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utterlyazriel · 2 days

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whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: here we go honeys. when me and aly (<3!) tossed this idea around months ago, this was the big question; how to do the reveal and what comes after. naturally it was as angsty as possible tehe <3 cw: canon typical violence

word count: 4.2k

synopsis: Azriel mourns a mistake that will haunt him for eternity as he races back to you. You play the leading role in one of your nightmares, but you can't seem to wake up.

CHAPTER SEVEN :: MATES

It's too loud and he can't think— that's the only coherent thing that Azriel can seem to grasp as he stumbles forward in the snow.

His shadows burst into a wild frenzy as he staggers towards the cabin door. It's not snowing here but the wind current is fast and wicked, tunnelling over the hilltop. His breath locks in his chest and even as he gasps, he can't seem to catch it.

It's too loud, too much— every single thought and feeling within him is just climbing over one another, overlapping, melding into each other so he can't tell where one ends and another begins.

Sadness, misery, torment, upset, anger. His emotions are thrown together with yours, a thousand afflictions all battling for his attention and he can't fucking think.

He shoves the cabin door open, falls through it, and it slams shut behind him.

Like a puppet getting its strings cut, all at once the noise... stops.

As though the very action of closing the door had managed to silence the bond between you and Azriel.

A different, very real fear suddenly burrows deep in his heart.

Still gasping for air, he shoves a hand against his chest and searches within himself desperately for that tether, his eyes crushing shut. For a moment, his heart hangs in the balance, teetering on the edge of agony.

And then— there.

Golden and rooted in his very soul, the bond that connects him to you. Only once he's found it does he release the breath captured in his lungs. He breathes an audible sigh of relief and shudders lightly, his knees giving out slightly.

He lets himself slump back against the cabin door as his scarred hand slips from his chest, his wings curling forward around himself. His head swims with the overload of new information, the first dregs of it only just sinking in.

You... were not the person you said you were.

...Was that such a bad thing?

Still breathing hard, Azriel's gaze turns to stare hard at his hands, their delicate scarring paining him nearly as much as the memory does. He thinks back to their origin.

Thinks back to a space too small for a growing boy, thinks of the darkness. He thinks of the never-ending misery that seemed to torment his life in a way he feared he would never escape.

It had taken a very long time for that fear to diminish in size; or perhaps, Azriel had just learned to grow around it.

But the cruelty of those mountains and the Fae that resided there was something he was intimately familiar with. The world up there, between the pines, was kill or be killed. Rise to the top of the food chain or spend every waking moment trying to figure out how to survive.

Isn't that what you had done? Learnt how to endure the conditions, to withstand the brute force of the winter and the merciless Illyrian way?

And wasn't that what he had done, all those years ago? Perhaps, the two of you weren't so different.

But his mind keeps snagging: liar, liar, liar.

Some vicious, prideful voice in his head makes a different point— he did it the right way. He didn't deceive anyone.

He fought for all he had, trained harder than any of his camp-mates to overcome every wretched obstacle in his way, earned his place at the top of the Blood Rite by being better, by working harder and winning.

Even with his... set back with learning to fly, he had still conquered it. He'd earned his place.

But… no, that wasn't right, was it?

He'd earned it, yes, but only because there was no other choice.

He had been kicked down at every possible chance, stalked for being born from a father who detested him and none of it was his fault. He'd earned his title as warrior but he had done nothing to reap every extra hurdle to get there.

Azriel had endured a great many terrible things in his life—and it took effort to recall that it wasn't fair. That it was an injustice he shouldn't have had to bear.

Sometimes, he hated how deeply ingrained the Illyrian way was within him. How it had changed him in the most unsavoury of ways, giving him an Illyrian pride that overtook his rationale at the worst of times.

It echoed out in the most unfamiliar of ways, like a hidden piece of himself he'd forgotten about— forgotten the person he'd needed to become to survive those camps.

So when Azriel thinks of the lie you've been hiding it, protecting yourself, the forgiveness is already there. It always was there. He could never had truly held it against you.

You had lied, yes, but as if there was any other way to survive. As if he could fault you for picking the option that let you fight, let you grow strong, let you keep your wings.

He remembers your words suddenly.

Please, I- I just wanted to keep my wings.

A sinister horror creeps up his throat and Azriel lurches forward, his forearms slamming against the cabin floor as his body forcibly retches. His stomach clenches tightly and bile floods his mouth but nothing comes out but his ragged breath.

How young had you been?

He knows to make your lie feasible it had to have been too young. Nine years old? Eight? He tries to recall the age that Lord Mylind said you started turning up trouble but it only succeeds in fueling the harrowing feeling that was running through his veins.

Azriel sags forward, his eyes drawing closed as he presses his forehead to the cool wood of the ground, trying to contain his growing dread. Still curled around himself, his wings quiver in the wake of his revelation. His shadows try soothe him, whirling down the planes of his neck.

You were pleading with him.

And... he had left you.

His stomach heaves once more, his breath a mixture of raspy pants.

It's impossible not to recount every single interaction you've had over the months, turning over every memory and seeing the other side of it with startling clarity.

The lone cabin, the outlier to the group. The tenseness in your shoulders when asked about the Blood Rite or your absences from training that Lord Mylind had spoken so crudely about.

Your drive to train and learn; the utter disappointment at the inadequacy of your tonics.

You had so much on the line, so much more than he ever could have imagined.

Azriel bites his cheek meanly as he recalls the conversation in which he asked why you hadn't completed in the Blood Rite. It makes perfect sense now; the exposure of the challenge was far too big of a risk and as a bastard, you would automatically be a target.

Even if you managed to succeed, which he had no doubt you could, the tattoos... removing your shirt...

All dead giveaways.

Your voice echoes in his mind.

Azriel, please, you have to understand—

You had begged him and he left you, he left you.

His body gives another awful retch, the horror of what he had done beginning to truly settle in. Gods, in a thousand ways you had been more trusting and vulnerable that he had ever known. Allowing him into your shelter, into your life...

Letting him get close to you, knowing that the closer he got, the more your secret threatened to reveal. And you let him anyway.

Azriel lurches to his feet, swaying for only a moment, his head reaching a clarity he so desperately lacked earlier.

He needs to go back. He should have fucking never left.

Somewhere between his ribs, there's an wallowing ache on the bond. A jolt of sharp pain.

Hand flying to his chest, Azriel stares at it and desperately prays to every god he can think of that he isn't too late to fix this. His eyes flick over to the Siphon on the back of hand, dim and lifeless. Drained.

Fuck. He snarls in his frustration. He can't even winnow back to you.

Turning and pressing back out the door, his boots smash through the snow outside for only a few steps— til he beats his mighty wings and takes to the skies.

Whether the bond had snapped for you or not, it didn't stop him from gripping that thread tightly and pouring every sincere intention down it. I'm sorry. I’m coming back. I’m sorry. I never should have left. I'm so fucking sorry.

He could only hope that you somewhere on the other side, connected to the same red string of fate, you could feel him coming back to you.

—

He's taking too long.

It's the thought that's stuck on loop, like a record that keeps skipping, repeating the same part over and over again. He's going as fast as he can and still, he knows he's taking too damn long.

As his wings strain from the long journey, the endless labyrinth of trees whirring past beneath him too fast to see, Azriel glimpses down at the siphons atop his hands.

They're still gleaming in that lacklustre way but there's more of a shine to them now. He can feel it too, the well refilling with a slow drip, the build up of his power.

His keen eyes scour the landscape, narrowed as he analyses the distance between here and Exordor. It's still far— it will stretch the reserve of magic that's barely begun to replenish but Azriel doesn't care. He'll do anything to reach you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, brow furrowing, and folds the fabric once more. The world spins as he pushes through the fabric of it, feeling the strain in his bones. The snowy entrance to your shelter comes into view.

He lands with a sickening crack, his knees bending to catch himself as he touches down, one heavy motion into the snow which spins up in a flurry. It's raining heavily, the drops coming down with a vehemence, creating a thunderous applause against the frozen ground.

Around him, the trees groan and shudder as they bow to the powerful energy. Birds take flight, cawing as they do. In the distance, there's a loud snap, carried with the wind.

Azriel stares right into the cabin.

His stomach threatens to lurch again at the sight. The door to your shelter is wide open.

His mate, where is his mate?

Stretching out the doorway, there are obvious signs of a struggle. The muddy snow has been kicked around, the boards nailed to the inside of the door are fresh with splinters, and... and...

The blood. Crimson, scarlet, fucking red blood coats the floorboards, a ghoulish splatter of it leading from your bed out the door, turning the slurry of melted snow a soft pink. He knows from the pull in his chest that you're not here.

This isn't just some attack. They haven't just ambushed you, they've... found out.

Where before he had felt terribly ill, bile rising, there is only icy and raging fury. In the distance, another snap sounds and his shadows beg him to pay attention to it, their whispers kissing at his cheeks. Water soaks his dark hair, stray raindrops rolling down his face.

Azriel ignores them and stumbles forward one, two steps and stops, his heart soaking in the reality of what had happened.

He had left you and they had taken you.

They found out and they hadn't killed you, they had— they had—

The snap in the distance. This time when it sounds, it yanks Azriel's attention, his head whipping towards where it's coming from. It's towards camp. Dread curdles up in his gut, latching onto each notch in his spine and burrowing deep.

Every instinct in his body roars into overdrive as he realises what it is he can hear in the distance — the crack of a whip against skin.

—

One of your nightmares has come to life, dragging from the murkiest parts of your mind and taking the treacherous form of Brudam.

You keep begging yourself to wake the fuck up.

It can’t be real— this can’t actually be happening, you think desperately, none of this was ever supposed to happen- you had- it was- you secret was something you guarded with your life.

"Wake up," You plead to yourself deliriously. Your wrists are already feeling chafed from where they're bound against the wooden pole, the steel that binds them cold as ice. The rain has soaked you to the bone.

"Wake up," You all but sob, trying futilely to pull against the restraints on your wrists.

It only succeeds in tugging on the stakes driven through your wings, a searing, fiery type of pain the ripples along every nerve in them. A sob scrapes up your throat, answering the pain's call. It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts in a way you haven't known before — everything, every cell in your body, is being tortured.

A shredding deep in your gut as though you've taken a fistful of claws to the stomach makes you seize, your vision flashing wildly. Even now, your cycle continues its bloody rampage. You can't stop crying, can't stop your body from convulsing in pure agony.

Somewhere behind you, your ear pick up the shifting in the mud, Brudam preparing to strike again.

Even sobbing, you tense up, unable to stop yourself—instinct drives you to hastily try tuck your wings, trying to pull them from their spread position. They catch on the stakes pinned through them meanly, the delicate flesh tearing with a sickening squelch and sending rivers of pain up into your body.

You cry out a strangled gasp, your head bowing further forward, trying to escape what's to come.

The blow rains down onto your unprotected wings all the same.

It's pure fire. Like they've doused the membranous skin of your wings with oil and set them ablaze, fiery hot pain licking at the tendons, tracing all the way up to your bare back. Your teeth grit to contain your scream. Tears streak down your face, lost in the thrum of the rain.

"Wake. Up." You demand to yourself again, panting heavily now.

You can't take much more pain or you'll be unconscious soon and some awful part of you knows, that's when they'll take your wings. You'll wake up midway to the worst nightmare of them all; the splintering sound of them cutting them off your body.

There's a boot pressed suddenly to your lower back, pressing meanly.

"Oh no, this isn't a dream," Brudam taunts as he leans down, all too happily. His tone shifts to something harder with his next words, nearly spitting the words. "I knew there was something off about you, you mutt."

His voice climbs to a shout, addressing the crowd gathered around you. "I always knew you were a FUCKING TRAITOR!"

There's a roar from the crowd, lead by the antsy group of warriors you've grown up and trained beside. All of them are eager to see justice delivered for your lies. None of them are pleased to have been duped, much less by a female.

They know, everyone knows. There's no coming back from this. Even if it weren't from the scent of blood from your cycle, your bound chest—revealed through your cut away armor— is proof enough.

Another convulsion rocks your body, the pain from your cycle making itself known. You're burning hot from every laceration on your skin and freezing cold from being bare in the icy rain. Your defence gets swallowed up in your pitiful whimper.

The mud behind you shifts again, Brudam no doubt winding up for his next hit.

You hold your breath, capturing the next sob in your throat. Your wings tug inwards, despite how you beg them not to, and your wrists ache as you try to wrench them free fruitlessly.

A sense of finality sinks in. You're going to die here.

A part of you feels like maybe you'd always known it would end like this, one way or the other. It's tired. So fucking tired of living in your intricate lie and spending each and every moment of your miserable existence on alert. On defence. Waiting for a break that never seems to come.

It's that part that can't, in any capacity, be truly upset at Azriel.

You can't resent him for leaving when you're the one who lied.

You can't regret him finding out, without regretting ever meeting him—and that means... regretting all the happiness you've truly felt.

But there's also an anger swirling within you, a rage that is as icy as it is hungry for vengeance.

Inexplicably, it feels unknown. Not your own. It starts somewhere in your chest and it only feels like it's getting bigger, growing in size, glowing hotter.

In the drone of the rain, blackness swims before your tired eyes as they begin to slip shut— only, no, they haven't closed.

The darkness is real and in front of you. It's surrounding you, curling up from under your captured arms. Despite the loud protests from your anguished body, you lift your head shakily. You're still quivering, quiet hiccups pushing out your lips.

"What are you doing, witch?" Brudam snarls from behind you, his boot on your back digging in harder. You wince, the motion dragging your wings against the splinters of the stakes. You shake your head, unable to form words.

It isn't me, you want to say.

But you're not entirely sure that's true either. The black plume is only around you, rising as though it is coming from you. Protecting you.

"Brudam!" A loud voice cuts across the rustling, nervous crowd, cutting through the din of the rain clear as night and sounding as deadly as venom. The courtyard falls into silence.

Your heart lurches up your throat. You know that voice.

Something within you cleaves in half, torn by opposite forces. On one side, there the mountainous evidence of your miserable life, of every thing that's worked against you time and time again. Of the fact that things don't work out for you, they never have. You're a fool to believe that would change now.

The other side... is a terrible, feeble hope.

Because he came back.

"Shadowsinger," Brudam greets with a sneer. The boot on your back shifts and then retreats, the warrior turning away from you. Agony tears through your body again and you hold your breath, shuddering through the silent pain with gritted teeth. A dangerous hope starts to cling to your heart.

"One chance," Azriel growls. The hair on the back of your neck rises at the promise of violence in his voice.

"Let her go."

Brudam snorts unattractively, forcing a bitter sounding laugh out. You focus on trying not to throw up as the pain fogs your brain, bile filling your mouth.

"Not fucking likely."

"Walk away." Azriel snarls his demand, sounding angrier than you've ever heard him.

"Over my dead body, bastard," Brudam spits back, the mud shifting as he digs his feet in, preparing to fight. His hand tightens around the whip in his hand.

There's a moment of silence, the wind carrying a whistle, the trees swaying as if leaning closer to listen in, two warriors sizing each other up in the pouring rain. Your ears strain for Azriel's response.

"Gladly."

And then the courtyard is doused in pure shadow.

—

Azriel moves without hesitation.

Illyrian warriors are fiercely trained to fight through every type of conditions, battling in the harshest of all seasons. Snow, sleet, rain, shine. They're disciplined to go days without sleep, to fight and win, even with one arm pinned behind their back.

But what defence is there against losing your sight?

Azriel hadn't even known his shadows were capable of such a thing. Their usual whirling expands in a blink of an eye, spreading out into a storm-cloud of blackness that drapes itself across the landscape. People murmur and bleat in fright as it creeps out deathly fast, snuffing senses and blinding everyone in the courtyard except him.

Like Rhys' own cloak of darkness, of midnight — but no, it's not night, it's shadow.

Azriel doesn't dwell on it, doesn't hesitate. Not when there's still territory, still enemies, in the space between him and you.

There's a ripple of unease from the warriors but Azriel's already advancing, the shadows beneath his boots silencing the shift of his feet. Through the darkness, Brudam gives himself away with an animalistic snarl and leads Azriel exactly to his his target.

He swings powerfully and Heartstriker does what it does best—aims true.

The bones in Brudam's shoulder makes a horrible sinking crack as the blade pierces it through, the brute giving a fiendish cry of pain.

Azriel drives it all the way through, his anger aiding his strength as he swipes out Brudam's feet. Heartstriker buries itself deep into the mud, driven by the weight of Brudam's body as it hits the ground.

All Azriel can think is that he should fucking gut him, should skin him alive. He should pull that blade and drag it forward, force it through all the muscle and shatter every bone on the way, until it pierces his awful heart.

The mating bond within him roars at him to do so, every inch of his body, of his soul, enraged at the state he'd found you in, the agonising hurt bestowed on you by this male—but it's not his kill. Azriel knows that.

So instead, he draws the Truth Teller with deft, deadly accuracy and then sinks it in deep into Brudam's groin, til the tip reaches mud on the other side.

Brudam howls, his whole body twitching as it tries to curl up against either blade unsuccessfully. Between the rain and the shadows, he's too incapacitated to do anything except wail.

Azriel doesn't waste a second, already moving. There's a warrior approaching on every side but between the gift of sight and silence in the shadow, he's devastatingly lethal.

One goes down with a slice across his throat, crimson soaking his front. The next crumbles after too many jabs of Azriel's dagger land in his torso, too slow to block them when he can't see them coming. The next, his head cut from his shoulders in one mighty swing.

Their cries join the thunder of the storm but somehow, through it all, all he can hear is the softness of your weak breath. Wounded. Fading.

Azriel's vision goes red. He moves expertly, his kills efficient until the burning rage in him gets too much and then he's slashing with pure malice, teeth gritted in hate, as he cuts down any warrior who stood by and watched. All he can feel is the thread between you and him, nearly torn from how much they've hurt you.

When the clashing of steel stops, the last foe dead, only the din of the rain remains.

Like a vacuum has opened somewhere in the sky, the inky cover of his shadow is sucked away, leaving only his sluggish moving shadows and exposing the bleak day. Carnage lies all around him. Bodies upon bodies of warriors.

Azriel can only see you.

You're still strapped to that torturous pole, your beautiful wings forcibly spread out and pinned, like you're being laid out for dissection. Across the flesh of your wings is a sickening number of thin, scarlet lines, gently bleeding.

Beneath you, in the mud, is the remains of your armor and Azriel can trace the scar that'll be left on your back from where it was cut off. The binding on your chest remains, now stained with blood.

You aren't moving.

He sprints without thought, without reason, following the bond. He finds the thread within his chest, grasps it tight, and tugs desperately. You don't even flinch.

A fear mounts inside him, more heart-wrenching than he's ever felt before. A glance down at his siphons reveals their still dull appearance—fucking useless to him.

Azriel staggers to his knees as he reaches you, his scarred hands reaching up to pry off the steel that binds your wrist to the wooden pole—ripping out chunks of the wood at the same time with his rapid, panicked motion. Your hands fall limply to your sides. He feels sick again.

"Y/n?"

He's scared to touch you, scared to do more damage that he's already caused, so so frightened that he just found you and you might already be gone.

He doesn't know what he'll do if you die. He can't—the thought is suffocating in itself, like a black hole that opens and starts pulling in his entire world— you can't die or he'll— he'll- nothing will matter anymore.

RHYS. He throws the plea out desperately, nearly delirious at the sight of your unmoving body. The words sound like a sob, even in his own mind. You have to help me.

Where are you? Rhys' voice fills his mind in an instant.

Then... a haggard breath sounds, like drawing through a mouthful of blood. You cough lightly, barely audible, and murmur, "...Azriel...?"

Something explodes inside Azriel, a burst of pure energy that fills him with relief so overwhelmingly he could cry.

Exordor. He barely manages to think properly, to even respond, beyond the staggering emotion. Come immediately. Please. I need you to- she needs—you have to help her. Please.

I'm on my way.

tags below!

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco

@iamjimintrash @maendering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee

@viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13

@bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa

@fanworrior @skysayhi @vintageoldfashion @tequilya @fabulouslyflamboyant5

@rhysandorian @laughterafter @brieftriumphnightmare @hirah-yummar @some-person-somewhere

@scooobies @sfhsgrad-blog @cherry-cin @bookloverandalsocats @megscabinetofcurios

@doodlebugsblog @landofpetrichor @acourtofdreamsandshadows @florabelll @tanyaherondale

@aomi-recs @letmejustreadthanks @problemfinder @sevikas-whore @doodlebugg16-blog

@meandmysillywriting @justingnoreme @krowiathemythologynerd @hanatsuki-hime @sunny747

@coffeebeforewater @kalulakunundrum @marina468 @moonbirde (i'm so sorry! u asked me to tag u right at the beginning and i've forgotten this whole time! forgive me pls <3)

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days

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Winter's King 23

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I sprained my ankle.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The king shifts you off of him, lifting you with him as he stands. The tension is rigid in his grip. He steadies your bodies and helps you over the edge of the tub. Another pounding sounds at the door and his name arises again.

King Geralt follows, splashing water on the floor in his expediency. He takes a bath sheet from the wardrobe and wraps it around you, not saying a word. Your heart races as you let him move you. You’re paralysed with the embarrassment of that moment. You’re about to be caught out in a perilous position.

He urges you towards the bed and points you onto it. You hug the sheet around you and sit near the pillows. He pulls shut the canopy around you, blocking out the room behind the drapings. You sink down, horrified. He’s hiding you. As thankful as you are for his discretion it only reminds you of your own guilt.

He coughs and his feet slap around. You hear another rustle of linen and your ears prick as he goes to the door. He inches it open with a creak, “Vesemir,” he greets flatly.

“Ah, the king lives,” the gritty voice is more familiar without the barrier of the wood, “ah, and look at him, in his respite, enjoying the hot waters as his wife runs amok in my castle.”

“Wife?” Geralt repeats grimly, “what is your meaning?”

“Do you mean to keep my out in the corridors of my own home?” The man demands and slaps the door. “Boy--”

“Eh,” the king grunts, “mind yourself.”

“Don’t play proper with me,” the man scoffs and the door groans, letting him in. You can see shadows through the small slot between the curtains. You shy away, hoping whoever it is won’t look back.

“Vesemir,” the king repeats, confirming the identity, “what is my wife about?”

“Won’t you come see?” The man challenges, “her and her soldiers are raiding my cellar. I allowed one bottle and now I will be drunk dry. I serve the kingdom but I did not swear myself to spoiled summer welps.”

“Mm,” the king growls as he moves beyond your sight, not that you can see very much through the narrow space. “I’ll tend to her--”

“Certainly, you will or I will march her out with my ax.”

“You needn’t go so far,” the king girds with a sigh as you hear the stiffness of leather.

“When you marched south, I didn’t think it would soften you,” Vesemir rebukes, “you hide in a tower, soaking in steam.”

“It has been a long road. We won’t be long here and I thought to wash,” King Geralt sneers defensively. “Even bears like you need a good scrubbing. You more than any, I think.”

Silence. Tense and roiling. You crawl forward to get a better view of the room. You put your eye to the slat between the curtains and nearly squeak as the older man booms with laughter and claps the younger’s bare shoulder.

“Aye, I probably do smell like the caves,” he rumbles. “And you always did smell like a horse, Geralt.”

The king mutters again as he pulls a tunic over his head, the wet tails of his hair leaving speckles of water across the wool. You blink as the other man shifts and you see his profile clear. You know the man. It is the cook. Rather, not a cook at all but Vesemir, the lord of the castle. You're caught in surprise, staring through at him.

As if drawn by your gaze, he glances over and you quickly retreat from the curtain, hoping you were not spotted. His tongue makes a noise against the roof of his mouth and he huffs. His sole scuffs as the king’s laces whip against his boots.

“Geralt,” Vesemir intones with disappointment.

Silence and another heavy breath. You don’t know from which man. The chair scrapes as the king stands.

“It isn’t to mind,” King Geralt insists, “I will fetch my queen and put her back in her chamber.”

Vesemir growls, “I do wonder why she might act so, with such a loving husband.”

“Enough. It isn’t your concern.”

“Not as yet, but the king’s business is everyone’s concern. Especially of those who marched on his behalf for a summer’s kingdom and a summer’s queen.”

“You did not march,” the king rebuffs.

“Eh, do not,” Vesemir warns, “I do not lecture, I warn you. You are a king now, mm, not a boy playing at tourney knight.”

“I am aware,” King Geralt snips, “tell me what you are aware of, hiding away in your vultures’ pit. These winter lords wanted home to their families, so I made it so. I agreed to marry that... traitor’s daughter and what have I got for it but a headache? You need not make my skull pound any harder, Vesemir.”

“Oh yes, your father was no fan of politics either. Nor did he play them well. Perhaps you might take another lesson after him,” Vesemir rebukes, “that turncloak’s daughter will not be any more amenable should she learn of her husband’s follies.”

“She cannot see past her own nose,” Geralt straps his sword over his back.

