#// speaking of this could be the first time I could be talking about anything but my stupid employee

[y3sterdaysproblem]

the shift - c.s.

takes place after this

cw: yelling, crying, mentions of drug use, implied sex

wc: 4.2k

part of the fwb!chris series

it’s been weeks.

weeks of radio silence from chris, and you weren’t giving him anything to work with either. in your head, you said what you needed to say, and the ball was in his court.

he never responded after the last message, more than likely trying to pick up the pieces of whatever relationship he had, for whatever reason. she didn’t seem worth it. she seemed boring, innocent, annoying. every time she spoke it sounded like nails on a chalkboard and you had to check to make sure your ears weren’t bleeding.

ever since the party and the incident, you’ve kept yourself as busy as possible; picking up shifts, going out with friends, cleaning your entire apartment every few days, just to avoid thinking about how badly you fucked everything up, just to avoid the chris sized hole in your life.

being alone was never something that bothered you, always enjoying time by yourself to do whatever you wanted to do, even if that was just rotting and doom scrolling, nobody could tell you you couldn’t do it.

you’re doing exactly that, body wrapped up in a blanket as you lounged on your couch in comfortable clothes, legs tucked under you. the tv was on a low volume in front of you, and at first you thought the knocking was coming from the show that played lowly, but when you paused it and heard it again, you realized it was your door that somebody was banging on.

you didn’t want to move, hoping that whoever it was would just leave you alone eventually, probably trying to sell you some shit you didn’t need anyway, but when your door rattled for a third time, you huffed and threw the blanket off of yourself, standing up and walking towards the door. “i’m coming!” you yelled, approaching the door and finally ripping it open, your eyes widening and heart dropping to your stomach when you saw who was on the other side.

“it’s been a long time since i’ve heard you say that,” he says, a slight smirk forming on his lips.

you’re unamused, staring at him across the doorway silently. he rolls his eyes at your lack of response, pushing past you until he was inside your apartment. you didn’t say anything, shutting the door and turning around to face him, eyebrows raised like you were waiting for him to speak.

chris turns to face you and sighs, realizing you weren’t in the mood for jokes. “I left my favorite lighter here,” he says, and you can’t help but scoff out a laugh. “a lighter? a fucking lighter? you’re here because you left a lighter?” you shake your head in disbelief and push past him, knowing exactly which lighter he was talking about. it was on your coffee table getting daily use from every time you lit a blunt when you would smoke at night or on days off like this. “you’re the most ridiculous person i’ve ever met,” you mumble, mostly to yourself as you reach for the lighter, spinning around on your heels to hand it to chris.

you knew he was following you into the living room, but you had no idea he was standing as close as he was, and the second you were facing him, he was closing the distance.

chris’s hands reached out for you, one hand landing on your waist and the other wrapping around to the back of your head, pulling your body closer to his as he leaned down and slammed his lips on yours, sighing softly once they finally made contact. you’re caught of guard, hands held out on either side of you as you process what was happening, the lighter slipping from your fingers as you finally move to grasp onto the front of his shirt, holding him close for a moment before pushing him back, pulling your head back to stare at him confusedly. “chris, what the fuck?” you question, and his hands never leave your body as he dips his head down to bury into your neck, lips pressing against your skin fervently, teeth nipping like he couldn’t get enough. “i’m sorry,” he whispers against your jaw, pulling your bodies together again, closing the gap you created when you pushed him away. “you’re right, I was out of line, we were both at fault, forgive me.”

you felt like you were dreaming, partly because you’ve never experienced chris apologizing before, especially not so profusely, and also because your body was melting into his habitually, like no time had passed, like you’d never been angry at all. “chris,” you breathe out, head tilting away from him as your eyes fluttered shut. “you can’t just come into my house and fuck me and think everything will go back to normal.”

“i’m apologizing at the same time,” chris responds, pulling his face away to stare down at you. “you were right, she’s too boring for me. I was so mad because I felt like someone finally gave me the time of day, felt like I could be myself around her but I couldn’t. I wasn’t myself around her and I can’t be myself around anyone except…” he pauses and sucks in a small breath before sighing out again. “listen, i’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that. I feel sick to my stomach saying this out loud but I missed you,” he pauses after he says this, eyes searching yours for any sign of forgiveness.

it was hard not to give in instantly and forgive him, especially with the way his fingertips dug into your skin, desperate to feel you as close as he could. he couldn’t pinpoint why he felt so needy, so eager to feel you on him, all he knew was apologizing was the quickest way to have you sprawled out underneath him just the way he liked, but you were still far too angry to crack just yet.

“chris, do you even remember what you said to me?” you question, still wrapped up in his arms but with enough distance to glare up at him. “do you remember what you called me? how you backed me into a wall and made me cry? how you embarrassed me in front of all of our friends? or do you only care about making up so we can go back to fucking?”

you start push away from him fully as you speak, his hands falling to his sides as he watches you back up and create a bigger gap between you both. his mouth opens to speak, then closes again, his shoulders drawing up into an awkward shrug. “I know I was mean but I was mad,” he defends himself, dismissing it like it wasn’t that big of a deal. “you might as well have left a hickey on my neck, it gave the same impression.”

you let a small breath of air puff out from your nostrils, a mix between a scoff and a laugh, unable to believe the words coming from his mouth. “mean?” you sneer. “you think you were just mean? you yelled at me in front of everybody, called me a whore, called me exhausting, said nobody would ever deal with me, you said I was stupid and that I ruin everything, but you think you were just mean? chris, there’s been days that I lay in bed half the day because all I can think about is if what you said is true or not.” you’re unaware of the way the tip of your nose starts turning red and your cheeks turn blotchy, a clear indicator that you’re about to start crying, only realizing it once you see chris’s expression change and the way he shifts uncomfortably between his feet. that’s when your nose starts to burn and your eyes start to flood with tears.

“I didn’t mean it, I was just mad,” chris tries to console, taking a step closer to you again, but you back away to keep the same distance. “listen, we say rude shit to each other all the the time, what’s the difference now?”

“the fucking difference is you did it in front of twenty people!” you yell, a fat tear sliding down your cheek. “I can handle you being mean, don’t think I can’t, but you berating me like that just proves how awful of a person you really are!” chris is stunned into silence, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, but only for a few moments as he’s never been too good at keeping his mouth shut. “berating is a little much, don’t you think?” he starts, already starting to feel himself get annoyed by your accusations. “sure, I was mad, but you left fucking lip gloss on my neck! I mean, how do you think she felt knowing I dragged you off to talk and then I come back with shit all over my neck?!”

“how do you think I felt?!” you yell back, not caring about the fact that your neighbors could definitely hear you. “who gives a fuck what she felt, she’s a fucking nobody! what about me?! why do you never stop to fucking think about the way your words affect me?!” you’re fully sobbing now, cheeks covered in thick tears, voice cracking as you choke out your words. “i’m supposed to be your friend over everything. fuck the sex, fuck the weed, fuck the stupid little bitches you bring around that you let get between us, you’re supposed to be my friend before all of that and you showed me that you care more about some attention from a prude than the feelings of somebody you’re meant to care about.”

chris reaches his hands up to his face and rubs it harshly, groaning into his palms as he processes what you’re saying. “can you stop with all these jealous little comments? she wasn’t just a prude or some girl that got between us, she was nice and funny and pretty and she didn’t care about fucking me or smoking my shit. she didn’t care about what I had, she just listened to me and liked being around me. she saw me.” his hands drop back to his sides and as his eyes refocus on you, he can’t help the twinge of sadness that pangs in his chest as he sees your expression, sees how distraught you really were. he even considered cutting this conversation short to pull you into his arms and apologize until your tears had dried. chris was a little bit too much of an asshole for this, though.

“she saw you?” you laugh wetly, running an anxious hand through your hair. “what exactly did she see? did she see the way you play with your lips when you get nervous? did she see how you always place your phone face down when you’re with people so it doesn’t distract you from the moment?” you take a couple steps closer to him, close enough to reach out and touch him if you wanted to. “did she see how you always eat your fries before your burger even though that’s fucking weird and wrong? did she see the way you flinch every time someone says they love you, even if it’s your fucking brothers, because you can’t even grasp the concept of love existing when it involves you? I bet she didn’t see any of that shit, because she doesn’t care about you.” you pick your arm up before you can stop yourself, sniffling loudly as you jab your finger into his chest, staring at it as you made contact to avoid his eyes that watched you intently. “not… not like I do.”

chris furrows his brows together at your words, head tilting down to glance at your finger pointed into his shirt, then brought it back up slightly to look at you again. “like you do? is that a joke?” he asks, voice quieter than before. you groan and slam your palm into his chest, pushing him away again before turning around and starting to pace in your living room. your heart was beating so loud you could feel it in your ears, the sound rushing through in a rhythmic boom-boom, boom-boom, boom-boom. “listen, i’m sorry that I yelled at you, but she actually meant something to me whether you believe it or not. she actually wanted to be around me and spend time together.”

chris tries to reach out to stop your pacing, but you only shoved his hands away as they came closer to you. “so what are you doing here, then?” you snark, looking up at him as you walked a straight line, then stopped and turned around to walk it back. “shouldn’t you be with her, your perfect princess?”

he groans at your attitude, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling for a moment. “oh my fucking god,” chris mumbles under his breath, almost like he was speaking with the omnipotent being for the strength to deal with you. “i’m not interested anymore,” he tells you finally, bringing his head back to look at you. “I told you. you were right, her and I aren’t compatible no matter how much attention she gives me.”

your feet stop on your carpeted floor, turning to face the man in front of you. “so what, you wanna go back to just fucking all the time? is that what you’re here for?” you ask him, crossing your arms over your chest. chris shrugs his shoulders awkwardly. “I miss the sex yeah,” he starts slowly. “but I also miss… the other stuff.”

you furrow your eyebrows at him, not appreciating his vagueness. “other stuff?” you question, and chris nods. “like… going for drives together, or watching movies and eating leftovers. listening to you ramble on about shit I don’t care about. I think I miss just being around you. i’m not sure, though, i’ve never really felt that with anybody else.”

your heart felt like it couldn’t beat any faster without risking the chance of it actually beating out of your chest, pounding so hard now you were sure chris could see it under your ribcage. “you actually just miss me?” you ask in disbelief. he nods again, nervously playing with his fingers. “yes,” he admits. “can you just forgive me and we move on?”

you narrow your eyes at him, mulling over his words carefully. “no,” you say flatly. “what?!” chris sputtered, holding his hands out in annoyance. “what else do you fucking want?! I was wrong, i’m standing here in front of you admitting my faults, I don’t know what the fuck else you could actually want from me!” he’s beyond frustrated now, ready to give up and walk out.

you tilt your head, keeping eye contact with him as a small smirk appears on your lips.

“I want you to admit you’re in love with me.”

chris’s chin tucks into his chest, head shaking as he processes what you just said. “you what?” he questioned, taken aback by your request.

“you heard me,” you respond sassily. “there is no way the only reason you’re here is because you miss me. you said it yourself, you want all the little things back. when was the last time you just wanted to be around a girl?” you take a step closer to chris, your eyes locked on each other’s as you reduced the space between your bodies.

“I don’t fucking know,” chris responds defensively, bumping into the coffee table as he tries to back away. “i’m not-“

“don’t even,” you interrupt. “i’m not in love with you!” chris shouts. “you think i’d be dumb enough to fall in love with a girl that would never love me back? I took a step away for a fucking reason and tried to put my energy in somebody that would actually return my feelings.”

“maybe if you fucking told me what your feelings were I could tell you if I returned them or not,” you groaned, infuriated by his dumb boy-ness and lack of awareness. “don’t,” chris sighs out, his fingers itching to reach out for you. “you don’t get to say shit like that and get my hopes up.”

you reach out and sling your arms around chris’s neck, stepping up so your bodies are pressed against one another. “chris, please let your guard down for fucking once and be honest with me,” you say in a soft tone, staring up into his eyes that are starting to soften, his hard exterior damaged under your gaze. “I can’t,” chris chokes out, his own hands coming up to rest on your waist, pulling you closer. “yes you can,” you coax, threading your fingers gently through the hair on the back of his head.

chris licks his lips slowly and stares down at you, drawing in deep breath after deep breath to try and ground himself, feeling like his heart was going to crawl up his throat. “i’m sorry,” he says softly, shaking his head a bit. “I can’t tell you what you want to hear.” you sigh and drop your head forward to rest on his chest, letting your eyes flutter shut for a moment. “i’m right here,” you tell him. “just let me in, chris.”

he lets out a shaky breath and brings his left hand around to your back, sliding it up under your shirt to feel your skin under his own, his right hand sliding up to your jaw to tilt your head back, allowing him to lean down and press your lips together again, slower this time, like he was trying to savor it.

you relaxed into the kiss, feeling the familiarity seeping back in as your chests pressed together and his hands held you close. “tell me,” you beg quietly against his lips, feeling him pull you closer as you spoke. chris slid his hand around to the back of your head, holding you firmer against him. “shut up,” he breathes, moving his mouth over your cheek and to your jaw, leaving gentle kisses in its wake. “chris, there’s no way i’m the only one feeling like this.”

“you already know how I feel, why do I have to say it out loud?” chris asks, teeth dragging along your skin carefully. “because if you know that I love you, I want you to tell me you love me, too.”

chris pauses his movements, pulling his head away to stare down at you. your head is tilted up to look at him and his hand still rests on the back of your head, gently holding you in place. “you what?”

you swallow thickly, realizing that there’s no backtracking now. you’ve already crossed an irreversible line and had to double down on your words. your next words were whispered softly, but it felt like the sound reverberated through your whole apartment.

“I love you, chris.”

“don’t mess with me, please, I can’t-“

“i’m serious,” you stop him, seeing the look on his face. it was one of pure desperation, almost begging for you to be telling the truth. “i’m in love with you.”

chris releases a shaky breath, one full of nerves and adrenaline. “fuck,” he whispers, leaning back down to slam your lips together again, this kiss full of passion and desire. “say it again,” he begs, voice muffled against your mouth.

“I love you,” you soothe, sliding your hand that didn’t rest in his hair up his chest, feeling his heart racing under your palm. “i’m right here.”

chris snakes his own hands down your body until they reach the backs of your thighs, scooping you up into his arms so your legs wrap around his waist, a small squeal leaving your lips at the sudden movement. he started walking towards your room, using your back to push the door open before taking a few steps to your bed, leaning forward to lay you against it, then keeping his place between your legs to settle above you.

“are you serious?” he asks, needing reassurance more than anything. “because if you’re fucking with me, I swear to god i’ll-“

“can you stop freaking out?” you ask, reaching a hand up to cover his mouth. “do you want me to be in love with you or not?” you raise your eyebrows up at him, your expression clearly saying ‘well?’

“yes,” chris rasps, nodding his head and pulling away a bit more to take in more of your figure. “yeah, more than anything.” you nod in response, reaching up to grab his shoulders to pull him back down towards you. “okay, well then if you can’t say it back, at least fuck me like you love me.”

“yeah, okay. I can do that.”

you’re laying under the covers, body pressed up against chris in every way possible; your head on his shoulder, arm over his stomach, leg draped over his, both of you relaxing into your post sex bliss. you didn’t even know how long you’ve been in your bedroom, too exhausted to keep track of time.

“chris?” you say softly, breaking the silence. he hums quietly to let you know he’s listening as his fingers trail up and down your back gently. “why are you so against relationships?”

chris pauses his movements for a split second, not expecting you to ask a question so deep. “uhh,” he starts awkwardly. “I don’t know.” you push yourself up on your elbow at his answer, staring down at him inquisitively. he reaches forward and gently moves some hair off of your shoulder, eyes trailing over your naked frame in admiration. “you definitely know,” you push.

he sighs and meets your gaze again, knowing that you weren’t going to drop the subject. “of course I know, but… it’s not exactly the most fun conversation to have in bed with the hottest girl i’ve ever met.” you shake your head and gently tap his nose. “you’re not getting out of this with compliments!” you tell him determinedly.

“alright, alright,” chris caves, shifting a bit underneath the covers. “my parents got divorced when I was really young and it really messed with my brothers and I but especially me. I was so dependent on being around my brothers at that time and my parents couldn’t even be in the same room without arguing so they never had a set schedule for who would have which kid and when. there would be days at a time that I would only see matt or nick while I was at school because they were at my dad’s house and I was at my mom’s. I hated being separated from them and I always blamed my parents. I blamed their relationship and their lack of commitment and lack of trying. in our eyes, it looked like they just gave up one day. when you’re a kid and you see love seemingly just disappear overnight, it doesn’t put the best taste in your mouth, so, I was like… eight years old when I decided I never wanted to love anybody.”

as chris speaks, you run your hand over his body gently, wherever you could reach; his chest, his collarbones, over his cheek, pushing hair out of his face gently, gazing down at him attentively to let him know you were listening. “that’s a big commitment when you’re that young,” you say gently, and he nods, pursing his lips and avoiding your gaze. “yeah, but… it’s worked.”

“has it?” you question hopefully, tilting his head towards you, his eyes flicking up to meet yours apprehensively. “can we not talk about my feelings?” chris asks, turning on his side to face you, his arm wrapping around your waist tightly. “it’s bad enough talking about my shitty upbringing, I just want to lay here and look at your pretty face.”

your cheeks burn red as his body pushes you onto your back again, hair splayed out on your pillow as he hovers above you. “i’m so lucky,” chris hums, dipping his face down to latch his lips to your chest, pressing gentle kisses on your skin as he moves the blanket off of you. “you’re not lucky yet, chris. you haven’t locked anything down,” you tease, trying to ignore the goosebumps forming on your skin. “shut the fuck up, you’re mine and you know it.” chris grumbles, tightening his grip on your waist.

“yeah, yeah, whatever, bitch. why don’t you put that mouth to better use and eat me out?” chris pulls his head away from your body to stare down at you with wide eyes. “you’re lucky you’re hot or I would smack your bitch ass,” he tells you, but despite his words starts moving down the bed, settling himself between your spread legs. “good boy,” you tease, patting his head gently.

chris grips your thighs tightly and pushes them further apart, sinking his teeth into the fleshy skin, eliciting a small whine from you.

“ouch!” you pout, grabbing onto his hair and trying to pull him away, but he stays put, sucking a dark, purple mark into your thigh. when he’s done, he pulls away and smiles at his work, then looks back up at you where you’re watching him with a longing expression. “see?” he says proudly.

“all mine.”

a/n: don’t get excited and think this is over, yall. they are toxic after all.

fwb!chris masterlist

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @rafesapprentice @045696 @scorpioosworld @byhrxb @vickytaa @taelovesmattsturniolo @secret-sturniolo @theboredknightcat-blog @slvtf0rchr1s @gabri3la-sturns @delilahsturniolo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @vanillsstuff @sturnlsstuff @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @mattsbratt333 @mattsfavoritestar @dominicfikeenthusiast @certified-sturniolo @mattsside @sofiaaguilaxx @idrk2292 @dylansfavwife @sturnl0ve @sturnioloangelxoxo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @milasturniolo @mattsdillion @birkinbratsworld @aria003 @poppingmypussy4chris @annsx03 @ouchywow @pasteldreams @sweetshuga @pip4444chris @chriss-slut @yourebeautifulqueen @watercolorskyy @courta13 @craftycrafter26 @meg4-matt44 @colorthecosmos444

[davinawritings]

His Pretty Girl

Hello! This is a commission for one of my Werewolf's Mate members on Patreon! I hope you enjoy!

Request: Male hybrid cat x female reader. I want to have the guy to be mostly humanoid. So like cat ears and tails or whatever else comes to mind. Just like no like full on cat head or paws. And I want him to be a yandere. Reader- shy and introverted. Other than that you have full creative freedom.

Pairing: Male Cat Hybrid X Fem Reader

Summary: Simon quickly became your best friend but he wants more. He wants you to belong to him and only him and is willing to do anything to have you. He has waited long enough so he finally puts his plans into action to make sure you are all his.

Word Count: 2,547

Warnings: Yandere, Manipulation, Smut, Creampie, Very Brief Talk Of Oral

Simon had become attached to you from your very first meeting at freshman orientation. In his eyes, both of you choosing the same college had to be fate. He adored how shy you were when he first approached you to introduce himself. The way you gave him a soft smile but could barely meet his eyes when he spoke to you just made him want to wrap you up in his arms and never let go.

While you both became best friends fast, he knew he needed more. Simon wants you to be his completely, mind, body, and soul. He wants you to want him and need him more than anyone. You are so perfect for him—so sweet, shy, and beautiful. He has spent the last two years becoming inseparable from you, but now it is time for more. He needs you to be entirely his. 

His first step brings him to now, with you crying in his apartment. He knew it was wrong to alienate you from all of your childhood friends, but he needs to be the most important person in your life. He’s not happy that it’s causing you pain, but it is necessary for your future together. 

You lay against his chest while he reclines on his couch, sobs escaping your soft lips as you cling to him. His pointed ears twitch at the sound of your sadness, gently purring to try and calm you down. His tail stays wrapped around your plush thigh firmly as a comforting gesture. He lets you release all your built-up feelings, his large hands rubbing up and down your back.

You had come over about an hour ago, tears already pouring down your cheeks. It didn’t take him long to pry the reason out of you between sobs and gasping breaths. You had been texting your friends back home, but they all seemed to be icing you out. None of them would respond to your messages. You had no idea why they would suddenly stop speaking to you, but Simon knew why. 

Two weeks ago, when you slept at his place, he had gone into your contacts and blocked all of your friends. He knew it would hurt you, but he would make sure that he stepped up and showed you that he was the only person you needed. He was ready to do anything for you and be the only person you needed. So he kept you in his arms and cooed soft words in your ears about how amazing you are. 

His words are comforting and calming as he reassures, “I know, darling. It’s okay. Let all your tears out. I’m not sure why they won’t talk to you, but you did nothing wrong, pretty girl. I’m here for you. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll never leave you like they did, darling. You will always have me”. He smiles as your sobs finally start calming, happy with the way you are clinging to him.

He waits a few more weeks before making his next move. He waits until Tuesday night when you close the small bookstore where you work. All your coworkers take one night each week to take the closing shift, making it fair for everyone. Simon waits and watches while you do all the closing duties. He makes sure to stay hidden as you lock the door and start going to your car, ready to go home for the night.

He waits a few extra minutes to be safe before walking up to the door and opening it. Last week, he made an imprint of your work keys, the one for the shop’s front door and the key for your locker. He quickly had copies made, and now he had access to everything. He moves around, trashing the entire store, ripping pages out of books, and knocking over the shelves. Simon then moves to the register, smashing it with a large book. He quickly takes out all the cash before dumping the coins all over the floor, making an even bigger mess.

He makes sure not to harm or break the door, leaving it untouched and unlocked as he makes his way out of the store. He quickly stops at the local grocery store and picks up some of your favorite comfort foods, knowing you will need them tomorrow. 

Wednesday evening rolls around, and Simon is waiting for you to arrive. Your shift should have started at two and ended at seven, but he is sure you will be in his apartment before then. He is proven correct when he hears his apartment door open, and you come running to him. The tears are already falling as you cling to him. He runs his hands through your hair in a soothing manner, asking gently, “What happened, pretty girl?”

You sniffle and explain, “I got fired Simon. Som-Someone broke into the bookstore last night. They ruined all the books and stole the money in the register”. You take a deep breath, and he uses the opportunity to ask, “Why would you get fired for someone breaking in? That isn’t your fault”. 

