moose

Early 20s, she/they, sideblog to reblog all the fics that I read + occasionally post dark fics. MINORS DNI MUST HAVE AGE IN BIO TO INTERACT. pls don’t follow me

[oceantornadoo]

dubcon, objectification, forced (?) threesome, f!reader

they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.

ghost finds you ten months after your divorce, nursing a drink in a shithole of a pub. he doesn’t consider himself a good man, licking the tears on your cheeks when he fucks you for the first time, ignoring your whines of how “it’s been a while” and you’re “too tight.” he doesn’t like to keep birds around longer than a night, but something about how you wrap your leg around him in the morning makes him stay a little longer.

he lets you call him simon after you whine that you “can’t fuck him without knowing his name.” it takes a bit, but you get used to sleeping with someone who isn’t your ex-husband. he calls you bird instead of sweetheart, love instead of darling and after a while, the word honey loses its significance. when simon tells you he’s military, you try to leave his bed, only for him to pull you by the thigh, apologizing with his tongue in your cunt. simon doesn’t date and you aren’t ready for it, content to stay in your respective apartments, living for his occasional half-smiles and usual gruff admonishments. its a bit new to simon - he’s used his camera app more in the past weeks than he has in years. always pictures of you: his cum on your tits, the bruises he leaves on your hips, a rare photo of you sleeping. he even lets you corral him into taking a cheesy mirror picture, his arms dwarfing your waist with his face tucked into your neck, your jawline exposed as you turn to kiss his cheek.

it’s two months later when you promise to cook him a meal for the first time, a sunday roast he hasn’t tasted in years. “better not take too long, bird, ‘m starvin’.” simon murmurs in your ear, hands squeezing your stomach and waist as you fumble with your keys. “i’ve had it slow cooking before i left for yours last night. it’ll put us in a food coma.” you finally put the key in the lock, turning it with force before simon decides to fuck you against the door. he dips to bite your neck, sending you into your apartment giggling, swatting him off you. the weight of your divorce is finally off your shoulders, happy butterflies fluttering in your stomach formed by simon’s continuous presence.

the butterflies die when you see a familiar pair of boots at your door.

“stay here.” you order simon, a change from your usual dynamic. you can’t focus on his reaction, set on edge by the sounds of pots clanging in your kitchen. there’s no point in creeping - he knows you’re here. you turn the corner and there he is - your ex husband. “you’re just in time, sweetheart. nice ‘f you to make a roast.”

john’s standing there like he owns the place, like he knows this kitchen he’s never been in. he’s boiling potatoes on the stove, keeping an eye on the slow cooker timer. he’s even poured himself a fucking drink, a scotch he had to have brought since all you have is wine and simon’s whiskey. all smug and entitled in his civvies, commanding the room like he pays your rent. he's still as handsome as ever, darker eye bags the only indication he's been losing sleep.

“what the fuck are you doing here, john?” john doesn’t answer immediately, instead using a fork to test the potatoes. satisfied, he takes them off the burner and turns to the sink, dumping them out in a prepared strainer. “‘s our anniversary, sweetheart. thought that’s why you made the food.” you can sense simon still in the doorway, his presence unknown to your ex. it gives you strength, a guard dog at your back, and comfort that he’s letting you run this on your own. “our anniversary ended when we signed the papers. i don’t know how you got in here, but you need to leave.” he frowns at you and it almost tugs at your heart strings. your brain conjures images of his coldness and constant distance, and you shut that down real fast. unfortunately, he doesn’t get the memo. john takes a step closer, hands up like he’s approaching a wild animal. “honey, i-“ and that’s when ghost steps out of the darkness.

there’s a long pause. it boosts your ego a bit, showing john you’ve moved on, until the silence is so long that you start to worry. you chance a look at simon’s face and find it confused, not at all the guard dog you thought he was. a glance at john’s reveals the same. you’re about to ask your question when they answer it for you. “captain.” “lieutenant.” “what?”

the transformation happens in an instant. both men straighten to their full heights, wiping any emotion off their faces. their brows furrow as they flex their hands to control their instincts. how could you not see it before? simon only mentioned he was military, but the stamp of the SAS is clear as day. it was in the harsh lines he carried, a companionship with death, not unlike the one john had.

john started first, of course, always having to take control of the situation. “you fuckin’ my lieutenant, sweetheart? miss me that much?” you rolled your eyes at his cruel words, inching closer to simon. “whatever we do doesn’t concern you.” you emphasized the “you”, spitting it out with venom. john hums low, making you nervous. you turn to simon, but he's quiet and calculating, communicating silently with his captain.

"didn't know you had a wife, sir." you answer before john can. "we divorced a year ago." john chimes in. "to the day, actually. she served me on our anniversary." simon looks down at you, the man you thought you knew now gone. his eyes are black pits, targeting you like you're prey. "that's cruel, bird." you sputter, backing into the kitchen cabinets. you walk until your back hits the sink, each man on either side of you. john has his arms crossed and head cocked to the side, like you're about to get chewed out by the school principal. simon looks...no longer human. unrestrained. whatever spark you two had has gone out, replaced by sheer loyalty to his captain. "show the captain what he's been missin', love. y've been starvin' him." he moves at lightning speed, picking you up and dropping you on the island counter, sunday roast long forgotten.

"simon?" he doesn't answer, scarred hands squeezing up and down your body as john watches from behind him, arms crossed and eyes searching. your mind is telling you one thing but your body wants another. some twisted part of your brain reminds you that john came to visit on your anniversary, even though you threw him out a year ago. simon's no better, coaxing your sweater off your torso, leaving you exposed in a lacy bra. your nipples harden and john sees, making a clicking noise with his tongue. "warm 'er up, lieutenant." simon obeys instantly, pulling down the cup of your bra to suck on your nipple. he's ravenous, no sunday roast in sight, and he's decided you're his meal instead. he sucks hard, a calloused hand reaching up to pull your other tit out so you're fully exposed to your two men. he squeezes it with reverence, rolling your nipple between his fingers as he sucks hard on the other one, not minding his own teeth.

it's dirty - watching john watch you. you hadn't fucked in the last months before the divorce. he was always too busy, on base or deployed, and you were so angry you couldn't let him near you. now, your ex-husband moves closer, taking in the sight of his lieutenant feasting. "miss me, sweetheart?" you shake your head on instinct. he sighs at your attitude. you're seated on the corner of the island, perfect for john to come up on your side, one large paw making its way towards your jaw, turning you towards him. "say it." you shake your head again. john sticks a thumb into your mouth, pushing against your teeth. you try to force him out, but simon bites your tit, making you gasp and let john in anyways. you suck his thumb defiantly, gazing at him with all the emotions you can't convey.

you look so pretty like this, john decides. laid out for his lieutenant, taking his orders as well as your emotions will allow. he decides to forgive you for your indiscretions with ghost - at least it was with one of his own men. they're practically an extension of himself. john hooks his thumb into the gap between your tongue and teeth and pulls, forcing you right into his space. "i reckon your cunt's nice an' wet, though. should i check? know she's missed me even if you won't admit it." your eyes go wide, giving him an answer he already knew. simon follows orders well, manhandling you into position by yanking off your jeans. there's a wet spot on the light fabric of your underwear. john can practically see your cunt clinging to it, begging for him to say hello.

"want ya to take 'em off y'self, bird." simon's finally speaking, the glaze in his eyes fading. he looks at you, then his captain, and it makes sense. how you're used to being led but refuse it all the same. how you're desperate for affection but won't date him because he's military. you're scarred from the chains of your marriage, so it only makes sense that he's the one you seek out - the opposite of husband material. more dog than human on his worst days. simon stares at you until you follow his command, meekly lifting up your hips as you take off your underwear. your cunt is sopping, in a way it only does when you’re ovulating, practically begging for it. your ex-husband whistles through his teeth like he’s praising a recruit. “knew she’d be happy to see me. hullo, darling.” you can’t find it in you to cringe. john starts running his fingers through your folds, inspecting, and all you can do is stare. stare at the veins in his forearm. stare at simon behind him, eyes trained on his captain’s movements. stare at the counter where your juices start to gather and wonder how the hell you got into this situation.

“pinch ‘er tit an’ watch ‘er flutter.” simon’s callous with his instructions but john follows them anyway, his unoccupied hand reaching up to pinch your nipple. you can’t help the gasp that escapes you, the way your cunt flutters around john’s fingers. he hums thoughtfully. john decides you’ve been good, if not a bit quiet, and presses his thumb against your clit as a reward. he starts rubbing in that pattern that would get you off without fail during your marriage. he fits one finger into you easily as you grip the counter hard, the sudden sensation overwhelming. simon peers over his shoulder like a fucking scientist. “‘f she gets bratty, i pull back the hood til she screams.” like your cunt’s a machine and they have the two pieces of its manual. john’s movements are making you desperate, hips starting to buck against his fingers. he chuckles and adds another, not hiding a smile when you sigh in relief. simon’s hands come to your waist, helping you fuck yourself on price’s fingers. it feels so wrong, having them barely listen to your pleas, and yet being under their watch is the most right you’ve ever felt in your life. that’s what brings your orgasm - not john’s thick fingers on your cunt, his rough thumb in your clit - but two sets of hungry eyes on you, like you’re their last meal. john fucks you through your orgasm, simon not letting you out of his grasp until tears start to form, the embarrassment of your own wetness coming to the front of your mind. john slowly removes his fingers and brings them to simon’s mouth to taste, not satisfied until his lieutenant hums in agreement. the two men turn to you, naked save for your disheveled bra around your waist, somehow making the scene more depraved.

“‘ow ‘bout that roast, love?” simon murmurs gruffly.

good thing john never signed the divorce papers.

[lilacevans]

༊*·˚ main materlist | pete’s place’s opening night | the playlist ༊*·˚

⁀➷  previous chapter

✧.* ೃ⁀➷ pairings: ari levinson x female!reader ✧.* ೃ⁀➷ & future pairings: jake jensen x female!reader steve rogers x female reader curtis everett x female!reader. pete brenner x female!reader lloyd hansen x female!reader. (and others that will be revealed at a later date.)

word count: 17,875. | series rating: explicit. ༊*·˚

warnings: kidnapping, captivity, fingering, coercion, dub-con, rough sex, choking (if you squint, but not really), ari being mean, edging.

please let me know if i missed any, i am tired and i think i’ve listed everything.

this is a dark au. minors are not welcome here.

notes: holy. fucking. shit. here you go. the Ari chapter. it's the start, it's happening. he's here and he's mean but we love him anyway. pls pls pls let me know what you think. ik my smut isn't the best (still rusty) but have nearly 18k worth of smut anyway. mwah, mwah, mwah. i love u all. also, as always, all mistakes are my own, the spacing is kinda wonky but i cba to spend lots of time fixing it, i'm sorry tags: @fandom-meet-fanthem @epiphanyrogers

“Well, I already told you I’m not sleeping with you again,” You said, firm and final as you clutched the sheets against your chest.

Ari let out a huff and a small nod before standing straight.

“Fine,” He replied simply, no bite or malice, a full 180-degree shift to the man who moments before looked ready to lunge across the mattress. “Enjoy the extra day here, Sugar.”

“I’ll earn them off eventually.” You surrendered; a few extra days were better than giving him what he wanted.

​Ari left without another word, leaving you alone in the gilded cage, soft sheets beckoning you into a false sense of security. You allowed yourself to fall into a restless sleep, spending the night tossing and turning till the delicate warm rays scattered on the wooden floor and touched your face. You had a few moments to groggily pull yourself up when the door swung open. Ari’s boots hit the carpet with a series of dull thuds, a tray of food in hand, and without a word, dropped it at your nightstand; coffee dripping down the sides of the mug and bits of egg falling off the side of the plate and left.

You stared after the shut door, pausing for a moment before picking up the mug from the nightstand and sipping on the warm coffee, and picking through your breakfast, leaving most of it on the plate. Your stomach still wasn’t playing ball on the appetite front. You eventually peeled yourself out of bed, freshened up, and found yourself standing in the center of the room, staring out the windows.

You wasted the day by picking through the bookshelf, meticulously analyzing each of the various dusty hardbacks and placing a few on your nightstand for later. You took a shower, popped open different bottles and smelled the expensive scents, and bundled yourself up afterward in a soft, fluffy robe before taking advantage of the walk-in wardrobe.

The men clearly had a particular taste.

Lacy, intricate dresses that would leave nothing to the imagination. Strappy kitten heels in different colors, various racks of lingerie, and, tucked away in the back, sets of matching loungewear, which made you sigh with relief. You were just sat on the edge of your bed, snapping the band of the sock around your ankle when Ari walked in, eyes glaring down at you with a tray in his hand.

“Change your mind?” Ari asked.

“Nope,” you responded, popping the “p” and getting up to take a few paces backward to emphasize your decision by putting as much space as you could between you both.

Ari huffed, swapped out the trays, and left without saying anything else. He returned a few hours later, when the sun was dipping low, sending amber shadows along the cream carpet and scattering across the walls. He was carrying two plates and made his way to the small table you had shared with Steve, watching as he took up Steve’s space, the chair creaking under his weight. Your stomach growled; the lunch he had left you earlier was untouched, and the savory smell beckoned you over.

You shuffled off the bed, snapping the book shut and swiftly made your way over to snag a plate, but Ari’s large hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Sit.”

“Why aren’t you eating with the others?” You asked, unmoved and refusing to give in without an explanation.

“My cousins are here, and they have a habit of getting on my nerves,” Ari offered, giving your arm a little tug and kicking out the chair.

“There’s more of you?”

“Plenty. Sit. Eat.”

“I will. When you leave.”

You tugged your arm away and sat yourself down, crossing your arms over your chest and looking out of the window, praying that he got the message and would leave.

His voice was a cold, stark warning. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Sugar. I’m not gonna keep having the same conversation with you.”

“I really don't give a fuck what you think.”

The air in the room didn’t just drop; it vanished, and to see a man such as Ari, one who moved through the world as a force of nature, towering over everyone he came into contact with, visibly recoiling was, to put it simply, a fucking sight to see indeed. He didn’t move physically, however, but his expression flickered— a momentary crack in the mask of the unbothered eldest brother— and his shoulders tensed up as he let his fork clatter onto the plate.

The silence became so absolute that the muffled tick of the clock in the hallway rang out like a hammer hitting an anvil.

“You seem to have confused my patience for weakness, baby.” Ari tilted his head slightly, eyes focusing on yours. His voice had dropped to a register so low it was almost a vibration, a touch of irritation lacing the tone.

“And you seem to have confused my engagement in this conversation as actually caring about what a liar had to say,” You shot back. “And I am not your baby.”

The word liar seemed to hit Ari like a physical blow, a sharp, thickening tension blooming between you, shifting the room from tense to something far more volatile. Ari still didn’t flinch; he didn’t yell, but the longer he stared silently, the more it felt like walls closing in. Ari abruptly stood, the chair knocking backward. He moved towards the window, his back to you and hands stuffed in his pockets. His massive frame eclipsed the fading sunlight streaming through the window, casting a long, dark shadow that completely swallowed you.

“A liar.” His voice was a whisper, but it carried the weight of a landslide.

“Yep,” You confirmed, nodding to yourself.

The word hung in the air, stark and naked; to you it was defiance, to Ari it may as well have been a death wish.

His movements were slow and deliberate, turning slowly from the window and walking over to you with heavy footsteps. You glared up at him, standing your ground, although a ball of anxiety formed in your throat that you were forced to swallow down as he stepped into your space. He leaned down and didn’t stop until his face was level with yours, and up close, the coldness in his eyes was absolute; a deep void under the mask of blue that threatened to pull you under. He didn’t touch you, but he didn’t need to; the sheer proximity of him— the smell of cedar and stale smoke, the heat radiating from the blood boiling under his skin— felt like something close to a physical assault.

“You think you have the moral high ground because I played a part? You think your indignation protects you here?”

Suddenly, his hand shot out. His fingers clamped around the back of your chair, the wood groaning under the sudden, immense pressure of his grip. He jerked the chair an inch closer to him, a sharp, jarring motion that forced you to lean closer to him.

“No,” You answered honestly. “I think you’re just a liar. And the way you’re reacting just goes to show that you know that you are.”

Ari’s fingers tightened impossibly on the wood, a small crack ringing out from the pressure of his hand, and for a second, the mask he had tried to keep glued in place shattered. A vein pulsed in his temple, his eyes elated with a raw, jagged heat. The man who was supposed to be a meticulously constructed pillar of his dysfunctional family had his foundation slapped away by a few words, and you could see it clear as day… He hated it.

“You think you’re the first to call me a liar? You think a little “insight” makes you special, Sugar?” Ari snarled lowly, his face inches from you.

With a sudden, violent motion, Ari didn’t just pull the chair; he knocked it from under you, catching your arm in a bruising grip and hauling you upwards with a single, effortless surge of strength, listing you almost off your feet and snug against his chest. Your eyes burned their way up to his face.

“What? Your wife called you a liar too?”

The silence that followed wasn't just a pause.  The air seemed to freeze, turning into shards of ice that pierced everything.

“You won’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Ari defended poorly, his voice a flat, dead whisper; totally devoid of any human inflection. You found the cord and planned to strike it as often as you could. “So, I suggest—“

“Had a whole wife and you still chose to fuck around with captive women. What a remarkable man you are, Ari. Truly. Out of everything that’s happened to me over these past few months… Fucking you was my biggest regret.”

The words didn’t just land; they detonated, and the room seemed to vibrate with the force of the insult.

You knew that to a man like Ari, a man who seemingly lived and breathed control, the admission that he was not only a liar but a regret was a level of degradation he’d probably never experienced. The thought of knocking him down flooded your veins with adrenaline, a racking shake through your body. But, unbeknownst to you, it wasn’t the insult to his character— he knew he was a monster; he was fine with it— it was the dismissal of the intimacy you had shared; however fake it had been. It was his to dismiss, his to downplay— not yours.

His face became a canvas of terrifying, blank neutrality as the grip on your arm tightened, stealing a hiss through your teeth as his nails pricked at your skin. He didn’t just hold you there; he owned you there. A stark reminder that in his hands, you could be nothing more than a doll.

“I’m not scared of you,” You declared despite the slight waver in your voice screaming otherwise.

Ari didn't respond with words, but the air seemed to rush out of the room as he used his other hand to clamp his fingers around your chin with an aching force, his broad shoulders casting a suffocating shadow over you. He tipped your head up, tilting it back into a sharp, vulnerable angle, his fingers moving to squeeze into the soft flesh of your cheeks. Your eyes were locked on each other's; his gaze had morphed into something else, something burning, a mixture of pure hatred and that familiar glint of raw, uncontrollable hunger.

He looked at you the same way he had in the club; like he wanted to tear you apart and possess every shattered piece of you all at once.

For a long, agonizing moment… Neither of you moved. Both of you are refusing to be the first to give in; to shout, to scream, to insult.

You stood locked in a stalemate of heavy breaths and searing heat; the only sound in the room was the ragged, weighted synchronization of your breathing. The air between you and Ari was thick, electric, desperate for a spark; the residue of the war you had been waging with poisoned tongues and quick wit. Ari’s gaze dropped first, landing on your lips, eyeing the way they trembled with each breath. You waited, and waited; for something, anything when finally…

The tension snapped.

Ari didn’t just lean in; he collided.

He crashed his lips against yours in a kiss that was less about passion and more about a conquest; a point to prove. It was violent and punishing; desperate with a physical manifestation of the fury he couldn’t voice, the want he couldn’t admit. He didn’t ask; he took, his mouth claiming yours with a bruising intensity that even in your weeks together you hadn’t experienced. He tasted like a dark, simmering rage, and you were helpless to fight. He used his weight to push you back until your back hit the edge of the table, the wood digging into your lower back, the plates rattling behind you.

He broke the kiss only to snarl almost breathlessly against your lips; jagged and rough. ‘’Say it again. Tell me you’re not scared while you’re shaking in my arms, Sugar. Don’t want me yet you’re kissing me back, hmm? We can play present, baby, that’s fine—“

“You’re not giving me much choice,” You grumbled at him.

Your hands pushed against the hard planes of his chest, scoffing while your face twisted up and your fingers dug into the expensive fabric of his shirt in a desperate attempt to create space. You pushed with every ounce of strength you possessed, but moving a mountain might have been an easier feat. Ari didn’t even budge- not even a little bit. He simply absorbed the impact of your struggle with a smirk on his lips.

‘’Push harder, Sugar," he goaded, letting out a dark chuckle that vibrated through your hands and rattled your bones.

Instead of letting you go, Ari reacted to your resistance by intensifying his hold. He shifted his weight, his massive thigh sliding between yours, pinning you firmly against the table and cutting off any hope of maneuvering out of his hold. His hand migrated from your jaw and slid down your throat, resting there with a possessive pressure that made your head spin and served as a reminder of how easy it would be for him to extinguish your breath as he dipped his head down, lips close to your ear.

‘’I love it when you fight me, Sugar. It’ll make the moment you finally stop so much sweeter,’’ he whispered against your ear.

He leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes; his pupils were blown wide, nearly swallowing the iris; the blues that had suckered you in were nowhere to be found. He looked completely unhinged; the polished facade of the right hand was entirely stripped away, leaving behind the monster, unashamed and untethered. Everything about him in that moment filled your senses and clouded your mind; his hair wild from the struggle, the tobacco and expensive cologne making your head swim, his breath hot on your neck.

‘’You think you’re so brave because you have nothing left to lose, but you’re wrong. You still have your pride, that stupid fuckin’ mouth. I’m really gonna enjoy taking those from you… Piece by piece, he continued to whisper in your ear, low and dangerous.

‘’And then pass me along to your brothers?’’ You taunted. ‘’Playing with something you can’t even keep. You’re pathetic.’’

The words cut through the air, cutting deeper than any physical threats Ari had issued. You could tell by the way his hand tightened around your throat that it was a lethal blow, reminding him that he was nothing more than a man who couldn’t claim his own prize, letting him know he was nothing but a mere placeholder. His reaction was almost instantaneous. The low, controlled heat of his anger flared into a white-hot blaze. He didn’t pull away, but instead pushed you back flat onto the table with such a sudden, violent force that your head thumped against the wood, groaning under the impact and sending a vibration rattling through your spine.

‘’You think I can’t keep you?’’ Ari asked in a hushed, rough tone, his face inches from yours. His grip on your throat tightened more, enough to pin your head firmly against the table; his other hand flew to your waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh with a grip that was bound to leave bruises. The cold, detached professional was truly long gone; instead, he was possessed by a primal need to dominate and silence the one person who had managed to see through his armor, and it terrified you. His eyes flashed with an unstable light.

‘’I don’t pass things along, Sugar. I decide who gets what and when–’’ Ari leaned in closer, teeth grazing the shell of your ear, his breath ragged and full of fire. The sheer physical disparity between you both was overwhelming to say the least; you were a delicate flower trapped under a landslide. With each word, he sounded like less of a man and more like a predator ready to claim a kill as his voice dropped to a menacing, vibrating hum. ‘’Maybe I’ll decide you’re too precious for the others. Maybe I’ll decide that the only way to scrub that fuckin’ arrogance out of your mouth is to keep you locked in this room, on your knees, until you forget to speak anything but my name.’’

He leaned back just enough to look you in the eye, his expression a terrifying mixture of hatred and an obsession he couldn’t quite mask. You let out a shaky breath through your nose, willing your bones to stop trembling, and the sly smirk on his lips told you he had wound up with exactly what he wanted. He wanted you to fear him, but more than that, he was desperate for you to acknowledge that he was the only thing in this world that mattered right now.

“Calling me pathetic? Well…” He trailed off, leaning closer, your noses almost touching, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Let’s see how ‘pathetic’ this feels, Sugar.”

Without any further warning, he dipped his head and crashed his mouth back over yours. It was a sordid collision of teeth and tongue, and you felt powerless to fight. It was a raw, hungry attempt to devour your defiance. He kissed you as if he were trying to drink down your pleas, take in your breath as his own; his hand on your throat guided your moments, forcing you to stay, enduring the onslaught of his fury.

The groan that bubbled in his throat caused you to writhe underneath him, your nails found his forearms, nails scraping against his skin, blooming red, frantic, desperate lines; a feeble attempt to get away, but it only served to heighten the friction. Every move you made only got you more and more trapped under the heat of his chest and the cool, unforgiving wood of the table.

“Fight me, come on, Sugar. Know you can do better than that,” Ari taunted against your lips.

He didn’t flinch at the scratches. If anything, the sharp sting seemed to act as a catalyst, stoking the fire already raging in him. You shuddered when he rocked against you, feeling how he loved the resistance; he was clearly a man who enjoyed having something to crush. He shifted his grip, hand sliding from your throat to the back of your head, his fingers curling ruthlessly in your hair. With a sharp, sudden tug, he yanked your head back, forcing you to expose your throat to him and breaking the kiss with a lewd, visceral wet sound.

“You’re so desperate to get away, yet here you still are. Still breathing me in, still feeling exactly what I do to you, and I know…” His voice was a breathless rasp, his eyes gleaming with something dark. “You fucking love it.”

He didn’t let you recover. Didn’t give you a moment to breathe. To sit with the impending doom. Instead, he began to trail kisses across your jawline, lips bruising and demanding, moving to the sensitive skin of your neck. Each press of his lips was akin to a brand, a claim of ownership that threatened to ignore the schedule, ignore the rules, and ignore the other men in the manor. You bit back a whimper, hating how a mix of disgust and want soared through your veins, trapped under him as he was operating on pure, unfiltered impulse now; driven by a burning need to silence her tongue and break your spirit.

His teeth grazed your shoulder, his voice heavy and breathy. “Tell me again how pathetic I am, Sugar. Tell me while you’re shaking, tell me while you’re pretending to not want me. You’ve always wanted me, Sugar.”

You tried to push against him, fighting to keep him from pushing his weight further against you, his thigh pressed firmly against your core, and you begged your body not to respond, and when you felt the all-familiar ache, you had no choice but to act. You waited until he looked up at you, making his way over to your other shoulder as you gathered spit in your mouth and launched it directly at his face​.

The room went silent.

The wet, sharp sound of the spit hitting Ari’s cheek echoed in the space around you. For a moment, the world seemed to stop spinning. Ari had frozen, his head slightly tilted, moisture glistening on his skin in the fading sunlight.

This wasn’t a verbal jab, a clever quip or pointed insult. This was a visceral, primal act of contempt. It was the ultimate reflection of his power, his masculinity, and his status within the manor walls. It was the only way you could think to get him to stop, but now you feared what would happen when he started again. In a home where respect was demanded through fear and blood, this was an act of absolute heresy.

Slowly and deliberately, Ari turned his head, his eyes locking onto yours. His expression was no longer one of hunger or rage. It was something far more horrifying. His features had gone completely slack, his eyes turning into two cold, dead stones. The fire had been snuffed out, replaced by a glacial, murderous calm. He didn’t move to wipe his face, didn’t flinch or reel back. He simply stared, the silence stretching out until it felt like a physical weight crushing the oxygen from the room and leaving you breathless.

“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?” Ari asked, his voice a flat, timeless whisper, devoid of everything human.

With a sudden, blurring movement, Ari seized both of your wrists, pinning them in a single, massive grip and slamming them up above your head with a force that made your shoulders feel like they were going to pop. He leaned in, his chest against yours.

“I was going to be softer. I was going to give you the luxury of a slow break, but you… You just can’t help yourself. So, what choice do you give me?” Ari’s gaze shifted around your face, a dark, twisted smirk finally touching his lips. It wasn’t a smile of pleasure; it was the smile of a man who had finally been given a good enough reason to be cruel. “I wonder if Lloyd will consider this as ‘extenuating circumstances.’ I wonder if he’ll let me keep you for the rest of the week, just to see how many times you can spit before you start begging for me to touch you.”

“So much for being the one who makes the decisions,” You huffed. Ari was right. You didn’t know when to stop, and you hoped that if you defied him enough, he would get bored and move on. “Gotta run to Lloyd to see if you can keep playing with the new toy. No wonder your wife upped and ran. I would leave you too.”

The mention of his wife again, coupled with the accusation that he was nothing more than a puppet to Lloyd’s whims, seemed to hit Ari like a physical strike to the gut. The calm he had so easily possessed vanished, his face twisting up as he took in a sharp exhale of breath. The transition was a violent one— switching from the predator playing with his food to a man stripped of every shred of restraint.

You jumped in your skin as his fist hit the table, so close that you could feel the wind from the impact.

“Shut the fuck up,” Ari warned, finger pointed towards your face, eyes glaring down at you, his voice laced with something twisted. “You think you’re so fucking clever. You think you’ve found the one thing that can break me…”

The grip of your wrists tightened, threatening to shatter the bones. He looked completely possessed, pupils expanded until no light reflected. His breathing came out in sharp, jagged heaves. Suddenly, he pulled you up right, manhandling you until you were pinned to the floor. He gripped your hips with a bruising intensity as his voice dropped, leaning down to graze his lips against yours as he spoke.

“I don’t need Lloyd’s permission to break a toy that’s already malfunctioning.”

The coldness was finding its way back, but it was different now. It was a focused cruelty. He wasn’t just reacting now; he was deciding. He looked at you— really looked at you— maybe not as a woman, but as an asset; as something that needed to be silent and subdued until there was nothing left.

“You want to talk about why she left? Maybe I'll let you figure it out while you're screaming my name. Maybe I'll show you exactly why no one survives this family with their pride intact.”

“Careful now, Ari. I’m starting to think you’re all talk,” You challenged. Your mind was split in two. One side hoped he would still leave; the other wanted him to stay, and you were unsure which to listen to. “Starting to think you can only get up on someone else’s say-so. Do it. Do your worst.”

The challenge hung in the air, acting like a spark in a room flooded with gasoline.

For Ari, the invitation was the final piece of the puzzle. He had tried control, he had tried the professional distance, he had tried pure, raw fury— but you; you offered him the one thing that he desperately craved in that moment: a reason to stop holding back​.

Permission.

For you, it was curiosity, wondering how far he would go; it was the other side that clung to the fantasy, the one where you moved away, where he followed— white picket fences, sunset strolls, and happiness. Despite everything, you had grown attached to the man who had betrayed you in the worst way, and if this was a way to pay up and get out, at least it was with him.

“You have no idea what my worst looks like, Sugar. You have no idea what you’ve just asked me for,” Ari purred into your ear, a sick grin on his lips.

​

He looked at you with an expression so vacant of any warmth that it made dread bloom in your stomach, mixing with the desire that still sat heavy there. He looked at you as if you were a puzzle he was about to solve by breaking every single piece. Then, suddenly, Ari shifted his grip. He didn’t just hold you; he manipulated your body with an effortless strength until you were face down on the floor, your chest pressed down onto the cream carpet. He gathered your wrists in his hand, pinning them against your back as he nudged and pushed at your legs until your back was arched, ass in the air. His other hand had made slow work, sliding up the back of your thigh.

The thin sweatpants offered no protection under the heavy weight of his hand, his large palm grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh; possessive and demanding. He leaned his massive frame down onto you, your chest crushing down against the hard floor; his breathing hot and heavy against the nape of your neck.

“You want the monster, Sugar? You want the man who drives women to run?” He trailed off, his hand shifting higher as he let out a mirthless huff of air that felt like a ghost of a laugh. His fingers hooked the edge of the waistband and began to pull it downward with a slow, drawn-out pace as his voice dropped to a lethal, spoken thread. “…I'm going to make you regret every single word that ever came out of that pretty, arrogant mouth. I'm going to make you beg for the "pathetic" man to stop. And then... I'm going to make you beg for him to start again.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He sank his teeth into the sensitive tendon where your neck met your shoulder, not a bite, but a grinding, punishing pressure that threatened to claim you entirely. As his tongue swept over marks left by his teeth, a gasp bubbled up in your throat, and you arched in a poor attempt to escape the assault on your neck, only to end up with your ass flush against the already demanding bulge in his jeans. The sound of your gasp was the only thing that filled the room; a signal to Ari of the first crack in your armor.

For Ari, that movement— that instinctive, physical reaction— was a victory more potent than any verbal submission, which made him let out a low, almost growling laugh against your skin.

“There it is,” He boasted with a grin you could feel. “Here we go, Sugar. We’re really getting started now.”

You knew he could feel the tremor in your muscles, the way your body betrayed that small voice that wanted nothing to do with what was happening. His hand, still gripping your wrists behind your back, toughened for a second, pulling your shoulders back and forcing your chest further into the carpet, the fibers biting at your skin. You felt completely exposed, vulnerable.

“Don’t get big-headed.” You tried to save. “Your hands are just rough, and the position is awkward.”

The defiance, although dwindling rapidly, was still there, clinging to you like a last shred of dignity, although thinner and frayed by the physical reality of his dominance. The way you gritted your teeth and fought through your reaction only served to fuel Ari’s obsession with breaking you. You knew he didn’t want you to be quiet; he wanted to strip away every last excuse you had until there was nothing but the truth of your response to him.

“Rough?” Ari let out a sound that was a half-laugh, half-snarl. He slowly released the grip on your wrist, but before you could even think of moving, his hands found your waist, gripping tightly and pulling you back against him. “I can be as soft as you want, Sugar. I can be the gentleman. I can be the pathetic man who plays by the rules…” He slid a hand down your spine, slow and agonizing, wanting you to feel every second of the anticipation; the suffocating weight of his presence until the hand found its way to your hair. “But you didn’t ask for the gentleman—“ He took a harsh grip, forcing you up against him as you bit back a cry. His voice dropped to that lethal whisper that made butterflies flutter in your stomach. “You asked for my worst.”

He gripped your chin and forced your head to the side, looming over you as he made you look back at him over your shoulder. His face was a mask of cold, focused intent; the void in his eyes now filled with a predatory satisfaction. He looked at your swollen lips, now parted and letting out little, quick breaths; the way your eyes were wide and shimmering with tears that threatened to fall— not from fear or sadness— from anticipation and pent-up frustration.

“You’re not in control here, Sugar. Not your words, your pride… and certainly not your body,” He stated, and you knew, in that moment, that he was right. The contrast between you was stark; your fragility against his brutality. “Now, tell me again. Tell me how rough and pathetic I am while I make you forget your own name.”

“Just do it already,” You provoked, voice a shaky whisper as a shudder made its way down your spine.

The whisper wasn’t a surrender, but an invitation; an invitation to the abyss that Ari was more than happy to plunge them both into. The sound of your voice, broken and breathless, acted like a trigger.

“With pleasure.” Ari’s voice was a quiet promise.

Ari made quick work of ridding you of your clothes. Rough fingers slid your shirt up your back and ripped it over your head before working down your sweatpants, the heat of his body shielding you from the room's cool air. He didn’t bother with sliding down your underwear, simply snapping the bands on either side, the sound ringing out— a symbolic shedding of the last barrier between you and his now unrestrained hunger.

“Look at me, Sugar, back up here,” Ari instructed, voice laced with need.

He didn’t wait for you to comply; he seized a handful of your hair and forced you back up, tilting your head back until your gaze locked with his. It’s like he wanted you to see the monster you had summoned. He wanted you to see there was no soft side left— only a man who had been pushed too far and now had every intent of reclaiming every ounce of power you had tried to strip away from him.

“You wanted my worst, Sugar?” Ari tormented. “That’s what you asked for, right?​

With you flush against him again, he tilted your head to the side with a rough grip on your jaw and crashed his mouth back onto yours; a battle of teeth and tongue, desperate and needing. You let a small whimper die in your throat as you struggled to keep up with his pace; the familiar taste of whisky on his tongue pulled at the desire that still lay thick inside you. He kissed you as if he were trying to devour your breath, his tongue invading your mouth with the same possessive aggression that his hands had on your body.

The hand that was in your hair untangled, sliding down and finding its way to the soft of your stomach, before slipping between your thighs and roughly hooking a finger into your center; blunt and demanding. His large fingers stretched and pushed in a way that made you want to fold. He clearly wasn’t looking for a slow build; he wanted a total collapse. He ground his hips into the meat of your ass, his cock finding friction between the layer of fabric and the softness of you; like he wanted you to feel what was to come— the man you had called pathetic, the man who had taken you apart over and over again, the man you wanted to do it again.

He broke the kiss just enough to rasp against your lips, “Tell me…” His fingers shifted, applying a sharp pressure to your jaw. “Tell me who owns you right now.”

You found his reflection in the window and glared at him through wet eyes, simply stating, “Never.”

The word was a fragile thing, spoken through a veil of unshed tears and a trembling lip, but it was delivered with the same stubborn pride that had defined every single second of your interaction with the family so far. It was the only thing you had left. Even now, your body pinned like a specimen on a board, your body calling out for the same man that had trapped you in a house of horrors, you refused to give him the one thing that he truly wanted… Submission.

Ari froze.

The pressure of his fingers stilled, and the heavy, rhythmic thud of his heart against your back seemed to stutter. You could feel his stare, feel the burning. He let out a huff of air. He had broken professionals; he had crushed spirits that were supposed to be ten times more resilient than yours. Yet, here you were, refusing to break even as he tore your world apart.

“You really think this is a game of endurance, don’t you, Sugar?” Ari probed, voice dropping to a dangerous register. A dark, twisted smile slowly spread across his face. It wasn’t a smile of amusement; it was the look of a man who had just found a more interesting way to play with his toy. “Fine. Keep that pride of yours a little longer, baby. It won’t be long until you lose it.”

He shifted his weight, letting you fall forward, hands flush against the carpet as he settled back on his legs and forced your legs wider, exposing your cunt up to him. His hand lay heavy on the slope of your back as he used his free hand to threaten a start in dismantling you. He let his finger ghost down between your slit, finger tip sliding with ease due to the slick that had gathered, which elicited a hum of approval— of success.

“I don't need you to say it. Your heart is hammering against my chest. Your skin is flushing. You're shaking so hard you can barely breathe…” “The more you fight, the more I’m gonna make you feel. I’m gonna keep pushing ‘til you’re so desperate, so utterly undone, that ‘never’ becomes the last word you ever say to me.”

He withdrew his hands, leaving you cold and aching in the sudden void. Behind you, you could hear the shuffling of fabric, the sound of a zipper.

“Look at me, Sugar. Look at what you’ve provoked,” Ari commanded.

You glared back at him, refusing to look where he wanted, teeth gritted and bit out: “Still pathetic.”

The words were barely a breath, a ghost of a whisper delivered through gritted teeth and shimmering eyes, and above all else…

A damn lie, and Ari knew it.

The sight of him, long and thick; the glistening head of his cock where his anticipation had gathered. The vein that ran down the underside, which you’d run your tongue and fingers over time and time; the one that made him groan deep in his throat and tilt his head back. The same one that gave you the sight of him that had embedded itself in your brain, the one you lost yourself in over and over in your hotel room until you next saw him.

Ari let out a low, vibrating sound— a hum that sounded more like a purr, but it carried the weight of a death sentence. He looked at you, and for the first time, the hatred and hunger were eclipsed by a terrifying, absolute clarity.

You were full of shit, and he knew it.

“You’re so proud of that little tongue, aren’t you, Sugar?” Ari mused, toying with a grin to match.

With a sudden, unrelenting surge of movement, he drove himself into you with a brutal, uncompromising force that almost knocked the wind clean out of your lungs and made your thighs want to part and welcome him further; welcome him home. Despite the fact that there was no preamble, no tenderness, no gradual slide, it made you clench and ache around him. It was a taking— a raw assertion of ownership that felt as if he was trying to merge his very existence with yours; or perhaps, to split you in two.

The impact had you fighting against him, your eyes threatening to roll back for a fleeting second as the sheer scale of him filled you completely. He was too big, too much, an overwhelming presence that left no room for air, for thought— for defiance. He folded himself over at you, nudging himself a little inside a little further as his breath ghosted over the shell of your ear.