“You are hard to miss,” Vesemir insists.

“Let us go to the cellar, I tire of your reproach.”

“Ever obstinate, my liege,” the lords tuts and shakes his head, turning for the door.

You angle to watch them go, the door shutting heavily in their stead. You let out a breath and hug your legs to your chest. You look up at the canopy and the looming bed frame. And so it begins, you sit, trapped by the king’s deceit.

⚔️

After some time, you dare to step beyond the canopy. You dress and sit at the table; the chamber growing still as the water cools and stagnates. The fire crackles to embers but you’re too fraught to think to feed it. You stare at the door. The longer you wait, the more your doubt threatens to consume you.

There is no dial or no sunlight to gauge how long but it is longer than you anticipate. You grow restless and rise, pacing as you twist your palms against each other. Is it the queen the keeps the king? Or something more dire?

When at last you hear movement on the stairs, you can’t help but hide against the wall. The footsteps hammer up and the door bursts open from the other side. At first, you fear the worst. Perhaps your mind has made it all a bit too extravagant but in a manner, you long for it to end, one way or the other.

King Geralt storms in like a gust of wind and snow. The wood snaps against stone as he blusters across the floor and kicks a chair. It cracks against the table and the armrest splinters. You curl your fingers into your apron and sway.

The king grabs the edge of the table and overturns it, sending the books and plates atop it to the floor. He circles like a rabid wolf, stomping and seething, growling as his anger simmers up his throat. He stops as if struck and goes to the bed, tearing back the canopy. His chest puffs as his brow furrows.

“Treasure...” he breathes.

You shudder, “your highness.”

He turns and sees you, his shoulders easing. He closes his eyes and his jaw locks. He pushes his hands over his hair as he calms himself. He opens his eyes against and drops his arms.

“Did I frighten you? I didn’t mean to,” he slowly comes closer, “you know I could never harm you.”

“Yes, your highness, I only meant to be out of the way,” you utter. “Something is amiss?”

“Mmm,” he hums through his nose, “that is a way to say it.” He takes your hands in his, his thumbs rubbing your knuckles, “my wife has not been a very gracious guest. Lord Vesemir’s hospitality quickly wanes. The storm won’t be much longer before we can depart...” he doesn’t look happy for the fact, “and we would be best to do so quickly.”

“Is that not good? Aren’t you happy to go home?” You ask.

His expression softens, “little maid, of course. I cannot wait to show you it all but... I hoped we might have some more time before that. The road is not easy.” He exhales and raises your hands, kissing each, “I must let you go for now. I have acted hastily and there are still matters to attend to. The war I started still roils in the air.” He shakes his head, “I have foes to harry as yet.”

You blink, “what do you mean?”

“Never you worry,” he lowers your hands, “I’ve only one mission for you, little maid.”

“Yes, your highness.”

“You will return to the queen’s service, yes? You will tend to her as you always have but you will watch and you will listen. Every lord, every lady, ever single vermin that keeps her company, I want to know of,” he sneers.

“Your highness? Why--”

“Do not ask why. I require it, that is all you need to know. For our safety, you must do this,” he clings to you, “treasure, I know you are a loyal creature, it is what first drew me to you, but that woman you serve wouldn’t know loyalty if it crept up her skirts.” He lets you go hesitantly, “she is still a traitor’s daughter.”

Your lip trembles and you quickly still it. He is asking you to play spy. On Jazlene. On your queen. His very own wife. But why? She is foolish, she is a drunkard, but she is harmless.

“You swore yourself to your duty, didn’t you?” He arches a brow. “The king comes above all. Regardless of house, of master, you serve me.”

“I will serve as I swore,” you grit out, injured by his tone.

That same day he was gentle and now he is steely and demanding. He toys with you. He only means to use you in whatever way the moment calls for. It is not grand revelation but no less painful.

“Do not be sombre, treasure, in due time,” he rasps. He backs away and puts his back to you, “go, before I let my heart get the best of me. Should you stay longer, I might never let you leave.”

“Your highness,” you bow and walk to the door.

“The knight awaits you. He will take you to the queen.”

“Thank you,” you stand in the doorway.

“Wait,” he calls to you and follows after. You turn to find him with cloak in hand, “you will need this.”

You look down at the cloak. You take it without protest. Even if it is tainted, he isn’t wrong. You will face the cold soon enough and you wouldn’t fare long in your wool and linen. You thank him and he sees you through the open door, closing it as you descend.

As you come to the bottom, you find a shadow awaiting you. It isn’t Bryce. The figure is broader and his white hair shines in the torch light. You step off the bottom step and bend your neck.

“My lord,” you greet the castle lord.

“Maid,” he returns dully, “so it is the little dove that coos as the king.”

You keep your head down, turning it away in shame as you purse your lips. It is your first lesson in judgment but not an easy one.

“I didn’t expect you so much as you didn’t expect me. Sir Bryce has allowed me your time but he warned me he would be back,” he explains. “I only wanted the measure of the king’s fancy. I’ve known him a very long time so it is curious to me that he has put himself in such a... circumstance.”

“My lord,” you whisper, throat crackling.

“Hmmm,” he gives a thoughtful hum. You languish in his silence as he looms in the flicker of lanterns. He pushes away from the wall and steps closer. “You are not offended, but guilty. There is no presumption in you, dove. You do not take insult from what I say, you only take on the onus of the king’s desire.”

He leans in and brings his hand under your chin, forcing your head up. He looks at you, examining you like some riddle. His wrinkles deepen as the shadows make caverns of his eye sockets.

“I see it clear,” he remarks as he pulls his hand away. “I remember the dove who treated cook no lesser than lord,” he stands straight and crosses his arms, “I see no difference between her and you. Yes, I was not mistaken before, but I believe our king is. He does not know you though he believes he does.”

“My lord, I serve the king.”

“You serve your queen,” he counters, “you are of the summer, just like her. So how do you choose?”

You stare at him and your eyes sting. Can you choose?

“It doesn’t matter which one, either would clip your wings,” he lets out a gray breath. “Dove, I will keep your peace. I hold no malice for you, no, I pity you.” He puts his hand to his chest, “while you are under my roof, you will have whatever you need. I will have that soldier find you a proper chamber. For yourself, and should you want, you will have the pick of my pantry. What little delights you might have, I would enjoy them while you can.”

“Thank you, my Lord, but that is very much for a maid.”

He touches your cap, his fingers lingering on the linen, “summer dove... I told you these winds were too cold for you.”

“I must go to the queen,” you plead.

“Yes, go,” he backs away, “I will send your soldier to you.” His lips go crooked as his eyes narrow thoughtfully, “I’ve known Sir Bryce a very long time. That man alone is the best army you could have at your back.”

“He is kind, sir,” you say.

“Is he now?” Lord Vesemir scoffs, “well, maybe one day, I might remember him as such. Do not let me keep you from your duty.”

He stays by the wall and you step around him. You don’t look back as you march forward, the cryptic conversation follows you through the corridors. There was something unsaid in his voice, as if he knew something you don’t. One might take it as him making a joke of you, but you don’t see that man laughing over such grave matters.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #the witcher #winter's king #medieval au

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synthetickitsune · 2 days

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Jeonghan (SVT) | Wedding Cake fluff | 0.8k | gn!reader

You really won’t do it, right? You recall asking the question about a week ago, remember your teeth sinking into your lip and shaky breathing. You felt bad about asking then, and you feel the same shame now. There is no reason to ask, nor to doubt, afterall. Jeonghan would never hurt you intentionally. His teasing and pranks are all for entertainment, curated carefully to whoever is their victim, so no harm is caused, no damage done that can’t be fixed with a hug and his loving smile.

The same smile is deeper, fonder, all the more blinding now as Jeonghan looks at you from just a couple steps away. He looks so handsome in his suit, a tiny flower in his breast pocket. It doesn’t look as pretty as it did in the morning - no surprise there, you expected it’d become his emotional support item for the day. You caught him fidgeting with it a few times. But your eyes barely linger on the petals before you finally gather the courage to meet his eyes. Your husband’s eyes.

Your heart beats just a little faster. The label is still so new and exciting. This is the man you chose to marry, to spend the rest of your life with. You trust him, you know he’d never hurt you. The gentle and loving look in his eyes makes you fall in love with him again. It usually soothes you in an instant, but your anxiety is fueled by the number of people in the room, by the atmosphere, and you know how quickly his gaze can turn from gentle to playful.

It’s time. You close the short distance between you and let him pull you closer by the waist, feel some nerves calm down when he kisses your cheek and smiles at you.

The cake in front of you is what you dreamed of. It’s beautiful and the decorations are cute, yet your stomach also twists slightly. Everything and everyone is in place. Jeonghan picks up the knife and you follow his lead, wrapping your hand around the handle too. You hear the camera shutter click a few times and get a little conscious of your expression. What face are you making? You’re not sure, but you think you’re smiling because your husband is holding you close and you can feel his heart beating fast where his chest presses a little against your shoulder.

The cake is cut, and suddenly your mouth feels dry. You watch in slow motion as Jeonghan’s hand moves towards the cake and you close your eyes, blink for just a second longer than you should. Thousand mortifying scenarios run through your head. Your clothes ruined, your hair dirty with cake, your face a mess. You keep your eyes closed for another second. There’s a little smudge of something cold and wet on your lips.

You open your eyes and try to look down, but there are gentle fingers on your chin and chuckling Jeonghan who pulls you into a sweet kiss. Sweet as in literally sweet. You can taste the icing from the cake. Laughing into the kiss, you pull your husband closer before pulling away. You touch your lips but there’s nothing of the icing left.

He’s smiling too, but you see the way he tilts his head to make sure you’re okay. You are. You hear your friends and family laughing, see their smiling faces from the corner of your eye. Their happiness cannot match yours, however.

“Did you really think I’d smash your face into the cake?” Jeonghan leans closer and whispers into your ear while the cake is being distributed around, his own piece waiting for him, the imprint of his fingers on full display. He sounds a little worried, so you squeeze his hand and give him a smile.

“I was worried for some reason, but it’s not like I thought you’d do it,” you admit and watch him sigh in relief before he pouts.

“Mingyu betted the guys that I would last week,” he whines to you, shooting the man in question a quick glare, “Sometimes I think he hates me.”

“He doesn’t, I think he was just upset about your prank back then,” you reassure him.

“How did you know I pranked him?” Jeonghan gasps, making you roll your eyes.

“I think I know my husband well enough to know,” you shrug. He pauses for a second before he bites his lips and grins. “What now?”

“You called me your husband,” he chuckles, “I like it. Call me that from now on.”

“I think I have no choice,” you laugh, giddiness slowly bubbling all through your body.

Your husband.

You’re not sure who makes the first move, who pulls the other into another short kiss, but you know it feels sweet like the cake.

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen reactions #seventeen imagines #jeonghan scenarios #svthub #jeonghan fluff #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #jeonghan x reader #svt fluff #svt scenarios #svt reactions #drabble

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softspiderling · 10 hours

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god, it's brutal out here | r.c.

summary:

“And yet you’re still thinking of your ex,” Barry finished the sentence, rubbing his chin. “Why don’t you get back together with her?”

“She doesn’t want me.”

“God, fucking Country Club,” Barry snickered. “You’re fucking dense.”

OR; 5 times your friends share their unsolicited opinions about your and Rafe’s break up.

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: mention of c*caine

word count: 5,4k

author’s note: the long awaited sequel of so obsessed with your ex! this can be read as a standalone fic, but there are little easter eggs hidden all over, which will be more fun if you read the first part! it's a little bit longer than I had planned, but there was no way around it. I hope you enjoy it so so much!!!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

I Wheezie

“Hey Wheeze.”

You had accepted the facetime without looking at your phone, keeping it rested on a shelf while you were halfway into your closet, trying to find a dress.

“Does Rafe have a new girlfriend??”

Pausing, you shut your eyes, letting out a silent exhale before you picked up the phone, giving Wheezie a wry smile through the camera.

“Nice to see you too.”

The girl only looked at you, unimpressed and her arms crossed. You sighed, running a hand through your hair, knowing you didn’t have a way out of this conversation. Grabbing your phone, you sat down on your bed.

“Yes, Rafe has a new girlfriend.”

“I knew it!” Wheezie shrieked, throwing her arms up, and you only shook your head in exasperation. The tendency for drama clearly was in the Cameron genes. Wheezie frowned, getting closer to your phone as she looked at you.

“Why am I more upset about this than you are?”

You bit back another sigh. “Because Rafe and I are broken up, Wheeze. He’s allowed to date other people, matter of fact, I’m really glad that he has moved on.”

“Bullshit!”

“Wheezie!”

Wheezie rolled her eyes, but she sat back down, crossing her arms over her chest again. “I don’t like her.”

“You don’t even know her,” you sighed, rubbing your temple, feeling a migraine coming on.

“This is crazy!” Wheezie exclaimed. “You and Rafe never should’ve broken up in the first place! Rafe is probably only dating her to make you jealous so you’ll take him back.”

You couldn’t help but snort at that, Wheezie clearly watched way too many rom-coms. She frowned at you.

“Why are you laughing? This isn’t funny, this is, like, super un-funny.”

“Because, Wheeze,” you started, plucking a feather out of your pillow. “This isn’t some 90’s rom-com where I see Rafe with Rebecca and suddenly a sad song is playing. This is real life. We are broken up.”

“I still don’t understand why.”

“Remember when we used to fight all the time? And I was just always sad?”

Wheezie was quiet, her lips still pursed. “Yeah. But that doesn’t mean anything. Couples fight all the time, doesn’t mean you just have to break up.”

“Yes, couples fight all the time and they don’t have to break up, but it was the right decision for me and Rafe,” you said, your tone final. Wheezie looked at you, her frown slowly smoothing down.

“If you say so,” she muttered, not quite convinced. She stared down at her chipped finger nails, before she looked up again. “Can we still talk?”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Of course we can still talk, why wouldn’t we?”

“I don’t know… I mean, you’re gonna find a new boyfriend and maybe he has a younger sister as well and then I’ll just be your ex’s younger sister.”

“Wheeze,” you said, fondly, knowing where she was coming from. You had been in her life for most of her teenage years, it must be weird not having you around anymore. “We’ll still talk, no matter if I get a new boyfriend or not, even if he has a cool younger sister, or even three.”

Wheezie smiled, rolling her eyes at you. “You’re so dumb.”

“Yet you still want me around,” you teased. “How about you, Sar and I go get some ice cream and then to the movies this weekend?”

“Sounds good,” Wheezie replied with a big smile. She paused when someone called her name from somewhere in the house, before she turned back to her phone. “I gotta go, Rose needs me. I’ll text you later.”

“Alright, Wheeze. Talk to you later, be good.”

Wheezie waved into the camera, before the facetime ended. Your smile dropped and you tossed your phone on your bed with a sigh, letting yourself fall back on your bed. Even six months after the break up it was still hard to talk about Rafe, and now that he had a new girlfriend, you thought it’d be easier to get over him, but all it did was hurt more. It didn’t help that Rafe was still texting you every now and then. Nothing scandalous, just small texts, but you never replied. You both agreed on no contact after the break up, because you thought it’d give you a better opportunity to heal. You should’ve known he’d break it. Picking up your phone, you unlocked it, swiping to your messages.

Rafe [11/30/23: 1:43 am]: couldn’t sleep. remember when we took out the boat at two am bc we both drank a red bull at ten?

Rafe [11/30/23: 11:22 am]: sorry, i was drinking. didn’t mean to text you. hope you’re doing good

Rafe [12/25/23: 2:44 pm]: merry christmas. it’s weird without you.

Rafe [01/01/24: 01:02 am]: happy new year’s.

**Rafe [01/05/23: 9:56 pm]: **are you really not gonna text me back?

Rafe [01/27/24: 3:07 am]: i miss you

Rafe [02/12/24: 12:05 pm]: saw you at the party last night. you looked so fucking pretty. took everything in me not to talk to you.

Rafe [03/01/24: 7:12 pm]: idk if you care or not, but i still wanted to let you know. i’m seeing someone

You never replied to any of the texts, knowing it was for the better. You could block him, but you never brought it over your heart to do so, telling yourself you wanted him to reach you in case of emergency, but deep down, you didn’t want to block him.

Just incase.

II Barry

“Want some C?” Barry asked as greeting, presenting Rafe a small baggie with white powder in it as soon as he walked onto the lot.

“Nah,” Rafe declined, already feeling jittery enough without it, “Won’t say no to a beer though.”

Barry let out a grunt, tossing the baggie on the table, disappearing inside the trailer. Rafe took a seat in one of the chairs, running his hand over his buzzed head, bouncing his leg nervously. He had needed to get out of the house for a while. Ever since Rebecca pulled the picture out of the drawer, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Again.

Which is fucked up, really. He thought he got over you, he didn’t want to be the guy who thought about his ex while having a whole ass girlfriend. The door to the trailer opened with a slam, Barry exiting with two beer cans, handing Rafe one of them. The can was ice cold in his hands, and the cold liquid helped with his racing heart. He let out a sigh, rubbing a thumb over his eye brow. Rafe took another gulp of the beer, almost drinking the entire can in one go, while Barry watched him, assessing.

“You good?”

Rafe nodded, setting the can on the table.

“Yeah, jus’ stressed.”

“Work, or…?”

Barry trailed off without finishing his sentence and Rafe didn’t answer, wiping a finger over his jaw, which was clenched to the max.

Barry eyed him skeptically, leaning back in his chair. “How’s Mrs. Country Club?”

Rafe let out a loud sigh, tipping his head back, like he always did when he was annoyed with Barry.

“Barry, I don’t know if all the drugs you’re taking are starting to get to your memory, but we broke up.”

“Don’t be fucking rude,” he said, kicking Rafe’s chair. Not hard enough for it to tip over, but hard enough for Rafe to grip onto the arm rests, glaring at his friend. “How’d you know I wasn’t talking ‘bout your new girl?”

“Because you always call her Becky,” Rafe pointed out, giving him a look.

Barry shrugged, taking a sip from his beer. “You still know who ‘m talking about, so what’s the problem?”

“Problem is, it’s disrespectful. You know that’s not her name.”

“You’re still hung up on your ex while dating Becky, so who’s really disrespecting her?”

Rafe’s head shot up and the glare he sent Barry was deadly.

“Fuck this shit, and fuck you,” he snapped, pushing himself up from the chair, but Barry grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“Boy, sit down.”

Rafe scowled at him, before sitting back down, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. He did not come all the way out to the cut to get called out like this.

“If you came here to be coddled, you went to the wrong person.”

“I don’t need to be coddled,” Rafe muttered with an eyeroll. “Just wanted to let off some steam.”

“So?” Barry snorted, waving his hands around. “Steam away.”

Rafe scoffed, scooting down in his chair, shaking his head. “Do you think I want to think of her? I fucking hate feeling like this. Bex is nice, and she’s hot. And yet-”

“And yet you’re still thinking of your ex,” Barry finished the sentence, rubbing his chin. “Why don’t you get back together with her?”

“She doesn’t want me.”

“God, fucking Country Club,” Barry snickered. “You’re fucking dense.”

“Nah, you don’t fucking get it, “ Rafe sneered, leaning his head in his hands. And he didn’t, not really. Which really wasn’t his fault. Rafe just didn’t want to talk about the break up with his friends. Physically couldn’t. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t told anyone why you broke up. Just made it feel all to real, he guessed.

“Nah, you’re right, I don’t,” Barry said, shaking his head. “All I know is, one day you’re all fucking sunshine and the next you’re more emo than that Friday girl.”

“What?” Rafe asked, lifting his head to stare at Barry in confusion.

Barry waved him off. “You know, that freaky girl from Netflix with the black lipstick.”

“Do you mean Wednesday?”

“Yeah, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, all the same to me,” Barry huffed. “Point is, life’s too fucking short to do things that don’t make you happy.”

“Bex makes me happy.”

Barry gave him a long, hard look, squinting his eyes at him. “Yeah, right. Whatever makes you sleep at night.”

Rafe stared back at him before shaking his head, finishing the last of his beer before crushing the empty can in his hand, declining to answer, because he knew he couldn’t convince Barry.

He wasn’t even convinced himself.

III Topper

top [05/03/24: 4:06 pm]: gonna be at alex’s later tonight with rafe and rebecca just fyi if you wanted to come

mrs. rafe [05/03/24: 4:57 pm]: k, thanks for letting me know

—— NEW MESSAGE ——

top [05/04/24: 1:37 am]: can you pick me up?

It was Saturday night, a little past your bedtime for a night in. You were getting ready for bed, exiting the bathroom when your phone buzzed in your hand. Lifting it, you read the new text, not quite believing he’d make you do this. What the fuck was he thinking asking you to pick him up? Shaking your head in disbelief, you typed out an answer.

mrs. rafe [05/04/24: 1:41 am]: topper no

Before you could put the phone away, your phone already buzzed with an answer, and you nearly didn’t want to read whatever lame ass excuse he came up with, your hand stilling when your eyes flit over his text.

top [05/04/24: 1:41 am]: please, i don’t want to get a ride with rafe and rebecca

top [05/04/24: 1:41 am]: she asked me so many questions about you and i can’t be around rafe rn or i’ll tell him

mrs. rafe [05/04/24: 1:45 am]: … fine

mrs. rafe [05/04/24: 1:47 am]: you’re so annoying

Cursing Topper and yourself for not going to bed sooner, you put on a sweatshirt and grabbed your keys and purse, typing out another text before you headed out of the house, getting into your car.

mrs. rafe [05/04/24: 1:49 am]: be there in ten

top [05/04/24: 1:50 am]: omg i owe you <3

Barely ten minutes later, you pulled up in front of Alex’ house, looking out for Topper, before you spotted him underneath a tree. You rolled to a stop next to him, giving him the most unimpressed look.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Topper groaned, getting into the car, shutting the door behind him.

You rolled your eyes, pulling off the curb without another word, driving towards Topper’s house.

“I’m really sorry for asking you to come get me, but Rafe was looking for me and I had too much to drink already to lie in his face,” Topper said, leaning his back against the headrest, shutting his eyes.

You desperately wanted to know what Rebecca had asked but you didn’t want to come off as the nosy ex, even if this was Topper. So as nonchalantly as you could, you asked: “What did you talk about?”

“Jesus,” Topper said, running a hand through his hair. “She asked me how you guys broke up and wanted details, too. Was super insistent, I was kinda scared actually.”

Okay, so just normal sussing out the ex, you could deal with that.

“What did you say?”

“That it was a mutual break up and I didn’t know why you broke up, just that you suddenly disappeared from each other’s lives.”

You sighed. That was the vaguest answer you’d ever heard.

“Why didn’t you just tell her why we broke up?”

Topper glanced at you, his brows knitted together.

“How can I tell her something I don’t know?”

“What?”

You slammed on the breaks, nearly sending Topper flying through the windshield because the idiot hadn’t buckled up, while you stared at him.

“What do you mean you don’t know why we broke up?”

“I don’t!” Topper exclaimed. “Rafe refuses to talk about it and you never told me either.”

“Because I assumed Rafe has told you! It’s been like six months!”

Blinking at Topper, it took you a few seconds to process, jumping when someone honked their horn at you, when you remembered you had stopped in the middle of the street.

“Shit,” you muttered, shifting gears to keep on driving, eyes flitting to Topper repeatedly.

“So…” he started. “Why did you guys break up?”

You gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white, letting out a deep breath. When you had left to come pick Topper up, you hadn’t expected having to tell him why you and his best friend had broken up.

“I was getting so worried about him. He was so stressed about the company every day, took home so much work and Ward was breathing down his neck to keep the numbers up. I told him that I thought he should take a step back, maybe take a break or something, tried to convince him of going on a trip or something, but the more I said, the more he seemed to be pushing himself into work. It got so bad that we were fighting basically every day, and it just wasn’t working anymore. It felt like we were going in circles.”

You cleared your throat when you felt yourself getting choked up, vision turning a little blurry from the tears in your eyes.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Topper exclaimed, patting himself down, looking for some tissues.

“Don’t worry about it,” you snorted, wiping your tears away with the sleeves of your sweatshirt. You were so wrapped up in trying to retell the break up, you hadn’t even noticed that you already reached Topper’s house. “I shouldn’t even still be getting so worked up over this after all this time,” you sniffed, turning your car off.

Topper looked at you, with that typical look on his face and you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that. I can’t believe Rafe hasn’t told you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly? I think he might be in denial about it.”

You scoffed at him, shaking your head. Why was everyone so hung up over your break up?

“It’s been six months.”

Topper didn’t reply, his hand on the car door and you expected him to bid you good bye, but that was too easy.

“… Do you think you guys will get back together?”

“He has a girlfriend, Top.”

“Still. I don’t think that Rafe and Rebecca are gonna last very long.” Topper looked at you, pressing his lips together, before shaking his head. “Sorry. Thanks for coming and for getting me home. Text me if you need anything, okay?”

You nodded, giving him a small wave, and waited until he got out of the car, shutting the door behind him, before you turned your car on, pulling off.

