening them and gazing at yourself in the mirror. You opened the bottle, pouring out two small pills on the counter in front of you. Scanning the surface quickly, you located a plastic card and pushed it against the pills with the ball of your hand. You pushed it again and again, finally finishing and scraping the excess powder from the card onto the table. Dragging the powder into two lines, you leaned down to inhale them and stood straight back up. You licked your finger and picked up the excess residue, pushing it into your gums and taking a couple more deep breaths to re-center yourself.

The acrid taste of the pills gave you a Pavlovian surge of energy, the anxious buzz in your chest subsiding and easing into a steady hum. You sat at the mirror, dragging a finger underneath your eye to wipe smudged eyeliner from your face. You sniffled, forcing the action into another deep breath and staring at yourself in the mirror. You belong here. You do. You know what you’re doing.

A sharp knock at the door pulled you back to reality with a jump.

“Jesus,” You called out “Alright, Rhea, one second!”

“It’s Alan. Open the door.”

Fuck. You frantically began cleaning the counter in front of you - slipping the credit card into your pocket and brushing your hands across the surface.

“Now!” Alan boomed from outside.

“Okay, okay!” You moved to the door and turned the lock, opening the door just enough for him to see you. You sniffled again, trying to camouflage the reaction with a cough. “Yes?”

Pushing the door firmly, Alan moved into your trailer, his body dwarfing yours in the small space.

“Listen to me,” he said, low but firm. “I’m done. I’m not doing this with you. I am not letting you fuck up my movie.”

“What?” You were dumbstruck.

“Don’t play dumb. Not now. You know exactly what I mean.” He was inches from your face now and getting angrier by the minute. You swallowed, desperately looking around for Rhea. Tears stung the corners of your eyes and you fought them, willing yourself not to blink.

“They’re prescribed,” you attempt. It doesn’t work.

“I don’t care what you do on your own time,” he continued “But this is mine. This is important to me and to everyone else out there whose livelihoods depend on this project, and I’m not going to let some spoiled, coked-out little actress spoil it.”

Your face burned with humiliation.

“Corinne fought hard to get you on this project. This was more of a fucking favor to her than you. But this movie does not live and die by your actions, do you understand me? You can kill yourself if you insist, but you will not pull my movie down with you. You’re fired.”

Your jaw dropped. You were unable to find words let alone choke them out. Rhea’s face was stark white when you spotted her just outside the door of your trailer, her cell phone firmly against her cheek, whispering into the receiver with her eyes wide.

“This is no longer viable for me or anyone else on this crew. I want you off my set now.”

You couldn’t move, your heart pounding in your chest. He stood there for another moment before exiting the trailer and slamming the door behind him. The force of the slam caused the door to open slightly, revealing Alan standing in front of Rhea.

“I don’t want to see you here again.” He said to her, loud enough for you to hear, his voice stern and uncompromising. “You’re lucky I don’t call the cops on you for bringing drugs on my set.”

You hung in the doorway as he stormed away, and as the room swirls into focus you see the eyes of the crew on you, their faces filled with curiosity and concern. Turning your head, you quickly blinked away your tears and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand.

Officially, you’d been let go due to ‘scheduling conflicts’. It was flimsy, Hollywood jargon for your star showing up fucked up, and unfortunately, the euphemism did little to quell the relentless scrutiny surrounding you.

Rhea had shown you the footage of you that began making the rounds after your firing was announced - a creepy, shaky video leaked by some PA of Alan berating you on set, cut with another clip of you walking around the soundstage. It was embarrassing - your hair was disheveled and you were pacing around in a way that looked strange out of context, but there wouldn’t have been anything interesting about it at all if the rumor hadn’t gotten out that you’d been fired for your drug use. Since then, the attention on you had been relentless.

The paparazzi had been a regular part of your life since you were a young teenager. It, generally, wasn’t as bad in New York, which is part of the reason why you preferred to stay there, but in LA it felt as if you were never more than a few feet from a camera.

When you were 16 and working on your first film after Growing Together ended, you started going to clubs with your coworkers. No one ever gave you any trouble, and you didn’t even start drinking until you were 18, but despite that, the mere optics of a child star reveling in nightlife proved a lucrative angle for the media to exploit.

Since then, you were followed almost constantly. Leaving home, returning, getting groceries, getting your nails done, driving through McDonald’s - flashing lights in the corner of your eye were such a regular thing that you barely even noticed it anymore. There were photographers you knew at this point, friendly ones who knew your angles and creepy ones who constantly tailed your car.

It’d never been like this before, though. Literal throngs of photographers showed up anywhere you went, watching you like hawks, all waiting to swoop in on the slightest slip up. Going shopping was an event that needed to be scheduled in advance, boutiques needing to be warned that you’d be coming in so that they could prepare to lock doors behind you. Every step, every breath, felt scrutinized and captured for public consumption, leaving you suffocated beneath the weight of it all.

You were so angry about being let go - your behavior, truly, was no different from what any other actor your age was doing. You partied with your friends, you were out late sometimes, but you knew you were a good actress. It had been your passion since you were a child, and it was beyond frustrating to hear people tell you they loved you and wanted to see you win and then have them turn against you the moment you made a mistake.

So, although you’d behaved and spent the first week or two lying low at the insistence of Corrine, you were over it now. You stayed in LA, uninterested or unwilling to go home to your family and friends in New York and explain to them what's been going on. You were going out with Natalie every night, usually to Le Deux or Lush or Teddy’s. You stayed out late and slept in late and generally just did your best to avoid confrontation with any paparazzi or journalists or producers you’d pissed off.

You weren’t lying to Alan when you told him you were only taking what had been prescribed to you. It just happened that a lot of things had been prescribed to you. Lately, you’d been alternating between Adderall and MDMA for the last week or so, making you too speedy and anxious to really dwell on the current state of your career. You were, admittedly, running through your prescriptions more quickly than usual, causing you to need to make some calls in order to fill in the gaps.

Throughout dinner, you anxiously slid the screen to your Sidekick open and shut, open and shut. You thumbed through the wheel of apps, trying to will into existence a text from Andy that didn’t seem to be coming. It’s not exactly like you expected rigid punctuality from the guy who sold you drugs, but his radio silence was making you antsy.

[9:05pm]: Hellooooooooo

Natalie exclaimed as a tray of shots was delivered to the table, echoed by the group of acquaintances that you met up with at Don Antonios, the restaurant you always went to before a night out. Eagerly, you took one off the tray, blindly grabbing another as you knocked the first one back. You chased that shot with the other, the warmth of the liquid making you feel more like a human being and less like a raw nerve.

Seated to your right in the booth was a girl you kind of knew. She was always hanging out on the fringes of your group, some friend of a friend of a friend who was for sure going home and telling everyone she partied with you. She’d been gawking at you all night, beady eyes locked on you since you sat down, craning her neck and sitting uncomfortably close to you, your dress pinned under her studded jeans. You’d been resisting the urge to ask her what the fuck her problem was for the better part of an hour. As the group around you became distracted by the arrival of the shots, you seized the opportunity to confront her.

“Can you please get off of my dress?” you spat.

Her eyebrows shot up as she took her eyes off of you for what felt like the first time that evening to look down, apologizing and scooching over. She had tall red stilettos on and, when she looked back up at you, you could see the smudged mascara on her eyelid. Just as you were going to take the opportunity to move away from her, she leaned over to talk to you over the noise that surrounded you.

“Sorry. Hey, I’m Katie.”

You grimaced, not in the mood to talk to this person.

“Hi.”

You turn away for a beat, but your attention is grabbed again by Katie’s voice lowly in your ear.

“Hey, I have Xanax, if you want one,” the offer took you by surprise, the prospect lighting you up immediately.

“Oh, my god, I love you,” you said, quickly turning towards her and extending your palm. “Please?”

Downers really weren’t your thing, even booze wasn’t your favorite, but this evening was going to turn from boring to maddeningly insufferable fast if you didn’t get your hands on something.