“Still pathetic?” He taunted, jagged, and rough.

He gave you no opportunity to comment back, no time to slide in an insult or jab. He began to move; each thrust was deep, punishing, and deliberate, designed to jar your entire frame and remind you of the reality of your situation. He used his size as a weapon, grinding his hips into yours with a relentless intensity that threatened and sought to drown out your thoughts, your pride, your “never.” The room seemed to shrink until it was only the two of you— the sound of the carpet biting and scratching into your skin, the wet— visceral and sordid— friction of your skin; the ragged, synchronized moans and pants of two people locked in a war of attrition. Ari’s face was a twisted mask of focused intensity, his eyes locked in yours, searching for the exact moment the light of defiance would snuff out.

His teeth grazed your ear as he rumbled out, “Where’s my noises, pretty girl? Don’t you wanna tell the whole house how pathetic I am… While you’re shaking and choking my cock with that pretty cunt.”

You muffled the whimper that continued its want for escape, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down until you feared the taste of copper. For you, it was a final act of rebellion; the last tool in the box. For Ari, it was an intolerable challenge. You knew he could feel how your walls gripped and pulsed around him; he knew the truth; he knew it with every deep, punishing thrust, but the fact you were still holding the gate shut nearly sent him over the edge.

“God fucking dammit,” Ari damn near growled, frustrated and flustered.

He didn’t just pull out; he ripped himself out of you with a sudden emptiness that left you gasping and hollow. Ari wasted no time, flipping you back over onto your back, rough fingertips bruising into your sides. You landed with a soft thud, the air leaving your lungs, but Ari was back on you within an instant. He gripped your legs under your knees and bent them upwards before his hands found your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he parted your legs, situating himself snugly inside of them.

He pinned you there, hands keeping a tight hold on your legs, large palms pushing into the skin; almost folding you in half. The position utterly degrading, stripping away every last shred of poise you had tried to maintain; washed away under the sea blue of his eyes staring down at you with that hunger shining bright. You were bent, broken, and completely exposed, and you hated how your core clenched, already missing him.

“You think you’re so strong because you can stay quiet? Like it’s gonna stop me?” Ari asked, the low, dark timber rattling against the nape of your neck. He shifted, the head of his cock bumping against your cunt, threatening to sink in deep again. “I’m gonna hit every single spout that makes you lose that stubborn little mind. I’m going to push you until you can’t remember how to hold your breath.”

He reached forward to grab a handful of your hair at the top of your skull, yanking your head back, twinges of pain pricking across your scalp, which made you cry out as he forced you to look up at him; your back was bent almost impossibly, his other hand coming up to keep a tight hold on your neck. His eyes were wild, pupils blown with a mixture of lust and a desperate need to see you break.

Ari grinned as he let the tip of his cock catch against your leaking hole; the only warning you were given before he drove back into you. He used the hold on your neck to anchor you down against him as he hurried himself to the hilt.

“Fuckkk,” He moaned, deep and drawn out. “Let’s see if this works.”

The angle was deeper, more invasive; knees angled towards your shoulder with nowhere to hide. You attempted to close your eyes, but a tight squeeze on your throat that threatened to keep your breath stuck in your lungs made them peel open again. You peered up at him— eyes wet, lashes clumped— and let out a shaky breath as Ari drew backward. He began to move with a rhythmic, punishing violence, his hips slamming against your ass with a slapping, wet, heavy sound that echoed through the opulent room.

“Come on, Sugar. Let me hear that you’re mine. That’s what you wanted, right? Run away and spend the rest of your existence split open on my cock. Tell me that you’re nothing but my toy, my sweet girl, come on,” Ari moaned into your ear, husky and honeyed, small grunts punctuated with each of his thrusts.

The sound was small at first— a broken, airy vibration that escaped your throat despite every ounce of your willpower, but once the dam broke, it was impossible to stop. The moan rippled through you, a physical admission of your pleasure and the pain of being under a man that had done you so wrong colluding in a sordid weapon that made your head swirl and your cunt ache and throb around him— you had lost the fight between wrong and right and all that was left was Ari who let out a dark, triumphant sound; a low growl of victory that vibrated through your back and wrapped itself around your throat.

“Yeah, there she is,” Ari drawled. “Hi, baby. Welcome home.”

Your break was like a drug to him.

The sound seemingly stripped away the very last threads of his detachment, replacing it with a feral hunger. He didn’t slow down; instead, he accelerated, his thrusts becoming faster and more frantic— deeper and unrelenting. He was no longer just trying to punish you for the insults, the defiance; he was trying to consume you, to carve his name into your very soul. The room became filled with the sounds of your collision— the heavy thud of skin on skin, the mix of your airy, strung-out moans and his desperate groans; just two people pushed to their limits.

“You knew you couldn’t fight it, Sugar. You can’t keep fighting me,” Ari rasped as he leaned down, lips brushing against your shoulder.

Ari wouldn’t be satisfied with a simple break, though. He wanted a total collapse. You adjusted to the rhythm, moans coming out as quick, broken whines. The angle was extreme— his massive frame almost compressing you under the weight of him— leaving you completely open, your vulnerability absolute as his forehead almost touched yours before he pulled back a little to look at you with eyes that were dark, void of mercy and shimmering with a terrifying sort of triumph.

“Look at you, folded up like a little doll. S’all you are, right?” Ari hummed breathily as he leaned up and began to shallow his thrusts.

The sudden change in tempo was almost more agonizing than the violent back-and-forth of the previous moments. Ari shifted his weight, leaning back up onto his arms, creating a small gap that made you instantly arch back up against him. He stopped the deep, punishing drives and instead restricted his movements to shallow, teasing frictions— just enough to keep you balanced on the precipice of a peak you couldn’t reach on your own.

He gazed down at you, lids heavy and a sordid smile, a mask of predatory satisfaction. Your legs still pinned, your chest heaving and unable to rock up to get his cock further inside as your gaze glazed over with a shimmering mixture of desperation and lust. You squeezed around him— an instinctive, pleading grip that contradicted every word you had spat at him since he lured you to the manor— earning a small groan and a shake of his head.

“Tell me you’re mine, baby. Tell me, and I’ll let you cum,” Ari crooned lowly; the jaggedness that had been present in his tone was long gone and replaced by a silken, manipulative warmth. He leaned in closer, voice dropping to an intimate whisper. “Just tell me. Tell me what I wanna hear… Tell me what you’ve been hoping for.”

He shifted slightly, a minute movement that sent a jolt of longing through you, and then stopped again, thrusting the tip in and out of your cunt. He was playing with you now, despite you gripping at his forearms and letting out the cries you had begged for. He treated your pleasure as a currency he could trade for your pride. He watched the way your pupils dilated, the way your breath hitched, favoring the power he held over you. That dark, knowing smirk tugged at his lips. He knew exactly how this worked; he knew how you looked at him, wanted him, how you reacted to simply being in his presence, and played like a harp.

“Isn’t that what you wanted? Didn’t you want that? Didn’t you wanna be all mine?” Ari’s ramblings were messing with your head; or, rather, emptying it out. You couldn’t think straight as he gave one more shallow, agonizing thrust; his gaze licked on yours that demanded total surrender. He was offering you a way out of the tension, a release from the torture, but the price was the only thing you had left. His breath was hot against your lips, a soft, commanding lure. “I’ll give it to you, baby… Just tell me. Come on, Sugar. Do it for me.”

Your head lolled to the side. The fight had drained out of you, replaced by a desperate, thrumming need that made every single nerve ending scream for the release he was withholding.

You bucked your hips slightly, letting out shallow and broken gasps— the sounds of a woman who had been pushed far beyond your breaking point and was now floating in the void of your own arousal— when Ari would laugh and hold them still, depriving you of seeking your own pleasure; only allowing what he gave. He refused to move, staying perfectly still; a towering mountain of muscle and heat. He let the room's silence amplify your desperate breathing. He could feel the clenching of your walls, the way your body was begging him to fill you, to drive you over the edge.

As Ari leaned down, his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your ear, the vibration from his voice sending a shiver through you.

“I’ll play with this pretty pussy just the way you like,” Ari lured, shifting his hips just a fraction— a tease, a promise— sending a fresh wave of electricity through you that made your back arch up into him instinctively. “I know how you like it. Come on, Sugar. For me.”

He knew the map of your body now; he knew where the triggers were, he knew how to play you, and he knew how much you could take before you snapped. He wanted you to feel the weight of your dependence on him, to realize that your own path to peace lay within satisfying him. He looked down at you, and you tried to shy away, knowing he had to see how clouded your vision was; the way your lips were parted and trembling. How he was slowly becoming the only thing in your world— the only spice of pleasure and pain, the only authority that mattered. He tightened his grip on your legs, pulling you slightly closer and nudging in deeper; the friction was almost unbearable.

“Just tell me,” Ari whispered, a dark, possessive promise against your lips.

You let out a mix of a moan and a sob.

“I’m yours,” You whined.

The words were barely audible, a shattered fragment of a voice that carried the weight of total defeat. The moment your admission left your lips, the tension in the room shifted. It wasn’t the sudden explosion of rage from before, but a suffocating wave of possessive triumph. Ari didn’t just hear you; he felt the surrender in the way your body finally went lax underneath him, the last wall of your defiance crumbling to dust as you gave in.

A deep rumble of satisfaction vibrated in his chest as his voice dropped into a dark, velvet purr.

“That’s my girl.”

With the victory finally secured, Ari shifted his position.

He pushed himself up, arms locked and muscles straining, creating a space that felt like a vacuum of anticipation. He didn’t pull out angrily; he retreated until he was barely clinging to you, the very tip of his cock rocking rhythmically and shallowly against your leaking entrance— open and aching. His eyes locked on the scene below, lids heavy and lips parted; his hair falling around him like a dark halo. It was a precision stroke, a slow, maddening friction that kept you on the edge.

His eyes shined with a heavy mixture of lust and ownership. In a move of raw, lewd dominance, he spat. The liquid landed with a wet slap directly on your swollen clit that pulsed for attention. The contest between the cool wetness against your burning skin caused a sharp jolt to shoot through your body, making your hips twitch up towards him.

“Now we play,” Ari hummed out, his hand sliding slowly down your body.

He didn’t rush to bring you your release. He brought his thumb down, pressing the calloused pad firmly into the puddle he’d created. He began to move in slow, deliberate circles; just enough pressure to make your head swim, but slow enough to stretch out every second of the sensation. He was molding your pleasure, twisting it into a form that only served him, ensuring that the orgasm he was about to grant you would be inextricably linked to the memory of your own submission.

“Feel that, Sugar? Feel how much you need me to finish this for you?” Ari asked, his breathing heavy, eyes flicking from your soaked cunt to your face.

He increased the speed of the circles slightly, his thumb flicking with a rhythmic precision that matched the shallow, teasing rocks of his cock inside of you. Your face twisted up, letting out a string of cries as you rocked up against him. He was building a storm, a crescendo of sensory overload that threatened to drown out everything but the feeling of his hand. He watched your face, savoring the way your expression blurred into pure, desperate need.

Your hips bucked up against his hand again, a wanton sob falling from your lips.

“Please… Please just let me, please…”

Ari let out a dark chuckle, his thumb pressing harder.

“Please?” Ari mocked with a matching pout, which made you whine and cry out.

The word was music to him.

After spending almost two hours fighting a war against your pride, the sound of you begging was the white flag he had been hunting for. He didn’t immediately give you what you wanted, though. Instead, he slowed his thumb down to a torturous, glacial crawl; teasing you to the very edge of your climax— the coil winding tighter and tighter as your breath came out in breathy hitches, your thighs ached, and you could hear the wetness around the head of his cock which made your cheeks flare up red— before pulling back and leaving you suspended in a state of wound tension.

“No, no, no,” You cried, rocking up shamelessly to get back the same sensation. “Please let me cum. Please, please, please.”

A low, vibrating laugh in his throat made you squeeze your eyes closed, letting the tears fall as he felt your desperate movements.

“Oh, look at you,” Ari teased. “Begging like a little pup in heat.”

Ari's laughter was a cold, taunting thing that echoed through the room, cutting through the sound of your desperate whimpers. He didn't move to help you, didn’t increase the pressure; he simply watched you, his eyes filled with a cruel glint as you continued to buck up beneath him. Your body acted on a primal instinct that Ari had so easily awakened and had completely overridden your mind. All you could think and feel was Ari, and he loved the view— the sight of the woman who had mocked him and spat in his face now reduced to a trembling, pleading mess, fighting for a handful of pleasure that only he could provide.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Ari said, halting his movements once again, leaving you to growl out in frustration, which he paid no mind to. “Thought I wasn’t allowed to touch you again?” His voice was a mocking croon, his thumb was hovering just millimeters above your clit; you could feel the heat. “I thought you hated me? Isn’t that what you said, Sugar? Thought you could just walk away from a man like me?”

You frantically shook your head, a pout forming on your lips as Ari’s eyes lit up as he finally made contact with an unrelenting, punishing flick. You arched up against him, your head bending backward and your hands finding his arms.

“You're shaking, Sugar. You're practically vibrating for me.”

He didn't let you answer with words. He began to move his thumb in those same rhythmic, grinding circles, but this time, he increased the pressure, driving you toward the peak with a focused need, as he needed it as much as you did. He suddenly shifted, letting his cock slip out of you before his hips surged forward to replace the thumb with the full, blunt force of the head of his cock, letting it slip over your clit repeatedly before slamming deep into you with a force that knocked out a cry of his name. He didn't stop there; he began to drive into you with a frantic, desperate speed; each thrust was a violent affirmation of his ownership. He leaned down, one hand slipping under your neck, the other pushing on your thigh.

He was no longer teasing; he was determined to push you over the edge, the friction of your bodies creating a heat that felt like it would consume the entire room.

However, the sudden absence of his hand was like a physical blow.

One moment, you were seconds away from the shattering release you had begged for, and the next, you were left shivering in a cold, agonizing void. The sudden drop in stimulation sent you spiraling, your breath coming in ragged, broken sobs that shook your entire frame. You were left stranded at the summit, the tension in your body so tight it felt like a wire stretched to the point of snapping.

He shifted his weight, leaning back on his heels, both hands on your hips, and dragged you with him and began to fuck into you again with shallow, teasing movements. The switching between the two was driving you near-insane. He wasn't trying to reach your depths anymore— like you so desperately wanted, you wanted him to feel you swore you could feel him in your throat; he was merely grazing your entrance, a rhythmic, superficial friction that served only to remind you of what he was withholding.

Ari let out a long, heavy sigh. “I think I wanna see you do it instead.”

He let out a huff of air that was almost a laugh, his eyes scanning your trembling body. He shifted his hips slightly, a small, sharp flick of movement that sent a jolt through you, before settling back into that maddeningly shallow pace. He wanted to see you degrade yourself; he wanted to see the "proud" woman take your own dignity into your own hands just to satisfy the hunger he had created.

“Play with that pretty pussy for me. Show me how much you hate me, Sugar.”

He remained a heavy, unmoving anchor within you, his eyes locked onto your hand, gesturing with a nod of his head towards your core. By the look on his face, you knew he wasn't going to move an inch further until you complied. He wanted the visual— the sight of your fingers working for his own gain, the sound of your whimpering as you tried to find the release he had stolen. He was no longer just possessing your body; he was forcing you to become an accomplice in your own undoing.

You nodded as you slowly reached down, trembling and hesitant.

Ari let out a long moan, deep in his throat, as you let out an airy whine as the pads of your fingers came down over your swollen clit; the pads of your fingers sliding easily with the slick that still pooled there. You knew that for Ari, this had to be what he really wanted— not the moans, not the tears, the words, but the moment you accepted the role of his plaything, performing for his entertainment. He watched with lidded eyes, still rocking the tip of cock in and out of you, his eyes tracking every slide of your fingers, every shudder that wracked your frame.

“That’s it. Just like that.” His voice was a throaty rumble, thick with pleasure and gratification.

He didn't make it easy for you. Every time you seemed to find a rhythm, every time your breathing hitched in a sign that you were nearing the edge, Ari would shift. He would drive deeper for one sudden, hard thrust, knocking you off balance and stealing your focus before retreating back to those shallow, maddening teases. He acted like the sole conductor of your pleasure, playing your nerves like a finely tuned instrument, ensuring you felt every ounce of your own desperation.

His breath was hot and weighted against your neck. “Faster, Sugar. I wanna see you struggle for it. I wanna see how much you’re begging for me to let go.”

He shifted his grip on you, his large hand coming around your thighs to pull you up closer against him, your ass propped up by his knees, shoulder blades against the carpet, chest flatter against the carpet, forcing you to arch your back up further— making your vulnerability even more acute. He wanted you exposed, he wanted you desperate, and most of all, he wanted you to know that even your own hands were only working because he allowed it.

“Tell me, Sugar. Tell me how it feels to be mine. Don’t go quiet on me now,” Ari pried. “Tell me how much you love being my little toy while you do it.”

Your fingers picked up speed, rolling the sensitive bundle between their pads.

“Please,” You gasped out. “Please, m’so close.”

Ari let out something between a laugh and a groan. “Almost there, aren’t you?”

You nodded, lips parted, just as the tension reached a fever pitch, just as the first sparks of a climax began to coil tight, before it shone in your eyes, Ari acted. With a sudden, violent thrust of his hips, he drove himself deep— too deep and too fast— shattering the delicate rhythm you had painstakingly built. The impact was jarring, a physical shock that sent a wave of frustration through your system, knocking you completely off the ledge you had been clinging to.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You cried, unable to help yourself as you let out a desperate whine. “Ari!”

The rhythm was gone.

The momentum was dead.

You were left gasping, your body trembling in the sudden void of interrupted pleasure. The sheer cruelty of the timing was a psychological blow as much as a physical one; he had let you see the finish line only to tear it away at the final second.

“That’s not what I wanna hear, Sugar,” Ari scolded softly, hand coming up to grip at your chin, the palm of his hand applying a slight pressure to your throat.

He waited, staying buried deep inside you, a heavy, unyielding weight that felt like a seal on your fate. Your walls clenched and clung to him as he leaned down to brush his lips over yours before capturing you in a soft kiss, his tongue rolling against yours for a fleeting moment before he pulled back and leaned down. He peppered kisses from the thumb on the column of your neck, up to the shell of your ear, his voice vibrating through you with a manipulated darkness that threatened to keep pulling you further down.

“I didn’t ask if you were close,” He rasped. “I asked how it feels to be mine.”

He shifted slightly, a tiny, teasing rotation of his hips that sent a fresh jolt of longing through you, but he kept you pinned against him, keeping your legs parted so he could get a full view of your own hand still hovering near your heat, useless without his permission to continue. He was savoring it— enjoying it; the absolute silence of your pride, replaced by the loud, frantic drumming of your heart and the broken sound of your breathing.

“Say it,” Ari commanded, his tone dripping with a mocking, silky sweetness. “Say the words I want, Sugar, and maybe— just maybe— I’ll let you finish.”

You let out something between a sob and a moan, a small shake of your head before you gave in.

“I love being your toy,” You whispered, the words feeling heavy and filthy on your tongue. “I’m yours. Please, Ari. Please.”

The admission was a broken, fragile thing that signaled the complete dissolution of your will. You didn’t wanna fight him any longer. You still wanted him; you wanted the fantasy, and if this was the only way to get it—then so be it. It wasn't just a lie to get what you wanted; it was the sound of a woman who had been stripped of everything until the only thing left was the need for the man above you to stop the torture— or start it; you didn’t know anymore.

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, acting as the final key to the lock.

Ari let out a long, shuddering breath that sounded more like the predator finally closing its jaws. He had you. He had you right where he wanted you.

“Good girl,” He cooed out, that mocking tone still laced with every word he spoke. “That’s it. That’s my girl. There’s my baby.”

The change in him was instantaneous.

The cruelty vanished, replaced by an all-too-familiar face. There he was. Your Ari. He seized your hand, pulling it away from your body with a sharp tug, and replaced it with his own. He didn't use the slow, teasing circles this time; he used a firm, rhythmic pressure, his thumb working in tandem with a sudden, violent resurgence of his hips. The tease was over, and in its place came a storm of relentless, focused stimulation. He drove into you with a fervent speed, his thumb grinding into your clit with a fierce precision that left no room for hesitation. The collision of the two sensations– the deep, heavy thud of his body and the sharp, electric friction of his hand— was too much.

You let out a broken, high-pitched cry as your climax finally hit you. It was a violent wave that crashed over your entire body, leaving your muscles seizing and your mind blank; however, Ari didn't stop. He kept fucking you right through the peak, his thrusts jarring and deep, forcing you to feel every single ounce of your own release as it merged with the unrelenting power of his movement. It was like he wanted you to be completely undone, to feel the pleasure as something he had granted and something he still controlled.

“There…” Ari began to moan out in between heavy pants and labored sighs. “That’s it… Take it all, Sugar. Know you can.”

He let out a ragged, heavy breath, his own body trembling with the effort of holding back. He stayed buried inside you for a few moments more, savoring the way you shivered and gasped beneath him, the aftermath of the orgasm leaving you pliant, shattered, and spent. Then, with a sudden shift in energy, he pulled back.

“My turn.” Ari’s voice was a sordid promise— one you didn’t know how you were going to survive; one you didn’t know if you wanted to.

Ari gripped you by the waist and hoisted you up with ease, your body feeling like nothing in his massive arms. He carried you the short distance to the bed, tossing you onto the plush mattress with a blunt lack of ceremony. Before you could even roll over, he was there, lounging back against the headboard and pulling you onto his lap.

He sat you astride him, your legs framing his hips, stretched to capacity over his thick thighs, your chest heaving as you looked down at him. Ari's eyes were dark, his pupils blown, looking up at you with a mixture of predatory lust and a cold, possessive success. He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your soft skin to anchor you in place, ensuring you felt the full, pulsing length of him beneath you.

“Put those legs to work, Sugar. Make me cum,” Ari commanded with a deep drawl. Ari watched with a thick anticipation as you reached under and lifted up into your knees, your fingers wrapping around his length. You stoked the underside of his cock, running your thumb down that thick vein that made him let out a hiss of air. You nudged the head against your clit, rocking for a moment. “Fucking… finally.”

He stayed anchored, his massive hands gripping your hips with enough pressure to leave bruises, forcing you to take full control of the movement. The sensation of your delicate fingers stroking the underside of his shaft, combined with the slow, agonizing tease of the head grazing your clit made you let out a long, drawn-out whine as Ari let out a throaty groan. He watched you through hooded eyes, his gaze tracking your flushed, tear-stained face.

“Don't just tease me, baby. I've been patient enough tonight,” Ari said, almost pleading.

You lifted up as much as your legs allowed, fighting through the shakiness of your thighs, as you nudged the tip against your wet hole, taking in sharp gasps as you began to sink down on him. The stretch seemed more this way, filling you more than before.

Ari let out a low, guttural groan that sounded more like a snarl, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Fuck…”

The slow, deliberate descent was a different kind of torture. As you sank down, the friction was visceral, the wet heat of your body wrapping around him in a tight, desperate grip. Ari's fingers dug deeper into your hips, his knuckles white, as he felt you slowly encompass him, inch by agonizing inch. You knew he could feel the tremor in your thighs, the way your body was still sensitive and humming for him, and it only drove his need higher.

Once you were fully seated, bottoming out against him, Ari's eyes snapped open. They were void of any remaining tenderness, replaced by that raw, pulsing hunger. He didn't let you settle for long. He gripped your waist and began to thrust upward, meeting your descent with a powerful, rhythmic surge that forced you to bounce on him, pulling pitched moans with every jolt.

“Look at you... taking it all,” Ari rasped out, breathless as he tilted his head back against the headboard, watching you closely. “Oh, fuck it.”

He accelerated the pace, his movements becoming less about pleasure and more about a desperate, driving need to fill you up. It was like he was using you as nothing more than a vessel; his breaths coming in short, sharp bursts as he pushed himself toward the edge, his grip on your hips so tight that you cried out, your hands ending up flat on his chest.

His eyes locked onto yours with a taunting gleam.

“What was it you said yesterday?” Ari asked, head cocking to the side slightly as he thrust upward with a sudden, violent force, making your entire body buck and making your breath hitch. He didn't slow down, keeping a relentless pace that forced you to cling to his shoulders for balance. He was no longer just seeking his own release; he was weaving your previous insults back into the act— turning your own words into a leash. His voice was a deep rumble, his grip tightening on your hips until his fingertips sank into your skin.  “A communal fleshlight? Hmm?”

He let out a dark, breathless laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest and into you. He watched your face, searching for the flicker of shame or the return of that defiant spark, wanting to see your struggle with the reality of your current position, but it was long gone. All that was left was the sheer need to keep him buried deep inside you, to lose yourself in hun. He was the one who had broken you, the one who had forced the submission from your lips, and now he was making you inhabit the very role you had used to mock them.

His voice dropped to a lethal hiss that made you choke back a sob.

“Just a fucking hole. That’s all you are now, Sugar. Just a place for me to put this—“ He slammed into you, causing you to sink your nails into his bicep, your forehead touching his as you keened upwards. “A place for us all.”

The words were spat out with a clinical coldness, designed to strip away whatever dignity you had managed to claw back in the aftermath of your orgasm. He didn't pause for a reaction. Instead, he surged upward one more time, another brutal, bottoming-out thrust that seemed to aim for your very core, anchoring you to him with a possessive violence.

He began to move again, but the rhythm had shifted. It was no longer about the slow, seductive build or the playful torture. It was a raw, driving necessity. He used his strength to control your every movement, his hands acting like vices on your hips as he dictated the depth and speed of your collision. He was erasing you as a person, reducing you to the very thing he had just named— a tool for his own gratification— and you were letting it happen.

The room was thick with the scent of sex and sweat; the only sounds were the rhythmic, wet slapping of your bodies and Ari's heavy, ragged breathing mixing with your moans and the breathy chants of his name. He was close now, his muscles coiled and trembling under the skin, his focus narrowed down to the tight, hot grip of your body around him. He let out a low, animalistic grunt, his movements becoming frantic, a desperate scramble for the finish line before seemingly changing his mind, pulling out of you with a grunt and wrapping his hand around the base of his cock, letting out a long, shaky breath.

“Oh, fuck,” He moaned out. “Fuck, that’s— That fucking cunt, sneaky little thing.”

​

The frantic violence of the moment suddenly vanished, replaced by a heavy, suffocating stillness and heavy breaths.

He looked up at you, his eyes half-lidded and dark, glazed with a mixture of lingering lust and an insatiable need. He wasn't finished with you— not even close— but he leaned back like he wanted to savor the wreckage. His eyes wandered to your core, as if searching for the physical evidence of what he had done to you; to see the way your body had been stretched to accommodate him.

“Spread that cunt open for me.” He spoke with a deep hum, a demanding croon; the sound of a man who owned every inch of the room and the woman in it. He shifted his grip, his hands sliding from your hips to the backs of your thighs, his large palms pressing firmly against your skin. He didn't push you; he simply waited, the expectation of obedience hanging in the air like a blade. The smirk on his lips made you lean forward a little. There was no doubt that you were going to do it; that you were going to willingly display your vulnerability, to show him the very place where he had spent the night breaking you. “Let me see it. Let me see how I've wrecked it. Show me.”

He remained perfectly still, his breathing ragged, his gaze fixed intently on the point where you were joined. He was demanding a final act of submission, a visual surrender that would cement your new status as nothing more than an object for his observation and use.

Ari let out a long, slow exhale, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched your fingers tremble as you reached down to slide a hand to part yourself for him, fighting off the shame that wanted to bloom across your cheeks. He watched with a dark, focused intensity as your fingers pulled yourself open, exposing the raw, swollen reality of your encounter.

“That's it. Good girl,” Ari praised, voice almost a whisper.

The sight was so visceral that you couldn’t bring yourself to look down until Ari guided your gaze with a simple flick of his eyes— the flush of your skin, the glistening wetness, and the way your body had clung to him even in this state of exposure. To Ari, it wasn't just sex; it was a ledger of his victory, a physical map of where he had overridden your will and where he had left his mark. For you, it was everything you had wanted, even if it meant pretending you were elsewhere.

He didn't look away. His gaze remained fixed on the intersection of your bodies, his pupils blown wide. Slowly, Ari shifted one of his hands from your thigh as he positioned himself back against your hole, and you knew better than to move your hand away until you got his say-so. He helped you settle back down on him before letting you sit back, giving him a full view of you stretched to the limit around his cock until he reached forward, his large, calloused fingers moving with a sudden contrast of gentleness and intent. He began to trace the perimeter where your soft, swollen flesh was stretched tight around the thick diameter of his length.

His touch was light, almost a caress, but the intent behind it was purely possessive. Your muscles twitched under his fingertips, a shiver rolling through you from the contact. He traced the rim of your opening, feeling the heat and the tension, as if mapping out the limits of your elasticity. He let out a deep, contemplative hum, his breath hitching as he felt you clench instinctively.

“Wonder if I could stretch this any more?”

He didn't wait for an answer.

He applied a small, sudden pressure, pressing a finger against the edge of your opening to test the skin's resistance. You gasped and flinched, but Ari’s heavy hand on your hip kept you firmly in place. The movement was almost clinical, his eyes searching for that familiar spark of fear or the blankness of total surrender in your eyes. He was no longer just thinking about his own release; he was thinking about the capacity of the "toy" he had been given, wondering exactly how much he could break you before you truly snapped.

“I bet I could. I bet I could make you take even more than this, couldn't I, Sugar?” Ari asked, a silky whisper that made you whimper and shake your head, but you still felt the familiar ache as you clenched around him, and you knew you were going to have no choice. A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Shaking that pretty head, but your body is saying something else entirely.”

Ari tightened his grip on your thigh, pulling himself up so there was no gap, no air, only the crushing weight of his presence. You shuddered under his gaze as Ari withdrew his hand from the intimate, swollen heat of your body, but the sudden release brought no comfort. He didn't move away; he simply brought his hand up, the fingers glistening with your own fluids and the evidence of your encounter. He didn't offer a gentle touch. He pressed his fingers firmly against your lips, the smell of your sex filling the small space between them, forcing you to face the reality of what he had just done to you.

“Get 'em wet.” He didn't nudge or plead; it was an order, delivered with the same absolute authority he used to manage the family's dirty work. He held his fingers there, a barrier between you and the air, waiting for you to comply. The contrast was stark— softness of your pouty lips against the calloused, rough skin of his hand. He wanted you to taste yourself on him, to swallow the evidence of your own surrender. “Do it now, or it's really gonna suck for you.”

The threat was unspoken but clear.

Ari had spent the last hour playing with the boundary between pleasure and pain, and he was more than willing to tilt the scale back toward the latter if you hesitated. He remained anchored beneath you, his cock still filling you, a heavy reminder that he held every card in this game. He watched your eyes, waiting for the moment you accepted that your only option was to obey.

You parted your lips and slowly sucked his fingers into your mouth, your hand coming up to wrap pathetically around his large wrist. Ari let out a long exhale as your hand came into contact with his wrist.

“That’s it, baby. Now you’re learning. Just gotta listen, gotta behave.”

Ari watched you, heavy and possessive, as you took his fingers into your mouth. He didn't just let you suck; he exerted a small, controlling pressure, his rough fingers sliding against your tongue and the roof of your mouth, forcing you to accommodate him. He seemed to savor the way your hand wrapped around his wrist with a pathetic, desperate need for stability, as if he were the only thing keeping you from dissolving entirely.

Your other hand came up, fingernails scratching softly at the back of his hand, your thumbs pushed into his palm as your tongue rolled against the calloused fingertips. You let out a lengthy, heated hum around his fingers and rocked your hips down against him.

A growl ripped from his throat, his muscles locking tight. “You little…”

The sudden shift in your behavior— the way you began to actively seek him out, your nails scratching at his skin and your  hips rocking in a slow, desperate invitation— sent a surge of fresh, violent lust through him. He had spent the night breaking you, and now that you had allowed yourself to be broken, you were becoming something far more dangerous: a creature that craved the very hand that crushed you. The humming vibration of your throat against his fingers echoed the pulsing need deep in his own gut.

Ari didn't let you continue the tease for long.

He abruptly withdrew his fingers from your mouth with a sharp flick, his hand moving with a blur of speed to grip the back of your neck; his hold was iron, forcing your head back and exposing your throat to the dim light of the room. He looked up at you, his eyes void of everything but a raw, animalistic hunger, his chest heaving beneath you.

“You like it, don't you?” He surged upward with a sudden, explosive force, his hips slamming into you with everything he had. The impact was a brutal taking that knocked the breath from your lungs and sent you sliding up his body. He began to drive into you with a frantic, punishing rhythm, his movements primal. He was no longer conducting a symphony of submission; he was simply drowning in you. “I'm going to ruin you for anyone else, Sugar… you're going to forget how to even breathe without me…”

The violent intensity of his thrusts reached a fever pitch, the room echoing with the sound of Ari’s desperate thrusts and your needy moans. Ari was a force of nature, his muscles coiled and trembling, his focus narrowed entirely to the friction and heat of your body. Just as he neared the edge, he shifted. He didn't pull away, but he adjusted his grip on your neck, releasing you just enough to slide his hand back down. With a sharp, commanding movement, he thrust his fingers back toward your face, offering them up like a prize— or a leash. He didn't stop his hips; he kept a steady, grinding pace, his cock acting as a heavy, pulsing anchor that kept you pinned to him even as he demanded your focus elsewhere.

He gave a jagged command, his eyes burning with a dark, possessive fire. “Take them.”

Without hesitation, you opened your mouth and let him thrust his fingers back into your mouth, humming around them.

Ari let out a hiss, his hips bucking upward to meet you. “That's it... just like that.”

The sound of you humming around his fingers, the vibration of it traveling up his arm and settling in his chest, was the final trigger. He wasn't just possessing your body anymore; he had your senses completely occupied. Your mouth was full of him, your body was filled with him, and your mind was reduced to a singular, pulsing need for the man who had dismantled you.

Ari's movements became frantic.

He stopped the grinding and shifted into deep, violent plunges, each one driving you higher and higher until you collapsed on him, your face was snug against his throat, lips parted around his fingers as you cried out above him. He gripped your waist so hard his fingerprints were undoubtedly printing bruises onto your skin, his knuckles white. He was no longer the composed, cold right-hand of the family; he was a man possessed by a dark, singular obsession.

Ari’s voice was jagged, letting out a broken groan, his eyes blowing wide as the peak hit him. “You're mine… fucking mine…”

He didn't let the momentum die. Even as the first waves of his release began to coil in his gut, Ari refused to let the act be passive. It’s like he wanted you to be the one to push him over the precipice; he wanted you to be the instrument of his undoing. He shifted his grip, his massive hands sliding from your waist to the underside of your thighs, lifting you slightly to create a gap before letting you drop back down with a heavy, wet thud.

“Bounce on it, baby, come on,” Ari moaned out, deep and desperate. He began to thrust upward with a violent, rhythmic urgency, forcing your body to mirror his desperation. You kept your hands locked around his wrist, fucking yourself back onto him. He wasn't just asking for movement; he was demanding a performance of pure, unadulterated need. The room was a blur of heat and sound, the heavy scent of your union clinging to the air like a shroud. “Yeah, bounce on my cock, Sugar... make me cum, Sugar. Gonna fill you up. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Your teeth dug into the flesh of his fingers slightly, letting out muffled cries as you bounded feverishly, which earned you a strangled grunt from Ari, it ripping out of his throat.

“Fuck!”

The sharp, sudden prick of pain was the final spark to the powder keg.

It must have sent a jolt of electricity straight to his core, syncing perfectly with the desperate, frantic rhythm of your hips as Ari's entire body went rigid, his back arching off the mattress as the orgasm tore through him with a violent, unchecked intensity. He didn't pull away from the bite; instead, he leaned into it, the pain only fueling the raw, animalistic nature of his release. He gripped your thighs with a crushing force, his fingers digging into the soft flesh to keep you locked against him as he spilled himself deep inside you.

The world narrowed down to the sound of your combined, ragged breathing.

For several long seconds, neither of you moved, suspended in the heavy, shimmering aftermath of a battle that had left you both physically and emotionally spent; a battle that both of you won and both of you lost. Slowly, Ari's muscles began to slacken. His grip on your thighs loosened, and he finally withdrew his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop. He didn't push you off him immediately; he simply lay there, his chest heaving, his eyes half-closed and glazed with a dark, lingering satisfaction. He looked up at you— flushed, shaking, and completely undone— and a ghost of a smirk touched his lips.

“Look at you,” Ari mused, barely more than a whisper.

You hummed, your legs shaking as they remained stretched over him. You reached for his hand, fingers gently stroking against the bite marks. Your body still felt alive— wound, like you weren’t ready to give in just yet. You couldn’t let it be over. You slowly guided his hand down your body and back between your legs as you kept your gaze locked on his.

Ari let out a deep huff of air, his eyes tracking your every movement with a heavy, hooded gaze. “Still hungry, are you?”

You let out another hum and gave him a nod.

He didn't resist you. You knew he wouldn’t.

He let his hand be guided; his large, calloused palm sliding over the wetness of your thighs until he felt the heat of you. The difference between you was painstakingly obvious— his hand was steady and dominant, while your fingers were trembling, still humming with the electricity of the encounter. He didn't rush to apply pressure; he simply rested his hand there, feeling the way you squeezed around him, the need for your orgasm thrumming through your body.

Ari looked up at you, the coldness that usually defined his features softened by an amused, possessive haze. He watched the way your hair spilled across his chest and shoulders, almost like a curtain that isolated you from the rest of the house and the other men waiting for their turn.

“You're a greedy little thing, Sugar,” Ari cooed as his fingers began to curl, grazing your clit with a skilled precision.

He didn't start a full-blown assault; instead, he began a slow, torturous exploration. He used his fingertips to trace the swollen edges of your opening, testing the sensitivity he had spent the last hour heightening. Every small flick of his wrist sent a fresh spark through you, reminding you that while the storm had passed, he still held the lightning.

His eyes locked onto yours, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Do you want more, Sugar? Do you want me to keep ruining you until you can't even remember your own name?”

“Don't stop…” You whined out behind a bitten lip, staring at him with pleading, desperate eyes.

A dark laugh rippled through his chest, his fingers suddenly pressing firmly down on your clit.  “Careful what you wish for, Sugar.”

Ari's hand shifted from a tease to a focused assault. He knew exactly where your nerves were raw, exactly how much pressure would push you back toward the ledge. He began to work you with a need that matched your own, his fingers sliding through the wetness he had created, mirroring the heavy, pulsing presence of his cock that still filled you.

He watched your face, the way your expression shifted from desperation to pure, unadulterated need. His own eyes lit up at the sigh, and you wondered if he loved the way your eyes glazed over— the same way you loved when his would turn almost black. You wondered if he liked the way your lip stayed caught between your teeth— the same way you liked it when his face would twist up when you would squeeze him just right. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, he was no longer just satisfying a physical urge; as much as he was cementing a psychological tether, ensuring that your pleasure was entirely dependent on his whim, he was enjoying the link to you. He was letting himself feel— even if for a moment.

Ari’s hips gave a slow, shallow buck upward.

“Look at you,” Ari said, “Begging for it again. After everything I just did to you.”

He increased the speed of his fingers, his movements becoming a blur of friction and heat. Your walls clenched around his softening cock, your body reacting instinctively to the renewed stimulation. He was building the tension again, a second wave of sensory overload that threatened to drown you. He leaned up slightly, his lips grazing your jawline, his breath hot and heavy.

“You're already becoming such a little addict, aren't you? Addicted to the way I break you. You’re gonna be so fun to pass along, Sugar.” Ari whispered, his tone dripping with a lethal sweetness.