“What the fuck,” you muttered to yourself, wiping the rest of the tears off as you drove home.

IV Kelce

“Kelce!”

Kelce looked up from the pool table, a smile growing on his face when he saw Rafe come down the basement, his friend wrapping an arm around him for a brief hug.

“Happy birthday, man,” Rafe said, handing Kelce a bottle of the expensive whiskey he always drank when he was at Rafe’s but too stingy to buy it for himself.

“Ah shit, you didn’t have to,” Kelce uttered, though his eyes were sparkling as he looked at the bottle in his hands. He handed the pool stick to one of the guys next to him, leading Rafe to the bar. He grabbed two glasses from the shelves, pouring Rafe and himself a good amount, offering one of the glasses to him.

“Cheers to you.”

The two clinked their glasses, before sipping on the whiskey. Kelce really enjoyed it, too, with the way he closed his eyes, and Rafe only snorted in his glass. Kelce peaked his eye open, shoving his friend fondly with a grin.

“Rebecca here?”

“Yeah, upstairs.”

Kelce hummed in thoughts, nodding absentmindedly. He stared into his glass, swishing the amber liquid around before he spoke up again.

“You know she’s here, too, right?”

Rafe tensed, knowing exactly that Kelce was talking about you, but he had expected it. Firstly, because you and Kelce had always been friends, and secondly because he had heard Sarah making plans with you to go together. Didn’t mean this felt any less of a punch to the gut. He really hoped he wouldn’t run into you, because he wasn’t quite sure what he’d do; all he knew was, that Bex wasn’t gonna like it. Rafe cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound nonchalant.

“I figured, yeah.”

“That okay?” Kelce asked, and Rafe was starting to get annoyed, rolling his eyes. Why was Kelce questioning him about you on his damn birthday? He tried to dampen his anger though, not wanting to ruin the night.

“Yes. It’s your birthday, man.”

As soon as those words left his mouth, Rafe knew he did a shit job of hiding his emotions, and Kelce eyed him suspiciously.

“I don’t get you guys,” he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You got a new girl, but you still haven’t gotten over your ex, clearly, but every time I mention her, you act like it’s the worst thing in the world, but neither of you have said a bad word about the other.

Rafe scoffed, though his heart started to race at the thought of you talking about him. He wondered what you had said, if you cared enough to ask about him, or if you had long moved on.

“Are you ever gonna tell me why you guys broke up?”

“Maybe next time.”

Kelce gave him a wry smile, knowing this was Rafe avoiding the topic again. He lifted his head when more people starting coming down the basement, curling his hand around Rafe’s shoulder to give him a squeeze.

“I really hope you figure it out bro, because this right now is not it.”

He then excused himself to welcome the new arrivals and Rafe gripped his glass, before downing it in one go.

“Alright, who wants to get destroyed in a round of pool?” he asked, clapping his hands together as he approached the pool table. Anything to stop himself from going upstairs to look for you.

V Sarah

“Oh my god, I thought you were gonna keep talking to her forever!”

You gave Sarah a look. She hadn’t even waited a minute after you left Rebecca on the couch before she started talking about her.

“I don’t have a problem with her.”

Sarah groaned, linking her arm with yours as to not lose you in the crowd that has formed in Kelce’s house. You were glancing around, hyper aware that you could run into Rafe any second, but you didn’t want Sarah to notice.

“I don’t understand how you can be so chill. Did you not see the picture she had in her purse?”

You sighed, brushing your hair back over your shoulder. Was this ever going to stop? “Sar, please.”

“Hello?? That was super freaky.”

“Maybe she was just cleaning up and wanted to throw it in the trash and forgot it in her purse.”

Sarah laughed dryly, shaking her head. “Bullshit! Admit that you find it weird.”

“Okay, maybe it is a little weird,” you admitted. “But don’t you do things that are a little weird sometimes? Maybe she’s just a little insecure. Which I wouldn’t blame her for, you’re so mean. Shouldn’t you try and be her friend or something?”

“Why? She’s not gonna be around much longer anyways, and I already have a friend.”

You rolled your eyes, fishing your keys out of your purse to unlock your car. Again with the sentiment that Rafe and Rebecca weren’t gonna last much longer. You decided against deeming that statement with an answer and got into your car, with Sarah getting into the passenger seat.

“Do you want to grab some burgers?” She asked, buckling up, like you hadn’t just told you that your ex and his new girlfriend weren’t gonna last.

You gave her a look as you tossed your purse to the back.

“What do you mean do I want to grab burgers? I thought you wanted to leave because you’re meeting John B early in the morning.”

Sarah blinked at you, before she reached out to give you a shove on the forehead. “I was lying so we could get away, stupid.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, starting your car as Sarah protested.

“What? I was getting weirded out by you being all besties with Rafe’s new girlfriend. I don’t even understand how you can be so nice to her knowing she’s all up on your man.”

“Pray tell, who’s my man again?”

“Don’t even,” Sarah huffed. “You guys dated forever, I know you still love each other. And let me tell you one thing,” she said, raising her eyebrows at you. “If you got a new boyfriend? Rafe would not be this nice to him like you were to Rebecca.” With that, Sarah crossed her arms over her chest, settling back against her seat.

You only sighed, starting your car in silence.

“Do you want to get burgers now or not?” you asked, extending a peace offer while looking over at Sarah. She glowered at you, before nodding with an eyeroll.

“Yes.”

BONUS + I Rafe

“I did, at the party last night… She said she’s happy that you have me, that she was worried about how you work too much.”

Rafe pushed the pasta on his plate around with his fork, too engrossed in his thoughts to even think about eating. He didn’t even notice how Dennis had stopped talking. Rafe looked up from his plate, only to see Dennis look at him intently, an amused grin on his face.

“Sorry, were you saying something?”

“I was saying a lot, but you seemed like you were on a completely different planet,” Dennis noted, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Rafe winced, putting his fork down.

“Sorry, I have a lot on my mind.”

“I can tell,” Dennis mused. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Something like that.”

Rafe sighed, leaning back in his chair. Ever since you broke up, Rafe has been assuming that you didn’t care about him anymore, that you had long moved on from him and your relationship. He thought that you resented him, blamed him for the break up, which was honestly the main reason why he went back to the dating scene so quickly; to get over you. But hearing that you still cared about him? Enough to be nice to his new girlfriend and even ask about him? He wondered if there was still a chance for him and you to be together again.

If it weren’t for the fact that he already had a girlfriend.

“Can I give you some unsolicited advice, son?”

“Do I have a choice?” Rafe asked with a wry grin and Dennis only let out a belly laugh, shaking his head.

“Rafe, most relationships these days end because of your own ego, from both parties. No matter how big the fight or problem seems, will it really be that important in hindsight?” Dennis asked him. “How long have you an your girl been together? Almost 5 years, no?”

Rafe nodded, not daring to correct Dennis. He had never outright told him that you had broken up in the first place.

“See, that’s half a decade. I can assure you, in another half, you’re not even gonna remember this fight.”

Yeah, I don’t know about that, Rafe thought.

“Do you love her?”

Turning his ring on his finger, Rafe let out a soft exhale, before nodding. “Yeah, I do.”

“See. Problem solved.”

Rafe lifted his head to grin at Dennis.

“Thanks. Is it okay if we cut today short?”

“Sure,” Dennis said, waving Rafe off when he reached for his wallet. “Lunch is on me. Go get your girl.”

“I will,” Rafe promised, pushing his chair back to stand up. “I just gotta take care of something else first.”

BONUS + II You

You were staring at your phone, text thread with Rafe open. It was Saturday night; you and Sarah had went out to a small beach party. Sarah had gone to fill her drink back up and you had used that time of solace to overthink. About Rafe.

For the past few week, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. And you blamed your friends for it, really. First Wheezie, then Topper and then Sarah? Somehow all of them said that the break up was the worst idea, and even though you had always second guessed the choice to break up, this was the first time you actually actively regretted it.

The way Sarah seemed so sure that Rafe and Rebecca weren’t going to last long. Maybe you were wrong and they weren’t as happy as you thought. But then again, it wasn’t any of your business, was it? Who were you to put your nose into their relationship?

God, you shouldn’t be doing this.

“How long does Sarah need to fill her drink back up?” You muttered to yourself, finishing your vodka soda and burying the cup in the sand next to you, when you heard foot steps approaching.

“Finally! I was about to send a search group out for you!” you exclaimed, standing up and dusting the sand off your lap. “Seriously, how long does it take for-”

You froze when you turned around just to see Rafe standing in front of you, instead of Sarah. Swallowing thickly, you blinked at him, caught off guard.

“Rafe, hey,” you said, opting for casual. “Sorry. I thought you were Sarah.”

The corners of Rafe’s mouth twitched. “Yeah, I could tell.”

You looked at him, sighing a bit wistfully (mostly) internally, before you shifted on your feet nervously. “It was nice to see you,” you said, and it was true. “But um… I think I’ll go look for Sarah.” You gave him a small smile, before walking towards, and then past him.

“You’re still worried about me.”

You let out a startled laugh, pausing mid-step to turn back to him. “What?”

“You told Rebecca that you were glad that I had her and that you worried I work too much.”

“Of course I’m still worried about you,” you huffed, brushing your hair back. “You can’t be surprised about that.”

Rafe looked at you, and you could tell that this was news to him.

“Rafe.”

Rafe let out a sigh, rubbing his forehead. “You didn’t reply to any of my texts. I thought you were mad at me or somethin’.”

“I didn’t reply to any of your texts because we said we’d do no contact for a while.

“Still,” Rafe muttered, kicking a rock. “I didn’t think it would be so easy for you-”

“And because you were happy with Rebecca, do you think it’s easy for me to see you with someone else?”

“I broke up with Rebecca last week.”

“What?!”

Mouth agape, you stared at him and Rafe only rubbed the back of his neck. “She… Wasn’t what I wanted.”

“Oh,” you only said, letting out a soft exhale. “I’m sorry about that.”

Rafe sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. His gaze was trained on the floor for a bit, before he lifted his head to look at you.

“I want to try again… I want us to try again.”

“Rafe…”

You swallowed thickly, your eyes wide and you didn’t move as Rafe took a step towards you, reaching for your hand. Your fingers were cold in his but they quickly warmed to his touch, and the way he laced his fingers with yours, felt all to familiar.

“I love you. I never should have agreed to breaking up. It was arguably the second stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

“And what’s the stupidest?” you asked, corners of your mouth lifting.

“Not listening to you when you were just trying to help,” he answered, looking down at you, so vulnerable like you hadn’t seen him in a long time. “I rearranged my schedule at the company so I could take on less work, take more time off and relax. Take the time to get us to where we were before it all went shitty.”

Your heart was in your throat as you listened to him talk, unsure what to say.

“Rafe, I don’t know… “

“Baby, please,” he begged, squeezing your hand. “Do you love me, still?”

You scoffed. “That’s not fair.”

“Why? Because you do?”

“Of course I still love you,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. “Do you know how hard it was for me to ignore your texts? To see you with another girl, so happy?”

Rafe shook his head, lifting his hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. “I wasn’t. Not really.”

You let out another sigh, looking at the way your hands were intertwined, how your heart had stopped racing, before you nodded, looking up at him. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

A smile spread across Rafe’s face, so big it was so uncharacteristic for him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It was like that word switched a flip inside of him, as he grabbed you by your nape gently, to kiss you, slotting his lips against your, and as your lips touched, it felt like you were finally home again. You only pulled away to breathe, both of you staring at each other like you couldn’t quite realize this was happening.

Sarah [05/11/2024: 10:45 pm]: (sent to 4 contacts) [picture attached: blurry photograph of you and Rafe kissing at the beach]

Topper [05/11/2024: 10:46 pm]: thank god.

Kelce [05/11/2024: 10:51 pm]: FINALLY!

Wheezie [05/11/2024: 10:59 pm]: !!!!!!

Barry [05/11/2024: 11:02 pm]: read at 11:02 pm

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: sooo.... what are we thinking?

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey #outer banks #obx #outer banks fanfiction

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vampzity · 2 days

Text

the business proposal | P.SH

—✫ pairing: boss! Seonghwa x f! reader

—✫ genre: business office au, smut!!! one shot, park seonghwa

—✫ synopsis: being the new worker isn’t always easy. especially when your boss was known to be a pain to work with. he was cold-hearted and the punishments for those who dared to defy him, were inhumane. but you just had to test his patience, didn’t you?

—✫ wc: 2.9k

[warnings]: choking, nipple play, consented sex, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap!), rough sex, masturbation, cursing??, master kink, sadism, brat taming kink, begging, teasing, 18+ MINORS DNI!!!!, pet names (hun, pretty, good girl), biting??, spanking, dacryphillia

—✫ a/n: it doesn’t jump into action right away, there’s some background written before getting there ! :) this is my first smut post btw :3

You walked up to his door, knocking on it while a stack of papers filled your hands. You waited for him to open the door, but of course he took long as always.

You were a new employee at a big company, known to be the most successful in your city. It’s only been a week since you’ve started, and many people have already warned you about the boss.

“He’s rude… he’s snarky… it’s his way or the highway.”

It made you a bit curious, as you’ve only seen him a few times, but never spoken to him face to face before. He was actually the one who hired you. He couldn’t be that bad right? Aren’t all bosses portrayed as mean?

“Oh, it’s you.”

Your thoughts were interrupted by a deep voice, startling you as the door shot open. Seonghwa glared at you fiercely, giving a sigh as if he was annoyed. He walked back to his desk, taking a seat as he clicked the pen repeatedly in his hand.

“Those papers done? Put them on my desk and get out of my sight.” he spoke sternly.

You raised an eyebrow at him, placing the stack of papers on his desk harshly. He widened his eyes at you, soon pointing them to the stack of papers you left before him. He shooed at you as he rolled his eyes, getting back to the work on his computer.

So everything your co-workers said, were true? He was cold, even colder than they described. Of course he was your boss, so you couldn’t speak against him or his words, but apart of you couldn’t stand his uptight attitude with you. Especially when he was the one who had hired you initially.

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. It was at this point that he began to grow impatient with you still being in his presence.

“What more do you want? I don’t have all day!” he snapped, throwing his pen across the room.

“You know you don’t have to be so rude? I know I’m new here, but it doesn’t give you a right to act such a way.”

Seonghwa froze, placing his elbows onto his desk slowly as his chin rested in his hands. His stare intensified toward you, enough to feel the immense anger that arose within him. However, his face remained emotionless.

“You should know your place. Don’t forget I hired you, and frankly, I’m also not afraid to fire you either.”

His deep voice rung in your head. As much as the anger burned in his eyes, his voice remained nonchalant, making it harder for you to decipher how upset he was.

It wasn’t normalized for you to go against someone with such power, but when it came to respect, you expected that same amount back regardless of one’s status. As for the job? You were top of your class, why wouldn’t anyone hire the valedictorian of their college?

“You might want to reconsider that.” I checked the time on my watch, reading 11:15 am.

“You assigned not just me, but everyone papers like these at 8 am sharp.”

You looked around the room, scanning his office for any more stacks of papers that had been given to the other employees this morning. To your expectation, only yours was present.

“Ah, just as I thought. I’m the only one done.” You gave him a small smirk, placing a finger to your lips.

“Again.”

The heat present in Seonghwa’s eyes began to boil. All of his employees were compliant. No one even dared to step foot into his office and blatantly disrespect him. So for a new female employee to come in and do such a thing.. was unacceptable.

“I don’t need your insolence or smart mouth,” he started, standing up from his desk and making his way toward you.

“You’re here to work for me, so you do as you’re told. I don’t pay you to question me. Remember that.”

He hovered over you, filling your stomach with butterflies as his stern gaze made you nervous. Luckily for you, it wasn’t as noticeable.

“I did what I was told and I never questioned you.”

You made my way toward the door, placing your hand on the doorknob. You turned to look at him, smirking playfully just to get on his last nerve.

“Remember that.”

You opened the door to the hallway, making your way out of his office and closing the door behind you. Seonghwa stood in the middle of the room, rage coercing through his veins as you dared to test the very little patience he had. Clearly you thought this was a harmless thing to disrespect your own boss, but Seonghwa wasn’t going to let you go so easily.

He’ll let you think that though.

It was 8 pm and everyone had left the office hours ago. All except for Seonghwa. He typed away at his computer, cursing himself for getting as distracted as he did today. It was unusual for him, and he knew exactly the reason why.

You flooded his mind like a hurricane at sea level, but a part of him enjoyed it. Seonghwa was never defied in such a way before, especially not from a woman. It aroused him, intrigued him. It urged a sudden need for him to test your waters, to see how much you could retaliate against him.

He shook his head, trying his hardest to focus on his work. Your interaction today only made it harder to not give into his lewd fantasies about you. How he desired to be on top of you, to touch you, dominate every inch of your body for disrespecting him. How quickly he’d make you regret your words and submit to him.

A sudden knock on the door interrupted Seonghwa’s thoughts, causing him to grunt in annoyance. Who would still be here so late to bother him?

“What?!” he yelled, crossing his arms over his chest.

The door opened softly, revealing you standing in the doorframe. His eyes widened at the sight of seeing you, not expecting you to be here so long after hours. He scoffed, getting back to work as he tried to make it clear that he didn’t want to see you. However deep inside, he was ecstatic.

“Sorry to bother you, but there’s a file that I gave to you that belonged in another pile. My take home pile.”

You closed the door behind you, your voice soft as there was no reason for you to be blunt toward him at the moment. Seonghwa looked up at you for a second, giving you an icy glare as he continued to ignore you.

“Well hello to you too..” you muttered, beginning to shuffle through the file cabinet.

You searched through countless drawers, disorganizing and rearranging papers that Seonghwa took time out of his day to do. He felt his eyes twitch as he watched you disrupt his flow, a spark of anger growing within him.

“You call that top of class?” he thought to himself. Someone who is careless and disorganized?”

Seonghwa struggled to maintain his composure, his bulge growing as he watched you bent over the filing cabinet searching for said file. All while rage filled his veins at the mess you so recklessly continued to cause. He was eager mess with you in the same way, but he knew he had to maintain his professionalism with you.

“Look, if you think making a mess of things is going to help you find your lost file, you clearly must be mistaken.”

His gaze was cold, unreadable as you looked back to him. Simply a mere facade to hide his true desires for you. His need to fuck you while you were bent over the filing cabinet, while you sat on his desk, it didn’t matter much to him.

“It’s not my job to babysit you. If you lose your shit, that’s your responsibility. Learn to keep track of your things.”

He turned away from you, his right hand covering his bulge as he struggled to calm himself. Any second longer and there wouldn’t be a chance that he could step away from you.

You gave him a rude look, crossing your arms defensively as you stood up straight to look at him.

“I never said you have to babysit me.” you spoke back firmly.

Seonghwa turned his head to you, his emotionless glare piercing right into your skin. You felt your face flush as he stood up from his chair, making his way over to you slowly.

Your defiance turned him on in ways he couldn’t explain. It was bratty, but it was something he adored coming from you. Knowing that he was your superior, gave him the type of dominance he wanted in order to put you back in your place.

As he walked up to you, you backed up with every step he took to get closer, eventually hitting the filing cabinet. You had no where to go, and frankly you were unsure of his next move… or sentence.

He leaned over, his mouth just inches away from your ear. You felt a cold shutter run up your spine as you felt his breath hit you softly.

“You’re lucky I haven’t bent you over my desk and fucked that attitude out of you.”

You froze in place, your eyes locked with his as he came back up to look at you. His gaze was stern, but the amount of lust in them were far beyond his control. The longer Seonghwa stood in front of you, the more he fantasized about breaking you over his desk. How badly he craved to own every part of your body.

“What..?” you muttered, your face now completely flushed from his words.

Seonghwa moved closer to you until you were only a few inches apart. He grabbed your chin, pulling it closer to his face as he leaned down to match your height.

“You’re testing my patience, hun.”

He grabbed your hand, wasting not a single second to pull you over to the desk. He picked you up, sitting you ontop of his desk harshly. He leaned over to your ear, watching you helplessly struggle to pull yourself out of his grasp.

“Before I continue, is this okay with you pretty?” he whispered.

You kept your eyes away from his own as you nodded your head softly, wanting everything that he had planned to give to you.

“Good, because I hope you know this is your reprimanding for how defying you were earlier.”

He placed his lips against your neck, teasing your skin with his own as he attempted to explore you. Small moans escaped you, only enhancing his never-ending urge for you. Seonghwa bit at parts of your neck, leaving small red marks present to the naked eye. His free hand slipped up your skirt, tugging away at your panties as his fingers found their way to your slick cunt.

“For someone who acts like they don’t like me, their body sure says otherwise, doesn’t it?” he whispered.

Without a warning, he pulled your panties down, quickly sticking two fingers inside of you without warning. He began to pump at a fast pace, leaving no time for you to adjust to his fingers as you squeezed around them.

Your moans grew louder, soon turning into whimpers as Seonghwa fingered you, your juices dripping down his arm. He unbuttoned your shirt quickly, revealing your perky breasts from right under. He smirked at you, leaning over to take one of them into his mouth. He swirled his tongue softly against your nipple, all while sucking at it.

As overstimulating as this was for you, Seonghwa enjoyed every second of it. Your whimpers and moans being music to his ears. He craved you, craved this exact moment of intimacy with you.

“Just like that..” he whispered against your skin, taking small bites out of your chest. “This is how you behave.”

His thumb rubbed slowly against your clit as his fingers continued to thrust into your heat. His tongue played at your nipples, tugging at them with every suck he gave.

You felt a pit build up in your stomach as your walls clenched around Seonghwa’s fingers. Your hands gripped onto the desk, almost scrapping the wood off it.

“I’m gonna..” you muttered, seconds away from letting yourself go.

Seonghwa swiftly removed his hands from you, making you moan in annoyance. You looked at him with soft eyes as they spoke for you. You were so close, but you should’ve known that he wasn’t going to let you off the hook so easily.

“Aww, needy aren’t we?” he teased, licking your juices off of his fingers.

He hummed at the taste of you, only growing his arousal to be in you. He cupped your chin, caressing your lil with his thumb as he smirked at you. How helplessly you sat in front of him, yearning for more of his touch, so eager to cum all over him. Whatever game Seonghwa played with you, was a damn good one and it was far from over.

“Turn around.” he spoke sternly, his deep voice making your heart flutter.

You nodded, getting down from the desk and turning around to do as you were told. You bent over the desk, your ass perked up to his view. Seonghwa caressed you softly with his hand, giving you a soft squeeze just before smacking you harshly. You cried out in pain, looking back at him as he glared at you. He pushed your head down against the desk, bringing his face close to your ear.

“You keep your head straight, you hear me?”

He pressed his cock against you, groaning softly at how it made him feel. He quickly unbuckled his pants, pulling them down slightly so that he could feel you skin to skin.

“Fuck..” he spoke under his breath, his hands now resting against the curve of your hips.

He held his cock to your entrance, rubbing it softly against your slit. His groans filled your ears, almost deafening. Without a second thought, he shoved himself in you, until you took every inch of him. You whimpered out in pain, feeling how big he was despite such a tight entrance.

Seonghwa thrusted into you harshly, his tip barging its way through your walls. His hand grabbed onto your hair, pulling it back. He leaned over to you, biting your neck as he continued to fuck you relentlessly. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you begged him to slow down. Your cries only heightened his arousal, causing him to speed up his pace.

“That’s right, take it like a good girl..” he whispered.

His grip on your strands tightened. He lifted his free hand, smacking your ass once again to leave a stinging feeling against your skin. Seonghwa smirked at your cries, his groaning becoming louder as he felt his climax grow.

“You’re.. such a slut..” he spoke, panting between his words. “What happened.. to that attitude from.. before?”

As much as you wanted to reply, you could barely speak from your neck being stretched by his pulling. All you could do, was sit there and whimper from pleasure as he refused to listen to your cries for mercy. Your walls squeezed around his cock, feeling it glide inside of you at an inhumane pace.

Your moans grew louder as he fucked you, signaling the climax that you so eagerly waited for. However, he wasn’t going to let you that easily. He paused for a second, making you whine out for him to continue. You knew he was edging you, but you simply couldn’t take anymore of it.

“Please..” you muttered, your face wet from tears.

He chuckled softly, using his free hand to smack your ass once again, making you yelp out in pain.

“No,” he started, digging his nails into the skin of your ass. “You’re going to take what I give you, and you don’t cum unless I do.”

He leaned over to your ear, kissing your neck softly as he hardened his grip on your hair.

“Understood?” he whispered, making butterflies dance around in your stomach.

Seonghwa let go of your hair, placing both of his hands on your back as he pushed you down onto the desk. He fucked you quickly, his thrust getting harder. You knew it was coming, and you felt his cock twitching repeatedly inside of you.

With a final thrust, he let go of himself inside of you, slowing his pace but keeping each push rough. He bit your shoulder harshly, moaning into your skin.

“Fuck.. you feel so good.” he grunted.