“I know someone who needs one when I see them,” she laughed, discreetly dropping two pills into your palm.

The clubs in LA were the same thing every time. You showed up in big black SUVs, posed and made nice for the photographers outside for a moment and then clamored inside towards the booth that was waiting for your party.

It felt like high school. Well, you assumed, since your high school experience took place entirely on set. You saw the same people everywhere, all scattered around the room, broken up into their own little cliques. All gossiping, the room alive with murmurs and whispers. Who’d just shown up? Who was fighting with who? Who’d stolen whose boyfriend? It all felt so juvenile, but not being here was worse, so you put up with it. The people changed, but not really - you usually ended up surrounded by the same cast of promoters, wannabe socialites and greasy LA club dudes, swapped out every couple weeks by stand-ins and understudies and new arrivals. They circled your table like vultures, mingled with one another and made use of your tab while you sat engrossed in your Sidekick.

The night became slightly more tolerable once you’d taken one of the bars Katie gave you, but you were still desperately trying to get a hold of a dealer. By the time you left the restaurant and were climbing into the backseat of your car to head to Lush, you’d even resorted to texting backup options, people you’d partied with once or twice who you suspected might be around.

Sinking into the plush booth, you let your head loll to the side, eyes shutting against the assault of strobing lights. The steady, pumping rhythm of the bass sent a rattle through your bones.

After a minute, Natalie's hand landed gently on your knee, snapping you back to reality.

“You okay, girl?” She asked. Her voice felt distant, barely audible over the pounding bass reverberating through the room. The glitter on her eyelids shimmered in the blue light, the only part of her face you could clearly make out in the shadowy corner of the booth.

“I’m fine,” you answered impatiently, kicking your feet up into the seat next to you. Just then, your phone finally buzzed, your heart skipping a beat as your dealer’s name flashed across the screen

ANDY [11:03PM]: not goin tonite

You scoffed, pausing for a second before furiously tapping out a response.

[11:03PM]: FUCK U ASSHOLE

You hit send and threw your phone into your purse with a huff. You were going to have to come up with something else. Or maybe just slit your wrists right here at the table instead.

You surveyed your group as bottle service brought two large bottles of tequila to your table along with a tray brimming with shots. knew all it would take was a couple hundred bucks from a photographer outside for them to spill about how you’d begged them for coke. They'd probably do it for free just for the attention. You'd already asked Katie, but all she had was Xanax and a joint, and Natalie would've let you know if she got a hold of anything else.

You started scanning the rest of the room, looking for anyone you knew. The club was packed, some sort of launch party that’d booked a huge DJ filling even the VIP section from wall to wall.

Suddenly, your attention was grabbed by the sound of a man shouting at the booth directly across from yours. He was the typical guy you'd find in places like this: a douchey-looking producer type, each of his arms wrapped around two miserable-looking models to his left and right. Intrigued, you followed his gaze to see who he was yelling at.

Oh, bingo.

Dieter Bravo. You recognized him instantly. An actor like you, you knew you’d seen him around at award shows and parties, but you’d never met. His reputation preceded him, though; you knew he partied, knew that he, too, had been let go from movies due to 'scheduling conflicts' more than once. You knew he’d been in trouble for drugs. Last you'd heard, he'd been in the news for cheating on his wife or something. You were certain that all it’d take was a little bit of flirting and buttering him up to get him to share whatever he had with you.

Without a word to anyone, you rose from your booth, ignoring Natalie's questioning as you strode towards Dieter's booth. Immediately, though, you lost your footing, lightheaded from standing up too quickly. You brushed it off, saved from a fall by someone at your booth. Straightening your dress, you grabbed a bottle of tequila before pivoting on your heel and starting back towards Dieter.

Dragged out against his will, Dieter was a guest of honor at a launch party for Elysium Fragrances, the cologne brand he’d shot a campaign for last year. His presence was requested tonight as a make-good for being a no-show at the launch of his own campaign, instead being spotted that evening by the California Highway Patrol speeding down the Pacific Coast Highway with a model in the passenger seat.

He’d been stopped by a cop as he attempted to pump gas, some asshole photographer seizing the opportunity to swoop in on the interaction and hurl all sorts of insulting names at his date. Dieter lost his patience, blowing past the cop to shove the paparazzo to the ground, shattering his camera in the process. He was arrested that evening on five charges - assault and battery, destruction of property, drunk and disorderly conduct, assault of an officer (come on) and, thanks to a thorough search of his car, possession with intent to distribute.

As his smug-faced mugshot circulated the tabloids, it eclipsed the glossy editorial photos that the brand had invested millions in. The extravagant campaign was reduced to a joke, its over-the-top glamour juxtaposed with candid snapshots of Dieter’s angry face shouting at the photographer.

Unbelievably, the brand hadn’t thrown him out then and there. He almost wished they had - he preferred the couple of nights he spent in jail to the following days spent in meetings, his team arguing with Elysium over their ability to sway this and use his reputation to their advantage. Ultimately, they maintained his status as a face of their brand as well as his 6 million dollar contract, with the stipulation that he shoot another campaign and make himself available for any event, launch or party the brand requested for the next year.

Being asked to party in exchange for six million dollars was a sweet deal - he understood that - but the reality of being a cosmetics brand’s puppet meant that he ended up at the same fucking parties week in and week out, always babysat by an appointed employee of the brand or, failing that, someone on his payroll.

Tonight was particularly torturous. The tabloids had latched onto the whispers of his crumbling marriage - rumors that were, fortunately or unfortunately, completely legitimate. Heidi was meant to be the one to tie him down, set him straight, clean him up. Their wedding photos looked like a fucking editorial, glossy photos ran with headlines predicting their domestic bliss. But a year and a half, a relapse, a DUI, and a string of affairs - all on his part - had shattered those illusions.

Last week, Dieter returned home from a 3-day bender to Heidi’s mother on the landing at the top of his stairs. She was screaming and hurling the contents of his closet at him, plus whatever else was within arms reach. Heidi, her once-bright eyes now dull with tears, cowered in a doorway behind her mother, slamming the door behind her when he called out in an attempt to reason with her. Her mom located his Oscar, hurling it towards his head with a warning to leave the house before she called the cops. He’d ducked just in time to avoid the statue concussing him, it instead crashing through the glass window of the door behind him.

The stories spread like wildfire, his team scrambling to reshape the narrative, casting Heidi as the cold, unfeeling spouse who couldn't handle his demons. They painted her as the villain, accusing her of rejecting him for his vices - after all, she knew who she married - all the while conveniently forgetting that she had stood by him through more than most people would be able to tolerate. It was an angle he wasn’t happy with; He may have been hedonistic but he wasn’t cruel. In the interest of giving her space and avoiding any additional negative attention sent her way, he moved out. He kept an apartment closer to town, and staying there made it that much easier to avoid any reminders of his failures.

The word on the poor, dejected husband had spread, causing every asshole he ran into tonight to look at him with the same pathetic, sympathetic expression. He resented their pity. He resented this party, this club, his obligation to be seen holding some stupid bottle of cologne in order to maintain his career. The four whiskies he'd downed had done little to numb him from it, and even the lines he'd snorted on the way over had failed to dull the edges of this evening.

You’d stumbled in about an hour ago, perching yourself in the booth across from his own. Your eyelids were heavy in a familiar way, his dirtbag instincts making him suspect you’ve popped a painkiller in addition to whatever you’ve been drinking. A group of giggly, hungry hangers-on swarmed around your table like flies, posing for pictures and parting only to let bottle service in and out.

Dieter knew you - or at least, he knew of you. The cute little starlet who always popped up next to him in the tabloids. He’d seen you in enough movies and on enough billboards to recognize your face, and he’d lurked around clubs like this often enough to have seen you before. Before you’d walked in, he’d resigned himself to an armchair as far back in the VIP section as he could find, determined to wait out the evening before bringing home whatever model ended up in his car. The whiskey he’d been drinking was only just beginning to kick in and he didn’t fight it, leaning back and willing the time to pass faster. But you… you were interesting.