You groaned at him, throwing your words back at you, but despite it, you began to arch your back, your breath hitching in anticipation of another climax, but Ari suddenly stopped. He didn't pull his hand away, but he froze every movement, leaving you suspended in that agonizing, white-hot void once again. He stayed perfectly still, ignoring and enjoying the way you cried out, his eyes locked onto yours, watching the frustration ripple through your shaking frame.

“Not yet. Tell me who you belong to. Tell me who owns every single inch of this greedy little body,” Ari rasped out.

“You own me, please,” You sobbed out desperately.

A dark, triumphant hum vibrated deep in his chest, his eyes darkening as he savored the sound. “That's right. Every single inch.”

The admission was the final piece of the puzzle.

For Ari, the physical act was the method, but this verbal surrender was the goal. For you, it was continuing the lie you had built up in your head.

He didn't reward you immediately; he let the words hang in the air, letting the weight of your submission sink in until you were trembling with the effort of holding yourself up on him. He watched the way your eyes were clouded with need; your spirit stripped bare and laid open for his inspection.

Then, with a sudden, violent surge of motion, Ari snapped. He didn't just resume the stimulation; he unleashed it. His hand became a blur of rhythmic, crushing pressure against your clit, while you chanted his name out like a prayer. He wasn't teasing anymore. He was driving you straight into the wall, forcing your body to collapse under the weight of a second, even more intense climax; your whole body seizing up and then breaking under it.

“Don't you dare close your eyes,” Ari growled up at you, his thumb pressing in with a ruthless skill. “Want you to see me while you fall apart.”

You kept your eyes locked on his as you let out a string of broken moans.

The room around you dissolved into a kaleidoscope of sensation.

Your vision blurred at the edges, but you fought to keep your gaze anchored to Ari's. You saw the hunger in his eyes, the dark triumph of a man who had not only claimed your body but had successfully and undoubtedly dismantled you. Every broken moan that escaped your lips was a testament to his control. You were shaking, your entire frame vibrating with the force of a release that felt less like pleasure and more like a total systemic collapse.

“That's it... Break for me... Just fucking break…”

As the waves of the orgasm slowly receded, leaving you limp and gasping, Ari didn't immediately pull away. He stayed buried deep inside you. He looked up at you, his expression a complex mixture of cold satisfaction and a strange, dark intensity that seemed to border on obsession. He had pushed you further than any of the other men had yet, which made your stomach want to turn up with dread. The sight of him— completely spent, little puffs of breath leaving through his parted lips, the strands of his long hair stuck to his damp forehead— helped push the feeling down for a little while longer.

Slowly, with a lingering, heavy friction, Ari withdrew from you. The sudden absence of his warmth felt like a cold shock to your sensitive system. He didn't help you up; he simply sat back against the headboard, watching as you slumped over his legs, cheek ending up laid against his chest, listening to the pounding of his heart. He reached out, his large hand gripping the back of your neck one last time, not with violence, but with a firm, grounding pressure that reminded you exactly where you stood.

“You did well tonight, Sugar,” Ari said, voice sounding thick with a tenderness that didn’t seem right in the space he had created, but you took it anyway.

He let out a slow, shuddering breath, his eyes scanning the room as the adrenaline began to fade, replaced by the oppressive silence of the manor. The high of the conquest was still there, but the reality of the situation— the debt, the family, the rotation— settled back in. He shifted his hand from your neck to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, which was still swollen from his fingers.

His gaze locked onto yours— a dark, warning glint returning to his eyes.  

“Don't think this means I've gone soft. You’ve got half an hour until Curtis is at that door, and he isn't nearly as... patient... as I am.”

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and the lingering weight of a psychological storm. Ari didn't move to comfort you. He didn't offer a blanket or a gentle word. He simply watched you for a moment longer, his gaze almost clinical once more, as if he were examining a piece of equipment he had pushed to its absolute limit to see if it would break. The rhythmic thudding of his heart began to slow, but the possessive energy still radiated off him in waves.

He finally shifted, sliding out from under you with a fluid, practiced grace. The loss of his body heat left you shivering in the dampness of the sheets, and you bit back a plea for him to come back. Ari stood up, his towering frame casting a long shadow over your curled-up form. He didn't look back as he walked toward the ensuite bathroom, the sound of the shower starting up and the steam beginning to leak back into the bedroom; and for a long while after, the only sound was the hiss of the water and your own shallow, trembling breaths.

Then, the shower stopped.

Ari emerged, a towel wrapped low around his hips, droplets of water clinging to the hard planes of his chest and the dark hair of his stomach. He didn't speak as he dressed, his movements efficient and cold, the "right hand" of the family returning to his professional shell.

“Clean yourself up. I don't want you smelling like me when Curtis walks through that door tomorrow morning. He won’t like it,” Ari instructed, not looking at you as he pulled his shirt over his head and smoothed it out.

He walked to the door, his hand gripping the handle and pulling it open. He paused for a fraction of a second, the silhouette of his massive shoulders blocking the light from the hallway.

Wait,” You called out after him.

You didn’t expect it, but he stopped.

While he didn't turn around immediately. He remained frozen, his hand still clamped on the brass handle, his broad back a wall of muscle that seemed to shrink the room. In the hours you had spent together, every interaction had been a battle of wills or a lesson in submission.

“Just... Just come pretend with me for a moment,” You finally pleaded, fighting against the tiredness that pulled at your eyelids.

The request hung in the air, fragile and incongruous against the backdrop of the wreckage in the bed. The word pretend felt alien in this house, a place where every cruelty was honest, and every boundary was meant to be demolished. Ari didn't move for several seconds. His shoulders were tense, his grip on the door handle so tight the metal seemed to groan.

“Come here.” Your voice was small and quiet.

The silence was heavy, save for the distant, rhythmic ticking of a clock somewhere in the manor's bowels. He remained a silhouette against the hallway light, his mind likely racing through the logic of the request.

Pretend.

It was a dangerous word. It implied a world where he wasn't a captor, and you weren't a debt-ridden asset. It was a request for a lie, a momentary truce in a war where he had already declared himself the victor.

Slowly, with a deliberate, heavy movement, he turned. He didn't look soft; his face was still a mask of cold, professional indifference, but there was a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps, or a remnant of the man he had been before the divorce and the darkness of his family's business—in the depth of his eyes. He didn't speak. He simply watched you, his gaze tracking the way you lay there, small and broken among the rumpled sheets.

Ari moved with a heavy, reluctant grace. He didn't rush; every step was a measured calculation, as if he were stepping into a minefield. The distance between the door and the bed felt vast, the atmosphere shifting from the coldness of a command to something thick, suffocating, and dangerously intimate.

He sank to one knee beside the mattress. His massive frame, even while kneeling, dominated the space, his presence a crushing weight. He didn't speak, his expression guarded, his jaw tight. He stayed perfectly still, his arms resting on his thighs, waiting. He was giving you the space to bridge the gap, as if testing whether this "pretend" was a genuine plea for comfort or another, more subtle form of psychological warfare.

As you shuffled toward him, your movements slow and trembling, Ari's gaze followed you with a hooded intensity. He waited until you were close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin. Slowly, almost tentatively, Ari reached out. His hand, large enough to cover your entire side, moved with a gentleness that felt wrong in the context of your night together. He smoothed his palm down your side, the calloused skin grazing your ribs in a slow, grounding motion. Ari let out a long, shaky breath, his voice a fractured rumble that barely sounded like him.

“What the hell is this, Sugar?”

Despite his questioning, he didn't pull away. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of your waist with a tentative curiosity. It seemed like, for the first time, he wasn't seeking a reaction of fear or submission; he was simply feeling you, as if trying to remember how to touch something without intending to break it.

“Just for a minute,” You coaxed.

You reached up to stroke your fingers through his damp hair, nails scratching softly at his scalp. You saw his eyes flutter closed; a muffled noise— halfway between a sigh and a groan— escaped his throat.

The touch must have been a shock to his system. For a man who lived in a world of violence, blackmail, and cold calculations, this kind of tenderness had to be an anomaly. You guessed it was a vulnerability he hadn't permitted himself in a long time. As your fingers drifted through his damp hair and your nails grazed his scalp, you felt a sudden, violent tension snap within him. He didn't pull away; instead, he leaned into your hand, his forehead dropping forward to rest against your shoulder.

“This is what I hoped for when I met you the first time,” You admitted, voice almost a whisper. “That maybe I'd get to run away, and you'd follow me, and we'd have a home, and spend our nights curled up just like this.”

The confession must have hit Ari with more force than any of the physical battles he had ever fought. For a long moment, he remained frozen, his forehead pressed against your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. The image you had painted— a home, a life, a quiet sanctuary— was a ghost of a dream you didn’t know he had buried under layers of cynicism and blood. It was a fantasy that had no place in the manor, and certainly no place between a captor and his toy.

“And then you ruined it.”

You pushed yourself away from him, sliding off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom without looking back, the door shutting heavily behind you. The click of the bathroom door was as final as a gunshot in the sudden, oppressive silence of the room. You let yourself sag against the door, bringing your hands up to cover your face while you waited for the lock to click. When it finally rang out, you pulled your hands down and inspected them. The phantom sensation of your nails on his scalp lingered, a ghostly caress that now felt like a brand.

​

[moosereblogsfics]

I loved this I LOVE THEIR DYNAMIC ugh

[cherienymphe]

The Devil of Danforth Estate

Titus Danforth x Reader

WARNINGS: Dub-Con/Non-Con, blood, murder, power imbalance, exhibitionism

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies 

summary: You expected to sign away a piece of your soul when you were hired on to serve the Danforth family, but Titus Danforth wouldn't be satisfied until he owned you in mind, body, and spirit.

⛧⃝

When you were hired on to serve the Danforth family—or the Danforth Clan as many liked to call them—you knew that you were stepping foot into the devil’s lair the moment a huge stack of papers were placed before you to read and sign. You knew there’d no doubt be things you’d witness and be privy to that you’d be legally barred from ever speaking about. You hadn’t known then just how depraved and differently the top 1% of the world behaved, but you’d known that you were signing a piece of your soul away in a sense. 

…but when you impressively scrawled your name in cursive on that dotted line, you hadn't known you’d be signing your body away too.

Titus Danforth was a gentle brute, if such a thing ever existed. He was one half of the Danforth legacy, a title and inheritance he shared with his twin sister Ursula. He was gruff and crass and possessed a child’s demanding nature despite not having been one for decades. With all of the money in the world in his pocket—and an army of people ready to answer his every beck and call and request at the drop of a hat—he could behave however he pleased without fear of consequence. 

An unfortunate fact he took great advantage of.

“This one’s new.”

That was how you were formally introduced, the older man eyeing you in a way that felt extremely distrusting. It didn’t necessarily offend you, understanding the protective nature of some rich asshole to guard his assets and livelihood. Still, the screening process to get hired onto the Danforth estate was a tedious and rigorous one, hardly a walk in the park, so he should’ve known that no one passed through these doors without the utmost confidence they could be trusted.

Your superior, Pernilla, had taken on the task of showing you the ropes, and she’d stopped any and all focus on anything else to give the grey-haired man her undivided attention. It was your first example as to how to act around the immediate family members, and you’d followed her lead, straightening and focusing on nothing else but him.

Such a small act had his full attention.

“Yes, Mr. Danforth,” the other woman confirmed despite the fact that it wasn’t a question. “She’s one of two new editions to the staff, fully screened and hired on only a week ago.”

You hadn’t moved a muscle as he eyed you, looking down his nose at you in a way that had you reminding yourself what you’d signed up for. The money you were getting just to wait on some privileged jerks had you ignoring the glint that passed through his gaze as he ran his eyes over you, slowly as if not to miss a thing.

Mr. Danforth only hummed, a low and deep sound from within his chest.

“Let’s hope you last.”

He was gone without another word, completely dismissive of your presence, and that was the last time you saw him for a while. Two months, in fact. The job didn’t require much more out of you than you expected, and that wasn’t to say that it was easy, but you’d been prepared for the demanding nature of your new employers. Two months. That's how long the wool stayed over your eyes, how long you’d been under the impression you were working for normal rich assholes.

…but then Ursula announced her engagement and then the wedding seemed to happen only a month later and then the wedding night changed everything.

The screams that rang throughout the estate gave you nightmares for months, assaulted by the visions and memories of mopping up fresh blood off of the hard wood floors. You hadn’t been able to stop shaking, a heavy weight settling in your chest as the reality of your new employer crept in. The mountain of papers you’d been forced to sign made more sense than ever in that moment, and you’d only been able to ask yourself one question.

What had you gotten yourself into?

You’d had no way to guess that cleaning up crime scenes would be the least of your problems. Your bloodstained hands took up all of your attention as you slowly and dazedly walked back to the servants’ quarters, cheeks damp from your tears and wondering if there was any way to get out of this. The contract was legally binding, legally preventing you from saying a thing, so surely you could just…leave, right?

So distracted by the physical evidence of your part in all this, you almost ran into one of the few people who could decide your fate in this household. You hadn’t been able to stop yourself from gasping in shock, stopping in your tracks and lifting your gaze to his face. The first time you ever met him felt like a whole other life ago, the events of Ursula’s wedding night serving as some paradigm shift.

There was only before and after, now.

Titus Danforth stood before you in all of his intimidating glory, made doubly so by the bloodstained shirt he was still wearing, and you forced yourself not to linger your gaze on it. He seemed to notice your discomfort—your fear—and if you hadn’t known better, you’d say he relished in it. When he took a step towards you, it took everything in you not to take one back.

“What’s your name?”

You forced your mind to work, blinking as you started to mumble the throw away name you’d been told to choose. However, before you could fully get it out, the older man was interrupting you with a bark of a tone. He sounded upset.

“Your real name.”

At that, you frowned, uncertainty tainting your chest. You furiously wracked your brain, accepting that you had never been trained on such a situation before. No one in the family was supposed to even care to know your real name and anything pertaining to your personhood outside of your role as their staff, let alone go out of their way to ask for it.

You nervously swallowed.

“Pernilla said…”

Your quiet words died in the air as Titus Danforth slowly shook his head, stepping towards you with an unyieldingly stern look on his features. You tried and failed to ignore the way your heart raced, keenly aware of the blood on his person and the confirmation of a violent disposition. The terrifying man before you clasped his hands behind his back, and you were forced to stare into his eyes as he held you hostage in this dimly lit corridor.

“What’s my name?” he asked you, that gruff tone of his making the question sound like a growl.

“Titus Danforth,” you answered without hesitation.

“Exactly, and that means this is my estate you’re working on, my money that employs you, and my person that your boss answers to. Do you know what that makes me?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer.

“That makes me your boss. That means that anything Pernilla or any one of these other disposable staff members ask of you is irrelevant as far as I’m concerned. If she tells you to go left and I tell you to go right, you fucking go right,” he said to you, and you nodded. “Do you understand? Say you understand.”

“I understand,” you forced out, finding it hard to breathe.

Your shaky breath was noticed, and you didn’t like the way he straightened, eyeing you differently now. There was the faintest twitch to his pink lips, and something resembling a faint yet cruel smile lingered.

“Now…what’s your name?” he repeated, his voice softer now.

You quietly told him without hesitation, and he mimicked it.

“Y/N,” he said again with a nod, voice louder now. “Go get yourself cleaned up, and bring a bottle of brandy and a fresh set of towels to my room.”

“Yes, Mr. Danforth.”

At that, he finally moved again, hand coming up between you and you weren’t able to stop yourself from flinching. He only held it there, and when he stepped towards you again, this was the closest he’d ever been. The silence was suffocating as he merely looked at you, a thoughtful look behind those hazel eyes.

“Sir. I want you to call me sir, Y/N.”

You really hated the way he said your name, and you regretted ever telling it to him.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, and he slowly nodded, a satisfied look washing over his features.

With a simple nod, he dismissed you, and in a short time, you found yourself increasingly more worried about Titus Danforth than the bodies piling up on this estate. 

“What about this one?”

You hesitated for only a moment before answering.

“That one’s nice.”

Mr. Danforth threw you a look at that to which you glanced away, and his deep laugh had a shiver crawling up your back.

“You said that two shirts ago,” he distractedly replied, reaching behind his head to slide it off.

“They’re all very nice, sir,” you told him, an honest response. 

You avoided looking at him as he searched for another expensive shirt that looked like any other regular shirt, wondering if you would ever stop feeling so…afraid around him. 

You didn’t know how nor why, but some kind of way, Titus Danforth decided that it would be you who would see to his every beck and call no matter how small it seemed. It felt like so long since you were even able to fulfill any other kind of household duty, recalling that every time you had a broom or a duster or a load of laundry in your hand, you were being summoned by the older man.

He needed a drink or he wanted a caddie as he golfed or he needed someone to lay out an outfit for him while he showered. You were hired on to answer to the every whim and need of the Danforths, but somehow it was only Titus who consumed most of your time. It was a strange position to be in, having to constantly be around this man who frightened you, but in a way…sometimes you felt like his friend. Or something like it.

The man grew up with the shiniest of silver spoons in his mouth sure, but all of the money and expensive education and best nannies the world had to offer just couldn’t refine the man. They couldn’t make him…fit. The expensive clothes and the handsome face could not hide how rough he was around the edges, how much he seemed to struggle with…behaving.

You, a seemingly nameless staff member, barely counted as a person in their eyes, and so…Mr. Danforth talked. He talked about any and everything to you, some of it interesting and some of it disturbing, but forced to be his confidant regardless. You were a nobody with no one of consequence to repeat it to, and he treated you like your sole purpose was to amuse and humor him.

When you heard him approaching you again, his voice pulled you from your thoughts. 

“...and this one?”

He was just barely pulling it on when you looked up, and you ignored his watchful gaze as he moved closer. Sometimes Mr. Danforth watched you like he was looking for something from you—expecting something—and you really wish you knew what it was at times so that you could give it to him and end that observant little stare he liked to fix you with.

“That one’s my favorite,” you honestly told him, and he liked that.

You could tell by the way he tilted his head at you, a secretive smirk on his pink lips.

“Then I’ll wear this one.”

You nodded at that, just wanting this to be over. 

You were sure the other staff members thought you got it so easy being forced to spend so much of your time sucking up to and answering to Titus Danforth, but it was worse than scrubbing the kitchen floors to you. The man terrified you beyond belief, even more than Chester Danforth who you’d met only on occasion, the elderly man confined to a bed most days.

Mr. Danforth was quick to react—quick to anger—and in the time you were forced to spend with him, it became clear that the man couldn’t be controlled. Ursula tried, oh she tried, but even you knew that she only had as much control over her brother as he allowed her to. Her hold over him wasn’t real, very easily broken, and you tried not to linger on the things you’d seen in your time here.

“What will you do while I’m gone?”

His gravelly voice had you giving him your attention, and you wracked your brain.

“Your father wants the main garden replanted, and it’s something I’ve been assisting with in between other duties.”

Mr. Danforth had a look on his features like he didn’t like that, lips turned up ever so slightly as he turned his back to you, arms spread out. You rushed to grab his suit jacket from a nearby chair, helping him slide his arms through the sleeves. You didn’t like the low hum that reached your ears, and when he abruptly turned around to face you, you flinched. He was so close, and his gaze slowly dropped, and you took the silent hint.

It was scary how much you grew to know him.

“I want you to wait here…until I get back,” he slowly said as you buttoned the piece of clothing.

His words gave you pause, and he noticed.

“I don’t like these stupid gatherings, and I don’t want to have to hunt you down when I finally return.”

When his jacket was buttoned properly, you took a few steps back, forcing yourself to nod. You regretted it almost immediately, briefly squeezing your eyes shut.

“You know I hate that…”

“Sorry, sir.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I understand,” you said to him. “I’ll be here.”

He fixed you with a look that you couldn't name, and then he was gone, and you let out the breath you’d been holding.

It wasn’t the first time Mr. Danforth demanded you basically die of boredom in his bedroom while you waited for him to come back. Sometimes you had to when he was meeting with his father or having a drink with a friend in one of the studies or even when he went out for the night and brought some strange woman back to one of the many guest rooms. He’d offhandedly mentioned once that he didn’t like bringing women back to his bedroom.

You only guessed why when you had the unfortunate task of cleaning that previously occupied guest bedroom one day, disturbed by the alarming amount of blood on the sheets.

Too many times did you find yourself fetching him a fresh towel or something to drink or even eat in the middle of the night, doing your best to ignore his state of undress while some other staffer handled the task of escorting his woman of the night off the property. You felt like a mere object with the sole purpose of serving him in some way, like a letter opener patiently waiting in his desk drawer until it needed to be used.

You told yourself that you could be spending this time doing worse things, acknowledging that at least his bedroom was five times the size of every apartment you’d ever had. During moments like this you mostly sat around in a chair, occasionally poking around in something innocent. Even rarer, you sometimes nodded off, hard to fight sleep when Mr. Danforth had you waiting around like some dog.

…and it didn’t help that he required so much of you.

You sometimes thought that it was fortunate you didn’t get to accomplish many other household tasks because waiting after the older gentleman took so much out of you itself. It never sank in just how much you’d been running around until it was time for bed and your body felt weighed down by sand. This being one of those times.

Approaching his bookshelf, you pulled one at random and plopped yourself into a chair.

You were at the estate for a year when Mr. Danforth made you cry for the first time.

It was a miracle really that you lasted a year before he ‘broke’ you, but the circumstances didn’t call for any other reaction. A year of doting on him and validating his every choice and fetching him his every desire no matter how ridiculous ultimately amounted to nothing. Well…it wasn’t nothing, but more so the complete opposite of anything you’d ever expected.

Titus Danforth was a protective and selfish bastard when it came to anything he deemed as his. His fortune, his house, his car. Resource guarding is the term you often heard used for animals, and Mr. Danforth—not all that removed from an animal—was very guilty of such. You were a frequent witness to the way he snapped and growled and protectively curled over anything he thought someone was trying to take from him. That description didn’t seem like an exaggeration in your mind, thinking to yourself that that’s exactly how he came off.

It didn’t scare you until the thing he was viciously guarding was you.

A year of answering his every beck and call had certainly garnered you the unofficial title of Titus Danforth’s servant amongst your coworkers. His food was always handed to you, his rooms were left alone by anyone but you, and it was only you who handled his every need and request. So much so that when he needed to travel, he wouldn’t hear of taking anyone but you to accompany him.

You’d gotten sick once, and hearing that it wouldn’t be you fetching his towels, he hadn’t wanted assistance from anyone else. Of course, he’d made that known at the time in a way that was less than polite, but the message had gotten across loud and clear. You thought he just saw your labor and your time on the clock as his—his right, you supposed—but you hadn’t realized that he saw you the person, not the employee, the same way.

You made a mistake by getting distracted.

Mr. Danforth’s food wasn’t quite ready when you went to retrieve it, and so you’d occupied the wait time by exchanging silly bullshit with one of the cooks you saw often. He was younger than you, but still handsome nonetheless in that boyish charm sort of way. You two weren’t best friends or anything, but you were no strangers to each other. A soft laugh had been on your lips when the kitchen grew so silent so quickly, it couldn’t help but to be noticed. The young man in front of you had swallowed the rest of what he was saying, looking over your shoulder now with a back so straight that you knew who was back there before you even turned around. 

Titus Danforth wasn’t looking at anyone but you when you faced him, and you swallowed at a look in his eyes you weren’t used to being on the receiving end of. His hands were behind his back and his legs were spread just enough to firmly plant his feet, looking more like a strict military man than some spoiled heir. The relaxed slouch of your frame dissipated, and the older man before you took notice.

You could hear a pin drop.

“Is this how you choose to spend your time when you’re supposed to be waiting on me?” he slowly asked, a sarcastic lilt to his tone.

“No, sir,” you hurried to answer. “Your food isn’t ready yet–.”

“So you come back to me and tell me that,” he sternly interrupted with a nod. “...and then you come back down here and get it when it is ready.”

You swallowed, starting to nod before thinking better of it.

“Yes, sir.”

Those hazel eyes of his eyed you for what felt like a long time, and you’d gotten better at not squirming beneath his gaze. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking at this moment, but you knew that you didn’t like it, and you didn’t relax at all when he turned his attention to the man behind you instead.

“What’s your name?”

He accepted your friend’s response, slowly nodding.

“When my food is ready, you bring it to me,” Mr. Danforth pointed at him, and you fought to keep the frown off of your face.

The grey-haired man sharply cut his gaze back to you, jerking his head, and you moved quickly, not wanting to upset him further.

His footsteps were heavy behind you as you exited the kitchen, and the walk back to his room was silent. For the most part. You could hear his breathing, that's how close he was, and you could feel the heavy and heated weight of his gaze on you. You mentally scolded yourself, torn between wanting to call yourself all kinds of idiotic names and giving yourself grace for arguably the smallest fuck up you could make.

…and it was your first offense too.

“I want to apologize again, sir,” you said to him once the door was closed behind you both. “I didn’t think it would take more than a few minutes.”

He didn’t respond right away, merely looking at you as he moved about his room. 

“Ursula has taken it upon herself to be a gracious host to some friends tomorrow night,” he finally said, completely ignoring your apology. “Find me something…nice to wear.”

You felt somewhat relieved at the direction of the conversation, a soft ‘of course’ leaving you as you made your way to his closet. You knew what he liked and what colors suited him best, so you were completely immersed in your thoughts when he followed you. You hadn't even heard him approach, normally so careless about the sound of his footfalls.

“Do you like him?”

His voice surprised you, and you jumped slightly before turning to face him.

Mr. Danforth was staring at you with an expectant look on his face, brows furrowed just the slightest. He was closer than he normally stood, head tilting just a tad as you processed his words.

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you like him?” he repeated, saying your friend’s name.

Understanding washed over you, and you blinked.

“He’s my friend,” you answered with a shrug. “I see him a lot whenever I have to go down to the kitchen.”

Mr. Danforth’s only response was a low hum, seemingly satisfied with that answer, and he took a step back just as a knock sounded on his door. You had no doubt that was the food that he’d just made such a fuss over, proven right moments later, and as you tilted your head to gaze into the bedroom, you watched the way the older man eyed the younger one. Mr. Danforth stood close to him as he watched him set down his food, thick arms crossed over his chest, and when those hazel eyes rose to meet yours, you quickly looked away.

You found it odd that he both asked for your friend’s name and asked him to bring him his food. It was unlike him, and while Mr. Danforth could be unpredictable on occasion, he was a pretty consistent man who liked his routine. That’s why no one was more surprised than you to be woken out of your sleep by Pernilla, the other woman telling you that Mr. Danforth—your Mr. Danforth—was requesting the presence of you both.

“It’s probably some poor woman he’s brought back to the estate,” she’d mumbled as you both hurried through the corridors. “He must need a clean up.”

Her wording gave you pause, and you recalled the blood you saw on occasion after he spent a night in a guest room. You had naively assumed things got a little rough, perhaps a nose bleed or some kink gone wrong, but it hadn’t occurred to you that anyone in this family could be killing people outside of a wedding night gone wrong. Your stomach churned at the thought, but you frowned as you thought to yourself that you never knew Mr. Danforth to bring women back to his room.

Your uneasy feeling only increased when you made it through his threshold.

The older man stood there in a bloodstained shirt, reminiscent of that night of Ursula’s wedding, and his hands weren’t too much cleaner. He looked so calm, like he wasn’t standing before you as some bloody mess, and you found yourself shaking much like you had that night. As you moved closer, your vision was drawn to shiny black work shoes just barely peeking out past the foot of the bed.

“Pernilla, give that to Y/N so she can start wiping this up. Go bring us a mop too.”

He said the words so nonchalantly as you slowly moved further into the room, the frown on your face dropping completely.

The scream that left you sounded like something out of a horror movie, and you couldn't stop yourself from stumbling back against a nearby chair. Your hysteric reaction had Pernilla following you before listening to him, and you even heard her gasp. If she was just as shocked and horrified as you, she didn’t show it, and you could feel her eyes on you as you stared at the body—the familiar body—through tearful wide eyes.

“Pernilla,” Mr. Danforth snapped, and she didn’t hesitate any longer…leaving you alone with him.

He tossed the towel at you, and it bounced off of your chest and onto the floor.

“Clean this up,” he spat, but you couldn’t move.

The body of your friend was facing away from you, facedown but the way his head was turned on his cheek allowed your eyes to connect with his empty lifeless ones. There wasn’t much blood beneath him, most of it on Mr. Danforth’s shirt, and you couldn’t stop yourself from shaking. You could hear him speaking, but barely so, the sound muffled to your ears.

When he was in your line of sight again, you just stared at him in a mixture of horror and disbelief. Your body kept going back and forth from hot to cold, growing more lightheaded by the minute as the room started to sway. You hadn’t even realized that your legs had begun to shake until you reached out for the chair to steady yourself.

“Y/N,” he finally said your name, voice gruff and bordering on angry. “Clean. This. Up.”

You just stared at him, unable to move and asking yourself why, using your eyes to ask him why.

Pernilla returned before you could move, and you could feel her looking between you both. Logically you knew that you needed to listen to him unless you wanted to lose your job or worse, but you physically couldn’t move. He was giving you a demand, and you couldn’t bring yourself to obey. A sob climbed out of your throat, and you tried to blink the tears away.

“Mr. Danforth, I’d be more than happy to–.”

“No, Pernilla,” he barked, keeping his eyes on you. “She will clean this up.”

Your gaze turned pleading as you looked at him, slowly shaking your head.

“No?” Mr. Danforth wondered, leaning in. “Are you telling me no?”

Your breath was coming out in chops, now, and you were finding it so hard to breathe.

“Please…please,” you softly said. “I…”

You felt like you were going to be sick, but before you could be, Mr. Danforth lunged for you. The shriek you let out was loud, a pained whine escaping you at the harsh grip he had on your arms. He was sadly just as strong as he looked, and you couldn’t swallow down your cries as he all but threw you to the ground…right next to his body.

You were an inconsolable mess as you attempted to stand, but the older man was right there, harsh hands on your shoulders as he forced you back down to your knees. He forced the towel into your hands, his own hands wrapping around your wrists as he physically made you move yours back and forth along the bloody floor.

“Pernilla, get it out of here,” he told her, and your sobs grew louder as she did just that, dragging the body of your friend towards the door. “Y/N will clean up this mess.”

You could barely see through your tears, crying out every time more blood got on your hands. Mr. Danforth knelt over you the whole time, fingers harshly pressing into your skin and nose gently at your ear as he forced you to do what he demanded. When the towel had served its purpose, he repeated the actions with the mop, harshly yanking you to your feet.

Mopping up the rest of the blood felt like an out of body experience, his hands over yours and his chest at your back as he forced you to participate in the disposal of your friend. When the floor was spotless, Pernilla returned to retrieve the cleaning supplies, and again you could feel her eyes on you.

You knew what she was thinking.

What did you do? How had you offended Titus Danforth to deserve this? And how had you dragged your coworker into it? The man had so much as never laid a finger on you, and in one hour he’d yanked you around and threw you to the floor into a pool of blood. You were covered in it.

With her gone, and with the floor clean, Mr. Danforth kept a firm hold on you as he forced you into the bathroom. The bright lights had you blinking and squinting, looking down as you stumbled forward. His firm chest was still at your back, and you couldn’t even linger on the oddness of that, too distracted by the blood on your hands.

When he turned on the sink, it felt almost…romantic as he put both of your hands under the water. The hot liquid and soap broke up the bodily fluid, and you could only tearfully watch the pink water swirl down the drain. Mr. Danforth meticulously washed both of your hands together, his even breathing in your ear such a contrast from your own. You absentmindedly noted how warm he felt against you, the smell of cigar smoke and cologne filling your nose.

When he was satisfied, he turned off the water, and he took half a second to grab a towel and push it into your hands. He held it there, and you slowly lifted your tearful gaze to meet his evenly cold one, pink lips pressed together. The grey stubble around them moved slightly as they twitched, and he eyed you with a look that made your blood run cold.

“I hope that now nothing else will distract you from me.”

An unintelligible sound left your throat at his words, and for the first time ever, you shrank away from him in unbridled fear.

Mr. Danforth watched you keenly as you wiped down his desk, and you pretended not to notice.

You’d always been a little terrified of him, but it was different now. Seeing the aftermath of his brutality or watching him manhandle some other staffer hadn’t prepared you for being on the receiving end of it yourself. Especially not in the manner you had that night, and you swallowed at the thought.

The memory of blood and a body haunted you for months, plaguing your mind with nightmares night after night. It made it hard to find sleep, and many days you might as well have been dead on your feet. Your friend had been killed because of you, that much you knew whether Mr. Danforth came outright and said it or not. He never did even try to give some half assed excuse that explained how an employee ended up dead in his bedroom, but this was the Danforth Clan—a family that practically controlled the world—and what was one body of some insignificant employee?

Your friend’s fate often brought tears to your eyes.

Sometimes you wondered if you’d be next should you piss him off enough, but there was a part of you that vehemently denied that. Mr. Danforth seemed very…intent on you—intent to watch you, intent to have you near him, intent to keep you. Funnily enough, that knowledge scared you more than anything, keenly aware of the way he studied you any time he so much as told you to get him a drink.

Tonight, it was several drinks.

“I’ll be back late, but I want two glasses brought to my room,” he said to you.

“Yes, sir.”

The greying man simply eyed you at that, so close and so silent as he ran his hazel eyes over your face, drinking you in. That air of distrust he’d first expressed when you first met was long gone, the older man more than sure that he’d scared you into submission, scared you so much that you would never even dream of crossing him.

You hated that he was right.

When he was around, the hours seemed to drag on for ages, but when he was gone, time seemed to fly by. Between cleaning duties and fetching a thing or two for Ursula, the hours passed swiftly, and you were informed when he was back at the estate well into the night. You were alone as you fixed the drinks—always alone these days—and you tried not to linger on the aftermath of that night.

None of your coworkers wanted to get too close to you, the rumors spreading amongst the staff, a mix of speculation and the truth swirling around you. Pernilla often sent you a sympathetic look when no one was looking, she being the only other witness to that horrible night and Mr. Danforth’s treatment of you. Only she had witnessed the second defining night of your time here, and as you made your way upstairs, you were unaware that a third was in the making.

So focused on pleasing him and not wanting to be on the receiving end of some other traumatic treatment, you hadn’t realized what you’d walked into until you were right in front of it. You almost dropped the tray of drinks, a full bottle of some expensive Cognac in the other hand. You were quick to steady your grip, squeezing your eyes shut and turning your head away.

“I apologize, sir Danforth, I had not realized…”

Your words died in the air as you completely turned away from the scene before you.

You weren’t currently looking at them, but the sight of his taught form brutally pushing into the woman beneath him was at the forefront of your mind. You could still hear her soft moans and his heavy breathing, and you briefly looked towards the ceiling, wondering if this could get any worse.

“Set it down,” you heard him say, voice strained and tone thick with an unsatisfied appetite.

You did as he said, placing everything just as he liked it, fully prepared to leave.

“Did I say you could go?”

His question had you halting your steps, and your lips parted as you stared at the wall in front of you. The woman he was with made a slight noise filled with frustration and confusion, and you noted that you didn’t hear the soft movement of the bed anymore. A chill passed through you as you internally wondered if this was actually happening, and you felt you should’ve known this night was going to be off when he brought a woman back to his bedroom.

You knew Mr. Danforth was entirely serious, and your shoulders sank.

“Turn around.”

The huskiness of his tone has you shuddering, and you hesitated for half a second before doing just that.

You stared at the wall behind them, forcing yourself not to cry at the trajectory of your night. The room was filled with silence, and you could feel his gaze on you, watching you and watching your reaction. You didn’t understand why he was doing this, but then he told you to look at him, and your frown deepened.

When you did, he held your gaze for a few seconds before he started moving again. Your brows twitched as he fucked some woman you’d never seen before, her tan skin contrasting against his pale hue. She didn’t seem to mind, at all that you were an unwilling voyeur to this, and when the older man looked down at the woman beneath him, you looked away.

That lasted for all of four seconds.

You heard her gasp in shock and when you looked over he was up and coming towards you. You couldn’t stop your eyes from widening, keeping your gaze on his face as Mr. Danforth approached you in all of his naked glory. The muscles in his arms and chest moved with every step, and your employer didn’t stop until he was right in front of you.

His bare chest heaved as he stared you down, nostrils flaring.

“What did I say?”

Your face was on fire, but your eyes were anything but, looking at him pleadingly.

“Sir–.”

Your words were cut off as he roughly grabbed your chin, holding it in his hand as his gaze passed between your own. You glanced behind him briefly, noting the way the woman was propped on the bed, an impatient look resting on her face. When you looked at him again, his thumb brushed along your skin, and you were sickenly aware of his state of undress and his close proximity.

“You will look at me, and if I catch you looking away, I’m going to be very unhappy,” he gruffly told you.

When you gave him the response you wanted, a tear skipping down your cheek, he turned his back on you.

Forced to watch this, you couldn’t do anything but wring your hands together, flinching every time his palm sharply came down against her skin. She seemed to like it, and you wished you could disassociate on command, but alas you were acutely aware of everything. Every groan he made, every curse that fell from his lips, and every animalistic noise that climbed out of this throat. You were even aware of the way his tongue touched his lip as he watched himself disappear into her and the way his stomach tightened with every push of his hips.

You felt yourself shudder every time his gaze lifted to you, and you knew that Mr. Danforth had no doubt you wouldn’t disobey him. He just wanted to watch you watch him fuck this woman. Those hazel eyes of his wanted to watch you squirm with discomfort, wanted to look at you as you observed him in his most bestial—yet vulnerable—moments.

Your skin was warm and your head was spinning and to your great dismay, there was tightening that had begun in your lower stomach. You hated this, and you’d only been more miserable one other time in your life, but even still the sight before you had you squeezing your thighs together, wholly ashamed of what was happening.

…and when he came inside of her with a brutish grunt, pinning her beneath him and a thin layer of sweat coating his frame, you couldn't have run away faster, consequences be damned.

The trajectory of your relationship with Mr. Danforth—with Titus—shouldn’t have surprised you.

…and yet it did.

It seemed that he didn't want to deal with the hassle of a body every time he wanted to break you a little more, so his new favorite pastime was getting his rocks off with you as a witness. Nameless woman after nameless woman was brought onto the estate, and night after night, you were forced to stand there and watch as he fucked every single one. You wondered if this was your punishment after running out that first night, or if this was inevitable and staying put wouldn’t have changed a thing.

Every time he finished inside of them, he crudely sent them on their way, promising that someone would see to it that they get home. They would leave while still struggling to get their dress zipped up or their underwear completely on, and Mr. Danforth would stride around you as naked as the day he was born, telling you to turn his shower on while he nursed his drink.

This psychosexual torture he liked to engage in was messing with your head, and he knew it, and you often wondered what the end goal was. Maybe he took pleasure in just messing with the staff, with you, or maybe this was all part of some drawn out punishment for offending him months ago. You often wondered when it would end, when he would grow bored of tormenting you or bored of even just having you around.

It had never occurred to you that he was purposely fighting against something that was inevitable.

Titus Danforth wanted you, and not just in the way that a spoiled child wants his favorite toy all to himself. He wanted every part of you in his hands and beneath his lips. He wanted all of you in every way he could get you, and the countless women he fucked underneath your terrified gaze served a purpose of satisfying the twisted sexual craving he had for the very same woman he was forcing to be a witness to his depravity.

You didn’t know any of that though.

Not until he was gruffly telling you to sit on his bed one day.

You’d hesitated, glancing at the untouched dinner you brought him, and you could tell by the darkening look in his eye that he didn’t want to have to tell you twice. Your heart was in your stomach as you slowly walked towards the impressive piece of furniture, legs shaking with every step. You didn’t want to believe what your mind was lingering on, but something in the back of your mind scolded you, calling you a fool for never considering this is where you’d end up. 