Seonghwa slowly pulled out of you, leaving small trails of kisses around your back dimples. He placed his head at your cunt, licking up the mixture of cum that spilled out of you. You moaned softly, the overstimulation making your legs shake.

He stood up, turning you around to sit you back up on his desk and face him. Your eyes were red from tears, cheeks stained from them. Seonghwa brought his hand up to your cheeks, wiping them softly as he fixed your hair in the process. You felt his intense glare on you, but you refused to meet his eyes, not wanting to test his impatience once more.

“Silly girl. I hope that attitude is fixed.” he mumbled, bringing his mouth to your ear once again.

“Watch your mouth, or I’ll make sure that your mouth is too full to talk next time.”

a/n: I hope you guys enjoyed this one! I had so much fun writing this especially after the stress from school haha. I hope to post more often in the future!

taglist: @sundaybossanova @kittykat-25 @losrpark @vrtualsins @sanslovesblog @mingiscorpsebride @scarfac3 @interweab @aestheticjoonie @owmoiralover

*comment to be added to future nsfw tags!*

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez atiny #ateez oneshot #kpop #—♡vampzity #atiny #ateez seonghwa #park seonghwa #ateez smut #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut

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shadow4-1 · 13 hours

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I'm just imagining having a great track day with Ghost but getting so exhausted that the two of you fall asleep on the gym floor.

Like, you aced the hurdles and the dashes with no issue. The obstacle course wasn't even that with how you breezed through it. You had some issues with the rope climb, but Ghost had taught you the technique last session. And voila! You beat your last time and came out on top of the rookies once again.

Ghost was built for his brawn. While he also aced his turn, it was obvious he didn't have some of the dexterity you possessed and therefore had to put more energy into not knocking into things. He also came out on top of the rookies and over your time. You scoffed but offered him some water.

The summer was upon you, and with it, it's gentle heat that quickly turned to burning rage. You could feel a prickly tightness on the back of your shoulders and neck. Not sunburn quite yet, but probably close. The drier air wicked the moisture from your mouth as you panted.

"M' gonna head in." You huffed, gesturing to the gymnasium's open back door. "Do n' equipment check."

He nodded at you, the front of his mask rising and falling quickly. Something about seeing him pant in his mask tickled you. You headed towards the gym and the moment you stepped inside you couldn't help but sigh. The air conditioning was cool and refreshing. Instantly, you could feel the heat in your bones being drawn out towards your skin.

With a soft hum you began an equipment check. The longer you stood at the racks, check marking boxes and organizing the weights, you felt heavier and heavier. You checked the time, 12:45. No wonder you felt so drained.

It was the midday slump.

Well, as soon as you were done you could get a shower and probably get a nap before mess. The sound of the gym's back door closing made you jump. Oh no....

"Please tell me you didn't close that door." You whined at Ghost.

Just as you suspected, he still had his hand on the door handle. You facepalmed.

"Gaz has the keys. And he's not coming back till three."

"Wot 're you talkin' about?" Ghost huffed, trying the other set of gym doors. Just as you suspected, yeah, they were locked. He jiggled them firmly, eyes dark with annoyance.

"Thanks, Ghost. We're locked in here for awhile."

He went to try the locker room doors and those too were locked. You raised a brow at him but opted to sit against one of the bare walls. There was no point in getting upset.

Gaz would be back in a little while. Besides, the gym had the best air-conditioning out of all the buildings since it'd been first on the list for an upgrade last year. Even if you went back to your bunk, the the likelihood of getting a comfortable nap would be low.

You could hear Ghost messing with the door locks but you knew it was a lost cause. He didn't have the tools to open it, and if he brute forced it open Price would be on his ass for repairs. Just as you expected, it didn't take him long to give up.

"When's Gaz getting back?" He huffed, rolling up his longsleeve just enough to get a glance down at his sports watch.

"Three."

He set his watch's timer with a few beeps before crouching into a sitting position next to you. The next few minutes were spent in a cool silence. Occasionally the a/c units would hum to life, drone and puff cool air over your still hot body, and then click off.

"Didn't bring your phone?" He asked, voice more tired than usual.

"Nope. Left it in the locker room." You shrugged. "Didn't bring yours?"

"No." He muttered, glancing at the locker room with his eyes only.

More minutes ticked by. The cool linoleum leeched even more heat out of your skin. The overhead lights were motion activated, and so most of them had flicked off awhile ago. It was cool and dim and your body was tired from exertion.

You couldn't help but start nodding off.

"Falling asleep, Sergeant?" Ghost mused, looking down at you through the holes in his soft mask.

"Oh, don't act like you're not feeling it too." You huffed, curling up into your arms. "M' tired."

Ghost hummed. Whether in agreement, you couldn't tell. You didn't really care. How could you when sleep creeped in from the edge of your vision.

"Can I lean on you?"

"Wot?"

"Can I lean on you?" You asked him again. "I don't wanna lay on the floor but I wanna take a nap."

"Sure..."

You scooted closer to him and rested your head on the top of his arm. It was a bit uncomfortable with how firm it was at first but it was certainly softer than the floor. It didn't take long for you to feel your lids drooping again.

Right as you were pulled under, you felt Ghost shift. There was a warm presence against the crown of your head.

If you weren't half asleep you might've thought he'd kissed your forehead.

#call of duty #cod imagines #mw2 #mw2 headcanons #simon ghost riley #cod mwii #simon riley x reader

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atrwriting · 2 days

Text

future problems (pt. 2) -- coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

me, after posting a one-shot: “ok i won't do a part two”

me, a few days later: *posts a part two*

howdy y'all ;) back with everyone's favorite toxic white man of the month

this part is based on this anonymous request -- love you anon :) xox

find part one here

summary: reader finds out she's pregnant and has to tell the scariest man in panem -- her husband, president snow

as always, warnings: smut!, pregnancy sex, coriolanus snow is a fucking warning in himself, he’s a dick here, fem!reader, p in v sex, mommy and daddy kink just trust me ok)

barely edited we die like men

anyways... here is future problems (pt. 2):

......

he was told by a servant a month before you told him.

he couldn't believe it.

you had not bled last month.

it's not that he was mad... but he wanted to be told by you. he wanted you to be the first one to tell him. it was important to him — trust and loyalty, especially from you. he had allowed you to get close to him, physically and emotionally, and he deserved that same respect.

he couldn't believe you had kept it from him.

you. of all people. you.

how fucking could you?

it had been a total of six weeks since he had been told by the servant.

it wracked his brain like it was the fever that debilitated him for weeks. it gnawed at him, it scratched at him, and it fucking demanded every ounce of energy from him that he possessed. that sort of pain, betrayal — it insisted on being felt and dealt with immediately, no matter what needed to be taken care of first. corio coriolanus couldn't believe he had honestly trusted you, or even thought you were worthy of some amount of trust... and he couldn't believe he, for even a second, allowed either of you to live in that facade.

never again, he reasoned. never again.

on the day after the six week marker, there was a knock on his office door.

his lips fell into a grimace before he forced it to remain even — calm. no emotion shown. not anymore.

“come in,” he spoke.

his eyes fell to the papers on his desk, where he continued to write and edit his memorandum. his eyes traced the words he wrote, but he was barely focused on what he was writing. the only thing he could hear was the sound of your footsteps entering his office.

“corio?” you asked quietly, smiling, as you stepped through his door.

inside, he flinched at his nickname. coriolanus, he wanted to correct.

he did not raise his head. “…yes?”

he could not see you — but he knew that you noticed his flat demeanor.

it affected your own.

he couldn’t see that — but he knew. he fucking knew.

it wasn’t the first time he had been cold to you, but enough time had past where he reasoned that this would be the solidifying moment of your opinion of him. he knew that you knew he was upset about something. what else could have changed his demeanor?

“i-i wanted to… tell you something,” you replied, voice wavering.

he could tell you were working hard to ignore the obvious signs that something had shifted between the two of you. he knew, he knew, and he knew — but he didn’t care. he couldn’t care. why should he, when you didn’t?

“yes..?” he replied once more, this time sighing.

his eyes met yours.

your resolve immediately fell. though slight, he could see that whatever confidence you had possessed had faded from your face. it was gone… and coriolanus didn’t have the resolve to replenish it. neither did you have the strength to fake it.

he saw you begin to pick at your fingernails — another nervous habit of yours he had noticed.

however, this was a new one. once the pair of you shared a kiss — you were rarely seen pulling at the skin of your lips and your usage of lip moisturizer had increased. he appreciated it, at the time — but now? now it was a reminder of what once was. with new bad habits came the alert of the passage of time — and the alert of bonds breaking.

he couldn’t deal. he just couldn’t.

“what is it?” coriolanus demanded, eyes blinking.

your lips parted in confusion, and your brows scrunched right with them. there was hurt in your eyes, and splattered across your cheeks in a pink hue. your cheeks were usually flushed with graciousness or from alcohol — but this was embarrassment. hurt. rejection.

he didn’t care anymore, especially not when he admitted to himself that a part of him loved seeing your face and confidence fall. if he was going to fall, you were going straight down with him.

down, down, down.

“i’m with child,” you responded, appearing to struggle to catch your breath.

there it was. the admission.

he clenched his jaw. his eyes focused on your face — and how the tears began to collect in your eyes. the rejection he was sending towards you was even being felt by him — and he almost felt bad. to see a woman he so blindly trusted, who thought she could outsmart him — play the part of a hurt and broken hearted woman so well.

he did not smile. he did not laugh. he did not even get up. he simply stared at her — silently.

“i take it you are not happy at this announcement,” she responded, voice barely wavering. “i-i would’ve thought…”

coriolanus watched as you placed a gentle hand over your stomach — almost in a protective manner.

“how long have you known?” he asked.

“i took the pregnancy test today,” you responded.

coriolanus’ jaw tightened. he was not expecting that, especially not after the news he was given. “…but you’ve known for some time. you must have — given how you chose today to take the test, and don’t seem as surprised as you thought i would be.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “…no, coriolanus. i didn’t. i had hopes, yes, but… i took the test as soon as i thought reasonable. you’re the first person i’ve told.”

confusion and hurt. that was all you felt. it encased your body like it was trying its best to cast you from the room — placing a heavy boundary between you and your husband. husband… if you could even call him that. your lips began to twist in a grimace as emotions began to well up inside you.

“tell me why i have displeased you,” you spoke, voice threatening to break. you took a step towards his desk and kept one hand firmly on your belly. your eyes, red and wet, bore into his and refused to leave him. “i thought you would be overjoyed. i-i thought…”

“you claim i was the first person you told,” he spat, holding your glare. “but i was not the first person to assume.”

you scrunched your eyebrows at him… but then you realized. it hit you like a ton of bricks. you bit the inside of your cheek, drawing blood, before stating, “your spies.”

coriolanus narrowed his eyes. it was not an issue that she knew… but he didn’t understand how she could know, nor for how long. spies were useful when their identity and presence was not apparent, and therefore he considered his current spies failures — to be dealt with later. at the moment… he had other matters.

“you might want to elaborate on that statement if you’re going to act like it’s something profound,” he spat, standing and snapping his journal closed.

coriolanus stood behind his desk and pushed in his chair. you watched him as he struggled to keep everything together, neat and tidy.

your face was red and hot, and you weren’t sure if it was due to the pregnancy or the betrayal. how could he? how could he?! there you stood, trying to remain collected — but it proved useless. through your tears, you spat, “a woman is supposed to wait before telling everyone she’s pregnant — god forbid she loses the baby before it’s viable. i waited the standard amount of time most women are practically born knowing to wait. if your spy is going to make my cycle their business, they should at least understand basic fucking female biology, coriolanus, or your spies and their intel are fucking useless!”

you didn’t wait to hear his response. you left the room.

he stared at the oak door out of entitlement — it should open once more, and reveal his wife.

the mother of his child…

he had never considered… things of that nature. tests. waiting periods. hormones.

incompetence. that of his spies — nor his own.

he didn’t understand any of it.

however, he did understand one thing…

he had to deal with the useless spy.

…and that would happen before he approached you.

that approach occurred approximately an hour and a half later. he would have found you sooner, but the spy had… taken more time than anticipated. afterwards — there he stood, at your door, with a tray of food in his hands for the both of you.

his knuckles wrapped on the door.

there were no footsteps.

they wrapped again.

still, no footsteps.

once more.

…and, still, nothing.

he couldn’t believe this.

he went to knock a fourth time, but before he could — the door swung open.

to reveal you in the doorway.

your eyes were blown wide with anger, but the rest of your face did not show emotion. you glared at the man before you, which unsettled your husband,

he picked you because you were unproblematic — but had gotten lucky with the fact that your company was so pleasant. you were not loud, annoying, mean, bold, disrespectful, disobedient, or anything of the sort — but he did not expect this.

he did not expect you… to hold a grudge against him, much less stand up for yourself.

he stood there silently — dumbstruck.

“i would slam this door in your face if you weren’t the president,” you spat lowly. “please do not make me forget formalities.”

“i brought you dinner,” he spoke, ignoring you. “please… join me.”

you raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “you’ve been ignoring me for weeks, when i tried to convince myself you were just busy. you can handle another night of dining alone.”

you went to shut the door, but he stopped it with his foot. your eyes lowered to where his toe was in the doorway, and traveled up to where his eyes were. as per usual, his facial expressions were flat, save for determined. he always had a goal in mind… and refused to change it until he succeeded.

you sighed. you had had enough.

“i’m not doing this tonight,” you bit. “i show you every ounce of respect that i know you expect of me. i have been patient, kind, gentle — but i can’t meet you halfway right now. not after that. leave. please.”

there coriolanus went. searching your eyes once more, like he had done long ago. his jaw clenched once, twice, three times before it finally settled. he did not remove his foot before he spoke once more.

“why didn’t you tell me immediately?” he imposed.

there was a hint of pleading in his voice. your breath began to quicken with anxiety. out of exhaustion and frustration, completely forgetting your station, you rolled your eyes at your husband before responding.

“what if i was wrong, coriolanus?” you spat, your eyes were narrowed. “why would i tell the most powerful and scary man that runs panem — that i am pregnant with his child, if i am not one hundred percent sure? to get your hopes up for nothing, if, god forbid, i lose it?”

he didn’t respond.

you threw your hands up in exasperation. a silent cry left your lips in the form of a broken inhale. your hormones were running rabid — coursing through your veins and filling you with frustration.

you locked your teary eyes with him once more. trying to keep your voice quiet, you hissed, “your spies aren’t exactly discreet. i’ve known about them since my first day here. your spies — they’ve never reported i’ve done anything wrong because i have never done anything wrong. it’s not like i can hide anything here, either — they’re everywhere. nothing is a secret — even a private moment between husband and wife, like a wife finally being able to tell her husband that she’s sure she’s pregnant with his child. i have given you everything you’ve ever requested of a wife, yet there you sat — throwing silent insults in my face.”

there went the boundary.

up and sturdy.

layer after layer of brick and cement. your trust and love for him crumbled with each new layer, until you couldn’t see the man you once adore beyond the wall. the man before you frustrated you so much that you forgot what it was like to look upon his face and feel nervous excitement at the prospect of seeing him smile. you wanted to slam the door in his face, placing two boundaries up — a real one, and an emotional one.

one that would prevent you from ever being so stupid again — from ever letting him close to you, for ever thinking this could work.

stupid, you thought. stupid, stupid, stupid.

but coriolanus corio would have none of that.

he was a man of formalities and manners, but your husband actually pushed his way through.

you stumbled backwards in surprise. your husband had guards for doing his dirty work — not the shoulder of his new and crisp suit.

he shoved the tray of food on a nearby table, ratting the walls and the contents on each surface. you placed a protective hand over your stomach and watched him — waiting for his next move.

“i said get out, coriolanus!” you spat. your gaze was fiery red, and now there were angry tears in your eyes. corio could see the hormones flowing from every opening in your skin they could find — even smell them. “i refuse to speak to you!”

“the father of your child?” he spoke evenly, walking towards you. “your husband?”

you took a step back for every step he took forward. “you were more concerned with the secret kept than the actual chance of life!”

“i thought you were keeping the chance of being happy about a child from me,” he spoke, bitterness instinctually falling from his perfect lips. “you can’t forget — we barely know each other —“

“and who’s fault is that?!”

he stopped. his jaw tightened. he stared down at you and wondered where all of this fury had come from.

him. it came from him. the realization struck him similar to how other pieces of information had been striking him later. in the chest or face, whichever hurt more — and forcing his breath to catch in his lungs. never to reach his throat, let alone his lips.

he couldn’t keep going on like this — watching and waiting. watching others for their mistakes, and waiting for the correct moment to… correct them. at the very least… he couldn’t with you — not with you.

“i committed a wrong against you,” he spat before he could think about it.

you scrunched your eyebrows in disbelief. apologies were rare in the capital, and admissions of guilt were almost as scarce. you stared at him, still consumed with rage — but now confusion began to creep upon you. and where there is confusion… there is always curiosity.

you didn’t respond. you clenched your jaw at his words, but that was the only response he received.

“i did,” he reaffirmed, stepping closer to you. you drew back a step — not far, but still a step. he continued, “when i had heard what my spy had relayed to me — i should have asked you.”

you had three options. ignore him, yell at him, or hear him out. did he deserve the first two? yes. did you have every right to do either of the two, or both? yes, of course. however… were they worth it in the long run?

that was the question that now ate at you.

you had every right to put up the same emotional barrier you had worked so hard to tear down with coriolanus. his? who knows why he insisted on making his hurt everyone else’s problem. yours? he was an elite asshole, but… you were married to him. he was the president of panem. he was the most ruthless man in all of panem.

and you loved him.

you really, really did.

that was why his distrust for you hurt so bad.

it wasn’t about seeking approval anymore — because you thought you had it, or at least had come to close to it. once given that, you felt safe enough, well… to feel safe. to feel safety, trust, respect, reliability… and love. love.

the fucking bastard made you love him.

with reluctance, you took a step forward. “you should have, coriolanus.”

his jaw tightened as he also took a step forward. “corio — please, my love.”

you scoffed out of reflex and threw your stare to the side. you began to rub at your stomach, hoping to quell your own anxiety. there were a million insults waiting to leap from your tongue and latch onto his face, chest, throat — anything to hurt him or get him to fuck off. however, you swallowed them.

“i would do anything for you,” you stammered, trying to keep emotion out of your voice. “i have proved that time and time again.”

he took a step closer. “i know.”

“i know better than to keep something substantial from you,” you replied. “god forbid it was a fluke…”

another step closer. “i know.”

“i have done everything i can to prove that i am loyal to you, and only you,” you spoke, your voice wavering. “in the future, i ask that you approach me first — yell at me, fuck, i couldn’t care less — just as long as you don’t ignore me. anything, corio — just don’t push me away.

he laughed then, only a foot away from you now. the tears in your eyelids hadn’t hit your cheeks yet, but they threatened to. he reached forward and cupped your face in both of his hands. he leaned down due to your height difference and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“i know,” he repeated. “and i promise — i will try my best to not push you away.”

“okay,” you nodded, sniffling.

“never heard such coarse words from my perfect wife,” corio attempted to break the tension.

you chuckled then, wiping away any moisture from your eyes. “there were more — trust me.”

“i would have deserved them.”

your eyes flickered up to his them, searching his irises for answers like he did to you. you weren’t sure how he did it — but he could find every lie or fact inside someone’s eyes. that trait had not found its way to you.

but maybe it would to your child.

“i want to hear you say it again,” you whispered, now meeting his eyes. “i want to hear you say that you promise you will try your best to never push me away again.”

“i promise,” he spoke, nodding.

you refused to stare into his eyes at his admission. if he wasn’t a good liar, you didn’t want to know — not in that moment.

"am i allowed to kiss the mother of my child now?" he asked with a smirk.

you glared at him. "you would've —"

"shhh," he cooed, before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours.

one of his hands slid to the back of your head and cradled the bottom of your skull. he wrapped his free arm around your back, pulling you into him. the kiss, you couldn't explain it — it — it...

it was like he swallowed you.

there was no place for you to move, but then again — why would you want to? you body was perfectly molded to fit his, in every way he wanted you to bend to him. his warmth, his scent, his taste — it all coaxed your senses into such a feeling of satisfaction that you weren't sure where it started or ended. it held your consciousness in warmth and safety — something rare in the capital. the only thing that mattered to you was that you were in your husband's arms and the kiss did not stop.

"so pleased with you," he mumbled against your mouth. "a child..."

warmth bubbled within the lower half of your body. praise, from a man like corio... any woman's weakness.

you hummed into the kiss, rubbing your hands up and down his chest. "going to be so proud of their father, the president."

the groan that emitted from his chest was deep and guttural — so masculine. it made every hair on the back of your neck stand at attention, waiting for a direction from the man before you. you began to finger his top button, hoping... hinting...

"sweetheart," he spoke, pulling away. "as much as i want to, i am not sure whether —"

"i think i'm fine," you gushed, only realizing after how desperate you might have sounded. "we might as well — especially before i become too big to breathe."

he stiffened as he held you. you immediately grew worried.

"what's wrong?" you softly asked, rubbing his chest.

he shook his head. "nothing —" he stopped for a moment, appearing to contemplate something. "it's just — i was imagining —"

you looked up at him curiously, hoping he would elaborate. his eyes immediately flew to your lips — perfect and plump, a match for his. you smirked.

you had him. “what were you imagining, husband?”

his jaw clenched again as his eyes widened. “my pretty wife has become so much more bold since i met her.”

you smiled up at him, hoping that he found it amusing more than disreepctful. one of his hands found your cheek as his thumb caressed the skin. your eyes were big as they gazed up at your husband, keening into his silent praise.

“i disagree with you, wife,” he spoke. “too big to bed —“ he scoffed before leaning down to your ear, your words rolling with disgust off his tongue. his lips brushed against the skin of your lobe before he spoke, “i’ll have a hard time keeping my hands to myself when the mother of my children will swell with me inside of her.”

your eyes, still wide, were frozen on corio’s. mischief danced in his irises, like a snake coiling around its prey. air left his nostrils in a small, sudden gush — amusement. the look that played on his face depicted the power imbalance — but, then again, how stupid could you be to ever think you would have control over your husband for a substantial amount of time?

he grasped your chin in his fingers before your lips parted. you were at his mercy — to be bent to his will. his head bent towards you before he spoke.

“you think you’ll repulse me — when my seed takes inside you, and it shows?” he asked. his eyes searched yours — but what yours reveal that he didn’t already know? he had you. he had you, and there was nothing you could do about it. “my naive, little wife… i don’t expect i’ll allow you to leave the bedroom much when that time comes.”

christ, you thought. your breath began to quicken as his words settled upon you. in a soft voice, you replied, “you leave me speechless, husband.”

he wickedly smiled then. “get on the bed, sweetheart. making up for lost time is in order, wouldn’t you agree?”

you couldn’t help yourself. you should’ve listened to him — but how could you, when he smelled so good, spoke so nicely, and was so close? you rolled onto your toes just enough to be able to press a kiss to your husband’s lips, and wrap your arms around his neck.

the angle was annoying for corio, who thought pulling you into his arms would be better use of his strength — especially if you weren’t going to listen. his large hands held your ass, supporting your weight as you leaned into his touch. your breasts, arched into his chest, were the only barrier that kept you two apart. there was nothing like a kiss from corio — heat, lips, teeth, spit. all of it melted into one.

“you missed me… didn’t you, sweetheart?”

“yes,” you spoke, breathlessly. “so much, corio.”

“i was so mean —“ he replied, in between kisses. “wasn’t i? neglecting my perfect wife. a good husband would have to make up for that.”

you hummed in agreement, almost breaking into a whine. “kiss me, corio. missed you so much…“

it was like he swallowed you. body, lips, breath, emotions — all of it. once yours, but now his. all his. your body temperature increased with every fold of his lips against yours. heat pricked at the tips of your cheeks, the back of your neck, and your lower back. your fingertips, tingling, made quick work of his buttons to strip him of his clothing.

he couldn’t deal with how slow and gentle your fingers were. he loved you and how gentle you were — but when his cock was straining against his pants? the head of his cock, so red it was almost purple, leaking at the sight of his redeemed, perfect, pregnant wife? begging for him?

you were fucked. so fucked.

he should've been disgusted at the thought of fucking his wife while the babe sat protected inside your womb. however, nothing could stop corio from rejoicing at the fact that you had never done him wrong when you had actually presented him with a gift, also showing the utmost protection for it.

you fell back against the bed, your back awkwardly landing on the edge. you couldn't stand or lay back perfectly balanced, therefore relying on your husband to hold you upright and your grip of his clothes.