You release a sob and explain, “They said I left the door unlocked and that’s how the person broke in. I tried to tell them that I know I locked it but they wouldn’t belie- believe me. They said the lock wasn’t broken, and none of the windows were broken, so I must have left it unlocked. I swear I didn’t, Simon. I always make sure to lock up on my night. Now they fired me, and I don’t have a job, and I only have a couple of months’ worth of rent in my savings, so I need to find a new job within the next few weeks- and I… I…”.

Simon purrs softly and pulls you closer to his chest to calm you as your sobs begin breaking up your words again. “Everything will be okay, pretty girl. You don’t need that job anyway. I can help take care of anything you need until you get back on your feet”, he says, his tail rubbing up and down your leg affectionately. 

Your hand wraps around the back of his neck, and you cling to him even more, whispering out a “Thank you” as he puts your mind at ease. He places a kiss on your forehead before saying, “Go ahead and get comfortable on the couch. I’ll grab some snacks, and we can have a movie night”. You give a slight sniffle before giving him a shy smile, reaching up to place a kiss on his cheek before running off to his couch to get comfortable. He smiles as he watches you run off, his cock twitching in excitement, almost as if it knows how much closer he is to claiming you completely. 

He only waits a few days before acting on the third part of his plan. He knocks on your landlord’s door, an unmarked folder in his hands. Your sleazy landlord opens the door, but Simon cuts him off before he even has a chance to speak. “Listen, here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to double the rent for the woman in apartment 2C. You tell her the new price starts immediately, and she has to pay or get out by the end of the month, which is in exactly three days. If you don’t do that, I will send copies of these photos to the cops”.

Simon doesn’t hesitate to pull out several photos of your landlord dealing drugs outside your apartment building. He watches the landlord’s eyes go wide as he flips through photo after photo, each showing clear photo evidence of his crimes. His voice wobbles as he asks, “So I kick the girl outta 2C, and you swear these photos disappear?”. Simon gives a simple nod, which is enough for the landlord to agree. Now, all Simon needs to do is wait; luckily, he doesn’t have to wait long. 

That evening, you come crying into Simons’s apartment, practically collapsing in his arms. Tears flow freely once more as you lean on the only person you have in the world. He pulls you onto the couch once again, keeping you wrapped tight in his arms. He releases soft purrs to calm you as you explain you have to be out of your apartment in three days because your landlord raised your rent. Your tears come faster as you begin panicking. 

His ears twitch slightly as your cries pull at his heart. His voice is soft as he says, “Don’t worry, your pretty little head. You can live here with me. I’ll take care of you”. He has to physically bite the inside of his lip as you stare up at him with glossy eyes, a look of love and adoration on your face. 

You calm your breathing slightly before asking, “Are you sure, Si? It doesn’t seem fair for me to just move in with you. I only have a little bit of money in my savings, so I can’t pay you much for rent, and I don’t even have a new job yet.” 

He affectionately strokes your cheek as his tail moves to wrap around your upper thigh, its favorite place to be. He gives you an innocent smile and replies, “Of course, I’m sure. Haven’t you realized that I love you more than anything in the world, pretty girl? No one loves you as much as I do. Plus, now we get to spend all our time together. It will be even better. I don’t want you to worry anymore, okay? I can and will take care of my favorite girl”.

This time, he can’t suppress his grin as you nuzzle your face into his neck, curling your body into his own as much as possible. Simon lets his hands roam up and down your back, happy you don’t stop him when his hands roam lower than they ever have.

He can already feel his cock hardening as you say, “Thank you so much, Simon. I really can’t express how grateful I am to have you in my life. When everything goes wrong, you are always there to take care of me”. Simon pulls you closer, once again promising to always be there for you. 

Over the next few days, Simon helps you move into his home, insisting that you both share one bed. He makes sure to cater to all your needs and make you feel loved and safe. He’s overjoyed when you genuinely seem to only focus on him. No more plans with other people, no more leaving him for hours to go to work, and no more interrupting phone calls from childhood friends and family. 

He lets you adjust for the first few weeks in his home, but he quickly grows impatient. The need to make you his completely is building with each day. As you both lie in bed, he finally decides to put his last plan into place tonight. 

The moon is high in the sky as he shifts around in his spot on the bed, occasionally letting little sighs escape him. It doesn’t take long for you to ask what’s wrong. Simon puts on his best-embarrassed face and tells you, “It’s nothing. Just get some rest. I’m okay”. 

His cock hardens as you shift closer to him, placing one of your hands on his chest and pleading, “Please tell me, Si.” He pretends to be embarrassed again as he tells you, “It’s just that you are so pretty, and having you in my bed… well, it just kind of got me a little… you know… worked up”.

He can see when you piece together what he is trying to say. He watches, slightly amused, as you become his sweet, shy girl again. He knows his pretty girl is too nice to leave him to solve his problem by himself, especially after all the recent events. 

Simon can feel his tip leaking precum as you say, “I can help if you want.” He pretends to be nervous, telling you you don’t have to. You immediately say, “I want to help. Si, you have been so good to me, especially these last few weeks. It’s my turn to help take care of you. Please let me take care of you”.

He nods and can’t hide his eagerness as he quickly slots himself between your soft thighs. Tomorrow he will spend hours worshiping your body and licking your cunt, but right now, all he wants is to feel you wrapped around his throbbing cock. He strips you both of your clothes as fast as he can, needing to feel your skin against his own. 

His tail caresses your upper thigh, causing you to shiver. He grins at the sight, knowing just how much fun he’ll have teasing your body every day. He pushes your legs up, placing your legs over his chest. Grabbing his cock in his right hand, he rubs it along your puffy slit, making sure to tap the head on your clit. Precum drips from his tip as you release little mewls and whimpers. 

Your slick starts to coat his cock as he continues rutting against you, his cock sliding between your lips. He continues until you beg for more. Your begging is like music to his ears, hearing how much you need and want him. He lines up with your weeping cunt, taking a moment to admire the sight and tell you how beautiful you look like this. 

With one hard thrust, he enters your tight pussy, finally feeling you wrapped around him where you belong. Whimpers and moans fall from your lips as he sets a slow but hard pace. He wants you to feel every inch of his cock, every ridge and vein. He leans down, kissing you with a burning passion. His tongue caresses your own, and he groans in delight. Your legs press to your chest, and you are at his mercy. He grins as he feels your cunt start fluttering around his length. 

Simon’s thrusts slowly pick up speed as he gets closer to his own high. Your nails dig into his skin and leave little crescent-shaped marks as you arch your back and cry out. Your pussy clenches down on his cock hard and triggers his release. He moans as he feels rope after rope of cum filling you up. He keeps thrusting despite the overstimulation, wanting to fuck his cum deeper inside you. 

He slows to a stop and takes a moment for you both to catch your breath. He reluctantly pulls out, smiling softly at your little whine. He kisses your lips briefly before saying, “It’s okay, pretty girl. I’m just going to get you cleaned up. I’ll be right back”. 

He makes quick work of walking to the restroom and wetting a washcloth. He returns and gently wipes you clean before wiping himself and tossing the rag into the hamper. He climbs back into the bed and pulls you into his chest. He purrs quietly as you curl into him, already dozing off. 

Simon finally feels at peace, knowing his pretty girl is all his. There’s nothing that will ever take you from him now.

[heeluvv]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ᡣ𐭩

pairing ‹𝟹 shy! sim jaeyun x reader

genre ‹𝟹 smut

warnings ‹𝟹 blowjob, sub! jake, praise kink, overstimulation, etc.

natty's notes ‹𝟹 mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

the first time you find one, it’s slipped between the pages of your notebook, tucked so carefully that it could have easily gone unnoticed. a small, folded piece of paper, slightly crinkled at the edges, as if whoever wrote it had second-guessed themselves a dozen times before finally mustering the courage to leave it there.

your fingers tremble slightly as you unfold it.

"you look really nice today."

it’s not signed. there’s nothing to indicate who wrote it, no distinctive handwriting that you can immediately recognize. just a simple, almost shy admission written in neat, slanted script.

you glance around the room, scanning the faces of your classmates, wondering who might be watching, waiting for your reaction. but no one meets your gaze. no one looks even remotely suspicious.

it becomes a pattern after that.

every few days, another note appears. in your locker, slipped into the pocket of your bag, between the pages of your textbook. always handwritten, always short, always unsigned.

"the way you laugh makes my whole day better."

"i wish I had the courage to talk to you."

"you’re beautiful in ways i can’t put into words."

the anonymity should make you uneasy, but it doesn’t. there’s something so earnest about them, so completely genuine, that all you feel is warmth spreading through your chest each time you find a new one.

and then, you start to notice.

the way jake stares a little too long when he thinks you aren’t looking. the way he fidgets with the sleeves of his hoodie whenever you walk into the room. the way his face turns an unmistakable shade of red if you so much as smile in his direction.

jake, who barely speaks to you, who stumbles over his words whenever you ask him a question, who always seems to be lingering near but never quite close enough.

jake, whose handwriting—now that you’re paying attention—looks an awful lot like the one on the notes you’ve been collecting.

the realization sends your heart racing. you don’t say anything at first, don’t confront him, don’t let on that you might know. instead, you watch. you notice the way his hands twitch as if resisting the urge to reach for something, the way he swallows hard when your fingers graze his as you both reach for the same book.

one day, you decide to test your theory.

you wait until class ends, until the hallway is mostly empty, until you see jake stuffing his books into his bag, his movements tense and deliberate. with a deep breath, you step closer, your fingers brushing the edge of his desk as you pass by.

“you know,” you say softly, just loud enough for him to hear, “whoever’s been leaving me those notes… i hope they know i’d really like to meet them.”

his hands freeze, his grip tightening on the strap of his bag. slowly, he lifts his head, and for the first time, you watch as an entire storm of emotions flickers across his face—panic, hope, something dangerously close to longing.

you let out a soft chuckle, the sound light and teasing, as you slowly made your way around his desk, closing the space between you with an easy confidence. now standing directly in front of him, you could see it clearly—the way his fingers tightened around the strap of his bag, knuckles paling as if holding on for dear life. his posture was stiff, his breath unsteady, and his eyes, wide with something between panic and anticipation, flickered up to meet yours. he looked like a deer caught in headlights, caught red-handed, though for once, it was in the best way possible.

your gaze drops briefly to the bag clutched in his hands, the very thing that exposed him, the very thing that gave away the thoughts he had so carefully tucked away in ink and paper. you tilt your head slightly, amusement dancing in your eyes as you shift your focus back to him.

"i love the way you write about me, jakey..." you murmur, voice soft but laced with something undeniably knowing, undeniably intoxicating. the new nickname rolls off your tongue so smoothly, so naturally, as if it’s always belonged to you. you watch the way his breath stutters, the way his grip on the bag falters for just a fraction of a second before tightening again, as if he’s unsure whether to pull it closer or let it slip from his grasp entirely.

you reach out with slow, deliberate movements, fingers barely brushing against his skin as you push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. the metal frames are cool under your touch, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from his flushed face. you don’t miss the way he tenses at the contact, his breath hitching, his shoulders going rigid as if the mere proximity of your hand is enough to unravel him.

the moment lingers, thick with something unspoken, something heavy. his wide, nervous eyes flicker between yours, unsure of where to look, unsure of what to do with himself. and maybe it’s that uncertainty, that helplessness, that makes your stomach tighten, makes heat coil low in your abdomen. because he’s so easy to tease, so easy to break down with just the right touch, just the right words.

your hand remains close, the space between you nearly nonexistent now, your face mere inches from his. he smells good—clean, warm, faint traces of something familiar that only makes you want to lean in even further. your lips curl into something wicked, something teasing, as you let out a soft hum, watching the way he swallows thickly, his fingers twitching slightly where they rest against his lap, as if unsure whether to move or stay perfectly still.

"what's wrong, jakey?" you purr, voice dripping with amusement, with mock concern. your tone is light, playful, but your eyes say something else entirely—something darker, something knowing. you drink in his reaction, how he squirms under your gaze, how he shifts slightly in his seat as if trying to escape the intensity of the moment.

and god, you love it. love the way he looks at you, love the way he stammers, love the way he seems so completely at your mercy. it’s intoxicating, so much so that you feel the heat pooling between your legs, a slow, aching throb that only grows the longer you watch him squirm.

your fingers find their way into his hair, burying themselves in the soft, fluffy strands as if they belong there, as if they were always meant to tangle and twist in the dark locks. you take your time, twirling the strands lazily around your fingers, feeling their silky texture between each gentle tug. the motion is slow, deliberate, almost hypnotic, and yet, it’s nothing compared to the way your eyes never leave his.

he’s frozen, wide-eyed and breathless, his lips parting slightly as if he wants to say something—anything—but the words never come. maybe it’s because your touch is too much, too intimate, too intoxicating. or maybe it’s the way you tilt your head slightly, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips as you lean in just enough for your breath to fan against his flushed skin.

"you want me, jakey?" you murmur, voice dripping with a teasing lilt, each syllable slow, savoring the moment. you don’t need his answer—you already know. it’s written all over him, from the way his body tenses beneath your touch to the way his fingers curl helplessly against his thighs, unsure whether to grab onto something or keep trembling in place.

your lips ghost over his cheek, barely grazing the flushed skin before dragging toward his ear, slow and torturous. the warmth of your breath sends a visible shiver down his spine, and when you finally let your lips brush against the sensitive shell of his ear, it’s like he completely unravels.

a soft, broken whimper escapes him, followed by a quiet, shuddering breath as his body betrays him, squirming, pressing further into his seat as if trying to ground himself. his grip tightens against the fabric of his pants, knuckles white, every muscle in his body strained as he struggles to maintain some semblance of composure.

but it’s useless—you can feel it, see it, the way he’s already falling apart from something as simple as your touch, your voice, your lips barely even touching him. and god, you love it. you love the way he melts under you, love the way he reacts, so sweet, so helpless. it only makes you want to push further, to see just how much more he can take before he completely breaks.

"please... please..." he whimpered, voice trembling, thick with desperation. his breath hitched as his hips instinctively bucked, the fabric of his pants doing little to hide the way his cock twitched, aching for attention—aching for you. he was restless, every muscle in his body coiled tight with anticipation, needing more, needing anything you were willing to give him.

"hmm, you've been such a good boy, jakey..." you cooed, voice dripping with sweet amusement as you let your fingertips trace lightly over his clothed thighs, feeling the tension beneath them. with a slow, deliberate movement, you gripped the arms of his chair and pushed it back, creating just enough space for you to sink down onto your knees before him. the sight of him like this—eyes glassy with lust, lips parted, breath shaky—only fueled your desire to tease him even further.

your hands roamed, starting at his thighs, kneading the firm muscle beneath your palms before sliding up, up, towards his waist. you could feel the heat radiating from him, his body reacting to your every touch. with a slow, torturous motion, you let your fingers ghost back down, stopping just before where he needed you most. his breath came out in shallow pants, his fingers gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"you want this really bad, jakey?" you murmured, voice low, sultry, teasing as your gaze dropped to the straining bulge in his pants. he let out a desperate little whine, shifting in his seat as though that might somehow alleviate the throbbing ache between his legs. his need was palpable, his body screaming for you even when his words failed him.

your fingers trailed up to his zipper, slow and deliberate, the sound of metal teeth parting filling the air as you dragged it down with agonizing ease. his breath hitched, body tensing beneath your touch, every fiber of his being reacting to the way your fingers brushed against him—light, teasing, knowing.

his thighs twitched, his hips shifting as he tried to hold himself still, but the anticipation was too much, too overwhelming. he squirmed, his breath coming out in broken, needy gasps, chest rising and falling rapidly as you took your time, relishing the way he unraveled right in front of you.

"please... y/n..." he whimpered, voice strained, thick with desperation. the sound sent a thrill down your spine, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the way his resolve was crumbling, piece by piece. he was so vulnerable like this—so beautifully, helplessly desperate for your touch.

your hands moved with a teasing slowness as you hooked your fingers around the waistband of his pants, dragging them down inch by inch. the fabric clung to him, as if even his clothes refused to part with the heat radiating off his body. you could feel how tense he was, how his muscles flexed beneath your fingertips, his thighs trembling ever so slightly as you peeled away the final barrier keeping him from you.

his boxers slipped down in the same motion, and the moment they were low enough, his cock sprang free, slapping back against his abdomen with a soft, almost lewd sound. the sight alone made your breath catch—so hard, so flushed, twitching with every tiny movement, as if aching for any kind of relief.

a choked moan escaped his lips, his head tipping back against the chair, fingers digging into the chair as he tried to ground himself against the intensity of it all. he was completely exposed to you now, vulnerable and needy, his entire body betraying just how badly he wanted this—wanted you.

your fingers wrapped around his length, warmth radiating from him, his skin burning hot beneath your touch. the moment you made contact, a sharp gasp tore through his lips, followed by a broken whine that sent shivers straight down your spine. he was already so worked up, so desperate—his cock twitching in your grip, thick beads of precum spilling from the swollen tip, trailing down in glistening strands. the sight alone made your mouth water, the way it throbbed, the way his body reacted to even the slightest touch.

his hands flew back, fingers gripping onto the edge of the desk behind him, knuckles turning white as he tried to ground himself. his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his lips parting as more sounds spilled from him—needy, unfiltered, shameless moans that only made your desire to ruin him even stronger.

"f-fuck... y/n..." he whimpered, voice cracking, hips instinctively bucking up into your hand, chasing even the slightest bit of friction.

your grip tightened just a little, testing, teasing, watching as his whole body tensed at the sensation. you started slow, agonizingly slow, your fingers stroking him in soft, deliberate movements, dragging up from the base, squeezing lightly just under the tip before gliding back down. each stroke had him gasping, his thighs trembling on either side of you, his entire body completely at your mercy.

"so fucking big, jakey..." you murmured, voice laced with both admiration and teasing, your thumb circling the tip, spreading the precum that dripped so generously from him.

his head tipped back against the chair, mouth falling open as a deep, shaky moan left him. he looked so wrecked already, so beautifully desperate, his body betraying just how much he wanted—no, needed—your touch.

your hands moved faster now, each stroke slick and effortless, his cock completely coated in his own precum, the lewd wet sounds of it filling the space between you. the way it dripped down, pooling at the base, only fueled the heat simmering in your core, making you tighten your grip just enough to make him shudder.

"y/n—!.." he choked out, voice breaking into a desperate whine as his head fell back against the chair, exposing the long column of his throat. his eyes screwed shut, lips parted, breath coming out in sharp, uneven pants, his whole body trembling beneath your touch. his fingers clawed at the desk behind him, gripping the edge like it was the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart.

"you're doing so good, baby... fuck..." you purred, voice thick with hunger, your eyes drinking in every little detail—the way his brows knitted together in pleasure, the way his muscles tensed with every stroke, the way his thighs quivered on either side of you, completely at your mercy.

but what really drove you insane was the way he whined for more, how his body instinctively chased your touch, his hips stuttering forward despite how hard he tried to keep still. you could feel him twitch in your palm, his need growing, his body on the verge of breaking under the intensity of it all.

his hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, the flushed color of his cheeks making him look so utterly wrecked, so beautiful like this—falling apart for you, because of you.

your tongue flicked out, barely ghosting over his swollen tip before pressing flat against it, collecting the thick beads of precum that had pooled there. the taste was intoxicating—warm, slightly salty, completely addictive—and you let out a soft hum of satisfaction as you savored it. the moment your tongue made contact, a loud, broken moan ripped from his throat, his hips jerking up involuntarily, as if his body was begging for more before his mind could even catch up.

his thighs trembled beneath your touch, muscles flexing as you dragged your tongue down the underside of his length, tracing along the prominent vein that pulsed with every rapid beat of his heart. slow, deliberate, teasing. you took your time, savoring the way his cock twitched in response to every flick of your tongue, every wet kiss you left against his burning skin. when you reached the base, you pressed your lips there, sucking lightly before dragging your tongue back up, tracing the same path until you reached the tip once more.

without warning, you took him into your mouth, the heat of it enveloping his sensitive tip as your lips wrapped around him. his reaction was immediate—a sharp gasp, followed by a low, shuddering moan as his hands instinctively shot to the desk behind him, fingers curling around the edge like he was trying to keep himself grounded.

your tongue swirled around his tip as you sucked, hollowing your cheeks, creating just the right amount of pressure to have him unraveling beneath you. your hands weren’t idle either—one gripped the base of his cock, stroking in tandem with the rhythm of your mouth, while the other pressed against his thigh, feeling the way it tensed under your touch.

"shit, shit, shit—y/n!" he gasped, voice high and desperate, his entire body shaking. "too much… please!"

but even as he begged, his hips twitched forward, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to pull away or push deeper into your warmth. his body was betraying him, chasing the pleasure even as his mind tried to resist, and you loved every second of it.

his glasses slipped from his face, tumbling onto the floor with a soft clatter, but he couldn’t bring himself to care—not when his entire body was shaking, overwhelmed by the unbearable heat coiling in his stomach, the tight knot threatening to snap at any moment. his breath came out in ragged, uneven pants, chest rising and falling rapidly as he teetered on the very edge, his thighs trembling beneath your touch.

"fuck… fuck…" his voice was wrecked, breaking apart with every syllable, barely able to form the words through the waves of pleasure crashing over him. "y/n, can i cum? please… c-can i—i?" he whined, his voice raw with desperation, his body completely at your mercy. small, glistening tears slipped down his flushed cheeks, his brows knitted together as he looked down at you, his eyes glassy, pleading.

the second you gave him a nod, the smallest signal of permission, his control shattered entirely.

his head tipped back, his lips parting in a loud, unrestrained moan as his body seized, completely undone beneath your touch. your hands moved even faster, stroking him with a relentless pace, and at the same time, you took him deeper into your mouth, feeling his cock twitch violently against your tongue.

"ah—ahh, fuck—!"

his entire body tensed as pleasure crashed through him like a tidal wave, his hands scrambling for anything to hold onto as his release hit him with overwhelming force.

hot, thick ropes of cum filled your mouth in an instant, the sheer amount catching you off guard as you tried to swallow, a few soft coughs escaping you as you struggled to take it all. he was gasping above you, moaning brokenly, completely spent, his body still shaking as aftershocks coursed through him.

his glasses lay forgotten on the floor, his mind hazy, clouded with pleasure. the only thing grounding him now was you—your touch, your warmth, the way you were still there, taking everything he gave you.

after finally catching your breath, you lifted your gaze to meet his, watching the way his dazed, unfocused eyes struggled to stay open. his chest rose and fell in rapid, uneven breaths, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his release. he looked completely wrecked—his hair damp with sweat, sticking messily to his forehead, his lips parted as he tried to steady himself.

but you weren’t done with him yet.

no, you wanted him to remember this for the rest of his life.

your fingers wrapped around his length once more, feeling how sensitive he had become, the way he twitched helplessly in your grasp. the second you moved, stroking him with slow, deliberate motions, a broken whimper tore from his throat. his whole body jolted, thighs quivering as the overstimulation sent sharp jolts of pleasure straight through him.

"w-wait, i—" his voice was barely coherent, breathy and wrecked, his head lolling to the side as he tried to process what was happening. but you didn’t give him a chance to recover, didn’t give him room to protest.

without hesitation, you leaned in and took him into your mouth once more, swallowing him down in one fluid motion until his tip nudged the back of your throat. his reaction was immediate—his body tensed so violently that his hands scrambled for something, anything to hold onto.

"ah—fuck, y/n—!" he cried out, a high, desperate moan ripping through him, his hands gripping at the desk behind him as his body writhed under your touch. he was so sensitive, every nerve in his body on fire, overwhelmed by the unbearable pleasure of being overstimulated.

his thighs tensed beneath your hands, his hips jerking up instinctively despite the way he shook uncontrollably. tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, his lips trembling as he tried to form words, tried to beg—but nothing coherent came out, only broken whimpers and desperate gasps.

you could feel him throbbing against your tongue, his body completely at your mercy, and it only made you want to push him further—to drag him past his limits, make him drown in pleasure until he couldn’t think of anything else but you.

and by the way his body continued to tremble, the way his voice cracked as he moaned your name, you knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

and you loved every second of it.