Your gorgeous legs were stretched out along the booth, climbing up to the hem of your dress, a pink silky thing he imagined he could tear off of you with the smallest amount of force. Glossy lips pouted at your phone, eyebrows furrowed in a sweet little frustrated expression. When you looked up he didn’t look away - he kept his eyes trained on you as you looked around the room. You were looking for someone, obviously restless. A boyfriend? The thought twisted at his stomach uncomfortably and he willed himself to stop watching you, putting his glass to his mouth and draining it with a single swallow.

“Bravo!” a voice bellowed from his left, snapping him out of it. Clint - some hack from Elysium Fragrances and tonight’s designated narc waved enthusiastically from the booth next to him. “You gonna sit there and fuckin’ mope all night, bro?”

Fuck this guy. Like most of his brand-approved chaperones, he was content to accept the babysitting opportunity and spend the evening running up Dieter’s tab and shamelessly hitting on the girls at his table. The least he could do would be to leave him the fuck alone.

His attention returned to you when he heard a commotion from your direction. There you were, knees buckled, held at your elbow by one of the guys surrounding your booth. A couple of cell phone cameras lift and snap photos behind you as you attempt to compose yourself. He can’t take his eyes off of you as you stand back up, adjusting yourself, your little dress riding up for just a moment before you smooth it back into place.

The bottle he’d finished had begun to cloud his vision, so it took him a moment to realize you were stumbling towards him, your plush lips slightly parted as you swung a bottle of tequila at your side. Despite the haze, your smile was unmistakable as you arrived at his chair. When you held up the bottle with a subtle lift of your eyebrow, he nodded in agreement.

He wasn’t entirely sure if you climbed into his lap or if you simply floated there, an ethereal presence that captivated his senses. You were such a gorgeous little thing, soft legs draping over him effortlessly, while your electric fingertips traced delicate patterns along his arms.

“Where’ve I met you before?” You slurred, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt as you settled in his lap.

You were fucked up. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. Good - he was, too. His plan had been to leave, get one of the models at his table to come home and roll over for him without much effort, but passing the evening with someone in his same state of mind would spare him from having another dull fucking conversation tonight. Plus, you were so pretty, big black pupils dilated and fixed on him beneath the lazy black fan of your eyelashes.

“You tell me,” he answered, running his finger along the rim of his glass.

Did you know who he was? He goes along with your guesses as to where you’d met before. Miami, London, the Met, whatever you said, as long as you didn’t piece together that you know him from a TV show that aired when you were still in middle school.

Music blasted through the speakers surrounding you, strobe lights flashing and highlighting flecks of glitter on your shoulders. He lifted his hand to run his finger along the thin strap of your dress as you lifted the bottle up between you and raised your eyebrows in question. He nodded, holding up his empty whiskey glass.

“Glastonbury?” You asked as you filled his glass.

“That must be it,” he agreed, knowing he hadn’t been to Glastonbury since 1995, and clinked his glass against your bottle. He watched as you took a long draw from the mouth and could see the grimace you were holding back as you squinted, your throat bobbing as you swallowed. He followed your lead, emptying his glass in three big gulps. Your eyes flitted over momentarily to the group he came with, crowded around the booth to his left, then back to him.

“You alone?” You asked him, glossy lips smirking.

“Just like you.”

You let out a knowing chuckle and leaned in closer to him, tequila and lime and smoke on your breath as it mingled with his own. The way you dragged your lower lip through your teeth had his cock twitching, the combination of the chemicals in his system and you purring in his lap like a kitten destroying any shred of inhibition he had left.

There’s an acknowledgment between people like you and Dieter. It’s one of those things that doesn’t lend itself to description, but he knew it when he saw it - in the mirror, in friends and acquaintances and enemies, in blown-up photographs on the covers of tabloids, suicides and DUIs announced in newsstands. Raw nerves covered in glitter, celebrity or civilian, death drives winning over life drives every time. He saw it in your dilated pupils and the way your thighs were rubbing together, the silk of your dress doing nothing to hide it. You’re like him, too, and most importantly, you know better than to ask why.

His hand cupped your face before he realized he’d done it and he closed the space between you, your lips soft against his the next sensation he was aware of. You tasted good, and he wanted more right away, deepening the kiss and digging his fingers into your thigh forcefully. He ran his tongue along the seam of your mouth, his own lips going numb as he licked into yours. He pulled you up to straddle him and you moved easily, hips lowering onto him immediately and settling, the lace of your panties brushing up against the thin fabric of his pants. His mouth trailed to your ear, worrying your earlobe between his teeth and guiding your hips to roll against his crotch again and again.

“You don’t give a fuck, do you?” He said, his voice low and hoarse in your ear. He knew you had the attention of his group and your own, not to mention anyone else who happened to look over, but it didn’t seem to matter to you. He knew you’d been in trouble lately - the same limelight, coming-of-age growing pains he’d been through himself several years ago - and his own instincts threatened to kick in and shield you from the excess attention.

You laughed with a shake of your head, tossing your hair over your shoulder and, without looking away from him, lifted his hand from your thigh to your lips, dragging your tongue across the length of his index finger and popping it into your mouth.

Oh, you were fun. You were already making him hard, and he knew you could feel it as you grinded into him again and again, letting his finger drop from your mouth when he pressed his lips back to yours. He needed to be careful - the linen lounge pants he’d thrown on to come here would betray nothing if you kept it up much longer.

It’s a noticeable absence when you hum and pull away from the kiss, the urge for more of you rolling over him and causing his fingers to dig into your thighs possessively.

“Do you have anything… funner?” You asked, big, blown out eyes pleading as you lifted the tequila bottle up again. Aha. It just so happened he did - a baggie of coke he’d brought along just in case sat in his pocket, along with two tabs of acid. It didn’t seem like that kind of night, though, at least not yet. He’d stick with the coke.

“I might have something,” he replied, a genuine smirk spreading across his face for the first time that evening. He sat up straight, smacking your ass and biting your jawline at the same time, the yelp it pulled from you quickly transforming into a wild giggle and sending a rush of blood to his cock as he peppered kisses and bites down your neck to your collarbone.

Quickly, he helped you to your feet and guided you through the crowded room, following you across the floor, his index finger linked with your pinky, prying eyes and pointing fingers meaningless to the both of you. You may have been stumbling, but you were confident. Or at least not at all concerned. A camera phone at the bar flashed and Dieter instinctively ducked his head, moving a hand to your hip to rush you forward and out of sight.

Tucking into a hallway at the back of the club, he kicked a door open and hurried you inside a small, dark room. It was clearly an employee restroom, high piles of backstocked paper towels and toilet paper toppling over when he pushed you up against the wall harshly, his hands cupping your face, the cool metal of his rings pressed against your cheek.

He pulled a pink baggie out of his shirt pocket, opened it and tapped a bump of white powder out onto the skin between his thumb and index finger. He held it up to your nose and, without any question about what it was, where he got it or if he’d already tried it, you’d inhaled, one hand holding his steady while the other held your nostril closed.

Fucking finally. Your head lit up immediately with euphoria and relief as the amphetamines rushed through your system and you melted against Dieter as he lifted you to perch you on a stack of cardboard boxes.

You let him move you like a rag doll, smiling as he propped you back and tapped out two more bumps onto your chest and snorted them, running your fingers through his messy curls as he dragged his tongue along your cleavage, licking up what was left.

His lips found yours again, and the pungent taste of the powder on his tongue mingling with his taste drew you in closer. Looping your arm around his neck, your free hand clutched his bicep. The acrid taste turned pleasantly tingly on your tongue, a numbness spreading as it explored his mouth.

“Here, baby,” he urged, breaking the kiss breathlessly, and you hummed in response as he tapped out another bump on the back of his hand. You inhaled it again, then he used his finger to gather the remnants of the powder. Cupping your cheek firmly, your jaw relaxed under his touch as he rubbed the excess powder into your gums. You reacted instantly, closing your eyes and drawing his finger deeper into your mouth, succumbing to the rush of sensation.