Any man that could kill without so much as a blink or ounce of remorse was a deviant, and any man that could force you to watch him have sex with countless women with no care to how uncomfortable it made you was a sexual deviant. It made sense in the moment that he wouldn’t just stop there, and still you hoped. His eyes never strayed from you once, and giving him one last glance—looking for anything that might ease your worries—you leaned your hands and backside against the mattress.

You didn’t miss his slow exhale as you pressed down, sliding back.

“Right there is just fine,” he said, forcing you to stop, just seated on the edge.

The silence surrounding you was deafening, and Mr. Danforth only stared at you for a moment or two before slowly walking towards you. You couldn’t stop yourself from swallowing at his approach, and you had no doubt that he noticed. You didn’t take your eyes off of him as he stood this close to you—too afraid to—and you only had a few seconds to mentally prepare yourself for whatever was about to happen.

He was slow to kneel in front of you, and your fearful confusion morphed into just plain old fear when his hands found a home on your knees, slowly pushing. You couldn’t stop your lips from trembling as he parted them slightly, hands sliding up your thighs to meet at the button in the center.

“I don’t want you wearing these pants anymore,” he quietly said to you from in between your legs as he unbuttoned them. “A skirt. You’ll look nice in a skirt.”

Your gaze slowly lifted to the ceiling as he curled his fingers over the top of your slacks, yanking and jerking them until he was sliding them off of your legs. If he noticed the tears in your eyes, tears that eventually fell, he didn’t say anything. He likely didn’t care.

When he leaned in, you could feel his breath on your clothed skin, your legs trembling when he slowly parted your thighs further. His rough fingers gently brushed along your flesh, and you heard him deeply inhale the closer he got. His fingers were getting dangerously close to your underwear, and you could only close your eyes as he hooked a finger into them.

The tip of his tongue touched you as he held the fabric to the side, stretching it to give him access. It was a featherlight touch, and yet you jerked all the same. Your nails dug into his bed as a means to cope, wishing that you could just push him away and run off of this estate without fear of consequence, never looking back. As it were though, all you could think about was bloodstained shirts and dead bodies and a family with enough money to make you disappear a thousand times over.

Mr. Danforth gently touched you with his tongue again…and again, and when he did something unexpected, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your mound, you couldn’t hold in your gasp. It seemed to trigger something in him, a switch turning on as he practically growled against you before leaning back and roughly ripping the thin scrap of fabric past your thighs and off your ankles.

When the older man fully pressed his mouth to your cunt, you tried to control yourself. One of your hands slid to behind your back, struggling to remain sitting up as his stubble scratched against your thighs in a way that had you squirming. His hold was tight on you as he ate at you, tongue sliding between your folds so slowly and in a gentle way you didn’t expect. When he yanked you just a little more towards the edge, your arms faltered, and you desperately wanted to remain as unfazed as you could.

…but Titus Danforth was good at what he was doing.

When he sucked at your flesh in time with pressing his tongue to your walls, you let out a shuddering breath against your will. The longer he moved his tongue inside of you, the harder it was to remain sitting up, lashes fluttering as you desperately pressed a hand to his head. He didn’t budge, and you sank your teeth into your lip.

You wanted him off of you.

No such thing was going to happen though, you knew that, and you whined in frustration. When he spread your thighs further, your arms finally caved, failing you and you stared at the intricate designs on the ceiling when you fell back. Your thighs were trembling, and steady moans started to crawl out of your throat, each one louder than the last.

You could hear yourself pleading, sometimes pleading for more, sometimes pleading for him to stop. His fingers dug into your thighs painfully as he held you open for him, and your head slowly moved from side to side in time with the heaving of your chest. When you dared to look down, all you saw was a vision of silver in between your thighs, and you threw your head back once again.

When you came, it was with an embarrassing whimper, eyes squeezed shut and thighs pressing against his head. You came so hard it almost hurt, and Mr. Danforth didn’t pull away until he felt like it, mouth completely pressed to you as you fell apart onto his tongue. When you tried to crawl away, he just held you in place, lazily curling his tongue into you and making your toes flex.

When he finally pulled away, letting you go and allowing your legs to drop, the tears finally spilled over. You laid there on his bed with tears running past your ears as he stood over you, and you didn’t know where to go from here. You didn’t want to look at him, just waiting for him to dismiss you so you could be free to lose your mind in peace.

When he eventually did, you couldn’t get away from him fast enough, grabbing your underwear and your pants with a quickness that surprised you. Your speedy exit however was stopped by a harsh grip on your arm, and when that harsh grip became outright painful, you were forced to meet his gaze, shrinking away at his close proximity.

You didn’t know what he was thinking as he intensely eyed you, and you flinched when he jerked his head.

“My food is cold,” was all he said, making you deflate.

When he let you go, you took a few shaky steps away from him, struggling to organize your thoughts.

“Yes, sir,” you forced out with a nod. “I’ll get you a new plate, right away.”

You felt nauseous as you grabbed the tray, legs unsteady as you walked towards the door. He didn’t stop looking at you once, and you felt deeply uncomfortable with every step you took, cringing at the wet feeling between your thighs as you made your way back down to the kitchen.

Titus Danforth was an insatiable man.

That one evening in his bedroom triggered a chain reaction of events that weren’t surprising to you, just disappointing and terrifying. The number of women he brought back to the estate decreased until he eventually brought none back at all. Why would he now? That was what you were for—a ‘willing’ and bought body that couldn’t fight back or refuse him.

You didn’t know if you’d ever get used to the sound of his heavy breathing washing over you, a rough and tight grip in your hair as your lips covered his cock. That was mostly what you did at first, suck him off during just about every visit, and that seemed to be all he wanted for a time. That and spending the occasional afternoon with his face between your legs, making you fall apart again and again when you were supposed to be steaming his clothes or dusting his furniture. 

It almost seemed like he was holding himself back from crossing another line—the final line—but you knew that it would be crossed eventually. He was never going to be satisfied with just the feel of his cock in your mouth, inevitably giving into that hunger for more. It was an every day thing, his hands on or in you, curling his fingers into you and massaging your walls, whatever task you’d been in the middle of long forgotten.

It went unnoticed. After all, it wasn’t unusual for Titus Danforth to take up so much of your time, and it’s not like the sexual abuse was taking place anywhere outside of his bedroom. For the time being anyway. The toll it was taking on you, however, did go noticed, and Ursula merely pursed her lips at the third piece of china you broke this week.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Danforth,” you hurried to say, looking for something to clean it up with. 

You didn’t even bother giving some excuse, only struggling to avoid her thoughtful gaze as she looked down at you. A soft hum left her throat, and her heels slowly clicked against the floor as she circled you.

“My brother isn’t working you too hard, is he?”

You almost laughed at the loaded question, schooling your features and looking up at her with a tight smile.

“No, Ms. Danfoth,” you lied. “I just haven’t been sleeping very well.”

That part wasn’t a lie, and the half truth seemed to satisfy her although it did nothing to lessen the frown on her face. Ursula was by no means a good woman, but you knew that she didn’t appreciate her brother’s brutal nature. Especially when it came to women, and she only watched you for a moment more before telling you to be swift in cleaning up the mess.

Ursula was smart, and you knew that she didn’t fully believe you, but clearly she didn’t feel unnerved or worried enough to press it further. Her brother’s attachment to you was no secret, and truthfully, she’d probably long seen where this would inevitably lead before you had. Even if you did tell her the truth, you knew that she couldn't stop him, Ursula having no real control over Titus.

She wouldn't have been able to stop him from killing your friend just to scare you into submission nor stop him from forcing you to be a witness to whatever depravity he was up to at night nor keep his hands off of you. She especially wouldn’t have been able to stop him from fucking you.

There was nothing special about the day he first pushed his cock into you.

The sun was shining and the food you brought him was only half eaten and he’d only taken a few sips of the brown drink you brought him before he was roughly reaching for your face. He’d never kissed you before, and the action took you by surprise, a noise of shock escaping you. His hands were tight on your face, holding you so fiercely that you couldn’t even think about getting away.

Your hands against his chest meant nothing as they became pinned between you, and as he pressed himself against you, you could feel him. You could feel his arousal, feel how hard he was, and you knew then that he had no intention of stopping. He had no intention of letting you walk out of that door without knowing what it felt like to be stretched around him—to be dominated in the way that mattered most.

You hadn’t been prepared for all the biting.

Titus liked to leave little nips along your neck and shoulder and even breasts, hands painfully tight on your skin as he drove himself into you again and again. The bands of muscle that were his arms rippled with every movement, and you hadn't been able to swallow down a single noise as he fucked you into his bed, his bare skin slapping against yours.

However brutish you thought he was during the day was nothing compared to what he was like when he had you wrapped around his cock. He was borderline feral, noises leaving his lips that sounded a lot like the growl of some predatory animal enjoying the taste of its prey. Every movement from you resulted in him tightening his hold on you like some constrictor, satisfied at the way you could barely move beneath him, serving your only purpose of taking the length of him with ease.

Titus fucked you well into the evening, coming into you with loud groans before catching his breath in the crook of your neck. You laid beneath him shaking like a leaf, chest heaving and skin glistening with sweat. When he eventually pulled out of you, any thoughts you had of leaving were shut down as he gruffly told you to get his shower going for him.

You hadn’t expected him to pull you inside with him, feeling wholly out of place as he showered with his back to you. You’d glanced at the exit through the glass shower door, turning back only to find his intense gaze on you. He said nothing—his eyes saying it all—and you’d swallowed as he moved closer, handing you a bar of soap and turning back around.

“My back,” was all he mumbled, and you listened to the unsaid request.

When you were done in the shower, you hadn’t been prepared for him to force you to your knees, a harsh grip in your hair as he pulled you closer.

Titus loved the sight of your lips wrapped around him, sometimes more than satisfied with just that, sending you on your way for the time being with the taste of him lingering on your tongue. But he didn’t love it more than being inside of you, looking the most at peace you’d ever seen him when he was watching his cock disappear into you.

Every chance he was presented with, he was fucking you with a vigor that always left you so worn out. When he summoned you to his room at night or when he bent you over his desk and even when he had you on his bathroom counter, your lips parted and head forced back as he yanked on the hair at the nape of your neck.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he breathed, thighs pressing against yours. “Look at me.”

There was an edge creeping into his voice when he repeated himself, and you obeyed him, tearful eyes on him as he pounded into you. Your uniform was haphazardly thrown somewhere, and one of your hands was pressed against the hard wood of his desk, the other pressing into his defined chest. Your breathing was choppy and your eyes were fluttering, the weight of unfinished tasks and all that came with Titus’ demanding appetite catching up to you.

“Keep them on me,” he told you. “I want you to look at me when I fuck you.”

The desk shook beneath the force of his thrusts.

“I want those pretty eyes on me when I take you apart.”

His nose brushed against yours with every movement, and you fought to hold his gaze, recalling the last time you disobeyed him. Your backside had been sore for days, shuddering at the memory of his hand coming down again and again onto the sensitive skin of your ass cheeks.

Titus always talked to you during like a normal couple—telling you what felt good, telling you what he wanted you to do, praising you. It was an interesting position to be in because hours later, he’d be treating you like the servant you were, but somewhere in his twisted mind, this whole arrangement was…nice. To him, this was wholesome.

So much so…that when Chester Danforth demanded a marriage and an heir under threat of revoking the fortune, Titus Danforth would not consider anyone but you.

…what…?” you breathed, frowning at Ursula, tears collecting in your eyes.

She looked just as distraught as you though she did a much better job of hiding it. 

When she requested your presence in her study one morning, you’d had no way of guessing what this could possibly be about. All sorts of possibilities ran through your mind, your unconventional dynamic  with her brother being at the top of the list. You’d been wracked with nerves the whole way there, and the words she said to you were the absolute last thing you'd ever expected.

“It’s…not going to happen,” she slowly told you, leaning against her desk and gazing down at you. “Titus is no better than a child with his favorite toy of the week.”

You took no offense to her analogy, often repeating something similar yourself.

“Although I shouldn’t be surprised at the true nature of your…rapport.”

She made a slight face at her choice of word, and you swallowed. The blonde woman didn't miss that, and she pursed her lips, something akin to a look of sympathy on her beautiful features.

“My brother has never had any qualms about getting what he wants, no matter how frowned upon or uncouth it may be. I can’t imagine what you’ve endured.”

You blinked back tears, looking away and shaking your head in disbelief.

“Father’s putting his foot down and giving us an ultimatum and Titus is lashing out,” she assured you. “That’s all this is.”

That's what she said, but somehow you still found yourself standing before Chester Danforth in all of his sickly glory, having a discussion with him you never thought you’d have.

“What is the nature of your relationship with my son?”

You said nothing to the ailing man, pressing your lips together as you fought the urge to tell him that his son was a depraved rapist, fully aware that the man in question was just outside of that door. When your lips quivered and you looked away, the older man made a noise.

“Ah.” he quietly said. “I feared that was the truth of it.”

You weren’t some gold digging whore after the Danforth fortune, and you weren’t some wanton maneater looking to get your claws into Titus Danforth. You were a woman who realized too late that she signed every single part of her away on that fateful day, and that was the gist of what you said to him.

“I’m sure you can find some other woman—any woman—willing to be his bride who he will be satisfied with.”

The other man coughed, an awful hacking sound, and you flinched.

“He demands no one but you,” he finally breathed. “He is entirely willing not to fight me on this…so long as it is you.”

You looked down at that.

“That is the only satisfaction he seeks.”

You wracked your brain, fully prepared to come up with some other argument when he spoke again, completely quieting your fears.

“It will not happen,” he said with so much conviction that it should’ve offended you, but you were only glad to be in agreement with the dying oligarch. “I will not give into his childish whims.”

The old man told you that, and you certainly believed it, but even he hadn’t been able to predict the ruthlessness Titus could possess when he felt like he was being controlled.

Chester Danforth died peacefully in his sleep, and for a long time, that's what mostly everyone believed, but only you and a few others had been privy to the screams that night. Only an unlucky few heard the sound of Ursula’s panicked voice bouncing throughout the corridor walls, asking Titus what he’d done. Only you had the luxury of stripping the old man’s former bed, shaky gaze locked onto the small spots of blood on his pillowcase.

It wasn’t long before Ursula was singing a different tune, and you didn’t know what Titus said to her, but she’d only watched in perfect silence and an unspoken disapproval as her brother presented you with a ring. You’d stared at it in horror, stomach churning to a painful degree, and you made the mistake of looking to the blonde woman for help.

“Don’t fucking look at her,” Titus snapped, and he forced your gaze back to him. “What are you looking at her for?” 

He tilted his head at you, that hazel stare of his so intense, and you could feel your legs shaking.

“Titus,” you breathed, a few tears finally spilling over. 

You could tell he was getting angry, his chest starting to heave, and when he pressed his chest to yours, all you could do was squeeze your eyes shut. The ring carried the weight of the world as he slid it onto your trembling finger.

The wedding was a small intimate affair, only close family in attendance, many of whom you’d met before but under completely different circumstances. On one hand, you felt like you should’ve counted yourself lucky to be marrying into the Danforth family, but you knew you held absolutely no power even though you carried the name.

The ring, the dress, the ceremony…none of it was proof of your transition from a nobody to someone with a hand in the biggest influence over the world. It was not a ceremony that propped you up as an equal, worthy of walking side by side with Titus Danforth as he controlled the seat in tandem with his sister.

You were official property now.

The ring may as well have been a collar, the dress a noose, and the name a brand placed upon your skin. You were not Titus Danforth’s wife now, but his property with nothing to your name that wasn’t acquired through him. He owned you with pride, and as you said ‘I do’ and allowed him to fiercely press his lips to yours, there was no escaping him.

Your only hope was the wedding night.

The fucked up tradition was no secret to you, and as the defining moment drew closer, you could only hope that you’d pull the one bad card. You practically prayed for it, knowing that you’d only escape your new husband through death, and some part of you wondered if he would have what it took to do it should fate have other plans for you that didn’t involve a married life with Titus.

You begged and begged and begged for it, desiring death over this. 

You considered it an act of mercy, one you hoped you were granted, and as you all sat around the table, no one was more nervous than you as that old intricate card dispenser was passed from hand to hand and then finally you. Your left hand felt weighed down by the ring you didn’t want, and as you turned the box in your grasp, you briefly glanced up at Ursula.

You knew if it came down to it, she’d have no trouble killing you.

The thought almost made you smile, but you didn’t, glancing over at Titus as he leaned back in his chair…waiting. You looked around at your other new in-laws too, your veil grazing your cheek as your heart raced. You could tell by the sound of him shifting that Titus was growing impatient—anxious to see how this night would progress—and you flinched a bit when the box clicked, the sound of your fate ringing in the quiet room.

You felt yourself go stiff when the card was finally in your hand.

You could hear a pin drop, that’s how quiet it was, and the longer you stared at the card, the more your heart started to race. Your lips trembled, and you couldn’t stop yourself from collecting tears in your eyes, wanting a hole to swallow you up. 

“What does it say?” Titus impatiently asked, and when you didn’t answer he took it from you.

The tears finally spilled over just as you looked up at Ursula, a familiar deep laugh reaching your ears.

“She got Old Maid,” he huskily said, flipping the card around to show everybody

Light laughs reached your ears, and you tried to hide just how upset you were, but when your gaze met that of your husband’s…he saw. He saw the sadness and fear and even disappointment, disappointment that you wouldn’t be killed tonight, and his jaw clenched.

You paid for it later when it was just the two of you, consummating your marriage in true traditional fashion. Your dress was a bundle of white on the floor, and Titus had your legs wrapped around his waist. His strokes were slow and torturous, his heavy breathing mixing in with yours—his excited and yours pained.

His hand was tightly curled around your throat, thick fingers harshly pressing into your skin as he leisurely fucked you. He didn’t take his eyes off of you once, wanting to witness every part of you tonight, basking in the spoils of his victory.

Titus had you, officially and legally and bloodbound and all. The heaviness of your vows still rang throughout your mind, and you’d wanted to faint as you agreed to ‘the possession of each other’. Maybe in some sick twisted way you’d never understand, Titus did belong to you, but all that mattered was that you belonged to him. The ring on your hand was proof of such.

His other hand pressed into the mattress as he curled his hips unto yours, basking in the feel of you clenching around the length of him, moving inside of you with ease. It still embarrassed you how wet you could get when he was fucking you, desperately wishing that your body could be as repulsed by him as your mind.

His facial hair gently grazed your skin, almost like a kiss, when he leaned closer. He didn’t look away from you once, and you winced when he tightened his hold on your neck.

“I know you wanted to die tonight,” he whispered to you, and you bit your lip. “I know you wanted to pull that card and just wait for one of us to kill you…to take you away from me.”

A particularly hard thrust had you gasping, and Titus hummed.

“...but Mr. Le Bail wouldn’t do that to me. I’ve always followed the rules, always played the game well, and you’re my reward.”

You sniffed at that, struggling to breathe under his grip.

“You are my pretty little prize, Mrs. Danforth, and you are never getting away from me.”

[moosereblogsfics]

I love how well you write these dynamics every single time. It’s never a question of horror or romance, it’s both and it’s balanced so well. Like yes!! He definitely does love her but it is also the worst and he sucks!! But also! He’s so fine!!

[ladykelsi]

werewolf!Soap has gotten robbed by a one night stand.

you were desperate. short on rent because your siblings couldn’t be bothered to return the money they borrowed from you after you’d been pressured by your parents to just give them what they wanted.

so you got creative and got busy. the bar was your usual place to strike. you went after the loud and boisterous fucker with the bad haircut after he’d declared that drinks were on him at his table for the night.

it was Soap’s own fault, really, for bringing you to his place. he was a good lay, which was a bonus. enthusiastic, a little too passionate. you hated how soft his eyes were when he pinned your hands above your head and made a point to set a slower pace, hated how praises seem to tumble out of his mouth when he trailed his lips down your skin before he littered you with bites and nips. his chest rumbling with something sickly sweet as he nuzzles his cheek against your neck and inhaled thickly as if he’s trying to breathe you in.

you didn’t sign up to be worshiped. didn’t sign up to be revered by a complete stranger. one you planned to steal from anyway, yet here you were. trapped under him as he pushed you over the edge again and again while your nailed raked down his arms.

he was eager to please too. eager to eat your pussy before and after he stuffed you full of cum. you went the extra mile to ride him to tears for good measure and he returned the favour by folding you in half and fucked you till the neighbours called and complained to keep the noise down.

but slept like a log right after. you almost did too with how much he wore you out but you forced yourself to stay away and pry yourself out of his heavy arms. which gave you the perfect opportunity to take what you want from him.

you struck gold that night. found a fat wad of cash in his wallet and a couple of expensive watches on his night stand which were worth a fortune.

you cast one long look at his sleeping frame. handsome motherfucker, this one. burly arms with a big hairy chest and legs to match. your fingers traced the faint, jagged line running along the side of his head to his chipped ear.

part of you wished this could’ve lasted longer. part of you wished you met him under different circumstances. but alas, life goes on. this would be the last you saw of him and he’d be glad to be rid of you.

or so you thought.

not even half a week lapses before you heard a knock at your front door. your blood ran cold when you opened it to find Soap’s familiar grin flashing vividly before he pushes his way in and pins you down, clasping a hand over your mouth before you can even think to call for help.

“there ye are, little thief.” he heaves over you as you squirm helplessly under him. “yer scent was far too easy tae find, lass.”

it’s not just that he’s heavy. he’s strong too. much stronger than you’d like him to be. you’re reminded of how he’d used that strength a two days ago to mold you to his bed without much of an effort.

you attempt, through tears, to mumble apologies under his palm. your hands try to push him away, to crawl out from under him. but he won’t budge and he won’t let you go anywhere.

just like last you saw of him, you’re trapped under him.

“not here fer that, sweet thing.” he pants into your neck. “i came tae finish what we started.”

it’s only then that you feel his cock pressed against your thigh. his hands pawing over the layers of your clothes and slipping underneath.

it’s only then that you realized that robbing him wasn’t your first, nor worst mistake.

willingly throwing yourself his way like a lamb to slaughter was.

[moosereblogsfics]

you can’t tell me this isn’t dreamy HELLLOOOO he’s not even mad abt the rent moneys! now I have a puppy!

[krirebr]

Still Life 4

Pairing: Alpha Curtis Everett x Omega Female Reader

Word Count: ~4.5k

Summary: Curtis has been volunteering as a foster alpha for three years now. He's never seen a case this bad...

Warnings: Heavy angst (with an eventual happy ending), past abuse (not Curtis), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, physical scarring, extreme sexism (both external and internal), adult themes, self-coercion, non/dubcon elements (no sex), therapy, trauma, explicit language, the slowest burn I've done yet. I really struggled to warn for this one, so please let me know if I missed anything! All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me this time!

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Please don't hate me! 🫣

A huge thanks to @bigtreefest for talking through so much of this with me. The crux of this chapter is something I've been thinking/talking about since the very beginning.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

He was staring at you, this male omega. A small notebook was poised on his knee, and he balanced a pen between his fingers on top of it. He had a neat, pretty bite mark on his neck. You wondered what sort of alpha he must have. There’d never been any male omegas at either of the compounds you’d lived at. Nor female alphas. Real alphas were male. Real omegas were female. That’s just the way it was. 

You didn’t say anything to him. Your eyes were on the clock. You just needed to make it to the end of the hour. 

Yona called this omega, David, a therapist and said he was someone you could talk to. Sure. He (or more likely, his alpha) just wanted to get your secrets. They all did. You weren’t sure what exactly he was after, whether it was the compound, or the one you grew up in, or maybe the alpha you were with now. Whichever it was, it didn’t matter. You weren’t going to say anything. Good omegas never revealed their alpha’s business, whether that was your father, Franco, or Curtis.

Curtis. That was the alpha’s name, and you were allowed to use it. You were allowed to do so many things. You could go anywhere in his house that you wanted. You could eat any of his food, whenever you wanted. You could choose what to do with your days. And when you cleaned or helped him cook, he said thank you. And he’d never punished you. Not once in two weeks. He was the best alpha you’d ever met. This was the best place you’d ever been.

So, of course, you’d spent the last week trying to figure out how to stay here. No one had less power than an unbonded omega. Not that you’d ever had much power in Franco’s house, but at least he’d bitten you. At least he’d claimed you as his. That’s what you needed from Curtis to truly become comfortable in his home. 

You’d expected it a thousand different times during your first week with him. And when nothing had happened, you started to worry. You didn’t have any frame of reference for an alpha who didn’t take his omega (or really, any omega) immediately. But when you’d finally asked him (after you’d attacked Claude and somehow, someway, you hadn’t been punished), Curtis’s answer had floored you.

He’d told you that he saw you as a person, and that you should get to decide what happened with your body. He wanted it to be your decision, when you were ready, to give yourself to him. You’d never even imagined anything like that. You wondered if this was what respect felt like.

But that begged the question, were you ready? It was all you’d been able to think about for the past week. You weren’t sure. You’d never had to know that about yourself before. But you could make yourself ready, couldn’t you, if it meant you got to stay here with this kind alpha? 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of David flipping the cover shut on his little notebook. “Alright,” he said softly, with a gentle smile you wouldn’t fall for. “That’s our time for today. I understand that it’s going to take some time to build up enough trust for you to feel comfortable sharing your thoughts and feelings with me. There’s no rush on that. But I hope you believe me when I say that I genuinely want to help you through what must be a very difficult transition. I’m sure you have a lot to process, but you don’t have to do it alone. I want this to be a safe space to work through these things together.”  

You had no idea what to say to that, barely knew what it meant, so you just stood up when he did and let him guide you out to the hall where Yona was waiting for you. She led you back to the waiting room, where you’d left Curtis. He stood up as soon as he saw you, greeted you with a smile. You couldn’t help but smile back. You were so lucky.

“How’d it go?” Curtis asked once Yona had left the two of you alone, his hand ghosting your back, but never touching, as he guided you back to his truck.

“Good, Curtis,” you said, not exactly sure what he wanted to hear.

But you must have answered right, because he responded with a bright smile. “That’s great. I really hope it’ll be helpful.”

You nodded absently, ready to be back at his house.

That evening found you quietly humming to yourself as you helped Curtis make dinner. It would never stop being strange to you that this alpha really seemed to enjoy his time in the kitchen and preferred to be responsible for mealtime, but you wouldn’t complain. One of your failures as an omega was that you’d always hated cooking. You’d gotten your hand slapped by your mother, and then Martha and Emmy, numerous times for complaining about it. It was just another thing that made being with Curtis so wonderful.

“What are you humming?” he asked as he set down several freshly rinsed tomatoes on the chopping board in front of you.

You hadn’t realized you were doing it loudly enough for him to hear. You ducked your head in embarrassment. “Nothing,” you said quietly. “I’m sorry, Curtis.”

“Hey, nothing to apologize for,” he said gently, going back to check on the pan he had sizzling on the stove. He said that a lot. “You just–” he cleared his throat. “Seems like you’ve been in a pretty good mood the last few days. It’s really nice. I’m so glad you’re starting to feel better.”

You didn’t lift your head or look at him, but you beamed down at the counter as you started chopping the tomatoes. It made him happy when you were happy! You couldn’t wait any longer. You would make yourself ready. It was time to give yourself to him. You’d do it tonight.

The house was quiet. You were standing in the little bedroom he’d given you, frozen. Curtis had gone to bed a few hours before. You should have done it then; you knew that. But the prospect of seeing him face-to-face when you did this was too terrifying. It’d be better, easier, this way. But you’d still spent the last few hours trying to hype yourself up, muster up some bravery.

Not that you had anything to be afraid of. You knew that. If he was kind to you out of bed, then he’d be kind to you in bed. Right? Wouldn’t he? And even if he wasn’t, even if he used you like every alpha you’d ever known used omegas, then it would be worth it for everything else. It had to be. This was the best place you’d ever been. You needed to stay here, and this was how you’d do that. This was what he wanted you to do.

With a deep breath, you lifted your T-shirt over your head. You pushed down your leggings and underwear and stepped out of them. With shaking hands, you folded your clothes neatly and placed them in the hamper. Then you just stood there, staring at your cracked-open door. Do it do it do it. This would be good. This is what omegas were for.

The walk across the hall to his room felt never-ending, even though you knew it was only a few feet. You froze again when your hand clasped his doorknob. But just for a moment. Then you forced yourself to quietly open his door and step into his room. 

It was dark, and you couldn’t see much. But there was an overwhelming warmth, and you were immediately engulfed by his scent, which had seeped into every fiber of the room. It didn’t choke you like Franco’s or Wilford’s scent used to. You’d almost say it was comforting. Another sign that this was the right thing to do. Another sign that you shouldn’t be so terrified.

You waited a moment for your eyes to adjust and then carefully made your way to his bed. He slept in the center of the large mattress, on his side, facing the door. You paused at the edge of the bed to look at him. His face was completely relaxed in sleep, peaceful. He seemed smaller, maybe, than when he was awake and filling this house. There was no hint of cruelty here, like Franco had always seemed to have, even in sleep. It would be alright. You could do this.

With one last fortifying breath, you pulled back the covers and crawled onto the bed, very careful not to disturb him. When he didn’t stir, you let yourself go closer, turning around so that your back was to him, on your side just like he was. You were close enough now that you could feel his breath on the back of your neck, slow and steady, still asleep. After a few long moments, one of his arms fell over your hip, and his head dropped to lightly nuzzle into your neck. His beard was rough against your skin. The arm over you moved so that his hand gripped your hip, and he let out a sleepy little hum. You didn’t breathe. It was starting. You braced yourself to be flipped over and taken however he wanted. You were ready. You could do this.

But then– You felt his whole body go stiff behind you. He let out another sleepy noise, but this one sounded confused. And then, suddenly, the warmth of his body was gone, and he was scrambling wildly off the foot of the bed, one of the sheets caught on his leg until he shook it off. He flipped on a lamp and turned to stare at you, eyes blinking in shock. “What the fuck?” he breathed out.

You sat up, forcing yourself to let the covers drop, exposing yourself to him. “Alpha,” you whispered, your eyes deferentially glued to his blue and gray striped comforter. 

“What– What the fuck?” he mumbled to himself and then, to you, “What are you doing in here?” 

“I’m ready, Alpha,” you said, your head still bowed, trying to force as much confidence as you could into your voice.

“Ready for what?” and it was the panic in his tone that finally had you looking up. He was backed up against his dresser on the opposite side of the room. Both of his hands were on his head, and while his eyes were wide, they weren’t focused on you, seemingly trying to look anywhere else.

You rose up into a kneel, the sheets now pooled around your knees. You wanted to grab for them, to cover yourself as much as you could, but you didn’t. Even as he wouldn’t look at you. “You–” You started, stumbled, and tried again, your voice coming out small, pleading. “You didn’t want to claim me, mate me, until I was ready. I’m ready now, Alpha.”

“Oh my god!” Curtis’s hands moved to cover his face, and he shook his head. “What? I– When di– No, this– This–” He inhaled deeply and turned toward the digital clock on his dresser. It read 2:32. “Oh my god. I can’t deal with this right now. I can’t think–” He finally looked at you, but only your eyes. His gaze wouldn’t move any lower. “Please go back to your room. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

Panic rose up in your throat. It squeezed your chest. What did he mean? What was there to talk about? Why wouldn’t he take you? You crawled forward to the edge of the bed. “No, no, Alpha. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ll be so good for you. I’ll make it good! I will!” 

He held up one hand to stop you, shaking his head and looking away again. “No, stop. I– I need you to go to your room. Please.”

Tears started to gather in your eyes. How was this all falling apart? You needed him to take you so you could be safe here. “Alpha, Alpha, please. I– I want it– I–”

His head whipped back to you and his voice dropped terrifyingly low. “Omega, go to your room. Now.”

And as hard as you tried to resist it, you were powerless against the alpha command. Your legs moved without your permission, taking you off the bed and out of the room. A broken sob escaped your throat. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Curtis drop his head into his hands. You didn’t understand what had just happened. Why didn’t he want you?

The moment you were across the hall and in the room he’d called yours, the door to his room slammed shut, and you heard through the wall a loud, frustrated “Fuck!” It made you shrink into yourself even more.

You stared at his door and then the way yours hung open. You lifted your hand slowly and, after a long beat, hesitantly closed it. Nothing happened. The alpha didn’t come pound on it. He didn’t do anything. He wouldn’t. He didn’t want you. So you reached out again and flipped the lock. You let out another sob as you did it. 

You pulled the top blanket off the bed and dragged it behind you, moving to the corner of the room. You stopped at the desk and grabbed the friendship bracelet that you’d delicately placed there when you’d first come to this house, the only thing you had in the whole world that was yours. The only thing you had that Grace had given you. You collapsed onto the floor in the corner and wrapped the blanket around you as tightly as you could. Your fingers carefully traced the little ballerina charm on the bracelet. You missed your sister so much. Now more than ever. You’d never felt so alone. What was going to happen to you?

Your head was resting against the wall, eyelids dropped low but not quite closed. You hadn’t slept at all. You’d spent the last however many hours in a strange liminal space, not awake, not asleep. Just there. It was still dark out, but you could tell through the windows that the sky was becoming a little more gray, a little less black. The birds were starting to wake, their calls coming from the trees outside the window. You didn’t want the new day to come.

But it did. A quiet knock startled you out of your stupor. “Hey,” Curtis’s gruff voice carried through the door. “I know it's early, but I'm pretty sure we're both awake. I'm gonna make breakfast, and I'd appreciate it if you came out so we can talk.” 

There was a long pause in which neither of you said anything. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t want to face him. Would he force you out of the room if you didn’t respond? Would he command you again? Franco had thrown out alpha commands left and right without much thought. You shouldn’t be so surprised that Curtis might do the same. Letting your guard down was your own fault. You shouldn’t be so upset. 

You waited for Curtis to react to your silence, assert his dominance in some way, but after a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, you heard him slowly move down the hall. You wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but you knew it would be hollow. As much as you wanted to burrow back inside the blanket, stay there forever, you couldn’t. The blanket wouldn’t protect you, nor would this room. Hiding couldn’t change whatever was about to happen to you. So, slowly but surely, you got up. You placed the blanket back on the bed. You put on a pair of leggings and your comfiest sweater. You gave Grace’s ballerina charm one final squeeze, for luck, then gently placed it back on the desk. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable, so you unlocked the door and forced yourself out of the room and down the hall, trying so hard not to drag your feet as you went.

When you got to the kitchen, you expected Curtis to be halfway through making breakfast, but nothing was cooking. There was no food out, or pots and pans or anything. Just Curtis, standing in the middle of the room, his hands braced on the island, his eyes staring down at nothing. He was in rumpled pajamas, his shoulders slumped. You’d never seen him look like this.

You paused several feet away from him, unsure of what to do. His gaze flicked to you, then back to the counter immediately. He sighed with his whole body. “I’m not actually hungry,” he said, his voice low, rough. Tired. “How about you?”

You silently shook your head. You were too nauseous to be hungry. Too afraid. Too sad.

Even though he still wouldn’t look at you, he must have sensed your movement. He raised his head just enough to nod. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Let’s– Let’s sit down.”

He waited for you to move to the table first and take a seat in the chair by the wall. Then once you’d sat, he sat himself in a chair opposite from you, scooted away from the table. Keeping his distance. You curled in on yourself. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, still unsure of what you’d done wrong. Aside from just not being what he wanted. You supposed that was enough.

He cleared his throat roughly. “Uh, yeah. Thank you. We’ll– We’ll talk about that in a minute. But first, I really need to apologize too.” Your head whipped up at that, finally making eye contact with him. His eyes were so sad. “I’m so sorry,” he continued, every word dripping with sincerity, “for using an alpha command on you. I never should have done that. I– It was the middle of the night, and I was very surprised, but that’s no excuse. It wasn’t okay, and I’m very, very sorry that I did it.”

All you could do was stare at him. You didn’t think you’d ever been apologized to before. Definitely not by an alpha. Alphas never apologized. For anything. Certainly not to omegas. And for something as commonplace as an alpha command! If alphas weren’t supposed to use commands, then it wouldn’t be a thing they were able to do. And omegas wouldn’t be weak enough to be susceptible to it. It was just another biological sign that alphas were superior. Once again, Curtis wasn’t making any sense.

He was clearly waiting for a response, but you didn’t know what to do. So you just nodded once, as his words repeated on a loop in your head.

He waited a long beat and when you didn’t say anything, he just nodded to himself. “Alright,” he began slowly, “let's–” He frowned and shook his head, then let out another sigh. “I really need you to explain to me what you were doing last night.” 

You shrank back in your chair. You really didn't want to detail your humiliation, your rejection. You just wanted to find out what was going to happen to you now.

But he was staring, his eyes pleading. “Please,” he said. “I just need to understand.”

You took a deep breath and looked away. The only way you could do this was if you didn’t have to look at him. “I–” You tried to start, but the words got caught in your throat. “I thought–” You shook your head. Why was he making you do this? Your eyes started to burn, the telltale sign that tears were on their way. Deep breath. “I– I was showing you I was ready to be claimed, like you wanted. Like you said.”

“Like I said?!” The incredulity in his voice had you looking back at him. His eyebrows were at his hairline, his mouth pursed. “When did I say that?” The question was rushed, urgent.

You let your own confusion show. How could he not remember? “At the center. After Claude.” When that didn’t seem to jog anything, you continued. “You said that you hadn’t touched me yet because it was my body and you wanted it to be my choice. You wanted me to come to you. When I was ready.”

For a very long moment, he just sat there and blinked at you. And then, his eyes got very, very wide. “Oh my god,” he whispered. Then, a little louder, “Oh my god. Holy shit.” He dragged his hands down his face and just sat there for another moment. Then, with a deep breath, he scooted closer to the table. Putting his forearms across the table top, he leaned forward. “Okay,” he said. “I think there are some things that we need to clear up, that, uh, seem to have gotten lost in translation.” He locked eyes with you, and his face softened dramatically. In the gentlest voice you’d ever heard, he said, “Honey, I’m not going to claim you.”

You had no excuse for the way your heart split in two at those words. You already knew that. He’d made it clear that night. But still, hearing it said so definitively… The tears were no longer just a threat. They had begun spilling over your eyelashes onto your cheeks. With a broken little cry, you asked, “Why not?”

Curtis gave you a pained look, his fingers twitching on the table. “Because,” he started, but then stopped. Another sigh. “I will explain it as best as I can,” he said slowly, “but first, can I ask why you want me to claim you?”

 You just looked at him, confused. What did he mean? You wanted him to claim you because you were an omega, and omegas needed to be claimed. That– That was just how it worked. And as an alpha, he should know that. Was this another test? Was he asking you to prove that you knew an omega’s place? If it were any other alpha, you’d be sure that that’s what this was. But Curtis… Curtis was kind to you. You’d yet to walk into any of the traps you’d expected from him. Maybe– Maybe, the traps just weren’t there. You took a deep breath, wiped the tears from your eyes, and said, as sure as you could manage, “So I can stay here.”

“Honey, I promise, you can stay here as long as you need. I don’t need to claim you to make that happen.”

That didn’t make sense. This conversation was just leaving you more confused. “Yes, you do. I’m an omega. I need an alpha.” You didn’t understand why he needed you to explain this to him.

You watched some sort of understanding dawn on his face. “Have you ever known an omega without an alpha?” he asked gently.

“No,” you said firmly, shaking your head. It was a ridiculous thought.

He hummed quietly to himself. Then, “You have, though. Yona, at the center. You’ve seen her neck. You know she’s unclaimed. She doesn’t have an alpha.”

“Well, then her father’s her alpha,” you growled out, getting frustrated at having to state the obvious. Why was he being so obtuse?

But Curtis just shook his head. “Yona’s an adult. Her alpha parent hasn’t had any legal claim on her since she was eighteen.” 