"y/n! i—i can't!" he cried out, voice cracking under the weight of overwhelming pleasure. his words came out breathless, barely coherent between the sharp, desperate gasps that spilled from his lips. his body trembled violently, his back arching slightly as he writhed beneath your touch, every nerve in his body on fire.

but his pleas only fueled you further, only made you more determined to push him past his breaking point, to make him feel nothing but you.

his moans grew louder, more broken, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe through the overstimulation. his hands clawed at the surface behind him, fingers curling into helpless fists, unsure whether to push you away or pull you closer. his thighs quivered beneath your grip, his entire body fighting against the pleasure that was consuming him whole.

"p-please, too much—" he whined, voice high-pitched, almost desperate, but you could feel how his cock twitched in your mouth, how his body betrayed him despite his pleas.

you weren’t stopping. not when he was falling apart so beautifully for you.

the more he gasped, the more he moaned, the more you wanted to ruin him completely, to make sure he would never forget the way you made him feel tonight. and by the way he trembled, the way he clung to anything that could ground him, you knew he was close—so close to breaking, so close to surrendering entirely to you.

"shit! oh my god—y/n!" he screamed, his voice breaking into a desperate, uncontrollable sob of pleasure as his entire body convulsed beneath you.

his back arched off the chair, his thighs trembling so violently that he nearly lost his footing, hands flying to grip the desk behind him in a feeble attempt to ground himself. but it was useless—he was far too gone, drowning in the unbearable intensity of his release, completely at your mercy as pleasure wracked through him like a powerful, unrelenting wave.

his cock twitched violently in your mouth, and within seconds, he was spilling over once more—hot, thick ropes of cum flooding past your lips, the sheer amount far more than before. some of it trickled down your chin, dripping in sinful streaks as you tried to swallow, but there was just too much.

his moans turned into high, broken cries, the overstimulation sending him spiraling into a place of pure ecstasy, his body shaking so hard that his knees nearly buckled. tears pricked at the corners of his tightly shut eyes, his lips trembling as he gasped for air between moans, his chest rising and falling erratically.

"f-fuck, oh my god," he whimpered, voice raw and strained, his mind completely fogged over with pleasure. his fingers twitched against the desk, his body so spent, so overstimulated, yet still so incredibly sensitive under your touch.

his release dripped from your lips, warm and thick, and you could feel the way he shuddered at the sight, the realization that he had come so hard, so completely wrecked by your hands, your mouth, your touch.

and even as his body trembled, even as he struggled to come down from the high that had just shattered him to pieces, you knew deep down—he still wanted more.

natty's notes ‹𝟹 something new for sure but i just love sub jake so this was a must. hoped you enjoyed!

[luvstappen]

pairing: oscar piastri x fewtrell!reader, lando norris x fewtrell!reader

summary: not even oscar’s birthday party stops lando from stirring up some drama

word count: 1.4k

warnings: swearing, angst, love triangle chaos, oscar suffering in silence

a/n: surprise! here’s the first little bonus chapter from the INTAF series, revealing exactly what happened on the balcony in part 19! hope you like it <3

masterlist

Oscar wasn’t the type to enjoy big parties. You knew that better than anyone else.

He could be charming when needed, of course. The polite smiles, the quiet nods, the well-timed remarks that made people think he was more engaged than he actually was. He was good at it. But you also knew that none of it came naturally. That socialising in rooms like these drained him in a way racing never did.

And tonight was no different.

His team had put this party together, and while the gesture was nice, it wasn’t for him. It was for the sponsors, the PR, the endless parade of people who wanted a piece of him now. Oscar wasn’t the type to demand attention, and this was the exact kind of thing he’d never choose for himself.

And yet here he was, stuck in the thick of it, listening to someone ramble about something that, judging by the slightly glazed-over look in his eyes, he couldn’t have cared less about. His expression was neutral, but you recognized the subtle signs of discomfort—the slightly tightened jaw, the way his fingers fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve.

You were different from him in that way. Where Oscar preferred to blend in, you thrived in crowds. You could talk to anyone about anything. You never shied away from the attention.

And if you were here, standing next to him, he wouldn’t feel like he was fucking suffocating. But you weren’t. Instead, you were across the room, laughing at a joke someone had said, completely at ease.

Then, as if he could feel your gaze on him, his eyes flicked across the room and landed on you. For the briefest moment, something in his expression softened. A quiet plea.

You grinned at him, excusing yourself from the conversation as you set your drink down and slipped through the crowd. When you finally reached Oscar, you leaned in with a wide smile. “Mind if I steal the birthday boy for a second?”

The woman he’d been speaking to blinked in surprise, caught mid-sentence. “Oh. Sure.”

Oscar didn’t hesitate. Relief flashed across his face as he turned to you, already stepping away before she could even finish speaking. You grabbed his wrist, tugging him with you as you led him toward the balcony.

“You looked like you were about to die over there.”

“I think I was,” he admitted with a quiet chuckle.

The moment you stepped outside, the cool air hit you, sharp and refreshing. The night was calm and peaceful, the distant hum of music and chatter fading behind the glass door.

You leaned against the railing, closing your eyes briefly as you let the fresh air clear your head. “Better?” you asked, glancing at him.

Oscar didn’t answer immediately. He took a deep breath as he watched you, illuminated by the city lights.

Then, without warning, he stepped closer and hugged you.

This caught you off guard. Not because Oscar never hugged you, but because this felt different. Longer. A little tighter. Like he just needed it.

Your stomach flipped.

“Osc?” you murmured, surprised.

He exhaled softly. “Just... thanks for coming.”

Something in the way he said it made your chest ache. You blinked, taken aback, but slowly wrapped your arms around him, letting your chin rest on his shoulder.

“Of course I came,” you said, voice quieter now. “You know that.”

"I know," he murmured, pulling back slightly.

His hands lingered on your shoulders as his gaze searched yours.

“It just means a lot to me.” He smiled softly. “You mean a lot to me.”

Your breath hitched. Oscar wasn’t usually this effusive, so his words took you by surprise. He must’ve had a couple of drinks, surely.

Before you could say anything, the sound of a door opening behind you made you both turn.

“Am I interrupting something?” Lando’s light voice sliced through the air.

He leaned against the doorway, hands casually tucked into his pockets, smirking with his usual ease, but you knew him better than that. His eyes were unreadable and sharp, almost reproachful. They flicked between you and Oscar, assessing, calculating.

You stepped back from Oscar too quickly, like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. And Lando noticed.

“No,” you said, too fast. “We were just… talking.”

Beside you, Oscar’s posture had shifted. His hands dropped from your shoulders, his usual composure returning like a well-rehearsed act. “Needed some air,” he added.

Lando hummed, his head tilting just slightly, as if he didn’t quite believe it. “Right,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching up, but that sharp gaze never wavered. “Well, I’m heading back to the hotel. Thought I’d let you know.”

Your chest tightened. “Already?” You hated how careful your voice sounded. How calm you were forcing yourself to be.

Lando shrugged. “Yeah. Long day.”

But his eyes weren’t on you anymore. They were locked on Oscar. A fraction too long.

Oscar, who just stood there, still and silent.

“Happy birthday, mate,” Lando finally said.

Oscar gave him a small nod, lips pressing together. “Thanks.”

Lando hesitated. Just for a second.

Then, he made a deliberate step forward. And another.

His hand clapped lightly on Oscar’s shoulder, friendly, easy. But the way his fingers curled just a little tighter than necessary felt anything but friendly.

And then, just as easily, he turned back to you with a grin. His gaze swept over you, slow, lingering. Considering.

You knew that look very well.

And before you could even react, his fingers, soft and deliberate, brushed against yours.

The contact sent a jolt of electricity up your arm. You stiffened, inhaling sharply as his touch trailed up, brushing over your wrist, before tilting your chin up with the lightest touch of his warm fingertips.

Your breath caught. You knew what was coming. And you should have pulled away.

But you didn’t.

Because this was Lando. And you never could. Resisting him had never been something you were good at.

His lips met yours, soft at first, but there was nothing hesitant about it. And then it deepened, his hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you against him, like he wasn’t just kissing you. As Gigi would say, it was like he was staking a claim. Like he was making a statement.

Your heart pounded, but not just from the kiss. It was the weight of the silence behind you.

And Oscar. Just standing there. Watching.

You should have stopped. Should have pushed him away.

But you didn’t.

And Lando knew it. He knew you wouldn’t.

When he finally pulled back, his lips barely ghosted over yours, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

“See you later,” he murmured, voice low, meant only for you.

Your throat was dry, your mind racing. Because what the fuck was that?

Lando’s gaze flicked to Oscar, just for a second. Long enough to make it clear. To finish his statement.

Then he turned and disappeared back inside, the door clicking shut behind him.

And just like that, the quiet became unbearable.

You couldn’t believe what just happened. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look at Oscar.

He wasn’t looking at you. He was staring at the skyline, hands shoved into his pockets. Not moving. Not speaking. Just standing there.

And something about that hurt more than anything.

You weren’t sure what to say, but the longer the silence stretched, the worse it felt. Finally, you cleared your throat, desperate to break the silence. “Well. That was… um.”

Oscar let out a quiet, breathy chuckle, but it was empty and didn’t really reach his eyes. “Yeah.”

Your fingers curled around the railing. This wasn’t like you. You weren’t someone who struggled for words.

You shifted awkwardly. “I, uh—I should probably—” 

“You don’t have to explain,” he said quickly, finally looking at you. His voice was quiet and carefully even. It pained you.

“It’s not—” He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “It’s none of my business.”

The words landed like a slap.

And for the first time tonight, you finally saw it. A flicker of something in his expression—raw, vulnerable, something that twisted in your chest and made it ache.

Your fingers twitched at your sides before you reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly. “Hey,” you murmured. “You okay?”

Oscar’s lips quivered, as if he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “Yeah.”

Liar.

But you didn’t call him out on it.

[koenigami]

mullet-talk

“so-” he knows something's up. can hear it in your voice. the little lilt in it as you drag the short word, all while playing with the hair on the back of his head.

it’s not that he doesn’t like it. caleb’s craved your touch and warmth long enough, so that every caress of yours feels like a gift sent from heaven itself.

but the way you do it now, with your nails drawing idle shapes along the nape of his neck, twirling the ends of his hair around your fingertips in a way that it sends shivers through his body-

you have something on your mind, and whatever it is, it must have put you in an awfully good mood.

“when's the last time you cut your hair?”

caleb turns his head awkwardly around to look at you, so fast that he feels an uncomfortable twinge in his neck. he’s definitely been spending too much time on writing reports.

what kind of question is that?

he eyes you from head to toe as you sit beside him, all comfortable, looking anything but innocent because he’s known you for far too long to not see right through you. your arm's propped up on the back of the couch as your hand is still very much buried in his hair.

“i'm not sure… maybe around three weeks ago? why you asking, pipsqueak?”

he watches you bite the inside of your cheek as your gaze drifts from his eyes to his hair, a contemplative expression on your face. one would think you must be pondering over something very much important.

“so it grows quickly.” you conclude, and he’s not sure whether he should kiss the smile off your lips or be afraid of it. yet when you throw one leg over his thighs and position yourself so that you can comfortably stradle his lap, he freely accepts it and keeps you steady with his hands on your hips.

the hand on the back of his head moves to the front as you suddenly start combing your fingers through his fringe. first in one direction, then the other. then you part his hair in the middle but quickly ruffle it away when it doesn’t seem to look to your liking.

“hey.” his grip on you tightens, warm fingers digging into your waist and deconcentrating you from your little task at hand. “what’s this all about, baby? hm? if you want to play hairdresser so badly, i can go and buy you a doll.”

you roll your eyes and tousle his hair again for some good measure, not the slightest bit bothered by the way his hands slide closer to your backside in a silent warning. “don’t be ridiculous, caleb. the doll could never be as pretty as you are.”

with a squeak, you jump in his lap when he does end up giving your rear an enthusiastic squeeze, and eventually cease to mess around with his hair.

“what do you think of mullets?” you finally speak up as you lazily wrap your arms around his neck, that stupid grin back on your face.

“a… mullet? where is this coming from?”

eagerly, although also a little shyly, you retell the dream that you had last night about him and his completely different hairstyle. of course, you leave out the bits and pieces of it that make your heart beat a little faster and your face feel slightly warmer.

“oh, i see. so is that it? have all my qualities been reduced so heavily to my looks now that all you can think of is a new haircut?” again his grip on you tightens as he sizes you up with a raised brow and a charming smirk curving his lips. he scoffs indignantly with a breathy chuckle when you don’t deny his remark immediately.

only when his teeth graze your cheek, do you give up and splay both hands on his chest to push him back. “okay, okay. of course you have other qualities.”

with a firm squeeze on each peck that makes his eyes go wide, and your smile even brighter, you admit. “these aren’t so bad either.”

let's say that the qualities he proved to you afterwards weren’t far too different from those that transpired in your dream the previous night.

[wcnderlnds]

fool of tears | choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・summary: meeting your childhood best friend again was never in the cards but fortunately for you, he's still there in your time of need. ・❥・word count: 2k ・❥・warnings: mentions of drugs, blood and usual squid game things. swearing. reader has a panic attack. female reader. ・❥・authors note: nabi means butterfly in korean! i thought it'd be cute ok thank you <3

There had been something off about this place from the get go. It was a feeling, something deep inside that didn’t sit right the second you had woken up in a bunk in completely different clothes. That was the first sign that something was wrong. The guards had done nothing to explain. In fact, if anything, they had avoided directly answering the questions asked among the crowd of hundreds of people. There had been so many questions floating through your mind but you’d stayed quiet. Never one to speak in front of so many people, you kept to yourself. The mere thought of voicing your concerns to anyone you didn’t know made the anxiety bubble up inside you. It was better to keep it to yourself. Whatever was happening here, you would get through it on your own. There was no other way. It wasn’t like you knew anyone here anyway. 

As you stepped out through the doors, you felt the wind hit your face causing you to look up. The roof had parted, the blue sky above visible. At least it wasn’t raining. That would be just another damper on an awful day. You tugged down the sleeves of your tracksuit jacket, clutching at the ends to give yourself sweater paws. Being here surrounded by so many people was so far out of your comfort zone. You were an introvert, someone who much preferred to stay at home and be alone. It was your biggest flaw. Social situations made you nervous, you often found yourself unable to speak. It all came down to the fact you were shy and painfully so. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to talk to people, just the mere thought of it made you clam up. What if you embarrassed yourself? What if everyone secretly hates you? That wasn’t something you could handle so keeping to yourself had been your remedy for as long as you could remember.

Feet scuffed the sand under your feet, the stone crunching underneath the sole of your shoes as your eyes landed on a big robotic doll. Huh, that was weird. Hugging your arms around your body, you stood there but suddenly your eyes started ringing when you heard a voice that you hadn’t heard in years.

“No fuckin’ way,” Su-bong explained, coming to a halt at your side. His head was tilted as he examined you, his brows scrunched up to make sure he wasn’t mistaking you for someone else.

It felt like your heart had dropped into the pit of your stomach. Oh, great. Su-bong was the last person you ever wanted to talk to. It took all of your willpower to ignore him, pretend like he wasn’t standing directly next to you, eyeing you up like you were a whole new entity to him when in reality you had been the only true friend he’d ever had.

“Hey,” he waved his hand in front of your face to get a reaction, pouting when you didn’t even blink. Were you really still mad at him? Or maybe you didn’t recognise him. “Senorita, it’s me. Thanos. You know, your best friend from waaaay back when we were kids. I know, I look a little different but…”

Before he could carry on with his rambling, you cut him off, still refusing to look at him. “No, my best friend was called Su-bong and was a really cool guy until he started rapping and got a whole new group of friends and left me for dirt.”

“Ah, so you are still mad!”

“Of course I am, Su-bong!” Finally, you turned to face him. He almost recoiled when he saw the thunderous look in your eyes but the way your fingers were pulling at the sleeves of your jacket he knew you were nervous. It was a habit you always had — a way of protecting yourself. “You’re an asshole and I want… no, I need you to leave me alone, okay? I don’t want anything to do with you, just like you didn’t want anything to do with me back then, got it?”

“Aw come on! If you’d just let me apologise, you wouldn’t be so mad. Pretty fucked up that you’re pissed after all these years. Thought you’d have got over it by now but you’re still as stubborn as ever. Always hated that about you,” he huffed, folding his arms across his chest as another playing began yelling.

“Leave me alone,” you hissed. Before he could open his stupid mouth again, you made a beeline to get closer to the man that was yelling so you could hear him better. Luckily, Thanos didn’t follow you.

As much as you would've liked someone to lean on, Su-bong was unfortunately not that person. Better than anyone you knew not to trust him. That trust had been burned a long time ago. Back when you were kids, the two of you had been as thick as thieves. It was like you were joined at the hip with the way you were always with each other. He had been your first and most important friend. The Su-bong you knew was sweet, he always looked out for you and made sure you knew how important you were. Being as shy and quiet as you were, it was often hard for you to break out and make friends of your own so Su-bong had always tried to include you in everything he did. Things had been so good until they weren’t. 

From the very first day you had met him, he had told you his desire to be a rapper so when he started getting into it and performing small shows at clubs once you got older, you were so happy for him. Each show you attended to cheer him on, he got better and better. The only thing that didn’t was his mental state and the friends he had surrounded himself with. You had first suspected something when he started getting snappy with you – something he never did. Patience had never been his strong suit but he had so much love in his heart for you that he tried his best. It started off small – arguments here and there until he completely started ditching you.

His new friends weren’t the sort of people many associated with so maybe you should’ve seen it coming but finding out he had become dependent on some colourful little pills had broken your heart. Su-bong’s home life had never been the best but he had always tried. His main goal in life was to make his mom proud. You had never expected him to take this route but he had and broke your heart in the process. It was him who cut all contact off slowly but surely. There was no use fighting it – he had a new life, he didn't need you. All you could do was carry on with your own life.

Now, here you were, in the same place as your old best friend who you hadn’t seen in two years. It was hard not to run to him, to tell him you forgave him but you couldn’t. If there was one thing you had, that was self respect and you would never give that up for any man.

—--

The gunshots still echoed through your ears no matter how many times you had covered them. It was like a never-ending record, one that you wished would stop. Your shaky palms sat in front of you, blood splattered across them and your jacket. One of the people in front of you had been shot causing you to get caught in the crossfire, their blood spraying all over you. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from your hands. The need to scrub yourself clean for hours upon hours ate at you but you couldn’t move. Tears brimming at the corners of your eyes, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

Oh no.

The tears flowed freely down your face as you tried to remember how to breathe. Your heart was pounding against your ribcage, beating faster than it ever had. The room was spinning, your eyes squeezing shut to try and stop the nauseating feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“Hey, Nabi, look at me.” The familiar voice you knew so well came from in front of you. It was too hard to focus on what he was saying until you heard the nickname you hadn’t heard in years. “Going to need you to open your eyes for me.”

It was Su-bong’s gentle hand resting on top of yours, thumb running across your skin that made you finally open your eyes. The second you did you met his concerned brown ones. As your eyes scanned his face, the tears still flowing freely down yours, you noticed the specks of blood on his cheek. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, like there was no oxygen left in the world as you tried to breathe.

“Nah, right here,” he titled your face so your eyes were focused on his. “Take a breath in and out. Can you do that for me? I’ll do it with you.” 

As he began to take a breath in, you tried to follow. It took a few more tries but finally your breathing started to even out. “That’s my girl.”

The pads of his thumb began to wipe away your tears, letting the silence surround you so you could have a moment to yourself to calm down. When you finally felt you could talk without blubbering, you said the words that had been on the tip of your tongue the second you’d seen Su-bong crouched in front of you. “What…what are you doing?”

“Saw you crashing out and couldn’t let you go down like that on your own. I know you think I don’t or didn’t give a shit about you but that’s never been true. You can hate my fuckin’ guts for all I care, Nabi but I won’t ever let you go through a panic attack by yourself,” he spoke with such sincerity that you almost started crying again. This was the Su-bong that you remembered.

“I don’t hate you,” you confessed, your voice sounding quieter than usual but the emotions behind it more than evident. “I was and still am hurt… and disappointed.”

He frowned, tearing his eyes away from you but you caught the vulnerability in them. The drugs must’ve worn off because when they did he was just as scared and anxious as you were. That had been one of the reasons you’d bonded as children. “Yeah, well…”

“Thanks. For helping.”

“No biggie.”

The silence settled between you once again, the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. His hands were back by his sides, picking at a loose thread on the pants he was wearing. If this was back in the day, you would’ve thrown your arms around him in a hug but… no. Instead, you awkwardly wiped at your face with the sleeves of your sweater, uttering your next words almost under your breath. “I’m scared.”

“Me too. I’m fuckin’ scared shitless but I won’t let anything happen to you, you hear me? I don’t give a shit if you don’t believe me or trust me. There’s no way you’re dying in this place,” he looked at you with such fierce determination. His voice steady, a slight quiver when he said he was scared. It was nice to see him being so vulnerable; that had been something that had got lost once he started to change. “Gonna keep my eye on you, okay?”

A firm nod your way and he was back to his feet, heading back to his friend who had been glaring at you the whole time. There was no way you trusted Su-bong but there had been something in the way he spoke that made you realise he meant what he said. He would look out for you whether you liked it or not.

Maybe if you both got out of here, you’d be able to tell him how much you did appreciate it.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @justsisse @djarindroid @angelofbooksworld @taivantaylor @sherlocke3d @basquiat-top @urmomsg1rlfreind @belladonna-303 @seunghyunwifey @infinetlyforgotten

[insidekatmind]

A Secret Between Us-Virgil Van Dijk

Request:yes!

The first time you saw Virgil van Dijk was in an upscale bar in Los Angeles. It wasn’t a random encounter, but it wasn’t something you had planned either. He was there with some teammates, you were out with your friends, and for some reason, your eyes met several times. In the end, he was the one who approached you, with that confident yet kind smile.

"Are you planning to keep looking at me all night, or would you like to join me?" he said, his Dutch accent lacing his words with a certain charm.

He made you smile, and before you even realized it, the conversation between you two flowed naturally. There was something about him that made you feel safe, even though you knew perfectly well who he was.

One week. That was how long he had before Liverpool left the city. And yet, in those seven days, you lived something that felt too much like a dream.

It wasn’t just physical attraction. It was the way he searched for you in a crowded room, the way he laughed at your jokes, the way he truly listened when you spoke. Every night of his stay in the city, you spent together—dinners in small restaurants far from the paparazzi, late-night walks on the beach, moments of pure intimacy that made you believe that maybe…

But then, the end came.

Virgil showed up at your door, his face serious, his lips pressed together as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

“I have to sign an NDA,” he finally said. “It means we can’t talk anymore, or see each other.”

Your heart stopped. “What? Why?”

“It’s about privacy, image. It’s not my choice.” His voice was firm, but his eyes were filled with regret. “If I break the agreement, I risk serious consequences with the club.”

You felt yourself breaking. You had never asked Virgil for anything, never even considered asking him to stay, but hearing that you couldn’t even keep in touch was too much.

“Are you just going to forget about me?” you whispered, trying to keep the pain out of your voice.

“No,” he answered, with a certainty that shook you. “I never could.”

But in the end, he did. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

---

Six months passed...