He groaned in approval, your lips already open when he kissed you again, drawing him in for more, thighs parting to wrap your legs around him. The flimsy strap of your dress fell off your shoulder, the fabric across your chest following shortly after.

Blissfully content with the relief of the chemicals rushing into your bloodstream for the first time today, you went numb, rolling your head back and watching patterns dance behind your eyelids. You allowed Dieter to touch and move you at his will, his hands skillfully brushing the other strap of your dress off your shoulder, exposing your chest completely. A throaty moan escaped him at the sight, the gentle sway of your breasts moving with the rhythm of the rough push of his hips into yours. He drew you closer, his lips finding purchase on your skin. Roughly latching onto you, he drew your breast into his mouth, his tongue drawing circles around the peak of your nipple before switching to the other side of your chest.

Sparks shot down your spine and your mind went blank for a second, lost in the feeling of him against you, the synapses in your brain firing and lighting up. You snapped back into the moment when you felt him grasp your hand with his own, his fingers intertwined with yours. He guided you down to press your hand into his crotch, grinding the firm length of himself into your hold again and again.

A soft moan escaped your lips, surrendering to the warmth and pressure of his body against yours. You tightened your grip around his neck, allowing yourself to fully yield to his control, your body pliant and responsive to his every move.

You’d fuck him, you figured, as you moved against him. He was good looking - now that you were feeling a little less edgy, you could appreciate it. Corinne would kill you if word got out, but he seemed like someone who knew a thing or two about discretion. He stiffened even more as he firmly thrusted into the cradle of your hand and you cupped your fingers around his length, the soft fabric of his pants allowing you to feel him completely. You walked your fingers up to his waistband, nails dipping under the fabric and pulling at it slightly. You’d go home with him. Whatever. You’d bring Natalie with you and you could leave by morning. He probably wouldn’t even notice a missing gram or two.

You followed the thought as he trailed kisses up your chest and neck, finally settling at your ear. His hand rose up your thigh, thick fingers dragging along the lace fabric at your center. The bundle of nerves there erupted at his touch and your thighs instinctively squeezed around him.

“Let me taste you, baby, please,” He growled just above a whisper into your ear. You arched your back into his arms, moaning and nodding in agreement, the cool porcelain of the sink underneath you causing your skin to goosebump as your dress rode up further. You opened your eyes, peeking at the chestnut brown curls, the color blending into the dark room surrounding you. Your eyelids felt heavy, and you fought to keep them open, wanting to stay present with him. But the warmth of his breath against your skin and the gentle touch of his fingers on your cheeks were lulling you somewhere else. You felt like you were floating, your vision blurred at the edges and you fluttered your eyes shut again, feeling his fingers curl around the waistband of your panties and stall there for a moment.

Your fading in and out like that threatened to spook him away. You couldn’t be too fucked up. He lightly tapped your cheeks a couple of times, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Stay with me, baby," he whispered urgently. "Gotta hear you say it."

“Mmmm,” Dazed, faraway eyes looked up at him, your blown-out pupils mirroring his own. You nodded again, dragging your teeth along your bottom lip. Your pulse raced between your legs, and you felt your hips moving towards him, trying to ride something that wasn’t there yet. “Do it, Dieter, please.”

There we go. He smirked, lifting you from the stack of boxes to push you up against the wall and sinking to his knees. He bunched up the fabric of your dress at your hips, roughly pulling your panties down your legs, the black fabric hanging loosely at one ankle as he lifted your leg to hang over his shoulder.

You shrieked when he slid his tongue through your folds, your knee buckling when he repeated the motion, his strong hands moving up to your hips to support you. His tongue pushed wide against you, him tasting and exploring you as his fingers dug into your hips with bruising force.

He felt fucking amazing. You typically hated when men touched you, especially when you were high, but he felt incredible. You’d give him anything. Despite your rapidly dulling senses, the feeling of his tongue working your clit back and forth was at the front of your mind. He pushed his tongue wide against you again and again, fucking two thick fingers up into you without warning.

You gasped, your mouth opening wide as you root your fingers into his hair to ground yourself. He wanted to wreck you completely, to smear the dark makeup around your eyes and watch that glossy mouth of yours stretch around his cock. His lips locked around your clit, and as the blood rushed to the bundle of nerves there you threw your head back, chest heaving, loud, wretched moans spilling from your throat.

With your senses dulled, he knew it’d take a little more to send you over the edge. A third finger pushed into you with a stretch, starting slow and working up to get in and out of your tight, soaked cunt. You moved your hips to match his rhythm, your pace hiccuping as he began working you faster and faster, working your clit between his teeth with a pinch.

Your moans were frantic, hitching higher and higher as he confidently worked you towards an orgasm, your surroundings blurring and swirling around you.

THUD, THUD, THUD. Just as you neared your release, a loud pounding at the door shattered the moment.

He groaned in frustration, pausing briefly before attempting to resume. You struggled to regain your focus, your chest heaving with heavy breaths, nerves coiled tightly at your core.

The knock was followed by a muffled argument and the clanking of keys from the other side of the door. Reluctantly, Dieter's head emerged from between your thighs.

“Fucking assholes,” Dieter grumbled in frustration as he stood up, moving the straps of your dress back up your shoulders and quickly adjusting himself. You steadied yourself with a hand on his shoulder as you pulled your panties back up, frustration pounding angrily between your legs.

“Find me, alright?” He breathed, smoothing out your dress, his hand lingering on your ass and eyes slowly moving up your body. “I’ll take you home.”

You nodded as the door was thrown open, the bright, white light of a flashlight shining into the small room. You stood up straight, quickly fixing your hair in the mirror and sneakily grabbing the small, plastic baggie Dieter left on the counter, hiding it in your fist behind your back.

“Let’s go. Knock this shit off,” a voice bellowed from behind the light, which darted back and forth between you and Dieter. “We’re not doing this in my fucking club, get the fuck out, let’s go!”

“What the fuck is this?” Dieter asks, moving to stand in front of you and block you from the bright light.

“I’m sorry, man, I tried to stop him,” Another voice followed from outside the room. You squinted and peeked over Dieter’s shoulder, annoyance showing on your face. A large bald man in a suit held the flashlight and to his right was the small, douchey-looking guy you recognized from Dieter’s booth. Natalie’s head popped up behind the both of them, looking relieved to have found you.

“You’re not doing drugs on my floor and fucking little girls in my bathroom. That’s it, Bravo. Get the fuck out of here, let’s go,” the angry man repeated. Dieter raised his hands and murmured an apology to you as he shuffled out, one hand poised defensively in front of his face. He pushed out of the room past Natalie, her brows furrowed at him in confusion as he passed. His counterpart flocked to his side, immediately rushing into what sounded like a flurry of explanations and reassurances. Natalie slid into the room smoothly, wrapping an arm around you to usher you out. You stumbled at her side, annoyed and disoriented.

“I’m TWENTY-TWO, ASSHOLE!” You screamed at the man with the flashlight, attempting to shove him with your balled-up fists. He raised his eyebrows, bald head wrinkling and frown deepening. Natalie pulled you away from him quickly and you could hear her apologize behind you. “Don’t tell’um sorry, Nat, ’m not fucking sorry, I was in the fucking bathroom!” you slurred, your voice disjointedly raising and lowering in pitch.

“C’mon, babe, let’s go,” Natalie urged you.

“Yeah, ’s get the fuck outta here,” you agreed, stumbling as she shepherded you out. She handed you your purse and you quickly shoved your hand inside, dropping the half-empty baggie into the side pocket. One or two flashing lights from the crowd gathered at the bar stole your attention for a moment, but it quickly returned to the big, bald, interrupting gorilla with the flashlight. “This place SUCKS!” you screamed as you began to turn back towards him, leashed by Natalie’s grip around your arm.