“No–why–” You stuttered. You could feel something crashing down inside your mind that you couldn’t put into words. A panic was rising in your chest that you didn’t understand.

Curtis just continued on, speaking softly. “I’ve spoken to her enough to know that she isn’t looking for an alpha. She prefers being on her own. And that’s just fine. Just because she’s an omega doesn’t automatically mean that she needs an alpha.” Then he caught your eye, making sure he had your attention. “Just because you’re an omega doesn’t mean you need an alpha.”

“What?” you breathed out. That didn’t make sense. That wasn’t how things were. You closed your eyes tightly as the panic spread through your body. “I'm not going to have an alpha?!”

“No,” he said, with a calmness you couldn’t wrap your head around, “not in the way you mean. Not right now. When you mate with someone, if you ever do again, it should be because they make you happy. Not just safe or secure, but happy. It should be a decision that you both make together. That’s why I didn’t claim you last night.

“But just because I’m not your alpha, doesn’t mean I’m not here for you. I want to help you in any way I can. I’m very serious about that. And I promise you that you can stay here as long as you want. No one is going to make you leave until you’re ready.” When he paused, you opened your eyes to find him looking at you with such sadness. “The way you’ve been treated, that’s not how it’s supposed to be. That’s not how it is in most of the world. It’s– You deserve so much better than that.”

It was the sincerity and conviction in his words that finally did it, that finally broke you. You’d spent your whole awful life knowing that there was no use in being sad or hoping for something different, because this was just how things were for omegas. But if that hadn’t been true? If that wasn’t just how things were for omegas? If there was a different, better life out there that you just hadn’t gotten to have because you were so unlucky? You didn’t think that you could even begin to understand what you’d lost. But you felt it. You felt it right in your chest. It was your heart being torn into pieces.

A sob wracked through your body as you let your head fall to your knees. Your whole body shook as you cried. You heard the scrape of Curtis’s chair being pushed back from the table and then felt the warmth of his body as he crouched in front of you. 

“Can I–” he started hesitantly. You could barely hear him over the sound of your sobs. “Can I touch you? Can I hold you?”

The “No,” tumbled out of your mouth before you’d even really had a chance to think it. But you didn’t regret it. You were sure that if he touched you now, you’d completely shatter. But you also weren’t afraid of saying no. If everything he’d said was true, then you wouldn’t be punished for this. If he really wanted to help you, then he would let you say no. It felt like the first real choice you’d ever made.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, his voice startlingly small. “That’s fine. But I’m– I’m right here. I’m right here. You aren’t alone.”

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[553580]

something something being the dentist that ghost sees every year or so for his annual checkup.

he's super memorable, for sure, and when you don't kick up a fuss about making him take his balaclava all the way off (or the hand he likes to rest on your hip as you work) he seems to lock in on you, forgoing his appointment if he's assigned to another dentist working in your office. he'll only see you, only let you poke at his gums and remind him to floss.

he avoids your questions about the broken teeth, humming with amusement when you suggest he wear a mouth guard for rugby or football or whatever contact sport he's engaged in. he likes that you don't give him too much shit for the tobacco stains, don't fuss overly much when he shows up with new breaks or a fully missing tooth at one point. he likes the way you sigh and ask if he's in pain before moving right the fuck on about whether or not he wants to do anything about it (he doesn't).

even though you only see him once every year or so, he sticks in your mind. the way he keeps himself hidden, the way every inch of skin you're allowed to see is littered in scar tissue, the way he pats your hip when you tell him you'll spare him the lecture on flossing because both of you know it needs to happen and he's a grown-ass man. with most patients you try to engage in idle chatter, keeping things light and casual, but with him you know better- it's strictly business, no 'how've you been's or 'hows the family's. just 'gums are looking better' and 'amazed you didn't give yourself dry socket when your tooth came out' and 'see you next time'.

it's strange how a man you only see for maybe an hour or so every 365+ days sticks in your mind like he does. every time you see broad shoulders in a pub or a big body in a skull cap walking down the street at night you wonder if it's him, if you'd recognize him without the mask, if he wears the balaclava everywhere or just at the dentist's office. he's a man that gives you more questions than answers, and you know better than to ever ask them- it's never been outright stated, but you're convinced that if you asked him a personal question, even 'when's your birthday', he'd disappear never to return. (you can't have that. after all, if he stopped seeing you then you're certain he'd never floss again. it defintely has nothing to do with how fascinating you find him or how your heart does a backflip in your ribcage when he settles his gloved hand on your hip when you lean in over him.)

after a little over six years, you finally run across him in the wild, outside of the well lit, sterile, tidy little office you work out of. you're three sheets to the wind after a friend's bachelorette party, wobbling slightly as you burst from the stuffy pub out into the crisp night air, desperate for a breather and a break from the noise as you pull out your phone to call a ride home.

you barely notice the man quietly approaching, slowly rolling his boot heel to toe on the concrete to dull his footsteps as he gets closer and closer, studying your face as the light from your phone illuminates it in pale blueish light. his hand grips your hip in a familiar gesture, and he can't help but relish in the shocked gasp and way you jerk back in surprise- but what's even better is the way you lean back against him, eyes wide with curiosity when you recognize him.

"it's- it's you, isn't it? simon?" you ask, words slurring a little as you lean in close. you're so warm, he can feel it through his gloves and coat, and it makes him hungry for more- more of your heat, your attention, your time. he simply hums in the affirmative, allowing himself to finally, finally squeeze the plush fat of your hip before allowing his hand to trail further back to knead at your ass.

"you got someplace t'be, doc?" he asks, leaning in close enough to see the reflection of the street lights in your eyes.

"not really." you murmur back, and something about the softness of it makes ghost smirk. his favorite dentist, all wobbly and pliant and looking so soft sweet. it makes him want to ruin you.

before you can even comprehend what's happening, he's shoving two gloved fingers into your mouth, delighting in the way your eyes go wide in surprise and your yelp of shock vibrates around his fingers- but you don't pull away, don't bat at his arm or protest at all. oh, you're going to be a lot of fun to play with, aren't you?

"olright, i think it's my turn t'poke around and do some inspectin', innit?" he murmurs, hooking his fingers inside your cheek and leading you back towards his car by the mouth. "got five years of playin' around in that pretty mouth t'make up for- don' worry, i don't give a fuck if you've been flossin, though i know you 'ave."

"sish." you warble around his fingers, and he stops to cock his head at you before releasing you.

"wot?"

"six years." you correct, wobbling a bit and feeling suddenly unmoored without his fish-hooked fingers leading you by the face. you can't see his smile on his face, but you can hear it in the low, rumbling chuckle that sends shivers down your spine.

"thassright, love. six years. lots t'catch up on- and i'm curious about 'ow much of an oral fixation a bird like you's got." he slides his thumb over your lip, humming his approval as you drop your jaw open in anticipation.

[moosereblogsfics]

I lik this a lottt he’s so nice :P yes sir let’s go explore

[toadstreetltd]

TROUBLE IN PARADISE | day six

STRANGER!JOHNNY X READER

18+ | dubcon/noncon, stalking, fawn response, size difference, johnny’s just so big he doesn’t mean to hurt you :(

or; the strangers to husband/wife vacation!au

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3

The next morning, you panic.

Wake up panicking. The thundering of your heart, the pounding in your head, it stirs you from sleep. Your dry mouth tastes like sour rum and anxiety as your eyes adjust to the light in your room.

And it is - your room. Yours and your friends.

When you were young and in a new place, you would wake up having no idea where you were. In that space between sleep and waking, your brain was so confident you were at home in your bed that the moment you opened your eyes and saw that you were not - it was terrifying.

The effect now is a dizzying opposite.

You had expected to be in Johnny’s room - waking up to his hard body coiled around yours and cartoon handcuffs clasped on your wrists. Instead, you can see four suitcases and bikinis hung in the shower. Makeup bags spilling their guts over the bathroom counter. Sandals and heels by the door. A headache threatens to split your skull in half, but you’re where you’re supposed to be. Safe.

Maybe.

Sitting up in bed, you realize you’re naked. Memories dance, dehydrated thoughts swimming to break the thick surface that separates you from last night. Johnny walked you to the room, hounded you for a kiss - even though he had been stealing them all day - and then … what? It’s early. You don’t know where your friends are. Checking your phone, you find a slew of messages in your group chat - room numbers and pictures of IDs, mispelled texts of just to be safe! Love you! Letting everyone know where they were and who they were spending the night with.

Your pulse pounds in your temples, nausea churns in your stomach.

Mid-morning, when your friends wander back one by one to the room, they ask how your night went. Destiny, before you can reply, points at the glass of water and the little red pill sitting undisturbed on your nightstand.

“Did he leave those for you?” she asks. “That’s sweet!”

They titter and laugh at the night you must have had. Dive into stories of their own escapades. You stare at the glass and the unassuming pill - the only solid evidence of what occurred the previous evening. You’re in bed, and there’s a gift on your nightstand. The inbetween floats away on the breeze.

No one is listening to you, but you speak anyway. For yourself, maybe.

“Yeah. Sweet.”

“Put ye t’bed, doe. Like I said.”

It’s not really a confrontation, even though your heart is galloping like it is.

Adrenaline courses through your body, nerves alight even as you try to keep your tone casual. Johnny reclines in a pool chair, one arm brought up to rest behind his head. His long, strong legs stretch out across the lounger, slack and lazy and dusted in thick, dark hair. The picture of ease in his black shades, ball cap resting in his lap. The moment you walked up, his hand was on you. Grazing up the back of your thigh to rest casually on your ass.

All you asked was what happened last night, but Johnny hears the implication.

“Ye really think ah would do somethin’ like that?” he continues. A wounded look passes over his blunt features, a cocktail of anger and betrayal in the grim line of his mouth.

Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. You feel like a child getting scolded for running at the pool. It’s a serious accusation to throw at someone, especially when you can’t even confront it in your own mind. At the end of the day, you let him kiss you, touch you. Tug you into his lap or on his shoulders. He only wanted to make sure you were safe, walking you back to the room. He was sweet, like Destiny said.

You can’t accept the alternative.

“No,” you manage with a shake of your head. “I’m sorry.”

Johnny stares at you for three breaths before a bright grin splits his face, and you allow yourself to be snatched into the waiting cradle of his thighs. “Oh, bonnie. Do that t’me own wife? Dinnae hav’ta.” He nuzzles into your neck, sternum pressing into your bare shoulder for a few moments before gathering himself.

“What d’ye want t’do today?” he asks. “Last day, hav’ta make the most of it, aye?” He sets you on your feet with a pat on your bum.

You must have told him yesterday when you were leaving.

The girls want to have a do-nothing day. Lie around and conserve energy for tonight.

Johnny is excited when he hears the plans for the final visit to the club. One last hurrah to send the vacation out with a bang.

You’d prefer to stay in, not wanting to be exhausted or hungover on the flight home tomorrow, but your friends want to go. So you spend the day lounging on the beach, trying to read. Johnny is a constant presence, bold enough now to stay by your side at all times. He insists on shoving two loungers together so he can keep a hand on you - resting on your stomach or groping at your thigh.

Twenty-four hours before your flight, Destiny frowns down at her phone.

You doze through lunch, lying belly-down on your lounger as Johnny plays with your hair. Time comes to get ready for dinner, and he leaves you at the room with a chaste, domestic kiss and a promise to find you after.

You’re looking forward to some time with your friends without Johnny, but when you arrive at the à la carte restaurant, you find you’re not dining alone. The three men from yesterday are also staying at your resort, apparently. And they’re joining you for dinner.

And that’s fine. Whatever. Your whatever-Johnny-is has been hanging out all vacation. But at least he talks to the other girls. You spend the evening eating in silence after three attempts to join the conversations. Feeling like a purse given a seat at the table only because there are no hooks to hang you on. They’re all too wrapped up in one another to pay much attention to you, and that’s fine.

You push away the needling thoughts of someone who certainly wouldn't ignore you.

Dinner ends, and plans are made to meet the guys at the club. Back in the room is a tornado of clothing and makeup. Should I wear this? and What about this one? and Can I borrow that? It’s another pool party - so you all decide on bikinis and jewelry you don’t particularly care about.

Destiny whines about wearing a purse. “I want to bring my stuff, but it’s such a pain to dance with.”

She asks if she can put her phone and lip gloss in your clutch, and you don’t see why not. But then Beth and Ally want to as well. It’s decided that you’ll bring Destiny’s bag instead, and your manageable clutch morphs into a large, cumbersome purse.

“We’ll take turns!” Ally promises. “So we can all get in the pool.”

You know you’ll be carrying it all night. It’s fine.

Johnny, as promised, arrives on time to walk the four of you across the street. Ceramic-blue swim shorts and a smile. He takes your hand in his as you stroll at the back of the pack, and whispers about how much he would love to slip you out of your bikini.

Your friends disperse almost immediately when you walk into the open-air club, splitting off to find the guys and chase their own fun. Music blares, loud and oppressive. Flashing neon lights dance through the bubbles pouring once again from the ceiling into the pool. You’re bumped and pushed and have cold drinks spilled on your toes.

It’s a lot.

Johnny tries to help you have fun. Sticks with you when your friends don’t return. Blocks the crowds with his wide body and spins you in a dance. His face is red and flushed as he sips a beer, eyes half-lidded when you let him press you against the hard line of his body. Handsome and tall in the pulsing purple light. His grip on your waist hurts only a little bit.

It feels a little inevitable when the words slip out.

“Want to go back to your room?”

And you are already regretting them when Johnny’s eyes darken - pupils dilating so quickly, so widely, that the ice blue is all but consumed.

He doesn’t ask if you’re sure - doesn’t even let you finish your drink or drop the purse off before snatching your hand in his big mitt and tugging you behind him. The crowd splits easily for him, and you’re protected in his wake. Soon enough, you’re being pulled so roughly over the concrete that you doubt your feet are even touching the ground.

His wide shoulders are set, steps purposeful and heavy. All you can do is stare at the thick curve of his neck as you’re tugged along, marched to his room at his blistering pace.

Digging your heels in, telling him to slow down, is a misstep you make only once. All it earns you is a harsh squeeze that rolls your knuckles against one another and a need me t’carry ye, bonnie? The image of being hauled over his shoulder through the maze of buildings on the resort keeps your mouth shut from then on. The damp night clings to your skin. Shadowed palms sway overhead as the music pumps, muffled in the distance. Turns and turns of winding paths leave you dizzy - unsure of where you are, unsure of your decision. Johnny leaves you no time to ruminate, though. As soon as you arrive in front of a door, he’s smacking a key card and crowding you in.

You expect his room to be cold; brace yourself for the blast of freezing air. Instead, it’s muggy. All the damp and humidity of the day trapped within the white stucco walls. It’s sweltering, suffocating - made even worse when the lock clicks home and Johnny crashes into you.

He swallows your yelp, laps it up from your lips as you’re crushed against the wall. Johnny doesn’t even bother to arrange you how he would like - it’s just pressure, your arms trapped next to your torso, legs hanging limp, side by side, between his own. He’s draped against your front like a weighted blanket, like a heavy fisherman's net that doesn’t even allow you the room to thrash.

You wonder if he likes how powerless you are against him. If he just likes showing you how useless any struggle would be.

His mass is overwhelming. The muscles in his barrel chest, his pudgy abdomen, tense and clench as he starts to rut against you - rough, startling grinds of his hips against your stomach. Johnny groans deep and low into your mouth, a pathetic, animal noise that warms you right to your core. You can’t catch your breath in the onslaught, can’t even move thanks to his weight pushing against you. It’s only Johnny and the musk sitting on his skin, sweet and sour and heady. Only Johnny and the beer on his tongue, wet and thick and sliding against your own in dogged swipes.

Slow down, slow down —

He bucks against you, sloppy, relentless. You can feel your tailbone bruising where it's crushed into the wall, feel his hard length grinding bruises into the flesh of your belly. His hands scrabble until they coil into the sides of your head, constricting into your hair, and your scalp stings.

He ruts into you again, again, and then his entire body draws tight like a bow string. A strained moan limps out of his throat and down yours. After a few moments of his strangling hold, his hips staggering in their pace, Johnny's spine cows away and you’re allowed an inch of space.

“Did — did you …” you begin, unable to quite form the words.

Johnny rests his forehead against yours, swiping a stripe of sweat to your temple when you turn your face away. You feel like you might drown on dry land if all you can breathe is the hot pants he fans over your mouth.

“Kept me waitin’ too long, bonnie,” Johnny says. He’s heaving like he just ran a mile, and you are too — what shallow gulps of air you get are skipped into your lungs like pebbles over a lake. “Bleedin’ tease.”

A small part of you thinks this might be it. That it may be out of his system, and he’ll send you on your way. You don’t know if you’re disappointed or relieved. Relieved, you decide when he hefts you into his arms and your stomach swoops. One swift motion and you’re tossed onto the bed, scrabbling for purchase.

At the end of the bed, Johnny looms. Eyes bright and fevered, panting like a dog. Pulling his shorts down his thighs, you can see the mess he made of himself. Thick globs of cum pull away from his skin with the waxy fabric, smeared into the hair on his thighs and the coarse thatch at the base of his cock. Heavy and curved, flared at the head, long and thick even soft as it hangs between his legs.

He grins when he sees you staring — wolfish pride as your mouth goes a little dry.

Johnny sets a knee on the edge of the bed and bullies between your thighs. Shoves until the backs of your knees are resting on his shoulders, and his arms are hooked around your hips. Slowly, reverently, he tugs at the ties of your bikini bottoms one by one and unwraps you like a present.

His breath is hot, humid, fanning over your cunt. He takes long, gulping breaths as he stares, like he can taste you on the air. “So pretty, doe. Did she miss me?”

Your mind sprints, struggling to keep up with the fact that he’s still playing the game, even now.

But, you guess, you don’t know what else you expected.

Johnny shifts your hips until your spine is bowed off the bed, exposing you completely to his hungry eyes. He runs his nose along the soft skin of your inner thigh, chased by his chafing stubble, and heat blooms deep in your belly. An untethering ache against your will at the sight of him, burly and hale, between your legs. Johnny curls a wide hand over your stomach to spread your slick folds apart and spits. A disgusting glob right on your clit that shoots a spark up your spine.

You want to cover your burning face, hide away behind your arms, but you can’t tear your eyes off of him. It’s a potent feeling, to be wanted so brazenly. Johnny hungers for you openly, incessantly. It’s easy to be swept up in it.

When he leans down and runs his tongue over you in a broad stripe, your eyes roll to the back of your head. The sensation so immediate and intense that all you can do is keen through it. It only spurs Johnny on, licking and teasing and circling your clit. Low whines roll up his throat, obscene slurping noises echoing through the room.

Johnny brings his face back to waft hot, slack-jawed breaths over you. His eyes are half-lidded, almost black. His chin glistens in the low light.

He looks like a sinner who found heaven — and is thinking of all the delicious ways he can ruin it.

You want him to put his mouth back on you.

Without the sensation to slip into, your mind keeps snagging on all the reasons you shouldn’t be doing this. Johnny — resting his cheek against the inside of your thigh, staring up at you with your wetness shining on his lips — forces you to be present.

He snakes a hand up to your heaving chest, slipping the cups of your bikini over your breasts to rest on your collarbone. An indignant squeak jumps out of you when he pinches one of your nipples, rolling it between his fingers as heat and shock ripple over your skin. Johnny apologizes with a chaste, balming kiss against your leg, but continues anyway.

Tugging and pulling, kneading and caressing. His touches are soft and then sharp, at once irritating and stoking. When you whine in protest, he presses his lips to your thigh, your stomach, your writhing hips. When you wrap your fingers around his wrist to pull his hand away, Johnny just moves on to the other breast.

His touches are having an effect, though. Fire burns deep in your belly, annoyance and desire mixing until you’re only want.

You’re sensitive all over; even the air on your skin is too much.

You swallow your pride, and it goes down like a live, wriggling fish. “Johnny, please. Will you just — come on- “

His eyebrows raise, all masculine satisfaction in his ice blue eyes. “Had to, doe. Makin’ me wait all week when we coulda been doin’ this th’whole time.”

But he gives in. It’s quick work. You’re already on edge from his ministrations. Just his tongue on your clit is enough to send you barreling towards your climax, fingers tingling, muscles tensing. You scalp your fingers into the dark line of his hair, pulling and tugging as you chase the sensation, and Johnny groans.

“Jesus — oh, christ, please cum f’me, doe. Cum on your husband’s face, tha’s it.” It’s murmured wet and sloppy against you in between the mouthfuls he swallows.

He ruts against the sheets as he dips his tongue into your clenching, sopping hole. Wraps his pink lips around your bud and sucks, and that's it. Fire rips through you like a crackling whip, choking on a whine as your muscles contract. Sweet molasses floods from your core to the top of your head, so cloying and syrupy you can taste it on your tongue.

“Such a good girl, not even needin’ my fingers.” Johnny coos when you’ve calmed. He prods two of them at your entrance, circling the muscle there before dipping shallowly inside. “But we need t’get ye ready, aye?”

You buck off the bed, but Johnny holds your hips down with one strong forearm. You can’t handle any more stimulation. If he would just give you a second —

Johnny clicks his tongue against his teeth. Taps a blunt finger on your clit and you gasp. “Impatient,” he says. “Alrigh’, how d’ye want it, doe? Yer favorite?”

Your favorite? “Wait- ”

In between one breath and the next, you’re flipped. Up on all fours with your ass tugged into the air. Johnny settles his hips against you, taking himself in his hand, already hard again, to rub it up and down, up and down your drenched slit. Nudge it against your throbbing entrance like a threat.

“Ah’ll take ‘er slow, promise,” he coos, low, rich voice rumbling from his chest like a purr. “Know it’s been a while.”

You can’t keep running from the charade, pushing it down, pretending away the things he’s saying. So you sink into it. Allow yourself to imagine that this man about to fuck you is your husband. Maybe it’s your honeymoon. Maybe Johnny’s gentle and caring outside the bedroom. Maybe you can trust him. Maybe you are not so afraid in his presence, you can hardly move.

The tip of his flared head pushes inside, and pain shoots through you. You tense, eyes screwing shut — you really should have let him prep you.

“Ah know, ah know.” Johnny hushes you. Runs a palm from the base of your spine to your shoulder blades, at once soothing and pushing. He presses until your elbows give and your face falls into the mattress. “Need t’relax. It’s alrigh’.”

Easy for him to say. The intrusion stings even with the shallow dips of his hips, working into you inch by inch. Tears spring to your eyes, and you coddle your face in the scratchy fabric of the sheets.

Johnny told you to relax - your husband told you to relax. So you grit your teeth and breathe through it. It’s alright.

Something gives, and Johnny gets another hard-won inch. Now that you’re resting willingly on the bed, spine arched in a deep bow, his hands notch in the joining of your hips and thighs. Not pulling, just holding you in place as he bullies his way inside of you.

“So tight, bonnie - fuck. Takin’ me so well.” His growled praise wriggles into your mind like an earworm. It balms the sting of the stretch, but it’s flour on a grease fire.

You’re shaking by the time he bottoms out, fully seated at last. A cold sweat has bloomed over your skin even in the balmy heat of the room. Johnny takes a moment to soak in the sight, humming low and running his hands over the curve of your ass.

You can’t see him behind you. You’re not sure if you want to.

“Ye like it, do ye? Bein’ stuffed full o’ my fat cock? Whinin’ like ye like it, sweet thing. Missed it too, aye?” Johnny grinds his hips into you. You think it’s stars you see when you can feel him press against the plug of your womb. “Yeah, ye missed it.”

You’re so precariously full. You’ve never taken anyone as large as Johnny, and you’re a little dizzy with it. Overwhelmed. You can feel every pulsing vein, every inch of velvet skin against your throbbing walls as he makes space for himself.

Johnny, true to his word, takes it slow - at first.

He lets you adjust with sheepish movements and murmurs of praise. Getting you used to the feeling of his hard length dragging in and out of you. The pain doesn’t go away, not entirely - it morphs. Pleasure bleeds into its edges, dulling them. When your joints unlock, hurt withering and desire blossoming in its place, and you readily push your hips back against him, a switch flips.

“Yes- ” Johnny groans. “Fuck yes — there’s my girl.”

He pulls out until only the tip remains inside, and then he slams back into you in one long stroke. You cry out, can't help it, but the sound is staggered - jolted off kilter with every slap of his thighs against you. He rails into you, pace feverish, dogged thrusts sending you up the bed before he’s pulling you back down onto him by your hips. Knocking your breath from your lungs. You can hardly make a sound other than pathetic, gasping breaths.

Punishing sensation rips through you, and all you can do is hold on.

Johnny can’t seem to decide how he wants you. Pushed into the bed, held down with a massive paw in the center of your back, hips forced into a spread so deep it borders on excruciating - or bent up to him like the curve of a delicate wing, hefted in the air so your spine is pressed along the front of his slick torso, and his forearm can lock around your chest. You’re bullied from one position to another with all the care someone would give to a fabric doll.

Suddenly, Johnny stops. Keeping you speared on his thick cock, he shoves your legs together with his own until your knees knock together - bones clacking painfully - and drops his full weight on you.

You fall forward, joints giving in to the massive weight on your back. Your legs are nestled between his own, and Johnny nudges one with the hook of his heel to cross at the ankles. Trapped, you’re trapped. Caged under his body, so much bigger than yours. You test the cage, try to shove upwards with all the strength in your torso, and Johnny doesn’t move an inch.

You’re trapped, and it's suffocating.

Stifled by his long limbs, wide shoulders. Johnny gives you no succor. Tan, hairy forearms lock you in. You try to turn your chin to siphon fresh air outside the tangle of your bodies, but a paw wraps around your jaw, and your face is cranked to the side to meet his open mouth.

His lips are salty and wet, his tongue invading, violating, against your gums.

You feel like you’re being swallowed whole. Like the slimy drag of his sweat-slicked skin across your back is the pulsing, constricting walls of a throat forcing you down, down. More humid than the dripping, sweltering tropics outside. Jungle asphyxia - air so dense and waterlogged the oxygen can't seep through.

You’re trapped, and the angle has changed.

Johnny drives into you, brutal ruts of his hips, punishing pleasure into your core with heavy fists. With every thrust, the head of his cock slams into your womb, painful and mean but so, so good. Your own release is strong-armed forward — snatched round the middle and tugged into a dark alley — kicking and screaming into Johnny’s clammy shadows.

Broken, animalistic grunts pour into your mouth as he fucks you doggedly. Whines and groans and fuck, doe, s’good, don’ fuckin’ move - as if you could. Soon, his pace is staggering, and he tells you that he’s close.

Panic, hot adrenaline courses through you. Sets your already harried nerves alight in fear. No, no.

You pull your face away from his, but there's nowhere to go. “Don’t - don’t!” you manage. It’s muffled into your gathered arms. Weak.

Johnny mangles something from his chest that might be a laugh. “M’wife disnae want me t’cum in her? I don’ know, bonnie. I like th’thought. Floodin’ this pretty cunt full ‘till it takes.”

“Johnny- ”

He squeezes you in, more. Until your bones are pressed together so harshly you’re sure they will break, until there is no more give to your flesh and yet Johnny makes more. One arm shoves between your stomach and the mattress, strong limb pushing in your ribcage, and his fingers find your sensitive clit somehow in the tangle.

You can’t run away even an inch from it.

“Ye’ll hav’ta ask me nicely.” Johnny presses the words against your temple, globs of sweat dripping from his forehead to yours. He circles your clit with the pad of his middle finger, grinding in tandem with his hips.

“Please- ”

Your climax rips the next words from your throat. A chord snaps, ricochets, as wave after wave of cruel pleasure wash over you. When you break through the surface again, animal panic cutting any gooey feeling off at the bud, you’re whispering, chanting — please don't, please don’t, please don’t.

“Alrigh’, alrigh’,” Johnny says, but it’s strained with effort. Threadbare discipline that could snap like the fibers of an old rope at any time.

“Next time, doe.”

He pulls out at the last possible moment, leaving you empty and aching, and you can hardly feel the hot, thick ropes of his cum spurting onto your ass and lower back.

After catching his breath, Johnny sits back on his haunches and rubs the now-cold cum into your skin. Clinical, dedicated swipes, not leaving any patch of flesh out. Like he can’t stand the thought of you washing it away, of the scent, the shining gleam of it, being wiped off.

Like you’d be exposed without it.

Like …

Like sunscreen.

You always skip the last ten minutes of movies.

You can’t stand the tension, the what-ifs. Will the protagonists win (defuse the bomb, defeat the villain, escape, etc)? Or will they lose. What will losing entail? Your pulse is ratcheting from the moment you wake up and slip out of Johnny’s room, all the way through the shuttle ride to the airport, and it does not stop galloping even at the self-kiosk as Destiny smacks the poor machine.

“It says I don’t have a ticket,” she groans. “This doesn’t make any sense!”

The attendant who comes over is apathetic, completely nonplussed at the dilemma. In a cold, serious voice, she tells Destiny that, unfortunately, there is no booking for her on the flight. She’ll have to take the next one. No, ma’am, the next one - this one is full.

This is the part you skip. Fast forward to when everything works out.

Ally and Beth slowly inch toward the bag drop-off. “You guys are just going to go?” Destiny whines helplessly.

Ally shrugs. “Diz, I work tomorrow.”

“Me too,” Beth says.

Destiny looks at you, pleading. No — not pleading, demanding. That you stay with her and rebook. That you not leave her alone. “They’ll get you on the next plane out of here,” you finally say. “I can’t afford to change my ticket.”

Once you made it past security, you felt home-free. Safe at the end of the movie.

Silly.

You should’ve known who took her seat.

Johnny finds you at the gate. Wears long pants and a red cap and a bright, wolfish grin. His blue eyes are happy, excited when he sits down next to you. Ally and Beth stare, agog. The only one who can believe he is here is you.

But Johnny doesn’t care. He only wraps a heavy arm around your shoulders and tugs you into his humid side. Smacks a wet kiss to your crown and jostles you, so delighted.

“Cannae wait t’get home, doe. Did ye eat yet?”

[moosereblogsfics]

This was so insanely hot I think it rewirwd my entire brain legitimately am OUT of breath WOWWWWWW

[cherienymphe]

Prowl

Rafe Cameron x Reader

WARNINGS: Non-Con, loss of virginity, depression, mentions of blood, semi-public sex, underage drinking, non canon ages, Carrera!reader, Rafe is an asshole with a capital A

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

summary: Rafe Cameron never thought of himself as the hunting type, but the more you hid, the more he wanted to find you.

⭑

You curled up in the corner of the couch with your knees pulled to your chest as you faintly registered the conversation happening around you. You tried to engage enough to be considered present, but it was hard, and you didn’t think you were fooling anyone. You were positive that you hadn’t been fooling anyone for weeks, and when you glanced up you weren’t surprised to catch Kiara’s eye.

She was worried about you.

You never would’ve known if she hadn’t cornered you last week, not-so-subtly subtly trying to pry information from you to determine what had triggered this change in demeanor. You’d stupidly thought that you were behaving normally, somehow convincing yourself that you weren’t acting differently, at all. After all, you still hung out with your friends and laughed at their jokes and smiled whenever JJ showed you the fish he caught.

“You just seem…” Kiara shook her head. “…kind of spacey, I guess. Like you’re here, but…you’re not.”

That was what she’d said to you when you’d unconvincingly asked her what she meant.

You recalled letting out a near silent scoff, the realization washing over you that you weren’t doing as good of a job as you thought. It made you wonder how long the other girl had noticed without saying anything, and then, that only made you wonder about the rest of your friends too. Granted, Kiara was your sister, so she was bound to notice more than they did, but you’d also never written her off as the most observant.

Especially now that so much of her time was taken up by JJ.

So…if she noticed…

You swallowed, unable to sit here and put in more effort to appear somewhat happy. You couldn’t deal with Kiara’s periodic glances as well as wondering what they were saying about you when you weren’t around. You knew it wouldn’t be anything bad, but you suddenly felt like the elephant in the room. Even more so when all eyes focused on you the very second you started to stand.

“I think I’m gonna go home,” you said, shaking your head the moment Kiara started to stand too. “All I had today was an iced coffee, and it’s finally catching up to me, I think.”

“Even more reason to stay,” Pope told you, and you sent him a small smile.

“Even more reason to go lie down in my bed,” you chuckled.

When your eyes met Kiara’s, she stood anyway, a sigh leaving her as she reached for her keys.

“Well, I’m at least driving you.”

Her tone left little room for argument, and choosing to pick your battles, you simply gave her a small thanks. You waved everyone else bye after putting on your shoes, and you didn’t need to look over to know that your sister was staring at you as she walked at your side.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you? I mean, if you’re not feeling good someone should be home with you. Mom and dad are at The Wreck.”

“I’m literally just feeling a little lightheaded,” you assured her as you got in. “It’s nothing some noodles can’t fix.”

She didn’t look all that convinced, but she bit her tongue to whatever was clearly on her mind. The ride back home was pretty quiet outside of you flickering between stations here and there, and Kiara’s lack of protest over it clued you in on just how worried about you she was. Its why you weren’t surprised when you were prevented from hopping out the moment she parked in front of the house.

She’d reached out to you to stop you, and there was an unsure look flickering over her face. You could see that she was contemplating how to say whatever it was she was going to say, and eventually she just sighed.

“I know that I haven’t been available as much ever since JJ and I started dating,” she slowly started, eyeing you. “…but you know that if you ever want to talk, I’d blow him off in a heartbeat, right?”

You gave her a small smile.

“I know.”

She still didn’t look satisfied, probably hoping this would be an opportunity to really talk about whatever she wondered was going on with you. When it was clear you weren’t going to give her what she wanted, she merely pressed her lips together with a nod. She gave you a soft ‘okay’ before reluctantly unlocking the vehicle. You didn’t look back once you made it inside, but you didn’t need to to know she hadn’t driven off right away.

The sound reached your ears when she finally did.

You pressed your back to the wall the minute you were finally alone, and you stared at the wall before you for what felt like a long time before it eventually started to blur. Once the first tear escaped, the rest quickly followed, and your lips trembled as you roughly wiped your face. Your gaze rested on the family pictures on the wall, focusing on your smiling face in particular, and you wondered if you’d ever smile like that again.

You would never in a million years tell Kiara what was wrong. Not because you didn’t trust her and not because she wouldn’t believe you, but because you should’ve known better. You should’ve fucking known better, and instead of listening to what you knew, you ignored every instinct inside of you just to be nice. It was bad enough that two people in this world knew just how stupid and naïve you could be.

You didn’t think you could handle any more than that.

With a choked sob, you slid to the floor, head tilted back as you gazed at the ceiling. It was the same ceiling throughout the whole house, same color and all, and you found that gazing at it—as you’d done that night—brought you some comfort. It was all that had filled your vision when you’d felt more and more detached from your body, eyes tracing every inch of it as he’d pinned your wrists to your bed.

Staring at it calmed you, the sight of it much more enjoyable without Rafe Cameron’s heavy breathing in your ear.

“You want to hear something funny?”

The voice just at your ear was low, but the suddenness of it startled you, nonetheless, and when you turned, a familiar face was greeting you with a grin. His perfect teeth were winking at you as you slowly turned to fully face him, equal parts cautious and curious. Your grip on the red cup in your hand tightened for a half a second before you took a step back, thankful that no one was behind you to bump into.

“I was just at the beach,” the older guy said, leaning in so you could hear him. “…and your sister said you were at home because you’re in trouble.”

You felt all color drain from your face at his words, and by the look on his own face when he pulled back, he knew the exact effect they had on you.

“…but yet, here you are.”

Rafe Cameron looked nothing short of like the cat who caught the canary as he leaned his hand on the couch you both were standing next to. He had a drink of his own in his hand—although his wasn’t nearly as empty as yours—and his head was tilted as he eyed you. You watched him tilt his cup up to his lips, those blue eyes of his holding your gaze over the rim as his words—and what they meant—floated between you.

You scoffed at him.

“Kie would never talk to you,” was your best response, and you didn’t like the way his smirk grew.

“I never said she did,” he haughtily replied. “Only that she said it…and I heard her.”

Accepting that you’d been caught, you rolled your eyes, and the oldest Cameron only chuckled.

“You can relax, Carrera,” he drawled, laughing again before taking another sip. “Do I look like I care if Kie’s baby sister wants to sneak out to a party she has no business being at?”

“I’m not a baby,” the words flew out before you could stop them.

Of course, that didn’t need to be said, but despite the fact that you were only one year younger than Kiara and your friends, they had a moderately annoying habit of treating like you were a child. You suspected it was because Kiara always acted like she was much older than you than she actually was. The girl was twenty, not twenty-nine, and her behavior had long rubbed off.

You didn’t know if you liked the onceover Rafe gave you, blue gaze slowly taking you in from your hair all the way down to your platform flip flops and back.

“No shit,” he said matter-of-factly and leaning in, a crooked smile on his pink lips as he shook his head. “…but you’re two years younger than me, so unfortunately, that makes you a tad more childish than I am.”

“Rafe Cameron? Childish? Never,” you sarcastically said to him just before finishing your drink.

Rafe seemed to be really entertained by you for some reason, and when you lowered your hand, his gaze fell to your cup. When his eyes met yours again, he threw you a playful smirk.

“Do you want another drink?”

You held his gaze for a few seconds more before glancing away, eyes taking in the party that you weren’t supposed to be at. It wasn’t like your parents could actually legally stop you from walking out of their house and going to any party you wanted, but considering you were still at home with no means of independence whatsoever, you didn’t see the appeal in blatantly disrespecting them. Especially since you deserved your lashings for mishandling money they gave you.

You were starting to think you’d pushed your luck enough.

“I’m not even supposed to be here,” you told Rafe, throwing him a sheepish look. “I should probably go home.”

Rafe didn’t immediately respond to that, only staring at you for a moment before eventually nodding. You watched him take another swallow of beer, his eyes still on yours.

“You got a ride?” he wondered.

“Yeah.”

You answered too quick, and Rafe tilted his head at you, giving you a look that let you know he didn’t buy that.

“Really. Who?”

All of your friends were currently at the beach with your sister, and Rafe already knew that none of them knew you were even here. When you sighed in defeat, Rafe’s smirk grew, the corner of his lips pulling upwards.

“Fine, I walked…and I’ll walk back,” you told him with a shrug.

“Mm mmm,” Rafe hummed with a shake of his head as he downed the rest of his drink. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

He took your empty cup, and along with his, set them both down on a nearby table. You hesitated as he dug in his pocket for his keys, lips parting as you mulled over if this was what you wanted to do. It wouldn’t be the first time you walked back home from a party no one knew you were at. Granted, thankfully nothing had ever happened, but you didn’t know. It could finally be the night your luck ran out.

Nothing hardly happened on this side of the island much, anyway, but you started to feel silly for contemplating turning down a perfectly fine ride home. Rafe could be kind of an asshole, but nothing worse than the average Kook you encountered on a regular basis. Besides, even though you were far from friends, it wasn’t like you didn’t know him. You were literally best friends with his sister.

“Are you sure?” you asked him. “I really don’t mind walking.”

Rafe chuckled at you like he thought you were cute, and he gently touched your arm as he guided you through the full house. His chest grazed your back as he remained close, keeping you steady and on track to the door.

“Walking home in Kildare County on a Saturday night?” he wondered in your ear. “Never mind the drunk drivers, but you never know what creep might come along and just pluck you off the street.”

You scoffed at him, and Rafe’s laugh was in your ear as he led you outside.

“Is it bad?” Kiara wondered, looking between your face and your plate. “If dad’s off his A-game tonight, you can tell me.”

Pope and JJ chuckled at that, and you merely shook your head, pushing your food around before sitting up.

“No, I…” you licked your lips. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.”