Nausea had become a constant companion. You ignored the first signs, blaming stress, fatigue, anything but the most obvious possibility. But when you saw the pregnancy test with two clear, undeniable lines, reality hit you like a speeding train.

You were pregnant with Virgil van Dijk’s child.

And he didn’t know. You had no way to tell him. The number he had used to text you was deactivated. His social media was impossible to reach. And then there was the damn NDA. Even if you managed to contact him, what could you do? Risk his career just to tell him he had a child?

In the end, you decided to go through it alone. It wasn’t easy, but as the months passed, you learned to accept your new reality.

Then, one day, fate decided to change everything.

You were in a park somewhere in Europe, far from the California coast where it all began. Your son, a little boy with dark curls and curious eyes, was playing on a small swing while you watched him with a tender smile.

You didn’t notice the presence behind you—not until you heard a deep, familiar voice call your name.

You turned around so fast your heart almost stopped. And there, just a few steps away, was Virgil.

It was as if time had frozen. His eyes scanned you with disbelief, confusion turning into something deeper as his gaze dropped to the child.

He looked at him. Then he looked at you. Then back at the boy.And you knew that he knew.

“Oh my god…” he murmured, stepping forward slowly. “Is he…?”

You couldn’t speak. You wanted to say something, to explain, to justify, but nothing came out.

He didn’t need an answer. The little boy turned, and in that moment, Virgil saw everything—himself in that small face.

His breath caught in his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Finally, you found your voice, though it was weak. “How? Your number didn’t exist anymore. Your contract prevented me from reaching out. What was I supposed to do?”

Virgil ran a hand over his face, still overwhelmed. Then, painfully slow, he knelt down in front of the child. He didn’t know what to say, how to act. He was a big, strong man, but right now, he seemed fragile, completely unarmed.

The boy looked at him curiously, then did something that left both of you speechless. He reached out his small hand toward him and smiled.

Virgil, his eyes glistening, took it with the utmost care.

And in that moment, the entire world seemed to shrink down to just the three of you.

[sanjisleggy]

it's a date (dracule mihawk x reader)

summary: how Dracule Mihawk behaves around you–the person he has feelings for who also (unfortunately for him) happens to be on Shanks’ crew

a/n: based on a super cute quest by 🪐 anon! :D a short and sweet one that’s purely yearning and fluff! hope you enjoy :>

contents: pre-relationship (obv :P), fluff, simp!Mihawk, yearning

wc. ~800

wanna be on my taglist?

first of all, it will not show on his face. ever. years of steeling himself to face any life-threatening obstacle has made it easy for the swordsman to hide his feelings under a facade of his typical cold  indifference… at least that's what he thinks 

meanwhile Shanks is over here like

bc he clocks it even before Mihawk himself realises he harbours feelings for you. Shanks could tell from the way his old friend would linger behind you at all times, eyes darting towards any sign of danger; how the ends of his lips quirked upward ever so slightly every time you speak to him and how intently he listens even if the topic is obviously not something the swordsman is interested in. your captain knows had it been anyone else (including him!) trying to make conversation about such mundane things, Mihawk would’ve long walked away

no one on the crew questions how often the Warlord seems to be tagging along, everyone just assumes he has his own business to take care of and hitching a ride on the Red Force just happens to be the most efficient way

you’re ecstatic that he’s coming aboard more frequently, however, and are not afraid to show it, often dragging him around the ship to show him your favourite spots. your shamelessness makes your fellow crewmates fear for your life but after a while even they get used to the sight of you pulling around the Greatest Swordsman in the World like a mother cat with her kitten. they dare not assume anything about the man but behind closed doors, some do gossip about how strange it is he’d allow you to do such a thing with no repercussions

Mihawk believes he fell for you after one particular interaction in which you forwent taking part in some festivities in favour of sitting beside him a distance away from the party

“shouldn’t you be dancing with the locals or something?” he’d commented rather snarkily, assuming you perhaps had some ulterior motives for staying by his side.

“i just want some peace and quiet tonight.” you shrugged. “it’s nice sitting with you in silence,” you added with a smile and for the first time in a long time Mihawk felt blood rush to his face. “but i can leave if i’m bothering you.”

“no,” he answered before he could even fully process your offer. “you may stay.”

your smile grew wider and some foreign feeling gripped at his heart.

it’s been a while since that night and he’s long since accepted that that feeling was some kind of infatuation; or at least, that’s what it started out as. day after day he feels his heart yearning for you; at first the feeling was simply small and nagging but it’s long since grown into something akin to desperation, like how one’s lungs would yearn for air after holding their breath for far too long

your voice is the sweetest sound Mihawk’s ever heard and on days he isn’t aboard your crew’s ship, he wishes to hear it more than anything. you could talk to him about snail anatomy and his need would be more than satiated

your touch burns his skin but it hurts more when you let go. so often you grab him by the wrist to pull him around, the contact itself enough to send his poor heart racing. the simple action flusters him so much he always wishes for you to let go before his facade breaks but when you finally do, arriving at where you wanted to bring him, he wants nothing more than for you to hold his hand again

Mihawk feels like a child. actually, scratch that, even as a child he’d never felt this way around anyone before. always laser-focused on his swordsmanship, he never saw the need to seek out companions in general. he’d keep the rare ones he stumbled across and liked well enough but never actively looked. even meeting you was purely a coincidence; had you not joined his old friend’s crew, he’s sure you never would have met 

he’s thankful that you did, though

“would you care to join me for dinner tonight?” the swordsman asks from across the ship’s library where the two of you had been browsing books in silence for a while now.

“dinner?” you respond rather lamely, surprised by the sudden invitation. he smiles to himself but you aren’t able to catch it from so far away. he, however, more than easily notices your flustered expression. “just us two?”

“yes.”

“... is it…” you look away from his direction and kick at the floor at some non-existent rocks, “... a date? like a… romantic date?”

your sudden shy demeanour is so endearing to the man he feels what can only be described as ‘cuteness aggression’ as he resists the urge to close the wide gap in between the two of you.

“only if you want it to be,” Mihawk replies rather smoothly, a stark contrast to his anxiety-ridden heart that’s currently pounding so hard in his chest it feels like it's about to explode. at his answer, your eyes meet his and you smile so sweetly it nearly knocks him off his feet.

“it’s a date then.”

gen taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui @paraparakiss @krooschl @teewon @olliesoxenfree @misstraffy @riftmage27 @aletch @somatchajade @kitsunechan707 @thesmolestsage @lunaizhere @saint-atlas @goldenpanda16 @Jordan03400 @rebeccawinters @glorywielder101 @slytherinambitious @the0twst0shrimp0mc

[goodlucktai]

could you please do 29 for dialouge prompts, leo and donnie?

dialogue prompts

29. “Tell me where it hurts, and be specific.”

x

When they were little, Donatello’s twin was his translator. 

Donnie was the last of the turtles to start talking—though the first to start reading and writing and dismantling kitchen appliances—and no amount of coercion or bribery or outright begging was enough to get a single word out of him in English or Japanese before he was good and ready. 

Splinter was in over his head already just by having four unplanned children to raise who were not even the same species as him. He fretted about his sons’ health and their development in those early years, and had absolutely no one he could turn to for regular parenting advice, let alone advice on what was and was not normal for mutant turtle children. 

He tells the story now with a rueful good humor granted only by hindsight and a decade and a half of distance, but at the time, Donatello refusing his second meal in a row while blinking silently in face of his father’s increasingly worried questions probably would have driven Splinter to tear his fur out if not for the contribution made by Donnie’s talkative striped shadow. 

“It’s the, uh, the red things, daddy,” Leo piped up. “He doesn’t like those.” 

Splinter blinked at him, and then down at the plate Donnie was refusing to so much as look at it. 

“The tomatoes?” he said. 

“Tomatoes,” Leo parroted. “They’re hard outside and squishy inside. He doesn’t like things like that. And they touched everything else so all of it is no good now!”

Never having considered that texture, of all things, could be the issue—and kicking himself for it—Splinter scrambled a fresh pair of eggs for his stubborn little softshell. He skipped the cherry tomatoes, and sliced a bell pepper instead that he made sure to put on the opposite side of the portioned plastic plate. 

Donnie sniffed his fresh plate of plain eggs suspiciously, but it passed his inspection. He crunched into a piece of bell pepper so eagerly that he must have been hungry. Splinter sank back in his chair with an exhale that left him feeling like a deflated balloon. 

Leo, eating the discarded tomatoes out of Donnie’s original breakfast, giggled at him. He was the first of Splinter’s babies to start speaking, and the sound of his bright voice tripping eagerly over clumsy human words rarely failed to coax a smile out of his father. 

“Thank you, baby,” he said, poking Leo on the edge of his beak and earning himself another peal of bubbly laughter. “I’m glad one of us speaks Purple’s language or I might have set us up for failure big-time.”

“‘Course I do! ‘Cause we’re twins!” Leo said, with only half an idea what the word meant, but happy for any reason to be one of a pair with his best friend. Donnie knew very well what the word meant and simply nodded along, because he was happy, too. 

Now that they’re older, and Donatello no longer needs a translator, he finds himself returning the favor instead. Leo is far from nonverbal—Leo talks too much—but he hardly ever actually says anything. He can pontificate and harangue and lecture to lengths of absolute absurdity without giving a single word of substance away that he doesn’t want to give away. 

Donnie can read him like a book. Like one of his favorite books that he doesn’t actually have to read, because he knows every page by heart. 

The summer after the world didn’t end, Donnie’s twin becomes someone unfamiliar. 

He’s self destructive in ways that aren’t immediately obvious. He seeks out things that scare him, lingering above the death drop an extra second even though he’s been afraid of heights since he was fourteen. 

It’s obvious that he’s trying to train himself out of weakness. No more childish fears, no more lazy Sunday mornings, no more silly Nardo. 

Raph and Mikey have clocked it, too, in their own ways. At first Raph was pleasantly surprised when Leo beat him to the dojo for training, ribbing him amicably when he was also the last to leave. But then Leo started turning down Mario Kart tournaments and ninja tag in favor of shutting himself away and working working working to correct an internal ugliness that just doesn’t exist. Mikey’s used to being the exception to every rule, used to arms opening for him wherever he goes, and the way his sweet, sunny smile slips every time Leo talks around joining him on the sofa for Kitchen Nightmares reruns—or explains away why he’s skipping dinner—is one of the worst things Donnie’s ever seen. 

At the very least, Leonardo doesn’t lie to Donatello’s face. He’s stopped looking him in the eye altogether. 

You’re not going anywhere without me, Donnie thinks at him, ready to dig in his heels and fight like hell. 

It’s hard to say how long it would have gone on, but one late night Leo limps home from a solo patrol and Donnie is waiting for him, arms folded, tolerance for foolishness nonexistent. 

“What, are you tracking me?” Leo jokes half-heartedly. And then, when Donnie doesn’t blink, he adds, “Wait, actually?”

“Don’t waste my time with questions we both know the answer to,” Donnie says, and points Leo directly towards the medbay. Leo, who had been angled toward the bathroom instead, likely because he can close the door and suffer in private with no one the wiser, sighs loudly and course-corrects. 

The lights in the medbay are stark and bright, humming to life when Donnie flips the switches. Leo looks over his shoulder to see how far the light has traveled past the open door, restless with wondering if he’s going to have to save face in front of someone else. 

All of this? All this behavior? Donnie hates this. 

Larger-than-life Leonardo seems smaller as he boosts himself up onto the edge of the bed. The infirmary is the one place he never puts on airs, the one place he takes seriously because his family’s health and safety has never once been a punchline to him. He peels off all his false layers at the door. He’s back to not meeting Donnie’s eyes. 

“Tell me where it hurts, and be specific,” Donatello says. 

“Your bedside manner could use some work,” Leonardo replies. His attempt at wily good humor limps along a lot like he had limped through the front door, like the least funny thing in the world. “That’s why between the two of us I’m the team medic.”

“And I’m two minutes from pulling the fire alarm and making this a house party,” Donnie says frankly. His tone isn’t gentle, isn’t quite angry. He’s somewhere in the middle, gentleness and anger fighting for the spot that affection has never once surrendered and never once will. 

He hates the way his twin’s eyes get wet, staring down at his own knees, knuckles stark white and standing out like a string of pearls where his hands are bunched in the thin blanket he’s sitting on. He hates that it’s come to this, the quiet of midnight in the medbay, the brightest light in Donnie’s life dimmed and miserable and so clearly struggling. It’s laughable that Leo really thought he could have hidden it forever. 

Donnie sits beside him on the bed and says, “What if I quit?”

The non-sequitur takes Leo by surprise. He was clearly expecting a full frontal assault and glances sideways at Donnie briefly. 

“Quit what?”

“My bad, I should have been more specific,” Donnie allows. “I meant, what if I quit being a ninja? I have better things I could be doing, and I don’t like getting hurt.” Leo is staring at him fully now, totally bewildered. Flabbergasted, even. It melts some of the sternness Donnie has been careful to shore up for this conversation. “Would you love me less?” he asks. 

It would have been kinder if Donnie had slapped him. “Don’t say that,” Leo says, barely any air behind it. 

“Are you more capable than I am?” Donnie steamrolls on. “Are you better at caring about people than me?”

“Of course not. I don’t think—I didn’t say—”

“Then why do you have to be perfect if I don’t?” Donnie presses the advantage ruthlessly. “Why aren’t you allowed to struggle and doubt and spectacularly fuck up every now and then without raking yourself over the coals for it?” 

Leo glances over at the door automatically, like Raph is going to be summoned by the bad word. He’s sixteen, he’s just sixteen, Donnie wants to scream it loud enough that those resistance fighters in Casey’s future can hear him, the ones who thought it was a halfway decent idea to put a child in charge. 

Earlier Donnie thought that Leo looked smaller here. Now he thinks he can tell by looking how much weight his twin has lost since June. There’s a deficit of Leonardo in this world and his whole family is feeling it keenly. 

Raph wants to scoop Leo off the sofa when he stays up too late and tuck him into bed, wants to listen to him filling the comms with chatter on those nights when patrol stretches long and dull. He misses his little brother, the gossipy, gangly, growing up little turtle that Raph used to be allowed to carry everywhere.

Mikey wants to bicker over who gets to play Sonic in Smash Bros and eat cookies while they’re still hot from the oven with the person he admires so much, who taught him all the best cheats in Smash Bros and that fresh sugar cookies in the falling apart stage, pre-icing, are better than ones that have cooled. 

‘Sometimes you gotta get burned to get results,’ ten-year-old Leo had announced, but he was always the one who lifted the cookies off the sheet pan, he never let Mikey burn his fingers.  

That goofy, clever kid who was always getting them all into trouble and talking their way out of it again is worth a thousand made-up Master Leonardos. 

Leo keeps his face lowered, shoulders hunched, because he knows what he’ll see if he scrapes together the courage to meet Donnie’s gaze. He’ll see the love blazing in his twin’s face like one of those digital billboards towering above Times Square, and somehow he’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve it. 

Donnie doesn’t give a damn what Leo has decided he deserves. Donnie’s going to love him anyway, on purpose, whether he likes it or not. If Leo wants to grow up so badly, then he can stop acting like a kid pushing vegetables around on his plate and swallow the truth. 

It’s okay if he doesn’t grow up yet. They can be kids awhile longer. It’ll be like when they were babies, when Donatello would rather go hungry than stomach certain foods. Leo never let Donnie sit alone at the breakfast table, keeping him cheerful, babbling company, even when their brothers had moved off to play. 

This time Leo is the picky eater, willing to go hungry and sit alone at the table. But Donnie learned from the best. He's returning the favor.

Donnie isn’t going anywhere without Leo, either.

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 14 - Dirty Work

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic. CW: Death, use of weapons, little bit of torture, violence, military inaccuracies.

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

You make it down the stairs last. Johnny came to wake after what felt like no time at all. You really need to get a good night's sleep soon. You have a feeling that won’t be happening though. When you make it to the dining room things feel different. Johnny is standing next to Gaz and Ghost looks almost like he’s sulking in the corner of the room. 

Price is leaning over the table looking at images of a compound. “We split into 2 teams, you three go round the back me and Ghost will go in the front.” He says before looking over at you. He frowns before standing up straight and crossing his arms. 

“The building should be running with the night staff. Al Qatala only, we’ll need to disable the alarms, you should be able to cut the power directly from a room at the back of the building.” Price says pointing at one of the photos. “After that make your way up to the top floor, that's where the main control room is, if Makarov is anywhere he’ll be there. If not, it's where we’ll find out where he is.” 

“Makarov will know we’re here is as soon as we take the place.” Johnny says. 

“That's why we have to act fast, as soon as we know where he is we move.” Price says.

“Unless he’s there.” Gaz says.

“He won’t be there.” you say. Price’s head snaps over to you. “I’ll be the pessimist.” You shrug. 

“We plan for the possibility he is there.” Price says.

“And the possibility he’s not.” Simon says. Looking at him now looming in the shadows. The person you saw in the bedroom just a few hours ago seems like a completely different person then the one hiding in the shadows right now. Ghost is a fitting name.

“Capture or kill?” Johnny asks, stepping forward. 

“Kill. He’s not getting away again.” Price says. Johnny likes that nodding at him and turning back to Kyle. You look round the room, they've been after this guy for a while. 

“Get ready, we’ll be leaving soon.” Price says, crossing his arms. Everyone starts to move and he looks over at you. “A word?” You swallow hard, nodding and walking round the table to him while everyone leaves the room. You’re nervous all of a sudden.

“Are you ready for this?” He asks quietly, bending down to speak to you closer. 

“Yes.” You say holding your ground. 

“It’s going to be dangerous, you could get hurt.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of this?” 

“No. I just need to know you’re ready.” he asks, you look up in his eyes.

“I’m ready.” You nod. He smiles for a second and you move to walk past him. He grabs your arm tight. “You do anything to hurt them and I swear to God I'll put a bullet in your head myself.” You look back digging your eyes into him. Why is he saying this now? Does he know? You pull your arm out his grip. 

“You wouldn’t be taking me if you didn’t trust me.” You say. He smiles. 

“Yeah, you’re right about that.” 

…

There’s thunder in the distance, a chill in the air. You’re all laid on a hill looking down at the back of the compound, there are lights on but no personnel. 

“Soap, we’re in position. How’s it looking on your end?” Price’s voice calls in your ear. 

“All clear Cap, we’re ready to move in.” Soap replies. The comps still sound strangely formal to you. 

“Okay, keep coms open, let us know when you’ve cut the security.” Price says as you all get to your feet. 

“Copy.” Soap says. You have an AR again, you’re still not used to the bigger weapons. Price’s warning is still ringing loud in your head. Why did he choose to say that now. Does he know what happened between you all? He is the captain, maybe he does. You follow Gaz and Soap down the hill to the back door. Gaz's foot slams into the door and it swings open. Soap goes in first and you follow behind him, you’re almost good at this now following his movements cleaning rooms like you’ve done it a hundred times before. 

Soap opens a door to another room, it’s warm you follow him inside. It looks like a maintenance room. Gaz comes back and stands in the doorway as Soap walks over to a control panel. You watch as he opens what looks like a fuzebox, he takes wire cutters off his vest and get's to work.

“Price, security systems are offline.” Soap’s voice comes into your ears as he closes the box.

“Copy, we’re moving in. Make your way to the control room.” Price says. You follow Gaz who leads, Soap following behind you. You run into people on the way but Gaz takes them down, the smell of gunpowder and blood is just something you need to get used to. You make it to the next floor, Gaz calls out your location as you move through the building. 

Each floor you go through you find more people. Gaz and Soap take them down, they’re way more confident firing off at people compared to your hesitation. You all turn the corner and run into Price and Ghost. They stack up on the door, this is the last place you need to check, if Makarov is going to be here he’s behind the door. 

Price nods and Ghost kicks the door open, it all happens quickly, voices ring out, shots ring out too. There's a pained groan as everyone goes into the room. You go over to the computer in the room, as soon as you move the mouse you see how corrupted it is.

“The whole thing’s been wiped.” You say. You turn to see Ghost and Price pull the man to his feet and throw him down in a chair. The man is shouting in Arabic through gritted teeth. You turn to start looking through papers with Soap trying to find anything you can to help. 

“Where’s Makarov?” Price asks. 

“Go to hell!” He shouts in English. You turn to see Ghost tying him to the chair. 

“Where is Makarov?” Price asks again. The man spits blood out on the floor, you see the wound on his shoulder. 

“I’ll never say!” Price sighs and Ghosts fist meets his face. It’s all starting to feel a little deja vu. You stick to what you’re doing, looking through the papers for anything useful.

“This was dated today. What does it mean?” Soap asks handing you a piece of paper. 

“It’s a termination order. They’re storing something here, it’s in the garage. Whatever it is, is being picked up tomorrow then the post will be shut down.” You say turning to look over at Price and Ghost. 

“What’s being stored?” Price asks. 

“It doesn’t say.” You reply, putting the paper down on the table.

“Okay, the three of you go check the garages.” Price says. Gaz leaves the room first and you follow him back through the building. Now it feels weird walking back through this place and over bodies, there weren't that many Al Qatala and now you know why, they probably got sent home days ago. 

“I thought you guys were keeping an eye on this place? You didn’t see them moving anything into the garages?” You ask Kyle ahead of you.

“No, only people moving in and out.” He replies. When you make it outside it’s starting to rain and the thunder sounds closer. 

“When did the message say they were coming?” Soap asks as tests the handle on the door, it’s locked.

“Tomorrow morning, it didn't have time.” You say.

“Strange.” Soap says, you frown looking over at him as Gaz kicks the door. 

“Why? There could have been multiple messages, we only found one.” You say shrugging. 

“Why though? They did such a good job at wiping the computer, shredding everything else why leave that one message?” Soap says. A pit forms in your stomach. You turn to look at him. 

“Probably just didn’t have time before we got there.” You swallow it away looking back at Gaz who gives the door one last kick and it swings open. Maybe he’s right, maybe you’re being too blasé about the whole thing, they are more experienced with this kind of stuff. 

You watch Gaz walk in and you move to follow him. 

“Holy shit.” You say when you walk in the room, the wall separating the two garages has been knocked through, there’s 2 trucks both of the beds look full and have been covered with tarp. It’s the ones you recognise from the CCTV footage Gaz showed Farah, the ones that came over the border a few days ago. 

Gaz walks over to one and pulls the tarp off to reveal missiles. 

“Holy shit.” Soap says. His hand runs over the American flag stamped on the metal. 

“American? These are ULF missiles.” You say.

“Were.” Gaz corrects you. 

“Price, we’ve got trucks full of American missiles here.” Soap says over the radio. There’s no reply, Gaz looks over frowning. 

“Price. Come in Price.” Soap says, you’re all already moving to the door before Soap even has a reply. 

“Ghost, Price come in.” Soap calls as you all jog back over to the main building. Now the pit in your stomach is back. What if they’re hurt? Fuck what if they’re dead? Soap and Gaz keep trying to call them as you sprint up the steps.  

“Price!” Gaz shouts as he sprints into the room. You make it in just after him, Price is rubbing his head using the chair to get back to his feet. The place looks like even more of a mess than before, stuff thrown everywhere a lamp knocked off the desk flashing on the floor. There had clearly been a struggle. 

“Where's Ghost?” Soap asks. 

“He went after him.” Price says, Soap rushes out the door.

“Go with him.” Gaz says, you nod following Soap down the hall. You have no idea where he could be but you follow Soap back down to the ground floor. You both freeze for a moment. Soap putting his hand up to stop you. You’re listening for noise. Soap is scanning down the corridors looking out the windows. 

You hear a gunshot.