“Let’s go,” she repeated firmly. You followed her through the crowded bar, stomping across the floor and ignoring the unending stream of heads turning towards you. The two of you shoved out the heavy metal doors of the club, clicking and flashbulbs immediately erupting around you as the cool evening air breezed across your skin. Your name was shouted from your left and right as Natalie dug in her bag for the valet ticket.

“Having fun tonight?” A photographer asked. You rolled your eyes. “Alright, over here, honey,” the same voice continued. With a resigned sigh, you turned to offer a practiced pose, your mind ticking through your media training despite how fucking annoyed you were. Stumbling a couple of times as you attempted to maintain your balance, you moved through a lazy pose or two. You knew the routine - let them get their shot and maybe they'll back off.

“Partying tonight?” Another voice interjected. Moron.

Natalie finally located the ticket and the valet handed the keys over immediately, your car already parked and waiting curbside. Impulsively, you decided you’d drive, intercepting the keys before Natalie could take them and nearly smacking them out of the attendant’s hand before stumbling towards the vehicle.

“She’s not getting in the driver’s seat. No way,” reasons the voice of a man with a video camera to your left. “There’s no way!”

Another blinding eruption of flashing lights emerged around you. You stared down at your feet as you stumbled forward, trying to see where you were walking through the relentless assault of flashbulbs. Natalie called out your name from behind you. You struggled a couple of times with the handle before throwing the car door open heavily.

“Hey, you can’t drive, honey,” Another voice called out. You rolled your eyes.

You climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut, exhaling loudly as the noise of the chaos surrounding you finally muffled. Flashing lights continued, your windshield now completely blocked by cameras. The volume raised again for a moment, a cacophony of voices and camera clicks, as Natalie scrambled into the passenger seat beside you.

“Are these people serious,” you asked, angling your head in towards Natalie and shielding your eyes from the barrage of flashbulbs pointed at you, frustration mounting with each flash. “How’m I supposta drive when they’re fucking blocking me?”

“Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t.” Natalie said, concern in her voice. “Let me, okay?”

You shook your head adamantly. “’M not going back out there.”

“So climb over,” She suggested.

“Not in this!”

Natalie let out an exasperated sigh, her fingers tapping anxiously on her thighs.

“Hey, since when do you know Dieter Bravo?” She asks, momentarily changing the subject.

“Who? Oh,” you replied, the question registering with you once you answered. The reminder of him sent your attention between your legs and you shifted slightly in your seat. “I dunno. I know’hm from an awards thing.” You offered. It was an unconvincing lie, but Natalie didn’t fight you on it.

“He’s so random,” she laughed. “I can’t believe you hooked up with him. I think my older sister had a poster of him in high school. Right next to River Phoenix.”

“Whatever,” you huffed, everything about this evening now pissing you off. The incessant clicking of the paparazzi's cameras only added fuel to the fire, and you narrowed your eyes in irritation, slamming your hand down on the horn for a solid ten seconds in a futile attempt to disperse them.

“MOVE!” you yelled, only inciting more flashing lights.

“Let me drive, babe,” Natalie tried again.

“Oh, my god, fuck this,” you snapped, frustration finally boiling over. With your hand still shielding your eyes, you shifted the car into drive. “You're my eyes now.”

“What?! No!” She replied, her voice rising in panic.

“Be my eyes. I’m going.” You repeated. Very slowly, you eased your foot off the brake, the car beginning to inch forward. Voices clamored outside the vehicle.

“Oh my god, um, okay. Go slow. Turn left. Slow!” Natalie began to guide you. The crowd cautiously parted around the car, photographers scrambling to avoid being flattened while still unwilling to sacrifice this shot. “Oh my god, this is so stupid. Slow, slow, slow.”

“They’re fuckin’ stupid! What am I supposed to do?”

“No, yeah, okay, just slow, keep going left.” Natalie's voice trembled slightly as she continued to navigate. The relentless barrage of flashing lights illuminated the interior of the car, casting everything in stark, blinding brightness. “Okay, cut it! Cut it and keep going straight.”

You cut the wheel to the right and straighten it out, cautiously peeking through the gaps in your fingers to confirm you'd cleared the throng of photographers.

“Haha!” you exclaimed, your laughter echoing through the tense air as you slammed the gas pedal to the floor once the street ahead is clear. With a screech of tires, you peel off into the night, Natalie's nervous chuckles mingling with your own laughter. “Bye, assholes!”

You rocketed down Highland with reckless abandon. A couple of familiar vehicles creeped up behind you - regular photographers who paid their bills by stalking you. The driver to the left’s hand hung out the window, a digital camera pointed squarely at you. The light was yellow at the intersection in front of you and you smirked, not letting up on the gas and rolling your window down to flip off the camera as you raced through the intersection just as the light turned red.

“Slow down!” Natalie yelled, panicked, her hand clutching the door handle in a white-knuckled grip. “What is your problem?”

“My problem?! These guys are the ones with the problem,” you fired back, your tone frustrated. “I can’t do anything without getting fucking cornered!” Your car veered dangerously across the yellow lines and Natalie yelped. You overcorrected, the vehicle lurching back into its lane just in time to avoid a collision with an oncoming car, its horn blaring in warning. Natalie’s body stiffened further in her seat as you took a wide right turn onto Sunset. You turn on the radio, a Rihanna song picking up midway through.

“Did he give you something?” she shouted, her tone urgent. You furrowed your brow, shooting her a confused look. “Dieter,” she clarified.

“Oh, right!” you exclaimed, mood shifting as you suddenly remembered the baggie tucked in your purse. “Look what I got us!” You reached for your bag on the passenger floorboard, swerving again. Natalie lunged across the seat, her hands fumbling for the wheel to correct your course, while a chorus of horns blared from the vehicles behind you. Finally retrieving your purse, you fished out the baggie from the side pocket and held it up between your fingers for Natalie to inspect. She grabbed it from you quickly, examining it in her lap.

“What is it?” She asked. You shrugged.

“Coke, I think. Shit, hold on,” you floored the gas to race through another newly red light.

“Stop!” Natalie shrieked. “This is so fucking stupid, dude, let me drive!”

“Jesus, Nat, fine,” you groan, slamming on the brakes. You both jolted forward as the car came to a stop in the middle of the road. “You wanna drive so bad, fine.”

You unlocked the car doors, opening yours slightly and reaching down to unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Are you serious?” She scoffed, disbelief etched across her features as she surveyed the chaotic scene unfolding around you. You nodded in affirmation, a defiant smirk playing on your lips. “You’re such a bitch.”

With a surge of stubborn adrenaline, you stormed out onto Sunset Boulevard, Natalie following suit. The gray Honda belonging to one of the persistent photographers tailed you, coming to a halt beside you as the driver scrambled out, camera at the ready.

“LEAVE ME ALONE” you shouted. “I gave you your shot at the club, I’ve been nice to you guys, what more do you want?!”

You considered what it would take to get him to go away. Words weren’t working. Should you kick his car? Throw something? You began to stumble towards him, interrupted by Natalie yelling your name again. You turned around to see Natalie standing in the street, gaze fixed on the intersection ahead. Your car - which you apparently failed to put into park - was rolling into the intersection on its own.

With a frantic surge of panic, you and Natalie sprinted after the runaway vehicle, the strobe of camera flashes behind you incessant. Arms flailing, you both desperately signaled to other drivers to stop, your heels clattering against the pavement as you raced towards the car.

As the car veered left, you were powerless to stop it from crashing into a parked BMW at the corner. Rushing to catch up, you flung yourself into the open driver's door, slamming on the brakes and throwing the gear into reverse. You leaned across the cab to fling the passenger door wide open.

“Come on!” You shouted at Natalie as she climbed back into the car. With a tense exhale, you navigated the car backward, turning wide in the intersection before screeching forward.

Your mind was completely clear with pure adrenaline. You were only a few blocks away from the hotel now, the castle-shaped outline shrouded in trees just ahead on your right. You floored it, a tense silence hanging in the car, both you and Natalie’s eyes locked forward on the road in front of you.