"my perfect wife —" he moaned into your neck, mouthing at your clammy skin. he had shoved his hand into your panties, finding you already soaked. "glowing as a mother —"

it was like you were both succumbing to the heat and haze of all-consuming lust. your hot breaths added to the humidity in the air, making your embrace with corio feel like a sauna. he couldn't rip your lace stockings off fast enough as you struggled to hold your balance.

your husband loomed over you as one large hand cupped the back of your head. his long, talented fingers on his other hand drew rough circles on your sensitive bud and you couldn't contain your cries. it had been so long. so, so long. the feeling of loneliness and lust had dissipated and was replaced by satiation. you need corio's hot, and husky breath groaning against your ear and all of your muscles holding you up and in place, forced to take everything he could give you. tears began to well up in your eyes at the thought of not only having your corio back, but for the lonely need for intimacy to also leave you.

he laughed darkly. "you're so close already, aren't you?"

you whined, struggling to regain your composure as you fought through embarrassment. "it's just been — so long —"

"how would you feel if i took it away, little dove?" he asked, eyes taunting. "how helpless would you feel? — how much of a mess would you make?"

"don't take it away from me, corio, please —" frustration was eating at you as you held onto him. he was so far away, then so close, and he was threatening to pull away as if it was a game. your feelings, your safety, you — all a game to him.

the hand on the back of your head left you to grasp at your chin as tears rolled down your face. your teeth were firmly planted in your bottom lip as you struggled against his touch. the rope in your womb was being wrapped so tightly that you felt the strands would snap at any moment, but you knew he would pull away. his eyes, dark and boring into yours, spoke for him — you were right. it was a game, and he was loving it.

"tell me it was worth it — for this," he rasped, eyes still locked on you. "tell me all of the pain i caused you was worth it — for this."

you were writhing against his hold at this point, grinding your hips down onto his hand as you whined against his lips. you were pulling at the fabric adorning his shoulders, hoping to rip it from him — hoping to make him feel as strung out as you felt.

"it was all worth it," you croaked. "all worth it for how good this feels."

"i'll never leave you again," he promised, his movements now becoming more rough on your core. "tell me you love it. tell me you love me."

"i love you, corio — !" you cried, pressing the sides of your noses together so your lips were barely touching. "i love it so much — please, don't stop —"

"that's it, doll —" he groaned. "cry for me. do it — cry."

something snapped inside of you.

your eyes closed, and your vision went black.

your throat went hoarse from the sob that left your mouth.

your lips were ragged with how your teeth ripped into them.

but you? oh, god — you felt so full.

corio's palm rubbed against your clit as his fingers entered you, pressing into that deep spot only he could find. you rode his hand like satisfaction was the only thing that mattered to you. greed and gluttony — want and need. none of it mattered.

"mommy feels so good now, doesn't she?" corio whispered into your ear. "just needed what only daddy could give her. — s'all right — just keep cumming, darling."

"fuck, corio —" you whined, buzzing with overstimulation.

he clicked his tongue at you. "such a naughty mouth on you. i'll teach you."

and he meant it.

he immediately withdrew from you — letting you fall onto the floor with both hands on the sheets, facing the bed. you almost scrambled to get back up, until you heard corio's pants drop from behind you. he kicked open your knees, and found himself with your perfect round ass pressing into his cock. he pressed the front of you into the bed, and snaked a arm around your throat.

you felt the tip of his cock prod at your wet and swollen lips before he slipped his length inside of you. you tried to lean forward into his thrust, but corio didn't like that. with a hand wrapped around your throat, he pulled you backwards against him.

the angle made your shiver. the tip of his cock began to hit the wall right behind your clit, making your head go dizzy. his finger found the corner of your lips, dipping inside your mouth. he pulled at the corner, forcing you to look up at him.

"so helpless — so perfect —" he groaned, rutting into you. his head held you perfectly in place for his total control. "can't believe i let myself miss out on the chance to breed my perfect wife. so perfect, aren't you?"

you didn't know what to say. your head was swimming. you were barely down from your first orgasm and now corio was forcing another onn you. hormones, emotions, and sensations were running wild inside your body and you weren't sure how to make sense of the fever. coupled with his own frenzy, you were a mess. a rubber band, for him to snap and play with whenever he liked.

"i asked you a question," he snapped. "you're perfect, aren't you?"

you hesitated, working through insecurity as lust overtook your mind. mumbling, due to the finger in your mouth, you spoke, "perfect."

corio stared down at you in awe. your hair was a mess, as was the rest of you. your face was flushed, your lips were swollen, but your eyes... oh, your eyes... corio was a sick bastard. the look of any sight of wetness in your eyes during sex made his cock so hard he could explode. crying with need was a feeling corio would never let himself feel, no matter how much he wanted to let it overtake him. he wouldn't let himself feel it, but he couldn't hide the fact that he loved the vulnerability you showed when you wanted him. needed him. craved him. his thrusts weren't rough because he hated you, but because he knew that need all too well.

"keep crying for me," he rasped, letting his tongue fall past your ragged lips. "so pretty when you're a mess."

there was nothing like it — being held so tightly you couldn't move and being forced to accept the pleasure and satisfaction only corio could give you. draining you of every negative emotion you had ever felt to replace all of it with animalistic give and take. his own throaty groans were being swallowed by you, as his hips snapped relentlessly against yours.

"make me a mommy, corio," you whispered. "wan' it so badly."

his grip tightened around you as he shook with pleasure. with three thrusts and a heavy groan, he let all of his spend leak inside of you and paint your walls. you felt his rough voice against your ear, mouth obscenities as satisfaction overtook him. you hadn't came again, but you didn't care — not when the air still felt so warm and soft.

that was until you felt a hand find your clit with his softening cock still inside you.

you knew how sensitive he was, and you should've care — but you didn't. all you could think about was giving into how good his fingers felt against you, still feeling so full. the thought of him also being so sensitive while you rode his cock pricked at your senses, relishing in the fact that you were giving him a taste of his own medicine as you came around his cock.

"greedy fucking wife — !" he seethed, anger spewing from his lips as he struggled to fuck you back with his oversensitive cock. you knew it was so red that it was purple and swollen, hating you but loving every bit of you at the same time. you should've cared, but you didn't. not when you knew it felt so good for the both of you, his whines in your ear telling you everything. with one final groan against you, he spoke, "you're never leaving this fucking bedroom — i'll tie you to the bed if i have to, do you fucking understand?!"

all you could do was stare up at him with awe and tears in your eyes.

his mouth parted at the sight. with his cock still inside you, you still riding his softening cock as you rode out your orgasm, nothing was prettier. nothing fulfilled your corio more. with one last kiss, he spoke, "just as evil as me, aren't you?"

you giggled. "i love you, too."

---

if you're wondering if i went batshit insane i did HAHA hope you enjoyed

L xox

317 notes · View notes

egcdeath · 14 hours

Text

something old, something new

pairing: patrick zweig x f!reader

summary: when your childhood best friend asks you to get married, how are you supposed to say no?

word count: 7.2k

warnings: MATURE (mentions of sex but no explicit sex scenes), marriage of convenience, fluff, mentions of alcohol, patrick is a bad friend (but he improves), friends to spouses to lovers, fake dating, yearning and pining, everyone is bad at communicating, many feelings are being repressed, mentions of dieting in an athlete way, one singular creepy old man, no use of y/n

author’s note: i cannot get this tennis man out of my head!! i hope you all enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

It wasn’t every day that you could count on hearing anything from your childhood best friend, but it seemed like whenever you did hear from Patrick Zweig, it was always an ask for something more shocking than the previous one.

As kids, you spent many evenings doing the homework that Patrick didn’t want to do, despite the fact that you didn’t really want to do more homework either. At boarding school, you’d somehow become his personal designated driver, answering his calls no matter what time and groggily picking him up from whatever party he’d found himself at. In your adulthood, you found yourself becoming a go-to stand-in for him at events he didn’t feel like attending. The amount of times that you’d shaken hands at charity galas and introduced yourself as Patrick’s girlfriend, despite not having a single romantic encounter with him, was frankly astounding.

It seemed like whenever Patrick needed something, you were the first person he reached out to. After his parents, of course.

You dreaded knowing the reason behind the simple hey, text message you’d just received, but you were sure that you’d find the reason out sooner rather than later–and that whatever the reason was could not have been good.

Like clockwork, only an hour after you’d received his message, Patrick appeared at the doorway of your apartment. He came to you equipped with his secret weapon, the kicked puppy look that he often used on you before he asked you for a ridiculous favor, like breaking up with his girlfriend for him or telling his mom that he still wasn’t joining the board of the family business.

You sighed as you took his less-than-stellar appearance in. Downtrodden expression, wrinkled and sweat-stained shirt, as if he’d gone to the gym to sweat out his feelings before coming to you, and eyes so red-rimmed, you wondered if he’d been crying.

If you had to guess, he’d either been arguing with his parents, who knew exactly how to get under his skin, or his tennis friends, who also knew exactly how to get under his skin, or his latest girlfriend, who probably confronted him about his own wrongdoings. Regardless of who had upset him, he had obviously come to you to lick his wounds.

Like always, Patrick stalked inside without asking you for any further permission. The two of you had done this song and dance more times than either one of you would like to admit.

“How are you?” he asked, stopping in your kitchen to steal an apple from your decorative bowl of fruit.

“I’m good,” you said with hesitation, eyeing him once more. He really looked like shit. If he hadn’t looked so sad, you would’ve told him exactly how much shit he looked like.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me how I am?” he questioned, a little pathetically.

“No,” you walked off to your living room, fully expecting him to follow you. You were unsurprised when he did exactly that. “Let’s just get right to it. Why’d you come over here?” you asked as the two of you sat down on your couch.

“My parents are cutting me off,” he explained, voice breaking as he spoke.

Surely, this couldn’t all be over an empty threat. They seemed to threaten Patrick with this every few days. In fact, you’d been in the room with him when his parents promised that he’d never see another dime from them–more than once. Every time, it ended with them coming to their senses and throwing more cash at him.

“That’s what, the twentieth time?” you laughed. “They always threaten to cut you off. What’s different this time?”

“This time, they mean it.”

You laughed even harder in his face. If you had a quarter for every time you’d had this conversation, you’d be richer than the two of your families combined.

“I’m serious,” he inched closer to you. “They’re tired of funding my ‘tennis habit’. They want me to get serious about life. To join the board and start a family. My dad showed me an edited draft of his will and everything”

“So?” you prompted, trying to figure out where you fell into the equation. Hopefully he wouldn’t try to put you up to something absurd, like seducing his father into convincing him to not threaten Patrick’s inheritance.

“So, tennis is the only thing I care about.”

“Okay…” you trailed off. “What would you like me to do about that?”

“I need you to help show my parents that I have a vision for the future.”

“Again, Patrick, what exactly are you asking me to do?”

“Marry me.”

You weren’t sure what you expected him to say, but it certainly was not that. Your mouth instantly dropped open and you were sure that you were gaping like a fish. Maybe if he had asked you ten years ago, you’d have instantly said yes, but you’d let that naive dream die after you’d come to realize the transactional subtext of your friendship.

“What?”

“I want you to marry me. I was thinking… you remember when we were younger and we made that pact, that if we weren’t married by the time we were adults, then we’d get hitched?”

You continued to stare at him, completely dumbfounded and not believing a single word coming from his mouth. “I… I…” you couldn’t even form the words. “We were kids!”

He gave you a halfhearted shrug, as if that didn’t matter at all, and as if he didn’t just ask you to be legally and romantically bound to him forever.

“You are fucking unbelievable! You haven't talked to me for anything other than asking me a favor in years, I barely know you’re alive apart from the random drunk texts you send me, and now you want me to marry you? Do you even hear yourself?”

You scoffed and stared at him in disbelief. “And that has to be the worst proposal in all of human history. First you tell me that tennis is the only thing you care about and then ask me to marry you? You’re a joke.”

He let you finish your rant, but after a beat he finally asked. “…Is that a no?”

———-

Stranger things had happened to you than marrying your childhood best friend just a month after he’d randomly popped back up in your life. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you walked down the aisle on a beautiful beach off of the Amalfi Coast.

The last few weeks had been an absolute whirlwind, with what felt like every second of your time consumed by making guest lists and invitations, booking hotel rooms, and finding a dress that you liked enough to get married in. Obviously, you knew this was more of an elaborate scheme than a celebration of love, but you wanted it to be nice anyway. For all you knew, you may never get married again.

You don’t know what possessed you to say yes to Patrick. Maybe the small, desperate part of you that had been begging him to truly see you since you were old enough to realize he didn’t, or maybe the desire to finally have that fairytale destination wedding you’d been dreaming about from the time you learned what a wedding was. Regardless of the reason, both of your families were overjoyed by the union. In one fell swoop, you’d been able to satisfy both of your parents’ desires for you to settle down, and you’d done it with someone both pairs approved of.

You had to give props to Patrick, the ceremony was beautiful. Given the short timeline, the two of you decided to divide and conquer the planning of the event. You were sure that he’d outsourced the work, since he was still in the middle of his tennis season, but whoever he hired did an excellent job at giving you the wedding you’d always wanted.

Despite the very short timeline everyone had been given, you were able to wrangle all of your close family and friends to Italy to watch you elope. Your parents had insisted on inviting second cousins and shareholders to your wedding, but you’d somehow convinced them that you and Patrick wanted a smaller, more intimate ceremony. It was probably better to have less people there, lest someone notices the artificial nature of your union.

Part of you felt like you’d pulled off the greatest prank of all time as the two of you stood up in front of your small crowd, gazing as lovingly as you could manage into each others’ eyes while the officiant said his spiel, but the other, more logical part of you filled with dread as the reality of the situation began to set in. Patrick seemed to have a way of always dragging you into a shitty situation, and you hoped for both of your sakes, that that wouldn’t be the case for your marriage.

After what felt like a lifetime, Patrick began to recite his vows, claiming to have loved you since you were children, and promising to continue to love you ‘till death did you part. If you had been marrying literally anyone else, your knees would go weak with swooning.

Unfortunately, you were cursed with the knowledge of the reality of your situation, one where your vows sounded more like: “We only have to stay married until I retire, which should be sooner rather than later. We don’t have to do anything together: no galas, no family dinners, no family vacations. Hell, you don’t even have to come to my games. And we don’t have to be exclusive either. This is basically just a title, so feel free to see anyone you want to. I can already see the worry in your face. Stop that. We can hire someone to make us prenups, so the divorce will be an easy, clean split of our assets. See? It’s not that bad.”

The dichotomy between the words he’d said to you a month ago and the bullshit he was spewing now almost made you laugh, but that was clearly not the reaction you were meant to be having when the love of your life was publicly declaring their feelings for you.

Once he finished declaring his romantic, empty words, you began to read off your vows. They fell in a similar vein to his, a proclamation of a lifetime-spanning love that didn’t really exist in the first place. But when you glanced up at him from your slip of paper, he was really selling it. He stared at you like he adored you, like he wanted to study every inch of your face after running off with you into the sunset.

The ridiculousness of it all finally hit you like a freight train, and you managed to pivot the laugh that was creeping up into your throat into a weepy sounding crack of your voice. Surely people cried during their own weddings.

You finished off your vows, doing your best to pretend like this whole ordeal wasn’t the most ridiculous scheme you’d ever been dragged into. You imagined a world where he was less selfish and you were less selfless, one where you were exchanging these vows with sincerity, and it helped you to get through the words that you knew were almost completely meaningless.

The two of you then took turns placing the ring on each others’ fingers, with Patrick giving you a ring with the largest diamond you’d ever seen, and you giving him a band that had been passed throughout your family. He’d agreed to give you the heirloom back once you divorced, so you couldn’t complain too much about giving it away in the first place.

The announcement of being able to kiss the bride rang out in your ears, yet you still found yourself surprised when Patrick eagerly wrapped his arms around you and kissed you passionately. Cheers erupted around the two of you, and you pulled away as the officiant declared you Mr. and Mrs. Zweig.

You had successfully tricked your audience, and yet, you still had the strangest feeling.

Your reception felt far more natural than your wedding ceremony. After a change of outfit, a huge bowl of pasta, and a few flutes of champagne, you were feeling substantially better about the arguably poor decision you’d just made. You chatted up your friends, who jumped at the opportunity to comment on how cute of a couple you two were, did some light matchmaking between single guests, and placated both of your parents with manufactured acts of affection. You even managed to get Patrick out on the dance floor, after he swore to you that he didn’t dance.

By the time the two of you were stumbling back into your villa, the woes of the day had practically been forgotten. When you were having this much fun, who cared about a massive, potentially life altering decision?

You immediately made a beeline to the bathroom, anxious to get into your comfortable pajamas and to wash your face after a long day of wearing tight, extravagant dresses and a heavy layer of makeup.

“So what did you think of your big day, Mrs. Zweig?” Patrick called out from the other side of the bathroom door, where you were sure he was also preparing for bed. “Was it everything you wanted and more?”

“I think this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” you paused as you thought about something before confessing, “but it was everything I wanted and more.”

“Yes!” he celebrated from where you couldn’t see him, though you could perfectly envision the goofy look on his face. “I owe it to you after everything I’ve put you through. I just hope you weren’t too let down by the groom.”

“What?” you drew out before blowing a raspberry. “Of course not. You looked very handsome today,” you complimented in between splashes of your face.

“You looked pretty beautiful, yourself,” he complimented you right back.

“Aww, thank you, honey,” you emphasized the pet name.

“Hmm, I don’t know if I like that,” you heard the squeak of the bed from behind the door as you assumed that he’d sat down.

“Hey, you’re the one who made me marry you,” you pointed out. “Am I more than you bargained for?”

“Of course not, babe,” he emphasized his own pet name, which sent you into a fit of laughter. “It’s just so weird to hear you refer to me as anything other than an asshole.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’re still an asshole,” you replied as you walked out of the bathroom, donning an old shirt with the logo of your boarding school and an equally old pair of shorts. “Just a married asshole.”

You took in the sight of your now-husband as you made your way to your side of the bed, surprised to find that you quite liked the sense of domestic bliss you were feeling. The bed dipped as you sat down and glanced back at Patrick with the slightest bit of hesitation.

“Is this weird for you? I can go to the spare room, if you want me to,” he offered, surely in reference to the two of you sleeping in the same bed.

“Don’t worry about it,” you assured him, setting a steady hand on his knee. “What kind of couple would we be if we didn’t spend our wedding night together?” you teased.

“The kind of couple that marries for convenience?” he suggested.

“Hey, who’s to say that this isn’t love? I had the biggest crush on you when we were kids. Maybe some of it lingered, or some shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he looked at you with that sleazy smirk that you both loved and hated. “What happened?”

“Hmm… I think I realized that you’re a dick,” you matched his smirk with a challenging one of your own.

“Huh. Did you have this realization before or after you started seeing Dan Thompson?” he questioned.

You were surprised by the mention of your first boyfriend, particularly because you weren’t sure that Patrick remembered any detail about your personal life, let alone your love life. “I realized it after you started treating me like your workhorse.”

“Oh okay, so you had a crush on me while you were with your boyfriend. Good to know.”

“Shut up,” you groaned and turned away from him as you finally full laid down.

“Would it make you feel better to know that I also had a crush on you?” you heard the bed sheets rustle as he scooted closer to you, and you turned back to face him.

“You’re lying.” You couldn’t see any world where that would make sense to you. In your youth, it seemed like Patrick was always off somewhere with a new person, and none of those people were you. Not that you had an issue with it, but the thought that the two of you might’ve had crushes on each other at the same time without either of you pursuing each other felt kind of weird.

“Nope. You’re the first person I ever jerked off to,” he said as casually as if he were telling you what he ate for breakfast, not breaking eye contact with you.

“Ew, you’re so gross,” you gently pushed him, but your hands lingered where they sat on his chest. “Was that supposed to be romantic or something?”

“That’s not romantic to you?” he asked with all the sincerity of someone who was fully committing to a bit.

The two of you broke out into laughter. Once you finally caught your breath, you began once more. “This is gonna be a long marriage.”

“Hopefully,” he remarked in response.

“If you keep talking to me like that, I will literally go get our marriage annulled, like right now.”

“Please don’t,” he whined, grabbing one of your hands from his chest and kissing your fingers. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Every time you promise to make something up to me, an inconsistent fairy gains its wings.”

“Hey,” his tone suddenly became very serious, completely catching you off guard. “I really am sorry that I’ve been a terrible friend. I don’t know that I’ve ever said it, but I am. You deserve so much better than me, and I don’t even know how I convinced you to do this for me.”

You almost started to laugh, unable to take the absurd situation seriously. You’d been waiting years to hear him genuinely apologize, and now hours after you’d married solely as a favor to him, he was finally telling you what you wanted to hear.

“Please. I’m serious. I know you think I’m a piece of shit flaky ashhole, and I am, but I want to be a better husband to you than I ever was as a friend.”

You felt your heart stop beating for a second. The word husband sounded so foreign in his mouth. You couldn’t quite pin how you felt about it, but you knew you felt uncomfortable with the intimacy of his words.

“Patrick, please shut up,” you squeezed your eyes shut, suddenly a little overwhelmed with the Patrick of it all. In fact, you couldn’t think of anything more encapsulating of your experience with him than the whiplash you got from that moment. He could be a complete asshat, but his occasional moments of earnestness kept you following him like a lost puppy, accepting his apologies and granting him ridiculous favors, despite your better judgment.

“Are you okay?” he asked, moving closer to you to get a good look at you. You swore you felt your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.

“I’m fine, I just-“ am overwhelmed by you being sweet? Can’t believe that I’m hearing you say this to me after so long? Also can’t believe that you and I are married?

None of the right words seemed to come to you, so you did the second best thing you could think of.

You pecked his lips and pulled away as if you’d just touched a hot handle. You didn’t know what had come over you, and immediately began to apologize profusely.

“Oh my god, I don’t know-“ you were cut off by his hands on your face, greedily and sloppily pulling you back in for another kiss, this one far more passionate and confident than the first.

Your kiss was messy but fervent, years of pent up sexual frustration and non-sexual frustration behind your every movement. As you kissed, you moved to straddle him, feeling a little ridiculous in your ratty old clothes, but that didn’t stop him from groping you over your pajamas like you were the hottest thing on the planet.

Maybe the strangest thing to happen to you that day wasn’t even your wedding.

——

That night was the first in a series of very strange events. You couldn’t even fully wrap your head around what was happening in your marriage. You just knew that the two of you had become closer friends than you’d ever been before, and that you slept together when either of you had the urge. It was basically a no strings attached situation, except, legally, all strings were attached.

If you were confused by your arrangement, you were sure that your friends were even more lost, something they proved to you as they interrogated you over brunch.

“So, just so we’re clear, you married him as a favor?!” your friend asked in complete disbelief.

“Well… yeah, basically.”

“Shit. Can I ask you for a favor of a million dollars?” she joked, leading to the laughter of your other friends at the table.

“Well, that’s different. At least with our marriage, we both benefit. He gets his parents off his ass about being so focused on tennis that he doesn’t have any future prospects, and I get my parents to stop trying to marry me off to every single rich boy they find.”

“But you’re not like, actually married. Like you guys don’t have feelings for each other?” another friend questioned.

You sipped your mimosa before explaining your situation for what must’ve been the fifth time that day, “we’re basically friends with benefits.”

“But you’re legally married? Like, the wedding was official and stuff?”

“Legally? Yeah. But it’s literally just that,” you clarified.

“Legal marriage and sex?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, hoping that they were finally catching on.

“Then… are you guys seeing other people?”

“Oh yeah, what ever happened to that one model guy you were seeing?” another one of your friends pitched in.

“It didn’t really work out,” you addressed that with an understatement. He rightfully flipped his shit when he found out you were going to be marrying someone else. “But neither of us are seeing other people. I don’t think either of us want to risk bringing anything back to one another.”

“That sounds pretty committed to me.”

“Not really,” you dismissed.

“Then why are you even together?”

“How many times do I have to explain how we both benefit from this?”

“No, not legally, or socially or whatever. Why are you hooking up with him? Aren’t you scared you’ll mess up your friendship or something?”

“Well, the sex is really, really good. But I’m really not worried. There's no romance between us. We’ve been friends for so long that it’s just… weird to look at him like anything other than my friend. It’s basically a loveless marriage of convenience.”

Your friend shot you a skeptical look. You just shrugged her off.

———

The moment you found out your afternoon meeting had been canceled, you reached out to your assistant to make arrangements for you to go to Patrick’s tennis game. He’d been on a winning streak, and though he insisted that you didn’t need to come to his games, you knew that he secretly liked having you there.

Over the past few months of your marriage, you’d grown to realize that he often didn’t say what he actually meant. Like the time he told you that he preferred to live alone, before breathily confessing in your ear that he slept better by your side. Or when he swore to you that he loved the pancakes you’d served him, despite the food being some of the worst you’d ever put in our mouth and him being on a diet. You almost found it sweet that he tried to prioritize your feelings over his own, which was surely a result of overcompensation from the way he had treated you for the majority of your lives.

You arrived at his match just in time to watch him take a break, making your way into the stands and finding a seat where you’d have the best view of your friend as possible. You didn’t expect him to scan the audience and find you until much later on, but you were pleasantly surprised when the two of you made eye contact and he absolutely lit up. You waved, then gave him a thumbs up in hopes to communicate your support from far away.