“This way!” Soap shouts and sprints down a hall. It’s dark and there are no lights on. When you turn a corner you see an open door. The rain is coming down hard now, the thunder sounds like it’s right on top of you. 

You make it out and see Ghost wrestling with the guy on the floor. Soap slowly walks towards him with his weapon trained on them. You follow what he’s doing, keeping your distance, they’re rolling around on the floor, you can’t tell who has the upper hand. The man is clearly putting up a good fight. 

Soap looks like he wants to intervene. You hear a rumbling sound and the almost deafening sound of the rain on the garage roof. You’re not sure what to do, Ghost manages to push the guy off him and they end up on their sides. You think that's it Soap steps up to them until you see the glint off a knife. You don’t get chance to call it out the sound of crashing metal distracts you, you turn to the source of the noise seeing a truck barreling towards you. 

“Move!” Soap shouts as he grabs your vest pulling you out its path. You both fall to the ground as the car drives past, it stops just before crashing into the garages. Soap is firing at it before he’s even stood up. You get to your feet and click the safety off your weapon as people jump out the car. You see the weapons in their hands, you don’t care about shooting them now. It’s kill or be killed. 

Your shots are not great, you can see some of them hitting the car instead of people, you’ve only ever shot an AR once in basic training. It comes back to you though surprisingly, like riding a bike. You see someone fall to the floor, you hear shouting behind you and turn quickly to see Price and Gaz coming out the building. 

You breathe a sigh of relief at least it’s not all just down to you and your shit aim. You fire off another shot, this one actually hits one of their shoulders and he falls to the ground. You look over to where Ghost was fighting that man they’re not there anymore. There can’t be many more guys left, the car only has 5 seats. 

The shots stop, you follow behind Soap as he moves closer to the car. Its engine is still running, the doors swung open. You make it over, Soap kicks the bodies of the people on the floor. You make it round to the other side of the truck and Soap leans in, turning the engine off.

“Where’s Ghost?” Price asks. You look around, maybe he got up and hid from the gunfight. You don’t see the guy he was wrestling with either. There’s another gunshot. You all turn, raising your weapons towards the source. Price and Gaz sprint off in the direction first and you follow behind them. 

You rush round the corner of the garages and see Ghost stood there over a body putting his pistol back in its holster. 

“You solid?” Price asks as Ghost turns. He nods, you see him reach down pulling a knife out the mans shoulder, he wipes it on the grass before putting it back in his vest.

“What do we do now?” Soap asks.

“They know we were here, they will have told Makarov already.” Price says. You can hear the frustration in his voice. 

“They probably still want those missiles though.” Gaz says. You shiver, the adrenaline has worn off and you’re drenched. There’s a crack of thunder and the rain seems to pick up even harder. 

“Gaz is right. Even if they managed to get word out to Makarov, it’s a big stash he has just sitting here. He wouldn't want us taking it back to the ULF.” Soap says. 

“Okay. We’ll stay here tonight, follow them in the morning.” Price says. “Chances are they lead us straight to Makarov.” 

“And if they don’t come?” You ask. 

“They’ll come. They’ll want those missiles.” Price says. He sounds sure about it as he walks past you back to the building. You look over and see Ghost reaching down to pick the body up off the floor. Price orders you all to clear the place up. In case they didn’t manage to get the word out to Makarov, you don’t want to spook whoever is coming in the morning. 

It feels kind of pointless but you follow the orders nonetheless. When you’re done you wish you could take a shower, dry your sodden clothes. You’re not that lucky though, everyone seems to fall into a routine when you’re back inside and somewhat dry. Ghost collects everyone's weapons, he takes his time taking them apart and cleaning them like he’s done it a million times. He probably has. 

Gaz and Soap end up on clothes drying duty laying everything on radiators and cranking the heat up in the building to an almost uncomfortable level. You decide to go back up to the main control room and search the place for anything useful. It’s a longshot but you would rather be doing something then nothing. 

You end up trying to organise things, for some reason it makes you feel better. Most of the paperwork is out of date or they have done their best to censor or destroy everything. It’s probably fruitless until you come across a locked drawer. Now you want to get it open. There has to be a way to brute force it open. You take your knife out and jam it between the draws. You kneel down on the floor angling the knife down then pulling it towards you. 

It doesn’t seem to be doing anything. You try again using more strength growing out, pulling until it hurts. You let go of the knife now stuck in the drawer huffing and letting out a breath. 

“What are you doing?” Price asks. You look up over the desk at him. 

“There’s a locked drawer here.” You say pointing even though you know he can’t see. He comes in walking round the desk to see what you’ve been up to. You hear him chuckle when he sees the knife sticking out the drawer. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small key.

“What you just had that this whole time.” You say tutting and reaching up to take it out his hand. 

“Ghost found it on his body.” He shrugs. You open the drawer pulling your knife out. You see the laptop straight away. You stand up, putting it on the desk and opening it. It turns on and there is no login. 

“What is it with all these people and never using passwords?” You say out loud. 

“Makes our job easier.” Price says. 

“Yeah also probably means there’s probably nothing important on it.” You say opening the documents folder. You sort them by most recent and open it. 

“What is it?” He asks as you scan over the document.

“Something about new orders. They’re moving, they know you’re after them.” You say as you continue reading. “They’re planning something too, something big.” 

“In Urzikstan?” He asks. You shake your head opening another document.

“It doesn’t say, this is a shipping manifest by the look of it. Sent from Moscow.” You close it down looking at the list. “There’s a lot here, it could take hours to sift through all this.”

“Can’t you do a keyword search or something?” He asks. 

“I don’t really know much about computers.” You sigh. 

“Gaz does, c’mon.” He says. You close the laptop lid, you expected him to have moved but he’s just stood there looking at you. You feel your heart pick up speed, he’s frowning at you for a second then his expression goes soft. 

“You did good today.” He says. You swallow the nerves.

“You don’t have to tell me that every time.” You say trying to lighten the mood. He hums, pressing his lips together and angling his body closer to you. 

“How was your time with Soap at the ULF base?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. He knows, he definitely knows and this is a test. Or maybe he doesn’t and he wants you to confess so he can send you back home. 

“Good.” You manage to say. You won’t say anything, you don’t want to get them into trouble. 

“I heard it went more than good.” He says in a low voice, his hand lands on your hip. You freeze in place, his touch is nice, his eyes are blue like Johnny’s, a deeper blue though. Maybe Johnny had already talked about what happened, he did say they were all together. You don’t know if you’re upset or relieved he maybe spoke about you. Price doesn’t seem mad, his eyes scanning round your face is body inching closer to you. 

“I’m only slightly annoyed,” he says. Great, here it comes, this is it, this is where he tells you to leave. You open your mouth ready for the string of apologies to come out. You don’t get a chance though as he leans down to kiss you. 

He takes your breath away, literally. His kiss is deep, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you close to him. You almost can’t believe it’s happening, his kiss is soft like Johnny, he’s slow too letting you control the speed. His beard tickles your face, you don’t mind though. Before you can help yourself your hand runs up his arm. 

He breaks from the kiss first, your heart is still pounding in your chest. He smiles at you. 

“You said you were annoyed.” You say swallowing, he chuckles, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“Yeah, that MacTavish got to you first.” He smiles.

Banners by plum98

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Okay, I am in love with all your Sebastian fics like a honeybee to pollen 🐝

Could we get some love for Ominis, too? 🥺 If your requests are open, I was thinking of something a bit packed with drama. Maybe during the early 1900's, Ominis was going to be married off to another pureblood woman as a last ditch effort to save the Gaunt family from utter disgrace. But Sebastian sent a frantic letter to MC (knowing she's always had feelings for him) and she rescues him because she's quite literally the only person who can counter the strength of the Gaunts.

If this is too action-packed, I understand 😅 And if you want to do something else with this, I'm totally onboard for it! Thank you so, so much!

Speak Now | Ominis Gaunt x Reader

CAN YOU HAVE SOME LOVE FOR OMINIS? UM, YES. OF COURSE. ALWAYS. SEND ME ALL THE OMINIS PROMPTS, I LOVE HIM DEARLY.

ANON, I HOPE YOU LOVE AND ENJOY <3 THANK YOU FOR YOUR MESSAGE!!!

Words: ~10,500

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Fluff, Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Pureblood Drama

The ink was smudged, the parchment worn, as if it had been handled too many times before finally being sent. The hurried scrawl was unmistakable—Sebastian Sallow had always written like he was running out of time.

You have to come back.

That was the first line, sharp and urgent, as though he was reaching across the distance to shake you into action. You swallowed hard as your eyes darted over the rest of the letter, scanning the words that followed.

They're forcing Ominis into a marriage. He won’t fight it. He thinks he has no choice. He’s going to let them do it. The Gaunts are desperate—this is their last chance to cling to whatever power they have left. If you don’t stop this, no one will.

You tilted your head back against the hotel room chair, exhaling slowly. This wasn’t what you had expected when you saw Sebastian’s weekly letter among the rest of your correspondence—his updates had always been the same.

Small anecdotes of life in England, sharp-witted remarks about Ministry work, and the occasional complaint about the monotony of it all. It had become a habit, these letters, a quiet tether to the life you left behind.

But this was different.

Sebastian had always known. Even when you tried to hide it, when you buried your feelings so deeply they felt like ghosts inside you—he knew you were irrevocably in love with Ominis.

He had known when you stood beside him through the worst of it, when the three of you were still inseparable. He had known when you were sixteen, when you looked at Ominis across the Great Hall with something aching in your eyes.

Sebastian wouldn’t have sent this if he wasn’t desperate.

The candlelight flickered against the crumpled parchment in your hands, the ink smudging beneath the heat of your fingers. Your chest felt tight, something old and aching clawing its way to the surface.

You had spent nearly a decade trying to carve Ominis Gaunt out of your heart.

You had moved away. You had thrown yourself into the world, traveling far from England, chasing adventure and knowledge, anything to dull the pain of loving someone who would never be yours. You had gone years without talking him. Not because he hadn’t written—but because you never wrote back.

It never worked.

Because love like that—love that had rooted itself so deeply, so completely, didn’t just disappear. It lingered in the spaces between your ribs, in the quiet moments before sleep, in the way your body still tensed at the mention of his name.

It had been unspoken between you, as silent as the spaces he left untouched when you stood too close, as damning as the way his hand would hover near yours but never close the distance.

And when you couldn’t take it anymore, you left.

You left because you thought, maybe, if you put an ocean between you, the wound of unrequited love would heal.

It never did.

And now Sebastian was asking you to do the very thing you had spent years convincing yourself you wouldn’t.

Go back. Save him.

The Gaunts were a dying family, their legacy rotting from the inside out. With every generation, their blood grew thinner, their wealth squandered, their name teetering on the edge of ruin. A marriage—an advantageous one—was their final desperate bid for survival. And Ominis, bound by duty, bound by the fear that he had nowhere else to go, was walking into the trap with his head bowed.

You let out a shaky breath and reached for the letter again, rereading the final lines, the ink smudged and urgent.

If you don’t stop this, no one will.

By tomorrow night, you would be back in England.

The night was cold, the London streets slick with rain, the gas lamps casting a dim glow against the cobblestones. You barely felt the chill as you climbed the stairs to Sebastian’s flat, your heartbeat pounding louder than your footsteps.

You didn’t hesitate. You raised your fist and banged on the door. Hard.

The music inside was loud enough to mask the first round of knocks, but you weren’t deterred. You hit the door again, more forcefully this time, your palm stinging from the impact.

There was movement inside, the shuffling of feet, the clinking of glass. You exhaled sharply, bracing yourself.

All you could hope was that he was alone.

Because if there was one thing Sebastian Sallow had never lacked, it was company.

It had been a constant presence in your lives—girls who were drawn to him like moths to a flame, girls who whispered behind their hands when they saw the two of you together, girls who looked at you with suspicion, jealousy, irritation.

It had never mattered that you weren’t interested. That your heart had belonged to Ominis so completely that there had never been room for anyone else. That Sebastian had never once looked at you that way.

It hadn’t stopped the tension, the quiet hostility, the accusations in whispered conversations you weren’t supposed to overhear.

You could only imagine how much worse it would be now if you were about to interrupt a lover’s evening.

The door swung open, and Sebastian stood before you, shirt half-unbuttoned, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

“Bloody hell.” His voice was hoarse, caught somewhere between shock and amusement. “You actually came.”

You huffed a laugh, tugging your bag higher up your shoulder. "Hello, Sebastian."

His expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across his face before settling into a lopsided grin. He stepped aside, motioning you in with an exaggerated sweep of his arm. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in before you catch a cold.”

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside, brushing past him. The flat was warm, filled with the scent of oak and whiskey, the remnants of dinner still on the table. A record played in the background, something slow and bluesy, and the room was dimly lit by the flickering glow of the fireplace.

You scanned the space quickly. No sign of anyone else.

Relief loosened the tension in your shoulders.

Sebastian caught it immediately, his smirk widening. “Were you worried I’d have company?”

You shot him a look.

He laughed, the sound low and knowing. “You used to hate that, didn’t you?”

You sighed, tugging off your gloves, your fingers stiff from the cold. “I didn’t hate it, Sebastian.”

“Oh, you did,” he said, dropping onto the sofa, his gaze sharp. “Every time a girl so much as looked at me twice, they’d take one look at you and think they had to fight for their lives.”

You rolled your eyes. “That wasn’t my fault. You’ve always had a type, and apparently, that type is ‘possessive.’”

Sebastian grinned into his glass. “It was entertaining, at least.”

You huffed out a breath, shaking your head, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

He studied you for a long moment, something flickering in his expression, before he let out a quiet huff of amusement.

“You look so much more… grown up.”

Your hands stilled where they had been undoing the buttons of your coat. You glanced up at him, unsure whether to feel flattered or vaguely insulted. “Should I be offended?”

Sebastian smirked. “No, no. Just—well, you know.” His gaze flicked over you with something bordering on appraisal. “Filled out a bit. More mature.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious.

He grinned before leaning back into the sofa, stretching his arms behind his head lazily. “Ominis is going to be very happy to see you.”

You groaned at the implication, rubbing your hands down your face. “Gross, Sebastian.”

He laughed, clearly pleased with himself. “What? It’s been a long time. He’s going to notice.”

“You just noticed, and that’s already too much.”

Sebastian only smirked, utterly unrepentant.

You shook your head, slipping your coat off and draping it over the back of a chair. The warmth of the flat was already sinking into your bones, easing the tension in your shoulders.

Sebastian watched you for a long moment, his teasing expression softening slightly.

“You really came,” he murmured, quieter now.

You met his gaze. “Of course I did.”

“I’ve tried to reason with him, tried to convince him he doesn’t need to do this but…” He hesitated, drumming his fingers against his knee. “I don’t think he realizes he has a choice. How much he still—”

He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

“So,” you said, glancing at him, “do you have a guest room these days, or am I taking the couch?”

Sebastian’s lips quirked up at the corner. “What kind of man do you take me for?”

You arched a brow. “The kind who forgets to replace his bedsheets for months at a time.”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head as he stood, finishing off the last sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down. “You wound me,” he drawled, then he gestured for you to follow him down the narrow hallway.

As you trailed behind, he glanced over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Your accent’s changed,” he noted. “Sounds almost American now. Tragic, really.”

You scoffed. “It does not.”

“Oh, it does.” He mimicked a horrible, exaggerated version of an American drawl. “Next thing I know, you’ll be saying ‘ain’t’ and asking for a cup of coffee instead of tea.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve been gone, not possessed.”

Sebastian chuckled, pushing open a door and stepping aside to let you enter.

The spare bedroom was small but comfortable—a proper bed, neatly made, a modest wardrobe, and a single oil lamp on the nightstand. It was uncharacteristically tidy for him, and you cast him a suspicious glance.

He smirked. “Surprised? I do have some manners, you know.”

“Debatable.”

He snorted but didn’t argue. Instead, he lingered in the doorway, watching you as you set your gloves on the nightstand, smoothing out the worn fabric between your fingers.

Then, without warning, he reached for you, wrapping you in a sudden, firm embrace.

You tensed for half a second before melting into it, your hands pressing into the worn fabric of his shirt as you buried your face against his shoulder. He smelled like whiskey, firewood, and something unmistakably Sebastian—familiar, grounding.

“Missed you, you know,” he murmured, voice quieter now, rougher around the edges. “I wish I’d threatened Ominis’s marriage sooner. Would’ve saved me years of boredom having you around again.”

You let out a breathless laugh against his shoulder even as your chest ached.

You had been gone for so long, chasing something you could never quite outrun. And yet, standing here, in the warmth of Sebastian’s flat, his arms still loosely around you—

It felt like a piece of you had finally come home.

You swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat, blinking quickly. “Well,” you said, clearing your throat, “we’ll have to make up for lost time, then.”

Sebastian grinned, giving your shoulder a final squeeze before stepping back. “Oh, we will,” he promised. “Starting tomorrow.”

Your stomach twisted at the reminder.

"What's the plan for tomorrow, exactly?"

Sebastian leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, the flickering lamplight casting shadows across his face. He tilted his head slightly, considering your question.

“Well, obviously, I have a wedding invitation,” he said, his smirk sharp and knowing. “And seeing as you didn’t exactly RSVP, you’ll be my plus-one.”

You sighed, rubbing your hands together. “Okay... but when we get there, then what?"

Sebastian’s smirk faded, replaced with something more serious. “We’ll try to get to him before the ceremony starts,” he said. “Pull him aside, talk some sense into him. If we can convince him to walk away without causing a scene, that would be ideal.”

You exhaled slowly. “And if we do have to cause a scene?”

Sebastian lifted a brow, a familiar glint of mischief in his gaze. “Well, you did bring all that dramatic ancient magic of yours back with you, didn’t you?”

You shot him a dry look. “Yes, Sebastian, I plan to hex an entire wedding party in broad daylight.”

“Now that would be entertaining,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “You think he’ll listen?”

Sebastian hesitated, his fingers tapping idly against the doorframe. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve tried, but you know how he is. Stubborn as ever. He thinks this is the only way. Thinks he has no other choice.”

Your stomach twisted.

"And you think, somehow, I'm going to change his mind? We haven't spoken in, what, eight years? He probably—”

Sebastian cut you off with a pointed look. "Exactly. You haven't spoken in years. Which means you showing up? That'll shake him more than anything I could ever say."

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. "Or it'll just piss him off."

Sebastian shrugged, unbothered. "That works too. As long as it gets him to actually feel something about this instead of just rolling over and letting his family dictate his life again."

Your jaw tightened. "You think he hasn't felt anything about this?"

Sebastian tilted his head. "I think he's spent so long convincing himself he doesn’t have a choice that he's stopped considering the alternative. And I think," he said, crossing his arms, "that if there's anyone who can remind him of what he wants instead of what he owes, it's you."

The words struck deeper than you wanted them to.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, gripping the edge of the bed as if grounding yourself. "If he ever wanted me," you said, quieter this time, "it was never enough."

Sebastian huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You always were terrible at seeing what was right in front of you."

You frowned, but he didn’t give you a chance to argue. He pushed off the doorframe, turning toward the hall. "Get some sleep," he said over his shoulder. "Big day tomorrow. You might have to throw yourself in front of an altar."

You snorted. "Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that."

Sebastian grinned. "If it does, at least try to make it entertaining. Dramatic declarations, an I object! shouted for the ages." He paused, then waggled his brows. "Preferably while wearing something scandalous."

You rolled your eyes. "Goodnight, Sebastian."

"Sweet dreams, sweetheart," he teased, retreating down the hallway.

You listened to his footsteps fade, staring at the worn wooden floor beneath you.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, you would face Ominis again.

Sebastian was already ready. Of course he was.

You could hear him outside the bathroom, pacing the hallway, his dress shoes clicking impatiently against the wooden floor. He’d already knocked twice, and now he was resorting to pestering you from the other side of the door.

"Are you ready yet?" His voice was exasperated. "Honestly, if I'd known you'd take this long, I would've given you a two-hour head start."

You stuck a pin in your hair and rolled your eyes. "It's been thirty minutes, Sebastian. You’re acting like I've been in here for days."

“Might as well have been,” came Sebastian’s voice from the other side, muffled but unmistakably exasperated. “We’re going to a wedding, not a coronation.”

You sighed, adjusting the way your dress fit over your shoulders, tugging at the fabric as if it would somehow settle your nerves.

The truth was, you were taking longer than usual.

But could he blame you? You hadn’t seen Ominis in nearly eight years.

And sure—he couldn’t see you, exactly, but his wand could.

You sighed, stepping back from the mirror and smoothing your skirts. You had settled on something elegant, something proper, something that would make it impossible for the Gaunts to ignore you when you walked through their doors.

Sebastian, of course, was dressed for trouble. A sharp three-piece suit, his tie just slightly loosened, his hair combed back but still holding that casual devil-may-care disarray that somehow made him look even more like a menace.

Another impatient knock. “The wedding starts in an hour, by the way.”

You shot a glare at the door, even though he couldn’t see it, then took one last look in the mirror before before finally stepping out.

Sebastian was mid-complaint when his eyes landed on you.

His mouth clicked shut.

He blinked.

And then, after a moment, let out a low whistle.

“Well, well,” he said, stepping back slightly to take you in. “You do clean up nice.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

He grinned. “I’m just impressed. You put me through an agonizing wait, but I suppose it was worth it.” His gaze flicked over you again, more appraising now. “Ominis is going to—”

You shot him a warning look before he could finish the sentence.

Sebastian just smirked. “Right, right. Gross.”

He, mercifully, didn’t push the subject further as the two of you stepped out onto the quiet London street. The air was crisp, the overcast sky hinting at rain, and the city was already awake—carts rolling by, men in suits tipping their hats as they passed, women hurrying along with baskets in hand.

A sleek, enchanted carriage waited at the curb, black lacquer gleaming under the dim morning light. Sebastian, always the gentleman when it suited him, opened the door and gestured dramatically.

“After you, my lady,” he quipped, voice dripping with amusement.

You shot him a flat look but climbed in nonetheless. The interior was comfortable, the seats upholstered in deep blue fabric, smelling faintly of polished wood . Sebastian followed, settling in across from you as the carriage took off with a jolt.

The ride started in silence, the rhythmic clatter of hooves filling the space between you. You stared out the window, watching London give way to quieter roads, your stomach twisting itself into knots.

Sebastian stretched out, lounging like this was nothing more than a casual social call. “You’re awfully quiet.”

You exhaled, fingers drumming against your knee. “I’m trying not to think about the fact that I might be making a mistake.”

Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, please. As if this could even qualify as a mistake.”

You shot him a sharp look. “This isn’t a joke, Sebastian.”

His smirk softened, just slightly. “I know,” he admitted, leaning forward, bracing his forearms against his knees. “But listen to me—there is no version of this where Ominis doesn’t want to see you.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “You don’t know that.”

Sebastian’s gaze was unwavering. “I do.”

You wanted to argue, wanted to tell him he was wrong, that Ominis had probably long since buried whatever he had once felt for you—if he had ever felt anything at all.

But you couldn’t ignore the gnawing in your chest, the way a tiny, fragile part of you wanted desperately to believe Sebastian was right.

The carriage slowed. Your breath caught.

Sebastian straightened, adjusting his jacket. “Showtime.”

The Gaunt estate was exactly as you remembered it from your Hogwarts days—cold, imposing, and entirely too suffocating. The sprawling grounds were still vast, stretching endlessly in every direction, but there was something unmistakably wilted about them now. The hedges lining the drive had grown wild at the edges, the once-pristine cobblestone path cracked in places, and the grand iron gates—tall and menacing—creaked on their hinges as they shut behind your carriage.