Only slowing down to make a right turn into the hotel driveway, you didn’t bother waiting for the valet. Tossing your keys onto the driver’s seat, you left the door ajar as you stormed through the garage toward your room, ready to put this evening behind you.

#blind item #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x reader #putting this out into the world and definitely also shitting bricks

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hey-august · 3 days

Text

➜ A continuation of this story, based on this wonderful request!

Word count: ~1.3k

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, buggy x amab!reader 🍆, no use of Y/N, anal sex, briefly fantasizing about other people during sex, loosely implied shanks x buggy

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Another night, another performance complete. Buggy steps out of his bathroom to empty chambers. The stage was reset in his absence with neatened bedsheets. The only lingering signs of your presence are a fresh glass of water and pain relievers on the bedside table.

That’s how each show ends. You never stayed longer than needed, and Buggy never asked. He ignored your only offer back in the beginning and that wordless decision established the roles you each played during these trysts.

Buggy sits on the edge of his empty bed to accept the small comforts you leave behind. The medicine helps alleviate the soreness spreading through his body and blooming on his skin, but it doesn’t work for the ache that lives deeper inside. A longing that is only abated when you’re pouring yourself into him while his closed eyes chase fantasies.

It’s not long before another act is scheduled and your skills are needed. Your mouth is hot on his skin, leaving a trail of wet kisses and false promises that are full of nostalgia and memories of the sea. His fingers are threaded in your hair, following your journey and afraid to be left behind. Huffs and puffs of pleasure edge into hungry requests for the scene to progress.

“P-please. I need more.”

As your presence recedes, the ache of desire grows. A thread of tension is pulled taut as you line yourself up against Buggy’s body. His ocean-colored eyes flutter open in both anticipation and confirmation. Spit and precum aid your length sliding into the pirate and splitting him open for the first time tonight.

Unprepared for the confining tightness, you hiss sharply. Buggy watches through half-lidded eyes as you throw your head back. This is different. This isn’t in the script. The improvisation changes everything and pulls him from the immersion. He can’t hear his fantasies in your voice. The fullness isn’t a memory or a desire he’s chasing. It’s you. Just you.

Frowning, Buggy squeezes his eyes shut to force you out and lock himself in. He visits each sensation - the right hand gripping his hip, his leg resting on a shoulder, hot breath wafting across his sweat-coated chest, the jolt from each rough thrust. You say the words from his imagination and from his past, but there’s a divide. A chasm that he’s sinking into.

“Hey, you still with me?”

A voice cuts through the darkness. It’s full of kindness and worry, tones that Buggy hasn’t heard in this bed before. Opening his eyes, Buggy is faced with an expression mirroring those feelings.

Buggy nods and looks away, embarrassed that you can read him so easily.

“Should we take a quick break?” you offer while running a hand along the leg hoisted over your shoulder and massaging the muscles. His body relaxes under the soothing touch.

Licking his dry lips, Buggy nods again. “Yeah,” he responds hoarsely.

You pull out slowly and lower Buggy’s leg onto the bed before finding a spot in the rumpled sheets. A heat increases in Buggy’s chest, reacting to your thoughtful movements.

You’re always mindful of the person you share this space with and it ignites a hot flame that the pirate struggles with. It makes him uncomfortable. You make him uncomfortable. That’s why he prefers when you’re someone else. It’s easier for him to pretend he’s fucking a fantasy.

And yet, the burning desire continues to consume him. Even when you take him past the brink of exhaustion, there’s still a part of him that’s unsatisfied. A part of him that’s curious. Afraid, but interested.

Buggy rolls onto his side, facing away from his confusion.

“Do you want to try something different, captain?” Your hesitant voice drifts from the side of the bed. Again, full of a softness that manages to compress Buggy’s chest.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

A change could stitch the rift Buggy was falling into. Maybe the issue isn’t that he can't picture someone else, but that he’s chasing the wrong illusion.

A hand reaches over to brush a few strands of hair stuck to the side of Buggy’s sweaty forehead. The unexpected touch is met with a small flinch and a held breath.

“Well…who are you thinking about?”

The answer comes quickly and without thought, carried on the stuck breath that needed release.

“You.”

The bed shifts as you prop yourself up to look at the backside of the man beside you. The one who continues to avoid looking at you.

“Captain, ar-”

“Buggy.”

Silence hangs heavy in the air. You never referred to him without the title, unless you were bringing a different relationship to life.

Repeating the two syllables of his name pulls a soft sound from the captain. An enticing noise.

Your body wraps around Buggy’s, holding him to his confession. Each twitch and throb of your cock is pressed against his lower back as it cries for how badly you want him. A need that is stroked by his sneaky hand.

“Oh f-fuck,” you whine against his shoulder while bucking into his touch.

The sincerity in your voice is bewitching. It tugs at Buggy - peeling back the veil, plucking at the strings in his chest, and winding up his thread of tension. Following the lure, Buggy shifts against your body and eases himself onto your erection.

His sigh is echoed by yours dancing across his damp skin. You move slowly and intentionally, drawing out more sounds with each agonizing drag. Suckling kisses move along Buggy’s shoulder and up his neck.

“H-harder…”

A small head tilt grants you more access to his skin. Smooth and unmarked, until your teeth leave small indents and your lips bring bruises. Buggy grinds into you harder with each lingering reminder left on his body. Each one laying claim and burning with honest desire.

“Fuck, I want you so badly,” you pant. Grabbing his hip, you pull his body to meet yours and thrust your feelings deep into Buggy. “Say my name. Please, say m-my name.”

A high-pitched whine is spun into the most wonderful version of your name. Buggy repeats it, letting the taste coat his tongue and pour into him.

Anticipating the impending flood, you pump Buggy’s dick with jerky movements that smear precum all over his lower stomach and your hand.

“Cap- Buggy… Buggy, I want you to come for me. I need you to come for me.”

Desperation drips from your voice, as it drips from the head of his cock, before exploding with white hot jets.

“I’m coming, fuck- you’re making m-me come,” Buggy grunts while bucking against the sensations on both sides.

The mess is everywhere. Some clings to his abdomen, some seeps into the bed, and the remainder is coaxed to dribble on your hand. It’s not quite enough, though. Moving your hand up his body, sliding on sweat and cum, you hold him tighter and chase your release. A real release, not one that mimics someone else’s joy.

The sound of your name falling from Buggy’s painted lips fills the room and your head as you empty your balls. Your thrusts grow erratic and sloppy, disrupted by each pulse shooting deep inside Buggy.

Rubbing your face on the back of his shoulder, you press soothing kisses to each mark and murmur soft appreciations and unnecessary apologies.

Your heart beats heavily, the sound of exertion and uncertainty reverberating off of Buggy’s back. The hand wrapped around his body feels the same tempo beating in him. Before you could pull away, Buggy wraps his hand around yours.

“Don’t go,” he whispers.

You don’t answer. For a painful moment, Buggy wonders if you were going to ignore his request, just as he did once before. The sting is eased when you nod against the back of his head and tighten your embrace.

Finally, the persistent longing that had been lodged in Buggy for so long was gone. And in its absence was you. Just you.

#buggy smut #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #x reader #buggy the clown #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #buggy the clown smut #one piece smut

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landinrris · 2 days

Note

Re: your tag “a top 10 video of the day tbh” - that made me curious. What ARE your top videos of the day and why?

Shuffled back through the videos for this, so here we go in no real particular order because I'm endeared to all of them and horrible with ranking things when they all make my mind vibrate in equal amounts. Shoving this under a "read more" because it got long (top 10 moments and all) and fic-y.

I'll start out with the first real video of the day that I remember (not counting Shaun Farrugia's Insta Story that clued everyone into Lando being on the boat). Just them dancing with each other in essentially a circle of people. Martin's hand on Lando's shoulder, his thumb splaying out along Lando's collarbone. Makes me weak and ill in equal measure. They have several moments caught on camera that feel like a "this is us being close while still in public," type thing.