While you couldn’t always make it, you liked to play the role of supportive tennis wife. Getting dressed up and making an appearance not only publicly legitimized your sham of a marriage, but helped you to reconnect with some of your former boarding school classmates, who were often in the stands supporting a friend or a loved one. You also just liked to watch him play, as witnessing the passion and ferocity he had out on the court was extremely entertaining, and even at times, mildly arousing.

With their break ending, Patrick went back out on the court and played just as well as you expected him to, crushing his competition, and looking up into the stands at you to celebrate once he’d scored the winning point.

At first, it was surprising how proud his wins made you feel of him, a feeling that you explained to yourself by arguing that if he wasn’t giving his absolute all to tennis, then your marriage had basically been all for nothing. Although that did still ring slightly true, the truth was that you were simply proud of Patrick. Whether you liked it or not, the two of you were a unit now, which meant that his wins were your wins and vice versa. In some ways, it was kind of nice to be part of a team. Or at least his team.

You met Patrick down on the court, where he paused from packing his bag to immediately greet you with a kiss to the forehead, a small act of intimacy that was typically reserved for situations far different from the one you were currently in.

“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming!” he exclaimed, pulling you in for a half-hug.

“I didn’t know I was coming either,” you instinctually wrapped your arm around him in response to his half-hug. “Great job out there. You kinda demolished him!”

“I did, didn’t I,” he said just loud enough for you to hear, still wanting to appear like a good sport. “I have to go get ready for the press conference. Do you want to meet me at my hotel?”

“Of course. You don’t mind me staying for the night?” you probed, despite knowing the answer. He wouldn’t have asked you to go to his hotel in the first place if he’d minded.

“You know I never mind you staying for the night,” he gave you a cheeky wink.

“You’re so sleazy,” you commented with fake disgust.

“You started it,” he replied, reluctantly pulling away from you and reaching into his bag to grab his hotel keycard. “I’ll text you when I’m heading back.”

The moment you received a message about him being on his way to the hotel, you made a very lengthy phone call and request to the restaurant in the building. Technically, he shouldn’t be eating any of what you ordered, on account of him being on a strict diet plan, but you figured that he deserved it after playing the way that he did. Besides, Patrick liked thoughtful acts of service, and you figured that this would count as one.

“You know me so well,” he practically gasped as he stepped into the room, taking in the platters of food you’d laid out for him.

“What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t?” you teased, though your sentiment was somewhat accurate, and it was clear that the two of you had grown to know each other far better over the past few months, you hoped that your friend wasn’t interpreting your words in too serious of a way.

The two of you laid out on the pristine hotel bed, eating the feast that you’d ordered without much dialogue between you, other than a comment on how good something was, or a request to pass an item to one another. It felt oddly domestic, and oddly enough, you liked it. Maybe you liked it even more than you’d been willing to admit.

“I’m gonna go shower,” he announced after tossing his napkin onto a cleared off plate.

“Want some company?” you offered, raising your brows at him in a playfully suggestive manner.

“Is that what this is all about?” he feigned offense.

“Maybe,” you trailed off. “Or maybe I just wanted to celebrate the greatest tennis player of all time,” you purred.

“Come on. You and I both know that is far from the truth.”

“Well you’re the greatest player in my heart,” you praised, much to his chagrin.

“Ugh. Shut up and come shower with me.”

As you sleepily ran your fingers through his damp hair, you were surprised when he broke his silence with a comment seemingly out of the blue. It was more of a mumble than anything else, but you’d grown accustomed to his muffled words over the course of your marriage.

“You’re so beautiful,” he randomly complimented you.

“You know you don’t have to compliment me to get into my pants, right?” you asked with a hint of laughter in your tone.

“I’m not trying to,” he pecked your arm–the limb he had the easiest access to at the moment–as if he was trying to emphasize his point, though all it did was bring heat to your cheeks at the reminder of the way he’d pressed slow and meaningful kisses along your calves and inner thighs while the two of you were in the shower. “You just looked so good today, I couldn’t not comment.”

“I don’t look good every day?” you asked facetiously, trying to deflect from the warm and fuzzy feeling his compliments and affection were making you feel.

“Of course you always look good,” he reassured you rather than playing along with your game of joking instead of addressing your feelings. “I just don’t tell you that enough.”

You weren’t even sure how you could respond to that. Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood to mince words tonight, but you couldn’t bear to match his genuinity with cheap jokes. The only real, genuine thought to pop into your head were three ridiculous words that you immediately batted away. You couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing than randomly declaring your love to a husband who wasn’t really your husband in a marriage that wasn’t really a marriage.

Out of ideas, you hit the lamp on your side of the bed. “I appreciate it. Goodnight.”

“Night,” he parroted back to you, remaining snug against your chest, despite the fact that your hands had stopped threading through his hair.

Deep down, you knew that those three words had been on the tip of Patrick’s tongue, too.

——

Being in the social circles of filthily rich people meant you often found yourself at random charity events, hosted by the nonprofits of families and business owners looking for a particularly large tax break for the year. Over the years, you’d felt that you’d seen and participated in it all: marathons raising awareness for a serious, but extremely rare disease, date auctions to raise money for a cause that certainly didn’t justify you having to go on a date with a man almost forty years your senior, or galas for nearly-extinct sea creatures that were essentially used as an excuse to stand around and network while drinking expensive alcohol and eating hor d'oeuvres.

You seemed to find yourself at a lot of events like the latter, including the one you were standing at now. The gala, which took place in the art exhibit it was raising money for, was a rather standard one, filled with the typical suspects who regularly attended those events.

It was slightly ironic to be at the event with Patrick as your plus one, as this was the exact type of event he would’ve texted you about an hour before it began to ask if you would play his concerned partner for the night who told everyone a flimsy excuse about him being under the weather.

It also served as somewhat of a reminder to you of the massive growth that your friend had undergone since the two of you became legally bound to one another. It finally felt like Patrick saw you as a true friend, instead of a reliable person who would do his dirty work. It finally felt like he cared. In some ways, your marriage was the best thing to happen to your friendship.

Patrick returned to where you were standing, this time with two flutes of champagne and a delicious looking appetizer in his hand.

“You’re too kind,” you said as he passed you your drink.

“Anything for my wife,” he mockingly bowed in front of you and you chuckled and shook your head. Over the past year, the two of you slowly became slightly more comfortable with referencing each other as husband and wife, but only really as a joke. You guessed that in a lot of ways, that’s what your marriage was—a ridiculous inside joke.

He was just about to feed you a hor d'oeuvre when you were approached by a wildly unwelcome figure: the man who had purchased a date with you a few years ago. Despite your one very awkward, stilted date, he never really seemed to get over you–which he made a point to prove at every event you both happened to be at. And unfortunately for you, his generous donations landed him on the guest list for the majority of these events.

You were used to fighting him off on your own, as he seemed to come and flirt with you regardless of how inappropriate it was for the setting of the event, or even when he already had a beautiful young bombshell hanging on his arm. At this point, you’d learned to just tune his every word out and flee as soon as you possibly could. He was annoying, but he wasn’t dangerous.

“Hey, honey,” he greeted you way too comfortably. You’d given up on asking him to call you by your name a very long time ago.

“Hi, John,” you reached out to shake his hand and cringed internally when he kissed the back of your hand.

“Oh honey, who is this?” Patrick immediately lept in, surprising you with his unsubtle passive aggressive tone and ridiculous use of a pet name.

“You don’t remember me? I swear, we’ve met a few times.” John asked, trying to smile despite clearly being agitated by the presence of competition.

“Some people are more forgettable than others,” he said with a shrug. “How do you know my wife?” He emphasized the word and you pushed down the small inkling of pride you were feeling. Whether it was from watching Patrick try to scare this annoying man away from you, or being so proudly referred to as his wife, you couldn’t be sure.

“Finally settling down, eh?” he directed at you, then directed his next statement to Patrick. “We went on a date back in the day.”

“It was for that one date auction thing,” you quickly added context, but paused when you took in John’s less than pleased look. He was a large donor at your own family’s nonprofit, and you were sure that your parents wouldn’t be too pleased with you if they found out he pulled out over you hurting his feelings. “We had a lot of fun, though.”

“We definitely did,” he chuckled and smirked. You wanted to punch him in the mouth. “We should definitely do it again sometime.”

It was clear that Patrick was not taking kindly to seeing you be flirted with so brazenly in front of him. Part of you wondered why he would be possessive, since part of your initial deal was that you could see whoever you wanted, even if that happened to be a creepy old man with a lot of money. The other part of you was enjoying seeing him so fired up. Particularly, seeing him fired up over you.

“Our schedule is just so busy. Between work and us trying to start a family, I just don’t know when we’ll have time to see you again.”

Trying to start a family? That was definitely news to you. Although, the idea didn’t sound awful. Wasn’t it everyone’s dream to start a family with their closest, most dear friend?

“Well, she knows where to find me, right, honey?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, looking into your glass like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Now if you don’t mind, my wife and I are going to go check out the exhibit,” Patrick announced, grabbing your hand and taking a step away from John.

“You two have fun,” he said before clapping Patrick’s shoulder and leaning in to begin a stage whisper. “Make sure you treat her right and cherish her. If you don’t, I might have to swoop in and do so myself.”

He winked at you and you bit back a gag.

“Don't you worry your wrinkly little head. Nobody lov- cherishes her more than I do,” he theatrically patted his back much like he’d initially done to him. “See you around.”

Did he almost say what you think he almost said? Surely you misheard him, or he was just playing up your relationship to scare away that creepy man. It really wasn’t anything to think twice about.

Once the two of you had walked away far enough to be out of earshot, you finally addressed what had just happened. “Thank you, bodyguard. You don’t even know how much I despise that man.”

“He seems like he’s the worst,” he agreed with you, looking back over his shoulder.

“That’s because he is,” you emphasized. “This is so random, but did you mean what you said earlier?”

Patrick suddenly paused, his face going pale like he’d just seen a ghost. You were a little confused by this reaction, as he’d said nothing to warrant that level of fear.

“Do you actually want to start a family? Obviously not now, while you’re still playing tennis, but maybe eventually? I know we don’t have the most traditional marriage, but, I don’t know. Neither of us are getting any younger, and it might be fun to co-parent with my best friend,” you were clearly rambling now, but luckily, Patrick came in to rescue you for the second time that night. He looked far less aghast now.

“I would love that,” he said to you with a genuine smile. You matched his with one of your own.

———

“Do you have any big plans for retirement?” a reporter asked for the final question of the press conference.

“Mostly just eating a lot of burgers. And maybe learning how to play pickleball,” Patrick responded, never one to give a serious answer to questions that weren’t explicitly about tennis.

It was a ridiculous note to end on, but it felt right. You’d found that to be the case with most things in your life that pertained to him–most notably your marriage, which ended up being far more than you ever expected it to be.

After the press conference had come to a close, Patrick met you outside by the car, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, then leaning down to peck your baby bump.

“How does it feel to be retired?” you asked, ruffling his hair while he was still bending down.

“It feels like you might divorce me,” he joked. Obviously your marriage deal was only meant to cover the time that he was still playing tennis, but after years of a complicated marriage that suddenly became significantly less complicated once you finally confronted the fact that the two of you very obviously loved each other, it seemed unlikely that your union would end any time soon.

You glanced down at your baby bump, then back up to him skeptically. “I hope you’re not being serious.”

“Come on, I never know with you. You’re the one who friendzoned me the entire first year of our marriage!” he exclaimed.

“That was a lifetime ago,” you countered before taking his hands in yours. “If you’re really worried, I have zero intentions of ending our marriage.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” he grinned, stepping away from you. “Let’s get going. I don’t want us to miss our reservation.”

You nodded and obliged, passing him the keys before heading to the passenger side of the car.

Once you sat down, you were overcome with the urge to say something. You had spent so much time bottling up and pressing down your own feelings, that it was now hard to resist letting things out when they came to you.

“I’m so proud of you,” you blurted. “And I love you. So much.”

Patrick smiled at you genuinely, before his look turned into a slightly more devious one. “I love you so much, too. One might even say I love you more.”

“Don’t even start with that,” you laughed, not in the mood to have the kind of back and forth with him that you had at least once a week. Considering that you were carrying his child, you were pretty sure that you were the winner of the love competition.

“Fine. We love each other equally,” he conceded.

“That’s more like it.”

You tried to think back to one specific moment where your marriage had crossed over from being one of convenience, into a union with genuine feelings attached, and realized that you weren’t exactly sure. It could’ve been the first night you spent together, when you’d finally allowed yourself to consider what your relationship might look like beyond a simple friendship, or maybe it was even earlier than that, when you gazed into Patrick’s eyes as you read off your vows. The look of pure adoration he gave you was one that you had grown familiar with throughout the course of your marriage, but you hadn’t realized at the time just how genuine he had been. Or maybe even the moment Patrick asked you in the living room of your apartment, when you’d been the first person he thought of to carry out his ridiculous scheme, and you’d said yes despite every logical part of your brain that screamed at you to say no.

Whenever it began didn’t particularly matter. What mattered now was that the two of you fully intended to spend the rest of your lives together.

#patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig fic #patrick zweig imagine #art donaldson x reader #challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #josh o'connor x reader

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her-favorite · 3 days

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A HUNCH; M. STURNIOLO

MATT STURNIOLO X F!(QUIET)!READER

warnings: none!

a/n: requested! hopefully you like it anon! <3

wc: 1,154 (short)

SYNOPSIS: The beginning of a relationship may be rocky, but with you and Matt, it never happened that way. He understood you more than anyone else, and he always knew what you wanted before you even had to say it.

You knew it was kind of foolish to be nervous to ask something of someone - especially someone like your boyfriend - but it never came easy to you.

You and Matt have only been official for a little over two months, but it’s already been a million times better than your other relationships. You’ve known him and the triplets for a little while now and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t drawn to Matt the very second you saw him. His perfectly parted hair, his pretty eyes, his smile.

For someone as reserved as yourself, your closest friends around you could always tell you had more than just kind feelings for the boy. But being that reserved person, it wasn’t easy to admit something like that, let alone tell Matt you’ve developed romantic feelings for him. So, you spent years trying to convince yourself that your admiration for the boy was purely platonic. You couldn’t face it if he were to reject you; you wouldn’t just be losing the boy you loved, but your best friends, too.

To anyone else but you, it was even more obvious the feelings Matt has for you were. Lingering glances, smiling a little too wide when you decided to participate in a group activity, or the butterflies he felt swarming in his stomach when he ‘accidentally’ sits a tad too close to you on the couch. But he could never tell you how he feels.. you’d only reject him, right?

After far too long, Nick and Chris were tired of the silent pining. From the quiet, defeated sighs that left your mouth when Matt didn’t join your movie nights, to the whining from their brother about how much he wishes you were his girl.

Once the two boys were done playing matchmaker, you and Matt couldn’t be happier together. With the relationship still being in its early stages, it still took some getting used to everything a real relationship comes with. It never upset you, you were more than happy to be able to experience something like this with the man you were hopelessly in love with for the past few years. But that didn’t mean anything about you changed.

You still liked to keep to yourself, to not cause a distraction, or to not speak when you didn’t feel like doing so. And Matt still (and will always) loves that about you.

You both tended to be quiet people, especially in public, it just felt more natural to the two of you. And with that, it was easier to confide in each other, since you both understand how the other may feel in that moment. You couldn’t be more ecstatic to have such a patient and understanding boyfriend.

But even with your love and trust in him, the anxiousness for rejection still lingered in the back of your mind. You were never one for hugs or anything of the sort, but with Matt… it was different. His touch was comforting and safe; it left you with a warm feeling inside.

You wanted it.. you just hated asking for it.

It wasn’t too often that Matt held you in his arms, besides at night. If he notices you becoming anxious in a public setting, he’ll immediately reach for your hand and bring you close to him, but other than that, Matt just doesn’t want to overwhelm you.

He’d love to smother your face with kisses and make you rest on his chest while you guys watch a movie together, but he knows that sometimes physical touch can be too much on a bad day.

Every since he met you, he always found you interesting. Not just because you were quiet or held a lot of the same qualities as him, but because of the way you handle yourself (your beauty was just a bonus). From then on, he’s studied the way you react to certain phrases and plans and made sure to either avoid specific outings or to do something that came natural to him: being quiet. Sometimes silence can be tense and awkward, but with Matt, it was only the opposite. It felt secure, a soft layer of comfortable solitude shared with another person.

As you sat on the couch at the triplets’ house, you wait for your boyfriend to get out of the bathroom as you click through unseen movies. Hearing the door creak, it grabs your ears’ attention but doesn’t make your head turn.

“Finally.” You tease softly, glancing over at him. Matt walks over to you in a plain white tee with plaid pajama pants, the untied string seemingly holding them up without having to be tied. His hair was slightly messy, his hands in it just seconds prior. Reluctantly tearing your gaze away from the pretty man, your eyes focus back on the tv screen a few feet away.

“Hey.” Matt huffs lightly, throwing himself down on the couch beside you. “Did you pick anything yet?” He asks, following your line of sight, watching the movie titles pass by. With a shake of your head in response, he chuckles softly. “You’re making fun of me for how long I was in the bathroom, but you haven’t picked a movie the entire time?” He says playfully, poking your side gently. Smacking his hand away once it starts to tickle, you send him a joking glare, a small smile tugging at your lips once you see his.

A few minutes pass and you both decide to rewatch one of your favorites, too exhausted to pick and find a new one. Sitting beside him, Matt sprawled out on his couch, giving his legs room to stretch. He quickly picked up on your tense body language as your legs scrunch up under yourself and the way - only he could see - your fingers twitched, signaling for something more.

“C’mere, baby,” Matt broke the silent argument in your head as you looked over at him. He was motioning for you to get closer as he lightly patted his legs. Sensing your hesitation, his hands envelope your hips, gasping when he drags you over towards him. Lying you down on top of him, he wraps his arms around your back, squeezing you into him. “‘S’this okay?” He whispers, his head resting on yours as you dig yours further into his neck.

“Mhm,” humming in response, your once-tense body relaxes in his hold, immediately becoming one with him. His steady heartbeat calmed you as yours became synced.

“Don’t be scared to ask me somethin’, okay? You know I have absolutely no problem holding my girl.” Matt whispers, pressing a sweet kiss to your head, rubbing a gentle hand up and down your back.

With a quiet, “okay,” leaving your lips, you let yourself melt into him, slowing succumbing to sleep instead of rewatching a movie you considered a classic.

Only he knew you better than yourself.

#matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine

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samandcolbyownme · 1 day

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Make up sex make up sex make up sex Make up sex make up sex make up sex Make up sex make up sex make up sex Make up sex make up sex make up sex Make up sex make up sex make up sex Make up sex make up sex make up sex Make up sex make up sex make up sex 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Summary: A year into reader’s relationship with Johnnie, reader realizes just how busy Johnnie can get with what he does for work, and just how easily he can push reader off.

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, angsty, arguing between reader and Johnnie, fighting for love/relationship, unprotected makeup sex, kissing, hair pulling, slight choking, oral (both rev), creampie, filth with a dash of fluff? Enjoy!

Word count: 2.5k | not edited

Also, this song is sooo good. It’s one of my favorite songs in general, so please I beg of you to listen to this before or during your read.

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

“Therapy is tiring.” You joke and, “I’ve tried it before and it just felt like I was being judged, you know?”

You glance down at Katrina, who’s in the screen of your phone on FaceTime. She nods, “Right, but so is hiding how you feel. I’ll have to give you the number for mine. She is phenomenal.”

You nod, pacing back and forth as you stare out the window, “I’ve brought it up to him a few times already, Kat. I just..”

You run your hands over your arms, wrapping them tightly around your body, “Maybe we aren’t meant to last?”

“Don’t say that, y/n. Johnnie loves you, he just probably isn’t used to having someone like you around.”

“You mean being the first girlfriend he’s had in a while?” You laugh slightly, “Jake always picks on him about it.”

“Then yeah.” Kat laughs, “I would just give it one more try and if it doesn’t get better..” she trails off, “You know I have an extra bedroom open, right?”

You smile, glancing at her in the phone, “You remind me every time I talk to you about this.”

She shrugs, “Just letting you know you have a good plan b in case things.. go.. you know.”

It’s silent for a few seconds, “Just remember that there’s no better vengeance than learning to enjoy things again.”

“I just want him go get the message, like. No one is fucking shatter resistant. A person can only take so much shit.”

You hear the front door open and you sigh, “Johnnie’s here. Gotta go.”

“Good luck. Love you bye!”

“Love you bye.”

You turn around and walks out of the bedroom, making your way down the steps of his shared house with Jake.

He glances up at you and smiles slightly, “Hey babe.”

You walk over to him, planting a kiss on his lips, “Hey.” You go to walk away but he grabs your wrist, pulling you back into him, “Whoa. What’s wrong?”

You laugh slightly, mainly at the fact that this is the first time he’s noticed something was wrong in days, “Nothing, why do you-“

“You look like you’ve been crying.”

You shrug, “I’m fine.”

“No, talk to me.” Johnnie pushes and you shake your head, taking a step back, “Johnnie.” You whine quietly and he reaches out to grab your hips, “Baby.”

You snap, the second his hands touch your hips, “Fuck, Johnnie.” You take a deep breath, letting out a loud sigh right before the words spill from your lips.

“I’ve been like this for days, Johnnie. Upset, tired, angry.” You look at him, “Days, and now, when you get home and I’m assuming in the mood to fuck, you want to actually take more than a fucking second to look at me and think hmm, okay something wrong.”

“Jesus Christ.” Johnnie breathes out, “Where the fuck is this coming from? You do know that what I do for work causes me to be busy, right? I mean.” He shakes his head, “I’m pretty sure you knew that coming into this relationship.”

You keep your stare on him, “I knew that part of it, Johnnie. I did. I just didn’t know that you getting a girlfriend with this work meant that it’s okay to just push her away.”

“That’s not-“

“if it’s not what you do then please tell me.” You motion towards him and he takes a deep breath, shaking his head.

“Fucking Christ, Johnnie. Leave me something, give me something.”

“What do you want, y/n?” Johnnie looks at you and you look at him, actually kind of shocked that he would even ask that, and right as you opened your mouth to say something, he cuts you off, “Sorry, that- stupid fucking question.”

You raise your brows, “You push me, and you pull me around, figuratively speaking. And I let you do it because I don’t want to leave.”

“I mean fuck Johnnie. I feel like I’m a speaker that is about to blow because it can’t handle much more bass, my head feels like it’s going to explode but I’m still here, because I love you, and and we’re good, we’re good.”

He looks at you and your eyes meet his, “I fucking love you, and I just.. I’m fucking starving for attention Johnnie. Your attention.”

You feel your throat burn, “I didn’t ever really think that it.. it was too much to ask, but honestly, we need to work on this or you let me out be-“

Johnnie starts talking, and he sounds mad, “You want to leave?”

You sigh, feeling exhausted with repeating yourself, “No, Joh-“ you groan, “I literally just said that I don’t and said why.”

You run a hand through your hair, fighting back the tears harder, “Fuck. Okay.” You take a deep breath and look down, you can’t hold back the tears when you think of the next thing you wanted to bring to his attention.

“I just.. for the last few weeks, I feel like I’ve been balancing on a razor blade around you. I’m supposed to be here to help you relax after a long stressful day. Instead, I just feel like I add to it.”

He shakes his head, “No, baby.”

You keep your gaze on the floor, taking in a quiet breath as you look up and wipe your face, “We’ve been together a year, Johnnie.”

You drop your hands, the slap echoing through the room and he just stares at you, “Our anniversary was yesterday, I waited to see if you’d remember, I even set a reminder in your phone a few days ago.”

You let out a stressed laugh, “I just.. we were doing so good and then it’s like I became one of your friends, your roommate who you occasionally sleep with.”

Tears fall down your cheeks, “How the fuck does that happen, Johnnie?”

At that moment, Jake walks through the door with Tara and you turn away. Johnnie walks up to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, “All good guys, we’re just-“

Johnnie walks you to the bedroom and you can tell just from that conversation that Jake and Tara were definitely concerned.

Johnnie shuts the door, and you turn to him, “Why am I here if that’s all we’re going to do? I’m just sitting here waiting for the start of things that I want with you, this happily ever after, with you.”

He stands there, “Well get that, I just..”

“How? Most of the time it just seems choking on your words and swallowing them is just a fast and easy way for you to not actually talk to me. You’re supposed to be my emergency contact, Johnnie. Someone I know will be there for me no matter what. Fuck, the last few nights, I’ve ended up passing out on the couch while you slept in the bed. I just can’t sleep anymore knowing that I don’t know where the hell I stand in your life anymore.”

“I love you.” He steps closer, “Please, don’t judge me for what I’m about to say.”

You look at him confused, “Never.”

He walks you over to the bed, “I forget that I have a girlfriend sometimes.”