The manor itself was much the same: gray stone, towering spires, an air of superiority that had always felt like a performance rather than a truth. But even from this distance, you could tell that the years had not been kind to it.

The roof, once gleaming with meticulously maintained slate tiles, had dark patches of discoloration. Ivy crept aggressively up the eastern wing, unchecked, wrapping around balconies and windows as if slowly strangling the place. The grand windows that had once shimmered with warm candlelight now looked dimmer, some of them cracked, their leaded glass slightly warped with age.

Neglect.

That’s what this was. The decay wasn’t extreme—not yet—but it was there, creeping at the edges, slowly taking hold.

And you knew why.

Ominis’s father.

The man had been wretched, and his penchant for excess was nothing new. Even back when you were all still in school, it had been whispered that the Gaunts' fortune was a shadow of what it had once been—that their power was more name than substance now.

And now, with his father dead and Ominis as the heir, it seemed evident that the cracks in the foundation had begun to spread.

Sebastian let out a low whistle beside you. “Charming as ever.”

You exhaled, willing your nerves to settle as the carriage rolled to a stop before the grand entrance.

Footmen were stationed by the double doors, their posture rigid, their expressions carefully blank. A few well-dressed guests were filtering into the manor, their whispers hushed but pointed, eyes flickering toward your carriage with interest.

This was it.

You were here.

And somewhere inside that crumbling, gilded ruin was Ominis—waiting for a future he had resigned himself to.

Sebastian stepped out first, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket before turning to offer you a hand. You ignored it, stepping down on your own, too preoccupied with the steady thudding of your heart against your ribs.

As you approached the grand entrance, one of the footmen—rigid, humorless, and probably handpicked for his ability to look as unwelcoming as possible—stepped forward, barring your way with a polite but firm, “Name?”

Sebastian handed over his invitation, flashing a smirk that bordered on arrogance. “Sebastian Sallow,” he said smoothly. “And my lovely plus-one, of course.”

The footman scanned the invitation with a blank expression, then flicked his eyes toward you. His lips pressed together.

“I’m afraid there is no ‘plus-one’ listed, sir.”

Sebastian blinked. “Pardon?”

The footman held out the invitation again. “Your name is on the list, Mr. Sallow, but there is no mention of a guest.”

Sebastian made a show of taking the paper back, squinting at it dramatically. “Oh, what an incredible oversight,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Truly, a devastating clerical error. You should fire whoever manages this list.”

The footman’s mouth twitched—somewhere between unimpressed and mildly annoyed. “Sir, I was given specific instructions. No additional guests who are not accounted for.”

Sebastian threw up his hands. “I’m accounting for her right now—”

“Sebastian,” you muttered under your breath, nudging his arm in warning.

He huffed. “This is absurd. What do you think she’s here for? To steal the centerpieces? I assure you, my guest is—”

The footman remained firm. “If her name is not on the list, she does not enter.”

Your fingers curled into fists. You should have seen this coming. Of course the Gaunts would keep the guest list strictly controlled—this wasn’t just any wedding, it was their last-ditch attempt to save face. The idea that a surprise guest might slip through the cracks was laughable.

Sebastian was still arguing when you finally grabbed his sleeve and yanked him aside.

He frowned at you. “What? I was wearing them down.”

“No, you were irritating them,” you muttered, glancing back at the guards. “Look, you have an invitation. You can get inside.”

He crossed his arms. “And what, exactly, are you going to do? Sit on the curb and wait?”

“No.” You lowered your voice. “I’ll figure something out. But you need to get to Ominis now.”

Sebastian hesitated, his brow furrowing. “You sure?”

You exhaled, glancing back toward the doors. “We don’t have time to waste. Find him. Get him alone. Make him listen. If that doesn't work... we'll... we'll think of something.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw, clearly not thrilled at the idea of leaving you behind. But after a moment, he exhaled sharply.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if you’re not inside within the next fifteen minutes, I will cause a scene.”

You smirked despite yourself. “You always cause a scene.”

He grinned. “Yes, but this time, I’ll make it big.”

With that, he turned, flashing the footman an exaggeratedly smug smile before striding through the doors and disappearing into the estate.

You, meanwhile, lingered near the entrance, watching the footmen out of the corner of your eye. As much as you hated the idea of waiting out here while Sebastian got to Ominis, you knew forcing your way in wasn’t an option.

So you waited.

The footmen barely glanced at you once they assumed you were no longer their problem. Instead, they refocused on their duties—checking invitations, directing guests, speaking in hushed tones with the occasional arrival. It only took a moment for the perfect opportunity to present itself.

A carriage pulled up, the sound of clattering hooves drawing the footmen’s attention just long enough for you to slip away from the entrance.

You kept your posture casual, strolling toward the side of the estate as if you belonged there

The gardens sprawled around the estate in twisting hedges and overgrown flower beds, a shadow of their former grandeur. You maneuvered quickly, ducking beneath the trellis of a neglected rose arch, its petals long wilted, its thorns creeping along rusted iron.

Beyond the hedges, the ceremony setup came into view.

Rows of white chairs arranged in perfect symmetry. A raised platform at the far end, decorated with elegant but impersonal arrangements of deep red roses and ivy. Guests milled about in clusters, dressed in their pure-blood finery, the air thick with murmured conversations and thinly veiled judgments.

You swept your gaze over the fence, searching for a break in the iron, a space for you to slip through without your name on that stupid list.

Nothing.

You kept moving.

The gardens stretched endlessly around you, a maze of twisting paths and forgotten alcoves, the scent of damp earth and decaying petals clung to your senses as you pressed on, scanning every wrought-iron fence post, every creeping vine for a weakness in the estate’s meticulous defenses.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your skirts, your mind racing, cycling through every possible version of what you would say when you saw Ominis again.

How were you even going to begin? Would you demand? Beg? Reason? Would you tell him he was making a mistake, that this wasn’t the only option? Would you say it plainly, admit that you had spent years running from the truth that you loved him, and you always had? That you couldn’t stand the thought of watching him tie himself to someone who would never understand him the way you did?

Suddenly, your skirts snagged against the thick brambles of a particularly dense bush, yanking you to an abrupt stop.

You hissed in frustration, twisting to untangle the fabric, cursing under your breath as you fought with the thorny branches.

Then—

Music.

You froze. Your hands clenched in the fabric of your dress, your breath catching in your throat.

A slow, solemn melody drifted through the air, carried by an unseen quartet.

Shit. Shit. The ceremony is starting.

Your pulse pounded. This wasn’t just some idea anymore, wasn’t just a plan scribbled onto parchment in Sebastian’s messy handwriting.

This was happening.

This was Ominis’s wedding.

Your heart was in your throat.

You tore your skirt free from the brambles, stumbling forward, breath coming faster as you scanned desperately for a way through.

If you didn’t get inside now—

A hand clamped down around your upper arm, yanking you backward with enough force to make you stumble. A startled gasp escaped your lips as you twisted in place, trying to wrench yourself free, but the grip was unrelenting.

The footman was tall, broad, and utterly impassive, his expression betraying not even a flicker of emotion.

"Ma'am, you are trespassing on private property, I must insist—"

“No, wait—” you gasped, trying again, shoving at his arm, but the man barely even shifted. “I just need a moment—I’m not here to—”

“The wedding is invitation-only,” the footman said, unbothered, already dragging you back toward the entrance. “Guests are to remain in designated areas. If you do not have proper clearance—”

“I just need to talk to him!” you nearly shouted, struggling as the ceremony music continued to drift through the garden, the slow, deliberate swell of strings making your stomach twist violently.

Ominis was at the front of that ceremony right now, waiting, standing still and poised while guests murmured and the woman he was supposed to marry prepared to walk down the aisle.

It was real. It was happening. And you were out here, being dragged away, powerless to stop it.

A sickening ache took root in your chest, spreading through your ribs, pressing against your lungs like a vice. Your breath hitched, sharp and unsteady.

You tried everything.

You dug your heels in, but the footman pulled you along effortlessly.

You tried bargaining. “Please, just listen—Ominis Gaunt—he knows me, we were close once, I need to see him—”

It didn’t matter.

He wasn’t listening.

Of course he wasn’t.

The Gaunts controlled their world too carefully to let last-minute intrusions disrupt them. Even now, at the end of their dynasty, they still clung to their crumbling influence, still made sure that everything went exactly as planned.

You just needed one chance—one opening to slip away, to disappear, to reach Ominis before it was too late—

Your fingers twitched toward the hidden pocket in your skirts, brushing against the cool handle of your wand.

It was reckless, maybe even stupid, but you didn’t care.

But then, another hand seized your wrist.

Your breath hitched violently as a second footman stepped forward, his grip firm, unyielding.

“Stop resisting,” he ordered, voice impassive.

“No—please—” you gasped, voice breaking.

The music swelled, the notes stretching out like a death knell in your ears, wrapping around your ribs like a vice.

You could see it now. Too vividly.

Ominis.

Ominis, sitting at the head of a long, extravagant dining table, a woman—his wife, a woman you did not know, would never know—beside him, her hand resting lightly on his wrist as they spoke in hushed tones.

Ominis, dancing with her at some pure-blood gala, his hand on her waist, his voice low in conversation.

Ominis at holidays, wathcing his children—laughing as they tore open gifts wrapped in crisp gold and silver paper.

Ominis in the soft quiet of night, pressing a kiss to his wife’s temple, his hands gentle as they cradled her face.

A sharp, ragged breath tore from your throat, your chest constricting painfully, your lungs refusing to expand properly.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

You fought harder, twisting violently, desperation turning into something sharp and frantic.

"Please, you don’t understand,” you gasped, struggling, thrashing, but it was useless. "Please—I just need a moment—I have to—"

They kept dragging you back to the front drive, further and further away from the ceremony, from him, from the one moment you had to stop this. Your lungs burned, your vision blurred at the edges, and a hot, unbearable pressure rose in your throat—desperation curling tight, suffocating.

Tears burned behind your eyes, stinging, threatening to fall.

And then—

A sudden crack. A flash of red light. The grip on your arms vanished.

You collapsed to your knees, barely registering the sharp sting of gravel biting into your palms. Your chest heaved, ragged and uneven, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as the world tilted around you.

The footmen hit the ground hard, unmoving.

And when you looked up—

Sebastian stood at the threshold of the grand doors, wand raised.

“Looks like I got here just in time,” he mused, voice light, almost lazy, as if he hadn’t just knocked out two Gaunt guards in broad daylight.

You sucked in a shaky, gasping breath, arms trembling as you pushed yourself upright. The fight had drained you—left you raw, exposed.

Sebastian’s smirk faltered. His gaze flickered over you, taking in the state of you—your wild hair, your disheveled dress, the way you struggled to breathe past the sheer panic still lodged in your chest.

His expression hardened. He crossed the distance between you in three long strides, dropping to a knee before you, hand bracing against your shoulder to steady you.

“Hey,” he said, lower now, gentler. “You’re alright.”

You let out a shaking breath, still staring at the unconscious footmen, mind still reeling. “I wasn’t going to make it,” you whispered, voice hoarse, raw from the struggle.

Sebastian squeezed your shoulder. “Yeah, well.” He exhaled, straightening. “Luckily, I’ve got a terrible habit of causing trouble at exactly the right moment.”

You let out a breathless, exhausted laugh.

Sebastian stood, then offered you his hand. “Come on.” His tone shifted, sharpening with urgency. “We need to move. They’ll wake up soon.”

You took it, fingers gripping his tight as he pulled you to your feet.

Your legs were weak, but there was no more time for fear, no more time for second-guessing.

Sebastian held your gaze.

“Are you ready for this?”

Ominis was still waiting.

And you—you were still here.

You nodded.

Sebastian grinned. “Alright, then.”

And with that, you ran.

The Gaunt manor was a maze of dark corridors and endless rooms, its sheer size and suffocating grandeur turning your desperate rush into something far more frustrating.

Even with Sebastian practically dragging you forward, navigating the twisting hallways and sharp turns, it felt like time was slipping through your fingers.

Your pulse thundered. Your legs burned. Your breath came short and uneven as you sprinted your, skirts gathered in your hands.

Footsteps echoed in the halls behind you—shouts, movement. They were coming for you.

A left turn, another hallway, a sharp sprint down the main stairwell, and then finally—

Sebastian shoved open the back door, and you stumbled into the gardens.

The sudden burst of open air nearly stole your breath away. Your lungs ached, your body trembling from the exertion. And then—

You heard the officiant speaking.

Your head snapped toward the ceremony, your entire body freezing in place. It was already happening.

Rows of pure-blooded guests sat in eerie silence, their attention locked on the figures standing at the altar.

You could hear the officiant now, his voice steady, final.

"If there is anyone present who has just cause why these two should not be joined in marriage, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Everything in you screamed. Your vision tunneled, and before you could even think—

"I OBJECT!"

The words rang loud, impossible to ignore, echoing across the ceremony as if they had weight, as if they had been carved into stone.

The officiant froze mid-sentence, his mouth still parted, the words he had been about to speak dying on his lips.

And then, the ripple began.

Gasps. Dozens of them. Whispers—hushed, sharp murmurs spreading through the crowd like wildfire, rustling through silk gowns and stiffly pressed suits. Heads turned sharply in your direction, eyes wide, mouths forming quiet exclamations of scandal and disbelief.

The woman beside Ominis—his bride—let out a small, startled gasp, the delicate bouquet in her hands trembling slightly. She turned her head toward him, confusion flickering across her face, but he didn’t move to reassure her.

Sebastian let out a sharp, triumphant breath behind you. "Well. That got their attention."

But you couldn’t answer. Your heart was going to burst.

You could feel it—pounding, breaking, swelling, shattering all at once, an unbearable rush of emotion so raw that it nearly brought you to your knees.

Because he was standing right there.

Ominis.

Older. More composed, more refined, dressed in a suit that fit him perfectly, every line and seam made for him. But it was still him—the boy you had once loved.

The boy you still loved.

Your vision blurred, and for a horrible, dizzying moment, you thought you might actually cry.

But your feet were moving now.

You barely realized it—one step, then another, then another, until you were walking, carrying yourself down the aisle toward him, your breath still coming too fast, too uneven from the struggle, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Your skirts were torn at the edges, your hair mussed from running, from fighting, from forcing your way through every obstacle that had tried to keep you away from him.

The whispers grew louder, the tension in the air becoming so thick, so suffocating, but you didn’t care.

The words fell from your lips, breathless, desperate, trembling with everything you had kept buried for far too long.

"You can't marry her, Ominis."

For a moment, the world felt frozen, as if the sheer weight of your presence—your defiance—had brought everything to a grinding halt.

The officiant stiffened, his mouth slightly parted in shock. The bride inhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the bouquet, knuckles turning pale against the soft petals. The guests—rows upon rows of pure-blooded aristocrats—stared at you, their expressions ranging from horrified to scandalized to morbidly fascinated.

But none of it mattered.

Because Ominis finally turned.

His head lifted, his face shifting just enough for you to see him fully, and the breath nearly left your lungs entirely.

He was beautiful in the way only Ominis had ever been—his features a careful composition of sharp cheekbones, a proud jawline, plush pink lips pressed into a firm, unreadable line.

But God, he had grown even more handsome.

Time had sculpted him into something even more unattainable, something even more devastatingly perfect.

His voice, measured and steady, cut through the stunned silence.

"...And why is that?"

You felt it before you understood it—the way his voice reached inside you and wrapped around something raw, something fragile, something you thought you had buried beneath years of distance and silence.

It was deeper than you remembered. Richer. Steadier.

And for a terrible second, you couldn’t speak. You had imagined this moment a hundred different ways. You had dreamed of it, dreaded it, rehearsed what you would say if you ever saw him again.

But none of those versions had prepared you for this.

You swallowed hard, blinking against the burn in your eyes. Your fingers curled into your ruined skirts, grounding yourself, forcing breath back into your lungs.

"Because you don’t love her," you said, voice shaking yet resolute. "And she doesn’t love you."

The bride’s sharp inhale was barely audible beneath the collective gasp that rippled through the guests.

"You’re doing this because you think you have to," you continued. "Because you think there’s no other way. But that isn’t true, Ominis. It’s never been true."

His jaw tightened, but he didn't speak.

Your next words came softer, but they still broke through the air like a spell cast in desperation.

"Tell me you want this. Tell me this is what you really want, Ominis, and I’ll leave."

You took another step forward, heart hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to tear itself free from your chest.

The guests were silent now, barely breathing, watching as if they had stumbled into something far too intimate, far too raw to be witnessing.

But you didn’t care. You kept going.

"But if you don’t, if there's—" You swallowed, huffed a small, shaky breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, because god, you were unraveling. "—if there’s any part of you that doesn’t want this—any part at all—then don’t do it. Please. Because I—" You hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment bear down on you, crushing, suffocating. "Because I love you, Ominis."

A ripple went through the crowd—a gasp, a scandalized whisper, a rustling of fabric as guests turned to each other in shock.

The bride was rigid, her knuckles white against the bouquet, her lips pressed into a tight, thin line. But it was her eyes that gave her away—wide, wild, brimming with something between fury and panic.

"Ominis," she said sharply, her voice a blade cutting through the heavy silence. "Say something."

But he didn’t.

Ominis stood motionless, carved from something finer than marble, yet just as unyielding. His lips parted, breath slow and uneven, as though you had reached inside him and shaken something loose, something buried too deep to name. His jaw tightened, the muscle feathering beneath pale skin, his throat working around a swallow he never quite finished.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

It stretched and stretched, yawning wide like the space between stars, like the distance you had spent years putting between you. It pressed against your ribs, against your throat, thick and suffocating, a weight that crushed the breath from your lungs.

You had been so sure—so certain—that he would say something, do something.

But he only stood there. Still. Silent. Unmoving.

And as the seconds bled into each other, as the realization began to sink its cruel, merciless teeth into you, the first seed of doubt took root.

This reckless, desperate thing you had done—it had been a mistake. A cruel, foolish, selfish mistake. You had laid yourself bare before him, only to be met with silence. Nothing more than a last, flailing act of desperation, a pathetic display that only proved how far you had fallen.

Sebastian shifted behind you, and for a single, awful moment, you thought—

Maybe he’s going to drag me away.

Maybe he’ll step in, cut your losses, put an end to this, spare you from any further disgrace.

Maybe this was your only way out.

Maybe it was time to let go.

You swallowed against the burn in your throat, against the ache blooming in your chest. Your vision blurred at the edges, and for the first time, you truly considered turning around.

Walking away. Leaving Ominis to the life he'd been bred to live.

But then Ominis exhaled, a breath so sharp, so unsteady, it sliced through the silence like the edge of a knife.

And then, he turned.

Not just his head. Not just the subtle tilt of his face in acknowledgment.

All of him.

His entire frame shifted, shoulders squaring, spine straightening as he turned fully toward you, facing you where you stood trembling in the middle of the aisle.

The tension in the room snapped taut, the atmosphere shifting as if the very foundation of this moment had cracked beneath the weight of his movement.

A murmur rippled through the crowd, hushed and urgent, the kind of sound that signaled the birth of a scandal, the sort of thing that would be whispered about behind gloved hands for years to come.

The bride sucked in a sharp breath, her bouquet shaking in her grip. “Ominis—”

But he wasn’t listening.

His hand twitched at his side.

And then, he stepped forward.

Just one step at first, slow and deliberate.

Then another.

And another.

The bride’s composure cracked.

“Ominis,” she snapped, her voice laced with something sharp. “What do you think you’re doing?”

But he didn’t stop.

He didn’t even hesitate.

Your chest felt too tight, too full, as if your own ribs were locking around your heart, trying to keep it from breaking, from believing what was happening.

Because Ominis was walking toward you. Confidently. Purposefully.

As if there had never been any other choice but this. As if, after years of silence, of distance, of unspoken things left to rot in the past, there had only ever been one path left to take.

The whispers rose to a fever pitch, scandalized and sharp, shocked and disbelieving. A frenzied murmur of names and questions and outrage, but all you could hear were his footsteps against the stone, each one measured, steady, unshakable.

And all you could see was him.

Tall and lean, just as he had always been, the crisp lines of his suit, the effortless precision of his movements, the way his shoulders squared with a quiet, unshakable confidence—it was Ominis, but not the boy you had once known.

He was a man now.

And he was—he was right in front of you. So close you could see the subtle rise and fall of his chest, could hear the slow, deliberate exhale that left his lips as he seemed to gather himself.

Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out everything but the sound of your own breath, the silent demand in your mind that you memorize this, remember this, because no matter what happened next, this moment would live inside you forever.

Then—he moved.

Slowly, deliberately, as if the weight of this moment threatened to crush him as much as it did you.

His fingers brushed against yours first, barely a touch, a whisper of warmth that sent a shudder through your spine. And then, with a quiet, unsteady inhale, he took your hand fully, his grip firm but trembling, as though he were afraid that if he didn’t hold on now, he might never get the chance again.

A gasp rippled through the crowd, a sharp intake of breath from dozens of watching eyes, but it barely registered. The garden, the wedding, the expectant horror of pure-blooded society—all of it had ceased to exist.

It was just him.

And then, finally, he spoke. Soft, low—only for you.

"You came back."

His voice—God, his voice.

Your throat tightened, your fingers tightening instinctively around his.

"Of course I did."

Ominis exhaled, a breathless, almost disbelieving sound—half a laugh, half a shudder. As if he couldn't quite grasp that this was real, that you were here. Then—slowly, reverently—he lifted his free hand, his fingers trembling ever so slightly before they found your cheek.

You barely had time to react before a sharp, furious voice cut through the air.

"Ominis!"

The bride.

Her voice rose, high and shrill, cracking under the sheer force of her rage. "Have you lost your mind?"

The ceremony was in chaos now—guests murmuring, shifting, watching with wide, horrified eyes. The officiant was pale, his hands clasped together as if unsure whether to proceed or flee. Somewhere in the back, someone stifled a horrified gasp.

But Ominis didn’t turn. Didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.

His palm remained cradling your cheek, his thumb still smoothing gentle, unconscious strokes against your skin. His head tilted just slightly, his breath still uneven, as if the world outside of you had ceased to exist entirely.

"Tell me," he said, voice low and steady, a quiet thing made of certainty and desperation all at once. "Tell me it's true," Ominis whispered, barely more than breath. "Tell me you meant it."

Your pulse roared in your ears, your breath shuddering past your lips.

"You said you love me." His voice dipped lower, raw and unguarded, something fragile threatening to break beneath the weight of it. "Was it true?"

And oh—he needed this.

You could feel it in the way his fingers curled slightly against your skin, in the way his voice wavered at the edges, in the way he stayed, unshaken, unmovable, even as his world collapsed around him.

Your throat tightened. Your heart ached. And for the first time in years, you didn’t hesitate.

You lifted a hand, pressing it over his where it still cupped your cheek.

"I've always loved you, Ominis," you said, voice steady, unshakable.

His breath hitched—his fingers tensed against your skin. His grip on your hand faltered for the smallest second, as though the weight of it, the truth of it, had knocked the air from his lungs.

And then Ominis laughed, soft and disbelieving, shaky and full of something like wonder, like relief, like everything.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t chaste. It wasn’t the careful, reserved gesture of a man bred for propriety.

It was a collision, a reckoning, years of longing and regret and unspoken words crashing together in one devastating, breathtaking moment.

Ominis kissed you like a drowning man breaking the surface, like you were the only thing tethering him to this earth, like he had spent years starving for something he had convinced himself he would never taste again.

His hands, usually so composed, were firm, desperate—one cradling your jaw as if to hold you exactly where he needed you, the other splaying against the small of your back, pulling you impossibly close.

And you melted.