When your eyes met Kiara’s, she was frowning, and you could tell that a small lecture about your eating habits was on the tip of her tongue when Sarah spoke up.

“It’s not good to eat so much on an empty stomach, anyway,” Sarah jumped in, throwing Kiara a look before smiling at you. “Just take your time.”

You appreciated that, and you sat back in your seat as Cleo asked John B. something about a noise his van was apparently making earlier. By the uptick in conversation at the table, you got the sense that the noise had some crazy story attached, and you tried to listen—you really did—but your mind kept floating somewhere else entirely, and when a familiar face flashed behind your eyes, you desperately craved a drink.

You had just set your empty water glass down when you heard a voice that might as well had been a bucket of ice for you. Your gaze was glued to the table as you froze, fingers grazing the glass, and even though you told yourself you were imagining things, your heart wouldn’t slow down. It felt like it was going to jump straight out of your throat, doubly so when the voice became so much clearer.

“I told you she’d be here.”

That haughty drawl made your hair stand on end, and you were so glad that your head was down so that no one could see the way your eyes watered. Sarah made a noise of disapproval, and you shared her sentiments completely. He wasn’t alone, Kelce and Topper’s voices reaching your ears too, and as much as you wanted to be anywhere but here…

You couldn’t move.

You were completely frozen in your seat, pinned down by some invisible force that wouldn’t allow you to get up and get as far away from Rafe Cameron as possible. You’d done a good job of avoiding him for damn near two months—avoiding any party or outing he might be at—but you were running out of excuses as to why you wanted to stay home or why you didn’t want to take advantage of a free meal at your parents’ restaurant.

You reached up to wipe your face just as he spoke again…closer this time.

“Rose said whenever you’re done doing…” he paused. “…whatever it is you’re doing to come straight home.”

You didn’t need to look up to know that small sneer was on his face. You could almost picture it, those blue eyes sparkling and those nostrils of his flared—almost in disgust. It was a very vivid expression, one you recalled being on the receiving end of when you begged him to stop. He’d looked at you like you didn’t have the right to even find the audacity to ask him such a thing.

“Did you ask what she wanted?”

Rafe didn’t answer, but the barked laugh that left his lips was answer enough.

You blinked at the table, still so…still, and some part of you—an irrational part—wondered that if you remained still, maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t see you. Maybe he wouldn’t acknowledge you. Even if he didn’t do it with his words, you didn’t know if you could handle being on the receiving end of that blue gaze.

However, the way that your skin suddenly pricked told you that your efforts were in vain.

“Lunch on the house with your friends?” he wondered to Sarah no doubt. “That’s cute.”

He dragged it out in a mockingly condescending way. After a beat of silence, you heard Rafe hum.

“I’d hurry up if I were you,” he advised. “Rose made it seem like it was urgent.”

You heard him walking, and it sounded like he and his friends were making their way towards the counter.

“Nice to see you all again. JJ, Cleo…”

He was slowly acknowledging everyone at the table, and you felt bile rising in your throat at the realization. The feeling became even worse once it became clear that Rafe was saving you for last, and your stomach violently turned when his lips finally curled around your name.

“Y/N.”

You felt light—too light—and where you once even felt maybe too cold you now felt overheated. Sarah was complaining about his lingering presence when you finally glanced up, hating the way your name fell from his tongue. You were unsurprised to meet his gaze, and if you thought for a moment that Rafe would look at you in a way that was anything like indifference or contentment…you were wrong.

It happened so fast as Sarah shooed him away. There was a glint in Rafe’s eyes when they looked into yours, and it was a look that spoke volumes. A small smirk danced along his lips, and there was nothing content about it. It said so many things without Rafe uttering a single word, doubly so when he gave you a quick onceover. Rafe had only said your name, but you understood him loud and clear.

We both know I had you and you couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

The moment he was at the counter with Topper and Kelce, you finally found the strength to move…and you used all of it to stumble to your feet and out of The Wreck. Kiara was quick to follow you out of the restaurant, on your heels just in time to witness you throwing up what little you ate all over the pavement. Her gasp was barely registered as your stomach heaved again, and you could hear that it was no longer just your sister with you.

“Cheese on bread,” you heard Cleo say in shock. “Pope, go get a napkin or something.”

By the time he came back, there wasn’t anything left in your stomach, and you thanked him as you took it. Kiara’s eyes were wide and concerned when you looked at her, wiping your mouth and tongue.

“Are you okay? Was it…the food? You barely ate anything,” she added, and you shook your head.

“My stomach’s been a little upset all day. Maybe Sarah was right, and I ate too much and too fast.”

Your words came out a bit slurred, and you noted how hot and lightheaded you felt. You remembered that vomiting dehydrated you, and Kiara seemed to remember the same thing, reaching for her keys.

“We should get you home,” she finally said, turning to glance at your friends. “We’ll see you guys later.”

You frowned at her when she pushed you towards her car.

“Kie, I’ll be fine. You can come back after you drop me off,” you told her, gesturing to them.

She merely gave you a look as you both slid into the vehicle. You could tell that she didn’t agree with that suggestion at all, but there was also something in her dark gaze that gave you pause. Worry clouded her face as she pulled out of the parking lot, and you found yourself eyeing her. Kiara was never one to keep her thoughts to herself when she clearly had something serious she wanted to say.

You were put out of your misery halfway to your house.

“Are you pregnant?”

Somehow that was the last thing you expected to hear her blurt out, and her concerned gaze met your wide one. While not entirely impossible, you were almost one hundred percent sure that you weren’t, and you gave her a ridiculous look.

“What? No!”

“Don’t…! Don’t look at me like that, alright? That’s not a crazy question-.”

“That’s not a crazy question…” you repeated, sounding more like a statement.

“No, it’s not,” she doubled down, looking between you and the road. “Not when you’ve been acting strange for two months! You’re not really here and I feel like we barely see you now and then today…”

She shrugged.

“You threw up in the middle of the day despite the fact that you’d barely eaten a thing.”

“…and you don’t think I’d be eating a lot more if I was pregnant?”

Kiara seemed to think that over, sitting back in her seat with a sigh. Her hands were tight on the wheel, and you could see her accepting how crazy that seemed. She roughly exhaled.

“Well, something’s wrong with you,” she forced out, sounding defeated, and you weren’t able to hold her gaze when she looked over. “I’ve been trying to be a good sister and just…let you know you can come to me in your own time.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself.

“…but I’m getting scared.”

Her voice was small, and you didn’t have a good response to that. Denying that anything was wrong would just insult her intelligence and probably make her worry more. You swallowed, fighting back tears and wondering how you could ever tell her what happened. You barely even wanted to think about it—despite how much it plagued your thoughts—let alone actually talking about it.

You didn’t know how to even begin to tell Kiara that your friend’s brother had raped you…in your own house…in your own bed, no less. You couldn’t stomach walking her through what happened that night and its eventual horrifying end. You didn’t know how to tell her that you’d been so stupid…and you especially didn’t know how to tell her that Rafe Cameron was walking around like he wasn’t even somewhat remorseful about what he did.

…but instead proud.

You didn’t know how to voice any of that, so when she parked, you were quick to be the first one out. You fixed her with a look that was meant to reassure her, but you didn’t know if you pulled it off. Gazing into Kiara’s eyes, you lied straight to her face with a small smile.

“I promise, it’s nothing.”

You didn’t give her the chance to respond, making your way up the driveway.

You’d been standing at the top of the stairs for a minute too long when your mom called for you again. When she’d called you down the first time, you hadn’t even considered what it could be for, just acting on instinct and pulling yourself out of bed. You hadn’t given much thought to the fact that you’d heard her answer the door only moments before. However, the moment you reached the top of the stairs, you’d tried to tell yourself that you were imagining that voice.

That hauntingly familiar voice.

His soft laugh reached your ears at something your mom said, and the sound of it brought tears to your eyes. Like at The Wreck only just the other day, you found it hard to move. Your hand was on the staircase and one foot was already on the step below, but you were finding it so hard to will yourself to move—to act like everything was normal.

To act like Rafe Cameron wasn’t in your house.

Again.

“I wonder if she’s…” your mom trailed off when she rounded the corner, face lighting up at the sight of you. “There she is! Come on, you’ll never believe it.”

Her presence—and her hand reaching for yours—gave you the strength to finally put one foot in front of the other. The whole ordeal felt like an out of body experience, your lips parted and eyes fearful as she led you into the living room, forcing you to come face to face with those blue eyes yet again. There was a grin on his lips as he stood by your door. To your mom, it was charming.

It was predatory to you.

“You will never believe what Rafe found,” she said, sounding so pleased.

When the other guy held his hand out…you wanted to be sick.

“It was just there…at the beach,” his smooth voice explained, and you were certain now more than ever.

You were going to be sick.

When your gaze lifted to meet Rafe’s, finally pulling your eyes away from your wallet, your heart sank. Your mom was going on a tangent in thanking him while you had yet to utter a single word. You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to push him into the street, and you couldn’t even fix your mind to take the damned thing.

Rafe didn’t find your wallet on any beach.

You knew it, and he knew it.

He’d taken it the night he raped you.

Despite how terrified you were, you couldn’t break the gaze. Why? Why was he doing this? The oldest Cameron had gotten exactly what he wanted from you, so what did he get out of this? It wasn’t enough that he broke your trust and violated you, but now he meant to torment you too? You hadn’t even told a soul what he did. You hadn’t gone to the police, done a rape kit or anything, he got away with it, so what was the point of all this?

Beyond the despair and confusion, you could feel a hint of anger flaring within you, and that small flare must have made itself visible through your eyes…because the look Rafe gave you had you taking a step back. Your mom noticed, and she rubbed your back.

“Everything’s in there,” she assured you. “I know we got you a new one and everything, but at least you can know it found its way into good hands.”

Both her and Rafe chuckled at that, and your lips parted as you stared at him.

The look that Rafe had given you… For that brief moment when you felt a hint of anger, just a smidgen, the look in those blue eyes had made your blood run cold. There was a crooked smile on his lips and a softness to his visage, but Rafe’s eyes had told an entirely different story. There had been a glint in his gaze—a challenge—like he was almost itching to see what you would try and do to him.

At your mom’s urging—and with shaky hands—you hesitantly reached out to take your wallet, careful to avoid touching his fingers. You didn’t even recall thanking him, but you must have, because Rafe looked you over with a quickness your mom missed, that smile of his growing when your eyes met again.

“You’re welcome,” he slowly responded, almost dragging the words out in that smooth baritone.

“Rafe, would you like something to drink before you go?” your mom offered, and both of your minds seemed to go to the same place.

Tears kissed your eyes as her steps traveled to the kitchen, and Rafe full on grinned, briefly pulling his lip between his teeth as he brushed past you. You leaned away from him as he grazed you, and you didn’t imagine the way he’d turned his head to keep his eyes on you as he did.

“Just some water, thanks.”

Those words made your knees buckle, and you reached out, struggling to safely sit down on the couch. Your wallet fell from your hands as you heard him compliment her on the house, and the more he talked, the more your stomach churned.

“It’s so bright and cozy in here,” he praised. “I almost wish Y/N would lose her wallet again just so I have an excuse to come back.”

Wholly unamused by whatever he was doing, your tears spilled over, and you didn’t bother to make your exit known as you stood and stumbled through the front door.

“Hey, you mind if I can get some water?” Rafe said to you the moment he parked in your driveway, turning to you with a small smile. “I drank more than I thought I did, and I kind of want to sober up a little before I get back on the road.”

Your brows rose at that, stupidly under the impression that Rafe only had one beer, but there was no telling just how long he’d been at the party before bumping into you. You probably should’ve asked, and even though you knew Kiara—and maybe even your parents—wouldn’t approve of inviting a guy inside the empty house on a Saturday night, Rafe had driven you home. The least you could do was give him some water to make him feel better about driving.

“No, yeah, that’s fine.”

Rafe got out after you did, following behind you as you took your keys out. Saturday nights meant a packed restaurant, so you weren’t expecting anyone home for another few hours at the least. It wouldn’t take any time at all to give Rafe something to drink and send him on his way.

“It’s quiet in here,” he commented as you tossed your keys on the table by the door.

“The Wreck on a Saturday? Both of my parents kind of need to be there for that madness.”

Rafe amusingly agreed, and when you reached for a glass from the dishwasher, you glanced over to find Rafe’s gaze on you.

“What…?”

He was leaning against the entrance to the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest. You only just paid attention to his shirt and the way it pulled against him with every movement.

“Never pegged you as the type to sneak out. Seems more like Kie, to be honest.”

His comment made you laugh, and you tilted your head at him when you handed him the glass.

“One of us is just better at it,” you teased. “Besides, I snuck out for an hour and a half at the most. It barely counts.”

Rafe simply eyed you as he drank the water you gave him. You felt a tad awkward being alone with Rafe in your house, but it was only because you guys were far from friends, and you couldn’t recall a time you’d ever even had an actual conversation with him.

“I’m surprised you went to some Kook party,” he hummed, lowering his arm. “What? No boyfriend on The Cut you wanted to meet up with?”

Rafe’s gaze was so intense as he held eye contact, and it was then that you realized you didn’t think you’d ever been on the receiving end of it before. At least…not for an extended period of time like this. Having all of his attention felt strange.

“No,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I don’t really date.”

Rafe blinked at you, folding his arms again as he tilted his head. There was a curious twinkle in his eye, and you didn’t miss the way he ran his gaze over your face.

“Why not?” he wondered with a frown.

“Um,” you said, rolling your eyes towards the ceiling. “…because a lot of you are assholes.”

Rafe laughed with you, nodding his head.

“That’s fair,” he admitted. “…and smart. A lot of guys wouldn’t know what to do with you, anyway.”

You gave a chuckle at that, not because you found it funny, but because you didn’t know how to respond. Your gaze traveled to his empty glass while his remained on you, and a silence descended between you that reminded you he shouldn’t be here.

“Do you want another before you go?” you asked him, trying to politely kick him out.

There was a faint smile on his pink lips as he stared at you, and when he handed it to you, the corner of his lips twitched.

“That’s sweet of you…”

His fingers brushed yours when you took the empty glass, and you could feel his gaze on your back when you made your way to the sink. Your own gaze was on the faucet, and you were thinking about the shower you were going to take when you felt something brush against your arm. The feel startled you, and the glass fell in the sink when you jumped.

You hadn’t heard Rafe move, so you were shocked that he was so close.

“What are you…?”

Your words died in the air when the blond kissed you, his lips covering yours so expertly that you might’ve appreciated the opportunity under different circumstances. When you reached up to push at his chest, Rafe only responded by backing you up against the fridge. The only way to get your words out was to turn your head.

“Rafe, what…? Stop,” you gasped, pushing at his chest.

You liked to think that he was more drunk than either of you realized, but when he reached up to grab your hand, holding you against him as he pulled his face away, that mocking grin on his lips told you otherwise.

“Why?” he asked you like it was the craziest thing he’d ever heard.

You ducked your head when he tried to kiss you again, harshly pushing at his chest, now, but Rafe was just as strong as he looked. When his lips met yours again, this kiss was rougher, and an uncomfortable gasp escaped you when one of his hands found the side of your neck. His teeth nipped at your lip, and following his lead, you bit him. Hard.

Blood welled on his lip when he snatched himself away from you, and the look he fixed you with broke you out of your momentary stupor. Your heart sank low in your chest, something in you screaming at you that Rafe wasn’t joking, and he wasn’t just trying to get handsy.

“Rafe, I think you should leave.”

Your words amused him, and he laughed to himself.

“…and if I don’t want to?”

You swallowed, and his eyes zeroed in on the movement.

“I’m serious,” you told him, voice cracking. “I want you to leave.”

Again, your demand clearly tickled him, and you realized then that this wasn’t going to work this way.

You made it as far as the hallway before his hand fisted your shirt, yanking you back so hard that the fabric pulled against your throat. The wind was knocked out of you when your back roughly collided with his chest, and once he got his arm around you, the door became farther and farther away.

“Rafe, you’re not funny,” you said to him, panicked and out of breath as you fought to get his hands off of you. “Rafe!”

Deep down, some part of you wanted it to be a joke gone too far, that maybe if he heard how scared you were then he would stop. To your horror though, Rafe seemed to like the fear in your voice, pinning you to the wall as he leaned in to press sloppy kisses to your neck. He was kissing you and yanking you up the stairs, and that only made your panic grow.

You hadn’t realized you’d started crying until your vision—and Rafe along with it—grew blurry. Your face felt cold as the air hit your wet skin, and in that moment, oddly enough, you were furious that yours and Kiara’s room doors were labeled because Rafe knew exactly which one to force you in. Your stomach turned at the thought of this taking place in your room.

Your safe space.

When it became clear that you wouldn’t be able to get away by fighting him off, you screamed.

Rafe had you pinned to your bed at this point, and he didn’t like the sound, fighting to cover your mouth. With one hand free, he could still pull at your clothes—the dress you’d warn to the party literally being ripped off of you. Everything was happening too fast, your mind fighting to understand how you’d just been downstairs getting him water not even fifteen minutes ago.

“Rafe, please,” you tearfully begged him, pushing against him and hitting him despite the little damage it was doing. “Get off, get off, please!”

The light from the hallway cast onto his face, and so you didn’t miss the sneer Rafe gave you. You didn’t miss the way his lip curled over his teeth, a look passing over his face like he couldn’t believe you dared to ask that of him. He even let out a soft laugh. He pushed against your chest as he reached between you, painfully holding you down, and your legs kicked around him, nails drawing blood on his arm.

You felt like you were having a panic attack when you felt the tip of him graze you. You couldn’t stop crying even if you wanted to, and Rafe didn’t kiss you again until he was inside of you, taking full advantage of your shock and agony. You felt frozen, eyes squeezed shut as the pain between your legs became unbearable, and when he tasted the inside of your mouth, you noted that there was hardly a hint of alcohol in his.

You sat behind some stranger’s car, arms wrapped around your knees as you fought to catch your breath. The sounds of the party on the beach reached you all the way to the parking lot, and you wondered why you fought so hard to act normal when nothing was normal. You weren’t okay, and it was growing increasingly more difficult to pretend you were.

You just wanted Kiara and your friends to stop worrying.

You hadn’t expected to see Rafe of all people on the beach when you joined the festivities. He tended to prefer a fancy house party with coke and other party favors. One look at him had you stopping in your tracks, and you’d made sure to look elsewhere before Cleo could notice.

“You okay?” she’d asked you, and unable to come up with a believable lie, you just told her you’d be right back.

That had to have been at least twenty minutes ago, and no matter how many times you started to, you couldn’t bring yourself to get up. Rafe was tormenting you…and you didn’t know why. You hadn’t missed the slight curve of his lips when your eyes briefly met his before you left the crowd. Before… Before you just thought that he’d sunk to a new low, just being an asshole about what he did. Now though…

Now, you were sure that he was seeking you out.

…but you didn’t understand why.

After that God awful day at your house, you rarely left it. Any annoyance your mom still had over that abrupt departure, it had long faded the more you holed away in your room staring at your wall. There were only so many excuses you could make, only so many times you could say you just didn’t feel good before someone demanded you go see a doctor.

Out of excuses—and just wanting to ease everyone’s worry—you tagged along tonight…and now you regretted it.

You didn’t know how to go back out there and pretend like he wasn’t in the crowd—watching you, no doubt. You wouldn’t be able to relax for a second, too busy looking over your shoulder and avoiding Rafe Cameron at all costs. You pressed your hand to your mouth, struggling to breathe as you cried and telling yourself that you had to do something because if they weren’t already, your friends would be looking for you soon.

With difficulty, you pushed yourself to your feet, thankful the car was an older model whose alarm didn’t go off at any mere touch. You didn’t know what excuse you were going to give to Kiara who’d no doubt been informed by Cleo that you’d been gone for too long. You wiped your face, and you told yourself that if anyone questioned it, you’d just claim you’d had some bad food that made you sick.

“Cute dress.”

No other voice could shatter any amount of composure you’d built up like that one. It was like being doused in cold water, all train of thought lost and only able to focus on how freezing and miserable you were. You didn’t even attempt to convince yourself you’d imagined it this time because you knew without a doubt now that Rafe was going out of his way to torture you about that night.

When you finally looked over, the man in question was leaning against someone else’s car. He was sprawled against it like it was his, and upon closer inspection, you recognized it as Topper’s jeep. You wrapped your arms around yourself at the sight of him, and you wondered just how long he’d been there…watching you.

“Rough night?” he quietly wondered, eyes raking over your frame, and you shuddered under his scrutiny.

“Leave me alone, Rafe,” you breathed, moving to go back to the beach when he blocked your path.

You tried to get around him, but Rafe wasn’t having it.

“Woah, hey, I just want to talk,” he laughed, reaching out to you.

You stumbled back away from him, fearfully eyeing him. You weren’t quite as alone with him as you were before, but it was just enough for Rafe to do whatever he wanted should he find himself determined enough.

“What could I possibly want to talk about with you?” you breathed. “…and what could you possibly have to say to me?”

You continued before he could say anything.

“We both know you’re not sorry,” you choked out. “You’ve done nothing but make my life hell…and I don’t know why because you got what you wanted.”

Trying to get by him only resulted in him reaching for you again, and so you reached for your phone. Rafe’s hand followed yours, and so as soon as your hand was around your phone, his was around your hand, and the fight over the device was quick. Tears of anger kissed your eyes when he held it out of reach, and your breathing was heavy when he leaned in.

His nose touched yours, and in your efforts to back away, you backed right into the car.

His eyes flickered between yours, and the more you leaned back, the more Rafe followed until he was practically on top of you. He shifted, and you both felt and saw both of his hands come down on either side of you to rest on the vehicle, effectively caging you in. He was so close that you could faintly smell the cologne he put on before he left the house, and when his gaze lowered to your lips, your heart sank.

You pushed at his chest, but Rafe wasn’t budging.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get you alone?” he murmured.

His words made you freeze, and your eyes widened.

“…and I guess that’s my fault,” he said with a shrug. “You’re always…in the house or…with your friends, now.”

He leaned in some more despite the pressure you put against his chest.

“You make it so difficult to get you by yourself, now,” he continued with a small smirk. “So, all I’ve been able to do is just dream about that night…instead of reliving it.”

His hand on your face had you jerking away, hands pushing against his chest as he leaned in to kiss you. You made a noise of protest, and Rafe only shushed you, lips grazing yours. One of his hands completely dug into your hip at your attempt to scoot back on the car.

“Relax,” he whispered in what was probably meant to be a soothing manner. “Just relax.”

One of his hands was behind your neck, the other kneading into your upper thigh when he kissed you. He swallowed any noise you attempted to make, and like before, Rafe didn’t seem to care that you didn’t want this.

“You should’ve told me you were a virgin before I fucked you,” he murmured against your lips, smiling into the kiss. “I would’ve been nicer about it.”

The reminder of the blood that night made more tears spill over, and you were in awe that Rafe saw that night as something to look back on with the idea of fun while it had completely turned your life upside down…but maybe that was the fun part for him. He had to know how much what he did affected you.

He wouldn’t stop kissing you—wouldn’t let you make a sound—and when the hand on your thigh settled itself on your back, you tripped over your feet when he pulled you away from the car. You could hear your phone going off wherever Rafe had abandoned it, and you had no doubt that all of your friends and Kiara were looking for you.

Unfortunately, Rafe was forcing you into the back of Topper’s jeep.

Your hand was on the opposite door handle as soon as you were inside the vehicle, but with one successful yank back, Rafe climbed over you and closed it. You heard the resounding click of the locks, and you pushed against the seat when you felt Rafe lips trailing along the side of your neck.

“I didn’t get what I wanted,” he whispered against your skin, making you tremble. “…because I still want it.”

Rafe had you completely pinned between him and the seat, and your struggle grew frantic when you felt how hard he was against the back of your thigh. One of Rafe’s hands snaked its way underneath you, circling around your throat as he left kisses along your skin. His other hand was trailing along your frame, and when it started to push at your dress, the hand around your neck tightened.

You could barely breathe properly now…let alone scream.

Rafe’s breathing was heavy, evident in the way his chest heaved against your back. It didn’t stop him from pulling your head back and kissing you though, all the while releasing himself, the sound of his zipper loud in the otherwise car. Your friends were long gone from your mind, now, with your only focus on how you were going to handle this again.

Tears kissed your face as you reached up to pull at Rafe’s hand, but his grip was tight, and your grip started to slip the moment you felt him press the head of his cock into you. Your toes curled, body going still as memories of the last time flashed behind your eyes. Your underwear pulled over his hand, his fist keeping them completely pushed to the side as he slowly pushed his way into you.

“Just like I remember,” he purred against your ear once he’d pushed his cock into you to the hilt.

His movements had you gripping the seat of Topper’s Jeep, your feet kicking back at the door. His thrusts were slow, reminiscent of the last time, but unlike now, Rafe had only slowed his pace then once he saw the faint blood on his cock. Now, you didn’t know if he’d meant what he said earlier about being gentler or if he was simply trying to savor it.

When his hand finally let your throat go, you greedily sucked in air, but your relief was short-lived when his whole arm found its way around your neck. You had no choice but to hold onto it as he snapped his hips against you, the slow plunge of his cock forcing a whine from you. Rafe’s forehead rested on the back of yours, and you could both feel and hear how much he was enjoying this.

“I almost didn’t want to leave that night,” he breathed, a gasp escaping when he curved his hips against you. “I could’ve fucked you all night.”

The inside of the Jeep was filled with the sound of your reluctant moans and Rafe’s heavy breathing and words. You could feel your body becoming lighter and lighter, and you knew it had nothing to do with Rafe’s arm around your neck. The feel of his thrusts became easier to bear, and like that night, you found your gaze focusing on the door…just as you’d done with the ceiling.

The knowledge that he hadn’t just been tormenting you but had been seeking you out for a reason left you feeling a little numb. The whole reason you hadn’t done a thing about it in the first place was because you just wanted to avoid Rafe Cameron at all costs. He was violent and terrifying, and those two things had scared you into simply scrubbing yourself raw that night before crying yourself to sleep. You thought that he’d gotten what he wanted and would leave you alone.

…but you never considered that it wasn’t about the sex or the power, at all.

It was about you in particular and the power he wanted over you, the gratification he wanted from you.

It was why he boldly acknowledged you knowing exactly how terrified you were of him. It was why Rafe dared to enter your home once again, knowing exactly what the sight of him in there would do to you. It was why he taunted you and challenged you to even dare to retaliate. You didn’t know if Rafe was just some bully who decided you were it, or perhaps something just a tad more sinister.

When he flipped you onto your back, he didn’t like the blank look in your eyes.

“Uh uh, look at me,” he softly demanded, lightly tapping your cheek. “Look right at me.”

When you refocused on his face, more tears spilled over, and you were sure Rafe liked the sight of them. He leaned down with a hand on your throat, your knees to your chest and your feet resting against his stomach as he leaned over you, stuffing you full of his cock. The sound of it sliding into you over and over again was loud in the vehicle.

Your eyes were on Rafe’s, and his blue gaze never left you, lips parting as he watched your face. He slowed his hips down, thrusting into you at a languid pace, and when you clenched around him, a slow smile danced along his lips—crooked and taunting. He studied your face like he was fascinated by it, and you were reminded of that night at the party.

He’d looked like the cat who caught the canary. In your own house, he’d reminded you of a wolf toying with some poor deer before putting it out of its misery when you looked back on it. Every time your eyes had met his in public—including now—Rafe looked like nothing would be more fun than taking you between his teeth.

As he continued to fuck you in the back of his best friend’s car, you had the realization that around Rafe Cameron, you very much felt like prey, and the man on top of you had long come to that same conclusion before you did.

…and he’d pounced the moment your back was turned.

[cherienymphe]

Feral

Baelor “Breakspear” Targaryen x Reader

Warnings: Alpha!Baelor, Omega!reader, Targcest (Targaryen!reader), a/b/o dynamics

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

Summary: He told you that he could smell the change in you, could smell your body calling him and begging him to claim it.

♱

Prince Baelor was watching you again.

Those dark eyes of his always seemed to be watching you these days, and while it was not something you particularly minded, you had never been one to enjoy too much attention, and while he was one man, having the attention of the heir to the throne was the attention of one man too many. You picked at your food, appetite long lost, in the hopes that it would bore him and his gaze would stray elsewhere. 

Deep down you knew this hope was futile.

The dark-haired prince did not seem to find interest in any interesting thing you chose to do but instead in you. You supposed that you could be staring into a goblet of water and you would still find his deep gaze on you. Were you any other woman, you would have been flattered, but as it were, you hated attention, and you almost chuckled at that.

The gods certainly had an interesting sense of humor to place you into perhaps one of the most attention seeking houses in Westeros. You guessed they could not help it if you believed like Aerion believed, that dragon blood ran through their veins—your veins. Perhaps that was why you hated the attention so much, only half the amount of dragon’s blood coursing through you unlike Aerion.

Your brother never missed an opportunity to remind you that you were a mere halfling, only half as worthy of calling yourself a Targaryen and even less so because you were a bastard. That was a word that stung less in your adulthood, and you remembered hearing whispers of it growing up, eyes stinging as if the word was a blade meant to harm you.

You accepted now that it was a descriptor like any other—an insulting one, but a way to describe you and categorize you nonetheless. Not everyone said it with the same vitriol that Aerion carried when he said it, and your eyes found his just as he was on your mind. He ate obnoxiously and pointedly, and you swallowed down a sigh at his ever persistent attempts to get some sort of reaction from you. 

“I have had my fill,” you suddenly said, standing. “I think I will retire for the night.”

You did not linger to see if your father was okay with that, hurrying to make your exit and find sanctuary in your chambers. The feeling of a dark gaze still heavily weighed on you as you made your way down the corridor, and you desperately wished that you were none the wiser to your uncle’s watchful eye.

“She is well past maturity,” you heard him quietly say one day. “Do you not find it worrisome?”

Your father’s response had been immediate.

“Of course it worries me,” the other man had almost snapped. “...but our house is no stranger to the odd late bloomer or two.”

The white-haired man was being nice, of course, recalling only one Targaryen to ever live well beyond their sixteenth name day with no presentation in sight. You were well beyond your twentieth and yet you still walked around with no presentation in sight. No heat, no rut nor anything to classify you, and when these thoughts plagued your mind, you would think on Aerion’s hurtful words and perhaps the truth in them.

You did not belong.

There was something wrong with you.

 He all but uttered it the first time your father brought you home, introducing you to your siblings whose hair was just as white as yours. An eighteen year old halfling bastard with no scent, and years later nothing had changed, and you had the nerve to hate attention. Attention was all you drew, but not once had it ever been from him.

Prince Baelor—your uncle Baelor—had never been anything but kind to you from the moment your existence was no longer a secret. Where one brother regarded you with borderline contempt, and the rest took a moment to get their footing about how to take your sudden presence, the dark-haired Targaryen welcomed you immediately. You were far from naive, knowing that he most assuredly had an opinion or two about his brother and his parentage of you, but if he did, you never heard it.

For years prince Baelor had only ever made you feel comfortable and like family.

Now, all he ever did was watch you.

In the years that you came to know him, you recognized that he was an observant man. Perhaps that was why he was so different—so kind—because he was always watching. Watching the things people said, watching how they reacted, and watching and seeing what people tried to hide. Only you had nothing to hide, and yet he watched you as if you did.

As if he was waiting for you to reveal it.

“Prince Maekar demands your presence at supper tonight.”

Your chambermaid stood at your bedside with an even expression, though her eyes betrayed her. Your father could behave unkindly at times, and there was no doubt in your mind that the brunette before you had been on the receiving end of said behavior. You hated that whatever treatment she endured was because of you, but it was not enough to pull you from your chambers.

For days now you felt unwell.

…and that was what you told her…again.

“Yes, I made that clear to him, but he is insisting and…made it a point to remind me to tell you that it is not up for discussion.”

A break in her expression betrayed what her words did not, and you swallowed, guilt consuming you. There were many suppers and such you chose to miss due to your tense relationship with your brother, but for once, you really were sick. You knew that your father would not believe you, and yet you could not muster the strength to obey him.

Truthfully, you worried about just what was wrong with you.

You heard nothing of a deadly illness passing through the small folk, and as it were you were hardly one to leave the keep. Even still, you found your stomach twisting into knots at times so badly that you thought you would be sick. Two nights in a row now you awoke covered in a thin sheen of sweat, bed damp and body hotter than it has ever been.

Not only did you not want to be around your family, you were afraid to be, and just as you were about to reiterate that you did not feel well, there was a knock on your chamber door. You exchanged a glance with the other woman before she answered it, and something in your gut stirred at the familiar voice.

You were sitting up and swallowing down any bad feelings just as Baelor brushed past her. His eyes were on you immediately—like always as of late—and you resisted the urge to avoid his gaze. With a small nod from you, your chambermaid left you and the silence in her absence felt incredibly heavy. You pretended not to know why as he approached you.

“You do not look ill,” was the first thing he said to you.

A reply was on your tongue, but it was momentarily forgotten as he stopped just at your bedside where your chambermaid once stood, and your lips parted. A scent surrounded him that you had never smelled before, and it stumped you for multiple reasons, but most of all for how good it smelled. The dark-haired man was standing over you and looking down at you with the slightest curve to his lips as if he thought you were acting like a disobedient child yet again.

…and the entire time all you could focus on was the scent that invaded your senses.

“I assure you, uncle” you said after some time, finally gathering your thoughts. “I am.”

“My brother already has much to deal with where Aerion is concerned,” he hummed, reaching out and touching your cheek. “He does not need any trouble from you.”

It was the faintest of touches, and yet your whole body felt as if it was lit aflame. A brief sudden urge filled you to lean into his touch, and the thought was so uncharacteristic that it broke you out of whatever mental fog you found yourself in. Leaning away from him, you cleared your throat, and when you chanced a look at him, Baelor was staring down at you as he had been for months now.

Waiting.

He always looked as if he was waiting.

For what? You did not know, and telling yourself that you had enough problems without making any up, you swiped your tongue between your lips to speak.

“I know I have cried wolf many times before, but I am entirely serious when I say I have not felt well,” you told him, gaze pleading as you looked up at him. “Please get that through to my father. He always listens to you best.”

The handsome prince looked down at that with a fairly quiet chuckle.

“Only when he feels like it, I fear.”

Before you could respond to that, he continued.

“Come to dinner tonight,” he hurried to elaborate before you could refuse. “Appease him and plead your case, and I guarantee he will let you be for at least a few days more.”

His expression was comforting, and his soft eyes held a command there that you did not want to go against. Baelor had always made you feel safe and heard, but there was something different about it, now, and the calmness that washed over you in his presence desperately made you want to listen to him.

You did not have time to linger on that, watching as he offered his hand to you, and you took it without thinking. His palm was rough, the hand of a skilled knight, and you did not hate it. You never had, but in this moment, the roughness appealed to you in a way it never had before. The feeling against your soft palm made you curious, and before you could press that curiosity, he was pulling you to your feet and letting you go.

“I will send for your chambermaid,” he told you, but your mind was somewhere else entirely. “Your father has already been angered by one of his children today.”

You watched him go, and you watched her replace him, and still your mind remained on the feeling of his hand in yours. You felt as if you could have held it for the rest of the night, and the thought made you frown. It was not unheard of—especially in your house—to find comfort with one’s own blood, but you were not raised in the Red Keep nor Dragonstone or around any Targaryens before your eighteenth name day. These feelings did not feel natural to you, and doubly so because they were coming out of nowhere.

Your uncle Baelor has always been a safe space for you, and now…

Now something stirred in you that felt like a little more than mere comfort.

The walk to the dining hall was long, the walk to the table even longer, and somehow dinner felt even longer than those torturous walks. You sat across from your uncle, and if you did not know any better, you would have sworn he was right beside you.

The scent of him reached you from all the way across the table, and there were times you had to physically harm yourself to bring your mind back to the present instead of his hand in yours and his comforting gaze holding yours and his presence in your bedchamber. The thoughts made your skin warm, and yet even after you forced such thoughts away, you were still warm.

Hot even.

You ate as best as you could, and contributed to the conversation enough to be deemed polite, and still…your mind and body were in two separate places. A heat was taking over you like no other, and the food that once satisfied you was making you feel even more sick. It twisted within your gut like a fist, and at some point you found yourself abandoning your utensils and the pretense of eating altogether.

Your brothers’ and your cousins’ voices blended together and faded into the background all at once, and you weighed the ramifications of abandoning supper early after all the trouble your father went through to get you here. You considered whether or not it was worth it, and just as you started to swallow down your discomfort and stay, you chanced a glance up.

Your gaze connected with a dark one—a familiar dark one—and you blinked at Baelor as he stared at you as he had many times before. Conversation flowed around you, but it did not touch either of you, and you felt trapped. You looked between his eyes as he stared at you, and your uncle did not break eye contact as he reached for his ale, bringing it to his lips and holding your gaze the whole time.

You did break eye contact, however. Your gaze falling to his throat, watching—transfixed—as the sweet liquor traveled down it, watching it bob as he swallowed. It hypnotized you, as did every move he made, and you watched him pull the cup away, your lips parting at the stray traces of drink on the pink skin. Movement pulled your gaze away from his mouth, and you suddenly found his fingers—and the way they  stroked the rim of his cup—more interesting than anything going on at the table.

The gentle back and forth of them piqued your curiosity just as the rough feel of his palm did in your bedchamber, but unlike before, you could linger on it. Watching their movement made something pinch deep in your stomach that was unfamiliar to you, and you felt the tip of your tongue touch the inside of your bottom lip, wanting a taste of something wholly unfamiliar. You could not place it…and then the heat all over your body concentrated in one place…and your heart dropped…

Your eyes met his again, and there was a look of knowing in Baelor’s gaze that could not be mistaken for anything else. 

An uncontrollable heat was growing between your legs, spreading throughout your whole body until you could feel dampness on your forehead. The air on the back of your neck felt entirely too cool, telling you that the light sheen was not just contained to your face. You wanted a myriad of things all of a sudden, but most importantly you wanted Baelor to stop looking at you like he knew exactly what was wrong with you…because he did, and now you did too, and you were stumbling to your feet and out of the dining hall without a glance back at your father’s irate baritone.

Your late presentation was all anyone was talking about.

At least, that was how your chambermaid told it. Through the fever and the pain of your first heat, she murmured to you about your father’s simultaneous relief and disappointment. Relief that there was indeed nothing wrong with you, but his unmet hope of you presenting as an Alpha like literally every single one of your siblings. You could just hear Aerion’s voice now, mocking your bastard lineage as the reason for the fuck up.

“I told you,” he would say in that low mocking tone of his, full lips pursed. “You are not right.”

It momentarily brought tears to your eyes, and you squeezed them shut as she held a cool damp cloth to your forehead.

You were always told that the first heat was the worst, lasting for far longer than any that would follow, and in those moments where you found yourself alone and sweating through your clothes, you wondered… Why you? You could probably count the number of times on one hand—possibly six fingers if you thought long enough—that a Targaryen presented as an Omega.

It was humiliating, and this was a thought that plagued you even as you stumbled down the corridor in the middle of the night to a scent that had not left your mind and senses for days. You knew where it was taking you, and you only wanted to be near him, only wanted to indulge in the smell of him as you fought through this misery.

You were in the worst pain of your life and your nightdress was so soaked in sweat that you looked as if you had gone for a swim in it, but the moon was high in the sky and the halls were empty of anyone to witness your desperate plight, and no one else was awake. At least, that was what you assumed, but your assumptions were incorrect as the familiar door was opened before you even approached it.

Baelor could smell you coming.

“You should be resting,” were the words to greet you as you stumbled into his arms.