You try not to laugh, “Um, okay.” You tilt your head, closing your eyes.

“I’m serious.. like you seen how Jake picked on me. I really haven’t had anyone in my life with the girlfriend label, and I just.. it feels so new to me.”

“So you need me to train you.” You smirk, looking over at him and he rolls his eyes, “I’m not a dog, babe.”

You reach over, ruffling his hair.

He really does have good sex appeal, because now that your villain has settled, all you can think about it making up this argument to him with sex, proving just how much you love him.

Johnnie’s hand slides to your neck, pulling you in for a kiss.

Or the other way around.

“I’m so sorry I forgot our anniversary.” He kisses you, continuing to speak In between kisses, “I’m sorry.. that I.. haven’t.. been here.”

He pushes you back onto the bed, moving to straddle your thighs. His hands push your shirt up, gripping your bare waist.

He stares down at you, your hands move to rest on his forearms.

“I’m sorry, I have been shitty. I had a bad day and you caught me at a bad time.” He leans down, lips brushing against yours, “Please don’t leave.” His voice is low, almost a whimper, likes he’s begging.

Your hands slide to his neck, “I’m not going anywhere, baby.”

The space closes between you and the grip on your hips tighten, “You’re a fucking angel.” He lifts his head, “My angel.”

You smile, biting your lip as he moves to push his legs in between yours. You move them, wrapping them around his waist.

He grinds his hard bulge against your clothed pussy, earning a surprise moan from you,

He kisses down your neck, “Love those pretty sounds.”

He bites down on your neck, earning more of the sounds he wants to hear, “Mine.” He bites down in a different spot, groaning as he grinds against you, “All mine.”

“All yours.” You agree, moving a hand up to tug at the hair at the nape of his neck, “Johnnie, please.” You whimper, “I need you.”

“You have me. All of me.” He kisses up to your lips, “You can always count on me. From here on out, I promise.”

His lips crash onto yours as his hands slide up your shirt, keading and groping at your bare tits, “So perfect.” He pauses, squeezing them slightly rough which gets you to moan out as your back lifts up from the bed, “F-Fuck.”

He sits up, moving to pull the tight, black tee from his body. You bite down on your lip as your eyes scan over his tattoo covered body.

You could never get enough of him.

You hands reach up and you work at undoing his belt, then the button on his jeans then finally, his zipper.

He pushes them down while you work on undressing yourself.

You toss your shirt to the floor and look up at him as you lay back down. His brushes hair from his eyes and you watch as they scan over your face.

He uses his teeth to play with his lip rings while his hand slides up your spread thigh. Your breath hitches when he stops just on the outer edge of your pussy.

You wiggle your hips and a smirk plays with his lips before he drags the tip of his pointer finger up and down your soaked folds.

A gasp escapes your lips and your groan, “More, baby. Please.”

You grip the sheets, clenching around his finger as he slides it in, “Yesyesyes.”

Johnnie leans down, moving to lay beside you. He nudges his nose against your cheek, “after this.. we can do anything you want.”

You nod, glancing down at his finger slowly sliding in and out of your pussy, “Johnnie.” You whine, “Stop teasing.”

He instantly starts to slip in his middle finger and you throw your head back, moaning out as you squeeze your walls around them.

“I’m so sorry. I’m going to make it up to you.” He leans in, kissing your neck as the speed in the thrusts of his fingers picks up, “I’ll do anything you want.”

You reach over, hand wrapping around his cock, “Let me use my mouth on you.”

Johnnie bucks his hips slightly into your hand and he pulls his fingers out before rolling onto his back. He motions for you to come to him and when you go to bend down towards his cock he stops you.

“No, no. I’m making you feel good, too.” He reaches over, laying a hand in your thigh, “Sit on my face and lean that way.”

He points out from him and you catch on, facing away from him before swinging your leg over his head.

He wastes no time with grabbing your hips and pulling your down.

You let out a surprised moan, jumping slightly when you feel his tongue lap over your folds.

You lean down, moaning out as you lay the tip of his cock on your tongue. His hips buck and the grip on your hips tightens as he groans against you.

You take half of him in your mouth, swirling hour tongue as you bob your head.

Johnnie’s head slams onto the mattress away from you, hips bucking toward as he groans, “F-fuck..”. He digs his fingertips into your skin harder, “just like that, baby.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you take him all the way in, gagging around him as his hips buck, “Shit, shit.” Johnnie lets out a groan, “F-fuck. Okay.”

He taps your hips and you lift your head, breathing heavy as you move to sit next to him.

He pulls you down, tongue slipping into your mouth as his lips press to yours. You moan at the taste of yourself on his lips, pulling him towards you.

He moves back to in between your legs and it wasn’t long ago all before his cock was slipping into your soaked cunt.

His head falls and his lips are against your neck, “Feels so fuckin’ good.” He groans lowly as he starts to thrust.

Your legs tighten around his waist and your chest presses against his, “H-harder please.” You turn your head, lips searching for his as he obeys your request.

His thrusts growing harsher, hips slamming into yours, earning whines and moans from you.

“M’so sorry, baby.” He mumbles against your lips, “I love you.” He groans, a hand coming up to gently lay on your neck.

“I love you.” You lay a hand on his, urging him squeeze harder.

He obliges, squeezing your neck which earns a squeak from you as your eyes roll closed.

Johnnie brings you closer to orgasm with his words, slowing his thrusts down as he whispers sweet and dirty things in your ear, “I love you so fucking much.”

“You’re so tight, fuck.”

“Sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re so fucking perfect.”

The band snaps. You cling to him, moans pour from your lips as he releases his grip and moves it down to rub rough circles on your clit, “There ya go, baby. Just like that.”

You roll your hips into his thrusts, whining out as he guides you through your high, “Cum in me.” You whimper out, pressing your lips to his in a sloppy manor, “Please, Johnnie.”

“F-fuck, fuck.” He grips your hips tight and you feel his cock twitch. You bite down on his lower lip and moan out, “Fill my pussy.”

Within seconds, he’s again, obliging to your request, which he will continue to do even after you’re done.

You moan, kissing him as you feel him thrust into you, pushing his cum as deep into you as it will go.

He brings his hand up, thumb brushing over your cheek, “I really am sorry, y/n.”

You peck his lips a few times gently, “It’s okay.” You whisper, biting down on your lip as he pulls out. You sit up, slowly moving to stand up.

As soon as you rise to your feet, Johnnie’s arms are around your waist and his voice is low, “You’re literally the best person I have in my life and I just want you to know that you are my emergency contact.”

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

Thank you so much for reading! As always, please let me know what you thought. I love you all so so so much! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

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dokries · 1 day

Text

pretty little princess

pairing: yoon jeonghan x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 448

warnings: jeonghan being referred to as a princess but as a silly nickname, not anything serious

author note: another repost (this was written last year right before he got his hair cut, and now it’s long again)! lots of love <3

masterlist

“life isn’t fair.” you mutter, playing with the pink pipe cleaner in your hands.

jeonghan bends his head all the way back to stare up at you, nestled in his spot on the carpet in front of you with a questioning gaze. “i agree with your philosophical words but that was random, even for you sweetheart.”

“it’s just not fair. how can you be so pretty?” you say, glaring at his stupidly beautiful face before moving your gaze downwards to focus on wrapping the glittery craft material in your hands around your middle finger, and then around your ring finger before twisting it at the bottom to create something vaguely bow-like.

you look up from your craftsmanship to see jeonghan still in the same position except his eyes as wide as saucers and his jaw slack, the phone once in his hands, completely forgotten in his lap at your words.

jeonghan knows he’s pretty. he’s been told by random kids on the street, old couples out on walks, heck even his friends tell him he’s pretty often. however, you hadn’t called him pretty until this evening, when he let you do what you wished with his long hair before he went to get it cut the next day. (something you’re still upset about; you love his silky hair, but you understand why he wants it cut.)

“you…” he gulps, trying to hide his huge grin. “you think i’m pretty?”

you look down at him from your spot on the couch. your eyes roam across his face: his eyes that radiate starlight, the tiny grin he was fighting back, the two pipe cleaner bows you had pinned onto his hair already, and the gem stickers that you had put on his cheeks with a giggle earlier.

“of course hannie! you’re my pretty pink little princess,” you whisper with a giggle, booping his nose when he smiles back.

“oh? if i’m really your pretty pink little princess, then you’ll let me put pipe cleaner bows on your head, right?” he says, his eyes twinkling with the note of mischievousness you’ve grown fond of as he pulls your arm down to sit beside him, moving to make space for you.

you let out an exasperated sigh for show before taking the pink bow you had made and gesturing for him to turn his head to the side so you could pin it onto the side of his bangs.

when you’re satisfied with your work, you pat his head with a grin. “well, if my pretty little princess commands it…”

“i do,” he says immediately, his mouth curling into a slight smirk. “get ready for the best makeover of your life, honey.”

#dokries works #seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #yoon jeonghan fluff #yoon jeonghan imagines #yoon jeonghan scenarios #yoon jeonghan x reader #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan x reader

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yanderes-galore · 2 days

Note

hi! I want to request a lil scenario for Gojo. His darling is getting ready for their date so they ask Satoru to come over and help them get ready. Maybe they also ask for advice? I wanna see him jealous >:) Whether this ends well or bad is up to you >:)

Ohhh, I see. Sure! Keep in mind when I started writing this it was around 10:00 PM so there may be spelling errors I missed! Otherwise, enjoy :)

Better Than Him

Yandere! Satoru Gojo Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Jealousy, Possessive behavior, Dubious kissing, Manipulation, Kissing scene, Implied intimacy at the end, Dubious relationship.

"How do I look?"

Gojo struggled with his answer. Yes... Yes you did look good. What he hated was this wasn't for him.

You and Gojo had been friends since going to Jujutsu High. Even now as adults you managed to stay together. However... Gojo wished your bond was more than friends.

For years he's liked you more than that. He's been infatuated with you for so long. Yet despite all the waiting, you come up to him and tell him you have a date.

You wanted him to help you get ready. Despite the envy he felt in his gut, he gave you a smile and agreed to come over to help. Anything for his friend, right?

"You look great...!" Gojo smiles, trying to hide his disappointment. "So... This guy you're dating... What's he look like?"

You seem so giddy when you pass him your phone, a picture of the guy you're getting pretty for sitting on the screen. Gojo grimaces a bit, glancing at you as you check yourself in the mirror. Surely you could do better, right?

"Well~?" You coo, looking at him with a grin. Gojo simply leans against the wall as he tries to pick his words carefully. What is he supposed to say about such a guy?

"Well, what?" Gojo asks, watching you while desire bubbles within him.

"Any advice?" You ask, taking your phone back from him. "I'm... New to the whole dating thing."

Gojo snorts in response, shaking his head. Of course... You want advice from the guy who has a thing for you to get another guy. It's... Upsetting, really.

"Advice?" Gojo ponders before grinning softly. He strolls over to you before leaning closer. "I have some advice for you..."

"Yes...?" You ask, freezing at the close proximity.

"Yeah." Gojo hums. "Dump him."

"Gojo, what the hell!?" You frown, backing off. "What kind of advice is that?"

Gojo merely chuckles at your reaction, standing beside you. His blue eyes flicker a dark gaze as he watches you. You glare at him, annoyed.

"The right kind." Gojo admits. "Seriously, you barely even know the guy!"

"Doesn't mean I can't try...." You mumble, only for Gojo to tilt your head up with his hand on your chin.

"Come on..." Gojo sighs, his irritated demeanor showing in his tone. "You can do so much better than him."

"Gojo, I'm not playing your games right now." You hiss with a glare, going to pull away again. However, Gojo stops you.

"I'm not playing yours, either." Gojo bluntly replies. "I've been playing nice for years, I'm tired of it."

You give Gojo a confused and nervous expression. Gojo puts on another smile, a hand tracing down your arm. Well... He's tired of waiting.

Best he just shows you who the correct choice is.

"What I'm trying to say is..." Gojo hums before pulling you into his chest. "I've known you the longest. I've liked you the longest. I've even become the strongest. In that case..."

He leans closer to your face, watching gleefully when your face heats up in embarrassment.

"I'm your best and only option." Gojo whispers playfully. "Why even entertain such a guy? He won't compare to me...."

It's then Gojo takes advantage of your shock to press his lips against yours. You aren't sure how to comprehend the kiss, although you seem very receptive. Receptive enough that when Gojo nipped your bottom lip, you let him in.

The kiss he gave you held passion. He felt like he was claiming you, trying his hardest to get the message into your skull. You're his.

Only his.

"Call it off...." Gojo growls as he pulls away. "You're going to call it off... Then you and I can do something together... Okay, baby?"

Your face is red and you remain compliant. Maybe Gojo was the right option.... As if to seal the deal, Gojo squeezes your hips as he leans into your ear.

"Don't worry... I'll show you that we were meant to be." Gojo purrs, kissing your neck softly go hear your reaction. "I've loved you for a long time now... I'd be a fool to let you date anyone else."

You want to question his possessive behavior. You want to ask him more about this crush he's had. Yet it seems now's not the time... You notice a dark gaze flash in his eyes again as he cups your face.

"It's mean to make me so jealous, baby..." Gojo grins. "But that's okay... I'll forgive you..."

Gojo kisses you again, guiding you to sit on your bed. You even remain compliant when he lightly pushes you to lay down. You find yourself wanting this... Ignoring the red flags that come with accepting such an offer.

"I'll forgive you since you're mine now."

Gojo's smile seems darker, his hands pinning yours as he leans in to kiss you again.

"By the end of tonight... You'll forget all about that guy, won't you, baby? Then you'll just focus on me... and only me...."

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #yandere gojo #yandere satoru gojo

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digital-domain · 1 day

Text

Purpose

Alastor x Reader // word count 3.4k

You can have you soul back, if you wish. But really…why would you even want something like that?

Tags/warnings: yandere, manipulation, power imbalance, angsty as hell, Alastor owns reader’s soul, reference to Alastor destroying other souls, shadows being far too tangible for comfort

A/N: This was supposed to be a short, simple little thing in my notes app. It did not stay that way for long. I swear I’ll write for someone else after this one (this might be a lie, haven’t decided yet)

You can’t believe that you asked. It was a sort of trance that brought you here, that forced your steps down the hallway, that raised your fist to his bedroom door - and it was your entire fist that knocked, not merely the knuckles of your hand. Like you were threatening to break the wood from its hinges if he didn’t answer. But he wasn’t angry when he let you inside. Only bemused. And even now that you’ve done it, now that you’ve somehow managed to get out the words that have been churning in your mind for months…his demeanor has barely shifted at all. Although of course, it could be an act. It’s still hard for you to tell.

“Is that truly what you desire, my dear?” Alastor’s smile, which you expected to fade somewhat, or at least twitch at the corners in a telltale sign of annoyance, is just as broad as it’s ever been. He towers over you, his hands folded behind his back. “Think carefully, now. It’s already rare for me to allow someone to escape - unheard of, in fact. But taking someone back would be even less likely, so if there’s any chance at all ”-

“I’m sure.” You set your jaw, and refuse to look down, even as the glow in his eyes becomes almost too bright to bear. Even as something stirs in the swamp behind him, threatening to draw your gaze away. “I want my soul. I’ll give you anything to have it back. I’ll”-

“No need to elaborate, darling.” He sounds calm, and just as surprising, he doesn’t sound like he’s lying. “I assure you, I have no interest in any offer you might have had planned. If you want your soul, you can have it.”

You freeze, your mouth still ajar. It takes you a moment before you can speak again. “Really?”

“Really.” His head tilts slowly as you continue to process his words. “Does that surprise you?”

“Yes.” You’re deeply confused, in fact. You were expecting to have to haggle, if not to beg. You were certainly expecting him to be upset. It shouldn’t - it can’t - be this easy.

“I give you my word. If you wish to leave, I’ll let you.” He pauses. “However. ”

This is a trick. It has to be. Your eyes dart around the room, as if a map to his true intentions might be lying somewhere nearby.

“It would be irresponsible of me not to help you consider your options. I don’t want you to do anything you might regret. So…tell me.” He sighs, and simply stares for a moment before brushing the tips of two fingers up the line of your jaw, from your ear to just below your mouth. “ If you were to go…” He taps the pads of his fingers gently against your cheek, and lets his hand fall to his side. “What, exactly, would you have to gain from such a thing?”

You blink, still reeling from his feather-light touch. This is not a question you expected to answer, and you stay quiet for a moment too long.

He leans over you, and lowers his face to your ear, as if he’s about to tell you a secret. “I’ll tell you what I think. I don’t think you’ll like it very much…but then again, people never enjoy hearing the truth.” There’s a buzz of static, he disappears and reappears behind you, and you’re left too disoriented to respond. “I think you’d be quite miserable, if you went through with this impulsive little idea of yours.”

It wasn’t impulsive. Saying it out loud was, without a doubt. But the idea itself has been there for a very long time.

“Would you like to know why I think that?”

“No.” You’re not sure, really, whether you’re responding to his words, or to the hand that has landed on your waist. “You’re wrong.” His grip tightens, tugging slightly on the fabric of your shirt, but there it is again - that odd, detached state of mind that you fall into when you need to do something, and quickly, before you think about it and lose your resolve. “I’ll be miserable if I stay. I’ve already been miserable for a long fucking time.” You uncurl the fist you didn’t realize you had clenched, bring your hand to his wrist, and tug it sharply away from your waist. You barely even register your surprise when he lets this happen.

He reappears in front of you, and waits silently for you to continue.

“I didn’t think it would be like this.” Your eyes wander to the desk against the wall, to the ledger that you know contains the list of souls under his command. He’s allowed you to witness what happens to the souls - to the people - that displease him, and on more than one occasion, he’s enlisted your help in cleaning up the mess. You always got the impression that he didn’t particularly need your assistance. That it was more about the fun of watching you squirm. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

“How interesting.” He leans forward, eyes gleaming. “I must be a better judge of character than you, then. Because you have never once surprised me.” Without warning, he takes your hand, tugs you close enough to put his other hand on the small of your back, and half-drags you to his desk chair, which he kicks around and deposits you into.

You glare up at him, hands braced tightly against the armrests, but he only pulls his hands behind his back, and sighs.

“Well, my dear. I would have merely asked you to sit down - as one should do for someone who’s about to receive unfortunate news - but it seems that you’re in a rather oppositional mood. So.” He gestures in your direction, and something slithers over your waist, binding you to the back of his chair.

Before this all began, you would have struggled. Now, you barely glance down. “Fuck you.”

“Shall I bind your tongue as well, darling?” A dark coil, made of the same unnaturally smooth, unfathomably black material as the first, curls up from behind you and begins to inch its way up your neck. “Or perhaps do away with it altogether?”

You press your lips together, and shake your head.

“Hmm…if you’re sure.” The second coil retreats back into the shadows, and Alastor looks down at you with an expression far too appreciative for your comfort. “I do love a captive audience,” he muses. “But what I said before does still stand. If, at the end of this little talk, you still wish to leave, I’ll happily release you.” He gestures broadly with an open palm, as if presenting you with some fabulous gift, then quickly flips his hand and points at you, his finger perfectly still in midair. “But first things first. I asked you a question some time ago, and you would do well to answer it.” He stands perfectly straight, and once again interlocks his hands behind his back. “Take some time to gather your thoughts, if you must. I’m not going anywhere.”

You bite hard into the inside of your lip, and swallow your bloody saliva down with all the things you’d like to scream at him. Instead, you avert your eyes, and quietly repeat the question you’d been unable to answer the first time around. “What do I have to gain?”

“That is what I asked, my dear.” The tendril around your waist tightens slightly, as if to force an answer out of you.

“What do I have to lose? ” You keep your eyes fixed on the floor, and force the deepest breath you can manage in and out of your lungs. The air feels heavy and humid, and smells of long-rotten vegetation - or perhaps a half-destroyed carcass, decaying somewhere in the bayou. “When I did what I did…when I gave you my soul…I didn’t think it would be like this. I thought that if I did it, I’d feel safe enough, or - I don’t know - good enough, to make a life here. But I don’t have one outside of you.” You suck in a sharp breath, all too aware of how stilted your sentences are becoming as they pass over the growing lump in your throat. “I live here because of you. And I barely leave because of you. I don’t spend time with anyone else, because I never know when you’re going to show up, and I don’t want to make friends and then watch them get roped into whatever shit you make me do next - and I can’t sleep, because - because you’ve woken me up before, and when you do that”-

You trail off completely as you remember the last time he did this to you, the images in your head far too clear for something that happened in the dark, when you were only half awake: Hand over your face in your dream, falling to touch your shoulder with just enough force to wake you and send you bolting upright. Rise and shine, darling. Smile somehow more vivid than the red eyes glowing above it, spreading wide with a manic delight that you knew was real, too real, and far too close. I’m going to pay someone a visit. They’re not aware of it yet, but I’m afraid it just couldn’t wait. Shadow, on the wall, one that shouldn’t have existed in such a dark room, blacker than you thought anything could ever be. It’s going to be a night to remember, my dear. I wouldn’t have you miss it for the world.

You don’t want to picture what happened next. In your mind, you skip to when it was all over. When he took your hand, still shaking from the things you’d been forced to witness, and held it tight as he scratched that poor soul’s name out of his ledger. When he set down his pen, which was still dripping a dark red liquid that barely resembled ink at all, and began to turn the pages - you knew what he was looking for long before he found your name, written in impeccable cursive, glowing slightly as he guided you to touch it. I think it looks quite lovely in my hand. Whether he was talking about his handwriting, or about your face, which he’d reached up to touch in that moment, you do not wish to know. Don’t you agree?

Now, you shake your head, as if amending the answer you’d given him that night. You don’t like how you’ve conditioned yourself to say the things he wants to hear. To believe them when you say them. “I knew I’d have to do some things for you. But…” You swallow hard, because you can’t imagine he’ll have any sympathy for you if you cry, and you don’t want to find out. “I didn’t think it would be like this. I didn’t think that it would become my entire purpose.”

“Hmm.” His sigh is light and airy, with none of the weight that your words carried. When he does speak, the condescension is unmistakable. “Tell me, then.” He crouches down in front of you, leans forward, and rests his forearms on your thighs; his elbow digs hard into your leg as he raises his hand and props his face up on his fist. His grin still doesn’t waver, and his eyes appear wider from this angle, shining with something that is, perhaps, meant to resemble sympathy. “If you chose to leave…what would your purpose be then?” He tilts his head, until it’s his cheek resting against his fist, and waits.

And you are silent. Because somehow, in all your fantasies of escaping, you never managed to get to that part. The part where you lived your life, with no one to guide you but yourself.

You don’t know what you would do. But surely, surely, it would be better than this.

He lowers his voice, and finally, you see his smile recede slightly. It becomes softer, and the glow in his eyes fades somewhat, and it’s all so unexpected that you don’t even question whether it’s real. “I know a lost soul when I see one, darling.” With his other hand, he lazily traces a path up and down your thigh. It would be almost soothing, you think, if it wasn’t him. “There’s a reason I wanted you. And a reason I keep you so close.” He sighs, and you can smell his breath, the hint of whiskey that doesn’t come close to masking the familiar rancid scent beneath. But there’s something sweet there, too. That’s new. “I think,” he murmurs, “that you have more to lose now than you ever did before.”

You try to tell yourself that you don’t want him to keep talking. That you want him to disappear now, and for good. But memories of your old life - your old after life, before he took over - are beginning to press their way forward. They make your stomach churn in a different way than any of his cruelty.

“There’s also a reason - the same reason, in a way - that you were so easy to win over.” He opens his hand, and lets his cheek rest against his palm. There’s nothing dangerous about the way he’s looking at you now, or at least, nothing outwardly menacing, and you find yourself thinking about the night he approached you. Before anything about him seemed dangerous at all. When his appearance in your life seemed like a glorious stroke of luck.

“It was only easy because I didn’t know anything.” You’re disoriented, looking down at him, and it takes away whatever resolve you had left; your voice comes out quiet and hollow. “I hadn’t been here long. Everything about this place scared me. And I was alone…” You weren’t with anyone that night, but that’s not what you mean. Your chest seems to tighten as you remember those early days. The paranoia that haunted your every step, convincing you that something awful was about to step out of the shadows at any moment. The panic of not knowing how you fit into the world around you, and being sure that you would never truly know. The pure hopelessness of being consigned, for eternity, to the one place where no one in the world has ever wanted to go, and knowing that you could blame no one but yourself.

Alastor raises his head, slowly, and lets his hand drop gently against your thigh. “Well, my dear.” His palm touches first, and his fingers fall lightly, their touch barely perceptible at all until he presses them down in an almost-reassuring squeeze. “You’re not alone anymore, are you?”

“No." You barely even remembered how it felt, until this moment. To be lost. To have nothing, not even the nightmares of the present, to justify your existence. You didn’t think about it.

You didn’t let yourself think about it. Because thinking about it would mean -

“That’s right. You’ll never be alone again, if you don’t wish to be.”