The world around you erupted.

The bride screamed.

A high, piercing sound, raw with rage, with betrayal, with pure, unhinged fury.

Another voice—sharper, colder—cut through the chaos, filled with absolute horror. His mother.

"Ominis Gaunt, what in Merlin’s name do you think you are doing?!"

Pandemonium.

Gasps, shouts, the rustling of expensive fabric as guests stood, as scandalized pure-blooded aristocrats lost all sense of composure. The officiant took a stumbling step back, as if physically recoiling from the disaster unraveling before him. Somewhere, a woman swooned, and a man cursed under his breath.

It was chaos.

But you didn’t care. Because Ominis didn’t care.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t falter. If anything, the noise, the outrage, the sheer catastrophe unfolding around you only made him hold you tighter. Only made him deepen the kiss, parting his lips against yours in a way that made your knees buckle, that sent your fingers flying to clutch at the lapels of his suit, holding on to him for dear life.

He tasted like desperation and devotion, like every word he had never spoken, like every moment that had led to this one, like forever.

And all around you, the world was collapsing, and you could hear it—

Movement.

The rustling of fabric, hurried, frantic. The clambering of shoes against stone. Someone—his mother, the bride, maybe both—running toward you.

A furious, sharp inhale. A gasp of outrage.

And then—

A hand.

Firm, unrelenting, gripping your shoulder.

Before you could even react, before you could turn to see who had reached for you, there was a sharp pull, and the universe twisted, folding in on itself, pulling you through space, through time, through everything.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

You were somewhere else.

It took a second for your mind to catch up, to register your surroundings. The scent of damp earth. The distant hum of insects. The soft rustle of trees swaying in the wind.

Feldcroft.

And Sebastian was there, standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, an entirely too pleased expression stretched across his face.

“Well," He exhaled, shaking his head. "That was dramatic.”

You blinked, dazed.

Ominis's hands were still on you—one at your waist, fingers firm and unyielding, the other curled at the back of your neck. His chest rose and fell against yours, his breath still uneven, still chasing the moment, still catching up to everything that had just happened.

Sebastian let out a low whistle, looking between the two of you with the kind of slow-spreading smirk that made your stomach drop. He was enjoying this.

“Merlin,” he mused, rocking back on his heels. “I knew you had it in you, mate, but I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

Ominis exhaled, sharp and slow, the ghost of disbelief still clinging to the breath. He had done it. He had walked away from everything—his family’s expectations, his carefully arranged future, the life he had been forced into.

All for you.

The realization struck like lightning, burning through your veins, stealing the breath from your lungs.

His mother was going to kill him. And the bride—dear god—

Ominis had just dismantled years of pure-blood tradition in the span of a single moment, and the fallout would be absolute.

But as his grip on you tightened—just barely, just enough to remind you that he was here—you realized something else.

He didn’t regret it. Not for a second.

He took a slow, steadying breath, then finally—finally—turned his head in Sebastian’s direction.

"I suppose you're expecting me to thank you for that little apparition stunt," he said, his voice still a little rough at the edges.

Sebastian’s grin widened. "I’d prefer a heartfelt speech about how I saved your arse, but I’ll settle for the knowledge that I just witnessed one of the greatest pure-blood scandals in recent history.”

Ominis scoffed—something that might have been amusement, might have been exasperation.

And then he turned back to you.

The shift was immediate. The teasing, the aftermath, the lingering humor between friends—all of it faded, leaving only the space between you, heavy with everything that had just unraveled.

Ominis still hadn’t let go.

His fingers twitched against your waist. His other hand, still resting at the nape of your neck, curled slightly, as if reacquainting itself with the shape of you. His head tilted, his lips parting just slightly, as though there were words on the edge of them, waiting, hesitating.

And you knew.

You knew what he was thinking.

What now?

You had shattered his carefully built world in a matter of minutes. He had destroyed everything that had been set in stone for him. And now, here you both stood, at the precipice of something entirely new, something undefined, something terrifying and exhilarating and real.

Sebastian, sensing the shift, sighed dramatically. “Right, well, I can see I’m no longer needed here.” He turned on his heel, taking a few steps toward the cottage before pausing. “Just don’t shag in my childhood home, yeah? I’d really rather not have to burn it down.”

Ominis didn’t even dignify that with a response.

Sebastian laughed under his breath, gave you a knowing look, then disappeared down the path, whistling as he went.

And then, it was just the two of you.

Alone.

Ominis let out a long, slow breath.

Eight years.

Eight years since he last saw you. Since the moment he convinced himself he’d never see you again. Since you disappeared from his life with nothing but silence left in your wake.

His grip tightened, fingers curling ever so slightly against you, as if he was afraid you might slip away again.

“You never wrote me back,” he said, voice quieter now, roughened at the edges. “Not once.”

You swallowed, throat tightening, a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you. “Ominis—”

“No,” he cut you off, a sharp exhale betraying the control he was desperately clinging to. “No, let me—” He broke off, shaking his head, voice dropping lower. “Let me say this before I lose my nerve.”

You nodded, pulse thrumming in your ears, watching as his expression twisted with something raw, something fragile.

“I wrote you,” he continued, softer now. “I wrote you for years. And I know you wrote to the others. Sebastian, Imelda, even Garreth, for Merlin’s sake. But never me.” His fingers flexed at your waist. “Why?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You had braced for this. You had known, even in the haze of everything that had just unraveled, that this moment would come.

You shut your eyes for a brief second, gathering yourself, trying to steady the tremor in your voice. “Because I thought you… God, Ominis, I was in love with you.” The confession tumbled out, raw and unpolished, your throat tightening around the words. “And I didn’t think you felt the same. I couldn’t—” Your breath hitched, and you forced yourself to go on. “I couldn’t handle it anymore. Every day, being near you, pretending I was fine when all I wanted was—” A sharp, shaking inhale. “It was easier to run. To disappear. To… to hide.”

Ominis made a sound—half choked, half incredulous—a sharp, disbelieving exhale that might have been a bitter laugh if not for the rawness in it. “Are you serious? You thought I—?” He let out a shaky breath and pulled back just enough to search your face, his touch firm but hesitant, as if afraid you might vanish again. “You were everything to me.”

The world around you shrank to nothing. It was just him, just the storm in his voice, the years of pain in his expression, the way his carefully composed mask had finally, finally cracked.

You could barely breathe. “Ominis...”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “You really mean to tell me—” He let out a slow, shaky breath. “You left because you thought I didn’t love you?”

A lump rose in your throat.

"Yes."

His expression changed then—shifting from disbelief to something devastatingly open, as though every wall he had ever put up had crumbled all at once. No careful detachment. No measured control. Just him, stripped bare.

“Eight years.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, hoarse with something you couldn’t name. “I spent eight years convincing myself you were happy without me. That I was a fool to still be in love with you.”

Your breath stilled in your chest, the weight of his words sinking in all at once. “You—?”

“Yes.” The answer came without hesitation. No hesitation at all. “I loved you then. I love you now. I never stopped.” His fingers curled ever so slightly against you, like he was trying to ground himself in this moment. “And all this time, I thought you—” He swallowed, shaking his head, voice breaking on the last words. “I never knew.”

Your stomach twisted painfully.

For eight years, you thought you had carried this heartache alone.

But so had he.

Ominis had spent these past eight years thinking the same thing. That you didn’t love him. That you didn’t want him.

The weight of it crashed down on you all at once, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your fingers tightened against his jacket, as if holding onto him could somehow anchor you, could somehow make up for all the time you had lost.

Eight years. Eight wasted years.

“Ominis,” you finally managed, but the sound of his name wasn’t enough to contain everything you felt. The love. The grief. The aching realization of what you both had done to yourselves, to each other.

“Say it again,” he murmured, voice low, barely more than a breath between you.

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“That you loved me.” His fingers flexed, tightening where they rested at your waist, and you felt it—the desperation, the need. “Say it.”

Your throat tightened, and you lifted your gaze to his, knowing exactly what he was asking.

Not just for the past, but for now. For the truth that still remained, untouched by time.

You swallowed hard. “I loved you.” A shaky breath. “I love you.”

Ominis let out a soft, broken sound, like something inside him had finally snapped. Before you could even think, he moved.

His hands framed your face, and then his lips were on yours again.

Unlike the desperate, heated clash of lips from the wedding—a collision of years of tension and aching grief, unpolished and frantic—this was something else entirely. This was slow. Purposeful. Reverent.

Ominis kissed you like he was memorizing you. Like he was tracing the contours of something long lost, something he never thought he’d have again.

His fingers moved, skimming along your jaw, tilting your face just so, allowing him to deepen the kiss in slow, measured increments. No rush. No desperation. Just the quiet, unshakable truth of what had always been there between you.

You sighed against his lips, and he responded with a quiet, content hum, the sound reverberating through you like a tether, like a promise. His thumb brushed your cheek, featherlight, as if to reassure himself that this moment was real—that you were here, in his arms, not a cruel trick of his imagination.

He broke away only for a breath, just long enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breathing uneven, his hands still cradling your face like something fragile and precious.

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with awe, with wonder.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Believe it.”

He swallowed hard, his lips hovering close to yours, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to part from you. “I’ve spent so long dreaming of this.” A pause. “Of you.”

Your heart clenched at the quiet confession, at the raw tenderness in his voice.

“I’m here now,” you whispered. “And I’m not leaving again.”

Something in his expression shifted then, something profound and unguarded. His hands slid from your face, down to your waist, pulling you just that much closer until there was no space left between you. His lips brushed against yours once more—not demanding, not desperate, but full of quiet devotion, the kind that made your knees weak, the kind that felt like home.

His arms wrapped around you fully now, enveloping you in his warmth, his breath fanning against your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “Good,” he whispered, his voice soft but firm. “Because I wouldn’t let you.”

A small, breathless laugh escaped you, but it dissolved into nothing as he kissed you again, slow and sure, as if he had all the time in the world to make up for every missed moment.

And maybe—just maybe—you did.

[boybandbaby]

Secret (Evan Buckley x SingleMom!Reader)

word count: 1343

warnings/tags: nervous buck, 18+ mdni (mention of sex), as always please let me know if i missed anything

note: part of my single mom reader universe which can be found here

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Buck had noticed your change in demeanor from the first two dates. He thought things had been going well but he’s starting to second guess himself.

He starts to think that maybe he had worked up this idea that things with you could be end game. I mean it was only your third date and he was already thinking of engagement rings.

He had been scolded by each member of the team and his sister when he asked Chimney which ring shop he went to. They all told him to slow his roll and not to get ahead of himself. Though they were excited for him and his new situationship, they didn't want him to get too ahead of himself.

He wonders if maybe you had noticed that he was beginning to really have feelings for you. Maybe now you had found him creepy or too pushy or too needy. Was he texting you too much? Was he asking to see you too much? Had he made you uncomfortable and now you were trying to figure out how to break things off already?

Then he remembered a joking comment from Eddie on yesterday's shift. He had been discussing the movie you picked out for both of you to see and that he was really excited to spend more time with you.

"How long have you guys been seeing each other?" Eddie had asked.

"We've been talking for a little over a month but it's officially our third date." Buck replied, buttoning his shirt up.

"Ooh, third date? You know what that means." Eddie wiggled his eyebrows. Buck knew he said it to be funny but now Buck wonders if you maybe live by the ridiculous rule of sleeping together after the third date.

What if you’re expecting sex tonight? Or what if you’re freaking out about him wanting sex tonight? Or what if you don’t want sex with him at all, ever?

Buck can feel himself sweating through his shirt in the very well air conditioned movie theatre. He’s glad it’s somewhat dark or he’s sure you could see the sweat beads rolling off his forehead. He knows you very well may be able to see him as he can see your face clearly in the light from the screen.

You’re quieter today. Face bright under the movie lights with a small smile that has a hint of nervousness in it. The popcorn bowl is still quite full and candy boxes unopened despite both of you stating you loved movie snacks.

You spend the entire movie silent and rigid in your seats. Your hands found each others' the first two dates. The first time over the table at dinner and the second time on the car console on your way to the beach. Now, they lay in your lap and his on the arm rests. You're itching to hold his hand but you're just too nervous about the secret you're holding in.

Buck knows he has to confront you kindly after the movie about what’s going on and hopefully reassure you he’s not in this just for sex. So as you’re both finally leaving the theatre, the last ones, he goes to speak when you do first. “That was a good movie, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I enjoyed it.” He smiles, hands in his pockets as you stand in the cold, face illuminated by the neon lights of the signs out front. Buck cannot remember who was even in the movie, let alone the plot. “Look, I wanted to talk to you about something…” he trails off.

“Oh? Um, yeah sure.” You look around and guide him to a near by metal bench. “Everything okay?”

Internally, you’re spiraling. You know you haven’t been acting normal tonight but you hoped that he would just ignore it. You’ve only known him for a few short weeks but you know parts of him by now. You know Buck has a habit of overthinking things so you’re sure he’s picked up on it. You’re wondering if somehow he knows your secret.

“I know it’s our third date and there’s this like third date rule that people follow. I just want you to know that I’m not expecting anything from you. I hope that’s not why you’ve been quiet all night. I know we’re still getting to know each other but I hope you know that I would never try to pressure you into doing something you weren’t comfortable with.” Buck rambles, hands flexing and squeezing on his thighs. He can feel sweat accumulating on his palms and he realizes he hasn’t even looked at your face since he started talking.

When he looks up, your eyes are slightly glossy and he’s not sure what he’s said to make you…upset?

“Y/n…”

“I have a daughter!” You blurt. When you search his face for any sort of information on how he’s feeling about this news, you’re met with furrowed brows, mouth slightly agape, and silence. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled it out like that. All night I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you. It’s the third date and yes I’m aware of the third date rule but I of course know you weren’t trying to sleep with me. I just figured the third date is either make or break and it was time for me to tell you about my daughter. You know, that way you can decide if you want to continue seeing me or get out before it goes any further.”

“What’s uhhhh, what’s her name?” He stutters.

“Her name is Evie. She just recently turned 7. Her father isn’t in the picture but that’s a story for another time.” You wave off. “What do you think? Or like how are you feeling about all this? I'm so sorry I haven't said anything up until now."

“It’s doesn’t change how I feel about you. I’m surprised, sure, but I know you probably kept it a secret for a reason. I can’t imagine it’s easy being a single parent and trying to date.”

“It’s not just that. I don’t want to bring someone around her until I know that it’s serious and it hardly gets to the serious state. I really like you but I was scared this would scare you away. I’m also scared that we’ll get in too deep and you’ll realize you don’t want to be with a woman who has a kid or that the other shoe will drop and you’ll be this horrible evil guy.” You finally grab his hand. "But I know you're not a bad guy."

“Just breathe.” Buck kisses your knuckles. “Breathe, babe. I totally understand where you’re coming from. We'll take this as slow as you want. Your daughter comes first and I want to be part of your life and eventually hers if you'll let me."

"You're seriously so sweet, Buck." You pull him in for a hug. "I don't want to force you to stay or make you feel like you have to be okay with this."

"You're not forcing me to do anything. I really really like you and I want to make this work. I'll be as involved as you'll let me and I'll be patient with you just like you are with me and my job." He rubs your back before kissing your forehead. "Please don't ever scare me like that again, though. I was freaking out the entire movie."

"I'm sorry! I was nervous!" You laugh. "I could barely pay attention to what was happening."

"I don't even remember what movie we were watching." He smiles. "You want to go for ice cream? Or do you have a curfew?"

"Shut up, I don't have a curfew." You push his shoulder. "I could go for ice cream, as long as you're buying."

"I think you should buy me ice cream since you had me on edge all night." He winks. "Come on, milfy."

"Evan!" Your eyes widen as he starts running to his car. "I can't believe you just said that!"

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

[ecoustsaintmein]

More thoughts because I can't stop and this train is 5 hours long:

We've talked so much about how Dónal plays Eoin like the lovestruck adoring boy who looks at Paddy like he could never do anything wrong. BUT. We've also talked about how much Jack plays Paddy like he doesn't know what to do with this information.

He tries to play it cool. BUT. I've been rewatching S1 (again and again) and in the first scene when Eoin appeared, stretched out in the sun, like a lynx or a misplaced statue of a Greek God in the middle of the desert, smiling his million-watt smile, mouthwatering beautiful. THIS WAS THE FIRST SIGHT OF EOIN THAT PADDY HAD IN A LONG TIME. After the ugliness of prison. I mean. Did you see the way Paddy just straight up grinned and scurried up to Eoin like an excited dog? AND THEN EOIN FED HIM. with the gazelle that Paddy hunted. (who is the master and who is the loyal dog?)

Also. We may have been fooled to think that that Eoin is a mere messenger, a second-in-command; it being twice that he was sent to deliver the message to Paddy from Stirling/Lewes. Alas. This is because Eoin is the only one who can translate the dog-speak. He is the dog-whisperer, the one to calm Paddy's id. And when he touches Paddy, there is always a purpose behind it. 'Calm down. Sit. You're a good boy. I'm here. You're mine.'

When Eoin asks about Stirling and Lewes and Burma in the tent, Eoin is worried if Paddy is shopping around for a new master.

When he breaks Paddy out of prison and meets Reg, he eyes Reg up and down, assessing him, wondering if this guy will be his rival for Paddy's affection, or another rabid dog ready to be let loose; Paddy's hunting companion. And Eoin laughs when Reg opens his mouth, because immediately he knows it's the latter.

And in subsequent episodes, when Eoin is always just lurking in the background, smiling? We may have been fooled to think that Eoin is just a second-in-command, the Patroclus to Paddy's Achilles. Alas, I would like to think that Eoin looks on, adoringly, at his pet dog like a master who keeps Paddy on a long leash. Seeing what Paddy can do, his many tricks. At least this way he can control Paddy's violence, when he is close. And he is damned proud of Paddy.

Paddy will bark, bite, howl. Eoin will let him chase after his hunts. But at the end of the day when he returns home and he is alone with Eoin, he will wag his tail and ask for pats and pets and scratchies (not through words, but through a different kind of dog-speak that Eoin will understand). And he will turn into putty in Eoin's hands.

[vodika-vibes]

She Could Have Been Mine

A companion piece to Sugarpop

Summary: Cody realizes what he lost.

Pairing: Background Commander Bly x F!Reader, Commander Cody

Word Count: 1086

Warnings: None? Minor angst

A/N: So, I finally wrote the sequel/companion piece to Sugarpop that so so many of you asked for. I hope you all like it.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

Loving her is easy.

She’s easy to love. Kind and gentle, warm and welcoming in a way you don’t see often outside the Jedi.

For Cody, loving her is as natural as breathing. 

And yet, he’s known from the start that she was too good for him. Someone like her deserves only the best. And Cody is far from the best.

So he does what he knows has to be done. He keeps his distance, treating her like a dear friend, almost a sister, but nothing more. He meets other women and dates them, and she always greets them with a warm smile and a baked treat.

And he ignores the way that she looks at him. The way she smiles at him. 

He ignores how her smile falters when he introduces another woman to the friend group. And he pretends he can’t see her heart breaking in her eyes every time he chooses someone else.

It’s for the best.

She deserves better than him.

When she gets kidnapped, her front door kicked in and her apartment trashed, Cody’s heart drops. He’s sure that they’re going to find her body in a ditch somewhere on Coruscant.

He gives up on her.

He can’t conceive of the possibility that she survives something like that. It’s not like she’s a soldier or anything like that. She’s just a baker. And, as much as he loves her, he can’t cling to the faint hope that she might still live. He has a war to win.

Bly…doesn’t agree.

“You have no proof that she’s dead!” Bly snaps, as he’s held back by Wolffe and Fox. Cody’s grateful for it, for all that Bly seems like an easygoing guy, he’s not sure he’d win in a fistfight against him. “You’re giving up on her even though nothing is indicating she’s dead?! What kind of friend are you?”

“I’m a realist, Bly. She’s just a baker—”

Bly rips himself free from his brothers and manages to restrain his anger with great difficulty, “I don’t think I’ve ever been so disgusted with one of my own brothers before. I refuse to give up. I’m going to find her.”

Six months later, Cody is sure that Bly must have given up. Everyone else has.

And yet, Bly sends a simple message in the group chat, “I found her. She’s alive. Will return to Coruscant when deployment ends.”

For Cody, the message is like a breath of fresh air. He never, once, dared to hope that she might still be alive.

And, for the first time, Cody starts to think that maybe he’s been going about this all wrong. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time for him to be honest with himself. 

The first time Cody sees her after her long imprisonment, he almost doesn’t recognize her. Her hair is cropped shorter than he had ever seen before, and she looks like she’s lost weight…but when she sees him she offers the same warm smile that she always gave him.

The same smile that makes his heart skip a beat. The same smile that he fell in love with all those months ago.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Cody offers as she walks over to him.

“Thank you. General Secura put me in touch with a mind healer at the temple, to help me process everything that happened to me. But…” She trails off, and looks away from him, her smile softening slightly, “I think I’m going to be alright.”

“That’s good. I’m glad the Jedi are willing to help you.”

“Well, General Secura said something about the kidnapping being half their fault? I’m not sure what she means, but she feels really guilty about it.”

Well, that’s news to him. But also, he doesn’t want to talk about the Jedi right now. Cody opens his mouth to say something, a rough plan on how he’d ask her on a date starting to form in the back of his mind.

Only he never gets the chance to speak.

“Sugarpop!” Her head turns to the side and a blinding smile crosses her face as she sees Bly standing there, “I was wondering where you slipped off to.”

Cody watches, stunned, as she turns away from him and skips over to Bly, not slowing as she crashes into him and wraps her arms around his neck. And he watches as Bly spins her around to work off some of that momentum, and then leans in to press his forehead against hers.

Oh.

Her hands come up and press against his cheeks, and a giggle he’s never heard before slips from her lips as Bly whispers something to her.

Oh.

A wry, slightly wistful, smile crosses his lips. 

He missed his chance. 

His gaze meets Bly’s for a moment, and then Cody looks away. He doesn’t want to see this. He doesn’t deserve to see this.

He hears Bly murmur something to her, and he glances at them in time to see her nod and slide back to the ground. “Are we still going to go to the—?” She trails off, her voice tinged in hope.

Bly grins at her and kisses her forehead, “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.” He takes her hands for a moment, “Wait outside for me? I’ll be just a few minutes.”

“Alright.” She turns and smiles at Cody, “I’ll see you later, Cody!”

“Yeah. Later.” Cody watches her leave the building and then turns his attention to his brother.

“You alright, Codes?” Bly asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I’m not an idiot and I know you love her?”

“I’m fine, Bly. I’m not entitled to her.”

Bly sighs, “Did you think she was going to wait forever?”

“No. Of course not.” He pauses and then rubs the back of his neck, “Is she happy?”

“I like to think so.”

“Then that’s good enough for me. Just…keep making her happy, and I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Stop worrying about me, dumbass. Go to your girl.”

“Fine, fine.” Bly turns to leave the building as well, “Oh, but I’m telling Wolffe and Fox that you’re feeling sad.”

Cody huffs out a laugh, “Thanks.” Then Bly and gone and Cody takes a moment to push his hand through his hair.

She could have been his if he hadn’t been such a moron. But then, he’s not sure he’d be able to make her as happy as Bly does.

He tilts his head back, and a bitter laugh slips from him, “Force, I’m such a kriffing idiot.”