He said this, but it did not stop the older man from twisting his fingers into your hair and pulling you against him, your nose pressed into his chest. You deeply inhaled, lashes fluttering and eyes rolling into the back of your head at his scent. It was the scent that triggered all of this, and it terrified you how he could smell like all of your favorite things at once.

“Do you wish for me to retire to my chambers?” you quietly wondered, lips brushing against his thin shirt as you said this.

You both heard and felt him deeply inhale, and you could feel his nose in your hair. It felt strange to just stand there breathing each other in, but you decided that you did not care when Baelor gently leaned your head back, his nose dragging along the expanse of your throat. All you could focus on was his scent and how much you wanted to suffocate in it.

“All you have to do is command me, and you know I will struggle to disobey,” you breathed.

When his lips met the corner of your mouth, that was answer enough you supposed, but then he spoke, and his words traveled straight to the pit of your stomach, and you clenched down on nothing.

“Your father will be less than pleased…”

The cool metal of his rings against your warm skin soothed you as he kissed you, and you clung to him as he forced you to follow him inside of his chambers.

“Would you like for me to make you feel better?”

You started to nod, but Baelor interrupted you.

“Use your words,” he firmly told you, nipping at the place where your neck and shoulder met.

“Yes,” you pleaded. “Please.”

Every touch of his fingers on your skin soothed you, and Baelor seemed to understand that you did not want him to stop touching you. Ever. The fur on his bed made you feel even hotter, but it was of no consequence as he peeled your damp attire off of you, the cool air hitting your naked frame making you shudder.

The dark-haired prince was focused on soothing your heat, and he was only partially undressed when he pushed you to your knees, a hand on the small of your back while the other wrapped around himself. The slick between your legs was dripping down your thighs, and his thick cock stretched you out with ease because of it.

The noise you let out was unlike anything you ever heard escape from yourself, and with your forehead pressed to his bed and your fingers twisting into the fur, you could hear him using the time to completely disrobe. When you felt his bare chest pressed to your back, you could not hold back the soft mewl that climbed from your lips.

Baelor pulled his hips back until the head of his cock was just brushing against your folds before surging forward and filling you once again. You struggled to catch your breath at his pace, the hand on your back holding you down for him and keeping you in place to take him. Every push of his hips against yours soothed that fire within you, alleviating some of that discomfort deep within your gut.

You felt…animalistic.

Your teeth were sinking into your lip, and your nails were scratching at his plush bedding, and his Alpha pheromones were making you feral. You wanted to taste him and be as close to him as possible and be in him if you could. His face pressed into the crook of your neck as he rutted into you, and when his teeth grazed your skin, you could not swallow down your small yelp. It felt like a thousand bees in your neck, and you reached back to pull his head closer.

“I could smell the change in you,” Baelor calmly told you. “I could smell your body calling to me and begging me to claim it before you even knew what was happening.”

His words caused a shudder to travel down your spine, and he ran his hand down it as if he knew. When Baelor sat up, he forced you to your hands as well, and they shook as they struggled to keep you up as he continued to steadily thrust into you. The wet sound between your legs reached both of your ears, and you sighed when one of his hands gently twisted at your scalp again.

“You have always been so obedient for me,” he hummed.

You sighed a soft ‘yes’, weakly nodding.

“...always so agreeable, always looking to me for comfort,” he deeply said to you, a hand tracing over your sweat soaked skin. “Always looking to me to protect you.”

His cock stroked that fire in you, making it hotter and hotter.

“Even now, it was I who you ran to tonight to get you through your first heat,” his hand tightened in your hair. “...and it will be I who takes care of all of them. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” you breathed, recalling that he liked for you to use your voice.

“Do you understand what that means?"

His voice was getting closer, and you breathed another soft ‘yes’. Baelor’s nose grazed against your neck, followed by his lips, and when they parted, then his teeth. Your whole body shivered as they pressed into your skin, not enough to break it, but enough to make your heart skip a beat. Baelor did not ask nor did he warn you, and when his teeth sank into your neck fully, marking you and claiming you as his, your whole body convulsed.

Your arms gave out and you collapsed beneath him as you came around his cock, nails scratching and pulling at fabric as he fucked you through your peak. His entire frame pinned you between himself and the bed, and you could not stop gasping and moaning at the feeling of his cock sliding against your walls, the length of him covered in you, wet and glistening no doubt.

His facial hair scratched against your skin in the best way, and the ring on his finger was pressed so firmly against your hip that you knew it would leave a faint impression. Your toes curled as you struggled beneath him, eyes watering just a bit from the pain in your neck, and when Baelor finally pulled his teeth away from your skin, a gentle kiss soothed the irritated flesh.

You were still coming down from your high when he slowed his thrusts, fucking you gently and slow, and you leaned back into him in an attempt to get closer. One of his hands came around to your mouth, and you absentmindedly parted your lips to allow two fingers inside, sucking on them when he gently told you to.

His lips were at your ear now, and he deeply inhaled.

“Such an obedient thing you are.”

[demilypyro]

vampires are so full of shit. "oh the human race is beneath us, you're just livestock to us" I don't think you know what livestock is. do you feed us? care for us? protect us from predators? no. you just slink around dark alleys and ambush people. that's not what a higher being does. that's a bottom feeder. a parasite. karate punches your head off

[bunnyreaper]

making a pact with soap that if you both are single at 30 you'll get married.

but on your 30th birthday you're single and he's dead

so of course one of the 141 has to take his place

[bunnyreaper]

soap has a file on his hard drive with all the plans for the wedding, as well as contingencies in case of the worst happening.

(he notes down a larger venue that would work if you end up marrying kyle, or a more intimate place if you marry simon. adds lots more decor to the budget to make it more like your dreams if it's john, because he knows he can afford it)

[cherienymphe]

The Cabin in the Woods

Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Thor Odinson x Reader

Summary: Another year, another Purge spent at Bucky's cabin has you questioning your sanity when you think your best friends want to kill you.

Warnings: NON-CON, g*ngbang, The Purge AU

🕸 HAPPY HALLOWEEN 🕸

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies 

ྐ❤︎

You stumbled over a tree root you'd manage to miss in the darkness, but it didn't deter your determination to get as far away as you could. In the back of your mind you knew that there was no realistic way to get out of your predicament, but the desperation and self preservation inside of you wouldn't let you admit defeat. 

You had to try. 

Sweat coated your skin, evidence of just how much you'd pushed yourself the moment you realized the danger you found yourself in. It was insane to think that only some five hours ago you were relaxed and surrounded by who you thought were friends, feeling comfortable and protected with people you'd known for years. Now, you were running for your life from those same people. 

You should have known that something was wrong from the moment you'd stepped inside of the cabin. 

“What time is Nat getting here?” 

That was one of the first questions out of your mouth as you'd sat your things down. Steve was the one to answer you, and looking back, you should've paid more attention to the slight pause before he gave you a response. 

“She's not,” he'd said, turning to you with a sheepish look and a shrug. “Said she was going to wait it out at home this year”. 

You recalled the way you'd frowned, finding it odd that Nat wasn't coming. Since the first year it was put into place, all of you always holed up during the Purge together in some fancy backwoods cabin Bucky owned. Your disappointment must have been obvious because Steve had reached out, playfully flicking your chin. 

“Hey, you still have us,” he'd told you with a small smirk. “It'll still be fun.”

“Yeah, I know.” 

You'd fought to keep your tone even, but you had been disappointed, and it wasn't just because of Nat. The day before Bucky had told you that Wanda wasn't coming either and a few days before that Tony made the sudden decision to stay in one of his many expensive buildings with Pepper. It wasn't like you hated that it was just going to be you and the guys, but naturally you loved being around your girlfriends. 

“Cheer up, Lady Y/N,” Thor had said when he got a good look at your face. “I have brought you your favorite movies at your request, and we will watch them as many times as you'd like.”

The blonde's infectious demeanor and determination to make you smile had relaxed you, forcing you to brush off any reservations you'd started to have. Looking back, you wondered if that was planned too—for Thor to be the one to lessen your unease because naturally he would. He was Thor, and you didn't think he had one sadistic bone in his body. 

When your shirt got caught on a branch, it took everything in you not to cry out as the sharp piece of wood broke skin. The saltiness of your sweat hit your tongue as you pulled your lip between your teeth, blinking back tears as you renewed your hurried steps. Your vision was starting to sway a bit, and you knew that you were pushing yourself too much but the alternative end to this night wouldn't allow you to stop. 

You could both feel your heartbeat in your throat and hear it in your ears. That observation only served to remind you that they no doubt could as well even from far away, and you fought the urge to cry again as the trajectory of this night once again felt inevitable. How were you supposed to keep out of reach of two super soldiers and a literal god in the middle of the Purge? Where would you go? Who would even help you if you happened to stumble upon someone else out here? What would you tell them? That the friends you'd had for years and who you'd holed yourself up in a cabin with were chasing you down to do God knows what? 

You didn't even know what they wanted with you. 

In fact, for hours you'd been none the wiser to the danger you were in, oblivious as ever as you and Thor attempted to make Wanda's signature dish. You both were very bad at it, laughing at the mess you were making while Bucky and Steve were getting fire wood. Finally admitting defeat, you'd decided to go ahead and hop in the shower, opting to just go and get ready to call it a night. 

You could hear Bucky downstairs talking with Thor when you got out, glancing at the clock in the hallway and noting you had about 4 more hours until the Purge commenced. Any other year and you would've been glued to Nat’s hip, but seeing as you found yourself a tad more alone this year, you instead decided to lay down for a bit. The drive up to the cabin was no joke and as much as you'd always been encouraged to every year, you never could relax enough to just sleep through it. 

“You're in a house full of a couple of assassins and some of the most dangerous people on the planet,” Nat would say to you. “What would we possibly let happen to you?”

She was right of course, but even still your body would never just let you sleep through it, and this year was even more nerve wracking without her by your side. You found yourself in and out of sleep for what felt like ages but in reality it was only about two hours. Occasionally you'd wake up to the sound of Thor’s voice asking you if you wanted or needed anything but you'd continuously give him a grumbled ‘no’ before going back to sleep. 

It was in those throes of sleep that you heard it. 

Steve’s voice was so recognizable and clear, but his words were so off putting that you immediately thought you must be dreaming. You were convinced that you were dreaming because your body still felt too heavy to be awake. 

“No, she's asleep,” you heard him say, his voice carrying ever so softly from the hallway. “Why would we be? We only have a couple of more hours.” 

There were a few beats of silence before his voice carried again. 

“Well, you can just never be too safe. Anything done during the Purge is legal,” he softly laughed to himself. “Why chance it?” 

His words created a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you weren't able to place why until a few moments later. 

“Bucky took care of her starter,” he said, making your heart sink. “She won't be going anywhere.” 

His words were so vivid in your mind even when you did eventually wake up, and while you were sure your mind had conjured them up, something deep down in your gut wouldn't let you be convinced. You had sat in your room for a while just playing it over in your head and repeatedly telling yourself it was just a dream no matter how much something said otherwise. 

Your jumbled thoughts must have been evident because Bucky asked you if you were alright when you eventually made it downstairs. 

“Yeah,” you'd told him after a while, shaking your head. “Just slept weird, I think.”

The dark-haired man had looked at you for what felt like too long before humming to himself. 

“You want something to eat? I know you and Thor’s attempt at dinner didn't turn out too well,” he'd chuckled. 

His light demeanor made your shoulders relax a bit, and you knew he noticed by the way those blue eyes of his shifted. 

“Yeah I might as well,” you'd sighed, moving to sit on the couch. “I won't be able to do much else for a while.” 

The brunette only threw you a smile before getting up, and you’d flipped through the DVDs Thor brought. As nice as the cabin was, at the end of the day it was still just a cabin in the middle of nowhere, and while the lack of internet never bothered you before, it was glaringly obvious this year without Nat or Wanda to keep you busy.

Among other reasons.

You’d found your thoughts drifting as you stared at the DVD in your hand, eventually convincing yourself that you were losing it. Of course, it had been a dream. Even if it wasn’t a dream, what could you possibly think it meant? Bucky had broken your car and Steve was talking to someone about their plot to what? Kill you? It was almost laughable, and you’d shaken your head.

You’d finally chosen a movie to put on just as Bucky finished up in the kitchen, the sound of the opening door reaching your ears as Thor and Steve brought in more firewood.

The smell of said firewood still clung to your clothes and hair as your gaze roamed along the dark trees in front of you. You needed to make sure you weren’t just mindlessly running in circles, but you also didn’t have the luxury of stopping and assessing where you were. You held your hand to your bleeding shoulder as leaves crunched beneath your feet. You were out of breath and so tired and so…confused, but most of all you were scared.

The thought that that phone call you heard was real was one that almost paralyzed you with fear. It seemed too insane—too sick—to be true, and yet you found yourself running in the middle of nowhere during the height of the Purge in the hopes that you would last the night. You hadn’t wanted to believe it, but the short phone call from Nat that managed to get through still made your head spin.

“I’m surprised I even managed to get a signal,” you’d told her hours earlier with a smile, stepping out onto the back patio. “The service out here is almost the same as the lack of wifi.”

“Out where? The cabin?” she’d asked, and her genuine confusion had made you frown.

“Uh, yeah,” you mockingly told her. “You know, the one you decided not to come to this year.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Bucky said he didn’t think they were going up there this year.”

The redhead’s words only made your frown deepen, that sinking feeling returning to your chest.

“The asshole didn’t tell me he’d changed his mind,” and you could almost see her rolling her eyes on the other side of the line. “It’s so boring waiting this out without my partner in crime.”

She was chuckling to herself, but you had fallen quiet. You’d stared at the woods behind the cabin, going over both her words and what Steve had told you. You gently shook your head, telling yourself that there must have been some miscommunication. In fact, you were just about to bring up Steve’s contradicting words when you turned around…and froze.

The man in question was just on the other side of the sliding glass door, an unreadable expression on his face and two mugs in his hands. There was a brief moment where you both just stared at each other, and then suddenly a small smile graced Steve’s lips as he held the mugs up, brows lifting.

“Yeah, I guess he did,” you slowly replied, distracted. “I’ll call you back later once we’re locked in and settled.”

You and Nat said goodbye, and you swallowed as you reached out to open the door.

“What did Nat want?”

The blond didn’t even try to pretend like he didn’t hear who was on the phone, and so you knew that he heard exactly what was said.

“Just checking in,” you told him, grabbing a mug of hot chocolate. “She misses me.”

You looked at him as you said that, and Steve only shrugged.

“Well, no one told her to stay home this year,” he said to you, bumping his arm against yours as you walked inside.

You only smiled at him, desperately trying to get your thoughts together. 

Was it possible there was just some innocent miscommunication? Maybe Bucky hadn’t relayed it to Nat that he’d decided to come back up here, after all and maybe Steve thought her absence was because she just wanted to stay home this year, not knowing she was under the impression no one was coming to the cabin. It was plausible, and the simplest answers were often the truth, but…

That phone call.

It had to have been a dream because the alternative was too terrifying to think about. Steve was your friend. Bucky was your friend. Thor was your friend. They were friends that you’d known and worked with for years, and the idea that you were alone with them up here for less than genuine reasons was making your stomach twist into knots. You knew that you were scaring yourself, and you forced yourself to take a deep breath.

You forced yourself to ask yourself a few questions, wondering what the reason would even be? They weren’t homicidal violent men or anything like that, and you’d never once felt unsafe with them. In fact, it was always the opposite, so what would the reason even be? Why would they orchestrate this whole thing that left you alone up here with them…during the Purge?

You’d told yourself that you were losing it, and after some time you’d offered to take everyone’s empty mugs to the sink. You could hear them having some debate about some game a month back as you did, placing the empty dishes into the sink. Your hands found the counter, and your eyes met your reflection in the kitchen window. You acknowledged that you were making yourself paranoid, but you couldn’t stop.

You were normally such a rational person, and everything about your train of thought was irrational, but yet you could not let it go. It made zero sense because they weren’t even sort of like the kind of guys who would hurt you—or any woman—but something kept nagging at you in the back of your mind. Something inside of you refused to let you relax.

As Thor’s loud laugh reached your ears, your gaze drifted to Steve’s phone on the counter. The blond—still refusing to grasp technology to the fullest degree—never kept a passcode on it, and your hand was moving without a second thought. They were still talking as you looked at Steve’s call history, searching for something that would ease your worries, but you only got the opposite.

Tony was the last person Steve talked to, and while that wasn’t cause for any kind of suspicion, you did notice that the call was taken when you were asleep—or at least in and out of sleep. You placed it back on the counter as if it were on fire, staring at it with wide eyes and telling yourself that it didn’t mean anything. 

A coincidence.

You told yourself it was a coincidence, but you didn’t feel convinced.

“Hey, I’m kind of cold,” you loudly said, making your way to the key hook. “I’m grabbing my scarf from the car.”

It wasn’t a lie. You were indeed still a little nippy, and your scarf was still in your car, but your brain wouldn’t let this go. You kept coming up with more scenarios to prove yourself wrong and ease your worries, and you didn’t know why. You were outside before any of them replied, and you did just as you said, unlocking the vehicle and grabbing your scarf.

However, before you could talk yourself out of it, you were sitting in the driver’s seat and your key was in your ignition and you were turning it. You turned it twice. Then a third time, and a fourth time, and each time…it wouldn’t start.

It was quiet outside aside from the odd sound of an owl or two as you just stared at your dashboard. You could see your breath as you exhaled, telling yourself all kinds of excuses for what you were experiencing. It was cold and maybe it just needed a minute, but even after trying it again after a few minutes, there was no such luck. You swallowed, turning the key again, and you felt like you were having an out of body experience as it just wouldn’t start.

“What are you doing, doll?”

The scream you let out scared you more than Bucky’s sudden presence, and you dropped your keys to the floor of the car. You pressed your hand to your chest as you turned to look at him, unsure of how long he’d been standing there. You blinked a few times as you stared at him, heart threatening to beat out of your chest and lips parted.

Bucky was standing in the gap between your door and your car, one hand on the top of the door frame, the other at his side. The cold breeze ruffled his dark hair, and the moonlight glinted off of his blue eyes as he stared at you. It took you too long to remember he’d asked you a question, and you quickly came up with an answer.

“I wanted to see how much gas I have left in my car, but… It won’t start,” you softly said, still fighting to catch your breath. “I thought…I thought maybe the cold had something to do with the engine, but it’s just not starting.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away, and when he hummed, a shiver crawled up your spine.

“I’ll look at it in the morning. Me or Steve one,” he said, offering his hand to you.

Nodding, you quickly grabbed your scarf and your keys, placing your free hand in his flesh one. Bucky closed your car door for you, and you thanked him when he took your scarf and put it around your neck.

“Just trying to keep you warm,” he said to you, rubbing your shoulders. “We don’t want you to freeze to death.”

You forced a chuckle at that, and Bucky joined you as you both stepped inside. Steve was just inside the door when you stepped through, and you watched him look between you two.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, her car won’t start,” Bucky answered for you.

The blond eyed you, a slight frown forming.

“Why were you trying to start your car?”

You told yourself that you were imagining his tone.

“I wanted to see how much gas I have left to get back home tomorrow…”

You shrugged at him, and Steve only nodded.

“Bucky or I will check it out in the morning,” he said, basically repeating Bucky’s words as he guided you back to the living room.

You sat on the couch as another conversation started up around you, and you chimed in here and there, but your mind was miles away. 

You told yourself that the car was a coincidence, but how many coincidences were allowed before you started putting pieces together that painted a sick picture? 

Steve said that Nat chose not to come this year, but Nat said Bucky told her they weren’t coming up to the cabin for the Purge this year. You were so sure that phone call was a dream, but Steve’s call history showed he’d absolutely been on the phone with someone and that someone was Tony…who also chose to sit at home with Pepper this year. It was that same phone call where Steve said Bucky had messed with your car…

Your car that wouldn’t start.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

Thor’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, and when you looked around you saw all three of them looking at you in concern. You only just realized that your heart was going crazy in your chest, and they could no doubt hear it. Their worried expressions were almost enough to have you rethinking this entire night, and you blinked back tears.

Bucky was the first to move.

“Hey, hey,” he gently said to you, placing a hand on your back. “What’s wrong, doll?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, placing a hand on your forehead.

“I think, um, I think…” you struggled to speak. “I don’t feel good. My head is all…”

You flailed your hands around your face.

“I don’t know, I just don’t feel good.”

“You want to take something?” Steve asked you, and you shook your head.

“No, I…” you heavily exhaled. “I just feel like I might be sick.”

Your voice cracked, and Bucky helped you stand.

“I just need some air.”

All of you were standing now, and Thor offered to go with you.

“No, I’ll just be a minute,” you hurried to tell him, placing your fingers to your temple. “I just need some air.”

You were stumbling towards the door before you were finished speaking, and you took deep breaths as soon as you were on the other side of it. The cold fresh air was definitely helping you clear your head, and you leaned back against it with your eyes closed. You thought that this would help you think more rationally, now…but it wasn’t working.

Everything you’d added up was going through your head over and over again. 

They wouldn’t. You told yourself that they wouldn’t, but what if they would? 

You recalled that one Christmas party that involved some Asgardian meade and a bold move from Thor that resulted in you having to let him down easily. The next morning he claimed to not have remembered a thing, but what if he did? What if something you’d written off as a drunken blunder was actually much more than that?

Like the time you and Bucky were undercover, and you swore he was getting a little too lost in the role but he assured you of otherwise? When you thought about the aggressive way he kissed you even now, it still sent chills down your spine, but he’d convinced you that it was nothing, that he was just trying to be convincing, and you’d believed him.

…and it was only a few months ago that Steve—under no influence of anything and under no false pretenses of a cover for some mission—had asked you out, and you’d told him no. It wasn’t because he wasn't a great guy or because he wasn’t handsome enough, but the two of you had been friends for so long that the thought of ruining that was something you couldn’t bear, and that was what you’d told him.

He seemed to believe you, but sometimes you still thought about that hint of something you swore you saw in his gaze. It had come and gone so quickly, and even now you still didn’t know if you imagined it or not, but it had scared you for a split second…and then it was gone and he was smiling, and you were just happy you hadn’t lost a friend.

Every single incident was at the forefront of your mind, now, and it was too many coincidences to keep you calm. You repeatedly told yourself that they wouldn’t hurt you—especially not over something as trivial as that—but you weren’t able to convince yourself. Every single nerve in your body was telling you something wasn’t right, and your internal conflict was driving you crazy. You told yourself they would never hurt you, and you wanted to be right. You wanted to be right so bad.

…but what if you were wrong?

You were unable to sit with your thoughts, and you didn’t know what part of you to listen to.

So…

You ran.

You hadn’t even been running for long when you heard your name being screamed through the trees, and it only made you run faster. There was some small part of you that told you you were being paranoid. After all, you were terrified and running based off of assumptions you came up with on your own, but a much larger part of you was telling you to run faster. A louder voice was in your head telling you that you were in danger.

Every time you faintly heard your voice traveling through the trees it only scared you more, making more tears fall at the predicament you were in. It didn’t seem real, and you wanted to believe it wasn’t happening, but nothing else made sense. The Purge had already commenced, even out here in the middle of the trees you knew that, and you were terrified of what would happen to you if you failed to make it through the night on your own.

But what if it was all in your head? What if you’d driven yourself crazy and took off in the middle of nowhere over nothing? What would you say to them tomorrow? How would you explain yourself? What if they were chasing after you because you took off like a crazy person and they were worried? 

A sob caught in your chest because you didn’t know what to believe, and you genuinely felt like you were losing your mind. Your tears were blurring your vision, and you felt like you couldn’t suck in air fast enough. When your foot caught on a rock, it sent you falling to the ground, and your forehead bounced off of the hard earth. Your already questionable vision was now slanted as you fought to push yourself to your feet, and you looked around, relieved that you were still alone.

You felt like you were on the verge of passing out when you stumbled into familiar arms.

The scream that escaped you echoed throughout the woods, bouncing off of trees and making you flinch. Thor’s hands were firm on your arms as you fought to get away from him, pushing at him and hitting his chest as he tried to calm you down. You were inconsolable as your back met a tree, and you struggled to speak.

“Please, don’t kill me,” you choked out. “Please…”

The blond frowned at you, and you shook your head.

“I don’t… I didn’t…” you couldn’t breathe. “I’m sorry.”

Thor only frowned at you as he looked over your face, one of his hands reaching up to gently touch your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you breathlessly repeated. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings or made you think…”

Your words died in the air again as you struggled to catch your breath, and the gentle touch of Thor’s hand on your face and the way he was looking at you was a lot more calming than you wanted to admit. The blond seemed genuinely confused by your words and your demeanor, pressing his lips together as he ran his eyes over you.

“Is that what you think?” he gently asked you, and you swallowed. “Is that why you ran?”

Your silence was answer enough, and you watched him gently laugh to himself.

“You thought we were going to kill you?”

His question accompanied by his expression made you feel stupid all of a sudden, and you looked away just as Thor laughed again. He was careful in pulling you away from the tree, holding you next to him as he started to walk back in the direction of the cabin. He guided your head to lean against him, and you briefly closed your eyes, taking deep even breaths and feeling…insane.

“Why did you think we were going to kill you?” he softly wondered, and you couldn’t ignore that he was talking to you like some wounded animal.

“It’s…stupid,” you managed to whisper, not even wanting to say it all out loud now that Thor had managed to ease your fears. “I feel like an idiot.”

Thor rubbed your shoulder, and the sound of footsteps other than both of yours reached your ears.

“Is she okay?” you heard Steve ask, the blond closer to you than Bucky, a deep frown on his features.

“I’m fine,” you said the same time Thor told him you were fine. “I got too in my own head and...I don’t know, I just drove myself crazy.”

“She thought we were going to kill her.”

You felt even more embarrassed when Thor said it aloud again to them, and you started to frown at him when you were all too aware of his grip on the hair at the nape of your neck. Your frown deepened, wincing in pain as you reached back just as he leaned over.

“I do not know what gave her that idea,” Thor said seemingly to no one in particular just as he covered your lips with his own. 

The kiss took you by surprise, and you pushed at his chest as he stepped closer, forcing you to stumble back. Your back met a tree for the second time that night, and you were unable to speak as Thor moved his mouth against yours. Your brain felt even more jumbled than it did earlier in the night, confusion pouring into you as Thor kept you from pulling away.

Your mind had immediately jumped to murder that you had never even entertained the possibility of…something else.

When you finally managed to get away from Thor’s hold—or when he let you—you stumbled back into someone else’s waiting arms, and you yelped in a mixture of fear and shock. Bucky held both of your elbows to him as his lips found a home in the crook of your neck, tasting your sweaty skin as you struggled in his tight grip.

“Kill you?” Bucky chuckled. “Never.”

“This isn’t funny,” you told them, voice shaking. “If you’re trying to scare me because of something I did or didn’t do…”

Your eyes met Steve’s at that.

“I’m sorry–!”

You cut yourself off with a gasp, crying out at the feeling of Bucky’s teeth in your skin. Your efforts to get away from him doubled the moment Steve started to make his way closer to you. You frantically looked between him and Thor, understanding that if this was for real and they were serious, there was no getting out of this. Your heart was going crazy in your chest, and Steve confirmed that they heard it.

“Listen to how scared she is…”

“Steve, please,” you begged as he got closer and closer, and when he ignored your apologies and pleas entirely, you accepted that this was no joke. 

The blond caught your feet as you kicked at him, separating your legs and stepping between them. You were in an uncomfortable position as Bucky still held your elbows behind you. Steve’s fingers dug into your pants, and when his hands started to pull, you moved as much as you possibly could. Thor’s chuckle reached your ears as you found yourself dropped to the ground.

“I do believe she is besting you both.”

The teasing lilt to his voice made your stomach turn, and your attempt to crawl away was thwarted by hands on your ankles pulling you back. Your nails pressed into the dirt and leaves as you were dragged back, no match for the super soldier who flipped you onto your back. Every kick at Steve was futile, and tears blurred your vision again when he sat on your waist. You pushed at his hands as they reached for your sweater, the thick fabric ripping like paper at the mercy of his strength.

It seemed like no matter what you said to Steve, he didn’t hear a word of it, blue eyes locked in on his goal, and if you had any doubts about this being personal, they were gone the moment your gazes met. There was no give there, nothing in his stare even hinting that he could be talked out of this. In fact, you wouldn’t be shocked if the entire thing was his idea.

You screamed when he leaned down to take a hardened bud into his mouth, the cold air giving him exactly what he wanted.

“There’s no one around for miles, doll,” you heard Bucky say, making you cry harder. “...but by all means.”

He gestured to you as you turned to look at him through a tearful gaze.

“Scream as much as you’d like.”

You and Steve fought over your pants, the blond winning with hardly a fight, and you shook from both the cold and the turn the night had taken. To think it was only moments ago that you’d been so sure they were going to kill you. Another possibility hadn’t even been an option in your mind and why would it? What was tomorrow supposed to be like or hadn’t they thought that far ahead?

A silent conversation seemed to pass through Bucky and Steve as they briefly looked at each other, the brunette making his way over to you. Any fight you were able to give Steve was squashed the moment Bucky dropped to his knees and pinned your hands on either side of your head. You tearfully looked up at him, equal parts angry and defeated as Steve’s hand slid between your thighs.

“Uh uh,” Steve tsk’d, harshly slapping your cunt the moment you squeezed your eyes shut, making you shout. “Eyes on him, sweetheart.”

Bucky had no problem at all holding your gaze while Steve slid a finger into you, quickly followed by another. You couldn’t swallow down the gasp that climbed out of your throat, eyes widening as he curled his fingers into you. You twisted your wrists in Bucky’s grip, angrily staring at him as you fought to swallow down every sound that wanted to escape your lips.

Your toes curled as Steve fingered you, a third finger sliding into you with ease as his actions forced you to drip around his hand. Your chest was heaving with every snap of his wrist, and you attempted to turn your head away when Bucky leaned in, but he stole a kiss anyway. The dark-haired man tasted the inside of your mouth as Steve continued to stretch you out around his fingers.

The sensations from both were too much, and you desperately wanted to be anywhere but here. Bucky only let you catch your breath for a second before diving in again, and for a brief moment, you felt empty and the heat between your legs was gone. That reprieve, however, only lasted for a second, and your chest arched at the feeling of thicker fingers slowly pushing their way into you.

You let out a shaky breath, and you felt Bucky smirk into the kiss.

Thor was not as gentle as Steve, roughly fucking you with his fingers and making your hips lift off of the ground. You were dripping around him, you could feel it, and the sound of his thick fingers pushing into you reached your ears, so you could only imagine what they could hear. The humiliation of it all warmed your cold frame, and you blinked back tears when Bucky finally pulled away.

You stared at him, but his blue eyes were focused instead on what Thor was doing to you.

You refused to look, closing your eyes and turning your head away. Evidently, Steve found that funny, chuckling to himself, and the knowledge that they all found this amusing filled you with an indescribable rage. The sound of Thor fucking you with his fingers was loud, a wet squelch reaching your ears every time he pushed his fingers into your walls.

“I want to see her come,” Steve said, and you pulled at Bucky’s grip.

“No,” you cried, but both Thor and Bucky tightened their holds.

You could already feel your stomach tightening from Thor’s hand, his thumb brushing gentle circles over you, a stark contrast to the movements from his other fingers. You were gone completely however when Bucky leaned back down to nip at your chest before tasting the same pebbled bud Steve had, tongue brushing over the sensitive flesh and making you gasp.

It was all too much, and you could feel and hear your breathing getting heavier. Your stomach was tight and your toes were curled and your chest was arched upwards. Your lashes kept fluttering as you tried so hard to fight it, but against your will, you were pushed over the edge and you came around Thor’s fingers with an embarrassing sigh.

You heard Thor curse and then you felt his mouth on your mound barely a moment later. That only prolonged your orgasm, eyes falling close as he tasted you, his tongue lapping up any and everything you had to offer. He hummed against you, the feeling vibrating throughout your entire body, and you were so lost in the feeling that you didn’t even realize Bucky had let you go.

When Thor finally pulled away too, you were a trembling mess, and you could feel tears kissing your eyes. You barely felt the cold now, your skin so hot and your face so warm. You could hear the rustle of fabric, but you weren’t able to put two and two together until a metal hand was turning you over.

“Bucky–!”

His name had barely escaped your lips before a hand was underneath your stomach and forcing you to your knees. The head of his cock was pushing into you barely a moment later, and the noise that left you was one you couldn’t name. His metal hand was in your hair while the other was tight on your waist.

Your fingers dug into the leaves and dirt as he repeatedly thrust into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud in the otherwise quiet woods. Your head weakly hung as he pulled you back to meet his every thrust, pulling out until only the tip of him remained before sliding his cock into you to the hilt.

Every time you leaned away, the brunette pulled you back, groaning behind you at the feeling of you wrapped around him. For a while, you forgot all about Steve and Thor, but then you heard the crunch of leaves, and when you forced yourself to look up, your eyes met familiar blue ones.

“It didn’t have to be like this, you know,” Steve told you, and you hated that haughty tone in his voice. “It really didn’t.”

His betrayal—all of theirs—made more tears spill over as you glared at him. 

“Fuck you,” you spat at the blond, and Steve only gave you a crooked smile.

You cried out when Bucky’s hand curled around your throat, pulling back and forcing your back to his chest. His other arm snaked around your waist, and you dug your nails into the skin of his arm. He pressed his face into where your shoulder and your neck met, and Steve took another step towards you.

“Be patient, and you will.”

Your vision started to tilt and blur as the result of Bucky’s tight hold on your throat, the dark-haired super soldier whispering in your ear.

“You take my cock so well,” he softly told you just before he came inside of you.

Unfortunately, you came with him, wholly embarrassed and upset as he told you to milk his cock, tightly holding you against him until you stopped trembling. He whispered something else in your ear that sounded a lot like ‘good girl’ before pulling out of you, practically handing you to Thor as if you were a glass of water and not a human being.

You learned that Thor liked to look at your face.

He wasted no time in forcing your legs over his arms and pushing your knees next to your head before sliding into you with ease. The new and uncomfortable angle had you clawing at the dirt in desperation, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. His chest brushed against yours with every surge of his hips, and you couldn’t bite back the whimpers that crawled out of your throat even if you tried.

His skin slapped against yours, and your lips were parted the entire time he was inside of you. Occasionally he kissed you, a gentle gesture that was the complete opposite of how he fucked you. The leaves and twigs of the forest floor scratched at your back with every movement, but the pain from that was almost nonexistent in comparison to the way Thor stretched you out around his cock.

The god amongst the three naturally had the most stamina, and sweat coated your skin after being with Bucky and now Thor.

“I should hope you’re not getting tired, little one,” he said to you, and you squeezed your eyes shut at the perversion of the affectionate name he sometimes gave you. “I don’t know about them, but I want to make the best use of these twelve hours.”

When Thor was close, he dropped one of your legs, a large hand coming up to cover your breast and massage the skin. His teeth nipped at your throat, and your nails dug into his arm. His hips started to slow, Thor torturously dragging his cock in and out of you, driving you crazy and making you lift your hips.

“Atta girl,” you heard someone say, and it sounded like Steve.

Thor slowly pumped himself into you, not minding at all that you didn’t come with him as he spilled himself into you. He didn’t stop thrusting until he was spent, satisfied with himself before pulling out of your limp frame.

Your eyes felt so heavy, and more than anything, you wanted to disappear, but all too soon you felt a familiar hand on your leg.

“No,” you mumbled, pushing at Steve.

“Don’t be mean,” Steve whispered to you, kissing you. “Everybody else got their turn.”

The slap was loud and unexpected, even by you, but it was more than deserved. Somehow, you knew that this was Steve’s idea, and tears skipped down your cheeks as he continued to press kisses along your face as if you hadn’t just hit him.

His lips traveled to your jaw and then your neck, and your attempt to sit up and back away from him was halted. Steve pulled you back by your hips, forcing your legs around him before leaning back and taking you with him. You let out a grunt when you settled on top of him, attempting to get away, but he was already forcing you down onto his cock.

You both let out similar noises but for entirely different reasons.

The blond wasted no time, getting a tight grip on your hips and bending his knees as he thrust himself up into you. A choked moan escaped into the air, and Steve tightened his hold on your hips. The palms of your hands were pressed against his chest, and against your will, you picked up a rhythm as he forced you to ride him. 

You heard footsteps behind you, and you shouldn’t have been surprised to feel lips on the back of your neck. Bucky kissed along your throat as he forced your head back, and it took everything in you to keep your eyes somewhat open. He nipped at the skin, his lips eventually traveling to your lips for a few moments before pulling away entirely. Steve did not stop you once, forcing you to roll your hips over his and push yourself down onto his cock. 

You were dripping around him, and when you managed to look down, you could see him staring at where you two met, his tongue poking at his bottom lip as he watched himself disappear into you. It both disgusted you and made your heart skip a beat, doubly so when Thor grabbed your arms, holding them behind you as it was his turn to press kisses along your neck and shoulders.

You shuddered at the feeling and he chuckled.

“I think she might come again,” Thor said, and the blond god kissed the tears on your cheeks.

When he let you go, Steve forced you down against him, his arms wrapped around your back as he roughly pushed his cock up into you. You gasped into his ear, your moans growing louder with every thrust. Your hands pressed into the dirt to steady yourself, but it was no use as Steve practically kept your chest glued to his.

One of his hands curled around the back of your neck, and his lips pressed kisses along your jaw. You couldn’t catch your breath, and Steve could feel you clenching around him.

“You going to come for me, sweetheart? Hmm?”

You couldn’t find a snarky comment to throw at him, simultaneously wanting this to be over and to never end. Steve was repeatedly hitting something inside of you that had you mewling on top of him, and when his hand wrapped around the front of your throat, you clawed at it.

“The sooner you come, the sooner we take you back…”

You shook your head.

“...and get you all cleaned up…”

You pressed your nails into his hand, more tears spilling over.

“...and fed and well rested…”

He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“...and ready to do it all over again.”

When you came around Steve you saw stars, vision going dark and heart skipping a beat as he fucked you through your climax. Even when you had long stopped rolling your hips against his, Steve lazily pushed his cock into you, forcing you to flutter around him as he coated your walls.

You were completely spent and out of breath, barely able to protest as Bucky grabbed you and swung you up into his arms. You were covered in dirt and sweat and God knows what else as the dark-haired man chuckled at the sight of you.

“...and to think…” he murmured, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You thought we wanted to kill you.”

[moosereblogsfics]

The things this did to me are unspeakable. Fantastic job 😭 WHEW. Good lord. Is it warm in here or is it just me

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 14 masterlist

-

It comes at you fast.

A few days too many in the brig with only Gaz for company, his comings and goings too sporadic and unpredictable for you to anticipate his arrival. You can feel the way your thoughts shift fluidly in your head. Jello sliding on a tilted plate. 

Humans are social animals. You aren’t meant to be alone or confined in one place. It’s why crews for interplanetary space travel are usually larger than this. Dozens of individuals to allow for groups to form and relationships to develop, the Goldilocks zone designed to curtail infighting and ostracism. 

A crew as small as yours should never have been allowed to leave Earth. 

You miss noise. Traffic, coins clinking in the palm of your hand, thunder rumbling in dark clouds a mile away. You miss noise tremendously, with a ferocity that shakes you free of every other want or need. Even a tornado siren or a car racing by in the dead of night just outside your window would come as a welcome sound to your ears. But space is a cold, quiet world. 

You smell something fierce by day five. It’s not pleasant going so long without a proper shower, but in fairness, nothing about this experience has been. 

On the brink of a breakdown—which you can feel like a fuzzy film on your teeth begging you to run your tongue over them again and again until it’s gone—you beg Gaz to ask Graves to let you out for a shower. The hot towels that he occasionally brings are nice on your face but aren’t much help cleaning the rest of you. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Gaz says on his way out, taking your hopes with him. 