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Them dancing together at the Decks. Who knows the state of Lando's sobriety at this point. It's so carefree and open. I love the little flags on his cheeks and the ribbon around his head (the chain of his necklace poking out the back of his hoodie overtop his undershirt). I'm pretty sure this is around the same time that Lando asks Martin if he wants a drink as well because Eva's on the other side of Martin as the camera pans up.

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This is a more understated moment that's pretty quick, but I just love that they're dancing in their own little world with everyone. Parked up next to each other because where else would they be? (original video link)

tumblr

This video of them with Lando asking Martin if he wants a drink 🫠. Lando taking the second to ask Martin if wants anything, Martin pulling him close so he can hear what Lando's trying to tell him, the person recording the video panning over to them and then almost immediately pulling away, Martin stealing Lando's drink and then not letting him go while he pretends to drink it.... it's every bit of the video as you can see 😅. Like bro, you can let go of him, it's okay. But no, it's another one of those little moments I mentioned earlier where they can let themselves have this little thing in the middle of a crowded boat with who knows how many cameras pointed in their direction.

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This video simply because it's cute and short and sweet. Them both vibing. I've put it here more so because of Lando's little dance and shimmy. It makes me sickeningly endeared. Lando may have quit DJing apart from special circumstances, but you can tell he loves getting into the rhythm of it.

I have... too much to say about this one... The fact that they're kind of sequestered off to the side a bit- Lando even behind what looks like a makeshift curtain of clothing. There are a few others around them, but boy if their attention isn't solely on each other. Their little mirrored dance is so much as well. But what absolutely annihilates me is the way you can tell they're both smiling at each other towards the end. Plus the fact that it looks like Lando either leans into Martin as the video cuts, or Martin pulls him in. In any case, it's a moment of privacy and it makes me ill.

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These are two long Insta stories I recorded for reasons, the first one more pertinent to it immediately being here than the second. I just love Lando sitting in and amongst everyone. He's sitting next to Martin's father (which is an entirely separate thing tbh) chatting and having fun. The second video was included because when the lights go off and a spotlight shines back onto the area he was, Lando doesn't seem to be there, which was an interesting note I wanted to have in the records because of the shot of Martin making his way back in that direction during the first half. Much to think about. (Tumblr didn't like my embedded video, so here's a screenshot of the first bit, but you'll have to go through the link to see all of what I'm talking about)

This was just a quick tiny thing piggy-backing off the last video, but it's a more closeup shot of Lando chatting with Martin's father. It makes me all soft inside that he gets close with the families of the people important to him. (Tumblr also didn't like the embedded video that was originally here, so here's a screenshot if you don't want to click through to see the actual clip)

Putting this video here because of both Mat Normann's arms around Lando, but also because Martin's there vibing and dancing by his side. Like, they're truly just existing and having a good time. Need to know who gave Lando that stupid little visor. But again, I love it for the subtleness and the comfort with how packed that room was.

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And then finally, this video that might as well be an hour long. The smiles, the bouncing back and forth... Martin's arm moves away from Lando at one point, almost like he was pulling Lando at the beginning. Many thoughts head very full. They almost never get to do this at the same time with each other, and it's an addicting feeling.

#damn the twitter vids for not embedding properly but i've got the links in the little blurb for those. i just couldn't find those videos #on instagram or tumblr to properly embed them #anyway i took ''top 10 moments'' seriously even though there weren't many not included that i have access to #they were truly living their best lives yesterday and i am so happy for them #lando #martin #norrix #ask

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maccreadysbaby · 3 days

Text

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

the one chapter in this whole fic where bentley makes a rational decision

part thirty-nine

❝ UNLOVABLE ❞

TUESDAY — SEPTEMBER 8 — 11:07 AM

BENTLEY WOKE UP SO DISORIENTED AND FUZZY AND CONFUSED THAT HE JUST STARTED CRYING.

There were bright white lights in his face, and he wasn’t in his bed anymore, he was somewhere else. There were people moving around him, but he didn’t pay attention long enough to decide who, only long enough to decide he was terrified and wanted Bruce. What time was it? No idea. What day was it? No idea. Was he at the hospital? Was something really wrong with him?

“Whoa, hey… hey there, chum. You’re okay,”

Bentley relished in the familiar voice, peeling his heavy, kind of sticky, newly-wet eyes open to glance around the room. It took a solid minute for his brain to catch up to his vision, but when it did, he realized he was in the cave, and Bruce was sitting right next to the bed he was laying in.

He tried to bring his hands up to hide his crying eyes, but paused mid-movement when he realized he was attached to a drip.The movement also seemed to trigger a wave of soreness that washed through his whole body.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. Just relax. You’re here, with me, in the cave. Everything’s okay,” Bruce spoke in his typical level, gentle tone, one of his hands landing on Bentley’s forehead like it always seemed to. Though, for some reason, he looked… really tired. Worn down.

Bentley breathed in and out shakily, gathering his bearings, trying to stop crying for no reason for the five millionth time in his short life. (Seriously, he had to be setting a record at this point.) Instead, he relaxed back down onto the bed and let Bruce card his fingers through his hair.

“Where’s… Nico?” Was the first thing he managed to whisper.

Bruce got a strange look on his face, before he replied: “Bentley… you’ve been down here for five days. Nico and Asten went home. It’s Tuesday.”

Bentley blinked a few times. It was Tuesday? He had been… he had been completely out of it for five whole days?

He looked around the empty room warily. “What? What happened?”

Bruce sighed softly, brushing his opposite hand through his own hair. “Someones been fiddling with your DNA, and it made you pretty sick.”

Oh. Right. Superpowers. Bentley looked down at his own feet under the cottony blanket, exhaling subtly.

“Bentley,”

He looked back up at Bruce, who had a little smile on his face.

“I will never, ever, ever get rid of you,” He reassured, sighing lightly. “I promise.”

Bentley looked down at his hands, exhaling shakily before he muttered: “My… my father told me… he never loved me. And, uh, that he never would.”

Bruce stayed silent for a moment.

Bentley breathed in and out. It was now or never, wasn’t it? The hard questions had to be asked so things could be fixed, right? “Will you tell me the truth?”

“Of course, bud. Anything,”

Bentley twiddled his fingers, purposefully keeping his eyes away from Bruce when he whispered: “Why is it so hard for people to love me?”

Bruce’s blue eyes grew grim, and he scooted his chair closer to the bed with a squeak. “Bentley Whittaker, you are not hard to love. In fact, you’re almost impossible not to love.”

Bentley looked away, breathing in to force away the urge to cry. “Then why doesn’t he love me?”

Bruce sighed lightly. “That’s his own choice, his own problem. It has nothing to do with you. You are an incredible, brave, amazing kid, Bentley, and I loved you the very first day Dick brought you to me.”

A moment of silence passed.

“Hey,” Bruce continued, his hand moving through Bentley’s hair again, and the child finally looked over at him with slightly glassy eyes. “You could set the whole world on fire and I’d still tell everybody you’re mine.”

Bentley looked down at his feet, blinking rapidly as his eyes began to burn. Did that mean that maybe Bruce wouldn’t hate him for all the things he did? And he wouldn’t get rid of him? And he could stay and keep living with them even though he was an emotional, irrational trainwreck of a child?

Bentley sniffled. “I’m…” Cold? Lonely? Tired of lying? “Can you hold me?”

In one smooth movement, minding the IV tubes, Bentley was with Bruce in the chair.

A few moments of silence passed.

“I wish you were my father,”

A few beats came and went, and Bruce kissed Bentley’s hair.

“I am,”

Oh, God — there it was. The one statement that utterly broke Bentley. That changed something inside of him just like his real father’s statement had. Something cracked. Something moved.

And so Bentley did what Bentley had been so determined not to do for literal weeks.

“You promise you won’t hate me?” He muttered into Bruce’s shirt, making himself small there, tucking his knees up.