@heidnspeak

@justiceandwar98

@etod

@kiss-anon

@lonewolflupe

@silly-starfish

@msmeredithrose

@cdblake1565

@badbatch-bitch

@continous-mistakes

@falconfeather23435

@tiredbi-peach

@kimiheartblade

@clones-cyare

@cc--2224

@0revna0

@mira-loves-star-wars

@trixie2023

@rebell-ious

@padawancat97

@sweater-sloot

@bekahcurlygirl

@bb8-99

@maniacalbooper

@wax-birds

@adriennelenoir

@omegaprime18

@bad4amficideas

@bekah_curlygirl

@dukeoftheblackstar

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@arctech-fox

[octaneink]

Come take your chance with me

Will Lenney x Fem!Reader

Summary : The reader likes Will, she decides to show that she loves him in the most romantic way she can think of. Write a song dedicated to him. Now she just has to post it privately on YouTube so James can have a look at it... Right? Warnings : none (unless you count some cheesy ass writing) Notes : I have once again decided to write something based off a song that just got me in the mood! Its a bop, 10/10 would recommend. Also, I know nothing about music theory, I looked up most of this stuff on Google, I apologise if I got it wrong.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, your guitar resting against your knees, the hum of your desk lamp casting long, flickering shadows on the notebook sprawled open in front of you. The room is quiet except for the occasional creak of your chair and the faint hum of the city outside your window. Your mind, however, is anything but quiet.

Will’s smile flickers in your thoughts—that easy, crooked grin that’s been haunting you for months. You can still see it so clearly: the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, the way he’d leaned in close to hear you over the noise of the bar that first night, his breath warm against your ear. Focus, you chide yourself, shaking your head as if it will dislodge the memory.

The melody has been looping in your head for days, an insistent rhythm that feels like it’s woven itself into your very being. The instrumental beat, the steady thrum of the would be drums—it’s like an earworm no one else can hear, a secret soundtrack only you know. It’s there when you wake up, humming in the back of your mind as you brush your teeth. It’s there when you’re scrolling through your phone, tapping out the rhythm on your thigh. It’s there when you’re lying in bed at night, the notes swirling in the dark like fireflies you can’t catch.

But the words? The words are a mess.

“I’m lost in your eyes"

You pause, tapping your pen against the paper. I'm lost in your eyes? Too cliché. Too… obvious. But the next line comes unbidden, as if your heart has been waiting for permission to speak:

“But you’re the cool to my calm each day…”

You wince. Cool to my calm? That sounds like something you’d find on a motivational poster in a dentist’s office. You nearly scratch it out, but the rhythm of the words keeps your hand still. It isn’t perfect, but it’s honest. And isn’t that what matters?

Your mind drifts back to Will. You’d met on a night out, of course. James, your best friend since college, had dragged you to some trendy sports bar downtown. “You need to get out more,” he’d insisted. “You’re turning into a hermit.”

You’d rolled your eyes but let him drag you along anyway. And there he was: Will Lenney, standing at the bar with a drink in hand, his laugh cutting through the noise like a beacon. James had introduced you, and Will had flashed you that grin—the one that makes your stomach do somersaults.

Will said your name, “Nice to meet you. James talks about you all the time.”

“All good things, I hope,” you’d replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Mostly,” Will had teased, his eyes sparkling.

That had been six months ago. Six months of late-night conversations, of stolen glances, of moments that felt like they could mean something if either of you dared to say it out loud.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, your guitar resting against your knees. The chorus has been nagging at you all day, a snippet of melody that refuses to leave you alone. You strum a chord, humming under your breath.

“Honey dance with me

Come take your chance with me"

It’s catchy, you have to admit. But is it too much? Too obvious? You groan, flopping back onto your pillows. Writing a song about someone who has no idea how you feel is harder than you’d thought.

Your phone buzzes on the night stand.

Will (9:42 PM): You free this weekend? James and I are filming a collab. Thought you might want to hang after.

Your heart leaps, but you force yourself to play it cool.

You (9:43 PM): Depends. Will there be snacks?

Will (9:43 PM): Obviously. I’m not a monster.

You smile, your fingers itching to pick up the guitar again. Maybe you’ll figure out the bridge tomorrow.

Past you was clearly an optimist.

The bridge is giving you trouble. You’ve rewritten it three times already, but nothing feels right. Each attempt feels like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands—close, but never quite there.

“Now we’ve been losing our way

A little bit more every day…”

It’s close, but something is missing. You sigh, setting the guitar aside and reaching for your coffee. The song is almost done, but the closer you get to finishing it, the more terrified you become. What if Will hears it and realises it’s about him? What if he hates you for thinking about him in that way? What if he doesn’t?

Your phone buzzes again.

James (11:15 AM): How’s the song coming?

You (11:16 AM): It’s… coming. I think. Maybe.

James (11:16 AM): You’re overthinking it. Just finish it already.

Easier said than done.

By the end of the week, the song is done. You sit back, your fingers sore and your heart pounding. You glance at the clock and groan. You have work in the morning, but there’s no way you’re sleeping now.

Instead, you grab your phone and open your messages.

You (12:07 AM): Hey, James. You awake?

The response comes almost immediately.

James (12:08 AM): Barely. What’s up?

You (12:08 AM): I wrote something. Can you look at it? Tell me if it’s too… much.

James (12:09 AM): Send it over.

You snap a picture of the lyrics and hit send, your stomach twisting as you wait for his reply.

James (12:12 AM): This is… wow.

You (12:12 AM): Wow good or wow bad?

James (12:13 AM): Wow good. It’s raw. It’s… you. Will’s going to lose his mind when he hears it.

Your breath catches. When he hears it? You hadn’t even thought that far ahead.

You (12:14 AM): I don’t know if I can let him hear it. What if he hates it? And its still not finished…

James (12:15 AM): He won’t. Trust me.

You don’t respond, your mind racing coming up with random, horrible, horrific scenarios of what or how he’d react when he heard it.  

But then you think of his smile, of the way he’d looked at you that night at the bar, and something in your chest tightens. Maybe it’s worth the risk.

The red recording light glares at you, unblinking, as if it’s judging every note, every word, every breath. You’ve been at this for hours—days, really—trying to get it right. The song is finished, but capturing it perfectly feels impossible. You’ve already done seven takes, and now you’re on your tenth. Or is it the eighteenth? You’ve lost count.

Your voice wavers on the line “murky waters, baby,” and you stop mid-verse, groaning in frustration. You hit pause on the recording software and slump back in your chair, running a hand through your hair. It’s late—way too late—but you can’t stop now. Not when you’re so close.

You glance around your home studio, a space you’ve spent years curating. The room is small but cosy, soundproofed with foam panels you and James installed last summer. Your guitar rests on a stand next to your keyboard, and your mic—a decent condenser you saved up for—sits in front of you, its pop filter catching the soft glow of the desk lamp. Your laptop screen displays the waveform of your latest attempt. It’s not terrible, but it’s not perfect.

You take a deep breath, close your eyes, and recall how to get to where you are now.

The first day is a disaster. You’re too nervous, too stiff, too aware of every little mistake. Your voice cracks on the high notes, and you keep stumbling over the words. “Honey dance with me (oh sugar)” sounds more like a question than an invitation, and you cringe every time you play it back.

You give up after the fifth take, deciding to focus on the guitar track instead. You plug in your acoustic, adjusting the mic placement until the tone is just right. You record it clean, layering in a soft strumming pattern that matches the rhythm of the song. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.

By the third day, you’ve managed to record a decent vocal take. It’s not flawless, but it’s raw and honest, and you decide that’s better than perfect. You open your DAW—Digital Audio Workstation—and begin syncing the vocals with the guitar. You add subtle reverb to give it that dreamy, intimate feel, tweaking the EQ until your voice sits just right in the mix.

You play it back, your heart pounding as you listen to the chorus. 

It’s close. So close. But something’s missing.

By the end of the week, you’re exhausted. Your fingers are sore from playing the guitar, your throat is raw from singing, and your eyes are burning from staring at your laptop screen for hours on end. But the song is finally done.

You play it back one last time, your heart in your throat. It’s not perfect, but it’s yours. It’s you.

You open YouTube, preparing to upload the video. You set it to Private, your thumb hovering over the upload button. You’re not ready for anyone to hear it—not yet. But then your phone buzzes.

Will (1:14 AM): You up?

Your heart skips a beat. You glance at the screen, your thumb slipping as you fumble to reply.

Public.

You don’t realise your mistake until it’s too late.

You wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing incessantly on your nightstand. Groaning, you reach for it, squinting against the harsh light of the screen. The notifications are overwhelming—hundreds, maybe thousands, of them. YouTube comments, Twitter mentions, Instagram DMs. Your heart skips a beat as you open YouTube and see the number: 1.2M views.

Overnight.

Your stomach drops. You sit up, your hands trembling as you scroll through the comments.

“This is so beautiful. Who’s it for? 👀”

“The way she sings ‘your lips on mine’… I’m obsessed.”

“Who’s Will?? Someone find him!”

You freeze. The description. You’d written it in a sleep-deprived haze last night, not thinking anyone would actually see it.

“For Will.”

That’s all it said. No last name, no context. Just two words that now have the entire internet speculating.

You open TikTok, against your better judgement. The first video that pops up is a stitch of your chorus, overlaid with a clip of a random guy named Will from some obscure show. The caption reads: “Found him! This is the Will she’s singing about. #HoneyDanceWithMe”

The comments are worse.

“No way, that’s not him. She’s way too talented for that guy.”

“It’s obviously about Will Smith. She’s just being subtle.”

“Will SMITH?? Girl that man is married. She’s obviously talking about Will Stuart.”

“This song is a BOP. Also, Will better step up because this is breath taking.”

You close the app, your face burning. This is worse than you thought. 

You cradle your face and scream into your hands. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be private. A secret. Something you could share when you were ready—if you were ever ready.

Your phone buzzes again, and you flinch. It’s James.

James (8:57 AM): You didn’t mean to do that...right?

You (8:58 AM): NO WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT?? 

You (8:58 AM): ALSO 

You (8:58 AM): NOT HELPING!!

James (8:59 AM): Relax. It’s raw. It’s… you. Will’s been asking for your address, by the way.

Your stomach drops. Will’s been asking for your address.

You type out a response, delete it, then type it again.

You (9:00 AM): What did you tell him?

The three dots appear, then disappear, then appear again.

James (9:01 AM): Relax, I didn’t give it to him. Yet.

You groan again, louder this time. This is a nightmare. A beautiful, terrifying nightmare.

By noon, you’re a wreck. You’ve avoided social media, but the texts keep coming. Friends, acquaintances, even your mum has seen the song.

Mum (12:30 PM): Pumpkin, is this about that boy you told me about? The one with the nice smile?

You groan, flopping back onto your bed. This is a disaster. You type back a quick yes and for the moment, ignored her messages.

Your phone buzzes again.

Will (12:45 PM): Hey. You okay?

You stare at the message, your heart pounding. What do you even say? Hey, sorry I accidentally wrote a song about you and posted it online. My bad.

Before you can reply, another text comes through.

Will (12:46 PM): The song’s amazing, by the way.

Your breath catches. He’s heard it. Of course, he’s heard it. It’s everywhere.

You (12:47 PM): Thanks. I didn’t mean for it to go public.

Will (12:48 PM): I know. James told me. You okay?

You’re not sure how to answer that.

The knock comes at 1:00 PM sharp. You’ve been pacing for what feels like hours, your stomach in knots, your mind racing with a thousand what-ifs. You glance at yourself in the hallway mirror—hair a mess, still in your pajamas, and a worn old hoodie, eyes wide with panic. Great. Perfect timing.

You take a deep breath, smoothing your hair as best you can, and open the door.

There he is. Will. Standing on your doorstep, his hands shoved in his pockets, that familiar grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. His hair is slightly messy, like he’s been running his hands through it, and his eyes are soft, almost hesitant.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and warm.

“Hey,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. You step back to let him in, your heart hammering so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him, and for a moment, the two of you just stand there in the quiet of your hallway. The air feels charged, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.

“So… the song,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You wince, crossing your arms over your chest like a shield. “Yeah. The song.”

He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “It’s amazing. Really.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. “Thanks.”

He hesitates, then reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours. The touch is light, almost tentative, but it sends a shiver down your spine. “You could’ve just told me, you know,” he says, his voice soft.

You look up at him, your breath catching. “Told you what?”

He smiles, that same crooked grin that’s been haunting you for weeks. “That you feel the same way I do.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Will, I—”

But before you can finish, he steps closer, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. He murmurs your name, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to say anything. The song said it all.”

And then he kisses you.

It’s soft at first, tentative, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you lean into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

The kiss deepens, sweet and slow, like honey dripping from a spoon. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. You can feel the warmth of his body, the way his breath hitches when you slide your fingers into his hair.

It’s messy and imperfect, just like the song, but it’s real. It’s you.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“So,” he says, his voice rough, a grin tugging at his lips. “Does this mean I get to dance with you?”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside you. “Shut up.”

He kisses you again, quick and playful this time. “Never.”

[starshideurfics]

A Mother’s Love - Part 3

part 1, part 2

omegaverse, pre-steddie, hints of WaynexBenny, steve with powers

Benny spends the next 37 hours in Wayne’s nest, holding his pup the whole time. It doesn’t make up for the nearly 14 years of holding Steve that he lost out on, but it’s a start.

In the wee hours of the morning, Steve is breathing deeply against Benny’s shoulder, sleeping hard.

Sure they can’t be overheard, Benny turns to Marsha and asks, “What do we tell him?”

“What do you want to tell him?” she returns, just as softly.

“That I did not want to give him up. That it wasn’t my choice.” He breathes deep, peaches and cream flood his senses, and Benny kisses his hair.

“Richard and I haven’t told him he’s adopted yet. But I don’t think he has any memories from before we moved to Hawkins.” She smiles over at Benny and her boy. “I’d like to keep it that way. I don’t want him to have to deal with… Any of it. Not knowing will keep him safer.”

“I agree on all that.”

Benny pets down Steve’s back, purrs to comfort him. “But what do we tell him?” His voice breaks as he asks again.

“He deserves to know as much of the truth as we can tell him. You were young, couldn’t keep him-”

“I wasn’t given a choice!”

“Shh, I know, honey. I know. You’d never choose it.”

She stands, pulls her chair closer so she can touch him, caresses Benny’s cheek. “But it’s also the truth. You didn’t want to give him up, you had to, you knew me from work, asked for help.” She pauses, hand moving to Steve’s hair. “I didn’t realize we’d moved to the same town. All true.”

“Yes.” His heart hurts, so much of his pain is being peeled back and discarded. The horrors of his life cast to the wayside.

“Steve’s always been a sensitive boy. I think he’ll *feel* the connection. I really do.”

“I know. I feel it, too. Could feel it the second I saw him.”

“Mama?” Steve mumbles in his sleep, fingers tightening their grip on Benny’s shirt.

“It’s okay, baby,” Benny murmurs, rubbing his back. “You’re okay.”

That’s all it takes. Steve settles, body going lax again as he nuzzles against Benny’s neck.

When his heat finally breaks, Steve is confused. Disoriented more than anything. But he listens as his mother speaks, still breathing the comforting apple scent on Benny’s shirt. Her words are easy to accept, burrowing deep inside him, finding a home in his heart.

Suddenly, Steve finds himself in possession of a Dad, Mom, and now a Mama.

❤️❤️❤️

Steve gets the weekend after his presentation heat to sleep off the remaining exhaustion and give himself time to absorb everything that’s changed about his life.

And it really does feel like everything has changed.

It’s confusing, but good. He just… He doesn’t want to be different.

Barely anyone brings it up, but Steve knows he doesn’t fit in with most of his classmates simply because his family isn’t from Hawkins. He’s known everyone since Kindergarten, but his mom hasn’t known their moms since 1st grade, so it’s different.

He doesn’t want to give anyone a reason to talk.

His mom and Benny think it’s a good idea to be quiet about it too. So, he decides he won’t tell anyone. There will be enough commotion with him presenting omega.

Tommy still hasn’t presented yet, but he’ll be gross about it. Ask Steve if he wants to play doctor like they’re four.

Steve has no intention of showing anyone else his pussy right now. Especially not Tommy Hagen. It was bad enough that his mom had to check it, and she’s a nurse! But she said it looked perfectly healthy, and Steve fully intends to ignore his new vulva for a while…

But Monday comes, and he can’t ignore school. He rides his bike, like he always does, wanting to feel normal, even if his bicycle seat feels weird now. Because, you know…

But he gets to school, says he doesn’t feel all that different anytime someone asks, but he feels things—stabs of jealousy, confusion, anger and desire wrapped up in one. It’s worst around Tommy, like a buzzing beneath his skin, and Steve is happy to retreat to first period, to sit quietly as Mr. Clarke takes roll.

But the buzzing gets worse, and his head starts to ache. 20 minutes in, it’s like pressure is building inside his skull, sharp pain with every movement, and dull pain if he holds still.

Steve nearly makes it to the end of the hour when the nausea strikes, and he makes it to the trash can by the door just in time to puke up his breakfast.

Mr. Clarke sends him to the nurse’s office. She has him lie down, puts a cold compress over his eyes. That helps, and the buzzing is gone.

Steve cries, a little from relief, but more from anguish. A grief that isn’t his. He looks at Nurse Baker, remembers his mom saying something about a drunk running a red light and hitting a pedestrian.

Sees the bags beneath her eyes, like she doesn’t sleep. “Are you okay?” he asks.

It’s like a switch flips on her face, but the sadness still radiates out from her chest. “I’m fine, Steven,” she says, smiling. “How are you feeling? I called your mother, but she can’t get away from work.” She strokes his hair, replaces the cold compress on Steve’s forehead. “She said your uncle will pick you up. Take you home.”

“Okay,” Steve whispers, confused and hurting.

Ten minutes later Benny arrives in the office, dropping into a crouch at Steve’s side. “Hey, Pup,” he says softly. “You think you can walk, or are you gonna hurl again?”

“I can walk,” Steve insists, sitting up. Benny rubs his back, helps him stand. They make it to the parking lot without issue, but alone, in Benny’s truck, Steve starts crying again. “I think something’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Baby. You’re perfect. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.” Benny holds him close, pushes out his scent.

Steve can smell his fear. His worry. He’s always been sensitive like that.

💔💔💔

Benny still has nightmares about the day he gave birth. About the day his baby was stolen away.

They gave him enough drugs that he doesn’t remember the pain so clearly, but he remembers hearing his pup cry. Remembers how desperate he was to hold him.

He never got the chance.

The nurses whisked him from the room, Brenner saying he needed tests and shots, that the hard part was over and Benny should rest.

He didn’t want to rest. He wanted his pup. Cried out for him. But the nurses didn’t bring him back. Said he went into respiratory arrest. That his heart stopped.

That’s when the pain started. Pain in his heart. Pain between his legs from being cut, from the stitches. Pain in his breasts as his milk comes in.

Marsha spent days with him after, holding his hand, helping him pump, then helping his milk dry up.

But in his dreams, he’s alone.

He can hear his pup crying, but he cannot move. His legs feel heavy, so heavy he can’t lift them. He hurts, and there’s blood everywhere. His nipples are leaking, and that’s blood too.

Everything is red.

The crying stops suddenly, and it’s too quiet. He screams himself hoarse. Begs for his pup. He wakes screaming.

The dreams are worse near the anniversary… His pup’s birthday.

Steve’s birthday.

He thinks that’s why they’ve hit him again, even now that he’s found his boy again.

It’s why he has bags under his eyes when he picks Steve up from the nurse’s office.

Steve turns 14 next week.

Nearly 14 years his baby was gone. And having him back isn’t enough to stop the dreams.

At least now he has a scent token in his nest that smells of sweet peaches that he can sniff to calm his fears.

Even better, he has Steve in his arms in the cab of his truck.

Steve whines against his shoulder, moaning, “But I feel broken. Like everyone is pushing into my head.”

“Everything?”

“*Everyone.* It hurts.”

Benny rubs his back, and feels just as helpless as his baby. “We’ll talk to Mom about it when she gets home. But you need to lay down, let’s get you home.”

“No.”

“Baby, it’ll be okay. We’ll get you in your nest-”

“No. Don’t leave me.” Steve grabs hard at his shoulder, fingers locked in place.

“I need to go to work.”

“I’ll come with you. Please.” His nose nuzzles forward, finds Benny’s neck. “Please, Mama.”

Benny feels tears against his skin. He can’t say no to that, not when his boy is hurting. When he needs him.

Benny drives back to his burger shop, still having about an hour before he opens for lunch. He brings Steve in, smiles to see him relax, and has him get settled at a booth in the corner.

“If you start feeling it again, the pushing into your head, let me know right away,” Benny orders gently. He forces a smile. “But if your stomach is settled, I’d guess you’re hungry. Think you could eat a couple eggs and some toast?” The eggs are tor the Sunrise Burger, the toast for the patty melt. There’s no breakfast on his menu, but it feels like the best option right now, quick and simple.

Steve nods, mumbles his thanks as he puts his head down on the table and closes his eyes.

“Okay, I’ll let your mom know you’re here, and I’ll be right back with those eggs. It’ll be okay, Baby.”

“It’ll be okay,” Benny repeats to himself as he heads in the back, to the phone. It has to be.

He just got his baby back.

❤️❤️❤️

“What’s that mean, ‘he’s empathic,’ like, I get that he’s gentle, sensitive, but what’s it mean?” Wayne asks when Benny comes over after closing.

Marsha picked Steve after work, just before the dinner rush, explained as best she could in whispers. Benny spent the rest of the evening turning it over in his head. He thinks he understands it now. “In the program… We were trying to tap into the deeper powers of the human mind. I… dabbled with LSD when I was younger, it’s how I found MKUltra. Brenner. His goal was telekinesis. Reading minds. Science fiction stuff.”

He pinches at the bridge of his nose. “Martha said most of the children showed signs of some power, but Steve struggled. He cried all the time, was inconsolable most days. She doesn’t think Brenner figured it out, that he was picking up on big feelings, anything harsh like fear or pain. She helped him build walls in his mind—when he started school—and I don’t fully understand it, but I guess presenting broke through them.”

“So he can feel what other people are feeling…”

“And teenagers feel things so strongly…”

Wayne reaches out, grabs Benny’s hand. “And it made him throw up?”

“How would you feel if a couple dozen horny, angry, moody teens’ emotions flooded your head?” Benny returns, still gentle, but Wayne knows him so well, can read the worry and anger in his scent.

“I’d probably puke, too,” Wayne answers, pumping out his own calming scent, sweet cinnamon fills the air and Benny breathes deeply. His shoulders unhunch a little.

“Marsha is gonna work with him in rebuilding the walls, but she’s worried he’s too comfortable with her, that he’s too attuned to her emotions already…”

“Does she think you can-”

“No, after his presentation… I guess I’m too safe.”

“Too safe?”

“Yeah… And she thinks it would help to have him working with someone closer to his age. With big, teenage emotions…”

Wayne shakes his head. “Ben, no. You can’t mean-”

“He didn’t say anything when he got Steve over here. I trust him, and Marsha doesn’t trust any of Steve’s friends.”

“Eddie’s got a big mouth, I love the boy, but what if he says anything to Al?”

“We’re not worried about Al. This is about keeping it from Brenner, in case he’s still keeping tabs on Marsha at all.”

“I’ll talk to him about needing help tomorrow,” Wayne agrees softly. He stands up. “How are you doing? This is a lot to deal with, even when your kid doesn’t have some kind of special powers.”

Benny covers his eyes, whines when Wayne touches his shoulder. “It’s my fault. This is what we were trying to do. And now my baby’s hurting.”

“You’re helping him feel better. And you didn’t know it would be like this. You didn’t.” Wayne rubs his back as Benny hides his face against the other omega’s shirt. “You love your boy so much, you’re being so strong for him.”

Benny lets himself cry in Wayne’s arms.

He loves his boy so much.