It’s fake, this comfort. Always has been. But you can’t ignore it, now - the way you want to believe it. If it wasn’t from him, you’d have nothing to comfort you at all. You find your mind wandering to your name in his hand, glowing in his book, and wonder if anyone else will ever think of you enough to write it down.

“As for fear… ” His voice is so soft, now, that you feel the need to quiet your breathing. To inhale slowly, between words, and exhale carefully, lest he pause at a hitch in your breath. “What do you fear most, at this moment?”

Again, you are silent. This time, it’s not because you don’t have an answer. It’s because the one you have seems far too dangerous to say out loud.

If you leave, and things are exactly how they were before…or worse…

“Uncertainty is a terrible thing, isn’t it?” He pauses, and glances to the side for a moment before speaking, his gaze snapping back into place so quickly that you barely catch its shift. “I’ll gladly admit to planting the thought in your head. My having done so doesn’t make the idea any less real.”

The tendril binding you to your chair disappears. It takes you a moment to notice the absence of pressure on your abdomen. Even then, you do not move. You keep yourself in place, sitting perfectly straight, because you don’t know what will happen if you don’t.

You stay exactly where you are, even as he rises to his feet and turns to the side, leaving you a clear path to the door. You watch, motionless, as an arm made of shadow extends along the wall and wraps its long, distorted fingers over the doorknob.

“Walk away from me now, if you wish. You have my word that your soul will depart along with the rest of you.” The door creaks open, in time with the parting of his teeth, and the appearance of his staff in his hand. Its head pulses with a faint green light. You stare into it, and wonder if it’s your soul that you see flickering in its midst.

“And if I don’t?” Out of the corner of your eye, you see the gap between the door and its frame narrow slightly. And again, slightly more.

“To be entirely honest… I can’t imagine that I’ll ever feel inclined to give you another chance.” The light on his staff grows larger and brighter, and shifts towards you, as if daring you to pull it out. “On the other hand…” He leans forward, and tilts his head, his spine contorting with the sideways motion until his mouth is directly beside your ear. “If you do leave, that door will close behind you. And it will never open for you again.”

The green light ebbs, just a bit, and you think about the first time you saw it. That night was cold, and damp, the kind of weather that eats away at you slowly, sinking its way under your clothes and skin bit by bit, until you can’t even remember a time when you were warm. The kind of weather that seems to suck the color out from around you, leaving you stranded in a world of gray and black and muddy, desolate brown. The place inside you where you imagine your soul once resided felt heavy, just as waterlogged as every other bit of you.

And it seemed to lighten the moment you shook his hand. The moment you traded…

It was more than your soul, you think. It was the things you feared. The things you despised in the world, and yourself. They’re all gone, now, because now, there is only one face that makes you feel these things. It’s better like this, you think.

It’s soon to be out of your hands, either way.

The door eases shut, and you close your eyes, because you do not want to see the green light fade. It’s better not to see. Better to pretend that it was never there at all.

“Well done, my dear.” The filter has dropped from his voice. It was there, distorting his every word, until now. But why say anything about that? You keep your eyes closed, and sit still as he traces the back of his hand down the side of your face. Thinking about flinching away, but doing nothing at all.

“Stay for as long as you’d like.” He sounds different, still. Not sincere, perhaps, but closer to it than he was before. “You’ve gone through quite a lot tonight. I expect it will take you some time to feel like yourself again.” He takes a step back, but remains close, and you don’t have to look to know how intently he’s watching.

There is not much left to watch. You slide your hands down from the armrest, and clasp them together, eyes still shut tight. Head down. If you stayed in this room until you felt like yourself, you think, you’d never leave.

Then again - if you wanted to feel like yourself, you would already have left.

#alastor x reader #yandere alastor x reader #tw manipulation #tw power imbalance

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fayeofthenightingale · 3 days

Text

I've decided to contribute to the Miguel nation even though I was almost a year late

I present to you…. Brother's best friend! Miguel! A drabble…. (Might turn this into a full fic idk)

Cw: Brother's best friend trope, grammatical errors, fem reader, possibly OOC Miguel, this is more like a flashback really since it's focus is more on Miggy and reader's childhood, this is kinda long wth 😭

Bbf! Miguel who has been friends with your brother since middle school, would often play in your brother's room when they were younger. As typical boys do, they'd play video games. He doesn't mind when you want to join them. He finds it endearing whenever you try to put your stuffed animals on the Legos they built, claiming they're people or something like that.

Bbf! Miguel who defends little you whenever some mean kids try to bully you, is taller than the average kid, making him intimidating. When this happens, he stands behind the bullies, towering over them with a menacing glare and arms folded. All he has to do is say something like "scram" or "leave," and the kids your age run away. Then, when you're feeling sad or upset, he treats you to ice cream to cheer you up.

Bbf! Miguel who helps you pull pranks on your brother, sometimes he’d be surprised you were able to pull off a bit extreme pranks but he’d be happy to do it for shits and giggles.

Bbf! Miguel who helps patch up your wounds whenever you have a little accident in the midst of pulling a prank on your brother all while speaking to you in the gentlest of ways to calm you down. "can you get up? no? All alright I'll carry you then” Your eleven-year-old mind panics when he easily carries you.

Bbf! Miguel who defends you against your older brother, Leo, gets into an argument whenever he can, Leo’s older, and can handle himself, while you are 4 almost 5 years younger than them and therefore helps you whenever he can, it’s just not fair sometimes.

He stood by the side of Leo’s room, witnessing the fight between you and your brother, 13-year-old Leo yelling at you for breaking his model aeroplane. “I Told you not to come in here without my permission!” Leo huffed, “I’m sorry! I-I just want to look at it” You defended yourself but Leo wasn’t having it,” Well now look at it! It’s broken!” little you are almost on the brink of tears, that’s when he stepped in. “come on now, the wing is the only one that’s broken, I’m sure we can fix it,” he said, trying to cool down the argument, Your brother stormed out of his room to cool off leaving you with Miguel “Are you okay Chiquita?” he asked and you shook your head a small sniffle escaped you as you try to justify yourself “I didn’t mean it” little you murmured as you look up at him with teary eyes, he sighed as he took the broken plane and its wing “hey, it’s okay yeah? Leo just needs to cool off, with the help of a super glue I’m sure we can fix this” he reassured you with a little ruffle on your head and grabbed the super glue to fix the broken model plane with his best friend’s little sister.

Bbf! Miguel got his heart broken for the first time because the girl he’s been crushing didn’t like him back because he was “too nerdy” for her liking, Leo brought it up during dinner when your mom asked how your day went and you were saddened for him, who wouldn’t like Miguel? He’s kind, understanding, and funny, he may be too intimidating because of his more-than-average height but that’s his outside appearance! He’s really sweet on the inside… wait…. Why are you thinking like that about him? Nevermind that.

Bbf! Miguel showed up the next day at your house since he and Leo needed to finish a project that’s due tomorrow, eyes puffy and a bit dishevelled from crying, you felt bad despite your brother calling him out that he looks like shit. Miguel didn’t deserve this, so you, the ever loving little sister of his best friend decided to go buy something for him.

Bbf! Miguel who walked out of your house to head home since the project they’ve been working on is finished, “Miguel!” you called out to him with a small paper bag in hand, you catch up to him panting heavily, have you been running? You held out the small paper “Umm.... I’m sorry about what happened yesterday… Leo told me… I mean he told mom when she asked how our day went” you rumbled, you were too busy making sure the treat in your hand stayed warm that you haven’t thought about what to say to him! “… anyways theseareforyouIhopeyoufeelbetter'' you said rather too quickly and before he could say anything you ran away and inside your house too flustered to face him, he took a peek inside the bag and a small smile was painted on his lips, warm empanadas from his favourite store, oh how sweet of you…

Bbf! Miguel who's taken the rejection to heart, maybe much of a nerd after all and that needed to change, so day by day he changed himself, no longer wearing those thick-framed glasses instead he opted for contact lenses, the baggy shirt that has corny science jokes were now nowhere to be seen and he's even doing a little workout to build his tall lanky body, of course, this was never unnoticed to you, who wouldn't notice your brother's best friend slowly gaining muscle and lean body type? You're happy for him of course but a part of you hoped that he did it because he wanted to and not because he's pressured by society's views of him, you like the nerd him? he's cute!

Bbf! Miguel who's never seen you so down in the dumps before, usually your beams and silliness can rival the sun itself but now you're gloomier than the night sky. He asked your brother about it and he didn't expect the reason for your sudden gloominess.

“Ah, she's just upset because no one gave her a Valentine's gift” your brother nonchalantly said as he played on his computer, his series of curses from losing the game was blurred out and in his peripheral vision, he only saw you, without saying any word he left your brother's room and approached you. You can hear the low vibrato of his voice as he approaches you “Hey” he greeted and sat down beside you “You okay?” he asked with his usual gentleness and you looked at him “I don't know… do I look okay?” you mumbled sassily which took him aback but sighed “I… I don't even know why I'm upset, it's just a silly day, it's not even a holiday! it's just a stupid day to have an excuse to ask your crush out or chow down chocolates” you mumbled bitterly, really it's a childish thing to be upset about something small like this, but Miguel didn't think so, no, he’s been there and he knows how it feels, Miguel didn't say anything but pats your head gently, his way to console you.

Bbf! Miguel who had surprised you on a random Friday afternoon with a box of your favourite chocolate and a pink coloured rose “Here” he said as he handed you the gifts, your eyes widened in surprise but took them “What's with this?” you asked but he shrugged in response “For you” he didn't show but it was amusing to him (and kinda cute) to see the sparkle in your eyes shine although it was short-lived “you didn't have to do this you know?” you mumbled, as much as you appreciated his effort you didn't want him to do that out of pity, again your brother's best friend shrugged “It’s not out of pity, it's for you, pink roses for appreciation" and that got you thinking “appreciation? for what? what did I do?” you asked him genuinely curious as to why “just existing, we've known each other for years-” “but I'm not your best friend” you cut him off “who said you have to be my best friend for me to show you my appreciation?” he asked you and in turn you weren't able to say anything, too surprised to utter a single word. He called your name softly, “I appreciate you, not because you're Leo's sister, but my friend, one of the closest, as embarrassing as it sounds but I cannot deny the truth, you have a certain charm I'm drawn to, you make me smile easily, you understand me, and don't tell Leo about this but at least with you I'm slightly more comfortable” he said with a small smile.

Before you could say anything Leo called out Miguel's name and he left right after, a hand on your chest to ease the beating of your heart and butterflies on your stomach. And in that moment, you realized you had fallen for your brother's best friend.

----

Omg why is posting stuff online so anxiety inducing?! Anyways Likes and reblogs are highly appreciated! If you have feed backs I'm more than eager to hear them (just be kind please) 🩷

#Faye's fairytales 🪷#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x you #spiderman 2099 x reader

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janeyseymour · 2 days

Text

La Cosa Nostra- pt 15

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9. Part 10. Part 11. Part 12. Part 13. Part 14.

cowritten with @schemmentis - we're gonna try to revive this story, and y'all better buckle up because it's gonna get so good

WC: 3.1k

You manage to get the girls up and fed before Melissa stirs on the couch. It must be a groggy Schemmenti morning considering the girls haven’t swarmed her and woken her up themselves nor asked you why Mommy was sleeping on the couch all weekend. You gently shake at your wife’s shoulder once the girls have their shoes on, remembering how upset she’d been when you’d taken them to school without waking her. Plus, you don’t exactly feel generous and worried about making sure she gets enough rest after your fight.

You roll your eyes at her groggy ‘what’ when she cracks her eyes open. “Your daughters want to say good morning and goodbye, is what.” You mutter, stepping aside and wave the twins the okay to hurry to Melissa.

You step back towards the front door as Melissa kisses them each multiple times. Tuning out the goodbyes and I love yous. You’d thought after not speaking aside from the essentials over the weeknd you might feel less upset; you don’t. It’s the same as before you went to sleep the night you fought. Mel’s decision over you, her standing by it, and worst of all her hitting you in all the worst places. You can’t let any of it go, not first, anyway.

You force a deep breath when you feel your little girls running back to your side, opening the front door. “Let’s go, littles, before you’re late.” You mutter as you usher them out.

“You didn’t kiss Mommy again,” Rosie states once you get into the car.

“We were running late,” is all your response is.

Once you’ve seen them off to their class safely, you leave the girls’ school. Your eyes roll when you hear your cell phone ring for the third time in the short trip to drop them off. You know without looking it’s Tony just like it was the last two times, no doubt to ask again for the ledger which you still have no intention of giving him directly. You don’t trust Tony as far as you could throw him. Still, you know you’d better have it in hand soon for when he produces whoever he answers to. It wouldn’t be good for that to happen and you to not have it.

You sigh as you slip back into the car. Which means you probably have to break your silent streak with your wife and ask her to talk to Barbara to get it back. You really don’t want to do that though. Your pride and your stubbornness wants you to hold out for Melissa to at least admit she was being an asshole the other night. Even if she won’t admit she was wrong about the rest of it.

You don’t have Barbara’s number but you do know where she’ll eventually turn up. You pull the car from the school lot, driving to the church. If Mel intends to be in early at the restaurant today; you don’t feel that bad about making her walk this time.

You slip in just after the morning service. Thankfully, you still spy Barbara’s head in the usual back pew. You genuflect at the side, crossing your chest before slipping into the seat next to the older woman- the one your wife would usually claim.

“Good morning, Y/N.” Barbara greets you quietly once her head raises from her prayer. “Another bit of prayer needed, hm?”

“A little bit.” You hedge. You’re not fully lying; you do think it might bring some relief after your fight with Melissa. Which, now that you’re sat next to her, you realize you may have overlooked your wife telling Barb all about. “I was also hoping to see you.” You add.

“Oh? Well, that’s sweet of you. You know I’m always glad to see you or Melissa and your girls in the Lord’s house.”

You flash a smile, one you’ve flashed the Feds and other Family members alike to be as charming as you can. “You know our whole family is always happy to see you. Especially the girls.”

“Oh, I can’t wait for next weekend. They were positively a joy at Sunday breakfast, yesterday. Though you and Melissa were rather quiet.”

“It was…a long week, last week.” You admit. “Mel and I haven’t exactly been seeing eye to eye lately.” You hadn’t meant to share that last part but you lean into letting it off your chest in some way, at least.

“I’m sure you two will sort it out. You always do.”

“I hope so.” You answer truthfully. You might still be angry, and definitely hurt, but you still love Melissa with all of you. You hope the fact she’s been dealing with being relegated to the couch for a few days is a sign she still feels the same, too. Since she hasn’t disappeared to her Ma’s or even Kristen Marie’s.

“Are things okay between the two of you? Would you like to chat about it, perhaps over brunch?” Barbara offers.

You take her up on that offer, and you find yourself bringing her back to your house- just in case the Feds are still watching you. You mill about the kitchen as you prepare a few things before settling at the table with her.

“So,” Barbara hums. “What’s got you turning up at church more often than usual lately- both you and your wife?”

“Could use a bit more prayer these days,” you sigh softly as you take a bite full of your breakfast.

“You didn’t pray today though,” the woman points out. You just shrug at that. “So what made you really come to the church?”

You throw around the options in your head. You could break your silent streak and speak with Melissa, or you could ask the woman herself for the ledger.

Deciding to bite the bullet, you say softly, “I was hoping I would run into you. I need the book that I know Melissa gave you.”

Barbara blinks once, twice. “What book, dear?”

“Barb, I know Mel gave you the book for my salon.”

The woman’s face flickers through quite a few emotions before settling on a neutral face once again. “Oh. I still don’t know what you’re speaking of? What your wife gave me was not a book.”

“Babs, I need the goddamn book,” you sigh.

“Do not take the lord’s name in vein,” Barbara tells you sternly.

“Barbara, I need the damned book. My life is on the line here,” you plead. You don’t mean for that last sentence to slip out, and you have to do everything you can to hide it on your face; the severity of the situation. For all she knows, you’re exaggerating and just using it as a hyperbole.

“And why would that be?” Barbara raises a brow. “It’s just the simple finances for the salon.”

“It is,” You hastily agree with her comment. “But I…” You take a breath, forcing out the familiar lie you gave Valentina when she first noticed Melissa’s extra stress, just modified a bit. “I’m trying to work out selling the salon so I need the book with all the finances in it to go through with a potential buyer.”

“Selling it?” Barbara repeats, a hand pressing to her chest. “Why on earth would you sell? You’ve worked hard for that place, Y/N!”

“I know but it hasn’t been profitable since…well, since I don’t even know when, Barb. I thought I could juggle it and put it back in proper working condition but the clients just aren’t coming in like they used to.”

Barbara suddenly drops the hand at her chest held in shock. “Y/N, surely you know I’m no fool.”

You blink. “Of course you’re not, Barbara. Why would I think you were—”

“The book I have is not for your salon.”

“Yes, it is.” You say, brow furrowing in confusion. Because it is for the salon, both books, and you don’t know what else Barb could think it belongs to.

The older woman sends you a long suffering look, the silence between you drawing out for a moment. “Not for the legal business of your salon though, is it?”

Your face drops. Like, actually drops- jaw open and everything. “What?”

“I’m well aware of what I possess,” the woman tells you in a monotone.

“Shit.”

“What on Earth are the two of you thinking; getting mixed up in all of this- and with your two girls!” Barbara admonishes you sharply, and you feel like you’re being reprimanded by a principal.

You search for words, but none come.

“You two are so lucky I haven’t turned it in, and I nearly did!”

“Y-you didn’t?” you whisper out.

“Of course I didn’t, and the only reason I didn’t is because of Cat and Rosie!” Barb states. “Otherwise, I would have!”

“I- thank you,” you say softly.

“The two of you better get yourselves out of this mess, before it destroys your lives,” the woman tells you lowly.

“The only way out of this mess is prison… or death,” you inform her. “And at this point, if either of us goes to prison, or something happens to Mel, I genuinely fear I won’t survive. When it comes down to everything, Melissa is the matriarchal figure in the family.”

“Neither of those things can happen,” Barbara tells you. “And that is not true- the both of you have the most equal partnership I think I’ve ever seen.”

“Listen, I really do need the ledger back,” you try again.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Barbara.”

“Your wife entrusted me with it, and while I do not agree with what I hold onto in the slightest, I am not breaking my promise to Melissa.”

“I’m sure she told you not to open the book though, right?” you press. At her nod, you continue. “You broke that promise. So, give. me. the. book.”

“I have to go,” Barbara states. “Thank you for a lovely breakfast.” She makes to head out, and you follow her.

“Barbara!”

She climbs into her car, and speeds off.

You’re left standing on the porch of your townhouse, staring after Barbara’s car even after it’s definitely peeled its way out of your neighborhood. You honestly didn’t know she could drive that fast. Melissa loves to call her a grandma whenever she drives the lot of you anywhere. Barbara would throw back that it was only being safe and God forbid she get into a wreck because your wife wouldn’t stop back-seat driving.

“Fuck.” You curse, briefly covering your face. “Fuck!” You repeat as you pull your hands away. You lean back into the doorway just enough to grab your keys from the hook by the door. You slam your front door shut, not even bothering to take the time to lock it. You won’t catch Barb at this rate, but you’re fairly certain you can catch your wife.

You’re certain, at least relatively so, Barb won’t turn you both in. Not if she hasn’t already. But it sure sounded like she was just waiting for Melissa to ask for the book to confront her herself first. You just happened to ask before your wife. You know though Barb isn’t likely to be going to Twelve Tables to have that confrontation with Melissa. So, instead, you are.

You speed your way there, not really worried about the reds or stop lights or any possibility of getting pulled over. A ticket was nothing compared to what all hung in the balance now. You make your way into the restaurant as fast as your feet will carry you.

“Hey, Y/N, how’s—”

“Not now Val,” You interrupt your wife’s right hand. “Where’s Mel?”

“She’s in the back, but—”

You wave a hand at her, muttering a half hearted ‘thank you’ as you hurry through the kitchen toward the back office. You don’t even stop to worry about knocking at the closed office door. You’re throwing it open with practically all your weight behind it in your haste that has you stumbling into the room.

“Mel, we need to—”

“What the fuck?” Melissa grouses at the slamming open of the office door. Her mood doesn’t exactly improve when she looks up to see you, a glare from green eyes sent your way. “I’m in the middle of a meeting.” She says, the end of it coming through her clenched teeth with a nod to the man standing at the desk in the office with her.

“I really need to talk to you. Right now.” You rush out.

“Ya don’t talk to me all weekend, and now ya want to? Now? I told ya, I’m in a meeting. Get out.”

“Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti!” You nearly yell, stepping into the office and gripping her wrist and fighting to physically pull your wife from the office.

“God…damn it. Fine!” Melissa huffs, agreeing to go once she realizes you aren’t going to let her actually work until she does. “‘Scuse me a minute.” She says to the man before following you out of the office and shutting the door after her. “What the fuck is so damn important you have to try and literally pull me from work? One of the girls’ better be hurt or the world better be endin’, so help me God, or it’s gonna be you on the couch now, Y/N!”

“Our world might be ending,” you sigh quietly, eyes down. Then your eyes meet her own. “Barbara knows.”

The redhead has the same face that you wore when Barbara revealed that she knows what she possesses. “What?”

“Do you see why it’s so important now?” you ask her.

“Fuck. Fucking shit.” She runs a hand through her hair. “We’re fucked. We’re going down, and we’re taking all of-“

“She said she hasn’t turned us in because of the girls,” you whisper. “But we have to figure out what to do before something terrible happens to either us, or Barb and Gerald. They cannot get involved.”

“Fuck!” Melissa shouts.

“I know,” you sigh. “I know. I- I don’t know what to do.”

“How do you know she knows?” your wife implores.

“I was at the church earlier,” you tell her. And you recount the earlier events before, “and then she told me that the binder wasn’t for the legal side of the salon. She knows.”

“God dammit,” Melissa whispers. She runs a hand over her face. “Fuck. Okay, uhm… let me handle this meeting, and then I’ll meet you at home so we can figure out what to do.”

“I’ll be sitting in the back waiting for you,” you tell her. “And don’t forget that we do have to pick up the girls today.”

“I know,” she says. “I know. Okay. We’re gonna- we’re gonna be fine, and I- fuck.” You watch as red curls whip around and head back into the office.

With a sigh, you head for the back exit again. Valentina looks at you curiously, but you don’t acknowledge it. You just continue on your way. You pull your car closer to the back door, idling as you wait for your wife. She’s quickly slipping into the passenger seat in less than five minutes.

As you pull out of the lot of Twelve Tables and head towards your home once more, Melissa runs her hand through her hair as she glances at the clock. “Okay, we still have a few hours before we have to get the girls, so we can figure this out.”

“Figure this out?” You echo, glancing at Melissa. “Babe, we have what, four hours? We’re gonna figure this all out and fix everything in four hours?

“It’s just Babs.” She says, trying to convince the both of you. It’s clear she knows how much power her church friend holds at this moment, and it terrifies her. She takes a deep breath, rolling the passenger window down enough for wind from the drive to whip her red locks out of her face. “She didn’t turn us in because of the girls…we can, we can buy time.”

“How? How are we gonna buy any time?” you implore. “We got the Feds still digging into shit; who knows what part of the Family they’re eyeing right now? But it doesn’t matter. Any part of it goes, you know the rest is screwed.”

“That’s only if somebody flips. Nobody would flip.”

You take the risk of holding your eyes off the road a little longer than you should to give your wife a look. You both could likely think of ten people each from your respective sides that could, under the right circumstances, absolutely flip.”

“Fuck, I know!” She says, waving your glare away from her as she looks out the passenger side window. “Look, they ain’t got anywhere yet, huh? That means we still got time. We just need to make sure Barb really ain’t gonna do nothin’.”

“She wouldn’t talk to me past tellin’ me she promised you to only give it back to you and then that she knew.”

“Oh, sure, she can stick to that part of the damn promise.” Melissa grumbles as she gets out nearly before you can put the car in park in the driveway. She turns back just as you catch up to her on the front porch. “Ya didn’t even lock the door! Aduzipach!”

“We do not have time for another argument!” You toss back as you reach the top step, gently ushering her inside with you as you pull the door shut again. This time you do lock it behind you. “We have to be on the same page, okay? We really have to be or we’re definitely screwed. I’m still pissed, and hurt but whatever. It doesn’t matter right now. Right now what matters is you, and me, and the girls. That’s all that matters, which means we have to figure a way out of this bullshit.”

“Amore, you know there’s only two ways out of the life. Neither one lets us be there for the girls- at all.”

“And both I’d preferably like to avoid entirely.” You add, sighing as you slump into your couch. “So..w we have to literally do the impossible.”

“I don’t know how we’re going to do that,” Melissa groans as she leans into your figure.

Barbara Howard speeds off, and she doesn’t necessarily know where she’s going. But after a bit, she figures that you aren’t following her, and she stops at a local diner to pick up takeout for a lunch date with her husband, the senator.

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