And though he goes to Graves hat in hand, he comes back with a grim expression. You already know the drill. No luck breaking you out for something even as small as a shower, withholding any sense of dignity you might have formerly possessed. 

You didn’t think you could hate like this. It bursts from you like an arterial spray, staining everything it touches. Bigger than yourself. Like something old and buried that you’ve only just unearthed. 

“Not your fault,” you grunt, looking away. 

“I’ll bring you something to wash yourself with,” he promises.

He keeps his word too. Comes back to your cell later that evening with a bucket of soapy water and a washcloth that he passes to you through the bars. He doesn’t have the code to open the cell door, so the bucket stays on his side, but it’s close enough for you to reach through and dip the washcloth in the warm water, wringing it out just a bit before staring uncertainly at him, which he takes as his cue to give you some privacy.

“Shout when you’re done and I’ll come back for it,” Gaz tells you before leaving. 

Though you’ve spent almost every waking moment over the last few days alone, it’s almost strange being left by yourself after that, but you take full advantage of it. 

It’s like the first rainfall after a drought, even though it’s just a drop in a bucket. You reach again and again through the bars to souse the washcloth until it comes out sopping wet, and then drag it over your skin, stripping off one layer at a time to clean as much as possible. It’s not a shower by any means, but you finally feel fresh. A little of your dignity restored. 

“Thank you,” you tell him when he comes back, so earnestly that you can feel tears prickle at the backs of your eyes. It’s humiliating. You’re supposed to be stronger than this. One week in the hole shouldn’t be enough to break you. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” Gaz says apologetically.

You shake your head. “No. This was enough.”

He leaves to empty the bucket—the water a shade darker, and though that vaguely embarrasses you, Gaz doesn’t bring it up—and comes back with a hot meal on a tray. Your stomach gurgles in response, reminding you of how long it’s been since you last ate.

A comfortable silence settles in the room while you eat. Sometimes you wish he’d bring something to eat as well so you wouldn’t feel like an animal scarfing down food under the table while the adults talked above you. It’d almost be nice to hear someone other than you chewing. 

He seems content just to watch you though. Knowing that he isn’t human makes it less unnerving somehow, like of course an alien from another galaxy would want to observe the habits of another species. You have a similar intellectual curiosity about him, though it’s been shelved recently in favour of more pressing concerns. 

There’s a question you want to ask but you don’t know if you have the courage to bring the words to your lips. It sits like an attendant knight on its haunches at the back of your throat and waits for your tongue to bade it forward, sword resting across its thighs. 

“Did you do it?” 

It comes out raspy, half-choked. From the other side of the bars, Gaz tilts his head, scrutinizing you. 

He must not understand. “Do what?”

“Did you do something to Hadir? Is that why he died?”

Gaz pauses at that, his expression almost regretful. “…I’m not sure. Some things aren’t my doing…intentionally.”

You wonder if it’s really as simple as that. If some creatures can’t help the destruction they leave in their wake. Humans don’t apologize to the bugs under their shoes after all. But how is the bug supposed to feel about that? 

“You said we aren’t the first humans you’ve come across.”

His teeth are perfectly white when he smiles. “That’s right.”

“What about them? Did anything like this ever happen with them?”

You should know by now that there are some questions that shouldn’t be asked. Not because they are unanswerable, but because they have an answer. 

Looking at him now, you can tell that this is one of those very questions.

Though nothing about Gaz physically changes, something ripples across his face and suddenly you can see it, an impermeable layer that peels back for just a second to let you get a look underneath it. 

The heartwood of him is vast. Unknowable. Even as you gaze into it, it doesn’t quite make sense, but you can see it like a far off star, winking at you from times long gone. 

You’ve grown too comfortable with the humanness of his appearance, let it stop you from comprehending that his nature vastly outpaces your own. There’s so much more that you want to ask and so much less that you think you ought to know. How old is he? Where does he come from? Is he carbon-based? Is he really what he appears or is this form merely designed to appeal to your senses, like the light on the end of an anglerfish? 

“It’s probably time for me to head back,” Gaz says, breaking the silence, and abruptly cutting you off from the glimpse of himself that he allowed you to see. 

He gestures for you to slide your old tray through the small gap under the bars. When you do, he takes it from you and stands up, towering over your sitting form, only the barred door separating you. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises, then takes his leave.

And unlike Nikolai, you believe him.

The days seem to go by but you’re not sure. 

Seem being the operative word. Though your meals seem to come at regularly scheduled times and the lights on the other side of the door dim and brighten at a regular cadence, time almost feels—

dilated somehow.

Thoughts corrugating. Thoughts scattering in the windlessness. 

The gaps between your thoughts—

widening

and changing course.

You know this is the bellyaching of a hurt animal gnawing off its own leg to escape the thing trapping it.

But you know you won’t stop until the trap is off. 

“What are they going to do to me?” you ask Gaz when something like a week has passed.

It’s still hard to tell. Time doesn’t do well in space, much less in the brig of a spacecraft with no zeitgebers to help adjust your internal clock. Boredom makes time seem elastic, stretches it out beyond what you could imagine it lasting. 

He chews on his answer. “…I’m not sure.”

“They haven’t told you? Or said anything around you?”

“They’ve said some things.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure it’s worth repeating. I’ve been trying to sway them in a more productive direction.”

“Gaz, please, can you just—” You exhale forcefully and pinch your eyes shut. “Can you just be honest with me?”

“Love, it won’t help. Just let me handle it.”

“…Are they going to send me back home?”

The possibility crossed your mind the first day they threw you in the brig, but with the ship equipped with only two escape pods capable of supporting three individuals each, it seemed less than likely that they’d waste one on you. 

His brows tighten and he shakes his head. “Your commander vetoed that idea. He didn’t want to…waste the resource.”

“Are they considering making me redundant?”

The euphemism is easier than just saying it outright. There are provisions for it, after all. Precedent. The laws are different out in space, in no man’s land. Interplanetary journeys can be long, after all, and treacherous, and it isn’t always advisable that resources be wasted on crew members that have proven themselves a danger to the mission and the ship. 

It also isn’t necessary that a ship return with all of its crew.

Gaz seems reluctant to answer now, staring off into the far corner of your cell instead of meeting your eyes. A few seconds pass before he says anything. 

“…They’ve floated the idea by.”

“Oh,” you can’t help but whimper, squeezing your fists over your eyes. 

Someone reaches into your chest and turns the dial of your terror up so high that you nearly forget to breathe. 

And why wouldn’t they discuss it? Haven’t you felt it this whole time, even before Gaz showed up and shook it free from its high perch? Haven’t you felt a certain coldness from them, a certain distance? An eager willingness to misunderstand you? A blatant mistrust hidden under layers of icy professionalism and excuses? 

“So they’re thinking about killing me,” you whisper, your voice uncomfortably loud and wet with your tears, the metal walls making it almost echo in the small room. “Is that it?”

Gaz stays quiet, his inability to contradict your words implicit in his silence. Maybe. You’re not sure what exactly it means—if he knows that for sure or if whatever he is lacks the instinct to offer words of comfort. 

“They won’t hurt you. I promise you,” he reassures you, an undertone of steel in his voice. 

“You already said that you can’t change their minds.”

“I said I couldn’t force them to, not that I couldn’t persuade them with logic.”

“You know how they’d do it, right?” you ask, ignoring his words.   

“Love,” he says, exasperated, but you cut him off before he can reassure you again that he won’t let anything happen to you. 

“They’ll toss me out into space.” You saw your bottom lip between your teeth. “It would be painless and quick at least. You lose consciousness before anything happens. Then ebullism occurs—the blood in your body boils and then your whole body swells up. You die not long after that. Just a few minutes. But at least you aren’t conscious for it. It’s probably relatively painless, but at the end of the day who knows because everyone who’s gone through has, you know…”

At least there’s that. It’s a small comfort that you won’t suffer if they do take that route. A few seconds of panic and then nothing. Practically humane. It’s not what you want, but few if any get the option of choosing their end. You should be grateful that yours will at least be painless. 

Even though you really—

(pleasenopleasenopleasenopleaseno)

—really don’t want to die.

It seems naive to hope that Graves will change his mind. The fact that they’ve considered it at all speaks volumes. Maybe if Nikolai had kept his promise and come back, you could’ve counted on him to speak up in your defense, but his absence suggests otherwise. 

Eventually, you have no choice but to ask.

“Are you helping me because you put me in this position?”

The question sits like a nettle embedded in the soft inner flesh of your cheek, digging in painfully until you manage to get it out. 

“I’m helping you because you’re different from the rest of them,” he murmurs, staring unblinkingly into your eyes. 

Sometimes you think he’s the sun until you stand in his gaze and feel your own centre of gravity drawing him in. 

“No, I’m not,” you say, trying to brush off his words. 

“Yes, you are.” His rebuttal comes firm and swift, the insistence catching you off guard. “I gave the others ample time and reason to come to the same conclusion as you and none of them did. Instead, they turned on you—one of their own. It’s not right for one to give up on their own kind so easily. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve come across one of mine?”

“How long?”

Gaz stares at you for a second before curling his hand around one of the bars, long fingers easily overlapping, and leaning forward. 

“I have been very, very lonely,” he says, making a point to stretch out his words, “for a very, very long time.”

It hurts to hear that. Loneliness you understand. 

“You wanted to know why I came to you? To your ship?” he asks, changing the subject slightly. 

“What—you weren’t just waiting around for someone to come by and pick you up?” 

Gaz shrugs. “Not entirely. To some degree, yes, but it wasn’t just a random happenstance. I knew your ship was in the vicinity for a while before I decided to make myself known.”

“Then why?”

His smile is so gentle that it almost breaks your heart and you don’t know why. “Because of you. When I saw you.”

Everything from your neck down goes hot. You can’t put into words how that revelation makes you feel—the thought of him drifting undetected through space, like a rogue planet untethered from its star, only for something to suddenly pull him in. 

“Where are you from?” you ask, dry mouthed. Parched for more. 

“Far from here. You wouldn’t recognize it even if I showed you it. It’s not on any map you’ve ever seen.”

The thought takes your breath away. Every time you think you’ve come to terms with the vastness of the universe, something happens that pulls the rug out from under you. Gaz’s words reshuffle the pieces in your head until you can almost see it, a far corner of the observable universe tucked into itself like origami, vast clouds of gas and dust incubating protostars, even the dust older than anything your side of the universe has ever seen, so old that it brushes the edge of observability, may very well even now be traversing over that boundary so that one day, even with the speed of light, you will never be able to see it again.

“But that’s not my home anymore.”

“Oh,” you breathe, stupefied.

“I came aboard because of you.” You can barely process that; you’ve never been enough to keep anyone anywhere. “Don’t—you can’t see it because there’s only so much you can see. But I know because I feel it.”

Reaching through the bars of the cell door, you hold out your hand. Gaz takes it without hesitation, tucking your fingers into the warmth of his palm. You take it on faith that what you’re touching is real.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to ask him if it is when he suddenly rises to his feet, pulling you up with him. It’s so intimate standing like that, face to face but for the barred wall separating the two of you. 

He pushes your hand back through the bars of the cell, his hand following yours until half of his arm has passed through the gap between the bars. When it gets to his upper arm, you assume it’ll stop there, his bicep bigger than the gap, but then it just—passes through, unimpeded by the metal bars or the molecules packed tight together to form the structure of the cell. All you can do is stare dumbstruck as Gaz’s body separates and comes back together, nausea at the sight of his skin reconstructing itself making your stomach turn.

“Oh.” You sound stupid, but it’s hard to sound right in the head when everything you’ve ever held to be true has suddenly shown itself to be not. “Did you even need me to let you in?”

The glint in his eye is mischievous. “I enjoyed our conversations.”

It’s as good an answer as you know you’ll get from him. 

You swallow. “Can you get me out then?”

“…What would you do if I did?”

That makes you pause. “What do you mean?”

“You know they won’t just let you roam free, even if I let you out. And if I help you out, things might only get worse for you.”

You see it now: the rapidly decreasing number of choices before you. Each fork in the road gradually rewilding, too treacherous to pass through without dire consequences. Soon, there will only be one way through.

“So what am I supposed to do?” you whisper. 

He steps closer to you until you swear you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Dark, unfathomably deep eyes stare back into yours, and it is so easy to get lost in them. 

Infinite possibilities for what your life could’ve looked like, but it was always going to lead here—to him. 

“Trust me,” Gaz whispers, breath fanning your face. “Let me get you out.”

Resisting his pull suddenly seems pointless. Why retreat from something that wants you so bad? You can only chase shadows for so long before the sun draws your gaze up to it. 

Your lips come together like pieces of the same puzzle; fluidly, sinuously. Senses clogged with him—his essence, his taste, his smell. You keep chasing after it, following his lips when he briefly pulls away, and whining into his mouth until you can feel his smile against your lips and his warm hand cradling the back of your head, tilting it to deepen the kiss. 

Longing has made your body heavy, dripping with it. His kiss drains you of so much energy that you can’t help but sag against him, limp body pliant in his hands. 

“Take them off,” you rasp, pulling on the shirt of his uniform, the fabric wrinkling under your fingers. 

“Love—” Gaz laughs, breathless.

“Take them off.”

The rush of endorphins you get from finally having agency for once is unmatched. You’re the one making the demands for a change, the one telling someone what to do. 

He one-hands his shirt over his head in the way that men do, so casually human that you briefly forget that he isn’t. Your lungs collapse under the force of your exhale when you remember that. 

“Is it real?” you ask.

“Is what real?”

“All of this—” you elaborate, gesturing up and down at his body. “—you. Are you built physically like us or am I looking at something…” You don’t know how to finish your sentence; you’re not sure if it even has an end to it. 

Gaz contemplates your question as if it merits thought. As if he weren’t standing before you naked as any man you’ve seen before. As if his stomach didn’t concave into a bellybutton and his legs weren’t covered in a fine layer of dark hair and the darkness didn’t pool around his bare feet, toes as similar as your own. As if there weren’t a thatch of dark hair tapering down to his groin and the inguinal ligament and abdominis muscle of an Adonis belt angling down towards it as well. 

“What you’re experiencing is real,” he says, taking your hands in his so you can feel their warmth. “This is all real. But there’s more to me than what you’re able to perceive.”

The thought makes your head spin.

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t real though,” he stresses, drawing your attention back to his face. 

“It’s just…not the whole picture.”

“No.”

“Is it even possible to…I don’t know—see you in full? Like what you really are?”

He steps in close enough that you have to look up to meet his eyes. Warm hands slide up the small of your back and draw you into a warm chest, and even fully clothed against his nude form, you’ve never felt so exposed. 

“Isn’t this enough?”

In another time, you might’ve said no, but if saying no now means turning Gaz away, you don’t think innate curiosity can stand toe to toe with the need for his company. The need for him, period. 

“You’re sure this is what you want?” Gaz asks.

You pause for a second, taking everything in. 

All you know is that you want to be as close to him as physically possible. You want to press your nose to his chest and inhale until the world around you melts into the one you miss. Fresh baked bread and succotash; hot days in the company of dragonflies and frogs croaking in the marshes; rain drizzling over the half-baked dirt; rabbits eating clover under the shade of a wheelbarrow. 

“Yes.”

You reach down and pull your shirt over your head, Gaz’s hands immediately going for the waistband of your pants. 

Clothes disappear in a flurry, discarded near the bars of the cell while the two of you retreat farther into its depths. Your lips keep colliding in midair, panting breaths flowing into each other’s mouths when you’re drawn back together again, magnets of opposite polarity. Breathing becomes almost inconsequential. 

Biology aside, what you have in abundance is chemistry. A shudder ripples through you as he gently but firmly drags you down to the floor, goosebumps flaring up your arms and legs when the bare flesh of your back touches the cold metal, the hair on your neck standing on end. Your fingers tremble back up to his face to pull him down for another kiss that dissolves on your tongue like shock rocks fizzling down your throat. 

He swallows you up all at once. Compatible anatomy or not, when Gaz pulls your legs apart and settles between them, the heavy shaft that he lines up with your entrance feels very, very real. So real that one push in knocks the breath from your lungs and displaces every thought in your head. 

“Oh God,” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. 

The first thrust barely takes, inner muscles too unyielding, but when he draws his hips back and presses in again, you split around him a little more generously. It still makes you grunt and clench your teeth together, digging your nails into his traps to ground yourself. 

“Is that what you want?” he asks. 

You pry your eyelids open, squinting up at him. “Huh?”

“Is that what you want? A god?”

He’s asking you something that you don’t have the capacity to understand or answer. 

“What?” you ask, desperately trying to make sense of his words until he fits both hands into the crooks of your knees and nearly bends you in half trying to get deeper into you, and your thoughts scatter again like birds—you can even see them bursting from the trees and taking off into the blue sky that gradually bleeds back into the darkness surrounding you.

And then just his face, your own North Star. 

“Yeah,” Gaz rasps. “I think that’s what you want.”

It’s a wonder no one’s heard you and come running because you are not quiet. The door to the brig must be hermetically sealed though because despite the volume of your moans, no one comes by to check on you. Even when he nearly flattens himself over you and fits his hands around your head to keep you from hitting the wall behind you, locking you in place against his body, and your yowls go from embarrassingly loud to deafening, the door doesn’t move.

“Have you—ah, ah, shit, uhnf—” you pant, the pleasure so good that you have to fight the urge to push him off of you. “—done this?”

“What?” Gaz grunts through clenched teeth, wide nostrils flaring.  

“Done this before?”

He stares down at you in disbelief. “Have I done this before?” he repeats, snapping his hips forward and grinning when you gasp. “You’re asking a being from another world if they’ve ever done this before? Sex with a human?”

“But you—” you know what you’re doing, you don’t finish. 

“‘Course I know what I’m doing,” he murmurs under his breath like he read your mind, sweat dripping from his hairline onto your face. You blink when a bead of sweat hits your eye. “Like I don’t know exactly what you want.”

And suddenly it doesn’t feel like fucking. It feels like you’re being given something, like something is passing through you and leaving a little bit of itself behind. 

“No one else can take care of you like I can.”

A smooth thumb passes over your clit like a comet, circling and circling, dancing with gravity’s pull until it dips too close and suddenly you—

“There’s nothing else for me but you. No one else.”

(back arching, spine breaking, sweat pooling and dripping and squelching when your chests rub together, big hands bracket the top of your head, and you are so close, so close, so close)

—suddenly you—

(ohgodohgodohgodohgod)

—suddenly you—

Wet lips so flush to your ear that his tongue flicks into the shell. “You want something from God? You come to me.”

—suddenly you break.

[moosereblogsfics]

Ceil I’m losing my FUCKING MIND OJBMY GOD I loved how it almost seems like gaz ia asking for consent but then it just nails home how much power he has over her in every possible way AHHHHHHUH AAAAAA “you come to me” AAAAG!! AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

[rawme-price]

Ripped ghost truthers come to my doorsteps to die.

Edit for clarification: ripped = extremely defined muscles.

[553580]

incomplete and unedited brain hairball- not abducted by aliens, but by angels.

great, terrifying celestial beings who are curious about the soft, fragile, mortal things their master has created and loves so much. blindingly bright light pours into your dark bedroom, shining through cracks in the floorboards and windows, fully engulfing you and forcing you to squint- but you still can't see their long, elegant fingers reach out for you until they're close enough to touch.

they flock around you, wings rustling as they stand shoulder to shoulder, circling you fully as they poke and prod at you. smooth, whorl-less fingers graze over your skin, slide over your lips to pet your tongue, squeeze the fat of your belly, prod at your plush hips, pluck at your nipples. you're just so soft, so warm, so touchable- their many hands are all over you all at once, lifting an ankle in the air for inspection, long fingers grazing lightly over your toes as a thumb rubs against your arch.

they loom over you, easily nine, nine and a half feet tall, with too many eyes and a perfectly circular horn that comes out one side of their head and loops over the top to reconnect on the other side as one solid halo. these angels don't look like anything you've ever heard described by holy men, preachers, or the texts themselves- and yet, here they are, bodies awash with the glow of a divine light that you can feel behind your ribs. that feeling is what keeps you from flinching, fighting, and screaming. you lie there and take it, allowing them to explore and experiment with your body, assuming it's some sort of test sent by the creator of the universe.

it becomes all to clear that they're there of their own volition (and not on the orders of the divine) when one of them slips a finger between your folds and pushes. even without a mouth, you hear the surprised, delighted, and intrigued noise it emanates somehow as it experimentally slides in and out of you. it adds another finger, and the stretch feels delicious in a way you've never experienced before. it sets something under your skin ablaze, nerves buzzing like electrical lines right before a storm, unconsciously making you buck your hips and arch your back a bit as you luxuriate in the intimate touch of the divine.

a soft moan escapes your lips, and immediately, every angel freezes, their postures going rigid instantaneously and their many, many eyes snapping towards the being that's playing between your legs. with a loud crack, its ring of keratin splits, separating a whole into two halves, turning a halo into horns. the light it emanates from the foot of your bed dims down to nothing, as it's eyes find yours, fingers still deep into your cunt.

you watch in horror as it's jaw distends, stretching and then tearing the solid flesh over it's face in half, leaving a toothy opening for a mouth. there are no lips, just shredded skin dangling with jagged edges- as well as pointed teeth, a forked tongue, and blue-black blood dribbling down it's chin and onto your bedsheets, the soft plat plat plat sounding as loud as gunshots in your dead silent bedroom.

slowly, with prolonged eye contact, it pulls it's fingers from your cunt, holding them up in the air. it looks so dull next to it's companions, what with it's heavenly glow suddenly turned off, but the slick on it's fingers still glitters in the bright light.

"you made me fall." it accuses, voice rough and low from disuse. a forked tongue slithers between rows of razor sharp, pointed teeth, extending far further than it should be able to, wrapping around its slick-covered digits. it hums thoughtfully when the tongue retracts, and between one blink and the next it's suddenly on top of you, startling you with how close it's face is to yours, the way its many eyes seem to take all of you in at once.

an unyielding thigh pushes your legs open wider, many unseen hands holding your thighs as you're covered in the dark shadow on the ethereal creature on top of you.

"i can't go home now because of you." it snarls in your face, spattering you with it's inhuman blood as it's breath passes the open wounds of it's mouth. "i can never stand in our creator's presence ever again. you did that. it's your fault. let's see if you can make it up to me."

something far too large presses at the slick lips of your pussy, trying to wriggle into the seam, head far too blunt to easily push inside.

just as it starts to breach, stretching you too far, too much, too rough, the creature above you groans, a deep reverberation that is inhumanly loud, inhumanly low, rattling your teeth in your head with how powerful it is.

as it slowly and painfully fills you up, you can't help but notice the way the room is slowly getting darker as you hear a series of loud cracks splinter the silence of the room over the newly fallen angel's shoulders.

[inspired by this piece of art]

[moosereblogsfics]

THE OTHER HALOS CRACKING OHHHHOHOO love that they blame reader but they’re the ones just doing all of this. hellloooo

[cherienymphe]

Scorned

Friedrich Harding x Reader

Summary: With no possibility of a future with your lover, you make the decision to stop letting him break your heart.

warnings: Non-con, mentions of loss of virginity, obsession, forbidden relationship, power imbalance

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies 

♱

Friedrich Harding was a man who earned many compliments—he was a man of integrity, a man with wealth, and a man greatly respected in society. You personally had a few lesser known compliments for the dark-haired gentleman such as his caring demeanor and gentle touch and prowess in bed. It was something that only you had the pleasure of knowing. At least, that was what you were assured, and you chose to believe him for he was a man of integrity. 

Under the cover of darkness when you should have been asleep or even during earlier hours when he should have been using valuable time to find a suitable wife, Friedrich preferred to refresh his memory of what it felt like to touch you and taste you and find solace inside of you. The years-long friendship between Thomas and Friedrich made the former none the wiser to the true cause of the latter’s frequent visits over the past year. Your life was not the only one to be changed the moment you were taken in as a maid for the Hutter family.

Friedrich would spend every waking moment breathing you in and finding relaxation in your warmth if he had the choice, and you knew this because he told you so. He was, after all, an honest man. He told you how beautiful you were every time the thought crossed his mind and he told you about every time he thought of you while he was away and he told you how harder it was becoming to stay away from you. He was very honest…even when you wished that he would not be.

“You had to know that no other answer is possible…”

Those baby blues of his were heavy—with sadness or shame, you did not know, only that you yourself felt a bit of both. It was a silly thing to ask him one day—if he ever thought of marrying you—and truthfully you did not know what answer you were possibly expecting. Of course Herr Harding could not ever marry you. You were a maid, a servant—not much better than property in some places—and the gentleman that you had grown to care for needed a wife of good standing…a wife that many would envy him for. 

You were neither of those things.

Asking him such a thing only succeeded in making things tense for you two for a few moments and breaking your own heart, but that was quickly remedied when he told you not to think of such things before pressing his lips to yours. His manor only housed one, and so you were not so cautious in how you responded to him once he got his hands on you.

His lips did not stray from your face once as he slowly and gently curved his hips into yours, pushing his cock into you with a pace that he knew you loved. Nothing drove you crazier more, and you loved the sounds that escaped his lips whenever you grazed your fingers over his skin and pressed your nails into his naked back. The only time that you were not a maid and he was not a man out of reach was during these stolen moments, when he was inside of you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear and telling you that you were his.

Only…

You were not his.

He had made that clear to you. You were not his and he was not yours, and while it was never spoken of again, you moved forward with that in mind no matter how much it broke your heart day after day. You did not take words said in the heat of the moment to heart, and never did you ever think to.

“You did not come to me last night…”

The whispered words were said to you in a dimly lit hallway, Thomas’ family just in the sitting room and oblivious to your coupled absence. The dark-haired man had cornered you, his blue eyes hardly leaving your person from the moment he stepped into the house, so some part of you had expected it. With him so close—his warmth reaching out for you and the scent of him surrounding you—it was hard to remember why you had left his bedside cold the previous night. You took a deep breath before racking your brain for the truth.

“I did not think it was wise.”

Friedrich looked between your eyes for a moment before a light chuckle left him, his perfect teeth winking at you as he clearly found your response comical.

“When has it ever been…?”

He reached for you as he said this, but you were quick to grab his hand and halt his pursuit. The frown that knitted his brow was a rare sight—Friedrich hardly being the kind of man who was faced with a refusal from anyone—and you almost felt bad.

“Perhaps that is reason enough that I should have never warmed your bed to begin with,” you quietly told him, and you did not miss the way his face fell. “You must marry and have sons…and not only will that never be with me, but the longer this continues the longer you put it off.”

The man before you stared at you as if you were speaking another language, and when your words finally sank in, he straightened, staring at you in a way you had never been on the receiving end of before.

“It is not your place to worry about such things,” he said, making you bristle. “You let me worry about my affairs.”

You were not stupid. You could see that Friedrich was thinking and feeling way too many things than he was used to in this moment as the implications behind your words were finally starting to hit him, but it did not make his words sting any less.

“No, it is not my place to worry about your affairs,” you agreed. “...but it is my place to worry about mine.”

He was still as you slid from between him and the wall, his gaze stuck on you as you abandoned him in more ways than one. Refusing to sleep with Friedrich any more was no easy decision to make, even harder to execute. The man had introduced you to a world you wondered if you would ever be privy to, and he had made you feel things that made you shudder to think about even now, but you were tired of breaking your own heart day after day.

“I do not want any letters from you and do not seek me out. I no longer want that…”

Before your former lover could respond, you were rejoining the family who employed you. You ignored his gaze when he returned and throughout dinner and most especially as he was leaving. It was no easy feat because Friedrich had the kind of presence that was hard to ignore, and that was true in more ways than one.

Despite how many times you dreamt of the man in the weeks that followed, you told yourself that bittersweet memories were infinitely better than accepting the affections of someone who could never be yours. One day he would be married—guarantee—and maybe one day you would be too—not so much of a guarantee—and Friedrich was an honest man, yes, but it felt insulting to him to think that he might not possess the kind of strength required to never seek you out once he took a wife. You surely liked to think so, but the man himself had told you many times that he found it difficult to stay away from you.

…and he was no liar.

Despite your wishes, letters were still slipped beneath your door, waiting for you at the end of the day when he had long left and you were retiring for the night. Each one went unopened, too afraid of what you might do should you read what he had to say all the while imagining that smooth voice of his. In fact, none of your wishes were met, cornered by the blue-eyed man again and again.

“Friedrich…”

You nervously looked past his broad shoulders, your inability to hold his gaze bringing him great frustration.

“Forgive me for I believed that this was merely some tantrum, some lapse in thought brought on by fear or inadequacy or…”

He trailed off, seemingly unable to gather his thoughts as his eyes roamed your face.

“Friedrich, I have made my feelings clear to you,” you spoke before he could gather himself to do so again. “Leave me be.”

Your attempt to get away was stopped, and your wide eyes rested on his face. There was a deep frown on it, and the facial hair above his lip twitched as his fingers pressed into your arms.

“Have I not told you time and time again that you are mine? That I cannot be without you?”

“Words said while I was warming your bed,” you pointed out, the attitude in your tone clear. “Now it is you who will have to forgive me for not taking them seriously.”

You tried to slip away again.

“So, you thought I said them in jest? That they were not meant to be believed?”

He sounded incredulous, and you took that moment to finally break free.

“It is irrelevant,” you hissed. “Please, leave me be!”

Your voice slightly echoed, and you were quick to stride away from him lest someone come looking for you.

As it turns out, the only person who you ever had to worry about looking for you was your spurned lover. You did not know if his shameless behavior was scarier than if he had preferred to remain discreet. Gathering groceries for the Hutters was a shadowed task and every room you cleaned turned into a hiding place every time he came over.

Your dreams about the man who you had once thought you loved turned into nightmares.

…and those nightmares turned into reality.

“So, this is where you hide whenever you so much as hear my voice…”

His hands were on your face, and your lower back was pressed against a side table as he finally found you one day. Friedrich looked as distinguished as always, but his eyes…something about those eyes gave way to the disarray within him. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, and there was a pout on his own lips as he ran his eyes along your face.

“I have written to you,” he forced out.

“...and I have asked you not to.”

The man before you swallowed at that, and his fingers pressed harder into your skin.

“Have you read them?” he finally asked, and your resolute silence must have been answer enough because you did not miss the way his eyes dimmed and his face fell.

Friedrich was normally so composed and dignified, so to see him in such a way was not only fascinating…but also terrifying. A once predictable man had become anything but, and you did not know what to expect from him.

“Has your heart truly grown so cold towards me?” he murmured, a plea in his gaze, and you felt compelled to be truthful in your answer.

“No,” you whispered. “...but I know what I want, and you cannot give it to me, so why go on pretending otherwise?”

You wrestled yourself from his grip with difficulty, and when Friedrich reached out to you, you stepped away, his fingers grazing the fabric of your dress as you did so.

“If you ignore my wishes again…” you took a deep, shuddering breath. “...I fear that you might never find me should you seek me out.”

You did not miss his stricken gaze as you left him, and despite what you wanted, it still hurt to see. You loved working for the Hutters, and perhaps you shared some blame in getting involved with a man who was so closely intertwined with them, but Friedrich had become an overbearing presence that would force you to find employment elsewhere if need be. He did not respect any boundary you attempted to put in place, and that made you feel terrified in a place you once felt so safe in.

He consumed your every waking thought—and not in a way that was pleasing—and perhaps that was why you found yourself touching the pile of letters you swore you would never open. But open them you did, one by one, and each letter grew more worrying than the last. The first was mild in comparison, mostly filled with declarations of desire to be near you and the odd jest here and there about what he had wrongly assumed was some temporary break.

Each one after talked less and less about love and any other gentle feelings and more about the need to never be without you and the ramblings of a man whose thoughts were far from coherent. Words like ‘consume’ and ‘torture’ and ‘despair’ stood out the most, and as you read every one, you had not even realized that you had begun to tremble. The parchment in your hands was shaking, and the cold that gripped you had nothing to do with the weather outside.

So much of what he had written was not all that different from the things Friedrich would whisper in your ear in the dead of night when he was pinning you beneath him and gently biting your flesh and parting your legs to make room for him. So many things that he would say in passionate moments were not at all anything you ever thought to take to heart. After all, how could you possibly expect to believe that he would never want to be away from you when he told you in no uncertain terms that he would never marry you?

For days those letters haunted you, and you struggled with how best to proceed. You did not relish the thought of leaving, but Friedrich—while a well respected gentleman—was a man who often and almost always got what he wanted. You did not know if the hold he wanted to have over you was because he truly loved you or because he felt that being your first meant something more or because…you were simply denying him something he wanted.

All scenarios scared you, and while you were fretting over the unnerving words that never left your thoughts, a storm ravaged your coastal town.

A storm that stranded Herr Harding under the same roof where you laid your head.

Some part of you expected him to give into his temptations.

“I do not know if you think me fickle or you just do not take anything I say seriously…”

You quietly trailed off, shaking your head and moving away from him as the heavy rain pelted against your window. The bad weather kept the rest of the house unaware of the argument going on beneath their very roof.

“...but I told you-.”

“Where do you think you can go that I will not follow?”

His words stumped you, and a flash of lightning brightened the room for a moment before it was bathed in the warm glow from your candles once again. His bright eyes stood out in the low lighting, but you swore that the more you stared into them, the darker they grew. The silence between you was thick with tension, and you felt your throat tighten at the predicament you found yourself in.

“Friedrich,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “Please…”

“You break my heart, and you are the one begging?”

When he moved closer, you stood your ground despite your fear.

“Your heart?” you gasped. “You tell me that you will never marry me, and you do not think that broke mine? That day after day of being with you while knowing that did not continue to do so?”

You watched as he pressed his lips together, jaw clenching at your words.

“Friedrich…you must marry…and you have no intention of making me your bride. Are you telling me that the respectable and honorable Herr Harding had it in mind to keep me on as some shameful mistress? Hardly more than some whore?”

Your tone was thick with incredulity, and the dark-haired man had no response, only looking away with a huff.

“Or did you simply never think that far?”

“That day is nowhere along the horizon-.”

“Of course, you did not think that far,” you sighed, interrupting. “You are a man. There is no such thing as ‘ruin’ for you. Of course, you do not care.”

“Never speak such things,” he spat, cornering you. “Of course, I care.”

“You care, and yet you have never concerned yourself with what will become of me after you have taken a wife. You care, but you ignore my every wish to be free of you, to move on from you…”

“...because I cannot-.”

He cut himself off, hands placed on your cheeks as he stared at you.

“...because I cannot bear the thought,” he eventually said, pushing the words out through his teeth. “The mere thought of you with another tempts me to do unspeakable things.”

Those words caused a shudder to crawl down your spine, not unfamiliar with them as you recalled reading those exact words on a piece of parchment. His thumbs brushed along your skin, and when he moved closer, your stomach twisted into knots.

“Do you even grasp the insanity that would send me into?”

“Does that seem fair to you? That you must move on one day while I remain here right where you would prefer me?”

“I will never be able to move on from you, what about that do you not understand?”

You looked away from him, and Friedrich touched the tip of his nose to your temple, breathing you in.

“You speak of things that simply make no sense, Friedrich. It seems that I am the one who has to be reasonable yet again…”

“...and how do you plan on doing that? By leaving?”

The silence was loud, and you stumbled out from between him and the wall the moment his hands trailed further down to your shoulder and arm. He softly called your name as you turned your back to him, twice, then a bit louder on the third time.

“I will not allow it,” he harshly whispered, a hand circling your wrist. “Surely, you know that.”

His other hand dug into your waist, pulling you against him.

“I saw the letters on your bed table,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I know you read them. I know that you know what you mean to me.”

“Let go of me,” you breathed.

“That will only happen if you manage to make me,” was his mocking response, and your heart skipped a beat at his words. “If I leave you tonight, I worry that I shall never hold you again.”

His soft lips swallowed whatever you were going to say, and as you went to push him away, he pinned your arm between you.

“I refuse to be without you,” he murmured into the kiss, one hand firm on the small of your back and preventing you from getting away.

Wind whipped rain and leaves against the window, and the thunder carefully hid your fearful yelp as his lips trailed down your jaw and to your neck. His facial hair brushed against your skin, and you shuddered from the familiarity of it. Every attempt to break free from him was thwarted, and you had half a mind to wake the entire house, but you feared the consequences for you should the discovery of such a scene get out.

The man before you would go on fine as if nothing happened.

You, on the other hand, would be lucky to find another decent place of employment…let alone a husband.

Friedrich was unlike anything you had ever experienced, acting so unlike himself as he forced you to go and move in whatever direction he wished. Your panic only began to set in when you found yourself on your bed, a place that had seen your coupling numerous times, but tonight would be different.

Nothing about tonight would be loving.

The sound of ripping fabric made your heart jump, and when Friedrich’s lips wrapped around one of your breasts, you could not hold in your gasp. His other hand slid between your thighs as it had a hundred times, and every push against his chest was useless. You were focused on too much at once—trying to get his lips off of you and his fingers out of you.

When he curved them into you and circled his tongue on your skin, you faltered.

What followed played out just as you expected it to.

The strong man—whose strength you had once admired—was not deterred at all by any hit or scratch or punch you gave him. He murmured many things against your skin as he released himself, pinning your writing frame between him and your bed. Some of it was loving words that you were not at all unfamiliar with, and some of it was reminiscent of the more unnerving things he had put into his writing to you. 

“I told you that I cannot resist you,” he whispered, slowly thrusting into you in the way he knew you liked.

It made your stomach churn, now.

“Every time I am inside of you, you bear witness to every confession I make…”

His fingers threaded through your own against your will, pinning your hand to the bed as he held it. His lips pressed opened mouthed kisses against the expanse of your neck, your tearful gaze on the ceiling as your lashes fluttered. Every time he sank into you, your stomach tightened.

He kissed you again, forcing you to move your mouth against his as he tasted the inside of yours. Your free hand unconsciously trailed along his arm, forgetting for a brief moment that this was not like all the other times you snuck away or was lowered onto his bed. Friedrich kisses you intensely, his hips moving against yours with the same intensity, and it made your toes curl.

“Tell me that you shall never leave me,” he gently demanded.

When you could not give him the answer he wanted, his gaze met your tearful one. If there was any guilt within him for his actions then it was not present in his eyes at all. Those blue eyes of his shone like you suspected yours did, the candlelight reflecting in his tearful gaze.

“Must I make it so that you never can…?”

The ominous nature of his words were not lost on you, and a million different scenarios filled your mind.

“You speak of ruin, now…but I imagine that whisperings of the true nature of our relationship would really ruin you…”

Your wide eyes did not look away from his, and you wondered if he was even capable of what he was saying. Friedrich would not—he was a good and honorable man—and even he did not look like he believed himself capable of what he was threatening. However, you remembered your current position and that a good and honorable man would never put you in such a place. His train of thought seemed to be on the same track as yours, and you watched as he mentally resolved himself to whatever he had to in order to keep you.

“Perhaps a delicate condition…”

You dug your nails into his skin, a few tears spilling over, and for the first time in months, you saw uncertainty in his gaze.

“Friedrich…you wouldn’t…”

He swallowed, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your still lips.

“Then do not make me…”

Your lips trembled as he lifted his head and brushed his fingers over your mouth, a deep frown on his handsome face.

“I refuse to be without you,” he choked out. “You have already driven me to the lowest of moral character.”

You flinched as if he had slapped you, and he wiped a few tears away.

“Do not make me sink so low again, I beg you,” he breathed, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

He remained there and circled his arms around you as he continued to gently sink his cock into you, and too afraid to say anything but what he wanted to hear, you hesitantly nodded.

“Okay,” you shakily whispered. “I shall never leave you.”

The only response you got was a passionate kiss.

[moosereblogsfics]

Everything to me omfg

[shadow0-1]