“I could never hate you, Bentley,”

Bentley breathed in and out. Once. Twice. Three times. Maybe it really was the right time. Maybe he really should do it — just get it over with. Nico would’ve done it. It was good. It would make everything better, right? Right?

“I wasn’t kidnapped,” Is what he started out with, but then backtracked, because that was not a great place to start. “I mean, no, I was. I was. But, the… uh… the night you guys thought I went missing I actually… uh… I ran away.”

Bruce said nothing, but didn’t make a disapproving sound or expression, either. So Bentley continued.

“I guess… uh… I guess it really started back when… right before school. Or right after, I can’t remember. Something was wrong with Damian. And I tried to talk to him but he got mad…” Bentley cleared his throat. “He told me I wasn’t worthy enough to be a Wayne. That I didn’t belong here and you only had me because you felt bad for me.”

At that, Bruce let out a little sigh.

“I think he was kind of sad, I dunno… I know he didn’t really want to hurt me. I think. But he did anyways,” Bentley shook his head. “And I started looking at everybody, at Dick and Jason and Tim and Damian and Cass and Steph and Duke and… Y’know. They’re all superheroes. Really cool superheroes. And a bunch of them were Robin, and I obviously can’t be Robin, but… I… I had to do something, you know? I wanted to be good enough. So… uh… Asten and Nico and I decided that… uh… we were going to go after the Secret Keeper. Because I could prove that I belonged here if I caught a villain like you guys do.”

“So you left, in pursuit of her?” Bruce inquired gently.

Bentley nodded. “Yeah. Asten found some connections between the missing people and the Areopagus and Dr. Keene, my teacher, and found this cabin in the woods that he owned that a bunch of the victims had stayed in, so we went to check it out. Which… sounds pretty random and dumb, now, I guess…”

Silence passed.

“Uh… he found all that out by finding all the locations of where the people went missing and… uh… well. We kinda… stole Dr. Keene’s phone to get to the cabin schedules and stuff…” Bentley fiddled with his fingers awkwardly. “I know it was bad… but we wanted to help. So, uh, we met up at Nico’s house and started going to the cabin.”

Bentley exhaled heavily. Telling the truth felt strangely… good.

“We walked for a long time, and stopped by Asten’s house in Crime Alley for him to get something, and that was when Nico told me he was adopted and when I realized he had superpowers. Real ones — he has superspeed. And, well, that didn’t go over so well. He was… is really struggling with it. But, uh, anyways, Asten came back and then the Secret Keeper knocked me out and showed me all kinds of futures. Ones where I die, where I work with my father, where I was Robin… and she told me my choice to go to the cabin would lock me in and out of some. So I chose to keep going.”

Bruce still didn’t respond, keeping the door open for Bentley to continue.

“We broke into the cabin. And, uh, it looked pretty normal… at first. And then we found a trapdoor that led to the basement. Asten told me it was called a morgue,” Bentley shivered at the thought. “We opened up one of the fridges and… it was scary. I had an anxiety attack. Nico threw up in the floor. But Asten was fine, I think, and there was this computer down there that had tons of videos on it. Of our teacher, Dr. Keene, working in these labs, turning normal people into metahumans. The first one he did was his own daughter, Charlie Reins… who became The Secret Keeper. And he mind controls them all.”

Bruce exhaled.

“A bunch of the missing kids were in those videos, like Titus Lancaster and Davis Henderson. And we learned that… that… Dr. Keene was… is working for… my father. Trying to destroy you. That’s why the Secret Keeper has been attacking us. Because of me…” Bentley inhaled sharply. “Anyways, we were down there and we heard someone coming, so… we… hid in some of the fridges. Which wasn’t fun. I don’t remember much from then because I was freaking out. We ran out of the cabin and everyone was scared and Asten got his foot stuck in a bear trap and we were trying to help him and then there was a grenade and we all got knocked out.”

Bentley exhaled, sort of shaky, cringing at himself. Word vomiting wasn’t usually something people liked, but Bruce didn’t seem to mind.

“And I woke up in a warehouse, but I wasn’t actually there because it was just the Secret Keeper. I saw Jason die, and it… was really scary. I… I saw you. And I begged you to bring me home but it wasn’t really you…” Bentley fought back another round of stinging in his eyes and forced himself to get it together. “Then I woke up. Davis Henderson, the waiter that got knocked out at that bar because of me, he was there and he got me out of the machine before they could do mind control, he said.”

Bruce nodded slightly. “I remember hearing about Davis.”

“Yeah. He has to wear these super huge metal gloves now, because he kills anything he touches. His mind control was broken. So he got me out, and then we went to get Nico and Asten. And I got shot. Which was scary. And… he told us about Titus Lancaster, who can teleport, and he was going to have surgery to get new mind control so he didn’t have it then. And Davis told us to find him and that he could teleport us out,” He explained. “So we ran for a while. Lots of people were killed. Davis killed a lot of bad guys that were shooting at us, and… Nico did, too, but he didn’t mean to. He has air powers now that can make you choke.”

Bruce hummed.

“But when we were running out the Secret Keeper showed up. So Davis told us to run and he fought her. I’m not sure what happened but I hope he’s okay. He saved me…” Bentley cleared his throat. “But we found Titus, who was really scared, and he teleported us to the manor. And Asten told us not to tell anyone so I… didn’t. And you know everything that’s happened since I got home. Oh — except… I went to see my father to try and convince him to stop, but he said no. And that if I told anybody anything I knew he’d use a plan b that would destroy all of Gotham. But I don’t know what it is. Oh, and Asten has fire powers. And… I guess that’s everything you didn’t know.”

Bentley sighed and looked up at Bruce, who looked near-emotionless, processing all of the information he’d just had dumped in his lap.

“I… I know those things were bad, and that I should’ve told you, and that I did a lot of things I shouldn’t have done, but please, please, please don’t get rid of me. I’ll be better — I won’t do anything bad again. Please don’t-“

“Bentley,”

The Bentley in question was starting to cry again. “Please don’t get rid of me, Bruce. I promise I’ll be better. I promise. You can get me in trouble and yell at me and lock me up or hit me like my dad used to, but please just don’t get rid of me.”

“Bentley. Look at me please,”

Begrudgingly, Bentley looked up, his brown, watery eyes meeting Bruce’s icy blue ones.

“Please don’t get rid of me. I love you,”

Bruce breathed in and out. “Here’s what I have to say, okay? You’re right. Some of those things you did were risky, reckless, dangerous, and wrong, and you were impressively, almost stupidly brave to do them. All because you want to be loved and accepted and validated.”

Bentley looked down, wiping at his furiously leaking eyes with his non-dripped hand.

“Do you want to know what one of the most defining traits of a Wayne is?” Bruce questioned, glancing down at Bentley with a smile that threw the child for a loop. “Being impressively and stupidly brave, and doing things that are risky, reckless, dangerous, and wrong, all because you want to be loved and accepted and validated.”

Bentley said nothing.

“Every single person in this family, Bentley, has done something like this. Even me. Some of us more than once. And while I can’t say I’m thrilled about what you did or what you went through… You survived, you told me the truth, and you were trying to do the right thing. And, I’d have to say, all things considered, I’m pretty proud of that,” Bruce stated with a smile. “I am proud of you, Bentley. And I love you. So. Much. You’re pretty much stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

Bentley had never felt more relieved in his entire short life. Bruce loved him, and he wasn’t going to get rid of him, and he wasn’t mad at him… what kind of fever dream was this? How was it going just like Bentley hoped it would?

“Hey, bud, I want to ask you something. And I want you to be totally, completely honest, okay? Your answer needs to be yours and only yours,”

Bentley nodded slightly, still wiping at his eyes.

Bruce breathed in deep, running a hand over the child’s head with this fond gleam in his eyes that before now, Bentley could have only dreamed of.

“You’ve been living here for almost a year. Fostering for over half of it,” Bruce exhaled. “I think this is as good of a time as any to ask… how do you feel about being adopted, like Dick, Jason, and Tim?”

Bentley freaking lost his mind.

(In the arms of his dad?)

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